Wrong Place, Wrong Time, (3)

Sahara felt the cuffs which had contained her hands and feet ‘melt’ away.  She was more than concerned about this, since she was a full meter off the floor, but before full freedom was attained, multiple tentacles wrapped around her body, holding her securely.

One especially long one wrapped around her waist, down across her bruised, throbbing buttocks, around the front of her right thigh and passed through the juncture of thighs, pressing against her pussy, before the tip tucked tightly in the cleft of her asscheeks.

She tried to hold an inner stillness; it seemed as if every breath rubbed her clit and pussy lips against the subtle texture of the tentacle, adding to her arousal.

It seemed as if this Uralian, which she identified as her assailant during her punishments, understood exactly what he was doing to her. She could hear/feel his humor at her.

The banging fucktard!

As the last of the restraints melted away, her body weight was taken by the beast behind her, pulling her against him tightly for  a moment, before ‘he’ lowered her to stand. A lot of pressure built between her legs as for a moment, he loosened his grip so her full weight bore down on the part of his armature that pressed against her pussy.

:hot:

It was a ‘tight’ singular thought that he sent directly to her. How she knew that, uncertain. But he understood that he was pressing on her sex, and what it was doing to her.

She tried to send the same kind of ‘tight beam’ back.

:pervert:

There was a fleet tightening all along the shaft, but more out of  a sense of humor, rather than warning.

Who knew Uralians had a sense of humor?

Her feet touched the floor, and she wobbled a bit. The tentacle around her had yet to retract, and he  – “it”, she reminded herself-  loomed over her.

The floor was soft. It was unsettling, like standing on a blanket over foam. Her toes grabbed into it, as if she were wearing sandals on the beach.

Slowly, teasingly, the tentacle supporting her began to relax it’s grip. Did she imagine it, or had that slippery arm pressed one last time against her pussy? As it slid away, she smelled pussy.

Geeze.

She shook herself, stretching up with her fingers. From behind her, she ‘heard’ it coming, the hint of ‘him’.  A small, sneaky poke into her asscrack as she was in full stretch.

She giggled.

Then muffled it, before she got slapped for making ‘mouth noises’ again.

:i need to stretch out my body:    she explained to all who were watching her. And they were all watching her.

Interlocking her fingers, she rose to tiptoes, reaching skyward again.  The small Uralian scuttled forward, and geezus didn’t they move fast, these fuckers, and touched it’s front tentacle tips to her breasts, then darted away as she folded in half, palms to the floor.

There were colors and sounds of amazement at that move.

Of a sudden, they were all touching her, gently, lightly running down her back, her ass, her thighs and calves. She ignored them.

Rising to stand again, she spread her legs and slipped into a runners stretch, right leg, then her left.

Gods above it felt good to move again.  The probing tips were ticking along her belly, her arms, even touching her split lip. There was a tingle and sting there still, and a sudden sharp pain.

“OW!” she spoke aloud, recoiling. The Uralians pulled back as one. Gingerly, she lifted a hand to her mouth.

The wound was gone.

She gasped, then probed it more.

:how?:

:you can not heal the broken:  The question was colored with tones of shock and yellow golds of dismay.

She shook her head as she thougth :hell, no we cannot:

:a strange species:   There was a hint there, of amusement as well as bemusement. Obviously they had not had that many interactions with humans.

They slid close to her again, and one tentacle slipped between her thighs, but was tapped gently away by the ‘guard’ behind her, the one who had done ‘his’ own share of pussy probing.

:no:  he bespoke the youngling with a compassion that was layered with protectiong and caring. So much texture to their thoughts, she thought a bit enviously. She wondered, if humans had that capacity, would there ever be the kinds of wars that harmed others  so tragically.

:this one is not for you:

That felt a bit  proprietary, she thought. As if in confirmation, ‘he’ continued.

:the female is mine to explore:

She whirled around, and at last came face to face with ‘him’. Her ‘guard’, her punisher, her tormenter. And now, apparently, her owner.

:no being owns me:

She stood, arms crossed, glaring up into his dark luminous eyes.

Around her were the fast-flowing colors and tastes of high amusement, but there were no direct replies.

:your task awaits:  ‘he’ spoke to her,

:i will be watching you most carefully:  which she interpreted as ‘don’t fuck up, spacegirl.’

She swallowed a sudden urge to vomit, and taking a deep breath, walked over to the snow-filled view screen.

*to be continued…*