I’m feeling for Jaxxo is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
11
My head swims as I charge away from the bridal house and slide into my vehicle. I lift away and speed through the city toward my home.
The Earthling female Doris Gray smells of flowers and candy. I want to lick all the little marks on her beautiful pale face as if those freckles could quench the deep hunger of my soul.
The overpowering need to make her mine is disquieting. I must find a way to quell these intense emotions or the Earthling female will refuse me. I must find a way to be gentle with her, to give her time and space, to provide adequate courtship.
But it’s as if there is a beast inside me that I never knew existed. Every instinct of my ancient beast that evolved out of the jungles of Earth is coming to the surface. Instincts we Martians believed had long since faded into the red dust of Mars. But they have not. They are here inside me like a howling wolf in the night who is in need of his mate.
My need for her will do me in. It took every ounce of self-control not to rip that gown from her curvaceous, soft body. The smell of her sex filled the room. I can tell that the serum is doing its work. Her body responds to my pheromones. But that does not mean that she will accept me with her heart and mind.
Like all other Martian males in preparation for this moment, we have studied the morals and expectations of human females from her time on Earth. I cannot simply rip her clothes from her body, part her legs, and shove my screaming phallus between the hot, wet cleft of her sex.
I land at my estate outside the city. It looks over the ocean where the waves crash against the rust-colored sand. The wind strikes my damp brow, but it cannot cool the inner fire that is raging in my loins.
I hurry through the side door from the hangar, wave aside my housekeeper, and charge up the stairs to my private quarters. My manhood is tight against my flight suit. My muscles bulge painfully as if I am preparing for a fight. My mind is awash with confusion, and my heart pumps ferociously in my ears.
I peel out of my flight suit, pour myself a tumbler of aged scotch, and slip into my bathrobe. My mind races, thinking about what Doris must be doing now.
I grit my teeth as I quickly come to a decision. All the Earthling females’ rooms have been outfitted with cameras. The intention is to allow their matches to observe their behavior for better understanding and optimal courtship. Only a match has access to the cameras in his bride’s quarters. And I have access to hers.
I tap a few buttons on my tablet to bring up her camera and press my thumb to the screen for identification.
My eyes go wide when I see the feed from her bathroom. I flick the video, and it transfers to the big screen on my wall. I zoom in on my match and see her in the shower. She is pressing the shower wand against her sex. My mind goes blank.
I understand what she’s doing. Masturbation is not an unknown subject to Martians. I, myself, have engaged in this activity from time to time. Our genetic engineering has given us much greater control over our sexual expression, but we do seek release at appropriate moments.
Watching my match knead her own breast and pinch her nipple while bringing herself closer and closer to climax has an immediate effect on my body. My cock swells painfully between my legs and rises between the folds of my robe.
I grip my shaft and squeeze as I observe her, wet and dripping in the shower. I wish I knew what she was thinking. I pray she is thinking of me. I fear she is thinking of the boyfriend we found connected to her on her social media presence during our data scrape of Earth.
I refuse to think about my match’s past. She is mine now, and I will make her mine in every way. I stroke my cock slowly, gripping it in my powerful hand. I slide over the thick head, squeeze gently, and slide back down to the base.
I gasp at the pleasure, my eyes never leaving my match. Doris. Doris. I stroke harder and faster as I