And the creepy armor-turned-membrane is pulling us toward each other.
Our bodies slam together, and I feel his warmth envelope me as his arms wrap tightly around me. My face presses into his chest. It’s hard and wide, but I suddenly feel safe and protected.
The membrane encircles us completely, and the g-force cuts off. I can no longer even feel the violent jerking or vibration.
But then I do feel a vibration. Something big, long and hard is pushing into me, trailing from my belly button up to my breasts...and it’s vibrating wildly.
I look down to see the head of his teal cock shoved between my breasts, and even though blood is rushing through my whole body–from my cheeks to my lips to my...other lips –I can’t help but reach up and slap him.
I slap him as hard as I can up-side the head, but instead of causing him any pain, it just hurts my hand. So, I ball up my first to punch him. I hit him a few times, but end up hurting myself more than I do him.
Each time I strike him, I feel his cock vibrating even more rapidly against my body. It’s not just beating or pulsing faintly like a human cock, it’s literally vibrating.
“Damn it!” I shriek. “Stop it!”
I tell him to stop only because my body seems to disagree. I feel my nipples hardening against my bra, and I worry that with his keen sense of smell, he’ll smell my arousal and guess just how wet I am.
The membrane melts away, and we’re floating again in zero-g.
“The engines have cut off,” he says.
He’s still holding me tight, and his cock is still vibrating against me.
“Let go of me!” I gasp, my face flushed in embarrassment.
He lets go of his hold on me, and I shove his chest, pushing myself away from him.
As I float away, I see his big, hard, teal cock in its full size and glory. I stare at it like an idiot, my eyes widening in amazement. Even as I float farther away, it still looks so fucking big.
“Hmmm,” he says, looking down at his dick. “Are you not able to shut off your pheromones?”
“Excuse me?” I say incredulously, grabbing a handrail and stopping myself.
“Your pheromones have distracted me, made me erect, and now I’m wasting valuable calories with this vibration.”
“So it’s my fault you can’t keep your teal dick in your pan--–in your...where the hell is your armor? Why are you floating around naked with a big alien boner?”
“My biosuit is nearly depleted,” he says. “Give me the most protein-dense rations available so that I can recharge it.”
“Can you at least put that crotch piece back on?” I ask, shielding my eyes with my hand.
“No,” he says. “If you don’t like my penis, don’t look at it.”
“Fine!” I say. “If you don’t like my fucking pheromones, then don’t smell them!”
“They disperse throughout the whole ship,” he says matter-of-factly. “I could secure you back in the sack, or in the airlock–”
“Okay,” I say. “Forget it. Keep your dick out all you want.”
The corners of his mouth twitch and rise up into a grin, and his cock, still fully erect, bobs up and down..
“So,” I ask, changing the subject, “why do you want to kill Cygnus, exactly?”
Considering that his existence has mostly been based on rumor, I have a hard time imagining that killing Cygnus will accomplish much of anything.. I don’t tell Fenrir this, as I’m happy to have him waste his time. I might even be able to warn Cygnus and his human followers before Fenrir strikes. I can use Fenrir to get closer to Cygnus, which in turn could get me safely onto the surface of Mars. It’s not exactly where I wanted to end up, but as someone implicated in the murder of an Imperial officer, I have little choice.
“My shame debt compels me to kill him!” Fenrir grunts.
As hard as I try to keep my eyes off his big teal cock, they feel like they’re drawn magnetically toward it. If my concentration starts drifting, my eyes fall right back down toward it. Even though his cock is getting softer now, it’s still fucking massive.
“I have no idea what that means,” I say. “Shame debt? Does that mean you’re embarrassed or something?”
He’s talking to me with a straight face and his huge teal dick hanging out, so embarrassment seems unlikely, but it’s all I can even remotely tie this alleged “shame debt” to.
“Only a warrior could understand,” he says.
I shake my head and kick off the floor, toward the turret I used to man. I slap the turret and widen my eyes at him. “Do you see this?”
“It’s a primitive kinetic weapon,” he says.
I scoff. “And how many of these primitive weapons do you see in this ship?”
He squints and scans the room with his eyes. “Four.”
“How many men did you kill?” I ask.
“Four,”he replies.. “One for each weapon.”
“No,” I say, “the last one you killed ordered the rest of us around and piloted the ship. He didn’t fire the weapons.”
I sit down into the turret’s chair and grab the handles. I turn the controls from side to side, showing him I know what I’m doing.
Fenrir’s eyes bulge. “They had their breeding Fiona operate a weapon?”
“Did you seriously just call me ‘their breeding Fiona?’ For real?”
“It’s not your fault you couldn’t bear them a child,” he says. “These men were weak. Whoever arranged these flawed pairings owes you great shame debt for having wasted your fertility on them.”
“You’re lucky I can’t turn this primitive kinetic weapon around so it’s facing into the ship so I can blow your cock off,” I screech angrily.
I push off the wall and head toward the door leading to the sleeping quarters. I pull the door open, and then turn back to him, willing myself not to look at his chiseled body or his massive cock. “You sleep in this room. I will sleep in the other room.”
Before he can spit out some other pigheaded insult at me, I pass through the doorway and slam the door shut loudly behind me.
6 Fenrir
The female–no, the Fiona–slams the door before I can order her to bring food to me.
I still cannot understand why she calls herself a Fiona. When we first pieced together the scattered radio waves from Sol, we realized that the humans had only one language. There were some regional variations depending on where the speaker came from–remnants from old, dead languages–and some words would change in certain dialects. Female...Femelle...Frau...I remember these variations of the word, but not “Fiona.” This dialect is unfamiliar to me.
My penis twitches when I think of her slamming the door. She was angry, and her face was red, but her eyes clung to me. My heart pounds in my chest, and the taint and corruption of her Seraphic Form tempts me.
I bow my head down and mutter a silent prayer to Phyria. I focus on what matters, pushing the temptations of the Fiona’s alluring scent and body from my mind. Her shapely hips, her large breasts, her slightly asymmetric smile. Why should such imperfections draw me even more to her? This whole race is a corruption, a trap laid down for us. A test. If the blasphemers Cygnus and Aegus have their way, we’ll take this bait, and our race will perish along with the humans.
My stomach rumbles. The biosuit has shrunk down to the size of a pinhead and attached itself to my back. Dampening the acceleration drained the last of the suit’s power. And my stomach.
I push off the wall and float toward the cockpit. There are several compartments lining the walls on either side of the pilot’s chair, and I pull each compartment open one by one in search of food.
The first compartment contains a tablet, and it floats out. I grab hold of it to stuff it back in, but when I touch it, the screen comes on.
Filling the screen is a fully naked human female. My eyes bulge and cock twitches. I shove it back into the compartment and slam the door shut.
Yet the image is burned into my mind. The woman on the
screen was not as attractive as the woman on the ship. She was too malnourished, and though her breasts were large, she seemed somewhat artificial, while the ship Fiona is...real. Yet the hard nipples and the look in the screen woman’s eyes made me wonder what the woman on the ship would look like with her clothes removed.
“No,” I say to myself in Marauder language. “It’s best that her clothes stay on...I must order her to remain clothed.”
If I saw the Fiona like this, it might be too difficult to control myself. To stop myself from giving into the worst temptation. I would be no better than Cygnus or Aegus.
I open the next compartment and a bar-shaped object floats out. I sniff at it, and from the compelling scent, I know it’s food.
I jam half of it into my mouth and chew it eagerly. At first, the bar’s texture feels harsh on my tongue, and it has no flavor. But then, beneath the outer skin covering the bar, the most delicious thing I’ve ever experienced explodes within my mouth.
I spit the skin out, then pull the bar out of my mouth. The skin shimmers like metal, but the bar itself is black like the starry void, and it melts onto my fingers.
The taste explodes across my tongue, and the sensation is so powerful that it fills my nose, as well. My ears jolt erect and upright, and my mouth hangs open. Some of the godly elixir drips out of my mouth. I catch it with my finger and lick it off.
I swallow the entire bar and the taste stays in my mouth long after. I can taste hundreds of other flavors from that one bar as the taste in my mouth changes moment by moment.
I tear into the bar again, forgetting to first peel away the skin.
The door slides open behind me, and I turn to see the Fiona tilting her head at me.
“I was going to give you this,” she says, holding up a bag. “Dehydrated pork substitute.”
Then she squints at me, her face breaking into a smile. She laughs so hard that she curls up into a ball, spinning in zero-g as she laughs.
I stop chewing, and the skin from the food hangs from the side of my mouth as I study her.
“You found the chocolate,” she says, still laughing. “And you ate the wrapper.”
I pull the skin out of my mouth and shove it into the compartment. “The skin is not appetizing, but the fruit itself is...there are no words for how good it tastes.”
I’m holding the rest of the bar in my hands. It’s melting onto my skin. I should eat it before it completely melts–I need every last calorie–and I want to savor every last bite.
I look up at the Fiona before I bite in, and she’s no longer laughing. She’s gazing at the fruit–she said it’s called chocolate–the same way she gazed at my erect penis. She must want it as much as she wanted my penis inside her before.
I could not give her my penis, but perhaps I should give her the chocolate? I still need her in order to reach Mars, and building goodwill with her might be worth sacrificing the delicious food.
I hold what remains of the chocolate bar out to her. “Here, you eat it.”
“Really?” she says, her eyes bright. “You’re going to share it with me?”
“Eat it!” I say. “I order you to. And don’t forget this gesture of goodwill!”
She laughs again, though I don’t know why, and she snatches the chocolate fruit from my hand.
She holds it by the skin, not touching the fruit itself with her hand. She squeezes the skin just enough to press the fruit out, and she takes a bite of it, avoiding the skin.
Ah, so that’s how it’s done.
She closes her eyes as she chews, and a smile fills her face. I feel satisfied, but for the wrong reasons. Instead of knowing she owes me for this, I feel glad that I was able to provide her with this happiness.
“Go back to your room!” I command her.
“Why?” she asks, opening her eyes and staring at me in confusion.
Because you’re corrupting me! Because the Seraphic Form should never be attained, only held as a divine ideal. She’d not understand any of these explanations, so I do not speak them aloud.
“Give me the food,” I say, pulling the bag out of her hand.
“I have what I need,” I add, “so I have no need of you.”
I shove her lightly on the shoulder, and she starts drifting off toward the door.
“Did you just shove me away?” she says, grabbing a handrail and propelling herself right back to me.
“I’m stronger than you,” I say. “And you were not obeying me.”
“Why should I fucking obey you?”
“Because I’ve chosen not to kill you,” I say. “But I could easily change my mind.”
She grabs hold of the pilot’s controls to stop herself just short of reaching me. She reaches out and shoves me.
She’s weak, but anchored to the controls and in zero-g, her weak attack pushes me slowly toward the wall. I bounce gently into the compartments, and the top one slides open.
The image of the naked woman floats out of the compartment and as it floats in her direction, it spins around so that the image appears directly in front of her face.
Her face turns bright red with embarrassment, and she swats it away.
“So you were in here looking at porn? Seriously?”
“Porn?” I ask.
She grabs the tablet from mid-air and sticks it in my face. “This!”
“This malnourished woman is a mother?” I ask.
How could such a small woman have had a child and earned her mother’s name?
“I see,” I say. “You are upset that this woman, Porn, despite being much smaller than you, was still able to bear a child.”
Her face turns as red as my birth star, and though it shouldn’t matter to me, I find myself struggling to calm her.
“Calm yourself!” I shout. “Porn is less fertile than you!”
I point to the screen, running my fingers along the weak curves of her backside.
“She must have been paired with an especially fertile male, and been lucky even then to be impregnated. The men I killed who attempted to breed with you were–.”
“I did not fucking breed with them!” she hisses.
She slaps the screen out of my hand and raises her boot to attack me. She rams it into my stomach, anchoring herself on the control console with her hands for greater effect.
She attempts to squash me against the wall, but I feel no pain.
“I realize the breeding was not successful,” I say, “but–”
“No!” she shouts. “I didn’t… Jesus! Why am I even talking to you about this?”
I know the answer. She wants me to breed with her, and she’s seen me effortlessly slay the men who could not get her with child. She knows I could succeed where they failed, but some form of shame debt prevents her from asking me to do it.
“You should know this,” I say. “I will not breed with you. I believe, with great conviction, that breeding with human Fionas means the end of my race. I will not contribute to that.”
Her boot moves down, and it slams roughly into my balls.
Now I feel pain.
7 Fiona
I’m back in the sleeping quarters, and I’m fuming mad. The nerve of him! Thinking I want to...breed with him. Not only does he think I want to fuck him, he thinks I want to have his weird alien baby?
I check my tablet and see that we’re a few hours from Martian orbit. I’ll have to go back into the cockpit soon to monitor the instruments.
Maybe I’ll just make him stay in here while I run things. It’s probably the smart move, considering how bad he screwed us over when he launched us into full thrust before I could double-check the trajectory.
I keep a close eye on the margin of error as we approach Mars. It was at 5% margin of error shortly after launch–already much higher than normally acceptable–and it’s climbed steadily toward 20% as we get closer.
By the time I’m able to suppress my anger and go back in to face Captain Fenrir again, it’s risen to 30%.
I
take in a deep breath, open the door, and head back into WHERE to face him.
When I enter the room, I see his feet hooked into the handrails. Even though there’s no gravity–meaning no up or down–he’s oriented so that he looks upside down from my point of view. With his pointy ears and purple skin, he looks almost like a bat hanging from the ceiling. Though no bat I’ve ever seen has the body of a Greek god or such a frustratingly perfect face.
“Human Fiona,” he says. “I have not changed my mind, I will not breed–.”
“Shut up!” I shout. “Look at this!”
I shove the tablet in his face.
“40%?” he says. “Your chances are much lower than–.”
“Shut! Up! This is the margin of error. It keeps going up. Your hasty launch has probably doomed us.”
“We will not orbit the red planet?” he asks. “Our women control the fleet, while our men fight. It seems that your men are poor fighters and your women are poor pilots.”
“No,” I say. “You idiot. You started the acceleration burn before I was finished, you’re the one who is a poor pilot!”
“I never claimed to be a good pilot,” he says. “It shame debts me to even imply I could pilot a ship.”
“ “Let me explain the situation we are in,” I say. “There’s still a chance we will enter a stable orbit. It’s a 60% chance as of now, but it keeps getting lower. The longer we wait, the more fuel we need to make a corrective burn. In the next ten minutes, I guess this is going to hit 50%, and that’s our point of no return.”
“So fix it now,” he says. “Or are you too poor a pilot to do so?”
“If I make any burn at all now,” I say, “the Martian defense grid is going to see us. We’ll no longer be in a stealth orbit, and we’ll no longer be able to get smuggled down onto the surface.”
“A 50% chance is high,” he says. “We will risk it. I have decided. If we fail to enter orbit, where will we go?”
“We’ll slingshot off,” I respond, “and slowly fly out of the solar system. The life support will shut off within a few weeks, and we’ll die.”
A smile engulfs his face. I hate myself for thinking how insanely gorgeous he looks when he smiles.
Marauder Fenrir: Scifi Alien Invasion Romance (Mating Wars) Page 3
