Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
And yet…here I am, full of a stranger’s sperm, wearing a stranger’s tunic, and trying not to think about how I just had my brains fucked out by the intergalactic equivalent of a grown up Boy Scout. Except instead of helping me cross the street, he held me down and hammered into me until I came. And came.
And came. And came some more. I lost track of how many times we had sex. Seven? Eight? Ten? I know I’m feeling a little chafed and definitely well-seeded, which is the point. I should be focusing on what comes next…and instead I keep thinking about Ainar. Ainar and those big hands that were surprisingly gentle. Ainar and his four-way piercing dick, which felt far too fucking good. Ainar and his oh-so-awkward kiss.
We never did kiss, come to think of it. Maybe that’s a good thing. I fight back a wave of disappointment at the realization, though. I’m just lonely. Of course I want to kiss a guy with a great dick and a caring attitude. No one’s taken care of me for years now. If anything, I should feel guilty when I think about Ainar instead of wistful. The guy was just trying to do his job and here I dive-bombed him, insisting he fuck me.
I cringe at the thought. I probably came on really strong. I make a mental note to not show my face around town for a while, so I don’t run into him and make things awkward. It’ll take at least a week for me to be certain if things have “taken” so I can just make myself busy around the farm. Paint the barn. Wash the stalls. Clip the nails of the meat-stock. Make them special meat-stock vegetarian meals. Do whatever it is that farmers do when they’ve got a lot of free time.
With a sigh, I get out of the air-sled and brace myself. Sure enough, there’s a migration of fluids south the moment I stand, and I feel a hint of panic. What if it wasn’t enough after all? What if I need a few more swimmers to do the deed? Racing inside, I fling myself down on my bed. Lying on my back, I put my legs in the air and rest my heels on the wall, tucking a pillow under my hips to elevate them. I have no idea if this does anything, but they always did it in the movies back home, so it must, right?
Propping up my hips makes me think of Ainar, though, and the way he’d shoved his tunic under me to try and give me what I needed. I grab the collar of it and raise it to my nose, sniffing it like a teenage girl with a crush. God, I’m such a dweeb. You’d have thought that after the last five years, the universe would have beat all the silliness out of me, but it seems like I’ve still got some lingering. It’s just…I’m allowed to indulge in a bit of fantasy, aren’t I? It doesn’t hurt anything. As long as my farm is running smoothly and I’m not hurting anyone, what’s the harm?
So I let myself daydream about a big, hunky blue alien with ridges going up and down his thick cock (good god, was it thick), piercings and a spur. I must still be a little horny because my insides clench just thinking about him. I was prepared for bad sex. I was prepared for the indignity of a modified turkey-baster situation. I was not prepared for amazing dick. Maybe that’s why I let myself get distracted and stayed all night long.
Well, the deed is done. I’ll know in a week.
I tell myself I’ll sit with my legs up for an hour, no more, and then go shower and check on the farm utilities. The bots normally have everything handled, but I make sure nothing gets hung up or stranded. Even the smartest bot isn’t a replacement for good old-fashioned human oversight.
I’ll do that soon. For now, I’m going to keep my hips elevated and think about Ainar for a little longer—
There’s a knock at the door.
With an alarmed squeak, I fling my legs down and sit upright, finger-combing my hair. “Computer, show the porch please?” With my first harvest, I took all of my extra funds and sank them into a decent security system so I wouldn’t be worried about living out here alone, and I’m grateful for it every day. The porch vid shows a large mesakkah in a Port Custodian uniform—a fresh one—and wet hair that’s been combed back between his horns…and a bite mark on his neck that I probably left at some point last night. Ainar clutches a handful of flowers, and as I watch, his tail wiggles back and forth behind him as if he’s an excited puppy.