tagSci-Fi & FantasySex Slave to Aliens

Sex Slave to Aliens


I screamed into the pillow yet again as he continued to plow savagely into me, the headboard relentlessly slamming against the wall in a near-steady drumbeat reflecting the thunderous rhythm of our primal dance. Without marring his quickening pace, he grabbed a fistful of my lengthy brown hair and pulled, quickly yanking my head up from the pillow. My screams instantly rose in volume and in pitch as the pain centered in my scalp mixed with the pleasure emanating from the base of my torso; hot tears blurred my view of the framed photo above the bed and cascaded down my cheeks.

Yet again, a singular thought bombarded my mind: He simply cannot be human!!!

With each powerful lurch into my dripping body, he buried himself to the hilt, filling me, and it was a completely-natural feeling, so I knew that he wore neither super-tight condom nor cock ring. To my knowledge, he had not made use of any "stay hard" type of cream; I had not seen him apply anything to his manhood after I had initially sucked him to a savage-looking hardness, nor had I smelled anything other than our own natural scents and the now-extinguished cinnamon incense since our return from the local bar. Never had I known any man to be able to pound my small body as hard or long as this without exploding either upon me or inside me – preferably inside me.

As I calmed slowly from the peak of sexual bliss, I was aware once again of both the torrent of fluids splattering my legs and the ache of rawness inside me. The former embarrassed me somewhat, but the latter thrilled me with the knowledge that I would be truly sated for quite some time – at least, until the following weekend.

This mysterious man possessed me completely. I had known that fact in the very same instant that his reflected eyes met mine in the massive mirror behind the bar. Dressed entirely in black, he did not wear anything that one might consider "seductive" or indicative of an "alternative" lifestyle. In fact, he simply wore a black t-shirt with an anime-style babe about to lift off her tank top, black jeans with a heavy silver chain as a "belt," and black Reebok shoes. Actually, the use of a chain as a "belt" did strike me as unusual when I noticed it as he later led me to the meager dance floor, but I found it interesting, intriguing. The way he clutched at my body as we danced – respectfully, lustfully, but as if he owned me – and pressed me against his thick fleshy sword added even more mystery to the entire situation. I could feel the eyes of virtually everyone in the small establishment watching us, especially watching me, and although I felt more than a little ashamed at being seen like this with a complete stranger with the possibility that my college friends or classmates might come through the door at any moment, I was too entranced by the strange mystery of this unknown man to truly care about anyone or anything other than him and me.

Releasing my hair at last, he pushed back from me, disengaging, leaving my body feeling empty, incomplete, allowing for even more of my liquid passion to gush forth from between my trembling thighs. I was burning, I was covered with several thick layers of sweat, I was exhausted, yet I wanted and desired still more, even though I was unsure if I could even remain conscious through even one more intense orgasm. My weary arms gave out underneath me, and I collapsed to the bed, my face buried in the pillow once again. But he simply reached underneath me, grabbed my breasts, and mauled my small oversensitive mounds roughly as he lifted me to a kneeling position, then raised me up even higher on my knees until he deftly impaled me once more, making me feel filled, complete, whole.

"Please," I begged softly between gasps for air, my voice seeming to be quite loud now that the banging of the headboard against the wall had finally ceased, "please, no more. You've exhausted me. No more, please."

My pleas apparently fell upon deaf ears, for the primal dance began anew. My back was arched severely, giving him access to my most intimate treasure as my hands moved of their own accord to link together behind his neck. My body was nearly as taut as a strung bow, and he was the cord which kept me bent in such an unusual position.

I blinked away the tears, looking up at the framed photo of my older sister with her then-boyfriend standing behind her, his hands cupping her amble breasts, supporting them respectfully like a bra despite the red-white-and-blue bikini she wore. I remembered that afternoon at the beach quite vividly – and that picture in particular, as I was the one behind the camera. "Whenever he fucks me," she had once confided to me, "it literally lasts for hours. He simply uses me for seemingly forever, then he finally gives that all-too-male triumphant roar as he erupts inside me, and even that seems to go on forever, one jet after another battering me. I have never known any guy to last as long or cum as much or even as hard as he does, and at times it becomes so overwhelming that I pass out from the intensity of it all. And it does sometimes make me wonder if he's even an alien simply masquerading as a human male."

His fingers dancing across my clitoris dispelled all thoughts of my long-lost sister. I closed my eyes, riding the steadily-growing wave of pleasure, riding him, my head tossed back and forth from the violent sex inflected upon me as I experienced the exhilaration and adrenaline of a professional rodeo rider. His breathing was heavy and labored in my ear, his voice raspy and quite indicative of the pleasure he was feeling as he pummeled my sex and mauled my aching breasts with his work-hardened hands. He must be close, I reasoned, I hoped, even as another feeble, exhausted, half-hearted plea for mercy escaped my lips.

I am, I heard inside my head, but this is only the beginning.

Before I could make sense of that voice in my head, his relentless fingers unleashed still another torrent of unbridled passion within me, instantly consuming my entire being. Mere milliseconds later, as his triumphant roar cracked my eardrums and I looked up again at the picture of my beautiful and loving older sister, I felt the first jet of his powerful orgasm hammer against my cervix with such force that it stung wickedly, and then, with one final window-shattering scream, I lapsed blessedly out of consciousness.


I awoke in a strange room. I was nude, tucked into bed as if I were a little girl. The lights were dim, and there were no windows. Everything was white or off-white, with the exception of the wooden bed frame, nearby dresser and chair, and my bald, naked sister sitting on the edge of the bed, watching my face intently.

"You're awake at last," she said softly, bending down to hug me. I could not comprehend what was happening, and I felt both groggy and extremely thirsty. I opened my mouth to speak, but my throat felt raw. I felt raw between my legs as well, so whatever had taken place between the time the mysterious man had erupted inside me and this moment had occurred rather rapidly.

"Where...?" I asked, my throat so raw that it hurt to speak.

My sister sat up again. "This is where I have been these past two years," she said softly. "We are on an alien spacecraft."

I thought back to that fun-filled day on the beach. I was barely sixteen years old when I had taken that picture; she then suddenly disappeared nearly four years later. She had been on an alien spacecraft during the last two years of my life.

Alien spacecraft?

"I see that you are confused," my sister noted aloud. She raised her voice and looked momentarily to the ceiling. "Open window."

Movement to my left caught my attention. Turning my head, I watched as an off-white panel rolled slowly toward the ceiling, revealing the star-studded blackness of night.

But in this view, there was no reference to the ground. The only reference was Saturn at the lower-left of the view, slowly rising along the side of the window.

"I have been allowed to come to help to ease you into your new life and assist in your training."

My head quickly snapped back so I could look my sister squarely in the eyes... and I instantly regretted such a sudden movement as my vision blurred momentarily and a headache formed behind my eyes. "New... life...?" I somehow croaked a moment later.

"You are now like me," she said sadly, yet with a gleam in her eye. "You are now a sex slave to aliens, and believe me, they are not usually humanoid."

I looked more closely, and the gleam seemed to sparkle more than it should have. "You enjoy this?" I asked, my voice slowly returning to something more akin to "normal."

"I receive everything I need," she replied, "and everything I deserve. But most importantly, I now have everything I wanted."

My sister leaned forward to hug me again, and the gravity of the situation began to settle upon my shoulders.

Clearly, my life had just changed forever. But with my sister's help, I endeavored to make the best of it.


All my body hair was removed by a specially-tailored hair-attacking poison pill, a 500-language translator was hard-wired to my brain via a tiny incision in my skull, and I was informed that I would never again be permitted to wear any clothing unless explicitly instructed by whoever was in control of me at any given time.

Then my training began almost immediately.

The alien instructors kept a human form initially to better ease me into my new role. The first week was filled with academic studies: learning what the many sentient races are in the universe, learning the anatomy of the primary races and what the erogenous zones and general sexual practices are, etc. Even though I had always enjoyed school and learning, it was definitely a lot to be expected to learn in a relatively short period of time.

Perhaps the most interesting race was the Tenran. A Tenra is somewhat similar to an Earth-based octopus, but can survive out of water for months at a time and has twelve tentacles. Tenran tend to never wear clothing, except for protective wear such as spacesuits. The primary difference between males and females of the Tenran race is that females have a vagina at the base of the torso, at the center of the connecting point for the twelve tentacles; the males, on the other hand, have tiny holes at the end of each tentacle which can jet out pinkish streams of semen. And, most interestingly, Tenran sex inherently includes bondage play, something which I had experimented with once with a one-night stand and had found quite intriguing yet extremely disturbing.

After the week of "book learning," I was subjected to observation of the "book learning" put into practical form. I was not particularly surprised when my own sister was in the Observation Room upon my arrival between a pair of human-looking guards.

What did surprise me was that the Observation Room was fully padded in the same whitish color as my quarters, with the exception of a large gray metal "X" object with small welded rings along its edges, and a large wooden chest in a corner. The guards closed and sealed the lone door, providing me a moment of privacy with my sister, a moment spent holding each other close as she comforted me.

"So that you can properly observe and not interfere," she said quietly to me, "you are required to be restrained, which is why the St. Andrew's Cross is over there. Have you ever been bound before?"

I blushed, never lifting my head from her shoulder as I nodded slowly. I remembered my one experience with bondage play, when my one-night stand had produced a pair of buckling leather cuffs and two short ropes from underneath his pillow while I performed a sultry strip tease for him. He had somehow coaxed me to my back upon his bed, applied the cuffs to my wrists, and tied the cuffs to opposite ends of the headboard with the ropes. Several hours later, despite the powerful experience I had just endured, I was uncertain whether it was something I really wanted to do again... which is why I had specifically never attempted to see him again.

"Go stand by the Cross," my sister instructed me, releasing me and leaving me feeling suddenly quite vulnerable. "I'll be the one to secure you, so hopefully this will all be a little easier for you than it was for me."

I nodded slowly and stood by the Cross. As I watched, my sister retrieved various items from the chest in the corner, I kept remembering various scenes from my only previous experience in being tied down. I remembered watching as first my left wrist was wrapped in a fur-lined cuff, feeling a flutter of nervousness in my stomach even as a trickle seeped from the base of my torso. I remembered the ache in my arms as I pulled at my bonds in reaction to his tongue stroking expertly between my thighs. I remembered wrapping my legs tightly around his waist as he eased himself inside me and wishing I could wrap my arms around him and claw at his back. I remembered panting loudly in the afterglow as he sat beside me, stroking my hair as he commented admiringly on the thrill of seeing me – "a beautiful babe," he had called me – bound before him and splattered heavily with his own copious passion. I remembered kneeling in the shower that night, crying loudly at the feeling of having been so thoroughly used solely for his kinky pleasure yet being intensely confused by just how much my body had reveled in that most unusual experience.

My sister's touch upon my shoulder brought me back to the present, a scene even more bizarre than the images I had just relived in my mind. She could sense my nervousness, my confusion, and whispered a soft word of encouragement to calm me as she stroked the back of my neck... just like she had done so many times when I was a little girl, huddled against her at night in bed as a violent springtime thunderstorm raged around the family home. Just as I had done so often at that tender young age of innocence, I clutched her tightly, trying to hold back my tears of fear, trying to be as brave as the one person I most wanted to emulate. Then as before, my sister was my anchor, my source of strength, my pathway to inner peace.

If she can survive for all this time as a sex slave to aliens, I thought with slowly-growing resolve, so can I.

Interestingly, my sister restrained me with cuffs and chains. The cuffs, applied to my ankles and wrists, were very similar to the ones I had worn before, only wider and with more fur between leather and skin. Several short chains with clips on each end were used to secure each cuff's D-ring to one of the nearby welded rings on the St. Andrew's Cross, leaving me standing yet spread-eagle once she was finished.

Even though only my own sister was able to see me at that moment, I felt even more exposed than during my first experience with being restrained, and I felt a strong shudder of trepidation pass through my entire body.

My sister moved back several steps, looking over her handiwork. Then she returned to the chest, returning with a much longer, thicker, heavier chain with larger clips on either end. Taking her time, she clipped one end of the new chain to a welded ring near the junction of the two long pieces of metal supporting me, then slowly wrapped the chain around both me and the Cross, stopping only when she had no more chain to wrap and attaching the final clip to a nearby ring.

I definitely was not going to be going anywhere on my own for quite some time. I would need assistance to obtain my freedom (such as it was – at the very least, I clearly could not escape the spacecraft), but I knew that it was not in my sister's power to release me, so I did not even attempt to ask.

...with words; my eyes, however, pleaded loudly for release.

"Someday," she said prophetically, "you will look upon your current user in the same manner, begging silently to be allowed to cum." She blushed slightly. "I know that look all too well," she admitted softly, "because I have used that same look rather often."

With a final kiss to my cheek, my sister returned to the chest, closed it, and knelt before it, facing away from me with her wrists crossed behind her as if in a parade-rest stance.

A long time passed, during which I slowly became accustomed to the lack of freedom. Nothing was said, although I could not keep my eyes from my sister. She appeared so calm, so peaceful, so sure of herself despite these extraordinary circumstances that no one I knew on Earth could possibly ever truly comprehend. Even as I tested the strength of my restraints and listened to the rattling of the chains in the very short slack afforded to my legs and arms, I could somehow feel her positive thoughts coming toward me, entering me, comforting me, until I at last was at peace with this entire strange nightmarish situation.

I wondered what she was thinking. Was she remembering her own abduction? Was her mind replaying the first time she had been bound here and forced to observe whatever would soon be happening to me?

Then the lone door slid open, and the mysterious man I had met at the bar strolled into the Observation Room.

He was dressed very similarly to that first meeting. He still exuded that same charm, that same air of self-confidence. He moved toward me as the door sealed itself shut behind him, and once he stood before me, he simply bent his head down to touch his forehead to mine.

In the space of a mere heartbeat, I was forced to relive that entire fateful evening – from the moment I had first seen his reflection in the great mirror behind the bar, to the possessive way he held me against his body as we danced suggestively, to the frenzied groping and undressing of each other as we clumsily stumbled to my bedroom, to the feel of his long pointy tongue burrowing inside me, to the first of numerous earth-trembling orgasms, to the feel of his rough hands mauling my taut body as he pistoned inside me, to my last lusty howl and his primal bellow of conquest before I lost consciousness.

As I recovered from that single heartbeat, I heard him say something to my sister, and watched as she stood and turned to face him, her wrists remaining crossed behind her as she assumed a true parade-rest position. At his gesture, her hands dropped to her sides and, in her full glorious nudity, she approached me.

"Many aliens enjoy watching this," she whispered in my ear, then she kissed my cheek. That was nothing unusual between us – an occasional sisterly kiss to the cheek or forehead had long been essentially our symbol of our deep devotion to each other.

But then, however, with her hands on either side of my face, leaning her body into mine, my sister kissed me: fully, on the lips, passionately, as if we were longtime lovers, her tongue briefly brushing my upper lip. For the very first time in my life, despite having hugged a number of females, I was truly aware of someone else's breasts pressing into me. For the first time since my own breasts had begun to develop, I was almost ashamed of my own femininity.

Yet I responded, much to my surprise, returning the unexpected kiss. And, a tear trickled from my eye and down my cheek. Somehow, despite all the sex I had experienced previously, despite having been abducted and put into this training program to become a sex slave to aliens, despite currently being vulnerably naked and inescapably secured to a St. Andrew's Cross in the presence of the very same alien who had "discovered" me and likely orchestrated my abduction, the kiss from my sister is what signaled the ultimate loss of my innocence – and a second tear followed the first down the side of my face even as the kiss lingered.

"Very good," my "discoverer" praised. "I know many who would truly enjoy seeing a human female cry."

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