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Invasive Maneuvers (Commission)
🕑 Added 2020-08-15 02:16:35 +0000 UTCCommission with a femboy getting fucked in the butt with a betentacled alien! It's a little non-con-y a bit but the protag can stop it at any point so I think it's not too bad. Heads up, just in case though!
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Lan felt like he was going to explode watching the blue flames of a hullcutter torch slice through the heavy airlock door. Every party of his Queensguard training told him to leap up, take a defensive position, ready a vibro-halberd, do anything and everything to prepare himself. Instead, he sat like a lump in a ridiculous pink dress while the rest of his comrades did all the work.
The royal yacht looked nothing like it had mere weeks before. All the ornate organic wood paneling and furniture had been stripped out, along with anything else nonessential or that took up power, weight, or space. Bare conduits snaked up skeletal walls and slid underneath half exposed deck plates. Frayed tufts of carpet and upholstery fabric hung off exposed rivets, hinting at how comfortable the interior had once been. Lan himself sat on a box of Q-rations, feet just barely dangling off the floor. Only seconds left before they came. The torch was putting out an awful lot of heat, but that’s not the only reason he was sweating.
“At least give me a blaster,” he grumbled to the imposing woman standing beside him.
Vexa shook her head, eyes locked on the cutting flame. “You know our orders. The longer they think you’re really the Princess, the more time she has to slip through the blockade on the other ship. The Azal know she’s not a fighter. Just look helpless and you’ll do fine.”
It still stung. The entire operation rested on there being a convincing body double for Princess Astra. As the slightest built member of the Queensguard, it had fallen to him. He was a smidge over the Princess’ 5’4, and had the same high cheekbones and button nose. The team’s medic had induced his short brown hair into a growth spurt and dyed it to match her tailbone length neon green locks. He wore her exact prescription of glasses, despite the effects they had on his own vision. Even the dress he wore was straight out of her wardrobe, specifically picked out as the one she wore in her official state portrait.
Nine other members of the Queensguard stood nearby. Their trademark polearms humming ominously pointed at the airlock as the nova hot torch rounded the final corner. They didn’t have a chance of beating back a battleship’s worth of alien attackers, but had to make it look good. Too easy and the enemy might figure out the ruse. Too much of a fight and a lot of people could get killed. It was a delicate balance, and every second would count.
“Are you scared?” Vexa asked. She was an imposing woman, standing 6’ tall with a lean, muscular physique. Her gorgeous red hair pulled back into a ponytail, trailing along the back of her armour when she swept her sightlines for threats. Everything about her equipment was standard Queensguard issue, save the golden ring she wore on her finger. Len wore an almost identical one, only the name inscribed on the inside differed.
“I know what the Azal are like,” Len replied, “If it comes down to it, let them take me. I couldn’t bear to see you get hurt on my behalf.”
She shook her head. “We knew what we were getting into when we got engaged, sweets. Our duty above our desire. Don’t worry; if all goes to plan, we get ransomed in a week. A month tops. The Azal are signatories to the Treaty of Aldebaran, same as us.”
The torch’s flame flicked out of existence. A fraction of a second later, something bashed the sliced metal out of the hole. Humid, salty air poured into the yacht. Lan clenched his teeth.
The first Azal through the door swept down two of the soldiers with polearms before they could even swing. Green-black tentacles moved like bullwhips, snapping out to catch heel or wrist and yank their prey to the deckplate. A blaster caught it in the torso and it dropped, but three more interlopers swept into the hole. One went right and harangued the pilot, who sliced his halberd like an amateur. One went left, which Vexa caught with a broad sweep of her blade. The third crawled along the ceiling with its suction cups, and Lan found himself gawking. They moved like lightning, their semiorganic spacesuits formfitting and allowing their dextrous tentacle-like limbs full range of motion.
More shots rang out, this time from the alien weapons. Mounted on their arm-equivalents were stubby protrusions that shot out thick globules of grey slime. These adhered to everything they touched, then groped around to connect with one another, forming gooey restraints. Most of the Queensguard dropped to those, Vexa herself taking at least a dozen shots before the combined strength of the adhesive bound her hands to her legs and made her topple to the deckplates.
It only took a few more moments. Lan tried to look as regally as possible, all while sneaking glances to make sure his wife to be was alright.
After the last shot was fired, and the Azal wounded were hauled away back into the ship, a new figure emerged. Rather than the intimidating battle armour, this one wore a skinsuit with beautiful, swirling designs on its surface. Indeed, she looked unlike any alien that Lan had ever seen.
Her body represented a harmonic fusion between their two species. Her, he was vaguely certain that was the right pronoun, her hair took the form of dozens of motile tendrils that wiggled restlessly on her head. Her arms and legs resembled human limbs, but displayed a dexterity to them as she moved that wouldn’t have been possible had she an internal skeleton. The alien glided over the deckplating, smiling serenely.
“Princess Astra,” the alien began, her voice an approximation of a native Earth speaker if they could enunciate while gurgling water, “It is with great pleasure that we meet for the first time. That is the right word, right? Pleasure?”
Lan stiffened his back, raised his voice as high as it could comfortably go, and began the deception. “It is I, yes. It would seem you have me at a disadvantage.”
“I might assume you were referring to how I have subdued all your protectors. But I believe, if my language guide is to be believed, you are requesting a name.” She performed a gesture somewhere between a bow and a curtsey in a fashion that could not be performed if her limbs were to actually have bones in them. “My name is Azal. I am to serve as an ambassador of sorts between our two peoples.”
Lan raised a meticulously plucked eyebrow. “I thought your species was named Azal?”
“It is. And I’m their representative. I speak for Azal, so then I must be Azal. Apologies if you find this confusing, but rest assured we found primogeniture inheritance of terrestrial property equally incomprehensible. Suffice it to say, our two peoples do things differently and move on from there.”
“I see. Very well, what can I do for you, Ambassador Azal?”
For the moment, the betentacled woman ignored him. She ran her limb along the closest bare wall, tip curling around one of the exposed support struts. “You’re travelling in rather bare accommodation for a Princess. I was told the royal yacht was the height of luxury.”
“It was,” Lan snapped, conscious of the ruse he had to maintain, “But the majority of the furnishings had to be stripped to reduce weight and maximize speed. Your blockade made every kilogram count.”
“Indeed? Well, I’m sorry we inconvenienced you so. But you understand, the necessities of war and the like. I see your retinue is greatly reduced as well.” Her tendril slid off the wall and onto Vexa’s chin. Lan tried to hide his discomfort.
“Y-yes. These are my most elite guards. I’m afraid they weren’t enough.”
Azal laughed, the noise sounding like someone giving voice to the bubbler of a fish tank. “I wouldn’t blame them, your Highness. We outnumbered you greatly, and I’m afraid our ships are still vastly superior to yours. Now, let’s get down to business, shall we?”
“Ah,” Lan said with slight relief, “My ransom. I-”
The alien woman shook her head. “Oh no. Oh you misunderstand. Our interest is not in your fortune. You have information we sorely need, and we would appreciate your cooperation.”
The floor fell out from his stomach. He tried to keep from looking over to Vexa, but his eyes might have slid her way for a moment. “I don’t understand.”
“I believe you do. The codes, Princess, to your personal data core. You know, the ones that allow access to your planet’s defence matrix? What are they?”
“I don’t...I can’t give that information up,” he said. He couldn’t say he DIDN’T know them, obviously, it was the Princess’ personal data core. But the problem with revealing that he did know the information they needed meant that all they had to do was find a way to make him crack.
“You can’t torture her,” Vexa spoke up, much to Lan’s relief, “The Treaty of Aldebaran forbids it!”
Azal waved her concerns away with a flick of her arm-tendril. “Don’t worry, I have no intention of harming the poor thing. She’s so frail, after all. So delicate. But we have ways of making you more...compliant.”
Lan gulped down the outrage at her analysis of his figure. The retort died in his throat, however, when her arm-equivalent reached over to brush against his naked shoulder. Azal’s alien skin touched his for the first time. She was warm, totally unlike the cephalopod she partially resembled, but there was a moisture there. Her tentacle left behind a residue as it drifted up his arm.
“I was created specifically to interact with humans,” she began, “Their very biochemistry is sewn into my genetic code, my TNA. And a particular effect of this is the sebaceous glands, the ones that produce pheromones during mating season for Azal, are tuned to arouse humans instead.”
He turned to stare at the transparent film on his shoulder. Already he could feel his skin around the area warm and tingle.
“Y-you can’t do this to me,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing, “I’m a princess!”
“Oh I can, and I will!” Her laughter took on a more sinister tone, and in short order her tendrils found their way all over his body. Everywhere they roamed, that strange tingling sensation followed. He tried thinking of anything wholesome or chaste, but the pheromones tainted his thoughts in perverse, depraved directions. Soon he was writhing on his makeshift seat, trying not to show just how effective her chemical attack was. But his body betrayed him.
He looked down sheepishly, watching the front of his dress’ skirt as it pushed outward slightly, his rapidly engorging prick tenting the regal garment in humiliating fashion.
“Oh? What’s this?” the Azal ambassador asked rhetorically, poking the bulge and forcing a whimper from Lan’s mouth, “I see our profile on you was incomplete. I’ll make a note of it.” Without any further elaboration, she continued to toy with the “princess”. Tendrils snaked and slithered around his body, leaving their pheromonal trail and throwing him deeper into an uncontrollable heat. It was deeply humiliating, especially with his fiancee right there, watching his will crumble under a torrent of unnatural lust.
“There’s no reason for you to be shy. Azal mate in public all the time! Consider this cross-cultural exchange,” the ambassador teased before reaching up his skirt to pull down his underwear. The sole bit of vaguely masculine clothing he had allowed himself to wear, she let it dangle off his heeled shoes, a patch of dampness clearly visible on the front of it. His throbbing hard dick was now free to display just how much he was enjoying this treatment.
“I can’t tell you!” he pleaded, “Just leave us alone!”
“I could at any moment. My patience is wearing thin, however,” Azal replied, “Give me the codes, or I’ll have to resort to more...invasive measures.”
Before he could ask what those would be, he felt one of her tendrilous limbs start to snake around his ass. He immediately closed his legs, but the alien would have none of that. She pushed him onto his back, leg’s splayed. Before he could protest, two warm globules of binding goo shot forth from a pair of her guards. How she coordinated those shots was secondary to the realization that he was now fully in danger of being penetrated by those lusty tentacles...and he had no way of stopping them!
That familiar warming oil found its way around his hole, as Azal prepared him with a disturbing ease. Had she done this to other humans before? He tried to lift his head to see what exactly she was planning, but all he managed to do was get a good look at the aching purple tip of his cock pointed directly at his face, and he watched it drool onto his pretty dress, little more than a measure of his submissive arousal.
The tendril slipped inside him. He made a perfunctory effort to clench down, but he was far too horny to put up much of a fight. Soon her dexterous limb pumped itself in and out of his body, stimulating him with more humiliating pleasure. He felt the eyes of both the aliens and his fellow Queensguard burrow into him. He thrashed his body, but could not get away. Brought low by the mix of her attentions and the chemical aphrodisiacs, he needed release.
“I’m sorry I can’t take it anymore!” Lan squealed, and reached down to jerk himself off. But Azal slapped his hand away, making him whimper in frustration. He was so close.
The alien seemed to sense how precipitously close he was to squirting. In an act of mercy, she found the patch of sensitive flesh right next to the prostate in the human male and wiggled the tip of her tentacle against it. He burst all over his face, coating himself in his own anal orgasm and leaving no doubt just how far he’d fallen. If this was supposed to be a princess, she wasn’t acting very dignified at all.
For a moment, the relief of finally getting to orgasm washed away his other fears and apprehensions. A singular, warm bliss overtook him, and he drifted in it like a pool on a hot summer day. But cold reality seeped in as his cum cooled, and the realization that he’d just painted himself with cum right in front of his fiancee sunk in. He wanted to call out to her, to apologise, beg forgiveness even! But it would be impossible.
“It’s okay, Princess,” Vexa said, almost as if she could read his thoughts, “We know you’re doing this for the good of all. We still respect you.”
Lan smiled faintly. At least she knew it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t cheating on her on purpose! And surely it was over…
That strange laughter returned. He turned to face Azal, who looked like she’d just finished cracking up to her own joke. “Oh you poor thing. Did you really thing we would stop there?”
The tentacle returned to pounding, pumping more arousal-inducing oil into his hole. He begged for mercy but he didn’t give in. In truth, his total collapse in the face of the alien’s assault on his ass sold the idea that he was some pampered princess even more. Not that this was a conscious effort on his part; Lan was completely lashed to the whims of his hijacked hormones, leaking and drooling and moaning out in a carnal feedback loop. Azal would tease him until he was almost insensate, then make him cum, only to pound him again. Once or twice the thought of fighting back arose, and he knew his comrades would back him to the hilt. But every second was precious. So he endured. For the Kingdom. And for the real Princess.
The ache in his cock began at the third orgasm, and no amount of lube could totally relieve the growing strain on his ass. His fifth climax saw mere drips of cum fire out weakly into his face. By now he looked like he’d received a thorough bukakke, but she prevented him from cleaning it off, and he wasn’t about to give in and start licking it up. So he had to deal with a face like the thumbnail preview of a porn holo, and try not to catch sight of himself in any of the reflective metal surfaces in the ship.
Just before Lan was about to lose his mind entirely, a cacophony of clicking and sloshing noises assailed the small vessel. It broke his concentration, and he immediately looked for a source. In his dazed state, all he could tell was that he probably hadn’t made the sounds himself.
Azal pressed her hand to her ear. “Hold on, slow down. Take a few respirations and try again,” she said in Terran, her focus elsewhere. The abhorrently harsh sound repeated, but slightly slower than before. “Are you certain? But we...ah, I see. Pursue with all haste. We might be able to head them off at the jump point.”
“Problem?” Vexa asked, brazen as ever. Though it was easy to be overconfident when you didn’t have a tentacle in your ass.
Azal feigned a smile, but even on its alien features, Lan could tell it was a false front. “Our scouts have picked up a Queensguard security vessel flying hellbent for scales toward neutral territory. It’s blaring on all human frequencies that they are requesting asylum for one Princess Astra. I’m guessing you aren’t she?”
Lan was too out of it to respond properly, so Vexa replied in his stead. “Ruse de guerre, I’m afraid. Totally acceptable within the Treaty, unlike this...disgusting display.”
Azal motioned to her comrades, and they filed back to their own ship. “Well played,” she said, then motioned to the torched section of hull, “We’ll place a temporary seal on your ship when we pull away. It won’t stand up to travel, but it should keep the air in until a rescue arrives.”
“Thanks, I suppose. At least we won’t all die.”
Azal nodded to her, then took one last look at Lan. “I totally bought your pathetic mewling! You have a future in the Azal Dramatic Society when the war is over, if you’re interested. And if that doesn’t strike your interest, give me a call. I might be in the market for a sex toy when this is all over.”
The alien ambassador disappeared, followed by the shudder as the Azal vessel unlatched their mooring hooks and took off in the direction of the real princess. Vexa broke out of the restraining goo with a sheer force of muscle and will and ran over to check on Lan.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
There was no way he could answer that satisfactorily. On the one hand, no, god no, he was not okay. He still felt slimy, his body ached, and his brain was all frazzled from the hostile takeover of his urges. But he took a small measure of satisfaction knowing that their plan had worked. Princess Astra was likely safe, or on her way to being safe. He’d done his duty as well as if he’d been wielding his vibro-halberd.
Still.
He cleaned off his face with a dry part of his dress. “I hope she won’t mind the state I left her nice dress in,” he said, looking down at the garment that likely cost more than he made in a year.
“I’m sure she’ll get over it. I’m very proud of you, honey.” She squeezed his hands, and he squeezed back. He was lucky to have her, he thought. After a quick checkup with the medscanner, she told him there’d be no permanent damage, and that he’d feel like his old self in a few hours. One of the Queensguards hit the emergency locator beacon. Now they had a long wait ahead of them…and a bit of a mess to clean up. Vexa motioned for him to stay still while they did the work, and he rested on one of the makeshift beds in the back of the yacht’s main living area.
Idly, he thought back to the experience with the alien tentacle. It had been invasive, yes. But it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant…at least at first. His thoughts wandered to Vexa. Strong, powerful, dominant Vexa. He watched her bend over, clearing the alien goop from the floor, and pictured what she’d look like with a tentacle between her legs. His cock twitched painfully, and he wondered if there would be lasting impacts of the incident after all…
