Abducted for study, $name1 wakes strapped to a glowing table as twin alien cocks stretch her cunt and arse at once — science has never felt so filthy.
The light was wrong. Too violet. $name1 woke naked on a warm translucent slab, wrists and ankles held by soft glowing restraints, twenty-nine, last memory a motorway drive and a sudden brightness in the sky. Two figures leaned over her — tall, smooth-skinned, skin like polished obsidian shot with bioluminescent veins. No mouths she recognised. Eyes like liquid mercury. Between their legs, twin shafts already extruded: ridged, slick with something pearlescent, thicker than any human cock she had taken.
A voice arrived directly in her skull. *Subject conscious. Compatibility high. Dual penetration protocol authorised. Arousal will be induced. Consent markers detected in fantasy patterns. Proceed.*
“Wait — fantasy patterns?” she croaked, then moaned as a tendril of warm gel slid between her legs and circled her clit with inhuman precision. Her body lit up. Nipples tightened. Cunt clenched around nothing and then around a probing tip that tasted her wetness and hummed approval.
*Subject responds. Begin.*
One alien mounted the table between her spread thighs. The primary shaft nudged her entrance, ridges flexing, and pushed in with a slow relentless slide that forced a cry from her throat. She was soaked — induced or not, she was soaked — and the stretch bordered on too much until the gel’s numbness-pleasure cocktail rewired the burn into heat. He bottomed out. She felt every ridge. The second alien moved to her head; a smaller appendage brushed her lips. She opened. Tasted mineral-sweet slick. Sucked on instinct while the first began to thrust.
Then the protocol earned its name. A second shaft — from the first alien or a third, she could not tell — pressed against her arse. More gel. Pressure. Pop. Fullness that punched the air from her lungs. Double-stuffed on an alien table under violet stars she could see through a transparent hull. $name1 sobbed with pleasure, restraints singing, body rocking as both cocks moved in counterpoint: in her cunt, in her arse, ridges dragging nerves she did not know she had.
*Subject climaxing.* The voice was clinical. Her orgasm was not. It ripped through her in waves, cunt and arse clamping alien flesh, vision whiting out. They did not stop. They fucked her through it, then through another, then angled somehow that made a third detonate behind her eyes. She screamed. Spit ran down her chin. Come — hers — slicked the slab.
They finished inside her almost together: hot pulses of thick pearlescent spend flooding her cunt and arse, so much it leaked around the shafts and glowed faintly on her thighs. The restraints softened. Hands — or approximations of hands — stroked her hair with unexpected gentleness.
*Sample collected. Subject may rest. Return scheduled after secondary round.*
Secondary round arrived after she caught her breath. This time they freed one wrist so she could touch the glowing veins on the nearest alien’s chest while they arranged her on her side. One cock in her mouth, one in her cunt, the anal shaft replaced by a vibrating probe that sat deep and hummed against her stuffed pussy through the thin wall. She came again, helpless, sucking greedily, a willing specimen. When they filled her a second time she clenched to keep every drop like a good research participant.
She woke in her car on the hard shoulder at dawn, dressed, no marks except a faint violet shimmer between her legs when she checked in the visor mirror — and a deep, delicious ache in cunt and arse that made her shift in the seat and moan. On the passenger seat sat a small smooth stone that pulsed once when she touched it. In her head, softly: *Return voluntary. Signal when ready for further study.*
$name1 drove home sore and smiling, showered, and packed an overnight bag she did not need for any earthly trip. Sci-fi had become her sex life. Anal had become a gateway. Aliens had become her favourite word. That night she held the stone and thought *ready* as hard as she could — and the violet light found her bedroom window like a lover who already knew her holes by heart.
She called in sick the next day and spent it naked on her bed with the stone on her stomach, replaying every ridge and pulse. When she came on her own fingers it felt like a pale imitation. That evening the violet returned; she walked into it willingly, laughing, already spreading her legs for science. The aliens strapped her down with something like affection. Double probe protocol resumed. $name1, specimen and slut, took both cocks again and again until the stars beyond the hull blurred — and when they returned her at dawn she was limping happily, full of glowing spend, booking her next abduction in her head like a spa day from another world.
Between visits she wore the stone on a chain under her shirt like jewellery from another star. Colleagues asked about the bruise-coloured shimmer sometimes visible at her collar; she smiled and said it was a new highlighter. Only she knew it was residue from alien come that glowed when she was aroused — which, lately, was often. Sci-fi anal double probe had ruined her for ordinary sex. She did not mind being ruined. Being ruined felt like the future.
