Marooned
Copyright© 2026 by PoBoy
Chapter 3
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 3 - After his freighter's drive malfunctions, Luke Ripley lands on a deserted planet to wait for rescue. When an alien war intrudes on his solitude, he meets a new partner. Together, they try to escape before the enemy can get to them. Rescue is two years away, but the Bugs are much closer.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Military War Science Fiction Aliens Space BDSM MaleDom Light Bond Spanking Anal Sex Analingus Cream Pie First Masturbation Oral Sex Squirting
It was sometime after 03:00 when I woke up needing to pee. I went up to my quarters, used the toilet and came back. Thivkari’s IV bag was empty, so I disconnected it, but that woke her up. “Sorry. Go back to sleep.”
She shook her head. “I need to urinate again.” She looked unhappy. “I need your help.”
I nodded. “Sure.” I disconnected her from the MedScanner and started to pick her up. She cried out in pain.
“I’m in pain. Can I have more pain medication?” I lay her back down and told the AutoDoc to give her another dose. It was odd that it didn’t engage any kind of pain management protocol automatically. I knew it was partly to prevent addiction, but this was kind of crazy. There was a patient with a serious injury and I had to tell it to dispense pain medication. She sighed in relief, then said, “Better, thank you. Help me?”
“Gently. Up.” I scooped her back up and she wrapped her right arm around my neck for support. I carried her back to her quarters and helped her on to the toilet. I stepped out of the alcove so she could pee in private.
“Why do you do that?” she asked. “Why do you leave? I’ll need help getting back up.”
“To give you privacy.”
“I shared a room and a toilet with three other women.” I heard the spray of the bidet, then the dryer, and finally a flush. “I haven’t had privacy for the last four years.” I stepped back in and helped her stand and get braced, then pulled her panties back up. “You being here isn’t the problem. Needing your help is.”
I picked her up again. “Is the problem that you need help, or that you need help from a man?”
“You’re not,” she stopped, then said something that took the translator a moment to translate. “mateable.” She looked frustrated. “You aren’t a Tsch’kal male.”
“Let me ask a different way: would you have a problem if I was a Tsch’kal male?”
She shrugged. “Maybe?”
“If I was a Tsch’kal female?”
“Maybe. No.”
“Would you have a problem if I was a human female?”
“Yes.”
I lay her back on the bed in sickbay, reconnected the MedScanner, and covered her back up. I sighed and looked at her. “I’m not dismissing your dislike of the situation or your embarrassment, but there are no Tsch’kal women here to care for you. I sympathize with you, but the simple matter is that you need help caring for yourself so you can recover from your injury. You need help, and I’m the only person here.” I took her hand in mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You need to decide what’s more important: your recovery, or being embarrassed by accepting help. If you try to do things before your body is ready, you’re going to hurt yourself which will delay your healing.”
Her eyes were turning wet and she sniffled, then nodded. “I am 24 years old and should not need help like a child. I am not happy about this.”
“I never said you had to be. Just don’t resent me for helping.”
She shook her head. “You saved my life. I just don’t like needing help.” She looked at me. “It’s hard for me.” She sniffed, then frowned. The dried blood was beginning to smell bad, plus there was an underlying sour funk of what I could only assume was body odor. “I still need to wash.”
“It’s the middle of the night. Can you wait until morning?”
She shrugged. “Yes. I’m awake, though. It’s morning for me.” I looked at the clock. It was 07:40 ship’s time. I needed to just stop using ship’s time and switch to local. It was 03:18. I was grateful that the ship’s computer tracked the time difference. Calculating the difference in planetary rotational periods from that of Earth gave me a headache.
“Do you want to eat?” She nodded. “Ok.” I checked the AutoDoc terminal, which recommended some bland, prepackaged food. I went down the passageway to the galley and dug around the freezer until I found a microwavable prepackaged dinner. Chicken with rice and vegetables. A few minutes in the galley microwave and it was ready to eat. I grabbed a fork and knife and headed back to sickbay before realizing that I didn’t even know if Tsch’kal used forks. I inclined the bed and set the meal on a tray for her. “It’s not much of a breakfast, but it’s approved by the doctor.” I sat back down as she stabbed into the chicken with the fork and cut a chunk off with the knife. “Listen, I’m probably going to say or do things that offend you, so I’m going to apologize for that in advance.”
She finished swallowing. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know anything about your people. I didn’t know that there were Tsch’kal women serving on starships. My people have never seen a Tsch’kal woman, and we don’t know much about your society other than the warriors and diplomats are all men. When asked about your women, the diplomats would mention that you were mothers and then change the subject.”
She stared at me. “No. What do you mean about offending me?”
“Well, that’s what I mean. I don’t know anything about you. You said that you shared a room with other women. Were you segregated from the men? Is it improper for me to talk to you without a male member of your family being here? Or another woman?” I pointed at her. “You need to wash, but you’re going to need my help.” Her face darkened at that, and I held my hands up. “We’ve established the fact that you are embarrassed by needing my help because I am not a Tsch’kal woman. It can’t be helped. But we need to work on the details of how I can help you. In order to wash yourself, I’ll need to help you into the shower. I’ll need to help you get undressed. When you’re done, I’ll need to help you get up, get dry, and get dressed.”
She finished shoveling the remainder of the rice into her mouth, then regarded me silently.
“I’m asking for you to help me,” I said. “Help me understand what is okay for you. Not just personally, but culturally. I gather that in your culture, it’s the women who typically provide this kind of care?”
She nodded. “You are an outsider. Not just a member of a different clan. You are an alien. It is difficult, because we were told that we would never need to deal with humans. We didn’t need to know your place in the order of things. Now you are my nursemaid. If you were a Tsch’kal male member of a rival clan, I would fight you rather than accept your help. If you were a female, I would be uncooperative. But you are outside of that. You are alien,” she gestured at me, “and the only other aliens we know are the Bugs. A Bug would kill me, not care for me. I don’t know how to feel. I’m embarrassed. I’m angry. I hurt, and not just my belly, my whole body. I smell bad, I miss my mother, I miss my ship, and I miss my people.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “And you! You saved me. You provided me with care. You give me food and water.” She picked at the blanket. “You give me this to keep warm on a ship that’s too cold. And you are happy to care for me!” She glared at me. “I am a burden! And you! You act like I am not!” She buried her face in her hands, weeping.
I wasn’t sure what to do. If she was a human woman, I’d comfort her. It sounded like she wanted me to act put out. Being nice to her seemed to upset her. Fuck it. It was time for a different tactic.
“You’re my clan,” I said. That had an effect. Her head snapped up. She looked incredulous.
“You are not Tsch’kal!”
I gestured around. “Do you see any Tsch’kal around here that maybe I missed?” She shook her head. “I don’t see any other humans. So until we get off this planet, we’re a clan. We live together, we eat together, we work together, and we survive together.”
“But you are unmateable.” I wasn’t sure the translator was getting that one right.
“Does it matter?” I asked. She looked angry. “We only have each other. If I get injured, I expect you to care for me. To help me get dressed. To help me to the toilet. To help me get in bed. Because the way I see it, surviving is more important than any cultural hangups I may have.” I sighed. She was now staring at me, mouth agape. “You are a burden. And so am I. I’m carrying you right now, because you can’t carry yourself. I expect you to carry me if, and when I can’t carry myself.”
“You don’t understand! My clan was on that ship!” she cried. “They’re gone! When we got back from transporting our warriors, I was to be mated to an allied clan. You can’t be my clan because you’re unmateable!”
I shook my head. “You’re the senior surviving member of your clan?” She stopped crying and looked at me, then nodded. “My family died when I was ten. I grew up in foster care until I was old enough to join the Marines. I am my own clan.” I took her hand again. “I hereby offer you an alliance.”
She actually laughed. “That’s not how it works. And you’re unmateable.”
I shook my head. “That doesn’t matter. An alliance is mutually beneficial. I need your help to survive on this planet.”
She shook her head and sighed again. “There’s more to it than that. You don’t understand.” She looked around. “Besides, you have this ship. You don’t need me.”
I scoffed. “You’re an engineer, right?” She nodded. “Then I do need you. If things start to break, you’ll need to fix them. Maybe you can fix the SuperLight so we can get out of here.” That seemed to mollify her.
“Very well. I accept your alliance.” She looked me up and down. “You have much to learn about Tsch’kal society.” She sighed again. “I still need to wash. I’m covered in blood and dirt.”
I pulled the blanket off and carefully pulled the side of the gown in to expose the surgical dressing, then realized that the lights were too dim to see. I turned them back up. The scar under the dressing was red and angry looking. There was fluid and what looked like brownish blood inside. “Gentle,” I said, placing the back of my hand over it. It felt hot. I had the AutoDoc run another diagnostic, and it injected more antibiotics. “It was getting infected,” I explained. “The dressing will protect it when you wash.” I scooped her up in my arms.
“Gentle,” she said. The translator wasn’t needed, she said it in English. Granted, the second syllable was a bit muddled by her guttural pronunciation.
“Yeah,” I said, “Pashcoor.” I was sure I butchered the pronunciation. She laughed as the translator said, “Careful.” Close enough.
“Päshcoor,” she said, correcting me by emphasizing the guttural “ash” and drawing out the R at the end. “Gentle,” the translator said. She trilled the R a few times.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.