Page 10 of My Alien Bughead
I’ve never had sex with a Krestilian. There aren’t too many of them and the few that I met back on Alonar, theUGC headquarters planet, were mated. And while I do like adventurous sex, I draw the line at seducing a married man. Or a mated one, for that matter.
I did watch a lot of porn while I was there, though, featuring a famous Krestilian porn star, O’Kko. What I saw made me crave Krestilian cock even more.
Their species is mostly humanoid, combined with certain insect-like features, the most visible one being the two feelers on the top of their heads. These butterfly-like antennae move semi-autonomously, reacting to a Krestilian’s mood. Their tips glow in various colors and from what I’ve heard, they’re sensitive to electromagnetic fields, allowing their owner to detect them like a sensor.
They also have overlapping chitin plates protecting the softer parts of their bodies, like their stomachs. And their cocks. Their freakishly alien cocks. Segmented, like an extra limb they have full control of. With a ring of barbs right under their ridged cockhead; barbs that extend during sex to lock the partners together. For hours, if the “sources” I’ve so diligently studied are to be trusted. The best part about the barbs is that they apparently inject some “hours-long, mind-shattering orgasm” venom into the penetrated partner.
Talk about extra special candy in the galactic candy shop! Who wouldn’t want to try that?
Not with this jerk, though. Never with this jerk.
I grace D’Aakh with a saccharin-sweet smile before going back to ignoring him. Turning to Astra, mainly to stop myself from glancing at the infuriatingly handsome alien, I do my best to focus on the work I came here to do.
“So, you really do have actual bugs on board?” I ask. “I thought you meant, like, computer bugs.”
“Yep,” Astra replies. “Alien praying mantises. About this big.” She holds her hand by her waist. “Also, they’re blue, but that’slike the least creepy thing about them. They’re super smart, though, and they don’t want to hurt us.”
D’Aakh scoffs but keeps otherwise quiet, probably because Captain Zarkan is glaring at him. He’s got a really scary glare. If it was aimed at me, I’d run the other way.
Tareq touches the pistol strapped to his thigh, as if to reassure himself it’s there, before sighing. “They helped us escape captivity, but that doesn’t mean they’re our friends, Astra. We have no idea what they want or how they will react to us. Ancestors, we can’t even communicate with them! I wish you’d consider staying back.”
“So that you boneheads could charge in guns blazing?” Astra shakes her head. “No way, tiger. I’m coming. Deal with it.”
Zarkan rumbles out what I assume is a chuckle, then pulls out a datapad. “I was worried about the communication issue, too, so I brought Cai along. She did some research on the creatures. Cai?”
“Captain,” a voice responds from the datapad. “I’ve been going over all of the available data on the insectoid creatures the UGC databases hold and while there are no language files to be downloaded into your translator nodes, I believe I can translate at least basic words. Provided the creatures are cooperative, we will be able to communicate with them.”
For an AI, Cai’s voice sounds surprisingly natural, more than any I’ve heard before. And since AIs assist with running complex machinery all over the station, I’ve heard a lot of them.
“What does the database say about them?” I ask, curious about a new alien species.
“They call themselves the …”
I wince at the sound coming from the datapad. “¡Dios mío!That sounds like a wrench stuck in a gearbox!”
“Yeah, no kidding,” Astra chimes in. “We can’t call them that. Hell, we can’t even pronounce it.”
Cai laughs. Honest to god laughs and it’s not a creepy robotic laugh, either. She sounds genuine. Is she really AI? Or is Zarkan communicating with someone via the datapad?
“Yes, I imagine pronouncing that name using your vocal cords would be difficult,” Cai says. “The UGC scientists studying this species thought the same way, so they named them Serramorphs.”
Zarkan nods. “Good, we can work with that. What else do we know about them?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. Since their home planet is protected under the Non-Interference Directive, nobody is allowed to land there, aside from the ships repatriating kidnapped individuals. However, as the Serramorphs aren’t particularly coveted as slaves, there haven’t been many abductions in the past.”
“Yeah,” D’Aakh says. “If only it stayed that way. However, we have, how many? Six? Eight of them on board?”
“Six adults and one youngling,” Tareq supplies.
D’Aakh rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We do have to deal with them, though, so how about our glorified calculator stops beating around the bush and tells us what she knows?”
“Wow,” I snort, unable to hold my tongue. “What crawled up your ass?”
He glares at me as if I’m an idiot. “Primitive creatures crowding my ship.”
The way he says it makes it obvious he considers me one of those primitive creatures. Like I said.¡Que cabrón!
I’m not the only one who notices. Fists clenched, Tareq steps toward D’Aakh menacingly.
