“Agnes!” The voice of the head scientist, Doctor Mackenzie, reaches her through the intercom. “Agnes, what the hell is going on?”
Panic seems to freeze the blood in her veins. Her career is over, Agnes knows. She might die in the hands… well, limbs of this creature, but even if she survives, she won’t be allowed in a spaceship ever again. The realization is so, so crushing it takes her a moment to notice that the alien isn’t ripping her to pieces or bashing her against the walls. He doesn’t even pull her into his tank, where she would drown in minutes. For a moment in time, he just holds her, strong, huge and imposing,
but gentle. As if he understands how easily she could be broken by him.
“I’m sorry.” Is all she can bring herself to utter to her colleagues. She hears their steps as a crowd forms behind the glass. The alien envelops her with a third, smaller tentacle, this one slithers against her neck. “I’m so sorry.” Agnes whimpers, terrified, when a black limb closes around her throat.
But there’s no pressure, she can still breathe. Agnes stares at the mass of darkness that is the creature’s body and, for the first time, wishes it had a face. What wouldn’t she give to be able to read emotions off of it? To have an inkling of what’s next? But the only clues are to be found in his handling of her, suspended in the air, a ragdoll for him to play with.
“How did this happen?” The Doctor asks, speaking through the intercom.
“I-I don’t know…” She manages to squeeze out. What the Doctor doesn’t say, Agnes already knows: no one is coming to rescue her.
The risk of contamination is too great. The ship is too close to Earth, they need to land, refuel, recharge. Who knows what pathogens the creature is carrying? An alien virus unleashed could decimate the world’s population in days. And his slime is all over Agnes now, staining her lab coat, saturating her clothes. His tentacles don’t stop moving, searching she knows not what for, but the one on her legs pull and push at her jeans, as if he knows the cloth isn’t a part of her, but an obstacle. He traces the curve of her behind, hooks a tentacle onto the waistband of her jeans. When he pulls, Agnes’ heart stutters in her chest.
The alien successfully bares her, ass first, to the dozens of colleagues watching her plight through the glass. Agnes closes her eyes tightly, a feeling of unreality warring with utter, complete mortification inside of her. This has to be a nightmare, she tells herself. She isn’t being held up by an alien, pant-less, for all the people she most admires to see. This can not be happening to her.
The creature rips her white tank top in half with a single swoop of a large tentacle. Agnes opens her eyes, forces herself to look back at the faces of the last people she is likely to ever be around. Tears slide down her face, hot and heavy with regret. Shame burns bright in her cheeks, even as she’s so overwhelmed by fear that she may go into shock. They all see her, faces varying shades of horror, dread, and pity. The humiliation hurts the most, as even when the alien snaps her bra in two pieces, he does so without harming her.
Agnes holds onto her panties tightly, trying to keep at least that last scrap of cover in place. The creature pushes her hands away regardless of her best efforts, slow but firm, like a strict, loving parent might ply a child’s fingers off a beloved toy. When she’s completely bared to the alien and to her co-workers, Agnes just wishes resignation, followed by death, is close. Hope has been smothered; she just wants it to be over.
To her eternal shame, however, it has only started.
Doctor Mackenzie has a scientific mind. He has to, or he wouldn’t have achieved the position he’s at. His priorities are clear and absolute, he’s the kind of man who has no problem following them. On the contrary, nothing gives him as much satisfaction as reaching his goals, fulfilling his life-long dream.
Except, however, the curse – in his opinion – that follows all men. A distraction-inducing, bothersome, ever-present attraction to women. In that, he’s as normal as they come. Images of pretty, young girls are what he jerks off to in his bunk.
Nothing too out-of-the-ordinary, really. Intercourse is forbidden during voyages for many practical reasons, but back on Earth he’s more than happy to fulfill his desires with the occasional hook up. Here, he uses his mental fodder. Occasionally, though he feels vaguely guilty about it, he even thinks of his many athletic, young, female colleagues as he masturbates.
If the girl currently being assaulted by a huge alien is often part of his chosen fantasies, no one but him knows. Though the Doctor can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. First, that such intelligent young woman would be as reckless and dumb as to enter the enclosure by herself. Second, that there’s undeniable, glaring purpose to the creature’s actions. It has divested the girl of clothes completely, but not harmed her so far. Its black tentacles slide, probe and explore her expanse of firm, smooth skin, as if looking for something.
As unbelievable as this whole situation is, the Doctor is jealous. Of an alien. Agnes is… her petiteness is endearing, sensual, lights up a primal part of his brain that wants to envelop her, protect her, hold her down and fuck her until she can’t walk. Her face is the very definition of prettiness. It suits her shy nature perfectly, her eyes aren’t sultry, there are no suggestive lines to the angles in her face. She’s charming, attractive in an innocent way, exactly the kind of girl an old man like him is the most drawn to, maybe because he would be so harshly judged if he acted on it. Dainty, feminine, she looks like someone’s daughter, sister, the pretty girl-next-door everyone treats with kindness, for she simply inspires that in people.
Strikingly, he can’t help but notice what a great ass she has. Always hidden behind her lab coats before, the Doctor now sees it in the flesh as it’s groped by a large tentacle, its firmness tested with rubbing, squeezing, slapping. Fuck, he curses to himself.
Her ass is big enough it jiggles at the force applied, not too large as to be disproportional to her small body, but as gorgeous and plentiful as it can be otherwise. The creature runs a slimy tentacle between her cheeks, opening her crack up, and the Doctor’s knees go week, his head feels fuzzy. Agnes whimpers pathetically, likely humiliated and terrified, and it’s all the Doctor can do to not grab his throbbing hard cock. He has never been more aroused in his life.
Everyone is dead silent. There are no words for this. If he could tear his eyes away from the naked body of the girl being molested in front of him, Doctor Mackenzie would see he isn’t the only one whose feelings of terror have changed to lust. The creature is not hurting the young woman. It is… playing with her. Even through the haze of overwhelming lust, the Doctor can acknowledge what an incredible occurrence this is. Agnes is turned around and around by the beast, every inch of her skin is touched and tested by one of a dozen of tentacles. At one point, she’s poised with her legs spread, folded in half, her back to the glass where the whole crew is watching.