Princess of the Void: An Alien Abduction Romance

Sykora nudges the band of Grant's boxer briefs down and sighs happily. "Hello, handsome." She kisses the head. "Want to see another Princess trick, Maekyonite?"

He laughs. "Sure."

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A rasping grunt slips out between Grant's gritted teeth. "Holy shit." Sykora looks up at him, wry triumph clear on her face.

"Ta-daaa," she sings. "Look what your wifey can do."

"What the fuck." Grant strokes her face. "Where's your gag reflex?"

She kisses his stomach. "The trick for me is humming when it goes past the uvula. Humming and relaxing."

"You are a fucking gift from God."

"I told you. I spent a long time preparing to be a wife." She licks upward along the base of his shaft. "And learning how to keep a husband happy. Do you know why I never took one? Even when I was dizzy with longing for touch? Do you know how I kept myself?"

"How?"

"I told myself that when I saw him, I'd know. That there'd be no doubt, no questioning of whether I'd made a mistake. I'd see a man and it would be clear the Gods of the Firmament had put him before me, and he'd be so right I'd just know." She nudges the velvet skin of her cheek against his length; it leaves a shiny trail on her face. "And then they did, and you were, and I knew. I knew with all of me."

Grant doesn't trust himself to speak. You will not cry while receiving head, Grantyde. You're domming right now. Doms don't cry.

"My husband came to me in the deepest pit of despair I've ever been in. My bright day after six long cycles of night. My husband is the answer to a prayer I've whispered for my entire life." The starscape burns in the reflections of Sykora's cardinal eyes. "And now I want him to fuck my throat."

He laughs as he comes down from his emotional plateau. "You want me to do the moving?"

"Yes." She traces a vein with the tip of her tongue. "And, um." She steels herself. "Hold my horns while you do it." There's a tremor in her voice. It was hard for her to say that.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Well, yeah. Of course." He strokes the top of her head. "I was always gonna do that."

Her nose wrinkles. "You're so weird."

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He cups her cheek. "Are you okay, hon?"

A dizzy smile pushes against his palms. "Yeah," she sighs. Her eyes refocus on his and he doesn't see that tyrannical red. He sees eager, enraptured submission. "You taste like kavak."

"What's kavak?"

"It's a flatbread that I just found out tastes like the most beautiful cock in the Empire." She wipes her face on her shoulder. "Why did you stop?"

Because I was fucking you like I hated you. He nuzzles her hair. "Just making sure you're okay."

"You are a fucking beast, and I love you," she says. "Use me. Cum in my throat."

"Are you sure you're okay? You gagged."

She gives him a cheeky wink. "Gentlemen like it when you gag."

"Let's lie down, at least," he says. "Break the bed in, right?"

"Okay." Her tail wags. "But can I ask… this is weird."

He shakes his head. "No, it's not. Whatever you want."

"Maybe you could call me... maybe you could say it again." She blinks rapidly, trying maybe to keep the color from rising in her cheeks. "When you're in me."

"Say what?"

"What you called me," she says.

"Honey?"

Her breath rattles. "The other one."

"Good girl?"

A full-body shiver at the words. Her throat is so pinched it barely lets the reply out. "Uh huh."

He laughs. A surge of heart-shaking affection for this woman washes away the last of the spite that ruled him. She is a good girl. The best. He's done with this one-sided thing. He wants to make Sykora feel good.

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"Sykora." He says it, before he can think it away: "I love you."

"I love you," she sobs, as her hands frame his face, as her eyes sparkle and flash like a thunderstorm, her heart hammering, her tight nipples brushing the fabric on his chest. "I love you so fucking much, Grant, I love you, I love you!" and she's screaming it now as her brain breaks, the translation implant glitching out again, the words melting together while she comes apart beneath him, and as the pressure snaps, he knows he was right to say it, knows it's true. Fuck the consequences. Fuck the uncertain future. Fuck the Empire. He doesn't care. He's fallen in love with the alien warlord who abducted him.

And when the night is done, and it's time to rule the sector, she'll wash him off of her and out of her, and take off her garters, and cover the bruises on her neck. She'll return to the command deck of her massive battleship. And he'll join her seven hundred other servants in faithful obedience. His little wife will be a Void Princess of the Taiikari again, and he'll be Prince Consort. And if he doesn't believe in the Empire, that's okay, because he believes in her.

But in this crystallized moment, as his pressing weight pins her to the floor, and the tendons of her neck stand out below the choker he put on her as she cries his name to the stars, Sykora doesn't belong to the Black Pike, or the sector, or the Empress.

Sykora is his.