by Lizzy Bequin
She was a means to an end, and nothing more.
The antidote to the impending extinction of his race.
One of the guards opened the passenger side door of a vehicle, and the other one forced the female inside. Vorne was able to catch one last whiff of her exquisite scent before they stuffed her inside and slammed the door shut behind her.
That warm aroma surged through him, boiling his brain almost to the point of insanity.
The human female smelled delicious.
There was another pulse at the root of Vorne’s cock. Again, he clenched down hard, stymieing his eruption. He had to hold it all in.
When he finally spilt his seed, it would not be on the ground.
It would be inside the human female’s cunt.
One of the guards entered the driver’s seat of the vehicle containing the female while the other guard got into a different vehicle. The two dark machines rumbled to life and pulled away from the facility, driving off into the desert amid clouds of dust that glowed in the slanting light.
Vorne followed. His sprinting legs easily kept pace with the human machines. He stuck to the dust trail and maintained enough distance to avoid being seen.
He would stalk them like prey. He would follow them until they stopped, which they eventually must, and then he would claim what was his.
Oh yes, seed would be spilt that day.
But first, blood.
CHAPTER 8
The transport vehicles sped across the desolate landscape, shiny black armor glinting like beetle shells, tires kicking up twin trails of dust. There was nothing else around for as far as the eye could see. No buildings. No plant life. Nothing. Just boundless, dark desert and craggy mountains spiked with massive crystalline growths and bleeding streams of green lava.
At last the vehicles slowed to a halt. The clouds of dust raised by their wheels swept past them, dulling their glossy black exteriors with a coating of fine powder.
Inside the first vehicle, Corrie sat shivering in the passenger seat. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back, and the weight of her body caused the steel rings to bite into her wrists painfully, but she hardly noticed. She was too afraid.
The guard who was driving hadn’t spoken a single word the whole trip. He hadn’t even looked at her.
Now he reached over, and with a rough tug, he jerked the rag out of her mouth.
“Please,” Corrie begged. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Shut up.”
The guard’s voice came out flat and cold through the mouthpiece of his breathing mask. He popped open the central compartment and pulled out another respirator, which he fastened over Corrie’s head.
Her door opened, and the volcanic heat of the planet’s atmosphere blasted her face and her exposed breasts.
“Get out.”
It was the other guard. The one who had driven out here in a separate vehicle.
He didn’t even give Corrie a chance to obey his command; he simply clutched her arm and yanked her out of her seat, causing her to stumble and fall to her knees on the desert ground, tearing her pants in the process.
The door slammed shut behind her with a heavy thunk.
There was a cold finality to that sound.
The chilling realization of what was happening fell over Corrie like a shadow. She knew why they had brought her out here. She’d heard Burgess explain the whole thing. But only now, as she looked around the desolate wasteland, completely devoid of life, did the full reality of her situation begin to sink in.
“On your feet.”
When she didn’t immediately stand, a boot kicked her from behind, persuading her to obey.
“I said on your feet, bitch.”
The tears began welling in Corrie’s eyes again, blurring her vision. She thought she had cried herself dry already, but she was wrong.
But she had to stay strong.
And she had to think.
Corrie rose. She was still wearing only socks, no shoes, and the ground felt gritty against her feet.
The guard walked around behind her. Corrie felt a tension at her wrists as the already tight handcuffs seemed to tighten even more. Then, much to her surprise, she felt an unexpected click, and the cuffs released.
Her hands were free.
For a fraction of a second, a feeling of hope started to rise up within her.
Maybe these men were going to let her go after all.
But the way the guard’s big hand clamped on the back of her neck wiped all of that away. He squeezed hard, pinching her nerves and sending a sharp pain shooting down her shoulders and back.
She remembered what Burgess had told the men.
They weren’t freeing her. They were just making it look like an accident. If her dead body were found with handcuffs on, that would make it obvious that it had been foul play.
With her hands freed, at least she could cover herself again. She clutched the edges of her ripped shirt and pulled them together, concealing her exposed breasts.
Behind her, the guard snickered.
“Miss Modesty.”
Corrie wanted to scream. She wanted to have a meltdown and cry. She wanted to plead for her life. And more than anything, she just wanted to live.
She remembered the female alien head on the wall in Burgess’s office.
No, she wasn’t going to go out crying like a baby. She wasn’t going to beg.
If she had to die today, she would do it with dignity.
The vehicle that she had gotten out of was still running, and the other guard was still inside. As she watched, he slowly eased the vehicle forward, its heavy-duty all terrain tires crunching over the coarse sandy ground. There was a deep crater a few yards ahead, and the driver carefully drove the vehicle right into it. The chassis tilted and scuffed against the rim of the crater. The driver revved the engine, and the tires spun uselessly, digging deeply into the dirt.
He had gotten the vehicle stuck on purpose. They were setting everything up to make it look as though she, Corrie, had done it by accident.
“It’s a good plan,” the guard holding her chuckled. “Nobody will have any trouble believing a woman driver did that.”
White heat surged in Corrie’s chest. Her fear was shifting into anger, and for an instant she was on the verge of lashing out. She could kick this asshole in his nuts. Sure, he would make her pay for it, but she was going to die anyway, right? She might as well give this prick something to remember her by. Maybe if she kicked him hard enough, she could make sure he didn’t pass any of those prick genes on to the next generation.
But she didn’t do it.
She needed to think.
All her years as an investigative journalist had taught her one thing. No matter how bad the situation got, there was always a way out. Always. It was just a matter of seeing it in time.
Time, however, was not a luxury Corrie had at the moment.
The other guard, the one who had just wrecked the vehicle, came clambering up out of the deep ditch and brushed the dust and soot off his dark combat pants. He came striding toward Corrie purposefully, and as he got close, he drew his big combat knife. The blade left the sheath with a metallic whisper that made Corrie’s heart skip.
She was frozen with fear. Even if she tried to run, though, the other guard still had her neck gripped tightly from behind.
With a quick, business-like motion, the guard in front of Corrie reached for her face and pulled her respirator, stretching the strap that went behind her skull. A quick, silent flick of his blade cut the strap, and the respirator came free.
The guard dropped the mask to the ground and crushed it under the heal of his heavy black boot.
“Bro, is that really your idea of making it look like an accident?” the other guard scoffed.
“It’s good enough,” said the one with the knife. “You can let her go now.”
The guard behind Corrie interpreted “let her go” as “shove her roughly.” She stumbled away, n
early losing her footing, but somehow she managed to stay on her feet. Her arms flailed to keep her balance, and once again the shredded front of her shirt flew open, exposing her breasts again. When Corrie’s equilibrium was regained, she clutched the fabric and covered herself once more.
Corrie’s respirator was gone, and now she smelled the atmosphere of the planet unfiltered. There was a sharp scent in the air, like ozone or burnt metal, and the dry, charcoal taste of soot filled her mouth and clung to the back of her throat.
“What now, Gardner?” the guard who had been clutching Corrie’s neck asked.
The two guards were both big men, built like brawlers. The one who had been holding her—the one who had just spoken—he had pale skin and ginger hair cut into a kind of thick, short mohawk. His companion, the one with the knife, was darker, with a black buzz cut. Apparently his name was Gardner.
Corrie couldn’t really see their faces, since they were hidden behind their black respirator masks, just like the one she had been wearing until a moment ago. All she could see were the men’s eyes, cold and malevolent.
Without taking his eyes away from her, Gardner slipped his knife back into its sheath with deadly accuracy. There was only the faintest scrape of steel as the blade slid home.
“What now?” Gardner repeated his companion’s question. “Now we wait.”
The other guard let out a long sigh through his respirator mask.
“We really have to wait? Shit, it’s gonna take her a good hour to die. Maybe two. Let’s just off her and—“
“Cool it, Vickers. You heard what Burgess told us.”
The one called Vickers rolled his eyes.
“Shit.”
He scanned his gaze around the desert until it landed on Corrie again. His line of sight was aimed right at her chest where she was clutching her torn clothing over her breasts. Despite the heat, Corrie shivered.
“Shame to let a prime piece of ass like this go to waste,” Vickers said.
Gardner glared at him.
“Didn’t you pay attention to anything Burgess told us?”
“Fuck what Burgess said. This is the first pussy to touch down on this planet in years, and probably the last too.”
Gardner swatted his shoulder.
“Cool it, Vickers. We’ve got a job to do. Just keep it in your pants until we get back to base, and then you can have all the fun you want with the pleasure droids.”
Vickers snorted, an ugly sound distorted by his breathing mask.
“That’s not the same. I need something warm. I need some real meat.”
“Vickers...”
But Vickers wasn’t listening. The ginger guard had stepped forward. His eyes were focused on Corrie’s body with a creepy intensity.
“Don’t,” Corrie gasped. “Please don’t do this.”
With a violent motion, Vickers grabbed her wrists, and jerked her hands away from her chest. The slashed cloth fell open again, exposing her breasts to the warm air.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Vickers groaned. “Some real meat.”
He grabbed Corrie’s breast and squeezed. She cried out and tried to twist away in disgust, but his other hand held her in place by her arm.
“Aw, come on,” Vickers said. “Don’t you wanna have a little fun before you croak?”
Something about those words, about the taunting tone with which he uttered them, sent a wave of hot rage surging through Corrie’s body. Perhaps it was his mention of her imminent death that reminded her she had nothing to lose.
She had no reason not to attack.
With both hands, she struck out at him and scratched down his eyes and face. Her nails where filed down short to look more manly, but there was still enough there to do some damage. Her scratches drew bright, striped welts down his face and ripped his respirator loose.
“Fuck!”
Vickers let go of her breasts and stumbled back, temporarily blinded. He struggled to set his respirator back into place. Despite all of her terror, rage, and disgust, Corrie felt a tiny sparkle of glee at the pain she had caused him.
“Damn it,” Gardner said, placing his hand on Vickers shoulder, “I told you—“
But Vickers still ignored him. His eyes, which were tearing-up from Corrie’s attack, were glaring at her with bloodshot rage.
“You fucking bitch,” he hissed.
He stepped toward her again, arm drawn back to punch. There wasn’t time to block or dodge. Corrie cringed in anticipation of the blow.
“Vickers chill!”
Gardner caught his partner’s arm at the last moment.
“We can’t beat her up, you idiot. Shit, it’s bad enough she’s probably got your blood and skin under her nails now. DNA.”
Vickers rounded on him. He was enraged, and in a fraction of a second, all of that anger shifted from Corrie to Gardner.
“Don’t call me an idiot you fucking white knight.”
Vickers’ other fist swung around in a wide haymaker and decked Garner across his face, knocking the man’s respirator loose. Gardner stumbled back, dazed from the blow. Before he could defend himself, Vickers swung again, this time catching his jaw.
Gardner’s head snapped violently to the side. His legs buckled. He fell back onto the ground in a puff of dust and lay there motionless.
“Cockblocking motherfucker,” Vickers grumbled.
He ran his hand over his short, ginger mohawk.
“Damn,” he grunted. “I’m gonna get in trouble for that.”
He wheeled around to face Corrie again.
“Oh well,” he chuckled. “If I’m gonna get in trouble, I may as well go big.”
Corrie tensed up as the guard strode toward her, his eyes churning with an awful mixture of lust and hatred.
“I’m gonna have fun teaching you a lesson, bitch,” he said.
Desperate, Corrie tried to lash out at him again, but this time his hand snapped out and caught her wrists before she could strike.
“I’m not gonna fall for that trick again,” Vickers laughed.
Not giving up, Corrie swung one leg up in an attempt to kick Vicker’s between the legs, but he anticipated this move and raised one boot to block it. Corrie’s shin sang with pain as her bone knocked against the hard shin-pad of Vicker’s uniform.
The guard was simply too big and strong for her, and too well-trained in hand-to-hand combat. Corrie had practiced self-defense classes, but they hadn’t prepared her for anything remotely like this.
She took some solace in the fact that she had caught him off guard once. At least she had hurt the bastard a little.
With a violent shove, Vickers forced Corrie to the ground. Some loose stones bit into her her knees through the torn cloth of her pants. She cried out in pain.
Corrie tried to stand again, but Vickers’ fist clutched her short hair, keeping her down.
“You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Vickers snarled. “I’ve still got that lesson to teach you, remember.”
“Fuck you,” Corrie spit.
Above her, the guard laughed. The sound was creepy and inhuman through the filter of his mask.
“You’ve got a dirty mouth. I’m gonna have to wash it out with soap.”
His hand clutched tighter at her hair. Her scalp sang with pain and it felt as if a whole chunk was about to rip out.
“No, not soap,” Vickers said. “I’ve got something even better for that dirty little mouth of yours.”
With his free hand, Vickers unzipped his fly. There was a bulge pressing at the fabric of his crotch. His hand dipped in his fly and wrangled his penis out of the hole. His erection was red and small and angry-looking.
“Yeah, you like that, you little slut?”
Corrie didn’t like it. She tried to shake her head and pull away, but Vickers’ tight fist wouldn’t let her.
That ugly little erection moved closer to her face.
Corrie pressed her lips together tightly, denying access. She squeezed her
eyes shut too, and tears rolled down her cheeks. The head of Vickers’ cock nudged insistently at the seam of her mouth.
“Come on, bitch. Open up and suck it. Suck my—”
Vickers’ words cut off, ending in a weird grunt. A sudden rush of hot fluid splashed on Corrie’s face and spattered down her chest.
For a horrible instant, she thought that he had prematurely ejaculated on her. But the fluid wasn’t thick enough for that.
And the quantity was far too great.
Corrie heard a new sound, like someone struggling to blow water out of a snorkel over and over again.
She opened her eyes and looked up. It took her brain several seconds to comprehend what she was seeing.
Vickers was still standing over her, but where his head should have been, there was nothing—just the truncated stalk of his neck spouting arterial blood in two gradually diminishing fountains.
His headless body twitched.
By some trick of the nerves, Vickers’ body attempted to take a step back, stumbled, and collapsed onto his butt before finally slumping over, the depressurized blood now drooling lazily from the astonishingly clean slice. The hole of his trachea gurgled as his lungs tried to suck one final breath. A moment later, his severed head thumped to the ground, eyes wide in an expression of utter surprise above the intact respirator mask.
An awful keening sound filled Corrie’s ears.
It was another moment before she realized that the sound was coming from her. She was screaming, but in her fright, she had forgotten to unseal her lips, and all of the sound was coming out of her nose in a high, desperate moan.
“Be quiet, human.”
A shadow passed over Corrie. She swiveled her head toward the source of the voice. It was a giant figure blotting out the morning sun, blue, naked, and horned.
Corrie whimpered.
CHAPTER 9
“I said be quiet,” the alien growled again.
His accent was unlike anything Corrie had heard before, deep, raspy, and guttural. It was not simply a foreign accent. It was the sound of a vocal anatomy that was not designed for human language.
This time Corrie went completely silent. It wasn’t so much that she was obeying the alien’s command. Her throat was plugged up with overwhelming shock and fear.
