#alien boyfriend

he's in your doorway, bag in hand, and you haven't seen him in four days. four days since you told him you needed space. four days since the door closed and you let yourself feel something close to relief.

he doesn't say anything. just looks at you with those eyes—dark, still, the same ones you fell in love with back when he used to watch you like you were the most interesting thing in any room.

he's watching you like that again now.

"may i enter your dwelling?" he asks.

his voice sounds careful. like he's selecting the words from a list.

you step back. let him in.

"i have been thinking," he starts.

here it comes, you think. the explanation. the defense. the way he'll reframe every cutting comment as honesty, every dismissal as exhaustion, every cold silence as you misreading him.

you've rehearsed your responses. you're ready.

"i think i have been doing it wrong," he says.

you look at him.

"the—" he pauses. something moves across his face. a hesitation you don't recognize. "the way i have been treating you. i have been reviewing the data. running comprehensive retrospective analysis. and i can see now that my behavior was—"

"reviewing the data," you repeat.

"thinking about it," he corrects, very quickly. "just. thinking. like humans do."

you stare at him.

"okay," you say slowly.

"i was critical," he says. "i found things to correct when it was not.. when the corrections were not requested. i understand now that this caused you significant emotional damage."

you've known him for years. he doesn't talk like that. he talks like someone who's never wrong about anything, who phrases observations as facts and facts as verdicts.

"are you okay?" you ask.

he blinks. one second too long. "i am functioning within normal parameters. what i mean is—" he stops. resets. "yes. i am okay."

"who did you talk to?" you ask. "while i was—while we were on the break."

"my male companions," he says.

you go very still.

"your-" you repeat. "your what?!"

"my companions. who are male. my—" he seems to be searching for something. casting around behind his eyes. "my bros."

the word comes out like he's never said it before in his life. like he learned it an hour ago and isn't sure where the emphasis goes.

"right," you say.

"they were very informative. they explained the dynamics of human pair bonding at length. we had an extremely productive discussion about your emotional needs and how i had failed to meet them adequately. one of them had a small beast on his lap the entire time and it stared at me without blinking and i found it—" he pauses. "i found it charming," he finishes, in the tone of someone who found it deeply threatening.

you open your mouth.

you close it.

"a beast," you say.

"a small. domestic. beast." he holds his hands apart approximately cat-width. "with orange fur. it made a continuous low-frequency sound from its chest cavity."

"a cat. it was a cat."

"yes," he agrees, with great relief. "yes. the cat. i knew that."

"what changed in four days?"

his expression does something enormous. theatrical. his jaw tightens, his eyes go distant, and he turns his head slightly toward the window like he's about to deliver news of a war.

"i could not bear it," he says, very gravely. "the separation from you was an agony i had not anticipated and could not calculate my way out of. i consulted my male companions. i sat with their beast. i stared into its eyes for a long time and it stared back and something shifted in me." he looks at you. "i do not want to lose you. so i went and i figured out how not to. i will do better. i am committed to doing better. this is my vow."

this is my vow.

you are going to need a moment.

"you're vowing?"

"i am." he reaches across the cushion and takes your hand, and his grip is warm and steady and so achingly familiar that your chest does something you weren't prepared for. "you are important to me. more important than i communicated. that was an error and i intend to correct it."

his thumb moves across your knuckles. once. deliberate.

later, you tell yourself. ask later.

you turn your hand over and hold his back.

"okay," you say. "vow accepted."

something moves through his face. relief, you think. or whatever the equivalent is, wherever he's actually from.

"excellent!" he grins, and closes his eyes as he starts to pepper kisses across your knuckles, and for just a second he looks so genuinely, overwhelmingly grateful that you decide, for now, not to ask anything else at all.

every wednesday was date night, one of you would plan date night and then the other would do the week after. you'd been planning date nights for two years, aswell as paying for them whenever he decided to show up.

"i found us a place," he announces, and shows you his phone. it's a steakhouse with 4.7 stars and a review that says great for special occasions!! that he has highlighted somehow.

he pulls your chair out when you arrive. stands there holding it with both hands like he's been rehearsing. you sit down.

the candle on the table gets forty seconds of his complete and total attention before you click your fingers and bring him back.

he orders what you order, you have to remind him he's allergic to mushrooms.

walking home he holds your hand and it's nice, it's really nice, until you notice he's slowly rotating your wrist to look at your fingers from different angles and has been doing it for half a block. "what are you doing..?"

"nothing," his response is so quick it almost gives you whiplash.

outside your building you stop and turn and he's already doing the face—jaw set, eyes very serious, like he's about to announce something grave and historic. you smile up at him and you lean in.

he takes a very large step backwards.

"what are you doing," he says, in a completely different tone than any he's used all evening. alert. wary. his eyes have gone very wide.

"i'm going to kiss you."

"you are going to—" he looks at your mouth. back at your eyes. "you are going to press your face against my face?"

"yes."

"aggressively."

"no. not aggressively."

he doesn't look convinced. he looks like a man running rapid calculations about exit routes. "my male companions did not mention this part.." he says.

"it's a kiss. it's romantic."

"you are coming toward me with your mouth."

"that's what kissing is."

long pause. he looks at your mouth again with the focused expression he gave the candle before his energy shifts and he lifts his chin, squares his shoulders, and closes his eyes with the energy of someone preparing to take a hit.

you press up onto your toes and kiss him, soft and quick.

silence.

he opens one eye. then the other.

"that's all it is." your voice is soft, almost warm as you flutter your lashes at him.

he touches his mouth with two fingers. looks at you and then looks at his fingers as if expecting blood, "that was not an attack," he says slowly.

"i told you it wasn't."

"it was—" he pauses. the enormous face happens again, but softer this time, around the edges. "it was acceptable," he nods. "you may do it again."

"how generous."

"yes," he agrees, completely sincerely. "i thought so."

you grin before peppering his face with glossy kisses.

you're sitting on the counter the way he hated, ankles crossed, watching him make tea.

he's very serious about the tea. he always is. he found the process on his third day in your apartment and decided it was important, something about the ritual of it, and now he makes it every morning with the gravity of a man performing surgery.

kettle, mug, the specific shelf where you keep the bags.

he's memorized which one you like without ever asking.

you're watching his back when it happens. the kettle's not quite hot enough, you can tell by the way he tilts his head at it, and then he points two fingers at it, almost casually, the way you'd reach over to turn a dial, and there's a soft sound like the air tightening and the kettle starts to steam.

he pours. stirs. turns around and holds your mug out to you.

you take it say thank you and he nods.

you wrap both hands around the mug and look at him; really look at him, the careful way he's standing, the way he's always slightly more still than a person should be, the way he blinks like he learned to, and you think about a year ago when everything was sharp edges and cold silences and you'd started to forget why you stayed.

"what?" he asks, because you're smiling into your mug.

"nothing, love."

he looks at you for a moment longer before he smiles and turns back to make his own tea, and when the kettle cools again between cups he does it again and is completely unbothered. like he's forgotten to hide it, or decided not to bother.

you think maybe it's the second one.

you take a sip of your tea. it's exactly right, the way it always is when he makes it, and he's standing in your kitchen being an alien, being yours, and you think you love him more than you ever did before.

He pinches your nipple and kisses your neck, his actions so soft compared to how hard he’s fucking into you. How hard he’s pressing egg after egg in you… “You said one more…” You weakly remind him.

His voice is almost begging when he speaks again. “Just one more, I swear. One more and I’ll pull out of you,” he says between grinding his hips against your hole and kissing your forehead sweetly.

You cry out his name (or you try to with your fucked out voice) as you feel his dick expanding once again, another egg joining the dozens already inside of you. You can feel them sloshing inside of you, the mix of eggs and come driving you insane.

He pulls out and you can feel the mess between your legs, his self satisfied smile looking at his doing making it even more obvious how messy you must be. You can’t really see anything over the bulge in your stomach where his eggs lay.

“What now?” You ask when your brain gets back into action, your body so tired you can barely open your eyes to look at him over you.

He looks up at you for a second before announcing: “Now I let you rest for a while… And then I fish them out,” he bites his lower lip as he stares back to your leaking hole. He looks mesmerized, and if you weren’t so fucked out you’d be embarrassed.

“You what?” Your voice sounds high pitched, and you try to sit up, but your body is too tired to do so.

He pats the side of your leg in a calming manner, his eyes never reaching your face as he licks his lips and probes your hole with his fingers, making you shiver because of how tender you are. That makes his grin so wide you think he’s going to get sore cheeks.

“You won’t be able to push them down on your own… So I’ll help.” He looks giddy with excitement at the prospect to pull the eggs out of you, and you can’t even care that he’s a freak like that. You fell in love with him already knowing he was an alien pervert.

You are too tired to get more explanations. “Okay,” you let out in a whisper before your eyes close.

You wake up with a moan, your body thrumming with sexual energy as you feel his hands caressing your sides and his furry body rubbing against your hip. He’s hard again, and his dick feels huge again. You aren’t sure if you are up for another round, but you’d definitely want to try.

“Again?” Your voice is slurred and he chuckles.

“It’s time to get them out, little bunny,” he announces, his big body looming over you. His completely black eyes focused only on one thing.

“Ho- how?” You ask with a sigh when his fingers probe your hole once again. It feels raw and stretched, and his touch feels like a thousand electric shocks running down your spine.

“I fish them out,” he explains as he pushes three of his fingers inside your hole without warning. You let out an unhinged groan as he starts wriggling them. You can feel his fingers elongating, you never though dating an alien who could stretch his body would be this fun, but good goddess…

His fingers reach so deep inside of you that you are worried he’s going to touch your organs, but good goddess if the wriggling of his fingers trying to catch the eggs is not sending you into all kinds of new pleasure levels. You never thought you’d be into this kind of… exploration, but is doing something for you. It’s doing a whole lot for you.

Your whole brain is melting inside your head and you can’t do anything but to weakly roll your hips with the excuse to help him out, but in reality just trying to reach that orgasm that feels at the tips of your conscience.

You don’t even know if you can come anymore, you feel completely spent, he milked each drop of pleasure from your body and your greedy little hole is just asking for more… You can’t believe how much of a whore you are for him, but damn it, the embarrassment only makes you hotter.

“Push down, little bunny. Help me take them out…” He instructs, one of his hands slowly caressing your sweaty skin as he

“Please,” you beg not knowing what you are asking for.

“On it,” he says in his most cheerful voice as you feel his fingers curl inside of you until you feel him pulling back.

He almost cheers with happiness when he shows you the first egg. You look at him, blinking really slowly as your body releases some pent up tension. But then he pushes his finger back inside and you are screaming once more, your body seizing as you come once more.

The pleasure is borderline painful after so many orgasms, but he’s relentless as he pulls out two eggs at the same time. The stretch is so big you think you are about to be split in two.

“How… How many more?” You ask between muffled groans after he pulls three more out.

“Just a few more, little bunny. You are doing wonderful. Your hole looks so pretty, so stretched and abused for me. I should take a pic to immortalize this moment.” You clench involuntarily at his words and he chuckles. “You like that, don’t you? We’ll explore your fantasy next time.” You moan at the prospect, your body trembling as he fishes another one out.

By the time the last egg is out of you, you have had so many orgasms your legs are shaky and you can’t move. Your face is all messy with saliva and tears as he licks it off you and tells you how well you did for him. You fall asleep with a smile on your lips and his come slowly dripping out of your stretched hole…

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.