Instinct: A Dark Sci-Fi Romance

by Loki Renard

  My fear spikes as his hands close around my arms. They are massive. He is massive. Everything about him is super-scale and overwhelming.

  “Let me go!”

  He growls. His teeth are large and bright white. The canines are exaggerated, longer than mine, pointed and perhaps even sharp like a predator.

  The women chatter.

  I panic.

  I pull the zap from my belt, shove it against his midsection, and press the trigger.

  The result is instantaneous. He roars and convulses. Some of the current hits me too, but the bulk of it is isolated from me by the rubber texture of the suit. The beast drops to the ground with a heavy thud. The women’s eyes widen and then they flee, shrieking what sound like threats to my addled brain.

  I have never in my life done anything so aggressive. I am trained to observe, not to engage. I had to protect myself, but seeing him lying there in the dirt, I am overwhelmed with guilt. I shouldn’t be down here on this planet, hurting the wildlife. I really hope I haven’t killed him. He is lying very still.

  “Hello? Can you hear me?”

  I call out to him, before realizing that I really don’t want him awake. I need to get away from him for his sake, and for mine. If he gets up, I’m going to have to zap him again. Standing just out of arm’s reach, I look down at him with a mixture of curiosity and horror.

  He is lying flat on his back. His eyes are closed. His jaw is clenched. His massive frame is muscular, hewn from the necessity of animal survival. I feel a welling of sadness inside me. He’s not human, not like I am. He is what happens when humanity is cut off from the technology that makes us whole. He and his kind were cut off so long ago, he has become nothing more than an animal in this world.

  I back away from him, the terrible guilt gnawing at me along with great fear. I am going to be in so much trouble. I was already in trouble, but this... this is a fuck-up of unbelievable proportions. When the Patron is informed that I crashed my shuttle and killed one of the very few wild survivors of the human race, I am going to be put into suspension and not allowed out for a hundred years or more.

  I need to cover this up. I need to get back into orbit. I... I need to fucking breathe. Panic is making the air feel too thick. I turn, walking swiftly away from the scene of my crime before the weight of it all overcomes me and I find myself bent over trying not to hyperventilate.

  Smack!

  Something viciously hard and unyielding contacts my ass. It sends a blaze of pain shooting through me. I screech and dart forward, but a big hand wraps around the back of my neck, thick long fingers acting like a collar. I manage to twist my head around just enough to see that I have been captured by the same creature I just put down.

  The good news is, he’s alive. The bad news is, he’s pissed.

  Holding me by the back of my neck, he slaps my ass time and time again, his hand nearly covering both of my cheeks, his fingers splayed to catch more of my tender flesh. My suit protected me from the worst of the electricity, but it is not thick enough to protect me from the force of his palm against my bottom.

  I scream at the top of my lungs, but there is nothing I can do to stop him. He whips me mercilessly, using the grasp he has on my neck to make it impossible for me to move. I dance in place, stamping and wailing as that big hand makes my flesh ache and burn beneath the suit designed to protect me from everything except a spanking.

  This is barbaric. This is how ancient humans used to handle one another. He is using pain to punish and control. We would never do that now, as an advanced species. Even if I were to be caught and punished for denying the Patron, it would not hurt.

  Left with no option but to tolerate the waves of pain rolling through my tender flesh, unable to converse or in any way communicate with this beast of a man, I must take the pain. It sinks into my skin, it travels through the pathways of my body, up my spine, through my lower regions.

  “Stop! Stop! You’re hurting me!” I shout even though my words mean nothing. I writhe and I wriggle, that grasp so perfectly secure, not so tight it chokes me of breath or blood, but not so loose it allows me to move more than an inch or so.

  As the punishment goes on, my screams become all the more desperate. My throat starts to feel raw with the effort of crying out. I don’t know how many slaps have landed, but it must be at least a hundred, and there seems to be no slowing or softening. If anything they are harder, bringing me up onto my toes, making me wail and beg and finally, cry.

  I haven’t cried since I was a girl. It’s not a behavior tolerated in adults. Under the onslaught of his palm, I am unable to contain myself. Hot tears form in my eyes and begin to roll down my cheeks until my face is awash with pain and misery. It is no longer merely the thrashing that causes me such anguish. I am reminded of all I have done wrong. Of all I have messed up. I have made mistake after mistake and now I am trapped in the grasp of this beast who wishes only to hurt me.

  “Please! Please!” I beg. “Please stop. I’ll do anything. I’m so sorry. Please!”

  I’m not even truly coherent. I’d say anything now. Apologize for everything if it would stop his big hand from whipping against my ass. But my mouth noises mean nothing to him, and he doesn’t care about them. I hurt him. Now he’s making me hurt. It’s as simple and brutal as that.

  Just when I think I can’t stand it anymore, the slapping stops. The ache continues, the punished muscles of my bottom twitching and flexing of their own accord. I have not been this pained in a long time. I can’t remember the last time my flesh was so full of sensation, my nerves overloaded to the point every part of me is sensitive.

  He is not done with me. The slapping has ceased, but the touch continues. The beast of a man keeps me in his grasp as his other big hand, the one that brought me so much pain, begins roaming my body. He feels the fabric of the suit, caresses down the side of my body and then back up again to my breast, squeezing the soft curve. I feel a thrill run through me, an illicit sensation that runs from my nipple to the core between my thighs.

  I should hate him for what he has done. I do hate him. I am afraid of him. But he is doing things to my physical form I can’t control and that make me react in ways that cannot be denied.

  My existence hinges on an erotic edge. The only pleasure I experience is that which I give myself. On long journeys, I have been forced to swing by suns to draw more solar energy simply to power the little vibrator I am permitted. It is understood that healthy humans have urges.

  I have never had sex. I have been tempted, but I have remained virginal according to my station. Sex is prohibited. The law of completion states we have more nearly immortal humans than we can support, so making more is not only frowned upon, it is punishable by death. There’s an implant in my womb that ensures I am not fertile, just in case I happen to accidentally mate, but that has not been necessary.

  There is something about being handled by this creature that triggers an ancient yearning. The flesh between my legs, the little folds of skin that protect my sex are swelling and tingling. The reaction is instant and it is powerful.

  He grunts, and his fingers begin to peel at the suit. Starting at my neck, he finds the point of vulnerability where the fastenings are attached and he pulls them away, baring my skin to the atmosphere.

  I gasp as my breasts are exposed, my flesh feeling the warm effects of embarrassment and the sun that now greets them.

  His growl of approval heralds his big hand closing over my left breast, cupping and caressing it as his other hand continues the undressing, peeling my protection away from my body, leaving me open and vulnerable to his gaze and his touch.

  The suit is hanging around my knees now, his big hand sliding down my belly to find that place between my legs, his fingers slipping over the soft skin of my sex to grasp and hold me there, thick fingers rubbing against the seam of my lips.

  I should be fighting him, but a moan escapes my lips. I am growing wet. I can feel my body secreting juices that are designed
to entice a male, the sensitive parts of me that I usually ignore suddenly becoming the entire core of my existence.

  My tears are drying on my cheeks, the pain almost forgotten, though the heat remains, humiliation adding to the pleasure somehow, hot flushes of embarrassment and desire coursing through my body.

  He touches me, and it is as if I have never been touched before. My hips arch. My nipples tighten and stand erect. My legs spread, inviting more of his touch, and my whole body moves in a sinuous motion that it has never made before and yet now does without my bidding. He keeps rubbing and caressing, building a need I don’t understand but cannot escape. I whimper little pleas, I beg for him to... I want to say let me go, but I can’t bring myself to actually ask that. His touch is like an intoxicant, making me feel things I didn’t know I could. He has turned my body from a practical vessel to an ocean of sensation and emotion.

  This is wrong, but I can’t stop it. He’s not a person like I am. He’s an animal. Everything about him speaks to brutality. His body has been made to force his will on the world, a simple, unsophisticated set of desires.

  “Mate you.”

  He grunts the words. I don’t even know if I heard him correctly. Did I misinterpret one of his animal sounds as some kind of speech? It’s very possible that these descendants of my ancestors have lost the power of speech altogether. All explorers have a language translation implant inserted into our craniums. It is a powerful chip that decodes sounds and contexts and translates them into language we understand. It also allows us to speak the language of any other civilization almost flawlessly, but it does occasionally pick up sounds that aren’t words and turn them into speech. The results can sometimes be humorous. This is anything but.

  I don’t have the time or the mental power to probe the question further.

  Using that all-controlling grip on the back of my neck, he pushes me down on hands and knees in the blue grass. I don’t know what his intention is until something thick and hard and impossibly male finds my sex.

  I take in a shocked gasp of air. That is his cock. His manhood is pressed against me, the thick head of him sliding up and down the wet slit of my pussy. I have felt a similar sensation when playing with my little toy, but that is nothing compared to the thick heat of a real male. I don’t know whether to push back or pull away. It doesn’t matter. I can’t move. He has me pinned in place. He is running the head of his cock up and down the length of my sex, making me feel the heat and hardness right at the very core of me.

  I should be telling him to stop. I should be telling him that this is not allowed. That I am strictly prohibited from engaging in sexual activity. But not a single word so much as escapes my lips. I hold my breath. I wait to see what he will do. I am held on the brink of utterly illicit contact. I haven’t asked for this. I can’t stop this. And he’s going to take me.

  A low rumble from behind heralds the pushing. My outer lips part, my body giving way to the organ that had been separated from my species for thousands of years, but is still nearly perfect for me—except, perhaps, for the girth of it.

  He is huge. I can’t see his cock, but I can feel how big it is. The tip quickly flares to a broad rod.

  “Bad. Girl.”

  That was speech. There is no doubting it. And not just any speech. That was Common English. Shocked, I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. A squeal escapes me as he pushes forward in one firm stroke and the virginity that I had so carefully preserved all this time is gone in an instant. His cock sears inside me, spreading my inner walls, making my flesh part and wrap around him.

  No vibrating toy prepared me for this broad, rough, brutal intrusion. I don’t think I can take him. He’s too big. He’s too rough. Maybe if this was slower I would have a chance, but he is not interested in my comfort. He is punishing me for my attack still, his cock now doing to my pussy what his palm did to my bottom—punishing it thoroughly and vigorously.

  I scream in fright as I feel him pushing further and further in, not knowing how far his big meaty rod might go inside me. I don’t know how much I can take. I don’t know how much he has to give. I don’t know anything, except for the fact that I am impaled on him and there is no way off this planet, or this dick.

  His big hand leaves my neck, smooths down my back and goes to my bottom. He rubs my aching cheeks and slides his hand back up to my neck in what feels like a calming caress. A soft purring rumble comes from behind me, accompanying the rubbing that continues up and down my spine, gentling me as my pussy adjusts to the thickness of his cock, deep inside me, his skin on my skin, his flesh inside my flesh.

  This is the most intimate thing I have ever experienced, and it is coming at the hands and body of a beast. Part of me doesn’t believe that it is happening at all.

  Another part of me—a shameful, uncivilized, dangerous part—is reveling in this treatment. It feels good to be invaded. It feels right to be held down, this great beast of a man behind me, holding me in place as he ravages me one stroke at a time, going deeper and deeper until I am sure I cannot take it anymore, and then finding a deeper place still.

  The sounds I am making are more like an animal than a person. I sound as guttural and animalistic as the others did. His grunts and growls mix with mine as he holds my hips still and pounds into me.

  I am shocked. I am stunned. I am writhing around, my bare breasts rubbing against the soft blue grass as my body is jolted time and time again with savage thrusts that make no allowance for my recently lost virginity. He does not care that I was pure, he does not care if I wanted it or not. He only cares about being inside me, taking that which males have taken for all time.

  This is the most brutally natural thing that has ever happened to me. It fascinates me as much as it frightens me, not just his wild actions, but my physical and emotional responses to them. I should be terrified. I should be scandalized. I should be begging for mercy. But my hips are rising and I am giving myself to him. I am pushing back, taking that thick plunging rod, letting him ravage me with an eagerness that defies sense.

  I am caught up in his desire. I am one with him. He has turned me from an advanced, civilized space farer into a gasping animal, taking cock like I’d die without it. The heady oxygen of this planet is being gasped into my lungs with every moan. My entire body is lit with his energy.

  Sex, I thought, was nothing but skin rubbing against skin, meaningless friction. I imagined it to be a mechanistic act driven by simple animal instinct. But it is more than that. It is an all-consuming experience. It is spiritual. It touches every part of me. The roots of my hair tingle. My toes curl. My body produces an ample lubrication that slicks his great invading rod and allows it to plunge inside me, turning what should be agony into ecstasy.

  All too soon, I am spiraling into an oblivion of pure sensation. It feels so good I can’t think anymore. My objections, my concerns, they’re all gone. I am screaming my pleasure to this new world, becoming part of it by abandoning myself to the sensations this beast of a once-man is forcing through me.

  It carries me away from my cares. It removes me from my memories. In his arms, I am nothing but female flesh. I am everything I was ever made to be, and nothing I have been told I was.

  As the post-coital haze fades, I feel an ache between my thighs, a throbbing in my ass. I feel his cock pulling away from me, leaving me with the emptiness I never knew I carried with me every moment of every day. When that big head slides free of me, a gush of hot seed follows, running over the now swollen, tender lips of my once virginal pussy.

  His semen is inside me. I know what that means. He has not only fucked me, he has mated me. The ultimate crime has just been committed. My being on this planet pales in comparison to what he just did, filling me with virile seed.

  He stands. I fall, slumping against the grass. My body is bare to this strange world, my sex is exposed, dripping foreign seed. I do not get up, because I do not know how to anymore. I no longer know which way is up, and which way is
down. I no longer know what I am, much less who I am.

  His big hand reaches down, wraps around my wrist and pulls me up, limp as a rag doll. One arm slips around my back, the other hand goes to my jaw, turns my head up to him. Those rich blue eyes rake over my face. I cannot tell what his emotions are. I don’t even know what mine are.

  It is all I can do to keep breathing as he inspects me, holding me there in his arms, making me feel small and helpless and yet somehow safe—though that makes no sense at all. He has just finished ravaging me. My sex still drips with his seed.

  His mouth moves toward mine. I don’t know what his intention is, but the fingers on my chin ensure I can’t move away. His mouth descends on mine, his touch surprising me with its tenderness. His lips brush against mine and then press more firmly, urging mine to part. They do, and his tongue enters, caressing mine. I do not know what this is, but it feels intimate, almost more intimate than his plunging cock did when it tore inside me and took my innocence away.

  My breath slows. My body relaxes. I sink against his big frame as he once more takes me to a place I did not know I was capable of reaching. What is this soft surrender? This calm that sinks through every part of me?

  “Mine,” he rumbles, speaking another one of those words that shocks and surprises me.

  His?

  He has changed me; that much I know. I am no longer the innocent virgin who landed on this planet, drawn by a burning curiosity that set my craft ablaze. I am something else. I am a renegade, a criminal in my civilization’s eyes. I try to push that thought away. The last person I want to think about right now is the Patron. I have disappointed him greatly. If he ever discovers what happened here, I know I will be disowned. I will be put into cold stasis from which I may never awake. It will be the end of me.

  The thought will not be repelled. I try to sink back into this beast man’s eyes. I try to feel his arms as I did a moment ago, but the memory of who I really am has returned and with it, the fear.