Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 46803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46803 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
So I stand up. Slowly. Elegantly. I stretch my arms up over my head, making my body long. I show him every bit of my curves and skin, unashamed and unafraid. And I watch his face. His eyes. And his crotch. He’s got to have an alien dick in there. Will it move? Engorge for me?
As alien as he is, as advanced as he claims to be, his pupils dilate as I make these languid motions of display. He makes a soft growling sound under his breath, which comes in a sharp intake as I perform a very slow turn, showing him what I bet is my reddened ass.
“I’m just so stiff,” I say. “You don’t mind me stretching, do you?”
He doesn’t reply. He turns away, but not without one last glance. That makes me laugh inwardly. The scales and the hair and the eyes don’t matter. This is a horny male the same as any guy. He wants me. And that’s going to be how I fucking break him.
“Put this on,” he says, holding out a black garment that is too long to be a two piece. Sure enough, when I take hold of it I see that it is a jumpsuit, made out of a fabric that’s somewhere between cotton and rubber. It feels stretchy, but not like it won’t breathe. There’s an open weave, but it also snugs tight to my hand when I put my hand inside it.
“What the fuck is that?” I turn the garment around and gesture to the rear, where there is a rounded area with a seam that looks like it is being held together the same way a garment with a zipper would be. Kind of looks like horse riding apparel does, the kind where you have a different fabric to keep you in the saddle a little better.
I had ponies growing up. Yes, even in the city, even amid an apocalypse. My father always wanted me to have the best of everything, so I learned how to ride, and how to love big animals that were built for freedom even if they were deprived of it.
“An access panel,” he says.
“Gross. You’re so disgusting. And you’re not different because you’re an alien. You’re acting like all human men do when they get a chance to take advantage of a woman. You…”
“I haven’t touched you, except to spank your spoiled, impudent bottom,” he growls. “Put it on.”
I don’t really have any choice, do I. It’s this or keep wandering around naked, and as much as I’d enjoy teasing him, there are advantages to being clothed. So I stop complaining for a minute, and I slide my legs one at a time into the suit before pulling it up over my body and zipping it in the front. Just like I thought, it snugs tight wherever there’s a curve. It’s not restrictive, but it does feel supportive, of both my ass and my breasts, most notably.
I should be grateful for how comfortable this is, I suppose.
He also provides socks in a similar, though lighter fabric, and a pair of boots that match the outfit. They too, snug in place.
“So this is all one-size-fits-most, huh,” I muse as I pull the first black boot on, finding that it comes up as high as I want it to, which in my case is just below my knee. This is actually a badass outfit. I love black clothing, and I love clothes that hug my body, and the feeling of being contained and supported is really nice. It’s like being held in a gentle, but firm continuous embrace.
“I designed that outfit for nervous humans,” he says. “Pressure is calming to your species.”
He’s not wrong. He must have studied us for years. He seems to have the kind of understanding you only get when you’ve done a really deep dive into a subject. There is an intensity to Kahn that I’d find really attractive if he wasn’t… aw, hell. I have to admit it to myself. I find him attractive. He gives me the feeling that I might have met my match — and that has never happened before.
Kahn
She looks adorable in the pet uniform I designed. She has a cute body. Her ass was made to be spanked, and her attitude practically demands discipline. I find myself uncharacteristically aroused, half-wishing I had not gotten her dressed. I can always undress her, I suppose. That will be enjoyable too. I can let her get used to the luxury of being clad, only to strip it from her, exposing her to my gaze all over again before claiming her rebellious body and making it mine….
Get a grip, Kahn. I speak to myself inside my head. Our telepathy is usually reserved for speaking to others, but sometimes I like to telepathically talk to myself. It allows me to have conversations without the inconvenience of having to tolerate anybody else’s opinions. She’s a spoiled human girl, and she’s trouble. Mating her would be a mistake.