Close Encounters 03: of the Sixth Kind

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Cydia
Cydia
160 Followers

For a time, we lie there in our disjointed little heap, just breathing. I slide my hand from Rune's head down his neck, to his shoulder, along his arm, his hand and fingers and over to Bane's shoulder as far as I can reach, and then back. They are both warm to the touch and slick with sweat and forest mist and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thinking about licking them clean right now.

Eventually, Bane gets off his - I've always thought of them as 'friends', but after this I think I might need a new word - and goes to fetch the cloth from the water bucket which I once put there into the "corner" of the "bedroom".

The bucket's just a matter of practicality. There's lots of sweating and expelling of other bodily fluids going on in this room, and I'm usually not physically able to take a hike all the way to the washing unit (which is inconveniently located all the way up next to the bridge) on account of having had all of my muscle strength, my sense of balance and my proprioception fucked out of me shortly before. But I still like to freshen up every once in a while, hence the convenient little bucket.

I try not to ogle Bane as he crouches by the bucket and wrings out the little towel, but it's impossible not to. First off, tail notwithstanding, the guy has a mighty fine butt which flexes in a delightsome manner when he crouches.

And also, post-ejaculation, Dryth cocks that don't get detached for insemination purposes go soft for a short while - which means that the cartilaginous "ribs" that circle the length of the shaft (the ones that make me go 'whooo!' with every thrust) loosen up. Those ribs apparently work a little like a corset, so when they loosen, the organ gets bigger and longer and bulbous toward the tip.

God, it's so... dangly and goofy-looking. I can't look away. It's got a pinkish hue, which I didn't know was possible for slate-gray skin to have.

As Bane turns around, he catches me staring at his junk (again. It's a habit by now). If he had eyebrows, I'm pretty sure he'd lift one right then. I lift both of mine, and my chin as well, in a challenge.

Bane's tail tip swishes in a quick little circle.

That's the Dryth way of showing amusement.

At least I hope it is, given that he's doing that a lot in my presence.

Bane wordlessly cleans up between Rune's legs, washes and wrings out the cleaning rag, then comes over to me and motions for me to get into a reclined sitting position. He then frees me from my wilted-looking little boob strap - I don't bother to argue, the thing isn't exactly doing much in terms of lifting any more anyway, and being clothed up top makes me feel strangely more naked down below - and commences to wipe me down from my face to my chest.

I don't argue about this, either, even though it does remind me a little of the time when grown-ups would spit on handkerchiefs and rub at some dirt on my face with them. Grandma Georgia was the worst offender in this truly obnoxious practice.

Bane cleans my cheeks, my chin, my neck and my shoulders, and then both of my breasts, even though there's a cleaner stripe across them where the brittle leather had sat, and suddenly it doesn't remind me of Grandma Georgia at all any more.

And then he goes a little lower.

I let my knees fall open almost automatically.

Yep, I'm a happy slutty slut being happy and slutty.

And a little lower still, cleaning me up so gently and surely it makes me swoon and then shiver in delight when the spike inside of me responds to the stimulation.

Bane moves forward and kneels between my spread legs, his entire attention on maneuvering the cloth around my pussy. Boy oh boy, he's a very thorough Dryth indeed. Wonderful service, 10/10 would let myself get smacked onto the floor again!

Rune pushes in behind me, and I sink back and shamelessly snuggle up to him with a shivery sigh, lifting my arms around his head so I can resume stroking his non-hair. Before long, his arms come around me and his hands cup my breasts, the pads of his thumbs tend to my nipples, already pebbled from the cool air and the dampness left by Bane's cleaning efforts, and his mouth finds my ear.

Dryth can be accused of many things, but 'being talkative' isn't one of them. That's because Dryth brains, I have come to understand these past weeks, work pretty much like the universe's most intelligent chess computer. Even the most benign-seeming move may take hours to weigh, calculate, evaluate and re-evaluate because of the literal millions and billions of possibilities such a move creates down the line.

Thing is, I'm more of a chutes and ladders kinda girl. My approach to verbal communication is a lot more... spontaneous.

(And mostly inane.)

(... rude.)

Luckily, both of my travelling companions/alien abductors/gracious service providers have proven quite teachable in this regard. Bane only takes half a minute to respond to my questions now (as opposed to a full minute, so that's progress! I guess he has come to the realization that I'm much too unorganized and erratic to have any type of endgame) and Rune even initiates conversation on occasion.

And also, Rune is practically killing it with dirty talk. Seriously, he's minimalist and not very creative - I think Drythish isn't exactly the language of love, so Rune doesn't seem to have too much to work with - but he gets the job done nonetheless and hits all of my sweet spots on the way there.

"I could smell your cunt while you watched us," he tells me. "Did you touch yourself behind that little rock, Va-l'ree?"

I shiver a bit, and not just because of his warm breath tickling my ear canal. They only say my full name (or adorably attempt to do so) when they mean business.

"I didn't," I insist, panting only a little. The spike is doing the come-hither-motion inside of me and it makes my eyes roll back in my head, unable to think about exactly why the fuck I, in fact, didn't touch myself behind that rock. I guess I was just too (pleasantly) shocked by what I was seeing.

"Good," he purrs. "That cunt is ours to touch."

Remember when I told you that I find it nice to be wanted so intensely even though it's caveman bullshit? Yeah, sorry, not sorry, I am way into this. I whimper because fuck.

"Don't close your eyes," Rune gently commands me when my eyelids droop from the sensation of having all of my favorite places caressed all at once. "Watch him tend to our cunt."

And watch I do. I see the cloth whispering up and down between my legs, the dampness making my pubic hair stick, darkened and slick, to my mound. I feel the drops of water tickling the insides of my butt cheeks as they drip onto the floor. Up and down, up and down Bane's hand goes, along the ticklish, soft part of my inner thighs, my sensitive hip creases, along my seam, tracing my puffy lips like a cool, slightly rough tongue. I twitch my pelvis up and down - whether to increase or decrease the friction, I'm not even sure. It feels good and then too good and then it's not enough, all within a second. I bite my lip when Bane's free hand comes to rest on my right thigh, squishing me to the floor hold me still.

"He is cleaning it, but it keeps getting dirty," Rune states, faking mild surprise about this state of affairs - playfulness suits him so well! - and I know that he knows because he can smell the drops of fluid I'm weeping from between my lips. "Bad little cunt."

I can't help chuckling at that - he said it so sincerely, so full of gravity, it's just funny - but the sound dies in my throat when Rune tweaks my nipples a bit harder as a punishment and squeezes my tits together in his big, dark hands. In turn, I dig my the fingernails of one hand deep into his non-hair and lower the other until I encounter the shell of his ear, jingling with piercings as it is, and slide the pad of my thumb around the side.

Rune stills for a moment, then gives a little groan and gently closes his lips around the shell of my ear, returning the favor by suckling and nibbling me there with the utmost care.

With Rune's lips against my earlobe, his hands on my tits, and Bane's fingers and attention between my legs, surrounded by male scent and warmth and sounds, I feel like I'm fucking melting. I writhe in Rune's arms and under Bane's ministrations.

Bane's hand leaves my thigh and clamps around my chin and lower jaw, forcing me to look forward again, into his eyes.

"He told you to watch me," he growls, forcing my chin down until my eyes point towards the area between my thighs again, and casually also pushes his thumb into my mouth all the way to the knuckle.

Roughly filling my mouth with something, anything, is another one of those things Bane likes to do often. It probably reminds him of the first blowjob he ever got (or rather took). If his physical reaction is anything to go by - his cock is stirring, gradually pulling back up into its familiar ram's horn shape - I'd say it's a good memory.

That makes two of us.

I don't know how many minutes or hours pass in which I'm just floating in ecstasy, teased and caressed and touched all over in that possessive manner that makes my stomach feel all fluttery, while Rune alternately nibbles on and mutters few but perfect words into my ear. I'm in actual tears by the time Bane shows mercy and fits his hips to mine, sliding his long-ready cock into my weeping core. It would be a tight fit even if there wasn't already a spike in there but Bane somehow makes it work, rocking my inner muscles into submission and then expanding inside of me until there's literally a bulge on my lower abdomen, like in ridiculous hentai movies.

When I start wailing like a banshee, he feeds his index and middle finger into my mouth - the Dryth version of a pacifier, I guess. I don't wail so much as moan after that (too busy gagging and choking) and I come hard enough to black out (twice) before he announces that he's going to stake me again.

It's not like he's really giving me a choice, but I nod nonetheless through snot and tears.

"Good girl," Rune compliments me and rapidly flicks my nipples with his fingertips exactly right, and my entire lower body is vibrating with some sort of endlessly extended orgasm by the time I feel the second spike settle deep into my channel.

I always mean to watch and see exactly what's happening to a Dryth guy, anatomy-wise, when he stakes someone. Is there a hole? Is it bloody or anything? Or just a smooth crater? Or is the next spike already coming in, like a second tooth when the baby tooth falls out late? I'm really curious, but every time one of my boys plugs me up, I'm too distracted and my brain is... well.

Hot porridge.

I believe they're doing that on purpose.

I also believe I don't mind too much.

***

After a brief, much-needed and well-deserved nap, I find myself all alone in the bedroom.

Post-coital snuggling is, unsurprisingly, also not part of Dryth culture. Hell, coitus in that sense is not part of Dryth culture. I figured I should introduce them bit by bit - boiling a frog and all that - and let it slide so far. Not much longer, though.

As soon as I find my legs again, I manage to get out of "bed", schlep myself through the forest - limping and walking just a bit bow-legged because of the new, lively passenger in my nether chute - and towards the nearest exit hatch.

As far as I can tell, this space ship is basically tubular, with two smaller tubes nestled inside like a babushka doll. The space between the first and second tube is where trees of the indoor forest grow, for maximum effective surface usage and maximum insulation and a couple other clever, sciency reasons my ignorant, physics-averse human brain can't think of. The innermost shell holds the engines and all that mechanical stuff that keeps us afloat in space and keeps the lights on. The middle shell, the one sandwiched between the forest and the engine, is where the control rooms and mundane stuff like supply closets and pantries full of deep-frost freezers stacked with foodstuffs are located.

That, and the washing unit I mentioned before, which is basically a very niftily designed bathroom and, right now, my destination. My crazy post-run-post-sex hair, the dirty soles of my feet, my still-throbbing pussy and I need a long soak in the bath.

When I get there, I slip inside and switch the lights on. I only notice Bane standing in the shower when I pull the door shut behind me, and it makes me jump. Holy crap, why does he have to take his shower in the pitch dark?

We look at one another for a long moment, him with his hand hovering over the console that starts the shower spray, me with my hand still on the door latch.

"Uh, hello," I begin, remembering my manners and pointedly not checking out his middle bits right now even though the curiosity is killing me. Some manners are tenacious. "Sorry for interrupting. You didn't lock the door, so I thought this was unoccupied."

He blinks.

I blink.

Sigh. Intercultural communication is hard sometimes.

"I can leave if you want," I offer. "Or you can shower and I can bathe?" I add a smirk because that's exactly the same suggestion he made when we first met. I like to think that he demanded we wash up separately because he'd absolutely have jumped my bones otherwise like some sort of wild beast before anyone would've had the chance to get clean.

He shakes his head. "No bathing," he says.

"Okay," I reply and try not to be weirdly disappointed.

(He just literally spent hours touching, cleaning and fucking you. Give the man some breathing room.)

(Also, the cleaning unit is not exactly large. The bathtub would take some of his shower space. It's not practical.)

(And doesn't he deserve some privacy?)

I know, I know. I do know all this.

I flick the door latch and the hydraulics hiss quietly.

"I'll wait outs-"

"No," he barks, and adds, "You have a shower," and then, "We have the same shower."

I stand there a little dumbstruck for a moment, then find my tongue. "O-kay. Alright. Yeah, that'll... that would work, too. The shower is big enough and I'm, you know, comparatively-"

"Ree," he only says, cutting me off, and presses the button on the console. Immediately a heavy rainfall of steaming water shrouds his big body in misty white and gray.

I hurry to step into the unit with him and pull the faux-glass door shut so the rest of the unit doesn't get sprayed.

Once inside, the shower doesn't really seem so big any more at all, or maybe it's just Bane taking up all the space with his presence. Good grief, I've been with them for weeks now, having phenomenal sex with them multiple times a day, and still I feel sort of giggly and nervous right now because we're not usually this close.

It's a different type of close.

His yellow eyes gleam at me through the steam, its intensity only slightly softened by all the water vapor.

It takes about four seconds before the silence and the closeness get awkward.

"Would you like me to, uhmm, wash you?" I grab the sponge from its little bowl on the shower rack. It's a little bit like a loofah, but natural and, as many things are in space, alive and sentient. Some sort of plant, I think, that soaps itself up. Smells nice, too. "I can do your back if you do mine?"

After several long moments, he turns around, giving me his endlessly broad back in answer.

I happily proceed to scrub his back from the base of his neck to his left and right shoulders, down his spine and to his sides, all the way down to his gorgeous backside, taking some extra care with the base of his tail which is the only part of him that's moving through the entire procedure. Its tip his trailing patterns through the water that's accumulating around our feet.

"You are allowed to breathe, you know," I remind him with a little laugh, and put my hand on his hip. "Turn around. Gonna do the rest of you, too."

He throws me a look over his shoulder which I can't interpret, but eventually does turn around to face me again. I keep my gaze strictly above his waistline - not that that's a hardship, really - and proceed to swish the soapy sponge across his pectorals, using my free hand to feel and trace the unfamiliar ridges and valleys of his upper torso with some fascination.

I've spent a lot of time looking at Dryth anatomy these past weeks, but whenever I was close enough to actually touch them, it was usually just to hold on to something for dear life in the throes of passion. I never had the time to properly explore.

Dryth have a partial exoskeleton going on in their upper bodies. Most fascinatingly, it's not entirely symmetrical, like a human skeleton basically is. Lord knows exactly what the purpose of that may be. Biology class taught me that bipeds ideally have their weight distributed evenly on the two feet and are therefore ideally axisymmetrical along their length.

Then again, Dryth aren't exactly bipeds in the sense of being two-footed. Their two legs end in two foot-like structures each. They have a front foot and a back-and-sides foot, with toes that end in claws. It's pretty wild.

I paint big soapy circles onto his chest, reaching farther and farther down with each revolution, until I skim his groin where his penis had been, and will be again soon. In the muted light, all I see is a whole lot of shadow, and before I can skim my free palm over it, Bane catches my wrist quite abruptly.

"I'm sorry," I hush out. "Does it hurt? Is that spot tender, or...?"

Gotta admit, the curiosity is verging hard into 'morbid' right now if I think about it. I feel like Doubting Thomas who wanted to poke around Jesus' open nail holes with his unwashed fingers.

Bane shakes his head 'no' and says nothing for a good, long while. He also doesn't let go of my wrist, though, so I know the cogs behind his forehead are still whirring.

"I am not Dryth," he eventually says, and when he sees me frown in utter confusion, flicks his bright eyes downwards, along his own body. "I am not Dryth at present."

Understanding dawns. 'Dryth' is the name the universe is using for their entire species, but for the Dryth themselves, it just means "male". Their females are called Drahta.

The penis is, apparently, the literal "manhood" for a Dryth, as well, just as it is for humans (for the most part anyway).

And Bane thinks not having a cock makes him less than.

That's both sad and also almost funny. Like this specimen of male perfection could ever be diminished by such trivial stuff as temporarily absent bits. Hell, even permanently absent bits wouldn't make a dent in his utter maleness.

"I met 'Dryth' at the table, at the bar," I remind him. "At least one of them put his slimy hands on me and wanted to eat me alive right there, clothes and all. Without even having claimed me before. Without a proper challenge."

Bane snorts, angry on my behalf and for being reminded of the inappropriate behavior of his fellow Dryth that day. The eating part as such wasn't really the problem for him - it's the lack of proper etiquette that made him mad. Which is why the other guy quickly lost the hand with which he was grabbing me.

I step closer to him and tilt my head up, giving his mouth a long, meaningful, pointed glance, while I drop my loofah to the floor and slide my soapy hand gently but surely down his flank.

"If you ask me, you are more than 'Dryth'," I say. "You are not them, not even close. You are Bane. You have been more than Dryth to me, always."

He's stopped breathing again, I notice with a little glee. It's good to know that I can take his breath away as much as he takes mine on a regular basis.

Cydia
Cydia
160 Followers