Chapter 3: Mammalian Fascination
Jennifer’s first sound was a wheeze, a choked gasp as the sheer, unwelcome bulk of him lodged deep inside her. Her head fell back against Zorgon’s carapace, a soundless scream on her lips. Then he moved, a short, brutal withdrawal and a second thrust that buried him to the root. This time, she cried out. A sharp, wet sound.
“Fuck,” she sobbed, the word trailing into a moan.
The bioluminescent walls instantly flared into a hot, pulsing crimson that painted the slick surfaces of the aliens in shifting blood-light. Each one of the barbs that textured his shaft, which had felt like only a strange pressure on the slow push, now caught and tugged with every motion. It wasn’t the sharp, rending pain she feared, but a maddening, full-body scrape. A current of agonizing pleasure so intense it short-circuited her brain. He wasn’t just filling her; he was gripping her from the inside, and with each rough pump, he threatened to turn her entirely inside out.
Xylar watched, her multifaceted eyes capturing every nuance of the human’s torment and ecstasy. She saw the flutter of Jen’s eyelids, the uncontrollable tremors in her thighs, the way her pink nipples pebbled painfully tight.
“You see?” Xylar murmured, her clawed hand returning to Jen’s breast, squeezing with possessive pressure. The sharp points of her claws pricked the soft skin, promising marks. “See how she yields? How the flesh… conforms.” She leaned forward, her triangular face hovering inches from Jen’s, the alien scent of her breath warm on Jen’s cheek. “Tell him, Jennifer. Tell him what you feel.”
Jen’s mind was liquid, flooded with sensation. The scrape of the barbs ignited nerves she didn’t know she had. Her cunt was a supernova, an aching, stretching, gripping inferno. Her own pleasure, her fear, her disbelief, all braided into one primal scream trapped in her throat.
“It’s… it’s so deep,” she choked out, her voice raw. “He’s… everywher—”
Zorgon grunted, a sound like rocks grinding together. He’d been still, savoring the constricting, wet heat of her. The feel of her human muscles spasming around his unfamiliar anatomy. But her words, her breathy surrender, snapped something in him. His patience evaporated.
He began to move in earnest.
No rhythm. No finesse. Just a savage, driving pistoning. The membranous floor beneath them squeaked with the violent translation of force. Thump. Thump.Thump. His lower hands held her hips in an unforgiving grip, lifting her to meet each downward slam. His upper arms encircled her torso, pinning her to him, binding her arms at her sides.
The barbs became the whole world. On the outstroke, they threatened to take her with him; on the instroke, they lit a fire along every inner contour.
“Yeah,” Zorgon rumbled into her ear, his voice a vibration through her spine. “Take it.Soft little mammal. Take all of it. Show me what this fleshy hole can do.”
Jen was babbling. Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat. Her words dissolved into gasps and fractured curses. “Ohgod, ohfuck, please, please, don’t stop, it’s gonna—I can’t—” The coil in her belly, which had been wound tight since she first saw him, was vibrating at a frequency that threatened to shatter her.
Xylar’s chittering trill was one of pure academic and carnal delight. She moved then, shifting from observer to participant. Her slender, powerful body slotted against Jen’s front, the cool, hard plating of her torso pressed against Jen’s heaving breasts. One clawed hand still mauled a breast, kneading the heavy flesh, twisting the nipple until Jen shrieked. Her other hand slid down Jen’s trembling stomach, through the damp thatch of red curls, and found the slick, straining bud of her clit.
She didn’t caress it. She claimed it. Pinching the swollen nub between two sharp-tipped digits, she applied a precise, unyielding pressure and began to rub in tiny, relentless circles.
The dual assault was catastrophic.
Jennifer Davies shattered. A guttural, raw scream tore from her throat, utterly inhuman. Her body went rigid in Zorgon’s crushing embrace, her cunt clamping down on his barbed shaft in a series of violent, rhythmic convulsions. The orgasm was less a wave than a systemic failure—her vision whited out, her hearing filled with a static roar, and every muscle locked and burned.
Zorgon roared in triumph. The powerful, milking contractions of her human body were more exquisite than he had imagined. He drove into her locking spasm twice, three more times, and then he stilled, burying himself to the hilt. Jen felt a new, profound stretching deep within her, and then a hot, sudden flood. His release wasn’t a simple ejaculation; it was a pulsing, thick gush that filled her utterly, a heat that seemed to expand, seeking every crevice. The barbs seemed to throb in time with it.
The crimson light in the room throbbed in sync, bathing them all in an afterglow of violence.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing. Jen hung between them, boneless, her senses slowly swimming back from the abyss. The intense, stretching heat inside her began to cool. The barbs retracted, becoming mere texture again. Zorgon’s grip on her slackened, and he withdrew from her body with a wet, heavy sound that made her whimper. He deposited her gently, almost carelessly, onto the yielding floor.
She lay there, a wreck of trembling limbs and cooling sweat, staring up at the breathing ceiling. The radiant light softened from crimson to a bruised, weary violet.
Xylar knelt beside her, her claws now strangely gentle as they brushed the damp hair from Jen’s forehead. “Remarkable,” she whispered, her voice filled with a quiet awe Jen hadn’t heard before. “The synaptic cascade… the hormonal flood… it’s beautiful. You are beautiful, Jennifer.”
Zorgon stood over them, cleaning his shaft with a flick of a membranous cloth that hissed against his plating. He looked down at the spent human girl, his earlier disdain noticeably absent, replaced by a look of deep, satiated curiosity. “She is… effective,” he conceded gruffly.
Jen turned her head to look at Xylar. The alien’s face was no longer a mask of calm detachment. There was a hunger there, but it was different. It wasn’t just for her body. It was for the aftermath.
“What… was that?” Jen managed, her voice a thread.
“That,” Xylar said, her claw tracing the curve of Jen’s jaw, “was the physical preface. A necessary… calibration.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a confidential murmur that seemed to push Zorgon into the background. “My species experiences union. But we do not have this… this forgetting of the self. We do not have the vulnerability that follows.” She tilted her head. “The terror before the peak. The emptiness after. That is what I wanted to see. That is what you have.”
Jen’s mind, fuzzy and overwhelmed, caught on the word. “Wanted to see?”
“To feel,” Xylar corrected. She looked over her shoulder at Zorgon. “Leave us.”
He chuffed, a sound of protest, but after a lingering look at Jen’s prone form, he turned and vanished through a shimmering curtain into another part of the humming apartment.
Xylar lay down on the floor beside Jen, aligning her long, angular body beside the human’s soft curves. She didn’t touch her. She just looked at her, studying her as the violet light gently pulsed.
“When you screamed,” Xylar said quietly, “you were not just a body reacting. You were a mind… surrendering. You gave that to him. You can give it to me, too. But differently.”
Jen shivered. The emptiness inside her was vast. She felt used, broken, and more alive than she ever had in her eighteen years of mundane existence. She met Xylar’s gaze. “What do you want from me?”
Xylar’s answer was simple, and it echoed with a loneliness Jen suddenly, intuitively understood.
“I want what happens next.”