Human Pet Pound (Possessive Aliens)

by Loki Renard

  “Being mine will always feel good,” he promises me. “I will do everything in my power to comfort you when you are sad, to heal you when you are sick, and to make sure nobody ever hurts you again.”

  “Again, those are big promises…”

  He plunges his finger back inside me. “Yes, they are. And I intend to keep them.”

  “Fuckkk…”

  “I want you, human,” he growls. “I want to be inside you.”

  My inner walls clench, gripping his finger. He could kill me, but he wants to share pleasure instead. The very same finger inside me has inside it a retracted claw which has no doubt taken life many times before. But now, for me, it is an instrument of pleasure. In the darkest corner of the universe, with the most unlikely mate, I am experiencing my potential for sexual ecstasy for the first time.

  Suddenly, John pulls me from the bath. The ship spins as he handles me with easy alacrity, turning me this way and that as he decides which way to position me. His hands grip me easily, his massive muscular planes rippling every time I rotate at his pleasure.

  My legs are spread. I am ready and I am willing. I want this more than anything. I want him to rut inside me and erase every memory I’ve ever had besides the one happening right now, the one where being in my body is no longer torment.

  I do not have to wait long. The instinct to mate is strong in both of us and so John sheathes himself inside me, his alien appendage finding my human hole with unerring accuracy over and over again until all I can do is cling to him, wrapping my legs around his waist, offering myself to him, the wet, slick, near obscenely puffy lips of my sex wrapped around those thick dark ridges. I look down and see him as he moves. There is nothing soft about his flesh. Every part of him is ridged for my pleasure.

  And oh, what pleasure it is. That word is making a repeat circuit around my brain. I feel as though I have been drugged, though I know he hasn’t given me anything. This is the response my body is manufacturing, little internal messengers telling me that I am here to be fucked and fucked good, and the best thing to do is to not only surrender to it, but to beg for it.

  John

  “Please… please… please…”

  I don’t know what she is pleading for, but I am filled with mating lust which makes keeping myself under control a challenge. Usually when I am this amped, my body is priming itself to tear through flesh, to conquer without mercy.

  But she has my mercy. She has my care. She has my everything. We are bonding, my human and I, participating in a conversation of chemicals which is forming a connection between us which will never be broken. I am taking her not just as my pet. I am taking her as my mate. As my lover, forever.

  She doesn’t know that. She is innocent to the machinations of nature. She thinks she has a choice, that I have a choice, that love is something that is chosen. It isn’t. It is demanded by the only imperative which has ever mattered.

  If I spend myself inside her, that will seal us, but I have the feeling that may be nothing more than a formality at this point. I have been inside other tight holes belonging to other females. I have made good use of my human-intended cock. I have never felt this bond. I have never known that with every stroke I am losing myself, the individual I once was, linked to a hatched collective of broodkin, and I am becoming something else. A part of a pair, mate to a woman who has already become the single most important thing in the universe to me.

  Her eyes gleam with something like tears, but there is a smile on her lips, the outer corners of her mouth turned up even as she opens wide to gasp as I bury myself deep inside her, feel the tender heat of her limited body.

  This is sweet torture, being made to be viciously rough and yet being terrified to hurt her. I need to release myself. I cannot hold back any longer, and trying is making me start to shake and growl with animal fury.

  I draw myself slowly out of her, almost all the way to the very tip of my cock. Her juices gleam along the length of my shaft. Her lips grip me in a futile effort to try to keep me inside her, her hips rising in that same effort. She wants me. She needs me. And I need her.

  “Please…” she whimpers one last time.

  My resolve breaks. I plunge inside her with one final, devastating stroke. I give her myself, all I have to give. I seal our souls, bind our flesh, and make us one.

  Itch

  He is filling me up with his essence. He is slamming inside me, leaving a hot liquid which washes against my insides, the ravaged flesh of my sex responding to the alien balm of his orgasm.

  His essence feels natural to me. It sinks deep inside me and makes liquid heat flash through every nerve. I have orgasmed before, but not like this. I have never felt every single part of myself tingle with pure pleasure. I am lifted entirely out of myself, my body shaking and contorting, legs shaking, hips grinding as I perform the primal dance of completion, shared orgasm making us wrap around one another, mating beasts from different species bonded in one moment of pure pleasure.

  It feels like a very long time before I am able to control myself again, let alone speak. John holds me as I recover. It is as if I have just been put into my body for the first time, as if I have to feel every part of it out again. My tongue is clumsy and my thoughts slow, like being drunk but in a transcendently clear way.

  “Wow,” I say, when I can say anything at all.

  “Indeed,” he murmurs.

  “Wow.”

  I feel like a new woman. I feel like a woman for the first time. What he just did to me, and with me… that was pure magic. I feel a thousand thoughts inside my mind, but they are pictures and feelings; they refuse to be translated into words. He has connected me to something I didn’t know existed inside myself. He has unlocked memories of a lost humanity. Not the source of my limited personal origin, that still remains a mystery, but all that came before, thousands of years of life in caves and wearing hides, the cradle of humanity. I feel connected to my human-ness in a way I never have before. It has taken this alien to break down the walls built up around my shattered self and show me that I may be a lone human, but no human is ever truly alone.

  I can feel my ancestors close by, many thousands of them, each of them an individual who had to come before so I could be here. I hear the thundering of the old drums in the pulse which still hammers in my throat as my body attempts to recover from orgasm.

  “Is it always like that?”

  “When scythkin and human mate, the reaction can be powerful. We share origin,” he murmurs.” We are not as alien to one another as it may seem. That is why I am named John. It was given to me by our matriarch. She remembered much.”

  “I remember nothing,” I murmur. I look down at myself, see my sweat soaked body, my ravaged sex puffy and red and smeared with cream mixed from my body and his, the remnants of our coupling.

  “Sleep,” he encourages me. “There is time to remember, and to learn.”

  He wraps his arms around me and I curl up inside them, completely protected by my scythkin lover. Sleep comes swiftly, deep sleep which is more satisfying and restful than any I’ve had in as many years as I can remember.

  2 Medicine and Fashion

  Itch

  “I think I should do a simple medical scan to determine your age. It’s not uncommon for humans who came from the Interstellar Human Petting Zoo to have had their memories wiped.”

  He announces this over breakfast, as if all the words in that sentence make total sense. I have to take a deep breath to gather my thoughts and properly enunciate the first question which leaps to mind.

  “What is the Interstellar Human Petting Zoo?”

  “It’s a simulation with forty thousand humans living in what they believe to be the human world, Earth. It was used as a tourist destination by Galactor until the scythkin conquered it. It’s now run as a preserve, but there are tales of humans having been sold from the zoo, usually with their minds wiped.”

  He says all that as if it’s perfectly sensible. The strange thing
is, it does ring a bell, though I do not know if that is because it reminds me of something I once knew, or if I overheard some captor saying something about it at some time. I have heard a lot of strange conversations in the last few years.

  “So, I might come from that place?”

  “You almost certainly do. There’s no other source for humans as far as I’m aware of. There was a small breeding colony which splintered off after the scythkin liberated it, but their colony is very highly guarded, and they mostly spend their time dying.”

  “What about Earth? You know, where we come from originally.”

  “Timesploded.”

  That’s all he says, just that one word.

  “I don’t know what that means, and yet somehow I know exactly what that means.”

  “That’s the sign of a good word,” he winks. “Now, shall we see what your story is?”

  “I would love to know what my story is,” I reply. “Though so far, I don’t like it.”

  “The nice thing about stories is that you never know when they’re going to take a turn,” he says with what I think is an encouraging smile.

  He takes me by the hand and leads me to the medical bay.

  “Isn’t this romantic.”

  He snorts and lifts me up onto the table where I sit, waiting for him to do something alien and likely doctor-ey to me. Ordinarily, this would be the part I would resist most. I have been driven to absolutely frantic attempts to avoid anything medical in the past. As those memories come back, I start to shake. It’s not something I can control, it’s muscle memory. It’s also a release of adrenaline which makes me squirm where I sit, fighting the urge to hit something and run away.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, putting his hand on my thigh. “At least, not the way the others did.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I tell him. “I’m not afraid of anything.”

  Lies are even more comforting than his touch.

  John

  “You’re not afraid,” I agree. What I don’t add is that she’s actually technically terrified. All the markers are there. Dilated pupils, increased heart rate, faster breathing. “But you do need to relax.”

  “You relax,” she suggests, tersely. “Even better, why don’t you sit on this bed and I will probe you.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I say, lifting her down off the bed and taking her place.

  Her expression is priceless. I know she was trying to be a little brat about the whole thing. Her first line of defense is oral aggression, but I think she will be more comfortable if we swap roles, even for a moment.

  “You look silly.” She’s trying to look annoyed, but I can tell she’s relieved to be off the table.

  “Pick up that piece of plastic which is blinking red,” I prompt her. “That’s the general scanner.”

  She picks it up gingerly, as if it might bite her, then looks at me curiously.

  “Then sort of wave it in my general direction, over my body, and see what it does.”

  She does as she is told, carefully at first, then with progressively more abandon.

  BEEP!

  “Ahhh!” She drops the tool as if it suddenly heated up to a thousand degrees, then stares at me accusingly, as if I had betrayed her in some unforgivable way. “What was that trying to do?”

  “It has completed its scan. Pick it up and see what the readout says.”

  She picks up the tool and holds it out to me. “I can’t read this.”

  “It says normal.”

  “Oh, well I must have broken it,” she says. “Because you're not normal.”

  “Brat,” I growl. “It simply means that my body is functioning normally. Now, scan yourself and see if the same symbol comes up.”

  She does, reluctantly, but manages to keep ahold of it when it beeps again.

  “What does that say?” She holds it out to me.

  “It says excellent.”

  “I’m in better health than you?”

  “Apparently. But this is just a general scan, and it may not be calibrated for humans. We need to do a few more tests.”

  “This is when you push things inside me.”

  “You liked it when I pushed things inside you before we went to sleep,” I remind her.

  She blushes and looks away from me. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

  “It can be the same. It doesn’t have to hurt you, or scare you.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she snaps.

  “Uh huh.”

  That is a human phrase I rather like. Uh huh isn’t even made up of words, and yet it says more than a thousand words ever could.

  “I am not afraid,” she repeats.

  This could go on forever. Her fear, followed by her denial of said fair, then more fear, all of it getting in the way of rather necessary medical tests. The first thing anybody does when getting a new pet is to thoroughly vet it.

  “If you’re not afraid, then I can continue.”

  I slide off the bed, put my hands on her hips and lift her back onto the bed, where she immediately begins to squirm nervously.

  I will have to be careful with her. We met while I slaughtered her captors, but that is not the traditional manner for humans to meet and bond, though history does suggest that damsels in distress traditionally fall in love with their rescuers. My little human is not aware of this tradition, apparently — and even if she were, I have a feeling she would resist it.

  “Just do whatever you’re going to do,” she says, indicating consent, even if it is somewhat reluctant.

  Itch

  I sit on the medical bed and I let him do his medical things to me. I have been inspected many times before, usually before one owner transferred me to another. Usually, the examinations focus on my teeth and for reasons best known to the aliens, my anus. That part of my body has been probed more often than I can count, spread around various instruments, etcetera.

  “In some species, age is best determined by the teeth. Or in others, the gills. That won’t work in your case.”

  “You think?”

  “For you, we’ll look at your DNA. It’s a simple blood test.”

  “So not in my butt?”

  “You want me to look in your rectum?”

  “I don’t want you to. But aliens always do.”

  “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me to?” He raises a razor brow and I feel a flush of shame because I may indeed actually want him to touch me there. I might want his touch to erase the touches of all those who came before.

  John transforms me in a way nobody ever has. He makes bad things good, and maybe he’ll be able to make terrible things at least bearable. I know for sure that he makes me feel hope, which is not something I have felt in a very long time.

  “Ouch!” I complain as he pricks me lightly, drawing a drop of blood from the very tip of my finger with some infernal alien device.

  He shakes his head at me, uttering a little growl which I don’t fully understand but take to mean he believes I am being dramatic. I suppose to a scythkin, anything short of a severed limb is barely worth complaining about, but I am human, and I am sensitive.

  John puts the blood into a machine, then returns to his examination. Under his hands and intense gaze, I find myself turned into a much-treasured specimen. He is so careful with me, pulling back every single one of his sharp ridges and blades in case I might be caught by one of them. I can feel his care in his every touch and it fills me with a glowing warmth all the way to my belly.

  I could almost forget that this is supposed to be medical with the way he caresses down my arms, then up again, his hands cupping my breasts and massaging them lightly thereafter.

  “No part of you can be left unexamined,” he informs me in that rough, alien voice of his. “I want to know every inch of you. I want to be intimately familiar with every part of my possession.”

  I let out a low growl. His hands stall, each cupping a breast, one with a thumb on my nipple, the ot
her squeezing lightly.

  “What is it, human?”

  “You have to stop calling me “human.” My name is Itch. And you have to stop talking about me like I’m a… Like I’m… a… I look around the room for inspiration but find none. “Like I’m a crate.”

  “I don’t believe I am talking about you as if you were a crate,” he says, confused.

  “You’re talking about me when I’m here. But you’re talking as if I’m an inanimate object. Just something to be used and owned. Not really a thing of my own.”

  “Of course you’re a thing of your own,” he soothes in a voice which is far too conciliatory. I know he’s just trying to mollify me.

  “Call me Itch.”

  “I will not,” he says. “That is the name you had as a slave to aliens. Do you not want to find your true name?”

  “No, I want to be called Itch. It’s not the name they gave me. It’s the name I took for myself. I earned it. And you will call me it.”

  John sighs. “Very well, Itch,” he says.

  “Thank you.”

  It is hard to be haughty when one’s breasts are being fondled, but some things are important, like gaining the respect of the massive scythkin warrior who owns me.

  “But you are mine,” he says, reminding me of that impossibly possessive streak which is well known in his species. “You are yours, but you are also mine. In all creation, there is nobody who has claim to you besides me.”

  He likes saying that, I can tell. When he tells me that I belong to him, he is also reminding himself that I am his. It is a kind of dominant masturbation. He likes to hear it in his voice, but I imagine it would be far more satisfying if I were to say it too, if I was to admit that I belong to him.

  But I don’t.

  He is a stepping stone on the path to proper freedom. Having been fucked deliciously to within an inch of my carnal life does not change what I crave, what I have always craved. Ultimately, his protection is no less restrictive than a chain, and the pleasure he gives me is just as controlling as harsh iron bars.