Chapter 53 Jean
I thought it would feel like kissing a stranger, but it doesn’t.
On the contrary, I feel as if I’ve known Ghorak for a long, long time.
Much longer than the few short days we’ve been together on Ul.
It’s a strange feeling, but comforting at the same time, and I allow myself to sink into it, the same way I allow my body to sink into him.
His muscles are hard and taut beneath the skin, but his lips are soft as can be, soft and warm, and they seem to blend with my own until it’s difficult to tell exactly where Ghorak ends and I begin.
Is he a mass murderer? Yes. Technically.
But he’s not a bad man. He was put in a situation he never asked for.
I guess I can relate to that. I know this: he’s willing to kill to protect me, and I’m willing to do the same.
I have done it, in fact—earlier today, when I pulled the trigger of his gun.
My shoulder still hurts from that, but I don’t feel the slightest bit of remorse for the alien I wasted. Not the slightest bit.
Maybe this planet’s where I belong after all.
Only when my lungs start to burn for air do I finally separate my mouth from his. For a long moment, we just sit there, catching our breath, eyes locked. Then Ghorak reaches up and pulls my mask back down over my face.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“After that kiss? Pretty good. I think I might need another.”
I start to reach for my mask to lift it back up again, but Ghorak catches my wrist and chuckles. The sound is so low and deep, it could be coming from the center of the planet instead of his lungs. I can feel it vibrating through me, rumbling in all the right places.
“No,” he says. “I mean, how do you feel?”
It takes me a few seconds to realize what he’s referring to. It’s only when I pause to look at our surroundings that I understand.
It’s night, but it’s not dark.
Not completely.
The sun’s been down for a while now, and the last vestiges of twilight have all faded from the sky, but the Vents of Yttar make a twilight of their own, a dancing pink glow that drowns out all but the very brightest of the stars.
I turn my attention inward, monitoring my body’s arousal. The urges are not gone completely, I can sense them simmering just below the surface, but they are manageable, controllable, resistible even. A far cry from the desperation I experienced last night, and every night before.
“I feel… okay.”
I turn my head slowly, looking at the other two males who are waiting in the wings. Scythro and Venim. They are kneeling on either side of me now, studying me with attentive alien eyes.
“I guess we’d better do something about that,” I whisper.
Venim quirks an uncomprehending brow. “Do something about you feeling okay?” he asks.
I bite my lip and nod. Then I gasp aloud as something sweeps up the length of my spine. Scythro’s tail. I turn to look at him, and find a mischievous smirk curling the corner of his pretty mouth.
“What did you have in mind?” he asks.
I let my eyes shift down to his bandaged arm, and I remember that night outside the old abandoned mine when he and Ghorak shared me for the first time. I turn toward Venim again.
“What did you do with that roll of bandages?” I ask.
“Bandages?” Venim says, his brow furrowing with concern. “Did you sustain a wound I do not know about?”
“Not exactly,” I answer with a reassuring smile. “Just give the bandages to Scythro, okay? He’ll know what to do with them.”
Then I take off my mask.
I’m still sitting on Ghorak’s lap, straddling him with my legs.
The pink light accentuates his chiseled features and gleams off the ridges of his horns.
I lean in and kiss him a second time, not quite as hungrily as before, but every bit as deeply.
By the time we finally break our kiss, I can feel his hard arousal pressing up against me through the front of his pants.
Scythro is behind me now, purring. His body feels warm and smooth against my back. He has the roll of bandages in his hand, and he begins winding the fabric around my head, covering my eyes. The first layer blocks out most of the light, the second a little more.
With the third layer, I am blinded completely.
I can feel the difference immediately. All those feelings that were smoldering before begin burning hot and bright within me. My nipples harden behind the fabric of my top. My pussy leaks.
I touch myself shamelessly, as if my own blindness is somehow shared by the three alien males. I fondle my own breasts. I rub between my legs. I whimper, I moan.
And the aliens answer the call. They press in around me from every side, squishing my soft body between their bigger, harder forms. They take turns kissing my mouth, first Scythro, then Ghorak, and finally Venim with his strange, serpentine tongue.
Someone places the mask over my face again. I am not sure who.
“How do you feel now?” Scythro asks. “Better than okay?”
“Much better…”
My hips have started moving of their own accord, grinding my crotch against the hardness between Ghorak’s legs. There are two layers of fabric between us—my loincloth and his pants—but I can still feel every detail of his enormous anatomy rubbing against me. Every ripple. Every vein.
I want him inside me—I want all three of them inside me—and I tell them so in terms so sinful my own ears burn with shock and shame at what I’m begging them to do.
But the aliens, damn them, have other things in mind.
They intend to tease me.
“My, my,” Scythro purrs, affecting a scandalized tone. “Are all humans this needy, I wonder?”
With the tip of his tail, he unties the knot holding the top of my outfit.
He could have used his hands, I suppose, but they are already otherwise occupied.
One of them is on top of my head, clutching a gentle fistful of hair.
The other is on my chest, cupping my newly exposed breast and kneading it softly.
A third hand sweeps its way down my bare back.
It is Venim’s. I can tell by the number of fingers, and the supple snakeskin texture of his palm.
As stealthily as an assassin, it slips beneath the back flap of my loincloth and clutches my ass.
The sounds that I make in response are downright pornographic.
“I can’t imagine any creature as needy as our Jean,” he says. “But her pleasure will have to wait, I’m afraid. At least until we’ve dealt with a more pressing matter.”
“And what would that be?” Scythro asks.
Venim gives my butt a good, firm squeeze.
“Her punishment, of course.”