Copyright PennameWombat May 2020
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This is a sequel to the "Carole" series, 'Carole at the Art Lecture,' 'Carole at Dinner' and 'Carole at Work & Play,' in (respectively) 'Erotic Couplings,' 'NonHuman' and 'Science Fiction.' This is also a sequel to the Halloween Contest 2019 story, 'A Tale of Two Parties' in Erotic Horror. While those tales will provide a deeper grounding to the characters and action, this tale can be read on its own as well.
Tags: Alien, Anal Sex, Blow job, Cum Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, FFM, First time, Light bondage, Mature
*****
The Planet
"Come back to bed, lover," the woman said as she sat up in the low light and let the blanket fall to her waist, her large, perfectly round and firm breasts exposed, their areolas only light pink but still in sharp contrast to her alabaster skin. Her long, straight dark brown hair was sleep-mussed and tangled about her round face, her bright green, almond-shaped eyes half-lidded, her face a crooked smile.
"Your mouth, your tits, that slight tilt of your head," the man said as he looked at her from his seated position next to the window and its raised blinds, his face almost a smile, a light robe pulled over his shoulders, "you are so very hot."
He looked back through the window into the black, then down at the blue, green, brown and white globe moving slowly below them.
"But the voice, Anna. Always the voice."
She tilted her head as he went silent and watched the globe for almost a minute.
"You want your lover to come back to bed," he said softly, then pitched his voice into a slow, breathy pace, "my love, come, we still have time. I need you, one more time."
She again tilted her head first to one side, then the other, as if her ears could replay his speech.
"I need you," she said as she tried to breathe simultaneously, "in me. Please, lover, the days will soon be long before we'll be together again."
He smiled sadly, the incongruously flat tone in such opposition to the actual words, and even more that there was actual feeling behind them. She had learned. Learned well. Almost frighteningly well.
That he glided above the globe hidden in plain sight with an exotically beautiful and sensual female about to welcome him back to bed should've been a highlight but his doubts held him back.
He stood and walked across the soft, yielding surface, dropped the robe to reveal his nakedness, his prick already anticipated its treatment. The blanket revealed more of her excellent figure as she slid to the edge of the bed and looked up at him as her tongue swirled the quivering glans before it and her lips traced the length of his shaft.
He pulled his hips back slightly and she twisted her head just enough to allow him to push his erect flesh into her mouth, her eyes were open, that green that was so much on his mind these days, they met his brown eyes. He felt her cheeks and throat constrict to hold him at full depth. She held her breath and he felt no exhale. She pulled and pushed and brought saliva to enhance the slickness. Despite his mood his breath became choppy.
Her voice the outlier, he knew her affection wasn't purely acting or a sense of duty as the warmth of her touches, her kisses and her fucks were very real. He surrendered to her affection as he pulled his hips back and bent at the waist, her lips joined his, the soft, tender meeting a universe away from her first, fumbling efforts.
She rolled onto her back, pulled him on top as she splayed her legs at the hips and bent her knees. Before his arrival and for the first near to two years he'd never been with a woman within an inch or even three or four of his six feet. Since then he'd not been with any but. He felt the growing moisture as he slid his erection between his lover's labia as she rocked her pelvis. Her tongue softly probed at his lips and his tongue, then it slid along his lower lip and circled his tongue to his upper lip. He was impressed, he'd done something like that to her once, some while ago. She forgot nothing.
On his backstroke she shifted her hips up to place the swollen head of his shaft at her now wet opening, his next push drawn as if by gravity into the heat of her flesh. He felt the solidity of her breasts and their firm but small nipples against his upper chest, a need to reach slightly to continue kissing as they fucked. Every so often he wondered if teaching her to lick, suck, fuck, was treason. But then he reminded himself, invisible satellites, stealth shuttles, artificial and anti-gravity. The nanomachines he'd discovered which was the primary reason for him being here. Since the main part of their plan was to, more or less, fuck the planet into submission, why not. Much worse was possible.
He returned his attention to his slightly flagging cock just before his lover noticed and he quickly doubled his pace, their breathing fast through their noses and joined mouths, her arms tight around his shoulder blades, the blankets thrown off of the bed by her legs.
The Shuttle
[May, 1981]
In a kidnapping the last thing you should do is allow your abductors to take you away, Peter Miller recalled from some combination of books, movies or possibly advice from any one of the ne'er do wells, thugs and gangbangers among his immediate and extended families. Once you're in their car you're off the grid. If you're not of value to someone ELSE then any reasons for being taken don't cycle back to the captors being interested in returning you to a someone else.
But in war, fighting to the last man is not usually the rational strategy. Books? Movies? Whatever. 'They died with their boots on' is heroic bosh.
This situation seemed to fall into the latter category.
The 'female' of the pair held the 'phaser,' the shock weapon, at a relaxed angle, not pointed AT him but poised in case he moved. Likewise, the man, or whatever, had his face pointed toward him. Their eyes were still shielded with the dark glasses but it wasn't difficult to know that Carole was of little immediate attention. That all made sense, Peter mused, since at least the 'male' appeared a clear physical match for a young, fit, six-foot adult male human with some experience fighting, the petite five-foot-and-a-smidge Carole couldn't be of even passing interest in a physical confrontation.
Whether it was simply that, or whether she was still their agent, he didn't know. His lover's distress was beyond physical reaction. Clearly these 'people' were the parties she'd talked around since that night at La Caille. Her reaction when they appeared and her clear distress now, her tight face, her vise grip on his hand, were not improved by the G-forces but this was nothing like the films and stories of astronauts being bounced and shaken. Their rise was gentle and smooth.
He saw that her nipples were exposed, the force of acceleration the first time much anything shifted her large, peerless breasts covered only by her skimpy pink crop top. Her beautiful legs were well exposed by her tiny blue skirt. He couldn't hear any fans, but the smell of their recent, active sex seemed muted and drained so there was some sort of circulation.
And what was happening was clearly with technology unknown.
But that had been obvious as soon as this shuttle had appeared, floating and invisible atop a rock wall in the middle of the little park in a densely packed suburb surrounded by a major city. That had been the moment his thoughts of kidnapping had changed to thoughts of war. At his first sight of this pair he'd known they were muscle. That they were both in near-black clothes that covered everything but their faces and hands, pale, pale skin with their dark brown hair, the woman's in a bun, the man's a buzz cut, both in opaque dark sunglasses, had solidified that opinion.
Even with their strange looks that didn't mean they weren't just a couple of hoods thinking he could lead them to his brother's stashes. But the shuttle. THEIR shuttle. It was small, from what he'd gleaned before they were 'invited' in, something like the size of a pickup truck. It had been unnoticed until the rear gate opened for them, in those few moments he discerned that looking AT it was like looking through the heat haze that was common in the summer. Transparent but not quite invisible.
But that it was a shuttle that only existed in science fiction seemed to indicate so should its apparent owners. And that had finally unlocked his memory. He'd seen near twins to these two, on Halloween. Laurel and Hardy. That Cat had been of little interest then or now but their real charge had been Anna. He smiled tightly for an instant as he ran the memory of that night he'd met Anna. That night the two 'guards' who were relatives of these hadn't spoken, had seemed little more than automatons. These two were more animated but like the first two were clearly capable of violence.
He wasn't sure, but that seemed to indicate Anna would be at the end of this journey. Was Halloween then, not random? He wasn't sure. He'd not been there when Cat had scouted the first party, unless they knew of his connection to Dave, Roger and Jeanie. But. Those were thoughts for later. Assuming there was a later.
The space they were in held their four chairs. Each was high-backed, clearly sized to support the tall, rangy beings who were their captors. Peter was comfortably seated, his six foot height well supported in the cushioned surface in the couple of G's from their acceleration, although when standing he and their captors couldn't stand straight. The chair seemed to have adapted itself as well to the petite Carole. The chairs were angled, all faced an imaginary point at the center of the chamber, its walls featureless grey. A subtle line to his left indicated what he assumed was a door to the cockpit or what passed for it. No point light source, the entire 'ceiling' seemed to glow to imbue the room with a soft natural-light glow.
Strangest was the movement. They were going 'up,' but there'd been no blast, no obvious rocket or other engine noise. Once buckled in and the gate closed the shuttle simply rose.
So he was a prisoner of war. There had been no dishonor in surrendering. There was no dishonor in allowing himself to be taken to wherever they were going and finding out as much information as he could about his captors.
They could just kill him. But he highly doubted that. That weapon could've been set to kill, not the stun setting she'd used on him and Carole, the wielder of the weapon had said. Another Halloween night vision, of a woman in a black cloak in spasms as blood flowed from her mouth, nose and ears. And in any case, that monster could've simply broken his neck. Done. Go home. Crack open cold ones. Job well done.
