Reader x alien - “Collector” Pt. 02.2

A few days later and you're buzzed into the entrance of a beautiful condominium complex.

In the lobby is Orion Mar.

You felt so sheepish walking up to him, there was no need for any, "Excuse me, I'm looking for someone by the name Orion." Everyone in here knows who he is

Anyone anywhere would.

Nobody bothered him though.

Anyone that was in the lobby minded their own business, barely even looking up when you approached the undeniably model-like alien.

"Hi, I'm from..."

"The email."

He was confident but not unkind, stretching out his hand, "Nice to meet you, I'm Orion."

You think about how redundant it feels to hear him introduce himself, there was no mystery, but it grounds you in a way that helps steel your nerves. You felt so awkward and ashamed coming in here but it's clear that he's professional.

"Nice to meet you Orion," you introduce yourself while returning his handshake.

Everything about him was huge, you nearly had to crane your neck to look up at him. His hand engulfed yours but his handshake was only firm but gentle, not something meant to strangle your hand though you could feel he easily could.

"We can go up to my room now, if you're ready."

"Your room?"

"Yes, my condo?"

Your head reels.

"Wait you're taking me to your home?"

"Where did you think you were?"

"I..." you look around, not exactly sure what you thought. "A set...?"

"Oh no, if we were on a set, we wouldn't be able to talk." He sees your wandering eyes and deer-in-headlights expression. "I'm sorry for misunderstanding what you were asking for in your email."

"No, no, I mean--okay hearing it out loud... but you're not wrong. That's not really what I was surprised by."

He laughs a lofty sound, you try to back pedal more.

"I didn't mean it like that either but... anyways, you just met me, just now, and this is literally where you live."

"Yes, but I didn't get the sense that you would be taking advantage of that by your email."

You didn't want to speak up even if that were true, but you did feel like this was already going far down south. You were out of your element and this was a mistake.

"I get a lot of messages and propositions that I do nothing with, or smile and 'thank you for your support' and move on. I am not so reckless."

"I will treat you with the same respect and professionalism as thought it were a set. Functionally, it is, but it will not have the rigmarole of many extra people that I would need to prioritize paying attention to. I would not really be able to answer questions, and even if you were just there for the," "demonstration. It would have been through a screen. Monitors. No different than what you could have already done at home."

You're taken aback at how coolly he articulated his point and how he didn't beat around the bush. He didn't seem shy in the slightest, or weirded out by the idea of you being here to... watch him. Ugh. Even thinking about the reality of the situation was enough to send you spiraling. But he was also being really patient, way more patient than you would have expected someone to be in his position.

"Thank you for being considerate, and for taking me seriously. I admit that... I feel embarrassed by my email. I'm also clearly out of my element, but I think I have my bearings now...."

"It's okay, it make it very obvious that you're not paparazzi, or a tabloid writer, or some dangerous, raving, fan."

"No, not at all! But I need you to know too, that I'm also not like a professional scientist either."

He sounded wolffish, "There is definitely an peculiar element to this that is of interest to me. I understand what I'm signing up for."

You're not sure if you do, but you don't want to belabor further and take up anymore of his time than needed.

He leaves the ball in your court, and though you still don't feel very confident, you shakily muster up, "Okay, I'm on the same page as you. I'm, um, ready..."

"Good, follow me."

You walk past a table of people, the front desk, other staff, and even after your conversation, still nobody pays you any mind.

You're the first to get into the elevator, your neck nearly at a 90 degree angle as you start to remark on the inside, "Woah, the ceiling is so tall--" and you realize when Orion gets in that he would have had to be ducking in a normal elevator.

He sounds amused, "That's one of the reasons I chose this building. I'm able to fit everywhere."

"Wow, even you have clearance above your head."

"Yes, much more comfortable than cramped human elevators."

You want to ask more, but there is no time as the doors open to his floor. Well, you would have thought it was his floor, you imagined this building must be laid out like a hotel or apartment but it wasn't.

You walk out of the elevator right into Orion Mar's home.

It was large, spacious, and tidily sparse in the way that you would see rich people's homes in movies. If you looked hard enough though, you'd see little pockets of personality. A collection of rubber ducks was prominently displayed on a floating shelf, an incomprehensibly large bean bag chair lie next to the couch, an entire wall coated in Polaroid photos like at a bar or venue--images of him and others.

"Would you like anything before we begin, water or anything?"

"Oh thank you, could I please have water?"

He pulls out two bottles of water from the fridge and walks over to hand you one. You're thankful for the sip you take after opening it, feeling a little restored and no longer dry throated.

"We will be in here,"

He leads you into an open room that looks like what you were imagining a set to look like. There were post-mounted lights, three different cameras, a bed, and a stool with what looked to be a pile of fluffy blankets on the floor beneath.

You're off to the side looking at another part of the room when you turn around and see Orion unbuttoning his shirt while he stands near the chair in the front. You are stunned and bewildered, not knowing what you were expecting at all but definitely not him getting unclothed?

But once again, you're instilled with a little more calm when he speaks in a technical tone, "I will be here, you may sit in the chair across. If that is too direct for you, you can move the chair somewhere more comfortable, to the side or so."

This is like clockwork to him, that has to, and does, count for something. You nod and walk over to the chair, keeping it right in line with his. You sit down while he still fusses with his remaining buttons. When he finally shakes off his shirt, you feel flush and blurt out, "What exactly is this room?"

"Ah, it's to practice. Lighting, how things look on camera. Sometimes with newer actors."

You have trouble making sense of this information while also looking at him. He looked like the glow of celebritydom just standing in the lobby, but now that you started to see... more of him in this particular environment...

He had broad plates, but was still quite lithe. His sternum and the top of his belly had the softest looking connective flesh, something that didn't really convey over camera and certainly not something you ever saw the other actors take advantage of with kneads or touches.

When he began to undo his pants, you had to choke down another sip of water. He makes a careening sound, one that you know is similar to laughter.

"Are you okay? Is this still okay?"

You are thankful that he keeps a pulse on the situation but you also feel so bad and juvenile that you're causing him to feel like you should be babysitting you.

"Yes, it is--I am. Is everyone on sets just... entirely desensitized?"

"For the most part. It doesn't stand out to me anymore, but I imagine how it might look to someone, you for example, to have the director cut. I'm inside of someone, and the director will walk up to me to give me a note. To tell me something like, 'angle your torso towards the camera more' and then I do it, I make the correction as soon as they roll again."

You appreciated how he talked about his craft, how it was innately sexual in nature, but he did not sensationalize it nor did he say anything suggestive towards you.

When he shakes off his pants, and sees your face crinkle, he tries to provide you another distraction, "Your boyfriend cannot come?" He inquisitively chitters a sound that you're incapable of repeating but it's widely recognized and known, the name of the aliens.

"Yes, it disturbs him. He had a few times when he was younger, enough to I guess figure out that he didn't like it."

"But you figured out some workaround?"

"Yes... of sorts."

"Does that mean, I'm sorry if it's too forward," you think the contrast of being asked this while his thumb is in the band of his underwear to be very funny, "you don't have sex?"

"No," you don't mind it, you really don't, but you can't help the tone that you have right now. One that lets him know that you don't mind but you still feel inadequate for it, "we don't."

"Hmm. Well, hopefully we can shed some light. You need to see the sperm deposit, that's what you said?"

"Yes, to see it pass... whole..."

Your throat feels dry again, your face returning to a crumpled expression while you take another sip of water.

He can tell by your disposition that it's now or never. He didn't come off as lecherous, just a little bit cocky when he confirms, "Well, we can definitely do that."

There is no pomp and circumstance, he takes off his underwear in one fell swoop, his flaccid cock nearly spilling out. When he turns around to set all of his clothes on top of the bed, even the tips of your ears turn red when you see the backside of him; plates on his thighs and lower back that were bridged by beautifully stretched ligament. You know that he can see your expression, how you're trying to look up at the ceiling from the corner of your eye when he sits down in front of you on the stool, his legs spread slightly.

Your eyes keep wandering in his direction, all over his body with keen interest towards the in between of his legs in particular, but you dart them away just as quickly.

"You can look at me, watch. Isn't that the point?"

He's right, that was the point.

You try to adopt a brave expression, nodding as though you're a program manager approving a deviation, and fix your eyes in his direction. You still feel embarrassed no matter where you look so you oscillate your vision up and down the length of him, but at least you're not looking off to the side.

Just as soon as you felt some composure, you felt it all slip away when he grabs the base of his clock and begins to rub along the length of it. You see him grow considerably, hardening to his touch. You had seen him masturbate before, well on your computer, where he would coldly stare unflinching into the camera. But while he was at his beginnings now, you can see him buck into his hand, the early sensations coursing through him.

"What is it?" He asks you this by surprise.

You're bewildered, "What?"

"Your face." He's almost entirely hard now, you're unnerved to lock eyes with him while he uses long, slow, mounting, movements. He's able to tease himself into utter arousal while keeping up conversation with a stranger, "You just had an expression, like puzzled."

You cannot handle being put on the spot right now, your mind blank.

He waits for your reply, his eye contact unsevered but you must glance to the side for any hope of recovering yourself.

"Oh..." It comes back to you, "You don't see the beginning in your videos, right, so all you look is... unflinching. But you looked, just then... um..." You trail off but luckily he gets your point.

Unluckily, he does not let this go by unacknowledged.

His eyes flash and there's a low droning sound from his abdomen before he teases, "Oh. So you are a fan."

His cock began to excrete the slimy, drool-like wetness that it produced on its own. You couldn't be sure if it was purely coincidental that it happened now, but you knew that he was now on the pathway towards finishing.

Your voice rasped, "I've seen... some... of your videos..."

"Mm, for research only, right?"

His slickness added a whole new auditory element to this, you're struggling to get through a sentence while he doesn't skip a beat in silently creating a rhythmically squishing noise. Now he was like the videos, he was all but perfectly still and stroked himself while his body unconsciously tensed and flexed, all while he looked right at you.

This felt all by the book when you got here, but you don't even know what book that would be, you were unprepared and just prey lying exposed in the fox's den. You were not a professional, you had no hopes of going into this and leaving it feeling only a a clinical sense of know how.

That was made abundantly clear by the terribly ragged noise you made in response to his question. He laughs haughtily, there's no way that he doesn't know you feel humiliated. That by you still sitting there, by your staggered, craven, expression that you kind of enjoyed it.

He lets you off the hook a bit by asking you, "What is this method that you have mentioned, that you currently use?"

You pause before launching into an explanation, marveling at how measured he sounded. Your eyebrows furrow as your mind wanders down a rabbit hole, taking hold onto a newfound curiosity. You don't think that you'd be able to chat while you masturbated, much less being able to orchestrate the tone of it. He seemed to be able to gauge how you're feeling, and using it as the indicator for how he should steer.

He wagers a guess by your expression, offering something up preemptively, "I haven't always been comfortable doing something like this in front of people, in front of cameras. And certainly not with call and response."

"And now? It's.. routine?"

"Yes, mostly."

You still cannot get over that the moments that would otherwise be filled with awkward silence were filled with the sounds of him rutting into his hand.

"Isn't it distracting though? Are you able to still feel... um... aroused?"

He does the crudest gesture yet, spreading his legs wider and pushing his hips forward. While he continues to pump himself with one hand, he waves his other hand to point to it, "Obviously."

A paltry sip of water cannot hope to save you, you outright bury your face in your hands and shake your head.

He laughs, the rhythm of his time actually has been interrupted, he struggles to reign himself in, choking out with guttural, sticky, laughter, "Oh no, I am so sorry."

You feel for a moment like you have it within you to get up and leave but you don't feel threatened by your situation. You're just such a consummate novice.

You look up with just your eyes, you can feel them be preemptively glossy and puffy, you see him slow down to almost a standstill entirely when you meekly say, "It's okay..." You quickly take inventory of the situation, imagining how you look and the effect it's seeming to have on him and remove your hands entirely, revealing a smirk peeking through your very apparent shame. You say it again more confidently, nodding towards him with a greedy glance down towards his still consistent, but now slowed, touching, "I'm okay."

He remains in good spirits but eyes you before he begins picking up speed again. It's wordless but you think that he must be taking stock of all of this on his end, you're hoping that you didn't blow it. You hope that he won't stop.

You wonder if that made its way onto your face, because he begins working on himself again, the rhythmic schlep returning.

"Just keep talking to me. It'll help you, focusing on something else at the same time."

"Okay," you like that he's working with you. You try your best to not break under the pressure again, "when he can feel it start to build up, I insert a sounding rod to pierce them."

"Ugh."

He shudders, he shudders all the way from within his core. He uncomfortably shifts on the stool, the slick sounds stilling altogether for a moment before he regains composure.

"I'm sorry, I was just... not expecting that. " he shudders again, this time accompanied by a frantic chittering of his mandibles, but punctuated with laughter. Like he was surprised at himself, "Ah. You may fancy whatever you please, there is no judgement but," he gives one more final jolt of disdain. He had broken eye contact with you and let his eyes go elsewhere while he imagined your words. Going by his previous account of working on a set or receiving notes, you're sure this would have been frowned upon.

You flinch when he snaps his eyes back to you, powering onward.

"And then after that, he is able to come?"

"Yes, it's still viscous and resistant, but I don't know... About a month ago, we tried without piercing one so that I could see and... it went so badly."

"You're trying to see so that he will be able to?"

"Yes."

"Is it to have sex?"

"No. No, he... Even if it wasn't physically uncomfortable, it's more than that. He doesn't want to... to..." It's too much to say, it's too embarrassing for you to say out loud.

"He's repulsed by the idea of filling another?"

You feel winded, nothing but white hot shame claws at you from within.

"Correct."

"Where do you stand on the matter?"

It makes you almost angry how easy it is for him to say and ask and answer pointed questions. How could you possibly answer that in a way that truly did it justice? It probably was a simple question to him, answerable by something brief, but you just sit there silent and fuming.

He can see the desperation painted on your face, he says knowingly but not cruelly, "Ah. I see."

You're ready to launch into upset, but he begins to move more rapidly, having to shake his hand once to remove it of the excess slime that began to coat his hand entirely. You once again see a crack in his facade when he initially takes on this increased pace, the wet, slapping sound growing fervent. It takes you out of your head for a moment, at least about what you were talking about. You do not try to hide your hard stare as you watch with complete attention towards his heady touching. He was quick, but not aggressive. He did not treat his cock as though he were trying to descale a fish, brandishing it, swinging it wildly. No, he treated himself kindly and reverently, gripping with just enough firmness to not slip off of himself by accident.

You were shameless then, but you can feel yourself grimace when you glance up and see that he's been watching you. He keeps you here, eyes preoccupied within his instead back to him below while all you could hear was the unmistakable sound and all you could see in the corner of his eyes was the movement of his shoulder.

He intends to let you off the hook, his breath hitching when he finally speaks, "It's okay to like things even if your lover does not."

The need to justify yourself is unshakeable.

"It feels too wrong. That's not why I want to help him but I would be lying if I tried to say that wasn't part of my.... I don't know. Eagerness? He considers sperm removal, but wants to try collecting just once. I don't want him to be miserable, I don't want to try us having sex, I want him to get the procedure. No matter what I feel though, or try to suggest, or even do... it all feels selfish! Do I try to encourage him towards procedure so that he won't hate me? Do I help him by any means necessary, justify it to myself like that while I engage in... in "research", in... this?" You emptily gesture to the room, worried that you've been a catastrophic buzzkill yet fraught with relief for saying it out loud to someone.

"Everything everyone does is a little selfish. It's almost impossible to be impartial yet helpful."

He sounded a little stilted and out of breath, it was getting harder for him to speak without any affect caused by his impending orgasm. Yet he remained engaged with you and what you're saying, replying thoughtfully instead of with something bogusly throwaway.