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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.
