Outpost: Hetero Edition
Chapter 8: Huntress
Copyright© 2017 by Snekguy
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 8: Huntress - When he uncovers corruption in the heart of the Pinwheel, Schaffer is made to disappear, sent to die in a remote region of Borealis. PLEASE NOTE: There are two version of this story, one includes bisexual and gay scenes, please ensure you're reading the one that appeals to you! This is the HETEROSEXUAL version.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Reluctant Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Military Science Fiction Aliens Space FemaleDom Rough Group Sex Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Cream Pie Oral Sex Petting Voyeurism Big Breasts Public Sex Size Politics Slow Violent
Schaffer slammed his hand down on the console, frustration overcoming him. He picked up the sheet of paper he had been recording his findings on, checking his crude drawing of the control panel, what buttons he had been able to discern the functions of labeled in blue ink. Fortunately the pens had thawed from their frozen state, apparently they still worked, and there had been plenty of paper sealed in airtight boxes in the storage room for him to write on. The console was a mystery however, and without proper documentation he was beginning to doubt he would ever gain control of the transmitter. He had found one new function however, as he had theorized upon first entering the outpost there were AG field generators installed beneath the floor, the same gravity manipulators that were used on spaceships. He had managed to activate them and return the gravity within the confines of the base to Earth norm, one standard gravity, much to the confusion and amusement of the aliens. Runt had refused to step inside the building until Schaffer had taken his hand and led him inside, like a child refusing to sleep until its parent had checked under the bed for monsters. Zagza had propelled himself into the ceiling with one of his bounding steps, smashing one of the panels and covering himself in dust. It took them a while to adjust, they had no idea what gravity was after all, and he had no way to explain it to them. The relief on Schaffer’s aching joints and sore muscles was immediate, and he had felt as if a fifty pound rucksack had been removed from his shoulders. Finally he would be able to concentrate on the task at hand without that distraction, once Yuka and Yura had stopped bouncing off the walls and shrieking with child-like glee of course.
The computer eluded him, every time he felt he was close to unraveling the mysteries of the strange console and its purpose-built operating system something threw him off, and he was right back to square one again. There were labyrinthian menus and sub-menus full of commands that would control the innumerable servos and gyroscopes that made up the complex machinery of the satellite dish, and a graphical interface that displayed base functions and status, but he couldn’t find any commands that would allow him to alter the data the dish was sending. It was still operational and active, that much was sure. He had been able to locate animated graphs that tracked the incoming and outgoing bandwidth, along with the power draw of the transmitter, yet nothing to indicate what that data was or how to modify it. This was a spy station that had been erected with the express purpose of trawling Borealan networks for sensitive data, that much was known to him, so was it possible that even the personnel who had access to the computer itself might not have the necessary UNN clearance to view the data it transmitted?
It was a real head-scratcher, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was running out of time. The aliens had a limited stock of food, they couldn’t hang around forever, and if he didn’t succeed in sending a distress signal soon they might be forced to return to the longhouse. Sure they could always come back, but the journey seemed difficult even for them, and he didn’t have the language skills to explain why coming here was so important. They may not be willing to make a second attempt.
Osha was calling him for dinner, and he blushed, remembering the previous night’s activities. She called again, her voice echoing through the halls of the base, and he thought it best to abandon his venture for now and get a hot meal. He could use a break, and he was pretty hungry. He made his way to the kitchen, sulking somewhat due to his lack of progress. All of the ice in the base had melted now, the heating system was running at full capacity and keeping the interior at a constant balmy temperature. The aliens seemed to love it, would they even want to return to their primitive longhouse after discovering the magic of central heating? Food was the bigger factor though, they might not be able to hunt here, and if they didn’t hunt they didn’t eat. Schaffer hadn’t seen Scarface for several days now, and he wondered if she was roaming the tundra somewhere nearby, scouring the land for sources of nourishment.
The aliens could not sit around the kitchen table, for it was far too small for them both in terms of surface area and height, so they contented themselves with preparing their meat on it and then retreating to other areas of the base to eat. They were rationing the food it seemed, holding off on their usual feasting for the duration of their stay in the base. Not that it mattered to Schaffer, as their portions were still copious by human standards. He took his share of the meat from Osha, placing it on a plate from one of the cupboards and starting to cut it into more sizable chunks with cutlery. This still fascinated the aliens, as their sharp, hooked claws meant that they had no use for eating utensils. All of the aliens had been warmer towards him since his ... encounter the previous night. Perhaps word had traveled that their human guest had finally taken part in their sordid rituals, or maybe they could smell the pheromones of their kin on his skin. Either way, even the members of the pack he had not been formally introduced to were keen to get their hands on him now.
He didn’t mind it so much now, it felt ... good, welcome. As if sex had been some kind of initiation they now seemed to consider him a true pack member, and apparently fair game for unsolicited petting. He had decided to take the stick out of his ass and just go with it, he would surely be visited again tonight, and he felt a guilty excitement well in his belly at the prospect as he chewed the oily meat. Did he really want to give up his newfound sense of belonging and easy access to what could only be described as mind blowing sex in order to return to his mundane and frankly unfulfilling job on the Pinwheel?
He swallowed, banishing the thought from his mind. Worry about that later, right now just focus on getting access to the dish’s data stream. There would be time for hard choices and introspection when he actually had options available to him. He finished his meal quickly, eager to return to the computer console and resume his work, but paused for a moment on his way out to allow Osha to scratch his scalp.
He worked late into the night, making little progress. All of the aliens had retired to their respective piles by the time his eyes became itchy and fatigue began to scratch at the back of his brain like some neglected dog begging to be let in. He stretched, yawning, and turned to make his way to the crew quarters. He was interrupted by a metallic clang of metal on metal, and a draft of chill wind that blew through the corridor. Someone had opened the main door.
Curious, he changed direction, finding a very bedraggled Scarface pushing the main door closed behind her as she pushed through rapidly melting snow that had followed her in. She was wrapped in her white cloak, a shadow cast by the long hood obscuring her face. She started when she saw him, then relaxed.
She pulled back her hood, appreciating the new heat of the base, and Schaffer saw that her fur was matted with ice. He beckoned for her to follow him, and after a moment of hesitation she complied. She stumbled, clearly confused by the low gravity. Schaffer knew where to find towels, gesturing for the alien to sit on a coffee table in the lounge area while he rubbed her down as she thawed. He set a kettle on the stove in the kitchen, they were electric and worked without a need for fuel, intending to heat some water enough for her to drink. He had no coffee or tea, though he was unsure if the alien would have appreciated such things anyway.
It didn’t take long for the water to warm, and he poured it into a cup, testing it with his finger before bringing it back to her. She sniffed it experimentally, it probably smelled of metal due to the likely rusty kettle, but she seemed happy to drink it. He took her cloak, placing it on a nearby chair, and ran the fluffy towel down her back and across her shoulders as she sat and sipped her beverage. The ice and snow was melting rapidly, but the liberal application of towels was preventing the cold water from dampening her fur.
There wasn’t much fat on her back and shoulders, Scarface was more lean than the other aliens, and the sinewy muscles that he felt under his hands as they dragged the towel across her body further illustrated that. She had fat deposits, mostly confined to her hips, butt and breasts, which gave her a kind of pear shaped figure, but where her insulation was thin her musculature rose to the surface. She was wearing a sling to support and cover her bust that tied behind her shoulders with leather straps, and a loincloth that hung over her loins and butt, tied around her waist like some kind of giant string bikini. She was peppered with scars, pink marks where the hair follicles had been damaged and could no longer grow. Her back was practically a tapestry of struggle and battle, Schaffer lacked the shared vocabulary to ask her where she had gotten them.
Her tail waved back and forth, trailing on the ground as Schaffer rubbed her down, she seemed to be enjoying the sensation. He rubbed her head, and had her raise her arms for him so he could dry those. He moved to her ribs and hips, a little apprehensive about skirting her front and her butt. Scarface wasn’t like the other aliens, she was less social, and he had never seen her join one of the piles in order to sleep or participate in their ... activities. He didn’t know how she might react if his hands roamed beyond the acceptable boundaries, he might end up with his own scars, the alien equivalent of a slap to deter an overly friendly suitor. She intrigued him though, she was mysterious, strong and perpetually silent. Something about her just drew his attention. He remembered how they had fished together, the alien wrapping him under her long cloak and pulling him against her warm body, the first time he had seen her express any kind of affection for anyone.
She broke his train of thought, tugging at the sleeve of his suit and looking back at him. Oh, she wanted him to dry her front, fair enough. He walked around to stand in front of her and started to dry her belly with the towel, it was equally peppered with scars, one especially large one that ran across her stomach looked as if it had very nearly disemboweled her. He could feel her abdominal muscles flexing as he moved, responding to his touch, twin rows of hard bunches that protruded through her soft fat layer. They weren’t outwardly visible due to her fur, but they were powerful, honed by a lifetime of hunting and foraging.
She seemed confused that he was avoiding her breasts, and gripped his wrist in her hand, moving the towel up to her chest. She had him dry her cleavage, the area that was not concealed by the sling, and while there was nothing distinctly sexual about the act he couldn’t help but blush as her flesh gave way under his touch. She smelled of snow and exertion, and she pushed out her boobs so that he might reach them more easily. She breathed more heavily as he ran the towel over them, and he felt her eyes lingering on his warm cheeks as he tried to avoid her gaze. He moved down to her thighs, and she writhed slowly as he dried their sensitive inner surface, was she enjoying the sensation?
He looked up at her, daring to meet her eyes, finding her expression sultry and inviting. She opened her legs further as the chair creaked under her weight, lowering a thumb and forefinger to pull loose the leather strings that held up her loincloth. Schaffer swallowed hard as it fell away, revealing her mound covered in delicate white fluff, and her pink labia peeking from beneath. She lowered her fingers, parting them to be sure Schaffer could see, a drip of clear moisture leaking free.
Damn it, he was still sore from the previous night, but the allure of her invitation was too much for him to refuse. He had a good idea what she expected of him, and it was confirmed when he lowered his head towards her loins and she gripped a handful of his hair in her fist, tugging him closer. She was rougher than Osha had been, less considerate, and it was exciting. He kneeled, resting his hands on her silken thighs, and she looked down at him with a lecherous expression. She tugged, pulling his hair, and he leaned closer to her.
She was so warm, the heat from her sex radiated outwards, he could feel it on his red cheeks. He sunk his fingers into her inner thighs, her soft, plaint fat giving way to steely muscle beneath, firm and taut. She loosed a low, drawn out sigh, one of the few vocalizations Schaffer had ever heard her make, and tugged at his hair again as if to urge him on. It hurt a little, but it tickled his scalp in a way that he liked. He felt oddly compliant, and rubbed his cheek against her leg, breathing hot air on her swollen, dripping loins. Her fur was like velvet on his skin, and he drew closer, the sweet smell of her musk filling his nose. She smelled stronger than Osha, perhaps it was because of her semi-nomadic lifestyle or because she had just returned from the hunt, but the scent was deeply sexual, almost like honey with an underlying hint of salt. It drew him closer, like a bee to a flower, and before he knew what was happening his tongue was parting her lips.
Her grip grew stronger as if afraid he might escape from her grasp, and she seethed with arousal as he explored her vulva, tracing the creases and folds of her organ with the tip of his tongue. He could feel her powerful muscles flexing under her fat as she squirmed, rolling her hips, grinding against his face as if seeking to drive him deeper. She was slippery, glistening, the sight of her exposed, rosy flesh sent a familiar throb of excitement through Schaffer’s now aching erection. His member strained against his pants, struggling to break free as her excitement slid down his chin. She was sopping, her juices dampening the fluff around her crotch, it tasted salty and sour, oddly metallic, but he was too turned on to care. He mouthed and kissed, dragging the surface of his tongue across her flesh, making her twitch and close her thighs around his head as he flicked it across her protruding clitoris.
She was reacting more strongly than his skill level would suggest, he wasn’t exactly practiced, perhaps it was something about his anatomy? The aliens had far longer and more powerful tongues than humans, they could probably reach deep inside their partners, however they were course and were perhaps less suited to such delicate work. Human tongues might be shorter, but they were smoother too. Emboldened, Schaffer pressed her firm nub of flesh between his lips and sucked it into his mouth, circling the tip with his tongue. Both of her hands found purchase in his hair, and her steely thighs crushed his head between them. Scarface arched her spine, opening her mouth in a silent wail as her tail coiled around one of the chair legs and Schaffer’s mouth was flooded with a fresh stream of her essence. It startled him, she was so wet, so slippery, it dripped from her loins in strings, clinging to her fur and linking his lips to hers in strands.
He lingered there for a few more moments, drawing her clitoris from beneath its hood of protective skin and painting it with his saliva, then moved down to circle her twitching opening. She gripped him as he pushed his tongue inside, she was so tight, the powerful muscles of her walls clinging to him like a vice and undulating, trying to drag him deeper inside her. He wanted desperately to unfasten his suit and plunge his throbbing member into the huntress, but she would not release her grip on his hair. She kept him between her legs, her sticky nectar making the fine hairs that lined her thighs stick to his cheeks.
He slipped a finger into her, almost frictionless due to her excitement, and her tunnel clamped down on it, gripping him almost painfully. It felt as if she could crush a damned soda can in there, and she was feverishly hot, almost scalding to the touch. He dug around with his finger as he licked, mapping the bumpy, fleshy interior. He remembered how being inside Osha had felt, the aliens were equipped with unbearable bumps and soft barbs that cruelly raked anything that had the fortune, or the misfortune, of being thrust inside. They had the added effect of drawing back his foreskin, exposing his tender glans and allowing the textured tunnel to scour it. Was he drooling, or was his mouth just full of her emission? He wanted her, badly.
She thrust against his face, seeking out further stimulation and glazing him with her leaking juices, rolling her hips as if she were attempting to fuck his face. Whenever he tried to pull away she would tighten her grip in his hair, sending a jolt of confused pleasure down his spine. She seemed almost desperate, perhaps she was more antisocial than he had thought, and had not participated in the pack’s sordid activities for some time. If at all.