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First Contact (Dreamer x MaidenSeeker)

Heart of the Dreamer

Heart of the Dreamer

You're solid gold, I'll see you in Hell.
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Joined
Aug 21, 2020
Captain T'losk was becoming more impatient by the day. Two weeks have passed since the Ministry sent his crew out to explore this sector, and not one hint of sentient life had revealed itself. Nothing but bugs and other lower life forms had been found on any of the life-sustaining planets in the surrounding solar systems. His crew was getting antsy, too. There were no servants aboard this vessel - the Ministry had deemed the shortage plaguing the homeworld too dire to afford any of them, to the sorrow of the all-male crew. Tensions were high.

The Trakali were a reptilian humanoid race, with scales varying wildly in color and pattern, six long fingers punctuating each hand with sharp talons on their feet. They stood tall, their muscles and natural strength lending to their history as warriors conquerors, their visage truly monstrous to behold. Projecting from their backs were two extra appendages, thick and prehensile tentacles that swayed behind them like twin tails.

T'losk sank into his command chair, burying his short, blunt snout in his hand. If this mission was a failure, it would look poorly on his career. More importantly, he needed some distraction for his men. They'd likely start brawling amongst each other if they didn't find any compatible females soon.

"Captain, unidentified vessel spotted 13000 kilometers from here. Life signs aboard, one creature." T'losk sprang up, quickly making his way to the ensign that had spoken up, looking desperately over the console to confirm what was reported.

"Analysis?" he hissed, hoping to hear good news.

"It's nothing previously logged on the database. Completely alien. Sensors indicate that it's sentient, whatever it is," piped the yellow-scaled ensign, the frilled feathers on his head bristling in excitement hidden under his professional demeanor. "The vessel itself appears to be a shuttle small enough to be brought into the cargo bay. It seems pretty damaged, there's no power on. Whatever is inside likely has little time left, if it needs oxygen. Shall I tractor it in?"

T'losk's hand closed in on itself into a tight fist. A single sentient lifeform was nowhere near as good a find as an entire civilization, but with some luck he could track it back down to its homeworld to find more, especially if they had compatible females. "Bring the vessel in immediately," snarled the captain, golden irises constricting over narrow, black vertical slits of pupils.

--

The doors of the cargo bay closed as the derelict shuttle was dragged delicately into the larger ship, and it sealed with a hiss, oxygen flooding back into the room until the pressure had equalized. As soon as the atmosphere was breathable again, T'losk and a team of four officers entered, all brandishing Ion Rifles at the ship. "Come out," came the captain's harsh, guttural command from between sharp, needle-like teeth. "Come out slowly, and unarmed. You are outmatched."
 
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Chief Warrant Officer Petra Alberecht pressed up against one of the crates in the back of her ship's modest cargo bay. Her world was still swimming, a result of the oxygen deprivation she'd been suffering, as well as the lingering inebriation. She fought to steady herself against the metal, trying her best to hold her personal defense weapon up in some semblance of a ready posture. From outside the bay, he could hear them calling her in their alien language; whoever they were, they sounded mean. Hungry.

Petra reached into her green flightsuit, still unzipped enough that her breasts were in danger of slipping free, and produced a small cargo scanner; she had no use for it now. She threw it around the corner into the hangar beyond; they might think it was dangerous, at first, but any translation suite worth its salt would be able to extrapolate the Terran Standard language from its memory. That was, assuming they wanted to talk.

--

Two hours ago, Petra had been floating buck-naked in the cockpit of her ship, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, watching the amber glow of the emergency lighting play across a little orb of whiskey floating approximately three inches from her face. She had always told herself that, if ever the time came to die in the line of duty, she'd make her peace with it. Now that time was here, she most definitely was not ready.

After two days adrift, calm had given way to panic, then panic to despair. She'd contemplated shooting herself when she realized there was no way she could fix the emergency beacon; instead, she'd started rubbing her clit. A few orgasms later, she'd floated into the cargo bay and spent an hour taking to one of the smaller boxes with a crowbar. The brass liked to sneak in luxury goods on these little minor cargo flights; Jesus. Fuck. She was going to die because some pencil-pushing asshole couldn't live without their stupid little expensive delicacies.

She was about to cry again when the lid came off. She reached inside, rummaging frenziedly; new underwear, photos of a kid, the newest model of personal holotablet, upmarket tampons... And there it was. The bottle. The bottle that was to be her final friend.

Drink, cry, masturbate, pass out. Drink, cry, masturbate, pass out. The days blurred together. She wondered why she didn't have the strength to end it; out here, in deep space, her dead, beaconless shuttle looked just like any other bit of junk. Nobody even had any reason to even come to a system like this, so far out on the frontier. Maybe she was holding out hope that God, if he or she existed, would reward her for her perseverance. As the shuttle gradually bled its heat into the abyss, she hoped God would bring a hot water bottle.

She'd been out cold when she'd plummeted ass-first onto the floor, as her ship entered the artificial gravity field of the alien ship's hangar. She rolled over, wondering if she'd been dreaming, brushing hay-blond locks out of her pretty face. Her surroundings quickly disabused of her that notion, but before her disappointment could crystallize, she heard the tractor alarm ringing through the cockpit. Her lungs were aching, struggling to strip what little oxygen remained from the shuttle's air; she forced herself onto her knees and crawled into the cockpit, heart doing its best attempt at racing, under the circumstances. She'd hoped to look out into the familiar hangar bay of a patrol ship; what she saw sent shivers up her spine, even as fresh air filtered in. She was most definitely not in a human ship, or a ship belonging to their allies.

She'd fought her way to her feet, grabbed her filthy coveralls from the corner of the cockpit, thrown them on, scrounged up her sidearm, and raced to the bay. Now, she waited, to see if these new ones liked chatting.
 
The device that flew into the bay prompted the soldiers to take aim, their rifles priming with an audible high pitched whine that grew in volume and tone in a steep crescendo. T'losk threw his hand up, barking out another command, this one aimed at his compatriots. No shots were fired, though T'losk did eyeball the scanner suspiciously. From a holster on his uniform belt, he produced his own hand-held field scanner, his slender fingers dashing across the console. Nothing incendiary, or explosive, or toxic that the scanner could detect. This was no weapon. Perhaps this being was attempting something else...communication, maybe.

T'losk laughed at himself. Of course. Perhaps the excitement of this encounter had made him forget the basics. They couldn't understand him or his orders. Luckily, this was an easy matter to fix. He stepped brashly forward, scooping the Terran device up, and studied it closely. There was a possibility that he could make his tricorder interface with it to analyze and translate the language. At least until the engineers could work out a transmitter implant to do the job more directly.

Placing the scanner back on the ground, he activated it and tilted his head, curiously glancing over the unfamiliar characters that displayed. His tricorder beeped, indicating a connection between the two scanners was successfully linked. A few button presses later and the memory was fast downloaded.

Several minutes passed as the tricorder worked to decode the language and match it against Trakali. T'losk grinned, clearly amused by this alien's resourcefulness and quick wit. It wasn't long before a pleasant chime indicated that the tricorder's work was done.

Let's try this again, he reconfiguring the tricorder. He held it at the level of his mouth, facing the shuttle, and uttered another command. "F'tuk gohss ihr behk, qo trag! Heb p'logugt wulk."

The tricorder whirred for a moment before it responded, playing the phrase back loudly in plain Terran standard: "Emerge with your hands up. You will not be harmed." T'losk eyed the ship again, eager to see what was inside.
 
Well, they'd understood what she'd meant by throwing the scanner out, she thought with relief, instead of clearing the bay under the assumption that it was a trap and dumping her back out into the merciless vacuum. She shook her head, clearing her line of sight of the disorganized strands of hair that were once again tickling the bridge of her nose, and silently repositioned behind another crate; she was feeling stronger now, able to keep the sights of her personal defense weapon, effectively a bulky, automatic, flechette-spitting handgun, lined up with the ingress point. She checked to see the that the safety was off and that there was actually a round chambered; upon confirming that there was, she decided to respond.

"Oh yeah?" Petra's voice was a little hoarse after days of sobbing, but still very obviously female. And young. "And what happens if I don't come out?" Really, she was figuring out where she stood. If they wanted her, they'd take her without much effort. But if she knew they were going to be hostile, there were pretty good odds, she thought, that she might be able to drop one of them before they got her. And she supposed that would make a fitting end to her miserable little story. She knew she wasn't being entirely rational; the truth was, it might have been the onset of the hangover she felt looming over her, but all of a sudden she didn't much care if she lived or died. She just wanted to be done with this nightmare.

Now where was that attitude earlier, she wondered.
 
The tricorder whirred again, picking up her somewhat weakened voice before turning her words into the abrasive and aggressive Trakali tongue. T'losk almost laughed again at her response, but it was crucial that he resolve this without harm coming to her, and ideally with no harm coming to his crew, either. His red feathers bristled, giving almost a metallic shimmer against the bright light of the cargo bay. He opened his mouth and spat out another harsh, unintelligible series of words. As the tricorder whirred again, he signaled his crew to lower their weapons, a command quickly followed without question.

"Please forgive our caution. We only wish to protect ourselves. Do you require medical attention?" The sweet nature of the words clashed with the horrible language originally spoken, but T'losk was hopeful his ruse would work out. Before he gave her a chance to respond, he spoke again, his words once more buffered by the intervention of his tricorder.

"We found your vessel floating with no life support, but noted that you were still alive. We mean you no harm. I repeat: do you need medical attention?"
 
Petra exhaled, and let her weapon lower. Their voices were intimidating but the words sounded friendly enough; she was a child of a time when humanity had long since learned to think past first impressions. She momentarily contemplated the possibility that she may very well have just been on the precipice of turning away her one lifeline out here, in the long, cold dark. Of course, there was always the chance that they were playing it smart, and would drop her the moment she left the airlock. She guessed it was better than freezing to death.

"Okay, I'm coming out," she said, stuffing the weapon awkwardly into one of her suit's cargo pockets in the absence of her holster. She'd left it in the cabin; idly, she wondered if it might've been a good idea to put a few rounds through the flight computer, do her best to make sure whatever these things were that they wouldn't have any pre-emptive intel on humanity if this all went to hell. It was too late for that now.

She emerged with her hands raised, bleary blue eyes widening as she took in the aggressive physiques of her 'rescuers'. They weren't the most bizarre looking species humanity had encountered; in fact, she found them rather impressive. The combination of their colorful scales and plainly aggressive biology gave them, in her mind, a noble bearing.

She herself was looking a little like an off-hours prostitute from one of the rougher megacities or orbital hab stations; between the half-zipped flight suit, disheveled hair, and sweat-slick pale skin, not to mention her slim, toned physique, and the natural symmetry of her sharp-featured face, she looked both like a women who could do well for herself selling her body, and had been. Though of course, the only person who'd been fucking her of late was herself. Whatever the aesthetic she'd cultivated, it screamed sex in a language that transcended species.
 
Petra's appearance was enough to make the captain's jaw slack a bit, and his men shifted uncomfortably, their feathers all rustling subtly and quietly as they took her in. Her physique, her demeanor, her bosom, all of her was undeniably female. They had never seen a creature like her before, and her pink skin looked smooth to the touch. With her disheveled, quasi-feral state, the only thing keeping the Trakali soldiers from descending on her was their captain's stern glare. They dared not cross Captain T'losk. Most of these men had borne firsthand witness to his savagery when he broke the skull of a flippant lieutenant with his bare hands.

"Welcome aboard my vessel," he spoke, turning his attention back to Petra. "My name is T'losk, captain of this ship." As he approached, he found himself fighting his own frustration-borne urges, able to smell the undeniable scent past sexual arousal on her, thanks to her self-indulgent pastime for the last few days. It would be so easy to take her now and leave her for the men. She was right within his reach, so small and slender. All he had to do was grab her.

No. Not yet. There was a process for these things. If he broke that process, he'd fuck everything up, and then he'd really be in for a bad time with the Ministry. "It looks like you've been adrift for some time. I'm certain you could use some food and water. If you'll come with me, we can find you some comfortable accomodations."
 
She stood her ground and stared up at him as she listened to the regurgitated words from his device, her expression completely blank. Silhouetted there, in the light of the hangar bay, she looked like quite the David to his Goliath. A feeling of cool, helpless acceptance came over her as the true stature of beastly aliens, as well as their numbers and formidable-looking weaponry, became inescapably apparent.

She had to suppress the urge to pull her weapon back out of her pocket, just to feel the reassuring press of its cool, metallic grip in her palm; she knew it wouldn't do her any good, even if she was miraculously fast enough to kill every one of the creatures in the bay after they'd tipped their hypothetical hand. This was a ship, and she was in a hangar; the math was determinate.

"My name is Petra Alberecht. Warrant officer. Terran Colonial Navy, logistics detachment." She held out her tiny hand, looking up to meet the reptilian alien's implacable gaze. "I'm damn glad you found me out here." She paused, then added; "hopefully this leads to a long a fruitful alliance between our species." It sounded like the diplomatic sort of thing to say. In the recordings of first contacts, the negotiators usually led with that. Didn't they? All of a sudden, Petra was left wondering if the alien even recognized how to respond to her offer of a handshake.
 
Petra had no idea about the battle of restraint that was being waged before her. T'losk's steely gaze hid it well, though his feathers rustled slightly, especially as she outstretched her hand. Slowly he reached out his hand in turn, supposing he was to touch her in some way, and grasped her forearm. Good Queen, her skin was soft; a little clammy from her ordeal, maybe, but quite smooth to the touch.

"I believe our peoples will become great friends," T'losk replied, grinning. Though if she was as compatible as she was desirable, that acquaintance would be quite different than Petra was expecting. Oh, but he wanted to grasp her whole body now. She still needed to be examined and primed, though. Releasing her arm, he bowed his head slightly. "Please follow me. I will show you to your lodgings."

This was the first time T'losk had ever used this honeypot tactic. Most of the civilizations in the neighboring sector knew all about the Trakali and their women-stealing ways, and thus almost always needed some kind of strong-arming or coercion. But this? This was going far too well. Of course, she probably had some weapon stowed, probably there in that assymetrical bulge in her uniform, but that was no problem. All he had to do was get her into a cell.

"This way," he said, indicating for her to follow him. The soldiers followed behind the two of them, rifles at rest but still quite primed. They had since switched the output to a lower setting, one that stunned most creatures temporarily, but left usually no lasting damage, except in rare circumstances. If Petra were to look back, she'd catch them staring at her with wild eyes darting between her body's various features, jaws hanging slightly open.

She was led through a buffer door system, where the lot of them were sprayed briefly by gentle mists to decontaminate their clothing. After the light fog dissipated, the second door opened into a corridor, and T'losk led her down a complicated series of halls before arriving at a long, well lit hallway adorned by two rows of doors, each covered with a uniform, yellow stripe. On the front of each door was a unique printed character of some sort - probably numbers - and a console pad just to the right of the door frame with a small scanning lens. He led her to the first door on the right, pressing a series of keys quickly, and knelt down to put his eye before the scanner. With a quick, almost adorable chime, the door's pneumatic locks disengaged, and a loud but brief hiss rang out while the door unsealed and gave way by sliding up into the bulkhead.

The room inside was simple - there was a cot with a large mattress, about 8 feet by 8 feet in dimension; a corner with what appeared to be a showerhead overlooking a drain, as well as a shelf holding a jar of peach-colored powder beside it; a large, clear container full of water with a simple handle faucet, with a cup on top of it; and what could only be comparable to a toilet nearer the shower. The entire wall across from the door was a giant mirror, pristinely reflective. The room was lit by a solitary, albeit potent, glowing panel on the exact center of the ceiling.

"Get some rest. If you desire, the powder can be used for bathing. I will be back before long." T'losk bowed his head again, stepping backwards through the doorway, which fell shut once more. In closing, the door made it known that there was no obvious mechanism for operating it from the inside. As it closed, the pneumatic seal engaged again, locking the door in place.
 
"But wait, when can we contact the-" she was cut off as the door closed and sealed. Frustrated, she pounded her fists against the metal and swore. "Fuckin' aliens." She turned around, surveying the room. It was nice enough; bed had the surface area to host a decent-sized orgy, though that was obviously due to the creatures' enormous stature. Probably best to count herself lucky that they didn't curl up in claustrophobic little dens and hibernate, she supposed, and sighed. The dull throbbing in her skull that'd been skirmishing about earlier was starting to return, this time bombarding the back of her eyeballs with a vengeance.

She strolled over to the bed, rubbing her temples, and sat down. After a few moments, she withdrew the weapon from her pocket, fidgeting with it in an agitated fashion. She ejected the magazine and re-inserted it, clicking the safety on and off. So what was she now, a prisoner? Well, it certainly didn't seem like she was free to go. But then again, if she was the captain of a warship and had to take a marooned alien aboard, she'd want to be pretty sure that it wasn't going to infect everyone with something that'd make them jizz out their brain matter, or something equally horrific. So maybe this was just a precaution. Or maybe they were studying her, scientific marvel that she was. Then again, it was entirely possible that it was just in their culture to lock a girl up a room for some alone time after preventing her ass from asphyxiating and freezing in space. Honestly, who knew.

She shrugged, and threw the weapon down on the bed. Not a lot to be done about it now. Upon passing a hand through her greasy hair, she was suddenly reminded of her dire hygiene situation, and of the showerhead-looking protrusion on the wall. She smelled and felt the part of a woman who'd been doing nothing but swilling hard liquor and playing with her pussy for two weeks. Shit, maybe they locked here in here just because she stunk. "Powder, did he say-"

She unzipped her flight suit, only now realizing that her boobs had been sticking halfway out the whole time, just shy of the nipple. Well, now an entirely new alien species thought that was how human women got around; great. Hope you're proud mom, she thought wryly, and shrugged out of the filthy garment, letting it fall to the floor. Nude, she made her way over to the water cooler thing, and wasted no time in pouring herself a cup which she downed in a single glugging drag. Then another. Then a third. Then, she splashed a fourth in her face. That helped fight the hangover off for a little; maybe she could keep it away long enough to get a handful of alien rejuvenation tabs. That got her wondering if they even had an equivalent to human drinking; some of the species humanity had encountered did, but not all. Those that didn't often had some pretty crazy drug habits.

She made her way over to stand in front of the faucet, wondering how to activate it. Idly, she reached up and took the jar of powder from the shelf; she stuck two fingers into it and brought them up to her nose, sniffing them. At that moment, the mirrored surface on the far wall caught her attention. It had the distinct look of a one-way mirror, and she blushed slightly as realized they could be watching her as she poked around in the nude. Then again, what did it matter. They were aliens. Not like they were going to tape it and stick it on a smut hub somewhere.
 
The shower head suddenly sprung forth with high-pressured warm water a few moments after she stepped underneath it, and splashed against the powder on her fingers, turning it into a soapy foam that left her fingertips quite clean and pleasant-smelling. Unfortunately for her, Petra's suspicions about the mirror were entirely true. T'losk watched her intently, accompanied by a second Trakali, who was scribbling notes about her anatomy onto a pad with a stylus. In all actuality, he was performing the initial visual assessment on her, reading her vital signs with a tricorder to get a baseline and more accurately analyze her biological composition.

T'losk was making a far less scientific survey of her, and now that he was hidden from her view, made no effort to conceal his arousal. The Trakali were far more apt to find members of other species attractive given their intense sex drive, and this young woman was definitely appealing. Watching her under the shower, it was hard not to imagine himself there, pinning her against the wall with his tendrils, driving his cock into her warm body, splashing that pink skin with a flood of cum built up from weeks of traveling through a barren, worthless sector.

But no. There was a protocol to follow, especially for unfamiliar species. She needed to be examined, to ensure that she could handle the demands exerted on her body. And she needed to be conditioned. This young woman had fire about her, and T'losk could plainly see that she had smuggled a weapon into the room.

"There. I got the baseline down," the scientist growled. "Everything looks great so far, features consistent with the most compatible subjects on file. We'll get a better look at her soon, Captain."

--

After about half an hour, the door reopened, and T'losk stepped inside accompanied by another alien wearing a black, long coat and carrying a tablet of some sort. T'losk held his tricorder up, configuring it to translate once more. "I hope you are somewhat refreshed. We need you to come with us. This is Qalt, our chief medical officer. He will need to examine you for injuries, illness, and exposure." Part of that was true, at least. T'losk's tendrils swayed behind him, and he quickly scanned the room for the sidearm with his eyes.
 
God, it felt indescribably good to be clean. For the first time since before she'd taken off in her cargo shuttle, there was a faint smile on her face as she lay idly on the bed, enjoying the fresh smell of soap on her body and in her hair. The clamminess and sweat that had been all over had been washed away; she felt soft, feminine, alive again. It was just beginning to sink in that she really had been rescued; the whole scenario could've gone better, but she'd made it. She got to live. Take that, universe.

A slight pang of shame drifted over her that she'd been contemplating suicide, not too long ago. On a whim, she'd have denied her family the chance to ever see her again. How foolish.

When the door opened, she looked up, not altogether surprised by the intrusion. She didn't want to climb back into her flight suit; she'd let it soak in the water of the shower, wringing the tears, alcohol and arousal out of it with her bare hands, and left it hanging off the shelf to dry. So now, she sat there nude, watching the aliens coolly as they stood in the doorway. Her pistol sat on the bed; chamber empty, magazine detached. Harmless.

"Now boys, before we get too comfortable, I just want to get one thing clear; humans don't usually like to be intruded upon without their clothes; not unless you know them real well. But since you're aliens and I'm not climbing into a soggy flightsuit, maybe we can make an exception just this once, hm?" She stood up, totally shameless, slim, toned physique on full display. Her perky breasts were centered by petite pink nipples, her thighs toned thick and taut from endless running and climbing in her military training. As she stood up, the creatures got quite the display of the externalities of the human female genitalia; a neat, plump split, topped by a well-controlled patch of hair the same straw color as that on her head. She looked at the alien in the black coat and nodded. So it had been quarantine. "What's up, Doc."
 
It was one thing to view her nude body from across the glass. It was another to view her so close, no barrier between them, with her only method of self defense lying uselessly on the bed. He could smell her scent, though far less strong than before, and it was becoming increasingly hard to resist. She had become strangely comfortable with them, it seemed, even going so far as to make a flippant joke.

"The examination will take place here," T'losk said, more to Qalt than to Petra. This charade of hospitality was no longer bearable nor necessary. "Make quick work of it. I can no longer stand the wait."

His tendrils whipped forward with alarming precision, wrapping around her wrists, and pulled them up and apart, taking her up onto her tiptoes. Qalt approached her, his own tendrils whipping from his coat, reaching to restrain her ankles.
 
Well, that was a pretty quick turnaround, she thought idly as a surge of alarm shot through her. "Hey- HEY! Whatever your examination is, I ain't doing it like this..." When she realized they didn't particularly care what she thought about it, she began to struggle against the long appendages, hips bucking back and forth as her upper arms and thighs tensed with the effort. Her nipples were doing little jumps in time with her impotent motions; she let out a long growl that wound up as a sob of frustration.
 
Seeing as she was appropriately restrained, Qalt's tendrils slid around her ankles while he moved in for a closer look. His scaly hands reached up, planting on her hips, and he gasped a little at just how smooth she felt to his touch. His fingers drifted over her softly, taking in this sensation, and began to move down her body, reaching around to her buttocks. She had a nice distribution of soft, tender flesh and toned muscle, the best of both worlds when it came to servants. His fingers pushed in, giving the soft pillows a firm squeeze, and he playfully jiggled her ass.

"Yes, good so far," he said, stepping around to her rear. He pressed his body against hers, and his maw hovered just behind her ear, where she could feel his breath. Those same rough hands joined her body again, this time at the naval, brushing over the belly button. One finger slipped into it exploratively, but realized quickly that it was a useless feature and just as soon left it alone. Traveling north, his gliding touch soon found a new pair of targets, and easily wrapped around them. By the Queen, they were the softest teats he'd found on an alien. She was easily shaping up, thus far, to be a Class Beta servant, if not a Gamma. Her nipples found themselves sandwiched between two of his knuckles, and he pinched them, giving a gentle outward tug. A little bit of play made them grow firm. A fairly standard reaction, but a good find all the same.

Qalt's examinations were always quite intimate, and the undeniable proof of his arousal began to manifest, bulging underneath his coat and pressing against the back of her thigh. He wanted to explore her mouth with his fingers, though the likelihood that she would bite him was too high at this stage. At any rate, what he had seen of her oral structure suggested that her mouth was well-equipped to service cock, unlike that of some more sharp-toothed and lip-lacking species, including the Trakali queen.

Instead he moved to the final stage of the physical examination, and the moment of truth. Would her sex organs accommodate the typical large and rough Trakali cock?

"Bend her forward, please, Captain," he requested of his superior, releasing her tits. T'losk, clearly also aroused by this act, complied, using the grip he had on her wrists to force the human girl into a 90 degree angle, holding her arms out toward him, next to her head as they had been when she was upright.
 
Petra grit her teeth, cursing them in the most vulgar terms imaginable as they groped her, her shouts going unheard by any who'd care for her plight. The reality took a moment to sink in, dancing around the corners of her consciousness, too perverse, too insane for her mind to grasp. A tingle flew up her spine as the exhaled air washed over the tender flesh of her neck; her shoulders shuddered, and her head rolled back reflexively, sticking out her ass too, for a moment. The hem of her hair tickled her spine, and she roared her defiance at the ceiling, confused, useless rage tearing at her soul. Then, it clicked, and she knew her fate. And the only fucking thing she could do was scream it at the ceiling.

"R... RAPE! You... fucking disgusting... RAPISTS!"

Maybe this was the universe's twisted punishment for her. When she'd been alone, floating through the emergency-lit corridors of her coffin of a ship, she'd turned to the deepest, darkest, most buried an depraved fantasies corners of her mind to entertain herself. She'd imagined being found by a pirate vessel; maybe one of her colleagues had tipped them off, and planned this whole calamity just so they could storm her ship. She'd have offered herself up, she imagined, let them use her as a living sex toy, over and over again, let them piss in her face and call her a dumb Earth-loving slut while they waited for the Navy to ransom her. And her thoughts had grown darker yet from there, turning to incest with her family members, bestiality with her pets, leaving no foul corner of her psyche unexplored. What had she to lose, she'd thought? Her humanity? She was dead anyway.

Maybe this was what she'd had to lose. Maybe this was hell, and she was about to be punished for abandoning her dignity, her faith and her self-respect.

"Fuck you! Earth'll kill you all for this, you hear me?! You don't know us, the strength of our fleet. We've beaten aliens before, we'll do it again. Everyone you care about is gonna fucking burn, you freaks! We never leave our own behind!" Except, that was a lie, and she knew it. It's not that they wouldn't want to; she'd met Marines before. Half the military would be thumping their chests and calling out for total genocide hearing that they'd done this to one of their own. But how would they know? They were empty threats. She could just disappear forever; humanity might not even know this species existed for years to come. Space was very, very big.

Her defiance turned into frustration as she felt her body betray her; her nipples were as firm as anything after only a few short tugs, and that thing, that whatever it was on the back of her thigh... Oh God. She was wet. This wasn't right at all; did women usually get wet when they were being raped? A sense of sickness descended on her. Her body's lubrication pulsed out of her tidy little slit, causing it to glisten with moisture in the light of the panel above. A bead of excess traveled down her right thigh, like her cunt had shed a tear. Her wild, terrified, enraged eyes had yet to do the same, because her ducts had nothing left to give after the despair of her marooning.

Then, they were bending her over; she found herself staring at what could only be an erection, pitching a tent in the captain's uniform trousers, the one who identified himself as T'losk. She spat a thick glob of saliva on the material it was straining against, not really stopping to consider that that may not have been the best move if she wanted to seem unappealing. "Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you!" This was it. There was no stopping it now. As she writhed and pulled, her struggles caused her taut but shapely cheeks to bounce very slightly; they were petite, round, something close to perfection in the full light. "Do it, you fucking coward. Stick it in. I bet you won't last thirty fucking seconds you dirty lizard cunt; fucking a real woman ain't like buttfucking your cum-gurgler of a friend here."
 
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T'losk was almost taken aback by the sudden outburst, but the way that she'd spit on his uniform in a vain act of defiance was definitely surprising. It did nothing to abate his erect cock, especially after he could smell her quite obvious arousal. He would have to see how she reacted to the Reorientation, if it did anything to alleviate this wild fire inside of her. His tricorder was recording her voice, and though generally the Reorientation started immediately, there was no Ministry regulation saying it had to be done before the first use. She just had to be thoroughly examined for compatibility.

Qalt was not quite ready to stick his cock in yet. Instead, he planted his hands on her ass cheeks, kneeling down to take a look at her. Face to face with her, the scent of her reluctant arousal was terribly alluring. Self-lubricating organs, check. One of his hands reached down, and his slender middle finger slipped between the lips of her vulva, letting them gently curl around like a hammock. He turned his palm upward, finding a little bulb projecting outward, and began to rub it gently, carefully watching the reaction it elicited from her. It was soon apparent from her squirming what that little button did. Good to know.

After fiddling with Petra's little swollen clit, he took his hands to spread her cheeks again, nuzzling his face into her soft lips, and his long, thick tongue lapped away at her.

Good Queen. She was absolutely delicious. Qalt's eyes dilated a hair, his tongue more aggressively attacking her labia and clitoris, savoring each wonderful taste. His fingers dug into her ass, his throat letting out a low growl, almost a hum, quite pleased with the fruits of his exploration of Petra's body.

T'losk had taken notice of Qalt's fervor. Perhaps his enthusiasm was the conclusion of two weeks alone with other males in the void with nothing but bugs and worms to look at, but Qalt usually didn't linger at this phase of the examination for more than a minute. T'losk suspected that he must have stumbled upon something quite special when he found her broken little vessel. Her idle threats of war were of no concern to him. The Trakali were fierce warriors by nature, and her species was so small and soft.

Qalt's tongue began to retract away from her clit, finding itself instead poking between the folds over her tight entrance. With how wet she was, it wasn't much effort for his tongue to find itself wrapped snugly within her, reaching inside deeply. Another low growl of satisfaction erupted from him, this time like a guttural laugh, and he grabbed her hips to greedily pull her back into him, thick tongue finding a pattern of reaching as far as it would go and retracting in a slow and steady rhythm.
 
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Her shouting and squirming reached a fever-pitch as the finger entered her; she bucked her hips from side to side, trying to pull herself away, teeth gritted together hard, face red with exertion. "Get the hell outta me you cocksucker," she spat, growing wetter and wetter the deeper he want, bathing his finger in the nectar of arousal. When he started to play with her clit, her knees faced one another and shivered, and her voice grew dimmer, but the fire behind it was no less potent.

It was not until he took to her with his tongue that she fell silent. "You'll regret that, I swear you'll all fuckin pa-aaagh," she ended with, and suddenly went lip, held up only by the tentacles holding her wrists. Her hair fell over her face, shudders running up and down her back and legs. It felt so, very, very wrong to be violated in this way; it felt so surreal, so alien. Inescapable and monstrous. She shivered and gulped, swearing to herself under her breath. "Dammit... goddammit." It wasn't that it didn't feel good; it's just that she desperately, desperately didn't want it to feel to good. But the sensory overload broke her, momentarily. Not that she'd have been able to do anything otherwise.

He just kept going deeper, and deeper; no human tongue could do the things he was doing to her. When he growled - laughed - the vibrations carried to her very core, making her stomach feel queasy and her cunt ache with morbid stimulation. Nothing she could do would change this situation even slightly; no matter what she said, or how hard she struggled, what was about to happen would happen. That realization set in like the onset of a stomach ache. A lump rose in her throat, and she stared into blank space as the first orgasm crept up on her, steadily. She could feel it approaching; nothing could hold it off.

Even with the hopelessness weighing down on her soul, she screamed in rage as the waves of stolen ecstasy rippled through her core. "Fuck-f-fucking kill you all!" she screamed, back arching, thighs shaking. That made it feel better; less weak. She made up her mind to refuse to let them see her expressing any kind of pleasure in any way she could control. Maybe, then, eventually, they'd just get bored and space her or something.
 
T'losk stepped forward, placing a hand on her head, head-feathers bristling with amusement. Her defiance was a good act, but it did nothing to mask her obvious climax, and that T'losk and Qalt could sense it beyond the clear visual demonstration certainly heloed confirm it. He gave her a pitiful pat on the head, running his fingers through her short blonde hair for a bit before taking hold of it and pulling her head back up to face him. "She's a Gamma, I'm sure. Are you quite finished, doctor?"

Qalt withdrew his serpentine tongue from within Petra's quivering core, licking away at what she had left on his mouth with delight. "Nearly. There is one more thing I need to try before she is ready." His eyes went upward, focusing on her clenched ass which up until now he had been ignoring. Everything had to be explored.

Once more his tongue lashed out, padding curiously at the ring, which he could immediately feel was much tighter than her cunt. It didn't stop him from challenging that tightness, as his dripping-wet tongue forced it's way inside with little effort. His hand reached back down to her vulva, slipping his long middle finger into her pussy once again, his thumb planted flatly on her clit.

Qalt was in awe. Petra was unlike any Gamma the doctor had ever examined. It was as if she was built specifically for servitude. The way her body yielded to him, reacted to his slightest touch despite her misgivings...she was perfect. He didn't use that term lightly, either - plenty of gammas had flaws. If she handled the Reorientation well, he would have to petition the Ministry for a new classification. What an honor that would be for her, he thought, tongue-fucking her asshole more ferociously.
 
It was a sensation quite unlike any Petra had experienced the realm of human romance and recreational sex; she'd always fancied the idea of getting her ass licked, privately, but in truth never quite been able to muster the confidence to ask for it. Whatever that was like, this was far, far more intense; she squeezed her cheeks as hard as she could when she first realized what he was trying, but she couldn't maintain it for long; eventually, the slimy, lizard tongue began to squelch and slide its way up her passage. She stared ahead, mouth agape, eyes losing focus and going momentarily crossed.

And then he started to finger her like they were a pair of horny pubescents.

The sheer filth of it was unbelievable; a gut-wrenching sensation of total violation and depravity sunk in her stomach, making her feel nauseous even as the stimulation awakened her libido again and prepared her to summit towards another climax. The sense of sickness descended through her guts until she felt it in her bladder, sinking, expanding into a bloated ache.

"Oh Christ," was all she could murmur as a strange tickling sensation overwhelmed her nether regions; her piping felt numb, and tingly, save for the dull-heat of ever-mounting arousal. Then there was a warm rush pouring down the inside of her thighs, which shuddered feverishly. She made a noise somewhere between a sob and pitiful chuckle as she pissed herself, a golden puddle forming rapidly on the floor from the explosive splatter created as the stream broke against the hand of the creature violating her. This would be a lesson to the sick fucks; there was only so far you could push the human body before it started to do things that weren't so sexy.

She actually rocked her hips forward, hoping to get some of her urine on that oh-so-neat uniform the captain was wearing. A more base, primitive indication of disregard and contempt there could not be; the message ought to be clear.
 
T'losk watched the fresh trickle of urine flow down her leg and onto the floor, his brow wrinkling as he tried to make sense of it. Was this always the response to anal stimulation in this species? Or perhaps Qalt was driving her too far, and expelling urine was a defense mechanism leftover from a more base stage of her people's evolution. Either way, it wasn't much of a deterrent - T'losk didn't even seem to care when she managed to flick a few droplets on his uniform.

Qalt's throat emitted a low-pitched shuddering growl, feeling his hand get soaked with urine, and he pulled his tongue and fingers out to inspect them. "Interesting reaction," he muttered to himself. "One more stage of the examination to go, then we can log our findings." Qalt stood, eyeing his captain warily. Though technically, the doctor was supposed to break this new ground, he knew his captain would not have it that way. "Captain, I assume you-"

"Yes, Qalt, I will perform the final examination," T'losk said dismissively. "Let her down." The tendrils holding Petra up gently allowed her to descend onto the floor before releasing their grasps on her wrists and ankles. Qalt instinctively snatched her sidearm from the bed, pocketing it. As he was no longer needed here, he began to rummage through her flight suit for more dangerous items, finally opting to simply take the whole uniform with him when he left. The door closed behind him, leaving Petra alone with the captain.

T'losk sneered at her. "You show a lot of fire," he growled, circling her. "But it's all a facade. I saw how wet you became before we even touched you. How quickly you climaxed under the doctor's care." T'losk's black boots stopped again in front of her, his clawed fingers pulling at the buttons of his uniform as he began to disrobe. His jacket was the first to fall away, revealing a bright red splash of colorful scales across his naked chest. "You think yourself a warrior, do you?" he asked with an air of condescending superiority. He made a show of his disrobing, tossing his uniform aside haphazardly.

Next came his slacks, and his boots. Before long T'losk was as naked as she was, towering over her, his cock still maintaining its firm attention, his scaley tendrils waving wildly behind him. "Look at me, and tell me you are a warrior."
 
Petra thumped onto the floor, her ass planting with a little sploosh in the puddle she'd made for herself. She massaged her wrists, staring up at T'losk through a thicket of roughed-up hair as she dragged her backside away from him. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the one who'd been... within her... pack up her sidearm and flight suit and leave. The monotone voice of the translator droned on and on as the alien taunted her in his guttural, graceless tongue.

"Yeah well, fuckhead. See how soft that alien prick of yours stays when it's being slobbered on," she muttered. Biology and psychology were two different things; the secondary nervous system could give a person's sex a mind of its own. Hence the unwanted erections that many a young man had come to fear, or how a woman could sometimes grow wet feeling the vibrations from an engine or deep voice without any intent. But where they could toy with her body, make it betray her, her mind was her own; she felt that more strongly now, with the ability to move her arms and legs freely and the long, slimy oral digit no longer exploring her keister.

God, she could still feel it up her, so clearly; there was drool coming out of her, greasing her cheeks. That was very, very wrong.

She stared at him as he disrobed; when she'd first set eyes on this bastard's species, they'd made her think of proud, noble warriors. As he disrobed, exposing her manhood to her, he looked more like a demon. A being of hell, driven on by its need to violate pure souls. A species born to fuck, and failing that, to rape.

She stood up, hands up and knees bent in a weakened fighting stance; she must've been quite the sight, no less than three kinds of fluids glistening on her lower body, hair a wreck, pretty face contorted into a scowl of impotent rage and humiliation.

"I am Chief Petty Officer Petra Alberecht. Terran Colonial Navy. If you touch me again I'm gonna take that lizard-dick and jam it so far up your own sphincter you'll be choking up your own jizz."
 
Such fury! T'losk couldn't help but be impressed by her willful nature, how she was ready to fight even now, faced with an unwinnable scenario. Another loud, barking laugh erupted from the Trakali captain, for what a gift he'd been given! He thanked the Gracious Queen for his fortune, that he would be the first to fuck such an interesting servant.

"When you cum on my cock," T'losk advised her, stepping forward to answer her challenge, "...and you will...I want you to remember the moment well." His thick member was just as rough looking as the rest of him, and though it looked very similar to a circumsized human cock, there were thick, firm ridges lining the sides of his shaft, intercut with natural grooves, like small ribs.

T'losk could no longer dance around his desires. He had to have her. His hand reached out, swiftly snatching Petra by her rough hair, and pulled her over to the bed before effortlessly throwing her bent over the edge of the soft mattress. A tendril whipped forth, wrapping itself around her neck with a firm grip that was not enough to choke her, his hands reaching down to grab her by the thighs. She soon found herself lifted into the air by T'losk's inhuman strength, legs forced apart as he lowered her down onto his waiting weapon.

The tip of his cock presses threateningly into her soaked folds, pushing just into her entrance as a second tendril worked it's way across her waist, lightly constricting her. As the tentacle-like appendages tightened around her throat and hips, she would feel a strangely pleasant tingling sensation on her flesh where they touched her, tantalizing and teasing her.

The gentle prodding suddenly gave way to the captain's impatience, and he pulled her down harshly, making her fully engulf his cock. He pulled her up again only to slam her down, bucking his hips into her. His jaw hang agape, tongue rolling out sloppily as he breathed hot air against her back. Her cunt was gripping him in an attempt to keep him out, but the effort was wasted and only served to please him more.
 
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