Page 92 of Invasive Species
“Ready?”Ezla says.
We both know I'll never be ready for this.
Agonizing arousal spikes through my cocks with every ragged breath I take. Sweat crawls down my scales from my need and the pain of denial with my mate so close, but I also brace myself for more pain. My hands tighten around the metal of the frame Ezla set up for me to grab onto, and I look over at Arra-bellah, steeling my resolve on her sleeping form.
Arra-bellah has slept through the next two cycles, almost six full Earth days. In that time, we've tried everything we can think of to measure the bond, but we're also eliminating other avenues. Perhaps the pathogen came from my body, likely introduced when we had intercourse. Thank the All-Mother it was interrupted; I could have killed her there and then had the full length of time for knotting elapsed.
I cling onto the brace of the contraption Ezla and I have commandeered for this extraction. It's meant to contain clones unwilling to receive treatment, a rectangle with restraints on all four corners. I stand tall, legs parted and arms raised, and,rather than needing the restraints, I hold onto the top metal bar of my own free will.
“Ready,” I say.
Ezla pushes the button on our makeshift extraction device. We designed it to get deep into my knotting cock and take a biopsy through a tube as thick as an Earth straw.
Pain radiates from the intrusion as it presses through the slit in my knotting cock, the sensation both agony and making me hard.
“We expected this,” Ezla reminds me.
Through the blazing fire I repeat to myself our observations that any stimulus gets a Selthiastock hard but, for me, being near my mate makes me harder still.
With brief glances up at my face, visible through a clear mask to gauge my condition, Ezla inexorably pushes the harsh betrillium metal deeper into my cock. He needs to get down my seminal tubes, where my knotting juice is made and stored.
I bite the inside of my cheeks hard to keep from screaming, and look again at Arra-bellah’s slack face. She floats in the Milagrove nutrient bed, her wild hair frozen as if she’s a static sample rather than my living, breathing mate.
If this doesn't yield any results, there's only one more avenue to try. I look down at the center of my chest as if I can see our shadow of a mate bond. It's becoming more and more real to me, despite all the read outs still not showing anything, as expected. Casting logic aside, I know what I feel, and it's a growing connection to Arra-bellah.
If the biopsy from my knotting cock doesn't yield anything, then the next avenue is to snap this bond between us, although how we'll break something that can't even be measured, I don't know.
If I have to die to free her, I will.
Pain lashes around my hearts like an arc whip, adding to the agony in my half-erect cock from the intrusive metal. Idon't want to leave her, but if it's hurting her, I have no choice. She should excise me like a tumor.
Ezla turns a dial and the invasive pole inside my knotting cock widens. I swallow the hot pain shooting across all my nerves as it expands, threatening to split me, and let myself hang like a tortured prisoner in the frame. My nanites are suppressed so they don't impact the test result, but I can't help but think I deserve this. Ezla seems convinced I can help her, but so far, I’m the culprit in her illness, and I'll pay any price to cure Arra-bellah.
My sweaty palms flex as an image of skating them up Arra-bellah's lithe body comes to me, my fingers tangling in the wild curls of her hair. I want to hear the excitement in her voice; I even want her to order me around. I can't wait for her to ruffle my hair again. I want to taste her lips again, see her smile and arch into me as I envelop her in pleasure.
A readout bleats, and Ezla and I whip our heads around simultaneously. Her heart rate’s increasing. Mine pounds in my chest. Was it coincidence I was having carnal thoughts about her when her vitals jumped?
“Gara,” she murmurs, the weakness in her voice searing me. She sits up, blinking at us and rubbing the orange-amber Milagrove nutrient out of her eyes. Her skin’s brighter, glowing with the restoring vitamins and minerals from the bed, but her face is ashen as she takes me in: arms raised as if chained, legs wide, and my volcano-shaped knotting cock bloated with the end of a silver tube quivering in the air.
“What the fuck are you doing?” She glares at Ezla, whose scales drain of color at facing an irate female.
He immediately prostrates himself, face flat to the floor. “Arra-bellah, we are performing a biopsy.”
“Of hiscock?”Arra-bellah flings herself from the bed and totters toward me. “Release him immediately.”
“I'm not tied here,” I reassure her, dropping my hands tomy sides. Moving invites pain to spike up my cock, but I smooth my expression so she doesn't realize.
She wrings her hair into an agitated rope, staring at the metal protruding from my cock. Her presence washes over me, calling to me, and my cocks lift, accompanied with a rush of agony as my overstretched penis floods with blood ready to mate her.
“Get it out,” she orders Ezla.
“No,” I pant. “Not until he’s taken the sample.”
She turns her glare to me, as cutting as a bot laser, but I lift my chin in defiance.
Her shoulders slump. “If you're this desperate, I'm guessing there's no headway on a cure?”
I shake my head, sweat droplets crawling underneath the metal mask.
