Gyft (Rescued by the Alien)

Chapter Seven

GYFT:

I GAPE AT THE marvelousness. She is soft all over.

The bride giggles.

“Jesus. They don’t fall out and bounce! Well, I guess they bounce, jiggle, whatever, but you don’t have to catch them. Hey! Stop that.” Her breath suddenly becomes raspy as I finger the tight, pink nipples that harden under my touch. “Can’t do that. Hands off my boobs, bub!” She slaps my hands away but the air sweetens with a hint of her... arousal.

I find I’m not horrified by the scent.

“Come, Bride,” I say, and should be dismayed that my voice is suddenly deeper, more masculine with my own interest. “I shall get in the shower with you. Easier to wash us both that way.”

I reach for the back hem of my shirt, tugging it up over my back, then my head.

The bride stares, entranced. “What are you doing?” she asks, rather distractedly as if spellbound.

I point at the double showerheads, indicating we’re about to clean up.

“You save water by communal bathing?” she asks, her voice high-pitched and desperate.

Not sure what she’s asking, but she seems enthralled with my form. I puff my chest out. “Yes, sweet bride. This is what you have to look forward to. ”

Calmly, I unbutton my trousers and tug them down my hips, letting my cock spring free. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t look away. Brave little maiden.

“Holy Jesus, that thing’s a monster,” she mutters. “Cover it up.”

I tug her hand, encouraging her to step forward as I pull on her travel garments with my other hand.

“What’s happening? This can’t be normal—”

Her voice drops off when I lift her from the abysmal layers of black she wears, leaving them to flutter on the floor. My hands wrap around her waist... there’s a tiny string that separates her untailed butt cheeks—I tug that too, to find it snakes between them and must be pulled down her hips and long legs.

Entrancing. Not sure what the point of such a strange undergarment is, but I like it.

Her cheeks are a bit more attractive with the pink that tinges her face instead of the odd black slashes that had been there before I washed them in the pond. She sputters nonsensical words until I place her in the shower under the spray, holding her waist to keep her steady as she wobbles on the wet floor.

“Well, I never—”

Her lonesome two breasts jiggle as she wobbles. I reach out for them again, and she smacks my hands.

“No touchie! No touchie!”

“What? Mate, we are married.” I wince. I did not mean to call her mate. “I mean bride. That’s what I meant. Married for now, until we swap languages and discuss separating.”

The thought of which makes me angry. Then confused. I do not want to be saddled with this odd creature whom I’m ashamed to take out in public.

“I mean, it’s no different than me reaching out for your dick.” With that, my mate reaches down and fondles my cock.

A groan escapes me. Her touch is... exquisite .

“Oh! You’re not supposed to like this. You’re supposed to see how invasive it is. A reminder that you keep touching another male’s wife.”

“Wife,” I agree. “Is that your word for stroking my cock? Keep wifing it, then. Wife it up. Yass, up and down, just like that. Don’t forget the balls.”

“Wife?” The cute thing wrinkles her nose. “I’m not your wife. I’m Gyft’s.”

“Yes, I’m Gyft. Now, keep wifing my cock.” Another groan erupts and her hand freezes, as if she’s just become aware she’s working it.

I sigh, feeling the loss. “Too soon? I knew it was too good to be true. Come, then. Let’s wash you.”

I flatten my palm on top of her chest—over her delectable double-breasts—and push her under the cascading water.

She splutters, then I yelp as she reaches for my cock and uses it to pull me under the spray with her.

“Gentle, my bride. You act as if you own it already.” Technically, I guess she does. And the thought isn’t as abhorrent as I thought it might be.

I reach for the cleanser and press a bubble into my palms, then squeeze them to burst it. A million soft suds begin to fizz, and I bring my hands up to the crown of her head. Gently I rub the lather in, massaging her scalp.

Bride closes her eyes and moans.

A smile twitches my lips. She’s an odd creature but her actions are adorable.

Softly, I rub it into her face and she keeps her eyes closed as if allowing it, so I spread it over her eyelids too.

Since her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, I take the opportunity to spread the soft soap over the two lonesome breasts. She doesn’t slap my hand this time, probably because she’s afraid to open her eyes. But now, I can look my feel. I can touch what’s mine, and see the tight buds of her nipples pucker .

I trail my finger down the cleft of her single cleavage. “I find this attractive. Simple. Elegant. Now it seems as if three breasts on a chest are cluttered.” I frown. That can’t be a good sign. How can I prefer my bride when I haven’t even had her?

I run the soap into the under crease of her breasts, loving the way her breath hitches with my touch. She wants me.

“How much more can you take?” I croon, as I trace a path down to the V between her legs. More thatch covers that area, like the one on top her head, but it’s darker and more mysterious in the area between her legs.

“What is this for? Do you need warmth here? Like a... wilderness beast?”

A groan answers me as I tug gently on the small strip of fur. And then I fully explore her body, separating the folds of skin that are thicker than those of our females. There are double folds, again like the double-breasts. I’m surprised that her posia , the nub of sensitivity, is at the top of the folds instead of inside.

I circle it. “Is it too sensitive to touch directly? Being on the outside of your body?” I ask, but of course she can’t answer me. For the first time, I wished we knew each other’s languages. I reach behind her and soap the area between her cheeks, which makes her gasp a little and push me away. But I simply tut.

“My bride, we must get you clean everywhere, yes? If you’re not exhausted, I’d like to—” I feel myself deflate. I can’t possibly lie with my bride tonight. Not until we can understand each other and I can explain that it is a one-time only fling.

And how much I will enjoy it.

And how much I will make sure she enjoys it.

Until then, it’s hands off.

She steps back into the spray and I soap myself while I watch her rinse. Droplets of water cascade down her body, over her mounds. Then slowly bead on her delectable nipples .

Her fingers look graceful, even though, like her breasts, she’s missing one. She smooths the water from her face, and over her skull.

“My hair’s so soft,” she says. “My skin. Damn, that soap is the bomb. Better than anything I’ve used.” Her eyes pop open. “How did I not notice you have a tail?”

Not sure what she’s saying but her eyes land on her ankle, where my tail slowly rubs back and forth. It’s like it has a mind of its own, taking over, inching its own way up her leg to explore the musky warmth buried between her thighs.

“I know, I know. We must be good until you can understand me. My tail won’t go any higher than this.”

I sigh and switch off the spray, then switch on the warmers. Red lamps bring instant heat and I reach for a squirt of oil, rubbing it between my palms as I smooth the liquid from her skin. The droplets mix with the light oil, absorbing as I rub.

“I got this, I got this,” she says, pushing my hands away. Ahh, she also realizes it’s hard to endure each other’s touch without taking more.

I wrap her in a robe that hangs over the bathroom hook, reaching for one also. I usher her out into the bedroom, the entire time wondering how I’m going to ask the farmer for dinner without my bride at my side. How will I make her understand to stay hidden up here?

A soft knock sounds at the door and before I can bark out that we’re busy, Bride runs to the door and flings it open.

“Hi, I’m Olivia. The one under the hood.”

“Ack,” the farmer’s wife says, blinking rapidly at the sight of her.

“Olivia,” I say stiffly. “Monesse M’irshlak, meet my bride.”

“Oh. Well, she’s not quite as bad as I expected.” The farmer’s mate realizes her faux pas immediately. “I mean, she’s quite lovely. For an alien. Odd color, isn’t she? I imagine we’ll get used to it.”

I imagine descriptions of my bride will run rampant.

“As you can see, we just finished bathing,” I say stiffly .

“Ahh, yes, I thought perhaps you might like to eat up here? I brought you trays. Otherwise, you’re both welcome to join the rest of the family, and the farmhands—”

“Thank you. We appreciate the trays.”

Exactly what I intended. I’d hoped to keep my bride undercover for a little longer. Now I find that I don’t care that the farmers think she’s ugly—but I care that they might hurt my bride’s feelings by saying so.

“Wasn’t sure what aliens ate,” the female says, gesturing to the twin souls hovering in the hallway to come forward. “Hope it’s not people,” she mutters nervously. “Brought an assortment from the garden, a steak, big enough to share, some fresh baked bread.”

The twin souls, a male and female, each carefully carry a tray. They enter the room, placing the trays on the side table against the wall.

“It looks delicious,” I assure her. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

The female looks surprised and I get that funny feeling again—the one that wonders why people think my rudeness is acceptable. Perhaps I should introduce the snot-nosed brats.

Everyone knows the M’rishlak’s waited until they were older to have seedlings. A little too long because neither seems up to the task of disciplining their brats.

I sigh. “Olivia, these are Monesse M’irshlak’s twin souls. Kyno and Brisa.”

The girl-soul snorts. “Well, she has fur like a housebeast on top of her head.”

Her brother snickers. “Like a delicate litten? Might have brought her warm milk to lap from a bowl. She can pee in the sand.”

The two erupt into giggles.

The Monesse of the house turns beet purple, but doesn’t seem like she’ll correct her seedlings. Instead, she’s about to excuse their actions.

So I take charge.

“Are you truly that mannerless?” I hiss. “In my day, such rude seedlings, twin souls or not, were disciplined! Smacked upside the head. Might make you think twice if your parents did that before your parents are fined for insubordination toward the bride of the High Commander.”

“I-I apologize, Commander. They are but ninety cold seasons old.”

“Ten rotations of the sun is old enough to know better. Apparently, they’ve been coddled by their parents—for both being twin souls and living so near the deadlands. If that were taken away, perhaps they’d be more mannered when they are not so pampered.”

The female huffs. It is unheard of to criticize precious twin souls, a rare blessing. But I have never met any who were so rude, so utterly spoiled by their aging parents.

She nods jerkily, knowing I have the power to request their housing get yanked, and hastily ushers the two from the room. I guess the threat of losing their free home is enough to hasten her nestlings from our sight.

The door bangs shut.

“I must work on my manners, apparently,” I say to the bride, who’s sniffing the soup filled with garden produce. “The entire countryside thinks I’m abhorrent.”

Maybe it didn’t matter in the past, but it matters now. I don’t want them to think my bride has such a mannerless mate.

I mean... husband.