Reader x alien - “Collector” Pt. 02.1

You're not sure how to resolve your conflicting feelings, neither yours nor his. The most glaring issue is that everything about the experience of his orgasms disturbed him. He refused to come until he met you, where he confided in you that he actually wished that he could.

It took some time to work up to it but you developed a way to help facilitate him doing just that.

You love helping him.

Encouraging him, coaxing him, milking him for all that he's worth. For all that you're worth.

He trusted you without end but it weighed heavily on you each time you both got into the rhythm of jerking him off. You loved the process but he still felt so fundamentally alarmed by his own body that it at times felt wrong, it felt like you were inserting the rod while bucking your strapped hips for yourself alone, it felt like anyone outside looking in might see you as someone looking at a bug in a jar; engaging in this process solely for your own fascination.

You could find ample reassurance most of the time, when he chittered his mandibles across your throat after such an escapade, whining, "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

When he would praise you while inserting his fingers one at a time into you while you rubbed and rutted your slickness against his hand. As though it were a call and response--when you asked, "More," he'd oblige with another finger to stretch you further until you could almost no longer take it, but what would cause you to melt into his hand while panting and moaning was when he would say to you, "you're doing so good for me."

The outstanding conflict was that he wanted to try to come whole in an effort to collect the valuable sperms, but your initial efforts at getting more information and your preliminary experiments have all ended in absolute failure.

He was miserable.

You desperately want to rise to the occasion and figure out a way to do this but you wonder more and more why he wants to subject himself to it instead of the procedure that would remove the large orb-like masses. He could come freely and without any inhibition, but he insisted that he try this first.

You didn't want to try to prod him towards any one direction, strip him of autonomy, but you don't know what good it is doing for either of you for him to grow into feeling animosity towards you.

He almost managed to sit through the passing of one of the globular masses of cum so that you could see what it was like, what you were working with. You saw how the tip of his cock began to part, the thick and gelatinous green-blue membrane beginning to peek through and push against. He nearly launched his entire body away from you while making the most awful and saddening noise out of completely untethered discomfort.

"I don't want to do this right now."

"It's okay, it's okay. You don't have to but you need to stay still for a little bit more."

You grabbed the nearby rod and let it slowly puncture the sack of ooze. This bit spilled out of him, he shuddered but it was completely devoid of pleasure. Your eyes get watery while you let gravity take over and just make sure to guide it to spear the ones that remain within.

You chance a kiss at his neck, he doesn't shake you away but his body feels so tense. It makes your eyes glaze over more, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"It isn't your fault, I wanted to try this."

He sounded shaken and distant, you both felt emotionally drained and defeated but knowing that it was doubly so for him made you feel inadequate. You shouldn't have tried this right now, not like this.

He joylessly unloaded into the prepared container, entirely reduced down to being as procedural as clearing your throat in the shower. You thought that he would get up and bolt out of the room but he didn't, he leaned into you so that you would hold him.

"I don't want to give up. Not yet."

You desperately clutch at him; when you kiss him without trajectory, you slip along his beautifully sleek and smooth exoskeleton.

"You'll hate me."

He pleasantly chitters across you, "I won't."

When you bubble into a cry, "But you will," he scoops you while he rolls back. He could lean on you for some time but if he got too comfortable and lost focus, he'd end up pinning you down if not altogether crushing you. You nuzzle into the sift part of his throat but you still feel frustrated and weak. "You don't have to comfort me... I keep hurting you."

"No, you're helping me."

It doesn't feel like it.

"I only want to make you feel good. Pleasured. I don't like making you miserable."

"Please keep trying with me. I'm sorry that you're caught in the crossfire, but I promise that I don't hate you. I love you! You do make me feel good! You make me feel so good, I've never been able to come before." He rubs his hands along the back of your body, now he's the one with a desperate embrace. "Just the once. I just want to be able to once, and afterwards I will consider the procedure."

Your hands find another pocket of tender flesh that connected his plates on his side. You massaged into it, causing him to make a pleasant, needy, noise.

"If a procedure like that exists in the first place," you tried to navigate carefully. "Would they maybe know a way to alleviate your discomfort?"

"No... I have asked."

He leans in over your shoulder, your necks touching closely. He's silent for a bit but you can feel him breathing, you can feel his throat preemptively move before he's ready to talk.

"The procedures are more to prevent unwanted carrying, for partners of those that are able to. To prevent uncomfortable filling, for those that cannot. Such as with human partners."

You wished that you were filled.

Filled so tightly to the brim you had to exercise all control that you possibly had with your pelvic muscles to not let a single part of him spill out. But you would always keep this to yourself, for his sake.

So you set on the following weeks to figure out a way to design a method, while keeping discrete and indirect.

There were videos online, more often featuring one prominent figure: Orion Mar. His pseudonym, but it was a name widely known.

He was featured in many kinds of videos; ones where you could watch him take humans from behind, both vaginally and anally, stuffing them until they whined out. The camera would always be sure to pan in so that you could see whichever private bulge out, his nearly tennis ball sized sperms challenging almost everyone to stretch to their outer limits.

The videos that were the most informational for your research, as well as the most personally titillating, were ones where he stared hard at the camera while stroking himself front on. He'd never buck, never arch, only give a bit of a chitter when the tip of his cock gave way to the large pearlescent mass.

It was purely for research but you couldn't pull your eyes away, and at times would end up reaching down to touch yourself. Rubbing gently against your bare folds while you watch him methodically and rhythmically pump himself, slowly inserting a finger, or two, or three, desperate to get in four when you saw how far his head had to stretch to pass through the round egg-like sperm. He was silent, unmoving, but you found yourself gently crying out, rocking more and more into your hand wishing that you could go further.

Wishing that the deposit was within you.

Wishing that it wasn't such a discomfort for your lover, so that you may share the moment together.

Always you'd feel hot shame, your fingers beyond damp, almost pruning. The video would be over and the quiet stillness ringing loud in your ears. You weren't at any risk of being caught, but even if you were, he would not have minded.

Still, you cannot help the guilt you felt by fingering yourself while you conducted necessary research.

Eventually you're able to desensitize yourself to what a pleasure you imagine what you're watching to be. You get the point where you watch with such clinical severity, you think about how much time had gone by that you've expressionlessly watched pornography and feel astounded.

Even more shocking, you have the gall to write Orion an email.

Dear Mr. Mar,

You begin it formally,

I apologize for this strange and tactless request. But I have to hope that surely for someone of your skill and profession, that you must get asked similarly.

My partner too is of the same race as you, but the experience of ejaculating is... tumultuous. It's outright unbearable for him, to the point where he'd just rather not.

We have designed a way to circumvent it, but it disrupts the sperm sacks.

We are currently trying to develop a way to allow him to... well, "cum whole" so to speak.

But to do so, I need to see the texture first hand.

We have tried a few times and it simply is not possible.

I write to you this letter as a plea of scientific advancement, and the pursuit of helping alleviate my partner's pain:

Could I please bear witness, in person, at one of your shoots?

I imagine the sets must be closed but I will do whatever safeguarding is required to be on the sidelines.

I'm sorry again if this is just wildly too inappropriate to ask.

Kindly,

You cannot believe that you've just signed your name and sent this email.

You're even more surprised when you receive a reply just two days later.

I'm fascinated by your request.

I happen to like an audience. You may visit me at the following address.

-Orion

You lie in bed, red in the face.

Did you really get a reply?

Did he really just say that?

"What is it?"

Your lover chitters along your shoulder when he crawls into bed, squeezing you tightly.

"Um..."

You push him away just so that you could roll him onto his side or back and prop your arms on your chest.

"I... messaged Orion Mar."

"What--"

You cut him off, "He just messaged me back."

"What?! What did you say?"

"Um... the truth. That I'm trying to study your..."

He shies away.

You think that he does so because you've brought up the topic again, but that's not entirely why.

He laughs out loud, laughs in a way that surprises even himself. He had a good sense of humor but didn't often laugh, it "required a surge of energy and air," he had explained to you.

"You messaged another one of my kind, one that is a porn star no less, to lodge a request to study him? For the sole purpose of me wanting to come?"

You couldn't tell if he felt as incredulous as his tone led you to believe.

"Yes..."

"And now you're telling me that he actually replied back?"

"Yes, yes... I'm sorry!"

You bury into his chest fearful that he will push you away but he doesn't. He pulls you in closer, and laughs again.

"Wow. All of this for me. A celebrity is involved now? A sex symbol?"

Your eyes are almost glazed over, you can't tell if he's pleased or upset. You lift yourself up to look at him, gravity taking hold of your small tears and dragging them down.

"Are you upset with me? I can tell him never mind, and try something else."

He wipes away your face.

"No, I'm not upset with you."

He chitters his mandibles across your face. You feel so tense that you almost hiccup but you try to calm down, he is telling you that he's not angry. You roll your face into his, feeling his strong and sharp mandibles gently graze over your skin, tissue and membrane beneath, absorbing the moisture of your tears. You press your mouth into his, something that neither of you try too often but not because it's uncomfortable, just that it requires some focus.

He gives into you, let's you kiss at the membrane that served as a permeable seal for his actual mouth. Although air could pass through, it allowed him to breathe under water if he so desired, but he told you that it hardly ever came up. "Vestigial anatomy," the two of you concluded.

He lets you press your tongue against it before doing the same except that his is able to pass through from the other side. You greedily lap at the smooth taut flesh, hungry to press into him closer, and closer, and closer.

He pulls away before going any further, a bit winded.

You both are.

You too must catch your breath, rubbing your hands all along him as you do.

When stillness and calm begin to return to your room, he grabs hold of your hand before coyly asking, "Are you going to sleep with him?"

It sobers you immediately.

"No, what?! I imagine I'm just going to be, I don't know, around on a set?"

He seemed playful moments ago but now seemed a little thoughtful and cautious. He whispers to you, hushed as though he was worried that someone would hear him, "Hmmm, but you could."

"What has gotten into you?" You press against him and look at him with wide eyes. You feel like you're being told a terrible secret, something that had been

He takes your other hand and pulls it up to his face so that he can articulate his mandibles over them.

"You've been tirelessly helping me. I feel like in the end, I always get mine but then I leave you high and dry."

"No! That isn't true!"

Your eyes burn again, you loved him and wanted to help but hearing this now made you feel like you must be doing a bad job at conveying your adoration. Or did you now start to feel confused about your own motives? Are you actually only being selfish, wanting to find a solution so that you could experience what you really wanted?

This offer in some part was just the very thing, but it made you feel sick.

You shut your eyes and shake your head but he will not break, he continues gently, "It doesn't have to be him but maybe... someone? Another?"

You pull your body away from him entirely, choking down a sob. You flop over onto your side before bubbling out, "I want to go to sleep."

"I'm not saying that you need to! I don't want another either, so it isn't as though I'm suggesting something that I want for myself. I just feel like if the opportunity presented itself for you... I really wouldn't be upset--"

"Good night." You say it firmly, you would hear no more about it.

He sighs before rolling over onto his own side before flipping off the lamp, washing the room in darkness.

You still don't want to talk anymore tonight but you can't possibly leave it at just that. You grumble out, "I love you..."

He sighs again, "I love you too. I love you so much, I'm sorry. I just... never mind. We don't need to talk about it more today," you feel him reach behind to touch your shoulder. You must focus with your all to not childishly shake him away but you know that he can feel how tense you are.

He doesn't delay too much before returning his hand to himself while telling you, "Good night."