Chapter 2 #5
She is so beautiful in this moment, so wrapped up in appreciation and still broadcasting that chemical scent of need. I feel compelled to touch her, to respond to the desire her body is insisting on maintaining.
I reach over her, slide my hand down her front and beneath the belt. I feel the heat of her sex through her clothing, and I know there will be damp desire beneath it.
I am not going to be able to wait until we get back to the office.
* * *
Evie
His hand cups my mound and I find myself holding my breath as I take in the beautiful vista of stars laid out in front of me. The feeling of his long alien fingers against my sex, pushing through clothing, touching me without fully touching me is starting to become maddeningly seductive.
Then he gets up from his chair and comes to stand behind me. I want to look up at him, but when I turn my head, his big hand turns it back toward the screen.
“Watch the stars,” he murmurs in my ear. He is leaning over my chair, standing behind me, keeping me in place with one of his big alien hands as he unbuckles the belt and then spreads my legs with his two lower hands. A third runs up and down the seam of my leggings with a slow motion.
I want to ask if this is typical in his culture, but it doesn’t matter.
I like how it feels. I like seeing the universe spread out before me in ways most humans will never get to see, being touched by an alien so hot he appears angelic.
His fingertips settle over the most sensitive part of my sex and I feel a warmth there, a warmth that feels like I might be imagining it at first, but quickly begins to build.
“Oh, my…”
“Keep your eyes on the nebula storm,” he says, the tips of his fingers performing a slow, warm circle around my clit, keeping that sensitive bud at the untouched center of his swirls for several revolutions before lightly passing his fingers directly over it.
I shudder and jolt in the chair, but he keeps the pressure steady no matter what.
The sky before me continues to shift as we move at incredible speed.
I see spiral galaxies laid out before me as he draws his hand up, finds the waist of my leggings, and slides behind it, his long, warm alien fingers finding the increasingly wet core of me.
His other hand is wrapped lightly around my neck now, keeping me still, and keeping my eyes locked on the wonders of creation as he starts to explore what hides beneath my panties.
“You have a very delicate structure,” he muses as he traces the soft lips of my sex.
He finds the bud of my clit and presses on it, tapping that button like it might do something.
It does make me squirm and writhe, but nothing more before he moves his fingers away and down, all the way to the entrance of my body that has started to brim with desire.
“Is this like an orientation? Usually it’s just a handbook and a slide presentation.” My breath hitches as his fingers slide up the length of my soaked slit.
“This is an orientation,” he says. “Or perhaps more of an evaluation. Or perhaps the beginning of a well-deserved disciplinary procedure.”
Just as he says disciplinary procedure, his fingers slide inside me and I feel their thickness and their heat inside my body. He stops just inside the entrance, feeling a thin barrier that has been there for a long time.
“You are virginal,” he says.
“Uh, yeah?”
“That would make a rough mating a disproportionate punishment,” he muses, almost more to himself than anyone else. His fingers slide out of me and return to my clit, stroking in circles again.
“Keep watching the stars,” he says as we leave the nebula behind and move through a deep darkness where systems spiral on the perimeter and we are cloaked in a kind of nothingness that feels oddly comforting. Like being back in the womb, while still knowing what the womb is.
His other hand slides from my throat to the back of my neck, squeezing imperiously but not painfully.
One hand remains between my legs. The other two are performing their own functions.
One snakes around under my breasts, the other keeps my thighs spread.
I am wrapped up in hands upon hands, and there is no escape from the pleasure.
I look out into the vast bath of creation, knowing that I am seeing only a small pocket of a fraction of a piece of what wonders exist, and he pleasures me with slow, deliberate motions that make my clit hum and my inner walls clench.
“A virgin sent to my venture,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “A beautiful human creature who does not respect the rule of law or common courtesy…”
“Hey!” I complain, though it is hard to come up with a coherent argument when my clit is being sensually strummed.
“You knew better than to try to disrupt ship’s systems for the chance to steal tech,” he growls.
“You know how to behave, I think. I have studied your career, short as it may be. You are talented. You are procedural. You do what you need to do when you need to do it. So you knew you shouldn’t try to take any tech from the transport ship. Didn’t you?”
I am lost in the sensations and the view.
“You knew better, didn’t you?” He prompts me again with a light slap to my clit that makes my moan emerge shamefully.
“No,” I say.
“You didn’t know not to steal? Not to break the rules?”
“There wasn’t any rule posted about not opening maintenance access panels.”
I just barely manage to get that out before the shivers of impending orgasm make talking feel almost impossible.
“Do you want the collar back? What about the cage?”
The questions catch me off guard and make me blush furiously, which I did not think was possible when I was already this aroused.
“No,” I moan.
“You’re lying again. You want both,” he intones. “You want me to wrap a collar around your neck and tell you that you are never going back to the Alpha Core. You’re going to stay here with me. Forever.”
Rustle was right.
He was right about everything.
I am going to be taken prisoner by this alien. I am going to become his property. The illusion of boss was broken before it started. The moment he had me in the privacy of his shuttle, he started to take me erotically apart.
“You only just met me,” I say. “You don’t know how annoying and mediocre I can be. I always burn coffee. I’m not sure how to boil water. Pasta? I hardly know her.”
The joke doesn’t work.
Arkon gives me that long, dragon-eyed look.
“I do not need you for menial tasks,” he says. “I engaged you for your mind, and I will still be taking full advantage of that. You will do your work for me. And you will sleep at my feet, you will wear my collar, you will respond to my commands.”
I will get the hell out of here, is what I will do.
I don’t want Rustle to be right. I’d rather fucking die than let him have been correct about all of this.
My alien boss does not care about Rustle, or whether I can order manila folders. He wants something very different from me. Something I cannot help but give him as I writhe in the orgasm he is forcing me to have.
Lord Arkon makes me come. His fingers glow and they move inside me and they force me to the brink of pleasure in ways I cannot fight. I feel myself tipping over the invisible edge of pleasure as my senses overload, and then falling into the most beautiful oblivion.
* * *
“Hell of a day at work,” I murmur as he straps me back into my seat carefully. I feel soft and floppy and actually a whole lot better than I did before. I guess I needed an orgasm, though there are more ethical ways to get it.
We travel through space for some time. I’m not sure how long. I take a nap, I think, but I wake up with a jolt as the ship makes a sharp motion.
“Hold on,” Arkon says.
“What’s happening?” I ask the question just as the ship takes a hard jolt to the left.
“We’re under attack,” he says calmly. “It happens.”
Bright red flashes detonate around us as the ship performs a full three-sixty barrel roll. It’s like being on a roller coaster, but non-consensually.
The radio crackles, which strikes me as a very odd piece of anachronistic tech, but I wonder if it’s just hard to get voice comms across vast swathes of space.
“You’re showing company, Arkon,” someone on the other end says.
“Uhhhh, yeah,” Arkon gets onto the comms. “We’re experiencing hostilities at Delta Four. Just a few.”
“Looks like three, maybe four,” the other person says.
“Uh-huh. Yeah.”
He’s so relaxed. I start to relax too, until the ship judders and jolts as it takes enemy fire.
“Shields at thirty-four percent,” he says.
Thirty-four percent does not sound high enough to me.
“Twenty-eight,” he reads as another hit makes the ship shudder.
I don’t know if I am going to get out of this alive, but in spite of the dire readings, Arkon truly does not seem worried. His tone has about as much energy in it as someone reading a pizza menu. Actually, I sound more animated when it comes to pizza menus.
“Hold on,” he says again. I am holding. I have my hands on the straps as if that’s going to do anything.
He pulls the stick back and the ship shoots up, enters a reverse loop and then spins again. The lock is on and he fires his weapon for the first time in this encounter. The ship in front of us explodes in a fireball that is almost immediately sucked into the vacuum of space.
I am glad for the firm grip of the binding to the chair as the swoop around the forces makes me swirl out of my seat only to be sucked back into it.
The same move does not work twice. Two more shots impact the ship. I think I can smell smoke.
“Fourteen percent,” he reads off, his tone as flat as anything.