Page 14 of Alien Desire
I’m keen to make the Omega understand me quickly. As soon as she understands me, we can begin mating. Then we can determine whether our species are compatible, whether she can bear my offspring. I am in no doubt that she can. No Omega could smell this sweet and not.
The computer begins to talk to me, and I lean back and close my eyes, tuning in to the translation unit and allowing it to do its job.
The Omega says something to me too, and fusses about, leaning over my shoulder to try to see what I’m doing, but I ignore her and after a while, she scurries away.
When I open my eyes hours later, my side aches. I peel away the healing patch and gaze down at the skin. It is less mangled and charred than it was, the skin beginning to fuse together, but it is not yet healed and I suspect it goes deeper than I realised. I return to my trunk to find a new patch and catch the Omega scuttling away from it, clearly inspecting the contents.
The curious little thing is curious indeed.
I beckon her towards me, keeping the colours of my skin neutral, my tail lowered, showing her I’m not angry. She looks unsure, that expressive face of hers betraying her emotions once again.
“It is Ok Omega,” I tell her, “You can look.” I beckon with my finger and purr at her.
I am curious too, curious to see if my purr has the same effect it does on her as other Omegas. Not that I personally have ever tried this. The few Omegas that exist on Astia are all owned by my father and a handful of his most trusted allies and advisers. Touching another Alpha’s Omega, attempting to command her with a purr, is punishable by death.
The purr rumbles low in my chest and I watch how it affects the creature. For a moment, I think it has failed, but then her body shudders and the pupils of her eyes swim wide. I do not know what this means — if this is a response of fear or desire — but I beckon her again.
“Emma,” I say, and she steps forward. Yes, little Omega, come here.
She steps hesitatingly towards me, hovering a pace away. She seemed less afraid of me when I was injured, but now I am on my way to recovery she is unsure, as if a wall has erected between us.
A wall I mean to smash down.
The Grytons are not barbarians. We are a civilised species. We do not force a mating on an Omega until they are ready, despite how eager we may be. Although sometimes heavy persuasion is required and certainly obedience.
The mating process itself is a brief one. However, despite the brevity of the process, I imagine it would be a little rough for a small creature like Emma. She has not the strength or stature of a Gryton Omega. I will need to be gentle.
I would like to impregnate her as quickly as possible. Certainly before the rescue mission is sent. My child in her belly will ensure I can keep her as my Omega and won’t have to hand her to my father. There will be a cost for this, but I am prepared to bear it. I have waited many years for an Omega of my own.
I need to make her understand what I want from her as quickly as possible, so that she will submit and let me mount her. I don’t know what she looks like beneath her clothes but from what is visible on the outside, I can see how similar we are. Somewhere beneath those layers of clothing is an opening into which I can insert my cock and offload my seed. The thought of it has my insides spinning in excitement and I forget about the pain burning in my side.
Tuning into my translation device pinned to my forehead, I concentrate on what I want to say to her. The machine has already concluded that her language is unknown and is busy trying to decipher the noises and code the computer here supplied. So far it has a few words for me to use. I need to keep talking with her so that it can pick up more.
“Emma, see,” I say to her, pointing inside the trunk, and am rewarded with a glimmer of recognition at this new word I have just added to my vocabulary.
“See,” she says, her lips curling upwards again.
When she doesn’t move, I lift out one object at a time and spread them before her as she had done with the revolting food stuff.
After I’ve applied a fresh healing pack to my wound, I pick up a package of dried vuvu berries, cooked by my mother for the journey. They bring luck and are a rare and expensive delicacy on our planet, the berries ripening once every decade. I rip open the package and offer it to Emma. With hesitant fingers, she reaches inside and pinches one between her finger and thumb, lifting it to her nose.
I point to it with a question in my eyes.
“Oh … berries,” she says and I repeat the word to log it in the translation device.
Pouring some into my palm, I tip them into my mouth and chew. She copies the action and we chew together.
The taste is a painful one. I have not seen my mother or my home for several months, and I miss them both, miss the companionship of my friends and family too. Travelling alone has been a cruel sort of torture. I am a sociable creature, popular with my peers — the reason, I assume, my father found me a threat.
The flavour of the berries hits my tongue at the same time it hits Emma’s. I can tell by the way a breath of air rushes from her lips and she closes her eyes.
“Amazing,” she says. I try to repeat the word and fail. “Good,” she says this time, “These are good.”
“Good,” I say, holding her gaze.
Yes, the Omega is good. Good and fertile and delicious smelling.
Chapter seven - Emma
