Page 42 of Her Alien Boss

“Of course I would,” he growls, his voice floating to me disembodied in space. “I’d fuck you for nothing. The chance to do it as training won’t be missed.”

I wonder if I should resist, and then I feel the pleasure he is evoking and my own animal anticipation, and I know that I was not one to be laid down in a bed by a man and have him rut away inside me. I knew I was saving myself for something, and it was this. As oceans of stars twist about my head, I feel Arkon casting his physical spell on me. I would let this alien do whatever he wanted to me, because I know he’d make it one of the most intensely satisfying experiences of my life.

I miss a ring and I feel his cock start to slide into my pussy. The big cock, the one that makes me stretch so lewdly wide I can barely take it.

It is almost impossible to concentrate on the game now. I try my best, I really do, because the word punish along with the word fuck implies I might not like everything that happens to me as a result.

I miss another ring almost immediately. I feel the collar buzz, and I feel his cock thrust harder, deeper. Fuck. The way it feels to be held in a machine and used by my boss is too hot to describe. A mixture of shame, arousal, intense satisfaction, the desire for more are all milling about in me.

“Keep trying,” he says. “This is still a work day. You are on the clock no matter how tightly your human pussy is stretched around my breeding rod.”

And that is when I lose complete control of myself, the machine, and everything else. I don’t even make it two minutes into the training. I have missed three rings almost all in a row. The ones I did get were more accidents than anything.

“Naughty girl,” he growls. “That’s three rings.”

He grips me tight and thrusts inside me hard enough to make me yowl. I can hear the sounds of his pleasure, and I can feel his enjoyment of this discipline that is not discipline, and punishment that is not punishment. He is doing this for fun.

The universe spins around me as Arkon uses me. There is so much feedback happening that I don’t have full control over because Arkon is outside the machine. Every time he thrusts, it thinks I want to go faster. I am zipping through nebulae and feeling my body contract around his cock.

He takes mercy on me by allowing all the sensations to keep coursing through me—the collar buzzing, his cock thrusting, the suckers attached to their intimate positions—driving me even more completely, madly, divinely out of control.

I come so hard it feels as though all creation is climaxing with me, contorting against my bonds, trying to writhe both away from and into the sensations that relentlessly stimulate me so the orgasm doesn’t peak right away, but instead just keeps rolling through me again and again. Until Arkon decides to unleash his seed inside me and then I am filled and dripping and orgasmically exhausted.

“That wasn’t fair,” I mumble when he unstraps me from the machine and turns me around to cradle me up against his body.

“I know,” he says, dropping a kiss on my head. “And I’m going to do it again.”

CHAPTER 6

Arkon

Things have quite literally never been better. My human is performing excellently in her role, our mutual affection is growing day by day, and the project is starting to come to a stage I don’t think any of us ever really thought we would get to.

I am in love with Evie. She is everything I have never dared to want in a mate. Her body feels as though it is made specifically for mine; the way she wraps her pussy around me and grips me so tight, the way she fights me then surrenders to the pleasure I can give her, the wicked way she insists on trying to steal things even though she knows she is being watched by more eyes than she can countenance.

“What are you thinking about?”

She asks the question over breakfast. I realize that I have been staring at her.

“How glad I am that I chose you to employ, and not the male candidate.”

“You would have hated Rustle,” she laughs. “He was such a constant, consummate asshole. He would have driven you mad, I think.”

“Why is that?”

“He was just a jerk, and he was bad at games. He’d want you to explain why the rings were significant and when he missed them he’d be like ohhh, it doesn’t matter that much actually because, blah blah.”

I like listening to her talk about her life before my employ, even if it is to complain about what sounds like the universe’s most pedestrian and beige arch nemesis.

“Anyway,” she says. “I like the work here too, but I’d really like to know what I’m really training for.”

“What do you mean, what you’re really training for?”

“Whatever you want me to do, it’s not really fly through rings,” she says. “Back on Earth, they trained birds to sit in missiles and peck at targets as a means of orientation in the days before decent tech. Is that what you’re doing with me? Integrating me into a weapon or something?”

She sips her human-safe protein drink and I think about how best to lie to her.

“The Kensington Group is a collective of rebel pirates and renegades and outlaws,” I start to say.