Alien Desire by Hannah Haze
Chapter eight - Tor
The Omega likes to be held. And I find I like to hold her, whether it is the interlinking of our hands, or my body curled around hers. She reminds me of the pet anfyx I once had as a child. Fly, it was called. It liked to follow me about and perch on my lap. I found it mildly irritating, although I could not resist the small thing’s big eyes and obliged him more often than not.
I do not find holding the Omega irritating. In fact, I find it quite the opposite. The sensations it ignites across my skin and deep within my body are new, different and wondrous.
Gryton females do not like to be held. They do not like to be touched. Or as far as I know they don’t. There are plenty of Beta females on our planet, some female Alphas too, but I can only mate with an Omega. And as mating provides the only necessity for touch, despite that of a mother nursing her child, I have never tried or wanted to touch another Gryton, male or female, Alpha, Beta or Omega.
Besides, mating requires the briefest of touch. This need of the Omega’s is not brief, but it is strange, and yes, enjoyable. To be touched, to touch, are sensations I want to repeat over and over. I have had so few touches, such fleeting connections. But each individual one with Emma has brought my body to life.
My hand still tingles with the feeling of Emma’s holding mine. I want to touch more of her soft skin. The place where her waist dips inward, the delicate bone that sweeps across her shoulders, the soft parts of her strange looking feet, her smooth pink lips. I imagine what each of these must feel like to touch. I imagine the sensations it will spark in my body.
How have I been oblivious to the sweet sensation of touching another living thing? Of the simple connection of my fingertips with another?
Emma is sleeping beneath my arm, but I am very much awake, all too aware of the way her backside, so very round, protrudes into my groin, stirring my cock. It hardens and lengthens in response, filling the air with my potent scent. And I wonder if I should shake the Omega awake and explain my need to mate, my desire to touch her in other places.
However, despite the throbbing ache in my cock, I suspect this would be a bad idea. The Omega has made no overtures to me, no signals that she is ready or willing to mate. In fact, despite now lying in my arms, earlier she had seemed most displeased by the idea. She is a contradictory little thing — her scent telling me one thing, her facial expressions another.
So I am forced to lie here imagining what strange delights must exist beneath this creature’s clothes. I have never found myself in such an agonising situation before. It is quite alien to me.
Although I have never mated myself, I know how it is done. The older Alphas of our court explained this to me from a young age. How inserting my hardened cock into an Omega would release my seed. That knotting her immediately afterwards would ensure impregnation.
Occasionally I have experienced a hardening of my cock like this, when confronted by the scent of a particularly fertile Omega, one of my father’s mates. But my seed remains unleashed and I have never been so close to an Omega before. Certainly never pressed up against one.
I marvel at my own restraint. I did not expect it to be this hard.
Impregnating an Omega, ensuring the procreation of the next generation of Alphas and Omegas of Astia, was always described to me as a duty that must be borne. Yet it seems the act of resisting this impregnation is something far worse to bear.
Still, I can’t let her go. I can’t roll away, put myself out of my misery. So I lie in a bed of blissful torture, sleeping barely a wink the whole long night.
When morning light seeps into the station, I creep away and leave her sleeping. I explore the station, discovering many unusual devices I will need Emma to explain to me. Finally, I locate the store with the revolting food stuffs. My stomach protests at the mere thought of it but Emma likes these dishes.
Perhaps if I prepare the Omega food, she will let me mate her. It was once the way of things in ancient times. An Alpha would hunt food for his mate, proving himself an efficient provider, and the Omega, pleased, would permit mating to occur. Things on Astia are different now, of course, as there are only a handful of Omegas left, but I wonder if such a primal act will appeal to Emma, being a less advanced species.
I select a variety of foul-looking foods and some plates and arrange them in what I hope is an attractive arrangement, adding some delicacies from my own trunk I hope will improve the taste. Then I lay them out on the table we have so far left unused and wait impatiently for the Omega.
I can hear her stirring but when she fails to appear I go to investigate. I find her running on a machine that keeps her in one place no matter how hard she pumps her arms and legs. She smiles a little unsurely when I enter the room. She’s dressed in tight clothing that clings to her petite frame and perspiration soaks through the material and dampens the strands on her head.
I haven’t seen her dressed in anything this tight before and it allows me a much better view of her shape. She is not so different from a Gryton female - although much smaller and not as strong, with a curved chest. I’ve noticed this before. I suspect they must be mammary glands. Our females develop these when they birth children, but why she has them when she is clearly unmated and childless, I do not understand.
She talks to me in her language and I catch a few words I now understand. But even with our continued inability to communicate, I am learning how to read her emotions and feelings more intimately from the expressions on her face and the signals in her scent. This futile running on the spot, which takes her nowhere and seems to have no useful purpose, is clearly enjoyable to her.
I can’t help but stand and watch her, my eyes falling frequently to the glands on her chest that bounce in a seductive manner each time her foot hits the machine. It is mesmerising. I would like to touch these glands.
She likes to be touched.
The pace of her steps slow and she picks up a towel and mops the moisture from her brow and around her neck. My eyes follow the progress, trying to steal a look at the base of her skull. I would also like to touch the gland that I know sits there.
In Gryton society, only a mate may be permitted to touch such a sacred and intimate thing. But soon I will be her mate and I can claim her by sinking my teeth through the tissue-thin skin.
“Hungry?” she asks me as she watches me lick my lips.
“Food,” I say. “Come, Emma, see.”
She babbles at me in her language and heads off in a different direction, and I am forced to swallow my rising irritation. Why won’t this Omega come and eat when told so we can hurry up and mate?
Following after her, she halts at the entrance to a tiled room and spins, holding up her palm and forcing me to stop.
“No,” she says. “Washing.” She points inside the room.
I shrug to signal my incomprehension. She steps inside, huffing when I enter too, and turns on a tap. Water falls from the ceiling. Then I understand; she intends to use the water to remove the perspiration from her body. How primitive. I wish she would not, as her smell is especially intense and delicious. I grow increasingly frustrated as my cock is already responding to her scent.
I fold my arms across my chest and wait, curious to see how this ritual will unfold, but her brows draw down over her eyes and she pushes me out of the room. Of course, I am much stronger than her and could resist this rude eviction — no Gryton Omega would ever dream of pushing an Alpha in such a manner — but I am determined to win her over, so I let her shut the door in my face.
This leaves me standing outside, listening to the patter and splashes of water, imagining what lies behind. I must insist the Omega remove her clothes and let me examine her. I need to understand what these intriguing glands are and why they jiggle in such a provocative manner. I must discover where her opening lies and if it will indeed accommodate me as I hope.
Finally, after what seems like an age, the door flings open and Emma appears in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her torso. She looks up, sees me and screams.
Immediately I am on the alert for danger. I spin around, scanning the area. There appears to be nothing there, so I shove Emma inside and stride into the bathroom, surveying the now steamy area and finding nothing. I turn back to her in puzzlement. One hand lies over her chest and her shoulders rise and fall quickly.
“There is nothing there,” I tell her in my own language. Then I switch to hers. “Emma, come food eat.”
“Yes,” she nods and satisfaction floods my body. But this is short lived as the little Omega proceeds to head in the opposite direction away from where the table is laid out.
“Omega,” I purr.
She halts, then gestures to her body. I am not sure what this means. Is she inviting me to touch her again? I can’t help but lick my lips and begin to step forward, but she scurries away into the sleeping quarters before I reach her, shutting and bolting the door.
Stomping to the table, I flop down and shove a vuvu berry in my mouth, chewing with vigour. My plan is not running the way I foresaw. My plans so rarely fail and I am at a loss as to what to do.
By the end of the day, I’m sure I will have upgraded the computer system enough to send a distress signal to my planet. I suspect it will be mere days before they come to collect me. I must have mated the Omega by then. But at this agonising rate, I wonder if I ever will.
And then what? Unmated, my father could claim her, or perhaps the medical facility will whisk her away for study. Neither of these options are agreeable. I already feel an obligation towards her. Like I once did for Fly.
Finally, she reemerges. She’s dressed, to my disappointment, in her usual loose fitting overalls.
“Food,” I say, attempting the uplifting of the lips in the expression I’ve seen her make frequently when she is happy. Her eyes fall to my mouth and one eyebrow quirks upwards on her face. “Smile, happy.” I tell her, experimenting with more words I’ve learnt.
Nodding, she looks down at the food I’ve laid out and a smile appears on her own face.
We eat together and I am intrigued by the expressions of pleasure that pass over her face — more smiles, eye flutters, little sighs — and the way she licks and sucks her fingers to hunt down every last miniscule of flavour and taste. She especially likes the vuvu berries, which pleases me immensely.
The little Omega eats a lot, unlike me. I pick at the food, finding my appetite has vanished, my belly already full with the apprehension of what will happen next. When she is finished, she sits back in her seat and I wait for her to let it be known that she is now ready to mate. I am unsure in what manner she will communicate this. Perhaps she will present me with her opening. Perhaps she will bear the nape of her neck to me. Or perhaps she will submit and kneel before me. My cock hardens at all these possibilities.
Unfortunately none materialise and the Omega wanders off to undertake more futile tasks.
In frustration, I stride to the computer and start running further programmes which will allow my translation device to more quickly learn her language. She meanders over and hovers by my elbow, watching my busy fingers.
She reminds me once again of Fly and I remember how the creature enjoyed curling up in my lap. I draw back my chair, making space between me and the desk, and pat my thigh. The Omega ignores this gesture and I try a second time. “Emma sit,” I tell her.
Her scent informs me that she would very much like to perch on my lap, but instead she frowns (an expression in direct contrast to her smile) and shakes her head. Her response confuses and further frustrates me, so I draw my chair back and concentrate on growing my understanding of the language and finishing the upgrade to the computer.
Both tasks are proving more difficult than I first predicted. The translation device is adding words to my vocabulary at the pace of a shmail and the computer can not simply be re-coded. I need to dismantle and rebuild it completely. The problem is I need more than the trunk has provided. I need to go back to the ship. To be honest, the prospect thrills me. I want to explore more of this planet and understand more of this new universe I think I have stumbled into.
Plus riding out on her quad machine will allow me to demonstrate my driving prowess to the Omega. I am considered a skilled pilot and an accomplished rider among the Alphas. When she sees how proficiently I navigate the terrain, how powerfully I handle her rudimentary transportation machine, I am sure she will be impressed. Omegas like these displays of power.
Then perhaps she will finally initiate the mating.