Monster King (Royal Aliens 5)

“That’s it? They’re gone?”

“Your diplomacy notwithstanding, yes. Scythkin are a violent species, capable of absolutely anything. They broke time itself. But they will never cause harm to humans. Though the manner and timing of their departure does concern me.”

“So I’m literally a human shield.”

“A mouthy one, yes.”

“I’m supposed to be polite to murderous jackoffs?”

“You’re supposed to be careful in your speech. You could have easily sparked an attack if it were a different species. I have spoken about this before where you are concerned. You need to behave better to be safer.”

Better. Whenever a male tells a female to behave better, he always means quieter.

“Sexist fucker,” I growl under my breath. I am scared. And I feel as though the argument with the scythkin did not end well.

He’s actually telling me off. He’s not angry, really, but he is speaking to me in that way he has where it’s like I’m some lesser being who doesn’t know about the universe as much as he does and I’ve misbehaved and that leaves me feeling small and naughty and…

“How about this? How about I say whatever the fuck I like to psychos, and… OW!”

“It’s like you actively refuse to listen to sense,” he muses as he hurls me over his shoulder and carries me off the bridge, his big palm beating a tattoo on my ass. “Or maybe it is more like you crave punishment.”

I am so fucking wet. Absolutely soaked.

I need his cocks. I need him inside me. I find my fingers clawing and curling into his hair, holding his face next to mine, his fangs perilously close to my neck.

He knows what I want. It is obvious. There is not a sentient being on any planet in any place or any time who wouldn’t know what I want.

“Take me.”

I’m begging him for release. Every time I drink from him, I drive myself crazy with desire. And I may be imagining it, but it seems to me as though every time I drink from him, that desire grows stronger. I am becoming addicted to Brawn. Dependent upon him. That terrifies me almost as much as it makes me pursue him.

“I am much larger than any phallus you were designed to take, and there are two…”

“I don’t give a fuck. I need you…”

My voice is hoarse and husky, so much so I barely recognize it. There’s a reflective wall nearby and I catch my face in it. My eyes are like two saucers, super dark and ringed with deep circles. I look exhausted, as though I haven’t slept in weeks.

What is he doing to me? What am I doing to myself?

Brawn lays me down and begins to strip my clothing from me. It would seem I have found a way to avoid punishment — propose sex. I should have been trying that from the beginning, it’s such an obvious ploy.

I lie naked before him, examined in the slit-pupiled gaze which consumes me from top to toe. I wonder what he thinks of my body, so very different from his own. Is he having to work on the massive erection which casts a shadow over my thighs, or does he find me alluring?

“You are delicate human. I fear breaking you. I do not know that I am taking good care of you. You become weaker by the day. You…”

“If you don’t want me, just tell me.”

“It is not that I do not want you,” he says, caressing my cheek with his big green hand. “It is that you and I are very different creatures, and what may feel good to me could destroy you.”

“Then be careful.”

* * *

Brawn

She trusts me. She trusts me with everything she is. She knows how much bigger I am, and how much damage I could do to her. Yet, her desire for me overwhelms all those very sensible objections.

I owe her a great debt. I perhaps owe her my life. If she had not been between me and the armies of Earth, they may well have dispatched me immediately.

But her carnal desire could be dangerous for us both. If I mate with her, spend myself inside the delicate tissues of her reproductive parts, I could do untold damage. Even now, I see what my seed is doing to her. She is euphoric, and then erratic. She craves it, though she does not want to crave it.

If only the space station were still there, we might be able to regain some sense of what might be called normality. I might be able to see her as she really is, and not as she has come to be while sucking down gallons of my seed.

“You have to,” she whimpers, undulating her hips. “Please… I need this. I need you.”

Whatever reservations I have about this are swept away in the force of desire between us. She needs me, and the last fragile tendrils of self-control which I have been desperately holding onto are gone.