Monster Disaster

The air shimmers under the brutal sun. Ever since you arrived, you hadn't seen so much as a stray cloud, let alone rain, only dry, searing heat. Yet the plants stand tall and lush around, their leaves plump and glistening.

"How do they survive this?" you ask, wiping sweat from your brow.

Sconar only grunts, then crouches down beside a long row of low-growing vines. His scales catch the sunlight, drinking in the burning warmth. He reaches into the worn pouch at his belt and pulls out a handful of small, pearl-like orbs. They glow blue-white in his gloved hand.

You lean in closer. "What are those?"

"Moisture seeds," he finally answers, though it just leaves you with more questions.

"How do they work?" Your fingers dart forward, eager to scoop up a small handful from the soil where he had just dropped them, but Sconar's hand snaps out before you can reach the scattered orbs. His grip is firm but not painful.

"Don’t." His warning is short and barked.

You freeze. "Why?"

"Cold burn," he says, releasing your wrist once he is sure you won't do anything stupid. "Would blister your soft human skin in seconds."

"Oh." You stare at the pearl-like seeds as curls of frost rise from them when they slowly activate. "How long do they last? Do you make them? Or buy? Can you use it for any plant? What if-"

"Slow down, girl," the alien grunts. "They last ten days. I buy them. And you can use them on any plant, but you have to be careful with the amount you use." He gives you an amused, knowing look and nods toward the tablet in your other hand. "Take your notes. Just don't touch anything until I say so."

Life on the farm feels surprisingly familiar. You wake with the sun, feed the animals; the six-legged creatures and the ones with features you spend hours drawing in your notebook, then walk the fields, check the shimmering crops, water the blossoming plants, and help Sconar with whatever he needs until the long day eventually settles into twilight that stretches for hours before morning comes again.

Sconar straightens up and dusts off his scaled hands with a sigh. "Day is over," he says. "Time to head back."

Even though it is technically night, you can hardly tell. The sky has softened into deep purples and oranges, but a thin, golden stripe of sun still clings to the horizon, refusing to disappear entirely.

"It doesn't feel night at all," you tell him, eyes half-closed as you enjoy the warmth of the sun that is finally stopped burning. "It completely throws off my sense of time."

"You will get used to it." He jerks his head toward... well... his horse. "Come."

The six-legged creature stands patiently by the fence post. Its light brown double coat shines under the never-disappearing sun.

You end up nestled between Sconar's thighs, your back pressed against the solid wall of his chest, with his arms caging you in so he can hold the reins.

For a while, it's quiet, with only the creature's steps on the dry path filling the warm night air. The rolling gait beneath you slowly melts you against the alien as the day's work settles into your muscles with exhaustion. Then-

You feel it.

Sconar's flat nose at the side of your neck as he draws in a deep breath.

You turn your head slightly with a shiver running across your spine. "Are you sniffing me?"

Sconar doesn’t pull back. His voice is a calm and unashamed rumble against your skin. "Yes."

Your face warms. After a full day working under the brutal sun, you feel sticky with sweat and dust. "I must smell awful." And why did you just say that???

He inhales once more, almost lazily, taking his time. "You smell warm and salty."

"Yeah," you squeak. "That's... that's sweat."

"I like it." Then, when you think your face can't grow hotter, he adds; "You must taste nice."

But of course, you can never truly forget that you are not on Earth anymore. Especially with the alien who greets you first thing every day. Sconar is a sturdy, robust alien, barely taller than you, with a build forged over long years of hard labor. Most of his body is covered in smooth scales that are the exact shade of green as his land during rain when nature awakens, vibrant and fresh after weeks or even months of dry spell and burning sun.

You step out of the house, ready for another long day in the fields, and the first thing you see is Sconar sprawled out on a chair. His legs are thrown wide apart, and his upper body is completely bare as he soaks up the sunlight. The already strong morning rays gleam across his green scales.

When he hears your steps on the creaking wooden porch, his eyes open just enough to acknowledge you, and without a word, he tilts his head toward the small table with two steaming mugs beside him. One for you, one for him. You brought coffee with you from Earth, and you are sure Sconar decided to like you when he first tasted it.

"Thank you."

You settle into the chair opposite him, staying in the shade of the roof, but your eyes keep drifting back to the alien.

Sconar is all hard muscles from years of farm work and a healthy layer of fat from good meals and steady living. As he basks in the sunlight, his scales seem to grow a deeper shade before your eyes. Your gaze travels from his powerful shoulders, thick arms, and a broad chest that rises and falls with slow, contented breaths, down to where his pants sit low on his hips.

And you don't notice it, you are too busy ogling him, but Sconar does.

He shifts slightly, pushing his hips forward in a slow stretch as if adjusting his position. The movement draws your attention straight to the heavy bulge straining against the front of his work pants while, at the same time, the muscles of his abs and chest flex. He holds the pose just a moment longer than necessary, letting you enjoy the way his scales shimmer under the sun.

And with parted lips and hooded eyes, you are unable to look away.

"Human?"

You jolt and have to force your gaze up to his face. There is a faint, knowing grin at the corners of his thin lips, but you decide not to see it.

"Yes?"

But it's not just you who learns and observes.

The midday sun beats down without mercy, and Sconar welcomes the heat while you are sitting on the ground a few meters away from him under a tree and its shadow. You are busy reapplying your suncream, and he watches you openly. You tilt your head to the side, exposing the soft curve of your neck as your fingers smooth the white cream over your skin. The lotion glistens in the filtered light.

But Sconar's gaze soon drifts lower.

Your button-up shirt, practical and usually loose for field work, now stretches noticeably tighter across your chest. The fabric pulls across your breasts, and the buttons strain just a little more than they did a few weeks ago.

He tilts his head, then, like it is the most normal thing in the world, he asks; "Did your tits grow?"

Your hand freezes mid-motion. Your head snaps up, eyes wide with shock as you stare at him. Sconar remains completely relaxed on his rock, one arm resting on his bent knee, scales dark and gleaming under the sun. He looks back at you steadily, waiting for an answer that never comes, with no trace of embarrassment.

But Sconar is right.

Your breasts feel heavier, fuller, and far more sensitive than they have any right to be. Even the soft fabric of your clothes feels too rough, especially across your nipples. Every brush of cloth makes you sharply aware of them. You have been trying to ignore it, telling yourself it must be the dry air, the constant heat, or some strange side effect of the new planet, but you have never heard any of the other humans in the exchange program mention anything like this.

One night, after a long shower washed away the day's dust and sweat, you sit at the kitchen table with a bowl of cut fruit in front of you, when another sharp, tight ache blooms in your chest. With a grimace, you cup your left breast gently, trying to ease the heavy, uncomfortable pressure. You will definitely have to find a doctor about this.

"Are you okay?"

Your hand drops instantly, but it's too late. Sconar stands under the arch of the doorway, his slit-pupiled eyes still on your chest.

You swallow.

Sconar is the last person you want to discuss this with, but you know he has met humans before and maybe knows more than you.

"Have you ever heard of human females complaining about changes in their bodies? Like… sudden growth. Soreness. That kind of thing."

The alien steps closer with a shake of his head, then his gaze falls to the bowl of fruit in front of you and nods toward the dark purple, glistening pieces you have been eating every day. "Maybe it's the korva."

You frown and pick up one. It's plump and sweet, your absolute favorite since you arrived. "What do you mean?"

"We feed them to our breeding animals," he says with a casual shrug. "Helps them produce more milk and strengthens their young. I didn't think it would work on human mammals, too."

He didn't think-?

Your eyes widen and drop the piece of fruit back into the bowl like it burned you. The sweet scent suddenly feels far too strong. "What?"

But Sconar, completely unfazed, just steps closer. His large, scaled hand wraps around your upper arm and coaxes you up from your chair.

His eyes drop straight to your chest, head tilted with open curiosity. "Do they hurt?"

The embarrassment burns hot across your cheeks, but you nod. Talking about it somehow makes the ache sharper, the heavy fullness more noticeable.

You can't believe you ate that fruit every single day without properly researching it!

Your spiraling thoughts shatter when Sconar's other hand slides up and cups one of your breasts through your top. His grip is warm and careful as he gives a slow squeeze, and you can't help but groan at the relief. The sound makes the alien's gaze snap up to your face. He watches you intently while his big hand massages your swollen tit, lifting the plush weight and rubbing his thumb over your painfully sensitive nipple. The pressure feels so good that it makes your knees weak.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes," you squeak out.

You know you should probably stop him, but the mere thought of pulling away from his hand makes you whine in protest.

"They must be full," he hums, almost to himself, but the word full hits you anyway.

The growth, the pain, the sensitivity… it isn't just swelling. The fruit is making you lactate.

"Oh, no…" you gasp, one arm flying up to cover your chest. But it's already too late. When you look down, two dark wet spots bloom across the front of your top right over your nipples.

Sconar grunts something so low and guttural under his breath that the translator in your ear doesn't even catch it.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," he says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all. His palm presses more firmly against your breast, kneading and squeezing until more milk leaks out. "I should help you."

You are so dazed, you think he means he has some kind of medicine. "You can?" you ask, hopeful and embarrassingly breathless.

But Sconar clearly has something else in his mind, because he hauls you up onto the kitchen table with startling ease. The bowl of fruit clatters to the floor, forgotten.

Your heart hammers as he steps between your spread thighs. "Sconar?"

"You poor thing," he grunts. "It must hurt so much."

You whimper as he grabs the hem of your soaked top and pulls it up and off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside with the scattered fruit on the ground.

The air brushes over your bare, swollen breasts, making your leaking nipples tighten even more. "F-fuck!"

Sconar’s eyes darken as he stares at your chest. A low, hungry sound rumbles in his throat. Without hesitation, his large, scaled hands cup both of your heavy breasts, lifting and squeezing them together. The relief is immediate and overwhelming. You moan loudly as milk beads at your nipples and drips down onto his fingers.

"Poor little human," he murmurs. "Look at you. So swollen and full. All that milk just leaking out… does it ache?"

You nod frantically. His thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples, and you arch into his touch with a broken sound. He leans down, and you reach up without thinking, sliding your fingers into his hair that only grows in a strip at the center across his head. He closes his lips around your right nipple and sucks. The sensation punches the air out of your lungs. Wet heat envelops the aching peak as he gulps down your milk with deep, satisfied sounds. The pressure eases in waves of pleasure, making your toes curl, and your thighs tremble around his hips.

"I didn't know…" he grunts against your wet skin, switching to the other nipple and latching on just as greedily.

"What?" you manage to gasp.

He pulls back just enough to answer, lips shiny with your milk. "That human women are so pretty like this. Heavy, leaking tits… all for me."

Then his mouth is on you again, sucking harder, tongue rolling over your nipple as he drinks. Milk spills from the corners of his lips no matter how greedily he swallows. It drips down his chin and onto your stomach. The wet, obscene sounds of him feeding fill the quiet kitchen.

You whimper and hold onto his braid like an anchor. "Sconar… ohgods!"

He switches between your breasts, massaging the soft, swollen flesh while he nurses. Every pull of his mouth sends sparks of pleasure straight between your legs.

"You taste so good," he growls around your nipple. "My poor little human… walking around with full tits every day. I should have noticed sooner. I'll take care of you now, though. I'll empty you until you feel good again."

You arch your back, offering yourself to him without shame. "Please- Don’t stop, please, Sconar…"

But Sconar doesn't seem to have any intention of stopping anytime soon. Not the sucking, and definitely not your milk.

While you moan with your head thrown back, lost in the wet heat of his mouth, Sconar's mind is spinning with darker possibilities. He could keep you here. After the exchange program ends, he could make sure you never leave his farm. He imagines you like this every day; tits heavy and swollen with milk, knees shaking from how well he takes care of you. Round with his child. He would feed you korva fruit every morning. Would keep your breasts full and leaking for him. He would keep you rested, spoiled, and constantly pleasured as his young grows inside you.

The thought makes a deep, possessive growl rise in his chest.

You hear the distinct clink of his belt as he frees himself, but you can't see his cock, he refuses to pull his mouth away from your dripping tits even for a second.

"Sconar…?" you breathe shakily.

He releases your nipple with a wet pop. A string of your milk and his saliva still connects his lips to your swollen peak. "It’s okay, little human," he shushes you. "I'll take care of you. I'm going to breed you nice and deep. Fill this soft belly until it swells with my child." His hand strokes possessively over your stomach. "Your tits will stay full for our young… and for me. Every day I'll drink from you while I put another one in you."

You know you shouldn't want this. This goes against everything you came here for; the research, the exchange program, your life on Earth. But the moment his scaled hand slips into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down your legs, your body betrays you completely. You lift your hips and open your thighs for him without hesitation.

Your pussy clenches around nothing, slick and aching at the thought of staying here forever. Of being his. Of having a family with this strong, blunt alien who's currently devouring your milk like he's starved for it.

Please is the only word that manages to escape your lips.

And the alien doesn't wait any longer.

He pushes forward. The thick, blunt head of his cock opens your soaked pussy with one slow thrust. You cry out as he sinks deep and fills you completely. He is big, and the stretch is deliciously overwhelming.

"Fuck! Sconar!" you moan as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.

He groans loudly against your breast, while the table creaks as he rocks back and forth, fucking you with deep, steady strokes.

"You feel so good," he growls, switching to your other nipple and sucking hard enough to make your back arch. "So tight… so full of milk for me. My perfect little human."

You hold onto him desperately; fisting his hair and clawing at his scaled shoulder. Every thrust drives him deep, and the wet slap of skin against skin mixes with the greedy sounds of him sucking and swallowing your milk.

"You're going to be such a good mother," he grunts between pulls on your nipple, milk dripping down his chin.

"Yes! Ohgodsyes," you whimper, legs wrapped tight around his waist. You shouldn't agree. You shouldn't encourage him, but right now you don't care. All you want is him.

"Gonna keep you here," he snarls, hips snapping forward. "Feed you korva every day. Breed you full. Keep these pretty tits swollen and dripping while your belly rounds with my young."

His words send white-hot pleasure through you. You clench around his thick cock, crying out as another gush of milk flows into his hungry mouth. He drinks it down eagerly, growling with satisfaction.

"I want it," you gasp deliriously, holding his head to your chest. "Please, Sconar-"

He fucks you harder if it's even possible. The table shakes violently beneath you. His scaled hips slap against your thighs as he drives into you again and again, never letting your nipples escape his mouth for long. He switches between them constantly, sucking, licking, and massaging every drop he can get while his cock stretches and claims your dripping pussy.

"You're mine now," he growls. "Say it."

You shouldn't-

"I'm yours!" you moan, tears of pleasure slipping from the corners of your eyes. "I'm yours, Sconar!"

A deep, feral sound rips from his throat, and he slams into you one final time, grinding deep as he sucks hard on your nipple. Your orgasm crashes over you violently, pussy spasming around his cock, fresh milk flooding his mouth as you shake and cry out beneath him. Sconar follows right after with a guttural roar, hips jerking as he pumps you full of hot, thick cum. He keeps sucking gently even as he comes, milking every last drop from your sensitive breasts while filling your womb.

The table finally stops creaking. For a long moment, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and the wet pop as he finally releases your swollen nipple. Though, the alien stays buried deep inside you, towering over your body, his forehead pressed against yours. His scaled chest brushes against your tender, milk-smeared breasts with every breath. Still panting and shivering from the intensity of your orgasm, you reach up with both hands and cup his face. Your fingers slide over his smooth, warm scales, and he lets you guide him, surprised but willing as his mouth meets yours. His lips are hot, slightly rough, and taste unmistakably of you; sweet, warm milk and raw desire. The moment your tongue brushes his, Sconar groans deeply into your mouth. His cock, still buried inside you, twitches and swells rapidly, hardening again in powerful pulses until he is rock-hard and throbbing.

Sconar breaks the kiss just enough to growl against your lips. "Fuck, girl… You really want to keep yourself full, don't you?"

His hips give a slow, lazy roll, pushing his thick cock deeper into your cum-filled pussy. You whimper, clenching around him instinctively.

His pub isn't exactly a place for a first date. Or second. Or third. It's a hole-in-the-wall squeezed between two abandoned buildings in the rough part of the city. The food is the cheapest microwave fries and greasy burgers money can buy. They are mostly to soak up alcohol, not win any awards. The drinks are stronger, but they are made for getting drunk, not tasting good. Everything in here is just good enough, clean enough, and functional enough to keep the place from shutting down. And even then, they pray the health inspector never drops by on a bad night.

Your date fits right in; old, worn sweats and patchy stubble. He is the kind of guy who belongs with the younger regulars who come here because it's cheap. But you… you are wearing pretty heels, a matching dress, and shiny makeup. You are dressed for a completely different environment. And clearly, you know it too. You are perched on the edge of your chair because it wobbles, clutch your bag tight in your lap, and whenever you rest your elbow on the table, you make sure there is a napkin underneath.

So why the hell are you still here?

The more Kurz thinks about it, the angrier he gets. You are a sweet thing. Pretty and soft. You deserve a picnic where the birds sing with you. The dullahan snorts at the thought but doesn't correct himself. Or a cute family restaurant where the owner calls you darling. And you definitely deserve a date who opens the door for you, puts his jacket over your shoulders, and it's still just the bare minimum. You definitely don't deserve... whatever this is.

No matter how much he tries to keep his attention on wiping the wooden surface of the bar, there is a point when he just drops the wet rag and folds his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing as he stares straight at the two of you.

"So yeah, like I was saying," your date says, mouth full of fries, "my ex was crazy. Real psycho shit. Used to be a bitch every time I went out with the boys. You're not like that though, right?"

"I-"

"Anyway," he cuts you off without missing a beat, waving a greasy hand, "I make decent money. Not rich or anything, but I got my own place. Well… mostly. My roommate is barely ever there, so it's basically mine. You should come by sometime. I got a big TV. We could watch something after this."

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, and the chair wobbles at the movement. "Um, I was thinking maybe we could-"

He reaches over to steal one of your fries without asking. "You're cool though. Quiet. I like that."

Kurz feels like he is watching a car accident, and he has to watch himself not to shout at you to get out of that fucking car.

After a last fistful of your fries, your date stands up. "You know what? We should go back to my place. This place is shit anyway."

Your fingers tighten on the strap of your bag, but you stand up too. "I think I should go home instead," you say so softly that Kurz barely hears you through the noise of the pub.

Your date grimaces. "C'mon," he scoffs. "Don't be a party pooper. I thought you weren't like the other girls…"

What the fuck does that even mean? Kurz frowns.

You shake your head, still clutching your bag like a shield. "No… I think we should-"

"I didn’t pay for your food so you can just-"

"Hey!" Kurz's voice cuts through the alcohol-smelling, stuffy air. There is an eerie, hollow echo in it that makes every conversation die around. He leans over the bar, one bony finger pointing straight at your date. "Get out of my place!"

Your date stares at him, confused by all the sudden attention. "Don't piss your pants, man. We're leaving."

"No," the dullahan says firmly. "Just you. The girl stays."

"What the fuck did I even do?"

Kurz doesn't bother answering. He rounds the bar, the floorboards creak under his massive frame, and in one smooth motion, he grabs the guy by the hood of his sweatshirt and starts dragging him toward the entrance. It’s a bit dramatic. He's let people smash chairs during bar fights and only tossed them out after the third warning. But tonight he doesn't feel like being patient. And he doesn't have to. He owns this fucking place!

Cold night air rushes in when he pushes the guy out onto the street with one firm shove. "And don't come back."

"Fuck you, man!" But your date's voice is muffled by the closing door.

The pub stays quiet for another beat, then slowly returns to its original rhythm while Kurz rolls his broad shoulders once and turns back to your table, where you are still standing, weight shifting from one heel to the other.

His voice comes out gruff. "What were you even thinking with a guy like him?"

You glance up at the towering dullahan, fingers still curled tightly around your bag. "I don't know," you admit quietly. "He seemed nice enough through the internet."

Kurz groans, but even though his head is nothing but a skull, you can see the tension in his jaw ease just a little. "You should go home, girl."

You look past him toward the front door. Through the glass, you can see small groups already hanging around outside; drinking, shouting, and laughing too loudly. Your shoulders slump. You look like a kicked puppy, still tense and disappointed after the whole shitty evening in an equally shitty bar, completely out of place.

The dullahan huffs again. He can't send you out there like this. And he definitely can't leave the pub right now. Saturday nights are always busy. "C'mon," he mutters. One big hand gently touches your back as he leads you over and up onto a stool at the end of the bar where he can keep an eye on you the whole time.

The wolf-shifter slides a bright pink drink in front of you the second you settle down. "Here," he says. "This is our girliest girly drink I could make." Then catches Kurz's sharp look and quickly adds; "Without alcohol."

The smile you give the wolf-shifter is small, but it is the first genuine one Kurz has seen on your face all night. "Thank you."

"Stay here. I'll take you home once I'm done here." For some reason, calling a ride for you to take you home doesn't even cross his mind. After seeing you so mousy with your date, he doesn't trust anyone to take care of you.

You nibble on your lip, then pat the empty stool right next to yours. "Could you stay with me a little?"

Kurz exhales through the space where his nose should be. A firm no is already sitting in his chest, but then he looks at you; into your hopeful eyes, and the word dies in his throat. He glances at the wolf-shifter, who just gives him a quick nod and drops onto the stool beside you. The wood creaks threateningly under his weight.

"Fine," he mutters, trying to sound annoyed. "Just for a bit."

You sip from your drink. The pub doesn't feel so intimidating anymore with the big dullahan sitting right next to you. "So… do you own this place?"

"Yeah."

You tilt your head. "How long?" You seem much more relaxed, and Kurz wants to remind you that this place is still shitty and he is still a stranger, but he can't bring himself to do it.

"Too long," he says instead. "Ten years."

With a nod, you scoot just a tiny bit closer and let out a contented sigh as your shoulder presses against him.

"Would you… be my date instead? Just for tonight?"

Kurz's skull tilts down toward you, and for a long moment, he says nothing. Then- "Yeah. Alright."

You beam at him, and it hits him straight in the chest.