Unnatural Instinct: Abduction

4.

Your response is surprising. Just a simple touch and you quiver beneath me. I place the resonator lightly over your most sensitive pleasure point—your clitoris, an intriguing little nub of skin filled with thousands of bundles of nerves.

You release a groan. Your eyelids flutter. As I stand before your open legs, I can see how the soft, thick labia of your opening glistens with your reproductive discharge. The sheet you're lying on is wet with it. I remind myself that I'll need to take a sample. Clearly my study of you is working. Soon, I'll see how your body works when it's fully stimulated.

As I press down a little harder on your clitoris, you groan in your throat. What I'm doing to you could be considered a form of masturbation. Something my kind stopped doing hundreds of years ago. For good reason; it serves no purpose and it's unhygienic. Not to mention utterly prehistoric.

Just like you.

Your eyelids flutter again and I can see the gleam of your eyes. It's good that you've woken up; I'll learn more that way. You might be aware, able to see and hear and feel, but my gas will keep you paralysed for a little while yet.

There is no need to be frightened; I'm not going to hurt you. Not for a little while anyway.

I press the resonator down harder again and hold it there until you groan continuously. You produce more and more discharge until the opening to your vagina is drenched in it. It seeps to the corners of your open thighs. It oozes onto the sheet.

I pull back the resonator a moment. You're close to the end. How I know, I'm uncertain. From the look on your face, I suppose. Very unscientific. How am I supposed to report that in my log?

Putting down the resonator, I pick up my pressometer. It's designed to resemble the male of your species' penis: long and cylindrical and smooth. Green lights flicker on one side. There's no need to worry; it won't hurt. I've made sure it'll fit perfectly inside you, though it might be somewhat cold.

I insert it slowly. My drones have rubbed lubricant onto it to make it easier for you, but I find I don't really need it. Your natural discharge provides all the lubricant necessary. It's fascinating how well your two sexes work together.

This rod will determine two things: how deep your channel goes and the pressure the walls of your vagina make when they contract during orgasm.

I continue to ease it in. You don't seem to notice. You're deeper than I assumed. Finally, I feel resistance and stop. 

I release it, leaving it inside you as I pick up my resonator again. Slowly, I press it down again on your clitoris. At first gently, then harder and harder, until your face flushes red and your mammary glands heave at the force of your panting. You're groaning and making strange noises in your throat, and I can't help but wonder if you're in pain. Such a response is extreme.

But I continue pressing the resonator against you. If you're in pain, I'm afraid you're just going to have to deal with it.

It doesn't take long. You breathe more rapidly. Your groaning becomes louder. Then the pressometer beeps and you quickly quieten, your chest continuing to rise and fall rapidly. Just like that, you've orgasmed. I ease out the pressometer, careful not to let it slip through my hands. Your natural lubricant coats it like a second skin. One of my drones holds out a wrapping. I place it into it and my drone lowers it onto the workbench and carefully wipes it off.

While that's being done, I walk the length of your naked body, studying you. You're sweating. You're panting. Your skin is pink. Your nipples are tight and pointed. When you look at me, your eyes are bright. Another tear rolls down your cheek.

I feel a strange surge of something in my chest. It's your tears. I don't like them. You need to stop crying. Frowning, I turn away. My drone has finished cleaning off the pressometer and I analyse the results. The dials are at their maximum. The bulbs are all green. I raise my eyebrows again. Such high pressure! Your vagina clamped down hard, several times, each time with less pressure than the time preceding it, until there's nothing. What purpose does it serve? It's something I'll have to contemplate when I fill out my log tonight.

I'm tired now. It's late and I'm finished with you. Since I need to be careful not to get any of your germs on me, I place my gloved hands under the steam tap and let it burn away anything that might hurt me. Next, I have one of my drones pull my gloves off and toss them in the trash receptacle. They then take off my face shield and help peel off my suit, both of which follow the gloves into the receptacle.

Naked, I quickly step into the steam shower. I unbind my hair to make sure every particle of me is burned free of bugs. It's hot but I can deal with it. Once I'm done, I step out into the clothing room. There, I don another suit, zipping it up high to my throat.

I'm eager to get back to my room so I can document everything I've done and learned tonight. I walk down the main corridor of my ship and pause at the sight of you through the glass. My drones are busy wiping you down between the legs. Soon, they'll steam bath you in preparation for further examination tomorrow. My two other subjects are resting peacefully.

I watch for too long. The light of my lab gleams against your outspread legs. It turns your hair bright. I can see the pink nipples of your mammary glands.

You're the first of your kind I've properly examined. The only other time I've ever seen species 821 was as a student, when I was learning from my senior, and that subject had been male. Everything else I know about you I've learned from documents written by those come before me.

You're more fascinating than I ever believed possible.

Turning away, I continue to walk down the corridor.