Page 47 of Alien Attachment
What follows is less conversation than a series of increasingly creative justifications for continued close contact while we theoretically plan our escape route. Kaylee proves remarkably inventive in finding strategic reasons for removing various articles of clothing—apparently her jacket is interfering with optimal temperature regulation, her shirt represents a potential hazard in the confined space, and her undergarments are clearly incompatible with emergency evacuation protocols.
Meanwhile, I discover new applications for my bioelectric capabilities that were definitely not covered in my original programming but seem to produce extremely positive results based on Kaylee’s increasingly enthusiastic responses. The ability to generate precisely calibrated electrical pulses, it turns out, has applications far beyond ship system integration. Who knew that neural pathway stimulation could be recreational rather than merely functional?
“This is still inadvisable,” I point out sometime later, though my observation lacks conviction given that I’m currently demonstrating the remarkable versatility of tentacle coordination while Kaylee explores the fascinating relationship between bioelectric sensitivity and various forms of manual stimulation.
“Completely irresponsible,” she agrees breathlessly, though her actions suggest she finds irresponsibility highly appealing under current circumstances, particularly when combined with what she terms my “unfair advantages” in the area of multitasking.
“We have limited resources,” I observe with academic interest, while privately noting that what we are currently doing requires no external resources beyond enthusiasm, creativity, and the increasingly impressive flexibility she’s demonstrating in working around the pod’s spatial constraints.
“Very limited,” she confirms, proving that human adaptability is truly remarkable when properly motivated, especially when combined with alien biology specifically designed for intimate compatibility.
The escape pod’s environmental systems hum around us, maintaining optimal life support while we conduct what could generously be termed advanced interpersonal relationship development. But what begins as playful exploration quickly becomes something far more intense when I realize the full extent of what our bond allows me to feel—not just her responses, but how to orchestrate them with precision that borders on the supernatural.
“Let me show you what I can really do,” I murmur against her throat, and feel her pulse spike with anticipation.
My tendrils map her body with methodical thoroughness, finding every sensitive spot while my bioelectric capabilities allow me to stimulate nerve clusters she didn’t even know existed. When I trace the line from her hip to her inner thigh with gentle electrical pulses, she gasps and arches against me. When I find the sweet spot where her neck meets her shoulder and apply the perfect combination of pressure and bioelectric stimulation, she makes a sound that goes straight to my core.
“Jhorn,” she breathes, but I’m just getting started.
Through our bond, I can feel exactly what each touch does to her—the spike of pleasure when I find a particularly sensitive area, the building tension as I deliberately avoid the places she most wants me to touch, the delicious frustration that makes her try to guide my hands where she needs them.
“Patience,” I tell her, my voice rougher now as her mounting arousal feeds back through our connection. “I want to memorize every response, catalog every sound you make.”
I use three tendrils to hold her exactly where I want her while my hands explore with deliberate slowness. When I finally slide my fingers between her thighs, she’s already slick with need, and the feedback through our bond nearly overwhelms my processing centers. Her pleasure becomes mine, but magnified, shared, amplified back to her in an endless loop.
“More,” she demands, trying to move against my hand, but I control the pace completely.
“When I decide you’re ready,” I reply, adding a gentle bioelectric pulse that makes her cry out. “I can feel everything you feel, Kaylee. I know exactly how close you are, exactly what you need. And right now, what you need is to let me take you apart slowly.”
I build her pleasure methodically, using every advantage my alien physiology provides. Tendrils that can stimulate multiple points simultaneously. Bioelectric capabilities that let me send waves of sensation directly through her nervous system. And most importantly, our bond that tells me precisely when to increase pressure, when to back off, when to find a new spot that makes her whole body tremble.
When I finally let her peak—holding her against me with careful strength while bioelectric pulses synchronized with her climax send her into territory she’s never experienced—the feedback through our bond is so intense it threatens to overload my sensory processing entirely. Her pleasure becomes mine,amplified and returned, creating cascading loops of sensation that transform our cramped escape pod into something approaching paradise.
But I’m not done with her yet.
“Again,” I command softly, already building toward her next release before the first has fully subsided. Through our bond, I can feel that she’s hypersensitive now, every touch magnified. Perfect.
When she’s finally trembling and oversensitive from multiple climaxes, I shift our positions carefully in the confined space. “My turn,” I growl against her ear, and her immediate response—the way her hands reach for me with desperate eagerness—sends satisfaction through my bond-lines.
She takes me with an enthusiasm that borders on worship, her mouth and hands working in coordination that suggests she’s been thinking about this as much as I have. When I finally claim her completely, sliding into her slick heat while my tendrils maintain contact with every sensitive spot I’ve mapped, the combination of physical sensation and emotional feedback through our bond threatens to shatter my consciousness entirely.
The shared pleasure builds to impossible heights as I move within her, each thrust sending cascades of sensation through our connection. When my climax finally takes me, my bioluminescence flares so bright it illuminates every surface of the pod, and I feel my essence marking her skin in glowing patterns that pulse in rhythm with our heartbeats.
By the time we both collapse, breathing heavily and completely satiated, Kaylee is trembling against me, her body painted with traces of my bioluminescence that mark her as thoroughly claimed. The pod feels somehow larger, warmer, more genuinely safe than before as she settles against me with a contented sigh that vibrates pleasantly through my chest.
My bioluminescence gradually dims from its earlier brilliant display to a softer, more sustainable glow that paints shifting patterns across the cockpit walls. The symbiotic ring on her finger pulses in perfect synchronization with my bio-patterns, creating a visual reminder of our connection that fills me with satisfaction I lack adequate terms to describe.
“So,” she says after a moment, her voice carrying that satisfied tone I am rapidly learning to treasure above all other sounds. “About those strategic plans.”
“I believe our immediate priority should be acquiring a more suitable vessel,” I state, attempting to return to practical matters while my bond-lines continue pulsing with residual bioelectric activity and my tendrils seem reluctant to release their current positions wrapped around various parts of her anatomy.
“Agreed,” she says, tracing lazy patterns on my chest that make coherent thought challenging and seem designed to maintain my bioluminescent display at aesthetically pleasing levels. “I know someone at Obsidian Haven who might help. For the right price.”
I feel my tendrils tense involuntarily at the mention of that place. “Obsidian Haven,” I repeat carefully, “where we were recently pursued by armed bounty hunters and barely escaped with our lives?”
“I know, I know,” she says, her hand stroking soothingly along one of my appendages as she feels my concern through our bond. “But that’s exactly why it’s perfect. ApexCorp will assume we’re avoiding it now. They’ll be looking everywhere else.”
“That logic is either brilliant or catastrophically flawed,” I observe, though I can feel through our connection that she’s already considered the risks and found them acceptable.
