Human Pet Pound (Possessive Aliens) Page 3

  “What do you think?”

  John appears beside me. He moves quietly for a powerful beast of ultimate doom.

  “I think somebody should be driving the ship.”

  “It’s flying itself,” he says. “We’ve got a lot of empty space between us and our target, so we should get some rest.”

  “You sleep?”

  “Yes,” he snorts. “I sleep. You do not look as though you have slept much, human.”

  He lays down on the bed and puts his arms behind his head, his biceps bulging. I feel myself react physically and internally, clenching and squeezing deep inside. I don’t remember the last time I was aroused simply by looking at someone, let alone an alien.

  “I guess I could get some sleep.” I sit down on the floor, then lay down, curling up on my side.

  I hear the bed creak in protest. It wasn’t designed for four hundred pounds of muscles and blades. This entire ship is just slightly too small for him. He bulged out of the captain’s chair and now I’m pretty sure he’s going to collapse the bed if he’s not careful.

  He looks over the edge of the bed and raises a sharp brow at me. “What are you doing?”

  “Uh, going to sleep?”

  “Why are you on the floor?”

  “Because there’s only one bed.”

  “We can share.”

  “Really?”

  “The bed has more than ample space, human.”

  “My owners never let me sleep with them. Not that I would have wanted to sleep with any of them. I bite, you know.”

  “Do you,” he snorts, his horns angling toward me with what feels like interest. “You can bite me if you like. Your short canines are unlikely to do any damage to my plates.”

  “You haven’t given me any reason to bite you. So you’re safe.”

  “Am I,” he smiles.

  John

  She is adorable. I, as all my kind, have a soft spot for humans, but this one is extraordinary. My attraction to her is based on more than mere appearance, though her pretty features certainly appeal to the ancient part of me which yearns for simple humanity. It is her spirit which draws me most. She is untamed, and that is not an easy state to remain in when one is a pet. I have some notion of what has been done to her. Various species have various requirements with regards to behavior, but none of them are kind to humans. I do not know that my kind is strictly kind either. But I know she elicits very strange feelings inside me, stirrings of softness and desire.

  I have two mating appendages, both of which remain behind the hard plates of my lower abdomen until I choose to release them. One is to spread my seed over the waiting eggs laid by a matriarch. The other is made for a woman. A human. That is no accident of evolution, that is a marker of deep connection. The precise nature of that connection is not entirely known. Most sentient beings consider time to be something that behaves sequentially. A happens, then B. But there was a timesplosion at one point, and ever since then or, before then, depending on your perspective, things have been, well, complicated.

  The mating appendage made for the human form is stirring of its own accord. It is a new sensation for me. I have not experienced attraction for a human before, having never been in close enough proximity to one. The experience is quite all-encompassing. I feel myself thickening and stiffening, my body preparing to penetrate hers in the most intimate of ways.

  Itch has a softly curving form. Every part of her is divine artistry, or would be, if I believed in the divine. Her flesh is soft and her skin is smooth and delicate. I know she is stronger than she looks, because she has survived this long, but to my gaze, she is the most fragile and precious thing in all the universe.

  There are many impulses warring inside me. A scythkin is called to destroy, and I do that very well. But this human sparks other desires, and strange needs. She makes me want to protect her, and to claim her. She makes me want to brand that soft, sensitive skin with my body and leave my mark on her. She makes me want to take her so thoroughly that she forgets everything that came before me.

  But I have to be careful. So careful. Humans are delicate. They are soft boned, and covered in even softer flesh. Their existence is in defiance of all science pretends to know about life. Humanity should never have been anything but a footnote in the dietary record of something with big teeth. But their species conquered their planet, and would have gone on to conquer many more if not for a series of rather unfortunate events.

  “Why are you staring at me all weird?”

  “I was thinking,” I say. “That you might like a bath before bed.”

  “I might,” she says. “But if I have a bath, all this dirt will fall away and you’ll see me…”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” A faint pink blush appears across her cheeks. “You want to see me completely naked and clean?”

  “Absolutely,” I reply. “You are beautiful. Every part of you is worthy of worship.”

  Her blush deepens to an adorable crimson. “Why are you saying these things?”

  “They’re true. But you don't need to worry. I will not hurt you as others have.”

  “You’ll hurt me differently, then. More creatively,”

  I laugh at her little defensive jab of humor. That is all she has to defend herself with. A soft human with nothing but wit. She is braver than many scythkin who have so many more natural defenses, and offenses, for that matter.

  “I won’t hurt you at all, unless you need me to.”

  She smiles shyly and hides her gaze from me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you are trouble, and you like being trouble. I know of only one reason for any human to be that way.”

  "And what is that?”

  “You want someone, or something, to stop you.”

  “That is not it,” she laughs. “If I wanted somebody to stop me, I wouldn’t have kept trying to escape them all, would I?”

  “You will not escape me, human.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she grins, rebellion making her eyes sparkle. Maybe she does not want to be stopped. Maybe she wants something to rebel against. Her previous owners were unworthy of her. They did not understand her true value. They thought she was a curiosity, or perhaps a toy.

  I find myself staring in wonder at the little human who is now mine in every way possible. I want her to feel it, and I know I could make her feel it one specific way. I could bury myself inside her and make her scream. I could claim her long and hard, make carnality the bond which ties us. I could turn her into my human love toy, impale her on my lust and fill her with my fluids until she is so hopelessly fuck-drunk she cannot even think about leaving me.

  But she wears the marks of brutality all over her. I see bruises and old marks from harsh punishments, scars and other evidences of a life of captivity.

  She has been hurt. Perhaps more badly than I realize. And that drives me to want to take care of her even more than it makes me want to thrust myself inside her and claim her in the most animal of ways.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you pity me.”

  “What if I did?”

  “I would have to shank you if you dared,” she says quite fiercely. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I’m going to be free, and when I am, I’m going to make everybody who ever tried to keep me captive sorry.”

  “Oh, you are?”

  “Yes. I am going to unleash my vengeance on everybody. I will spare you,” she says. “Because you have been an ally. But everybody else… they need to watch out.”

  “Indeed,” I say, choosing to humor her rather than point out the obvious flaws in her vague threats, such as a single female human with a history of being repeatedly caught and sold being unlikely to be able to exact much in the way of vengeance.

  I get up, take her by the hand, and lead her to the chamber set aside for bathing. Scythkin don’t often need to bathe, but humans are constantly secreting oils wh
ich quickly begin to degrade. I find the scent of humanity intoxicating, but she has more than her own natural scent clinging to her. She has the filth of captivity which needs to be washed away.

  “What’s this?” She looks at the apparatus I have removed from the wall with more than a little apprehension.

  “It’s a resonance shower. It uses sonic waves to remove the dirt from your skin. What are you used to?”

  She looks at me blankly.

  “What did your previous owners use when they bathed you?”

  “Their own blood," she says glibly. “From where I ripped them open for trying to touch me.”

  I love her attitude. She is like a scythkin trapped in a squishy, appealing, human female form.

  “On this ship, we use the resonance shower. It won’t hurt. Here.”

  I demonstrate the unit on myself. It doesn’t have much effect on me, because I was already clean, and dirt tends to slide off scythkin rather than stick to us. We are non-stick, you might say.

  Extending the unit toward my human, I let her get a sense of it.

  “It feels tickly,” she complains, squirming before me in a very intriguing way. Watching her is a special kind of torture, wanting to touch the soft curves of her body, but knowing instinctively that she needs to learn to trust me first.

  “This is too tickly!”

  “We could try a bath, a wet bath. That’s more traditional for your species. It involves immersing yourself in fluid and rubbing yourself with a molecule which combines hydrophobic and hydrophilic…”

  “Sure. Let’s do that one.”

  She is impatient, agreeing to things she does not understand. I do not know if she cares that she doesn’t understand, or if she’s used to navigating a world beyond her understanding.

  “Tell me about your captivity,” I say as I fill a vestigial tub with water. This ship wasn’t designed with humans in mind, but I think it may have been designed for a class of alien which needs to remain externally hydrated.

  “What would you like to know? It sucked. I've been a pet as long as I can remember.”

  “And how far back can you remember?”

  “I don’t know. Every owner I’ve had has drugged me to try to keep me quiet. I don’t know where I came from. My memories are mostly made of cages and assholes.”

  “Let’s make some new memories. We can start with a bath. The water is warm and should be comfortable for you.”

  She gets in with an expression I can only describe as reluctant and doubtful, but the moment her feet touch the water, that expression becomes faintly euphoric and she lets out a sigh of contentment.

  “Oh, that is nice.” She looks at me as if shocked that I was not lying to her about the appeal of a hot bath.

  “Settle in. Get comfortable,” I encourage her.

  She is soft and she is tender and she is naked and glistening in her glory. She is also shy, surprising for someone as brash as she is.

  My fingers drift to the collar.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Taking it off.”

  “But it’s what marks me as a pet.”

  “It’s what marks you as someone else’s property. You’re mine now.”

  Itch

  I am his.

  And among his first acts is one which sets me even more free.

  The collar I have been struggling with for what feels like years snaps under his sharp claws. In an instant, he has solved yet another problem under which I have labored for longer than I can remember.

  “It’s all so easy for you,” I marvel as he drops the dirty old thing by the side of the tub.

  “What is?”

  “Fixing things. Anything you don’t like, you just destroy. I wish I had your power.”

  He smiles and he is so handsome it makes my heart hurt just to look at him. I know that by most standards he is a monstrosity. His face is a dancing montage of sharp edges and harsh points which he can retract at will, but I think not without effort. He is trying so hard not to hurt me, being exaggeratedly gentle.

  “You have power of your own, pet,” he says. “You have the human spirit, which bends, but does not break. Your kind is stronger than most realize. There is more than a little human in every scythkin.”

  “How does that work?”

  “Some say humans are ancestors to our kind.”

  “Your kind. The kind which lays eggs? How is that possible?”

  “It, like most things, is complicated,” he says, his eyes flashing with fiery humor.

  He dips his hands below the water and makes contact with my body. I feel an instant reaction rushing through me, a jolt which makes the water ripple.

  “Shhh,” he says, even though I didn’t make a sound. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  I’m not worried about him hurting me. I’m worried that I’m already forgetting my wild ways in this hot bath. As I settle, his hands begin to roam my form, soothing me gently and washing the various layers of filth from my skin and hair.

  I close my eyes and let him wash me. It has been a very long time since I last had a bath, even longer since I had one I actually wanted. I have been doused in flea powder and hosed down, but that is a very different experience.

  So this is what it feels like to be taken care of. This is what it feels like to be cared about. I let my mind wander and imagine, for a moment, that this might be what my future could be.

  When I am clean, his fingers continue their gentle exploration of my body. His hands are so large, formed after the fashion of a human, but so much more powerful. I could be safe with him. I could live the life of an owned pet with him.

  “Does that feel good?”

  “Yes,” I admit, though the admission feels like a weakness. I don’t want him to make me feel good. I want to keep myself for myself.

  “Relax,” he says, massaging down my back. “Nothing bad will happen to you now I’ve got you.”

  “That’s a big promise,” I groan. It feels so fucking good to be touched this way. I have been uncomfortable for longer than I can remember. Being comfortable is strange. But it’s nice.

  “Not for me,” he tells me. “You are human. I am sworn to protect you and to keep you.”

  “What if you just protect me?”

  He makes a rumbling sound deep in his chest.

  John

  The moment I saw her, she was mine. It was a fundamental, animal, primal connection forged from the natural link between our two species and something more, something personal between the two of us.

  But she doesn’t seem to feel it. At least, nothing she says indicates that she feels it. Her words are abrupt, her manner aloof and sharp. I like it. I know she has been through untold pain, and that a human can only try to defend themselves from such pain with words. Her stumpy teeth and laughably soft nails are no means of defense.

  Her body is a different matter. Where I touch, she responds. Touching her is a kind of torture, because it creates such animal desire I can barely contain it, and yet I must because she is delicate and afraid. She’s trying to hide her fear, but I can feel that too, tremors running through her every time her eyes meet mine.

  She shifts and my hand slips further down her back, underneath her, where the soft rounds of her body are most evident. I curl my fingers beneath her and feel the soft, wet down of that beautiful chalice of human desire.

  “What are you…” she begins to question me, but her question turns into a soft whimper of pleasure.

  I have no intention of taking more than she wants me to take. But I have every intention of making her want me more than she can bear. Her hips move, making the water ripple, and I feel a different heat, a more intense physical heat which stops my fingers in their tracks for a moment as I realize what I am doing. I have penetrated my sweet human, found the crevice between her soft lips and entered the cave of her being. She is tight. I feel the pressure of her muscles around my digit, gripping it, almost seeming to pull it in ever deeper.


  Itch

  He’s inside me.

  His finger is pushing ever further into me, spreading my inner walls. I have never been penetrated before. Not willingly. I have never felt my softness stretching this way, so easily and so smoothly.

  “What are you doing?” I manage to moan the question even as my thighs part, allowing him easier access to my body. I have always fought when aliens tried to claim me this way. They would try to force themselves on me. Sometimes I would repel them. Sometimes… not.

  “Touching you,” he murmurs back in that deep cosmic growl which resonates with the very core of me. “Feeling you.”

  I am feeling him in return. It is just his finger, but in such a sensitive space, I can feel so much more of him than I expected. I can feel his power, the roughness and potential danger of his digit. I have seen his claws extend. I know he could shred me to pieces. But I feel no threat and there is none implied.

  I have never been with a more dangerous male, and he is treating me better than any who came before him.

  His finger slips slowly from my sex, then returns in a light caress to dab gently over my clit, a touch which makes my inner walls clench with anticipation. He has overridden all potential objections and concerns. He has made me forget about everything besides what is happening to me between my thighs.

  “What are you doing?” I repeat the question not because I don’t understand, but because I do. He’s seducing me. This has never happened before. I have been taken. Violated. Hurt. This scythkin is more powerful and dangerous than any who have come before him and yet he manages an artful gentleness which makes butterflies erupt inside me, tingles rushing through my body from head to toe.

  “Does it feel good?”

  “Of course it does,” I moan.

  It feels so good. Not merely because it is pleasure, but because it is pleasure given with kind intention. This alien wants me to feel good. He is trying to bathe away the filth of my previous existence, and replace the pain I have suffered every day with something different.