The Alien Warrior King's Accountant - Loki Renard

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She felt like a bug under a microscope as his cool gaze ran over her body and found her eyes. She gasped when she saw his properly for the first time. They were slightly narrowed, as if he were almost perpetually suspicious, but they were also quite large, and now they were focused on her she could see that he had the most incredible eye color. Blue and gold and purple were latticed through his irises in an angular fashion that made his eyes gleam like jewels.

“Holy…” she murmured under her breath.

“What are you?” His demand was curt. “What species?”

“Human.”

“Human?” He seemed vaguely surprised. “You’re a long way from home.”

“Everywhere is a long way from here.”

“Little animal species,” he said, more to himself than to her, as if she weren’t really there.

1 The Business Trip

It’s not a dream…

A scaled cock breaches the barrier of my sex, splitting me open. Powerful alien hands curl around my wrists, holding me down. My hips arch willingly toward the space-abyssal abomination penetrating my most sensitive flesh. From the depths of the most treacherous waters of the universe, this creature has emerged to claim me as his own.

He has no hair, just a sharp fin which rises from between his brows and shoots back over his head in a dangerous display and it flares as he surges inside me, the thick penetrating rod of his monstrous flesh making my inner walls spread their slick desire all over the thrusting force of his domination.

I am arched and spread in the most lewd of ways, offered as a sacrifice to the alien king, gasping, moaning, and contorting as he claims me on absolutely every level.

I feel fever in my veins, a heat which flushes me from head to toe. It is more than pleasure. It is a transcendent need for this epitome of maleness, a physical desire which is overloading every part of my fragile human form.

He surges inside me and I feel the power of alien tides ripping through me. I feel the tender parts of my body being overwhelmed and overcome, vassals to the king’s desire.

My nipples are two rock-hard nubs brushing against his chest with every jolting thrust, one of his arms under my lower back, cupping the curve of my ass, keeping me in place so his cock can find my dripping sex with unerring accuracy every time he pulls free of my gripping lips and drives back in again with fresh conquest.

Love is not a word for what is happening between us. Love is a weak, human word which has become superficial in every way. There is no word for the power of this joining, for the absolute surrender I am giving, and the complete claim he is taking.

My body is no longer mine. It belongs to him, as all things he desires do.

I had no comprehension of what I was getting into when this began. I didn’t know who I was, or what lay beyond the world I knew. He has ripped away all my innocence, and he has replaced it with rough pleasure.

I am thrown about the bed, one position and then another, my legs spread by his massive hands, my tight little holes made to stretch for him over and over, my sweat-slaked body covered in the king’s seed. This is what I need. This is what I deserve. This is what I was born for. And to think it all started with a work trip…

Three months earlier…

“We have a special assignment for you, Tania.” My boss, Mr. Rogers, smiles at me over the reduced window on my computer monitor. I have him on one side, and an episode of some show I’m not really watching on the other. It’s about cheerleaders trying to make a team, and though I’m not into cheerleading, or sport, I find it intensely compelling viewing, or at the very least, good background noise for these interminable meetings which somehow take even longer over the internet than they did in person.

Candace is the better dancer, but Melanie just has that extra pop that really elevates her performances…

“Tania?”

“Hm. Sorry?”

“I was saying, we have a special assignment for you. Everybody else is off the call. We’ll discuss this in the relative privacy of this video chat.”

Mr. Rogers has a way of speaking that’s always just ever so slightly not quite right. I put it down to his age. He’s in his seventies, or maybe