She sighs. “Your vitals are being monitored. Any sign of distress or pain outside of normal anxiety will alert us, and we will intervene.”
That’s…something, I guess. I was kind of hoping for a panic button, and I’m not sure how I feel about being monitored while I come, but then again, this isn’t just for pleasure.
It’s going to be clinical no matter what.
“Alright. Thank you.”
She nods her head, satisfied with my answer, and gestures to the chair. “Your Vyastil will be in shortly. If you have any trouble with the gown, push the call button near the door.”
I swallow loudly, and she grins reassuringly.
“I promise you’ll enjoy it. And thank you for your service.”
She gives me a small nudge, and my feet move toward the center of the room as the door snicks shut behind her.
And now I’m left to strip and lower myself into the chair. The plastic cushion is cold beneath me, and I shiver, spreading my legs nervously before shutting them. I’m not entirely sure what position I should be in.
What do they want? What do they prefer? Do they find humans sexy at all? Besides having eyes, noses, ears, and four limbs, there aren’t many similarities between us.
For a moment, I feel incredibly vulnerable.
Maybe Zane was right. Maybe I should have asked for an extension or an exemption.
But god, there’s no turning back now, even if I wanted to. I’m in this until I’m either committed to marriage or my dick no longer functions.
Until my body is sucked dry of cum and the Vyastil are satisfied. I shiver and feel a slight thickening between my legs at the thought of what’s coming next.
Will I cry out in pleasure like the other men did in those closed rooms?
Or will I hate every moment of it?
A gentle alarm sounds, and suddenly, metal cuffs appear on the arms and legs of the chair. I position my wrists and ankles inside, and they clasp lightly but firmly until I’m unable to move.
I breathe deeply, trying to calm my nerves, but that only lasts a second before the door handle turns and a Vyastil appears.
He’s taller than most, forcing my neck to crane back so I can take him in. He’s not what I expected. He’s different from the ones at the gym or who work at the coffee shop.
I don’t think he’s as old as the one who gave me my test, but he’s got an air of authority about him, especially in the way his eyes catch mine.
His dark blue hair is twisted in a low bun at the nape of his neck, and his skin is a lighter shade of teal. It shimmers in the fluorescent lights above us as he moves, and I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. He’s not wearing anything except a shawl that covers his shoulders, which immediately exposes the metal adorning his skin.
He has piercings in his pointy ears and one through his septum, and a heavy metal necklace around his neck with a pendant that rests in the center of his sternum.
And below all of that is a simple loincloth covering his groin, though I know there’s not much to see there. The Vyastil have what websites call “genital pockets.” Supposedly, they have cocks like we do, hidden away in natural sheaths.
They must extend them for fucking and breeding, but as far as I know, no human has ever been given the chance to see how it works. These are the males, of course, but there has never been any mention of females, and as far as I’m aware, no one has been brave enough to ask.
And I’m not sure if I want to be the first.
He grunts something in his language, which I don’t understand, then his face tilts down toward mine, his expression something close to disappointed.
That disapproving glare makes me shift in my chair. Does he not like what he sees? I mean, does it matter what I look like? It’s my dick he wants, right? My cum? It’s not about sex for them.
So, if that’s true, he can’t possibly care what I look like. Right?
He shakes his head and then sighs, moving to the sink to wash his hands.
“What is your name?” he asks, his accent thicker than most, almost harmonic.
