Alien Intervention
MJ was taking a midnight stroll through his neighborhood when it happened.
He’d been having trouble sleeping and had at first thought a wank would help, but it seemed his spank bank was insufficiently stocked because he hadn’t been able to come up with anything to put him in the mood enough to execute on said wank, so eventually he’d given up on toying with his disinterested dick and gone outside.
The moon was huge, probably what had given him insomnia.
So much light. An eerie sort of light too, greenish in hue and strangely centered on him.
That part must be his imagination, but it seemed like the darkness was always just ahead of him without his ever reaching it, as if he were being followed by a street lamp.
The air had a strange pulse to it. Everything felt weird and charged and vaguely hostile and he was thinking maybe he should turn around and go back to the safety of home when he realized his feet were no longer touching the pavement.
He looked down at them, alarmed to see them growing ever farther away from the earth as he levitated—slowly, gracefully, and through no effort of his own—upward.
He was dreaming, obviously. He’d fallen asleep and was having a dream of insomnia that had morphed into a flying dream, except that he wasn’t flying, only hovering.
He was so high now that if he were to stop hovering as suddenly as he’d started, the crash would be fatal.
He flapped his arms, waving them upward like he was trying to sink to the bottom of a pool, but his efforts had no effect.
Then he rotated his head so he was looking up instead of down and immediately wished he hadn’t.
That was a spaceship. A flying saucer. Genuinely saucer shaped, which meant he had to be dreaming.
Real ETs surely wouldn’t build their ships like frisbees.
The beam of eerie green light in which he was caught originated from an opening at the center of the saucer, and he was headed straight for it.
He flapped his arms harder. Then he flipped himself upside down with the thought of being able to swim downward, but that left him staring at the ground, which would really, really hurt if he landed on it from this height, so he changed his mind and faced upward again.
The closer he got to the portal from which the light emanated, the faster he seemed to move, until he was sucked up into the ship in a final terrifying rush.
“Greetings.”
The robotic voice had him spinning wildly, looking this way and that for its source. He was in what appeared to be an airlock. Alone, as far as he could tell.
“Do not be alarmed.”
Well, that was fucking impossible.
“We mean you no harm.”
That was what aliens always said and then boom, explosions. Cities destroyed, humans in chains.
“We are a scientific expedition from the nearby planet George.”
George? They’d named their planet George?
“We have arrived on your planet for purposes of collecting biometric data from all its species. Once we have collected the necessary data, you will be returned safely to your point of origin.”
Oh, they were that kind of alien. The probing kind.
MJ’s dick, which had been previously uninterested despite having been shown a wide variety of porn, decided it might be interested after all.
Quit that, he told it. I don’t want to be probed by aliens.
His dick didn’t believe him.
“Atmospheric pressure stabilization having been achieved,” the robotic voice said, “our delegation will now greet you.”
A door slid open at MJ’s back. He whirled to face it, then jumped like a cat that had just stepped on a snake.
Aliens!
Two of them, vaguely humanoid except tall and skinny with white, hairless skin that shimmered iridescently.
They had long, bony fingers—though only three per hand—and giant domed heads comprised mostly of eyes.
Four eyes each, arrayed in a semi-circle around a couple of small openings that must be their nostrils.
Their eyes were huge and black and their mouths, below the round puncture of nostrils, were small and lipless. More like a slash than a mouth.
One of the aliens did something that might have been a smile. MJ didn’t even try to smile back.
“I’m Chief Medical Officer Gabu,” the alien said. “My pronouns are he/him. And this is Doctor Hilu, who also uses he/him pronouns. He’ll be conducting your exam.”
MJ didn’t feel like he needed to know alien pronouns, but his dick found the information interesting.
If he was going to be probed, he would far rather be probed by a man.
Which was ridiculous. He didn’t want to be probed.
Or so he told his disbelieving dick. He couldn’t help checking out the aliens’ groin area.
They didn’t appear to be wearing clothes, but they didn’t have any genitalia on display either, at least not that he could discern.
Gabu made a sound like he was clearing his throat, and MJ raised his gaze back up to eye level. Whatever was going on in that area, he was apparently not supposed to be staring at it.
“The data we’re recording is highly important to our mission,” Gabu said. “We seek to determine whether our species can crossbreed with any of the species on Earth.”
MJ raised his eyebrows. “Um, I’m not breeding with anyone. First off, I’m male. I don’t know how it works on your planet, but human males don’t have kids. And secondly, I’m gay. So I’m not about to get anyone else pregnant either.”
“Gay?”
MJ crossed his arms over his chest. “Haven’t you done any research into human sexuality?”
“We’ve examined a great many specimens. Indeed, we have already sampled fully a third of the species on Earth.”
“Yeah, well, humans are different from the other ones. You can’t just kidnap us and conduct experiments on us and force us to carry your offspring. There happens to be a concept called consent.”
The aliens put their heads together and sang. Or that was how it sounded to MJ, though it was apparently a consultation of some sort because they eventually separated again and Gabu said, “We will examine you as planned.”
Oh, they would, would they? If MJ had been asked, he might have said yes, because the thought of being probed by aliens wasn’t awful as fantasies went, but if they weren’t going to be nice about it, then he wasn’t going to make it easy on them.
He raised a foot, aimed it squarely at Gabu’s midsection, genitals or not, and delivered a solid blow that had Gabu staggering backward through the open doorway.
A ridiculously short time later, MJ was thoroughly subdued. ‘Don’t fight with aliens on their own ship’ was the lesson he’d just learned because not only had it been two against one but the ship itself had helped by snaking articulated robot arms out from various ports to wrap and bind him.
Now he was in what he presumed to be the medical bay, tautly suspended by his wrists and ankles, face-up in a naked spread-eagle. All of which was bad enough, but he’d been gagged on top of it. That part might be his fault because he’d done his best to bite anything that came in reach.
He hadn’t managed to get in more than a nibble, but the aliens now understood that his mouth was dangerous and had taken steps to neutralize said danger, leaving him utterly defenseless.
The best he could do was squirm, rippling his body in small waves that only illustrated how completely he couldn’t move.
And everything was on display. The ship’s metallic tentacles had separated his legs so widely he could feel his asshole winking at the aliens, and the fact that Hilu and Gabu were gloving up couldn’t be a coincidence.
But the piece of his anatomy most clearly on display was his cock, which lay half hard against the curve of his balls.
He’d been telling the damn thing to stand down since he first caught sight of the aliens, and he wished he had even a loin cloth to bury it under.
Hilu and Gabu, their three-fingered hands ensconced in glowing purple rubber, approached.
“We must spread him wider,” Hilu said. “We must have clear, unobstructed access to the entry port.”
“That’s not an entry port,” MJ grumbled, but only in his mind because the gag didn’t permit talking. “It happens to be an exit port.” Not that a few things hadn’t entered that way over the years. “And also, if you spread me any wider, I’m going to snap like a wishbone.
Unfortunately, his mental mumbling didn’t stop the aliens from trying to spread him wider. Gabu issued a command and the ship pulled harder. MJ tried to scream.
“Maximum separation achieved,” a robotic voice said.
Gabu eyed MJ’s spread-eagled self with displeasure. “It’s those fleshy parts that must be separated,” he said, pointing at MJ’s ass cheeks. “Wider separation of the legs won’t achieve the desired result.”
Hilu nodded sagely. At another order from Gabu, more metal tentacles snaked forward, attaching themselves through some sort of suction to MJ’s ass cheeks.
And then, with inexorable force, his cheeks were pulled firmly apart.
He’d thought himself exposed before, but there was no doubting it now.
Cool, alien air washed over his sphincter.
He squirmed, struggling to break the ship’s grasp on him, but fighting was futile. His dick got a little heavier.
“I hope you know you’re supposed to use lube,” he told the one-person audience in his head in an attempt to distract himself from his growing arousal. The situation was not sexy. Not not not sexy. Not hot or filthy or kinky-depraved.
He closed his eyes, afraid to see what would happen next, then opened them again because he was afraid to not see what would happen next.
Gabu tugged one of the ship’s many metal arms toward MJ’s ass. He lined it right up with MJ’s sphincter, the metal cold and hard where it tickled him.
“Lube!” MJ yelled internally as Gabu threw a switch.