Possessive Aliens: Dark Scifi Romance Box Set
Possessive Aliens
A Dark Sci Fi Alien Romance Box Set (Possessive Aliens, Books 1-6)
Loki Renard
Copyright © 2020 by Loki Renard.
Cover images by @luislouro @fxquadro @grandfailure, via depositphotos.com
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
SOMETHING FREE!
MINE
1. Chapter One - Alien Skin
2. Chapter Two - Rat’s What’s On The Menu
3. Chapter Three - The Last Human
4. Chapter Four - Oh No
5. Chapter Five - Hiding In Plain Sight
6. Chapter Six - The Mating
7. Chapter Seven - The Consequences
8. Chapter Eight - Rebellion
9. Chapter Nine - Revenge
10. Chapter Ten - Dangerous Bath
11. Chapter Eleven - Oops
12. Chapter Twelve - Gas Pedal
13. Chapter Thirteen - Speak!
14. Chapter Fourteen - Naughty Human
15. Chapter Fifteen - Boss Fight
Epilogue
INTERSTELLAR HUMAN PETTING ZOO
1. Chapter One - Taking Care
2. Chapter Two - Breathe For Me
3. Chapter Three - Bath
4. Chapter Four - How To Human
5. Chapter Five - Leashed
6. Chapter Six - Ruff
7. Chapter Seven - WELCOME
8. Chapter Eight - Roomie
9. Chapter Nine- Justice
10. Chapter Ten - Hate
11. Chapter Eleven - Whistleblower
12. Chapter Twelve - War
13. Chapter Thirteen - Too Late To Apologize
14. Chapter Fourteen - Trouble
15. Chapter Fifteen - Problem Solved
Epilogue
HUMANS MUST KNEEL
1. THIS ISN’T REAL
2. INTERSTELLAR LAUNDRY BASKET
3. CARNAL CONUNDRUM
4. REDUX
5. HUMAN DELICACY
6. ALIEN ATONEMENT
7. THE TRAGIC MATRIARCH
8. FREEDOM SUCKS
9. BROKEN SPACE, HEALED HEARTS
Epilogue
CAVE ALIEN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
KAREN vs ALIEN
Foreword
1. Human Wanted
2. Down The Hole
3. Under New Management
4. Revenge
5. Suits
6. Galactor
7. The Final Manager
HUMAN PET POUND
1. Run!
2. Medicine and Fashion
3. Being Taken
4. Climax
5. Hello, Q’Ren
6. Galactor
7. Suits
8. The Withdrawl
9. Patch
10. New Friends, New Enemies
11. Welcome Home Again
12. Something To Fear
Next in series…
SOMETHING FREE!
Be INSPECTED BY THE ALIEN!
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Chapter One - Alien Skin
Reaper
The year is 3232. High above Earth in an orbit so remote no satellite can detect our ship, we prepare to descend upon an unwary humanity and take what our kind have taken for thousands of years: the virtue of any human female we please.
“What name are you going to use this time?” Tarkan asks me the question while shaking out fresh skin. He’s already ripped two suits because he refuses to fully retract his serrated dorsal ridge, even though he knows humans don’t have them and it’s going to stick up at the back.
“I was thinking something basic, and forgettable. Jim, or maybe Michael, or Creed. Something like that.”
“I was thinking Mr Nasty.”
“That’s a stupid name.”
“Better than Reaper.”
“Just choose something sensible, Tarkan.”
“Eric…”
“That’s good.”
“Eric McLargecock.”
“Take this seriously!”
I can snap orders all I like, but Tarkan just smirks, his canine fangs sharp and very much inhuman. He’s already part way into his suit. From the knees down, he looks like a human man. Calves. Ankles. Feet. From the knees up, he looks like a massive Scythkin warrior male, all hard lines, armored plates, fangs, mandibular knives and three hundred pounds of highly developed muscle. That human suit has its work cut out for it.
“What about Eric, but I’ll tell them that it is spelled with two t’s.”
I shake my head as I don my own suit slowly and carefully, making sure not to rip the synthetic reinforced skin. “Don’t try to make dealing with you any more confusing than it already is.”
“Women like unique men.”
“I think we’re going to be more than unique enough,” I chuckle. Unique doesn’t begin to describe what we are compared to the innocent earthlings who won’t even know that we will be walking among them.
We have been preparing for this trip for quite some time. After several decades of hard battle at the front lines of the ever expanding Scythkin Empire we have earned our discharge. No longer will we spend our days scything through resistant species who dare to try to stop our species from overrunning their worlds. Instead we will spend the spoils of war on pleasure, decadence, and conquest of a more carnal kind.
Earth sits in a forsaken corner of the universe, a very old, underdeveloped part of the sector which has no significant features - besides the pretty blue and green pearl which hangs among the stars. I think that’s a particularly poetic image. Better than thinking of Earth as a ball of dirt awash with soft, fleshy bags of meat - which is how Tarkan referred to it not five minutes ago.
“Fine. Eric,” he says.
“Eric will do,” I sigh. It won’t really matter, I suppose. Quite often we don’t exchange names with the mates we find. When we first visited Earth it was a vaginal free for all. Copulation took place casually and with great enthusiasm. Then humans developed language and the concept of clothing and law and the men realized that reproduction had something to do with sex and became very possessive over the women they bedded. It’s been a fascinating journey returning to Earth over time, always finding sweet new flesh to conquer. That reminds me.
“Remember, get the female’s consent before you penetrate.”
“Consent?” Tarkan narrows his eyes and cocks his head to the side, his horned ear twitching with interest. “I’m not familiar with the term.”
“Humans must agree to sexual intercourse. It’s a custom which has spread so far as to become enshrined in the laws of all human civilizations.”
Tarkan grunts and pulls up his information tablet. At my request he’s been brushing up on his human interactions in preparation for our visit. He jabs a sharp finger at me and reads from it. “The male chooses the female, who capitulates if she is suitably impressed by him, and rejects him if he is weak.”
“Those are from older cultural studies. They’re outmoded. Human culture evolves far more quickly than the animals themselves do. It
is absolutely forbidden to take a female just because you want to. She must give her permission. Now put your suit on. We’re not leaving the ship until you’re properly dressed.”
He rumbles a growl which makes the walls of the shuttle shake. “I don’t like it. It’s too small.”
“They’re all too small. That’s the point. Put it on.”
I am eager to return to Earth. It’s time to make some new memories. I wish I didn’t have to chide Tarkan into doing everything he is supposed to do, but he rebels against the smallest requirements. He’s lucky he’s absolutely deadly on the battlefield.
Tarkan flaps his suit at me. “Seriously. Can’t it be taller?”
“No human is nine feet tall, Tarkan.”
We are more than nine feet tall, horned, and blessed with numerous natural defenses in the form of razor sharp teeth, claws, and ridges. As Scythkin, we are known across the universe as walking death. Some humans are attracted to that, but most of them run screaming if they see one of us as we truly are. They start calling for tanks, planes, and on one unfortunate occasion, a nuclear warhead. It’s safer to wear the suits. The suits feature technology which makes us look shorter than we are, something to do with mirrors and bending light. It’s not comfortable being squished into a measly seven foot high human shaped bag, but we do it for the love of human copulation.
The known universe spans many thousands of habitable planets, and billions of species, many of which fall into the bipedal humanoid category. There are a myriad of females to choose from, each with a carnal cavity boasting its own delights. But no matter how evolution tries to iterate, nature got it right the first time. All Scythkin agree: there is no sex like human sex. Humans have just the right balance of softness, toughness, intellect and resulting neurosis to make every sexual interaction with them a journey into the carnal taboo. We have mated with females with every kind of kink and foible imaginable.
There should be tens of billions of women to choose from on this visit. The first time we went to Earth there were only a few thousand humans, and their main hobbies were limited to chewing hides, painting caves, and trying not to be eaten by massive predators. Every time we’ve visited since the population has multiplied exponentially. Last time I set foot on Earth there were already seven billion humans, almost half of them were female. A warrior could mate with a fresh woman every hour and not run out for hundreds of years. We each copulated with several females of suitable breeding age, each one of them more delightful than the last.
“How do I look?” Tarkan presents himself to me as a muscled flesh being.
“Stupid,” I laugh.
He growls and pulls back the head hood to reveal his snarling face. “Why don’t you go throw yourself into the lava lakes of Zentikular Prime? You’re the one making us wear these stupid things.”
“I’m going to look stupid too,” I reassure him.
“You always look stupid,” he snipes right back.
“I’ll put my head on. You put your head on. Let’s see how we’re doing.”
We both don our heads, look at each other, and burst out laughing. Human males are so ridiculous.
“Look at my dangling flesh wand,” Tarkan snorts, swaying his hips to make the limp appendage swing back and forth. “How do the females find this alluring?”
“Look at my exposed arterial system protected only by soft skin and even more vulnerable meat covering, useless against any predator with even a quarter inch claw,” I laugh right back. Evolution was having a very strange day when she designed the human. They truly are essentially walking meat snacks. Some time ago, a Scythkin brood party was strongly censured for using some as boil in bag party favors.
“What are you going to wear over your skin?” Tarkan asks as we stand over the computer's replication slot and bring up a virtual wardrobe.
“Something with leather,” I say. Humans seem to be drawn to males wearing leather. Probably a subconscious appreciation of the fact that the male is aware of his physical vulnerabilities and has attempted to armor himself as a result.
“I’m going with a suit.”
It takes a few minutes, but soon we stand in front of one another, sharing the same face, but dressed very differently. My broad shouldered frame is made larger with the thick leather casing of what the computer tells me is “Motorcycle Armor.” I don’t know who has been doing battle with motorcycles, but I like it.
Tarkan has chosen a black cloth contraption, which I have to admit suits the human male physique rather well. The computer informs us that this is the preferred mode of dress for human males who have succeeded in gaining many resources which they will share with the female mate of their choice.
“Let’s get to the shuttle. We’re wasting time sitting up here when we could be down there buried inside a female.”
I long to feel a woman around me again, to enjoy the tender but strong grip of her inner walls as I plunder her soft sex with my human wrapped cock. There is no feeling like it. No matter how many sexual encounters I have, the human female has a sort of primitive sexual resonance none other species have. Females of our own species do not have intercourse at all. They lay eggs which are then fertilized by the male of their choosing. It’s a functional experience, not an intimate one.
We are a strange species. Evolution has given us vestigial mating instincts, completely divorced from the reality of our reproductive systems. Born in clutches of armored eggs, we hatch as broodkin, grow to our adult forms, then seek out the vaginal canals of our ancient prehistory, a desire which is so powerful we have come light years to try to sate it.
Our preparations may seem crude, and our words even more so, but this is deeply significant to us. Mating with a human is an honor, one I am more than ready to embrace. It has been a long time since we last visited Earth. The moment we left the planet, I wanted to return, but there were battles to be waged, great distances to be conquered. Our long lifespan is not due to any great natural ability. We mature and die at about the same rate as humans. But we move through time in such a way as to extend our lifespans many hundreds of years. To humankind, it has been one thousand, three hundred years. To us, it has felt more like a matter of months.
“COME ON, Reaper!” Tarkan calls to me from the door of the shuttle. He is eager to descend to Earth, and so am I.
I straighten my human clothing and follow him in. The co-ordinates are already set for what humans call North America, and what we call the most diverse location for all human populations. For reasons best known to the species, people of all heritages and regions filter into the area and there mingle in a beautiful mixing of human vigor.
“New York?”
“Of course.”
One thousand, three hundred years ago, we spent a very fulfilling weekend in New York. It was a relatively new city then, but it was already well developed in the the unique architecture which I understand it later became famous for. I can only imagine what a jewel it will be now.
Tarkan
I let Reaper pilot the ship. I think about not letting him, but he glowers me away from the controls and sets the shuttle in motion. I tell myself that I prefer to watch the planet come into view anyway, not that there is much to see besides a blur of heat and light, space dust burning from our hull as we penetrate the humid core of this wet little world.
“Reaper!”
“You don’t have to yell. I’m right here.”
“There’s something wrong.”
“Want to be more specific?”
“There’s something really wrong.”
“That’s not helpful, Tarkan.”
He’s the smart one, so he says. He thinks he knows everything. But all those instruments he has flashing and beeping in front of him aren’t telling him what my eyes are telling me, even limited by silly human sight. The continent we are headed for didn’t used to look like this. It used to be a web of lights in the darkness. Right now, it is just dark - a big blank expanse where life and light should be bla
zing.
As we descend, dawn is creeping over the coast and it soon reveals the extent of the problem. Humanity has been creeping their tendrils over the planet, building networks of roads where they roll their adorable little motorized carts from one place to another, building their little box houses and sometimes even going as far as making really tall rectangles. They were so proud of their tall rectangles. But I don’t think there are any left.
“Strange,” Reaper says behind me. “The instruments are indicating a complete absence of infrastructure. They must need recalibration.”
“Or the cities are gone.”
“Gone?” Reaper snorts. “I don’t think so. They’ve been working so hard on them. Hundreds of years of slapping mud and dirt together into pleasing shapes.”
“I think they’re gone, Reaper.”
“The cities?”
“Everything.”
We’re losing altitude at terminal velocity, over a hundred miles per hour. Both the instruments and my naked gaze tell us the same thing. The world we knew is gone. The once highly populated, densely rectangular areas of the landscape are now desert.