Hi everyone.
This is a continuation of my first story on here.
.
Comments are really welcome, and I’d love to hear what people might want to read next, or any prompts!
Content: non-human, alien, slime, double penetration, some bondage and inflation and body distension.
All characters are over 18 and consenting. Enjoy!
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It had been a slow two weeks.
Lira had sent off the video she took of herself and Helthoh to Julian, and she was pretty sure he’d spent the last two weeks locked in his office jacking off to it. Hell, Lira had pretty much done the same thing herself. Julian didn’t
need
to see it, but - truth be told - Lira was quite proud of it.
She couldn’t stop watching.
Going in, she had known that this was one of those jobs that was so lowbrow that as soon as your name was attached to it, you’d never get another job. In fact, that was the reason she had used another name when the hotel was booked. Desperation, however, seemed to have paid off. They used the video to compile a series of articles regarding sex between Humans and Polysmyths, and they had been a huge hit. Published under the name
L. Calling
, Lira now had a steady backing of popular articles, and a thirst to keep going.
The first story was a first-person recount, published to their ‘special interest’ boards. It was sexy, kinky, and altogether vulgar. People loved it.
Next, they had done a comparison. Lira talked here at length about the, well,
length
. As she’d written in the piece, titled ‘The Depths of Sex with a Polysmyth’, her sex life would never be the same after that day. Lira knew she would never be able to go back to humans for sex. Not now. Not after being... impaled like that. ‘Totally destroyed’, she had written. Julian had called it a misunderstanding - in the video, Helthoh wasn’t destroying her. He was making her into something new. That was his editorial addition, in fact.
The third article she’d written as
L. Calling
was a more introspective piece, about the potential of human-alien copulation, and how these kinds of couplings were going to become more common in the future.
In fact,
she had joked
, her career now seemed to depend on it.
So now, as she hovered her finger over the send button of an email to Julian asking - no, desperately hoping - for another one of those jobs, Lira was coming to a daunting conclusion.
She really wanted this
.
After hitting send, Lira knew that the likelihood was that Julian, since the success of her articles, wanted her to just milk that for all it was worth. She opened the video again, watching it for the hundredth or so time, under the pretense that she needed to make notes for her next piece.
In reality, she was more than a little addicted to that look on her own face she saw when Helthoh dove deep, deep inside her ass, fucking her entire body like his personal cocksleeve, until his cum erupted from her mouth. Lira watched her eyes rolling back in pleasure, and the sound of her own voice, hoarse and uninhibited, begging for
more, more, please, God more
. That look of realisation on her face just before his tentacle escaped from her lips, pushing along her tongue... Lira was obsessed with reliving the memory. She remembered that feeling of complete pleasure, complete lack of control, completely ruined to the world.
Lira watched attentively as Helthoh lifted her, using her like a toy to pleasure himself post-orgasm, and showed her to the mirror. Lira didn’t remember unbuttoning her jeans, or her hand slipping beneath her waistband, but she realised quickly that she was soaking wet, and started fingering herself to the sight, sounds, and memories captured in the video. She had the footage memorised by now, every groan, every gurgle, every thrust.
The video continued to the part Lira, for whatever reason, enjoyed the most. Maybe it was because her own memory of it was so blurry that the video gave her a crystal-clear view of something she was only half-able to recall, or maybe it was the image of Helthoh spewing his cum through her impaled body, the lump in his tentacle going up her arse, through her entire being, then up her throat and out onto her swollen tits. Maybe it was watching herself pass out on Helthoh’s monster penis, only for him to lay her down on the bed, give her a few more mastubatory thrusts as he growled his low alien growl, before slowly pulling himself out of her, leaving her on the bed to rest.
Mainly, however, it was watching herself wake up, covered in crisp cum, thick sludge-like ejaculate that hadn’t dried, and being so dazed and out of it that she just started giggling.
Lira brough herself to climax, however small and disappointing, before closing the video. As she did, Lira noticed a small, blinking red light in the corner of her laptop screen. There was a notification above her mail app.
‘Oh, shit,’ she whispered to herself, knowing where it was from. She’d gotten a pile of article responses in her public L. Calling email inbox, but this was her private work one - the private one she basically only used to speak with one person.
The email was from Julian.
Lira barely read the piece, instead skimming it for information. ‘New job’, ‘twice the rate’, and ‘even more fun’ were the phrases she needed to read before she replied, eagerly accepting the job.
It was a follow-up, and it was only two days away.
* * *
Last time, Julian had booked her a below-average hotel room for her encounter piece. This time, the meeting place was a little less conventional - Julian claimed the ‘client’ was insistent the event took place where they were comfortable. Lira had agreed, curious enough to decide against caution.
Apparently, Julian was willing to invest a little in her experience; she was collected this time - no taxi shuttle needed - by Julian’s private driver, and sent a detail folder regarding her companion for the night. She was familiar with the term ‘Ooslich’, though had never met one in person.
The file, which she read as the driver took her on a three-hour journey to meet the companion half-way between their homes, described the species as follows: ‘incredibly intelligent and sympathetic ... capable of shifting the amorphous forms into various shapes, dependant on instinct and imagination ... chemical-based creatures with some control over their composition and effect on other lifeforms’. Lira was primarily concerned with how well she was going to be fucked by it, but the extra info made for good fluff come the written piece.
At some point along a stretching, boring highway of lights and air, with massive drops into the ruined countryside under her and scorched sky above, Lira managed to fall asleep. Their journey northward would take her through what were the Highlands, then off over the North Sea, where they’d turn left and end up in what used to be Iceland. They had set off in mid afternoon, and her excitement was at peak levels, but the darkened sky, unlit by artificial illuminations, and the soft whirring of the engines under her pulled her into a pleasant but shallow slumber at around 3pm.
By 5pm, they had arrived. The jolt as the car came to a stop woke her with a start, and Lira stole a look out of the darkened windows. There was no rain here, but she couldn’t see much for the thickness of the trees. Apart from the pathway they had flown down, which was paved by metal slabs - the only identification that this was an intentional way into the Marshlands, and not some natural parting of the greenery - the trees around her made an almost solid wall of dark brown and mossy emerald. Vines draped from wet-leaf branches, and the ground looked like it would make each step a judgement-call as to whether it would support your weight or drop you into mud and slime below.
She looked at the driver via his mirror.
‘This is you, ma’am. I’ll be here to collect you this time tomorrow.’ and with that, her door popped open, and she got out.
She’d packed little more than the tech equipment required for recording, a spare change of clothes, and some food for the morning, so she already was feeling a little... under prepared. Anxiety started to slip is as she looked at where she’d been dropped off.
The Marshlands weren’t unfamiliar to Lira in theory. A few years ago, she’d written a piece on the biodiversity of Marshland species since the human race had ‘made contact’, so to speak.
That was decades ago, now. But it was still having impacts. Technology had, for obvious reasons, jumped way ahead. There were humans off on interplanetary political summits, relief missions for natural devastations on the other side of the galaxy, and on research missions alongside crews from all over the universe to as-yet-unexplored areas of space. It was an exciting time, if you were up there.
Lira, of course, wasn’t.
But she got to write about it, every now and then.
The different species that came to Earth brought with them requirements that, in the name of ‘galactic participation’, as it was called, required Earth to make adjustments. With terraforming technology, Earth was split into several sections, and each section split into different biomes and climates, to support immigrated alien life. Of course, humanity’s population was accelerating, but alien technology had made cramped living more comfortable, and food was never scarce. If anything, it was just a bit boring. Art and creativity became the most common ways for people to spend their time, but you still needed money. Writing was a great way to make a bit of money, and Lira was, thankfully, good at it.
However good she was, and despite the detail file she was given, Lira didn’t know where to go next.
She had been given these coordinates, and was promised at least minimal comfort. But honestly? It stank. It was a swamp, and not the kind from old Japanese movies that looked calm and soothing. This was a dark, creepy place, and Lira was worried.
A slurping noise behind her made her jump. Between two tree roots, which shifted slightly out of the way, something shifted in the water. It was shallow, or at least seemed so, but there was something in there.
Lira stayed glued to the spot.
Bubbles popped from between the trees, up until the edge of the little muddy platform Lira was stood on, just off the metal runway behind her.
She heard more gurgling, on the other side now. She span, and saw a shape come out of the water for just a moment before disappearing back under.
As scared as she was, she realised she had her filming equipment with her, including what was essentially a body-cam. She rifled through her bag, and clicked it to her wrist, so it pointed inwards, towards her. The idea was, whatever happened to her, she’d at least be able to make it into a story.
