Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind

Mainly, though, my midriff and pelvis are hurting from my own weight being smushed into Rune's shoulder pad (or maybe that's just his shoulder), and my head is pounding from the blood flowing down into it. Less than a quarter of an hour and I'm already way over this personal abduction thing, really. In terms of travel comfort at least, my Volvo was a lot better.

We pass through doorways and walk down a corridor or three. The taste of the air changes, acquiring a distinctly metal-and-kerosene-and-bottled-oxygen flavor, and the sound of the wind fades into the noise of whirring engines and ventilation systems. Rune's footsteps on the metal-compound flooring are almost entirely silent. Guess the Dryth are Space Ninja, after all.

Eventually, Rune stops and sets me down on the floor, and my head swims and pounds for a moment. My garment, which has valiantly clung to my tits the entire time, decides to give up the ghost and flutters down. I squawk and try to grab it but miss because I stagger while crouching, and then fall on my butt with an "ouff!" and sink onto my elbows. Yep, there's a reason my middle name isn't Grace.

As I half-sit, half-lie there on the cool ground like a wounded starfish, Rune comes to stand over me, between my spread legs, and gazes down at me.

He's a living skyscraper from this angle.

Or maybe a definitely unfriendly polar bear, ready to tear into a piece of meat.

I go very still, except for my right arm which comes up almost automatically to cover my nipples. (It's a reflex, like blinking, and no amount of time spent working in a brothel would stop it.)

"No," Rune says and uses the spear he's had in his hand the entire time to nudge my right arm out of the way again with its butt.

Hooboy. My heart starts up double time in my naked chest which, very opportunely, puts on the headlights for him. I blame the cold and the anxiety and definitely not the fact that Dryth Bossiness™ has turned out to be the turn-on of the century for me, no siree.

He reverses his grip and hefts the spear so that the silver tip is pointing down, right at my prone, vulnerable body.

Okay, now it's mostly anxiety, going on fear that's making my nips hard. Shit, shit, shit. Things were going so well. I must have misread the situation. Again. Mr Jones, my math teacher in elementary school was right -- Valerie is not a quick learner and does not successfully transfer and employ knowledge she has previously gained to solve new problems.

I lock eyes with Rune because I definitely want to be the type of woman who looks into the eyes of the guy who is about to stab her with a spear.

On second thought, I much rather want to be the kind of woman who doesn't just lie there and waits to get herself stabbed with a spear, dammit!

Unfortunately, my muscles, slightly worse for wear due to the less-than-comfortable method of transport and tight with the cold, lock in place and make it impossible for me to scramble away before he jabs his weapon forward--

And cuts my diaper-panties. Two clean scalpel-like cuts through the bits of fabric from my thighs to my hips, and the garment practically withers off of my body like some sort of anemone shying away from damage, leaving me stark naked and sitting on a wrinkly patch of blood-soaked biogarment. My skin underneath those cuts remains completely intact.

Shaking -- with nerves and useless adrenaline now -- I sink back onto the floor, muttering unintelligible stuff and put a hand to my forehead. I literally need a minute.

Rune looks at my prone, naked form, from my heaving chest to the soft swell of my pale tummy, the nest of curls covering my pubic mount, the recently uncovered messy area between my thighs, to my legs and feet, and back up all the way to my face.

Dryth facial expressions are truly not easy to read. I'm starting to suspect that they don't have the same muscle groups in their faces as humans do, on top of wanting to hide emotions for strategic reasons.

It's not that difficult, however, to interpret the movement in a Dryth's pants, or the slow, sinewy uncurling of a tail from a waist, or the brightening -- not a run-of-the-mill glitter of excitement but actual luminescence -- of a pair of eyes. And just like with Bane, there's a kind of fundamental seriousness and intense, unswerving interest in Rune's gaze and in his stance. It's like every single atom, molecule and elementary magnet inside him is pointing right at me, like I'm the absolute center of the universe right now, and worthy of absolutely all of the attention.

Fuck me, a girl could get used to being looked like that. The frightened fluttering of my heart switches gears and turns into something that is simultaneously faster and deeper, booming through my torso like a bass drum beat.

Rune lets go of his spear and the weapon clatters to the floor behind him, discarded and forgotten. Ha. Guess my body and my smile are literally disarming, eh?

Rune's tail undulates, comes forward and touches my ankle, the contact quite soft and surprisingly warm. Man, these Dryth are like ambulatory heating units.

That interestingly frayed end slides up my calf and to my knee, reminding me of the fact that I haven't shaved my legs in a couple days. (You try bending forward and putting a sharp razor to your own skin with an animated dildo up your pussy!) I get up on my elbows to follow the trail of his tail with my eyes. It feels a bit like a feather duster. I giggle, then gasp when he keeps sliding up and up, hitting all my ticklish nooks and crannies on his way, and finally reaches the apex of my spread thighs, going for it without hesitation.

I try to feel self-conscious about the state I'm in, drippy and puffy and a bit bloody and all that, but I can't really manage it. My mind is reeling too much after this rollercoaster of a day, it has latched on to the easy, pleasant feeling of being fingered (tailed?), and after all, Rune doesn't seem to mind, either.

The strands of his tail tip are gently probing and poking at my pussy, one of them dipping to and circling my back door, one sliding between my lips and dipping into my entrance, nudging Bane's spike and causing ripples all through my abdomen. I sink onto my back again and bite my index finger knuckle to suppress the much-too-slutty moan that's rising up inside of me -- alongside the eleventh orgasm of today. My other hand almost automatically goes to my tit and clamps onto my turgid nipple, pulling and squeezing it to try and ease the ache in it.

It seems to take no time at all. If he only touched my clit, just once, I think I would—oh please, good God-

He brushes the right spot, just once.

Fuck. Fuck, that's plenty.

"Ooohmygo---d," I groan as my whole body seizes and my eyes roll back. My toes curl. I can feel my own wetness spurt from between my shuddering legs as, in tandem, Rune's tail tip and Bane's spike milk my climax for all its worth.

Ho. Ly. Cow. That one had been in the making for far too long.

Rune keeps prodding and massaging me through the whole performance, his tail following my bucking and twisting hips unerringly, until my nerves flutter so hard under the stimulation that my diaphragm jumps and I nearly start to weep.

"Mercy!" I gasp and scoot, limp-limbed, backwards and away from him. Doesn't do much good. His tail has an amazing reach, or maybe the man is just persistent. Or cruel. Or both. "Please, mercy."

I roll onto my belly, get onto all fours -- I don't trust my wobbling knees enough to attempt upright walking just yet -- and crawl forward like a baby, and finally break the contact. I don't get very far, though. There's a closed door in front of me, something that looks like an opening mechanism aaall the way up there. I check over my shoulder.

Behind me there's a slightly smirking Dryth with his tail in his mouth, sucking my fluids off its tip, reminding me of the fact that blood is kinda their thing and an integral part of their mating habits.

I can't help the low moan at that sight. That's yet another one of these things -- of which the Dryth do and say a lot, apparently -- that should be disturbing but aren't and instead seem to cause a pulse low in my abdomen. Immediately, my body is getting ready for the next round, the insatiable lecherous hussy.

I have a feeling the Dryth may be the death of me... but what a way to go.

Feeling all wobbly, I sink onto my elbows and rest my forehead on the soothingly cool floor.

I've been plotted against by my colleagues, almost eaten by a space slug, sprayed with space slug blood, fought/stare-down'd over by two Space Mongols, carried away by one of them like quarry, and prodded to my eleventh orgasm of today by his tail tip while lying on the floor of his space ship with which we'll (hopefully) soon be leaving this planet (hopefully) forever. This is the weirdest goddamn day I've had in a long time, and I've had a client three days ago that literally turned out to be four fish-creatures in a trenchcoat, stacked on top of each other who, far as I could tell, wanted to talk me into investing in their intergalactic Ponzi scheme or join some sort of cult.

And then the door in front of me opens with a hydraulic hiss and my day gets weirder.

A pair of boots appears in my vision. I lift my head up off the floor, scramble backwards on all fours and and tilt my face to look up, and up, and up.

Golden-yellow eyes return my gaze.

Fuck. So much for my survival strategy.

***

So the Dryth appear to be Time Lords, or maybe they raided Gallifrey and took the TARDIS with them. In any case, far as I can tell, their ship is much bigger on the inside than it has any right to be.

Or maybe I'm just running in circles.

Yep, I'm running. Yes, naked, with stuff dripping down my legs. Yes, I'm holding on to my boobs. No, it's not a pretty sight. No, it doesn't make a ton of sense in my head, but my body saw Bane's glare and went RUN! RUN! RUN! ... so here we are. Running.

"You threw jars of lotion at the Space Mongol and yelled at him. What kind of total moron does that, Valerie?!" I scold myself -- in a gasping, noiseless sort of voice -- as I run.

Out of breath yet unable to stop, I fumble at another door-opening mechanism -- or is it the same damn one I already fumbled with twice? -- and let out an involuntary whimper when the door behind me hisses open. Bane follows me with the same silent, steady insistency with which he pursued me through the bedroom nine days ago. He doesn't run, he just... marches towards me and I'd be lying if I said the Terminator-esque single-mindedness of it didn't make my heart (and other body parts) flutter. Mostly, though, it makes me want to pee. Or maybe that's his spike drumming against my bladder.

Finally, I seem to have hit the right buttons and the door slides open for me.

At the end of this corridor -- this terribly familiar corridor -- Rune is blocking the next door, tall as a tree and still as a stone statue. Only his tail is twitching and swishing from side to side, getting more agitated as he sees me there.

I look around in a bit of a panic -- yep, Bane is already almost there -- and swerve to the right with another whimper, then climb up a narrow ladder that's installed there, hoping that the hatch at the end will open. I feel more than hear the two males following close behind me -- surely close enough to grab my ankle? Oh God, oh God. My breath whistles in sharp, short bursts in and out of my lungs.

I push against the hatch somewhat frantically, and then suddenly fall upwards, and then sideways, and hit a soft(ish) surface with a thump.

Okay, it's not a TARDIS. It's David Bowie's goblin king staircase castle, all upside-down and sideways and crazy ass gravity. My poor battered shins and knees throb.

Barely taking enough time for a deep inhale and without looking around too much, I scramble back onto my feet and resume my run, away from the hole in the wall behind me, blindly heading for the trees in the middle distance.

Trees? I blink and wipe my eyes with my wrist and immediately regret it because a) I had to let go of my boob to do so, which was an unwise move, and b) my wrist was slightly sweaty and now the sweat is in my eyes, too. Great job, Val. God only knows how you survived this long.

But, yes -- there are trees and shrubs and flowers in this space ship, with what sounds like actual birds in them, and their floral, resinous scent hits my nose with the next breath in. They grow out of rust-colored soil which feels like wet sand underneath my feet, and even climb up the walls and reach up all the way to the milky-white ceiling.

The plants humidify the air so much there's a mist wafting around with water droplets so thick that I'm practically bathed before I even reach the tree line. Once in the "forest", the broad leaves and branches of the exotic vegetation wipe their moisture on my skin and dampen my hair until I'm dripping all over and slip'n'slide around the soft ground on my bare, wet feet.

I have no idea where I'm going or if there is actually a place to go. I figure if I just walk straight on (or as straight as possible), I'll eventually hit a wall, and then maybe I can look for another door...?

(And then? What then, Val?)

(Shut up, I'll figure something out once I get th-)

The clearing comes so surprisingly I stumble over my own toes and then stop dead in my tracks.

There's a dark blue cloth stretched overhead between the crowns of the trees, like a big, beautiful shade sail. It keeps the empty sleeping area underneath it clean, dry and shady.

That's clearly what it is -- a sleeping area, even though there's no bed. The floor, cleared of trees and shrubbery, is laid out with squishy tatami-like mats, there are Dryth-sized dips in the floor. A couple of nondescript lumps that look like they could be used as headrests or pillows are lying around.

And there's a flat sort of rock sitting at the opposite side of the area, and on that rock, there's Bane. Naked as the day he was born -- I mean, I assume Dryth are born naked? They might also spring forth from Dratha wombs in full armor -- and relaxed as ever, and looking at me like he had been waiting for some time.

You couldn't tell by his face but it seems he's very happy to see me.

I mean, his tail is waving at me.

Both of his tails, really.

Panting (and telling myself that it's because of the physical exertion and not at all because of the wet and gloriously naked male in front of me, and certainly not because my vagina has fully recuperated from the last orgasm and is more than ready for the next round), I take a couple of minutes to stand there and look at him and catch my breath.

And then I take a resolute step forward. Toward him.

Yep. That's me, giving up.

There's comfort in inevitability. It's a lesson I learnt back on Earth, in my string of shitty jobs. Dead-end situations where there's literally only one thing to do got me through my formative years, through my twenties, and through a damn alien abduction, not to mention my job as an intergalactic sex slave/prostitute, with most of my sanity intact.

In this case, while it's probable that Bane may punish me in some way, it's inevitable that he'll fuck me again (oh, what a truly, entirely horrible fate! my pussy weeps at me), so I might as well get it over with. I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to do? I'm on this ship and can't find my way out of it. And even if I did, there's really no point in even going out there. There's nothing for me on that planet.

Of course, I did pelt the dude with heavy, solid objects, cussed him out and ran away from him. Pretty sure entire planetary systems got smote by the Dryth for less. Way less.

My arms cross in front of my chest defensively and I rub my palms up and down the goose bumps on my upper arms.

"So, uh. Hello . Again. Nice ship you've got here," I begin and want to smack myself upside the head, but I can't stop. "Interior design is on point, so far as I've seen anyway."

Bane acknowledges that he's heard me speaking with the barest of chin dips and a lazy sort of blink that reminds me of a big cat. Alright. So far, so good.

"Does it... does the ship belong to you? Or to, uh, Rune? Or to someone entirely else? I mean-" I don't really know what I mean. I manage to shut up.

A whole minute goes by before Bane surprises me by opening his mouth.

"It belongs to us," he says simply.

I nod as if that clears things up.

"So you and Rune, you're..." Oh, boy, I messed up, didn't I? "Are you, like, pilot and co-pilot? Or... friends? ... Brothers?" Shit shit shit. "Not father and son, or anything, surely?" I give a nervous sort of laugh, the kind that says 'Yep, I made a complete ass out of myself trying to play off family members against one another!'

"Look, uhm, I panicked a bit, back at the bar because I saw him there and you'd just, you know, killed Ike in the bath," I babble. "I was overwhelmed by the situation and... Yeah. I panicked. I figured I-"

"You fought," he interrupts me -- my mouth clicks shut -- and dips his head again, this time to show me a spot on his scalp. On the side of his horned ridge, there's a darker smudge on his already dark skin. A bruise? A wound?

Understanding dawns. It's where I caught him with that first jar. My mouth immediately dries up entirely and my bladder contracts into the size of a pebble.

Holy shit, I bruised a Dryth. If aliens come and reduce the solar system containing the Earth to stardust, it's my fault.

"I—I'm so sorry-" I begin, opening my hands in a placating gesture, even as a voice in the back of my head is protesting quite loudly against this subservient bullshit. You know what, I'm not sorry at all. You deserved it, you-

"You strategized, and you fought," he repeats.

His eyes shine as they connect with mine.

He... He sounds... pleased?

I blink, my mouth still open. "Uh. Yes?" 'Strategizing' is a rather big word for what I did, but alright.

He gets up. And up. And up. Holy hell, I'll never get over just how much these guys tower over me, even from a couple of paces away. It's not just run-of-the-mill towering like any other tall guy back on Earth, no. The Dryth have made towering into an art form.

And boy, there's a whole lot of wet, gleaming skin. Bane has evidently also been through the misty, dewy forest -- plus, he's dripping. He's dripping milky lubrication or maybe pre-ejaculate down the insides of his legs, his pulsing and undulating cock is weeping it in thick droplets and strings, and goddamn it, that should be icky but isn't. Like, at all.

My fingers, palms, and the tip of my tongue start to tingle in unison and I'm starting to think that this -- this ravenous, primal hunger that's rising from my middle outwards -- is what Earth men feel when they part a woman's legs and find her pussy already soaking wet and twitching in anticipation. I lick my lower lip and pull it between my teeth while my eyes stay magically glued to that fascinating organ between the Dryth's thighs that apparently wants to show off just how much he wants me.

Message received, big guy.

"I like it when they fight, human Ree," he reminds me with that same wicked gleam in his eyes I had seen nine days ago, taking a half-step towards me.

I automatically inch backwards even as my nipples strain forward.

Suddenly, the back of my neck starts to prickle. Before I can react, two dark arms come around me from behind. A hand grabs an elbow on each side. They pull my arms away from where they are crossed over my chest and lock them to my sides so that I can't really do much more than squirm in place without causing my shoulder joints to protest.