His cock spreads my lower lips and sinks inside me. I am astounded by how natural it feels to be mated by him, how well my body accepts and wraps around him, my inner walls squeezing that dangerous flesh as if he were a lover of my choosing.
He goes deep, and he goes completely, filling me all the way up until I feel the base of his cock against my lips, the hard plating of his genital plane pressing into the softness of my sex. I am stretched as wide as I have ever been by the flesh of a male.
Warden holds himself still for a moment, his horns forward, his eyes lit more brightly than I have yet seen them. He seems almost paralyzed with the effect of being inside me, of feeling a human woman wrapped around his cock.
He lets out a growl. The spell is broken, and the ravaging begins.
I hear the chains clanking against the floor as he fucks me with all his might, roaring and growling like a vicious beast as his cock rams into me, and slides out again, my lower lips wrapped so tight around him he can barely get out. I am like a fuck-trap, a dirty, wet, wanton human female being used to the limits of her body by an alien who feels compelled to prove his total domination.
Pleasure erupts through me in the shape of orgasms, one after the other, hitting me like a barrage as his body urges mine toward the most blissful state of near insensate release I have ever experienced.
Welcome Party
Warden
I stand over her as she lies limp and sodden with my come, temporarily broken to my will. She has only been on my ship for a matter of hours and yet I feel as though a lifetime has passed since I first laid eyes on her. This little human has already made me break every single rule I have on this ship.
I shouldn’t say she made me break the rules. I chose to break them, because laying eyes on her might be the single most important thing which has ever happened to me. There are moments of destiny in every life, fulcrums around which all other events swing. Meeting her is one of those moments. I can feel it in my bones. Instinct tells me that there will be two eras in my life. All that came before Silver, and all that which is yet to come.
Silver
“I thought scythkin didn’t take prisoners.”
“We make exceptions from time to time.” He glowers down at me. “You are an exception.”
I am still chained on my back. Flat on the floor. Arms and legs tied down in place. It’s quite disorienting. It’s his desperate attempt to keep me contained, because I have proved to be a problem. Even drenched in his seed, I’m still an unknown and untrusted quantity.
I’m not as angry as I should be. Perhaps I should feel violated and broken, cruelly and unusually punished. But I don’t. Part of the reason is that I know I deserve this. I have done some terrible things in my life in the name of revenge, dark things, for which no punishment, not even death, would ever be enough.
I am really fucking good at revenge.
I am not really fucking good at being a captive.
“Every warden I’ve ever met in every prison I’ve ever been in has underestimated me.”
“I won’t.”
He stands there, my juices still drying on his thick alien cock as he picks up a tablet and looks over my digital file. “Says here you’re responsible for the unexpected detonation of more than a dozen scythkin vessels, leading to the extinction of almost as many clutches.”
I pretend to look at a file, which is hard when I can’t move a single limb, but I mime it as best as I can with my shackled hand. “Says here you’re a pointy dickhead.”
He cocks his head and his eyes glow that little bit brighter. That’s his tell that I’ve made some kind of impact on his pride. I’m already starting to learn my captor. That’s the most important thing when you want to break out. You have to know the entity who is holding you if you want to escape them.
“You like to talk, don’t you, human. And you like to act. That is less common in your species. You are a race who talks often and does rarely. But you do both, and that is the reason I will punish you until you understand what it means to be obedient.”
“I know what it means to be obedient already. I reject obedience. I reject the idea that I owe anybody anything.”
“You won’t reject it once I’m done with you,” he promises. “You’ll crave it. You’ll beg for it.”
“I don’t think so.”
He turns around and leaves me in the dark without so much as another word. I lie back and try to relax. There’s no point struggling against metal chains. He’ll take them off soon enough.
This is how they try to break you. They leave you in solitary, and they make themselves the center of your world by turning up occasionally, being your only source of sanity. Stockholm syndrome, ancient humans used to call it.
I have my methods for dealing with this. I sing myself the song which does not end. It has the advantage of not ending, so it doesn’t so much mark time as consume it.
It just goes on and on, my friend…
I am humming to myself when the light comes back on. It could have been an hour since he left, or a day. I don’t know. I’m hungry and I’m sore. The human mind usually doesn’t know how to orient itself to captivity. It struggles against it. It fixates on it. That is why ancient humans used to imprison one another as punishment.
I have had more practice at being captive than most. This alien will not break me, no more than any of the aliens before.
* * *
“I like the song. Repetition is soothing.”
He’s back.
He has food and water. I can’t eat or drink while tied down on my back though, not unless he feeds me.
He feeds me.
He sits down beside me, his massive alien frame dwarfing me. These scythkin are huge. And sharp, though the blades which run down the ridge of his back retract into a smooth surface which could almost be mistaken for human, if humans had facial bone structure sharper than knives, and eyes of supernova green. Being seen by him is like being observed by something tectonic.
Scythkin are an abomination of a species, a vicious, dominating, merciless race of aliens whose only interest is laying waste to all existence and turning the planets they conquer into personal brood sites for their violent matriarchs. They are beasts of control. They are masters of mayhem. They are living devils, alien incarnations of all that which a decent human finds abominable — and one is spooning soup into my mouth.
“Good girl,” he croons as I swallow.
I’m not being good. I’m just not going to waterboard myself with soup by trying to stop him. Sometimes you have to capitulate so you can resist. If that sounds like a cop-out, I don’t give a fuck.
This soup is actually really tasty. The food in my last place wasn’t very good. They said it was nutritionally balanced, but it always tasted like ground dirt.
“Is it made with the blood of your enemies?”
“If my enemies are the tomatoes in the kitchen, then yes,” he says.
Is there anything worse than a captor with a sense of humor? One who leaves you tied down in heavy chains for hours at a time, perhaps. He is both.
“What do I call you?”
“Warden,” he says.
“Warden what?”
“Just Warden. Watt is my broodkin, but he doesn’t have the temperament for breaking rebellious humans.”