Page 55 of Volunteer 4711

“You’re sure?” I ask in my most seductive voice.

I can tell from his erect penises and the darkness of his eyes he wants to have sex, but he says, “I am sure.”

He begins taking off his clothing, but I come closer to him and take over. “I’m just doing my job now, Commander.”

He lets me strip him, and then we get into the shower. His bathroom is much nicer than mine, and I struggle to find the appropriate soap, but I don’t get flustered because, as he has always been, he allows me time to figure it out without telling me. At first, I interpreted this patience as frustration with me or his unwillingness to tell me the answer. However, as I have gotten to know him, I realize this is his way of teaching me, and I can’t help but wonder if it will be the same when we finally do have sex. If I will have to spend time trying to figure it out. I’m sure my cheeks are red with embarrassment at the thought.

I find the body soap and rub it between my hands. Then I begin washing his neck, shoulders, torso, and arms. His body reflects his time spent exercising and lifting weights; I never appreciated his efforts as much as I do now. I imagine him using his strength to thrust himself into me, and I wonder how that will feel. I have never been with a man who was as physically strong as he is, and there was something primal about my lust for him in this way.

I move down to his hips and penises. I’m not surprised that they are both erect. I wash them gently and without any overtly sexual overtones. He wants to teach me something about his biology, and I should respect his wishes. He’s an alien, after all. I should want to be prudent as I don’t want to die from my lust.

I proceed down to his strong thighs, knees, ankles, and finally, his feet. Like humans, he has body hair where we do, but his is all white and finer, not coarser. The foamy soap reflects off his body and glistens on his hair, and for a second, it looks like he’s sparkling, which makes me smile.

“Something funny?”

“No, just an old Water people drama I was reminded of. It’s nothing.” I rise and motion for him to bend down so I can wash his hair. While I’m doing it, I’m reminded of the first time we showered together at the farmhouse. “Why did you make me do this for you at the farm?” I ask as casually as I can.

“I didn’t want to be alone. I trusted you, but I didn’t trust the others. Showers can be dangerous places.”

“But I left you alone in my room a few times.”

“You were never gone long, and it’s easier to defend oneself with your eye on the door and gun under your pillow.”

I silently agree with him as I wash out his white, blonde hair. When I’m finished, he says, “Now you.”

My Commander takes soap and begins washing my neck and shoulders. He purposely comes close to my breasts without fully touching them, which drives me crazy. I can feel his penises pressing up against my back, and again, my mind just jumps to imagining him entering me with his alien penises, and I feel another orgasm building, although he isn’t doing much. After a few minutes spent teasing me, he finally begins to caress my breasts, now slick with soap, and I arch back into him, making sounds of appreciation I cannot control. At first, he is merely running his hands over my breasts and nipples slick with suds, but as he continues, he becomes more detailed, specifically tugging and rubbing at my nipples, making me arch my hips with need.

My Commander moves his hands over my stomach and hovers there, teasing the top of my vulva. He says in my ear, “You were so thin on the farm. I remember that, and I was worried for you.”

“I was worried for me too,” I reply, which was no lie. I was very hungry then.

“You can always eat, Wife,” he whispers again. “Females’ bodies aren’t meant to be so lean.”

I don’t know if he knows about my love for the chocolate and strawberry dessert or if I just look like a hungry woman, but what he says is a turn-on for me. I don’t say anything but grind my hips back against his penises. He makes a sound of appreciation, and I’m glad we both feel this equally.

My Commander’s hands move down to stroke me across my folds, and he soaps up my pubic hair but then stops. I wonder what’s going on, so I turn my head, “Commander?”

“Husband,” he corrects me with a playful swat on my butt cheek, which echoes in the bathroom.

“Husband,” I say obediently.

“I assume your vagina is a self-cleaning organ, but I don’t know much about Water women’s biology. This is why we both need a lesson later. I don’t want toruinanything by adding soap.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised that he would know or care about this. “You’re right; no soap inside.”

“Good, I love how you smell and wouldn’t want to clean it away with this poor substitute for the real thing.”

I miss some of his words, and I realize that I’ve never learned sexual words in my language program. I know the name for my body parts and his, clinically speaking, but that’s it. If he uses any slang or sexual positions, I won’t have a clue as to what he’s talking about. But knowing my Commander, he’d like that.

My Commander lathers up my thighs, legs, and feet. He takes his time just as he did before and although the orgasm feeling has passed, I’m still very much aroused. When he finishes, he rises and washes my long hair. It’s never been this long before, and I don’t know the fashion on the Home Planet, whether this is seen as beautiful to have long hair or if it’s like back home that it can be very clearly a sign that you are too poor to cut it. He doesn’t say one way or the other but just sensually washes it as if I am a mermaid who has seduced him into these menial tasks.

By the time the dryer kicks on, which feels like glorious, heated waves raining down on us, I turn and put both hands on either one of his cheeks, and I want to say, ‘Kiss me,’ but I realize I don’t know this word either, so I just look up at him and try to bring his face toward mine.

I’m surprised that he resists. Then he puts his hands on mine and disengages himself. “We will have a biology lesson,” he says, kissing my forehead chastely and holding me close against his naked body.

When we finish the bathroom, we dress one another in the wardrobe. He is wearing his uniform, but he has bought me a beautiful navy-blue dress with long flowing sleeves and a simple silver belt. It was sent up with other clothes from the Home Planet while we slept. I look at myself in the mirror and think it makes me look like I’m going to a Renaissance Fair; however, I trust him to choose correctly for me. What do I know about Silver females’ fashions besides what my friend has told me about what the rich and famous wear?

“Now it’s time for you to host your lunch for the officers,” he says.

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