Our story so far: on an alien-occupied near-future Earth, our lovely protagonist of as-yet-indeterminate gender has been chosen to join the emperor’s harem on the far-off capital world.
But freedom isn’t free! They decide to make a run for it…
[Read Chapter 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/pollgames/comments/plpja8/that_time_i_joined_an_alien_harem_chapter_1/)
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Chapter 2: Resistance is Futa!
cw: nsfw, 18+, oral sex
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Fuck.
What am I going to do? My heart’s beating so fast.
But there’s only one choice. I have to run. I have to hide. No way am I letting some slimy alien overlord get their hands? Tentacles? Servo-motors? On me.
They’ll have to catch me first.
My best friend picks up on the first ring. “Yeah?”
I feel everything catch in my throat. “Hey. How’s uh. How’s things.”
“Oh you know. Just slaving my precious youth away under the yoke of some impossibly vast galactic empire. You?”
“Same, same. So. Uh. Remember when you said you could get me in touch with the Resistance?”
“HEY! It’s about time. Let me give you an address. Good guy. Kind of a conspiracy nut but, but you know.”
“Who isn’t, these days.”
“Right-o. Do you have a pen? I don’t want to text you anything or They might see.”
Two trains and a small small-town cab later, and I’m there. My phone’s winding down its battery in a trash bin in the city center. The suburbs are mostly free of imperial presence. What are they going to do? Post suppression droids at the tennis courts?
From the under the highway cloverleaf, I can make out the outline of the city on the sky. The central black Pylon is the only building that doesn’t shine in the sunset. And up, on the edge of the sky, before any stars, the Station. Even four years after the invasion, it’s still under construction.
I head to the address my friend whispered to me over the phone. It’s a grimy old garage in a strip mall. The parking lot is empty, the pavement deeply cracked. There’s grass growing from the seams.
I hammer on the garage door. No answer. I try again: shout a few times. The sun’ll be down soon. It’s been almost three hours since I got the text. I only had two to report for processing.
“Our quantum algorithms and biologarchs have found that you are a 98.3 percent match for our biopsychosexual metrics,” it had said. “This qualifies you to immediately enter service as an official consort (Grade 1) to our beloved Emperor Sagitar the Infinite.”
I shiver; it’s got nothing to do with the rapidly chilling air. I try hammering on the door again. No response. I look around.
Someone’s standing on the edge of the freeway, maybe half a mile away. I can barely make them out. But they weren’t there a minute ago. I squint; they turn, slowly. There’s a dim red glint from their head, like light reflecting off a bloody mirror. They’re standing like they’re looking my way.
My heart’s hammering almost as hard as my hand on the door. I jiggle the handle and try to force it open. It feels like solid brick. I glance back to the yellowing sky and the freeway. There’s no one there.
I start back down the state road. Maye if I hustle I can find a hotel or something. My fingers itch for my phone. But no. I had to get rid of it. They’d already have found me. But I can’t call a cab or find a room or even talk to my family one more time. I’m all alone.
No. They’re there. A dark figure standing on the side of the state road, maybe five hundred feet down. They’re wearing a long coat. But underneath, there’s a grey gleam. They look my way. Their eyes suddenly shine bright red.
I’m running. Back down the road, right down the middle. I don’t know where; I don’t care if I get hit by a car. I just have to run. It’s them. They found me. And they sent…
I hear the soft, mechanical wheeze and the steady, quick thump-thump of footsteps on the pavement. It’s getting louder. Closer. I only grit my teeth and try to run. I run for a park. But they’re already there. The dark figure comes to a stop by a wiry tree. Their legs stop and turn in place. But their eyes are where they’ve always been. Toward me. On me.
I bolt the other way, toward a big department store where I can still see lights on. But it’s a half mile, and the thing easily runs around me in a big loop and takes up a position by a tall overhead light. In the downward glow, its skin is visibly metallic. It shines, but not as bright as the eyes. Pure, unblinking red.
I turn and run back down the highway. By the time I get past the strip mall, my lungs are burning. My flats are starting to make my feet hate me. And my heart’s no closer to beating its way through my skin, but it’s trying. I stop for a rest, glance back. It’s only walking toward me now. Twenty yards back. I turn and try to run. I can’t. I can’t any more.
I sink to my knees. I cough up spit onto the pavement.
Under its long, dark coat, its built like a shapely human woman forged all in plated steel. There’s something artificially off putting about the way it walks casually toward me. Like it’s mocking me. Like it knows it’s got all the time in the world.
It’s got a voice-box mouth inside comically whorish steel lips and the two glowing red circles where its eyes should be. They light me up in red.
“Citizen. You are in violation of imperial directive class forty seven, failure to report for processing, tertiary subclass: vagrant harem drone (class one). You will now be subject to compliance correction and subsequent remedial processing.”
I give it my best “humanity, fuck yeah” expression and spit again. Right onto its feet, that stop a few feet from my knees. No way am I going down without a fight. Not like the cowards four years ago.
I say, “Do your worst, clanker. You’ll have to kill me first.” I’m shocked to discover, I mean it.
Its head tilts.
“This unit’s bioform analysis indicates that standard compliance inducement will only be forty seven percent effective. Analyzing. Engaging advanced compliance protocols.”
Its overcoat falls to the ground. It gleams in the sunset, naked steel.
Its feet are petite, like high heels. Thick, curvy legs. A waist like a pinched hourglass. And a smooth torso topped with two absolutely perfect tits with sharp points. The glistening arms are on its hips.
And in the space between its legs, a hatch opens and out slides a long, thick, steel cock.
It says, “Do not move.”
I’m too amazed to move. I’m too shocked to run. I’m too turned on to think.
It’s going to fuck me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. And if I try and dig my heart out from under the sweat and shivers and the hammer of my heart… I might want it.
Here’s the thing. Guys are fine. Girls are cool. But they’ve all got one major problem. They’re human. And I need. Have always needed. So much more.
This machine won’t get tired. It won’t feel a sudden pang of mercy. It won’t lose focus long enough for me to sneak in a cheap shot and bolt. And it won’t stop. Not until it’s done.
“Please,” I say. “Don’t. Wait!” But what I really think is: Please, don’t wait.
My world boils down to that steel cock. It looks just, just barely, big enough to swallow. Like it was fitted just for me. Something out a wet dream. Real, and about to pound me raw.
My heart’s still hammering, but I’m not afraid any more. I’m excited.
Its hands are slender, feminine. Its fingers tighten around the back of my head like steel cables. I can’t turn my head, can’t look away. I could close my eyes, but I don’t want to. My mouth falls open, wet and amazed, as the compliance unit’s cock slides closer to my lips.
I expect it to be cold. But there’s a spark when the tip parts my moistened lips. The steel’s warm, hums, electric. There’s a tingle where it passed over my tongue. I taste warm, acrid steel. By the time my mouth is full, I’m enjoying myself. When the cock starts to press against the back of my throat, I’m already spreading my legs.
Not that it cares what I’ve got between my legs. It’s only interested in one thing.
“Do not move. You are now being subject to advanced compliance protocols.”
I try to say something but it’s already filled my mouth. My mouth is stretched. My throat is clamped on warm, humming metal. It holds my head absolutely still, and starts to buck its hips. The limb motors whine with every forward thrust, in time to the moans I start to make.
Spit drips down the warm metal, pools in the corners of my chin. I’m crying, but I’m in heaven. How did it know? How did it know I can’t say no to a cock. Not a boy cock, not a girl cock, and certainly not some fucking amazon sex machine police robot cock. Utterly firm in my mouth. Totally in control. I haven’t gagged once.
In the first ten minutes, I cry twice, like I always do when I take cock. My shirt’s flecked with snot. I’m soaking through my pants.
It doesn’t slow down. It doesn’t stop. It fucks me over and over.
By twenty minutes, I need to cum so bad I reach for my groin. But it grabs my arms and lifts them above my head, effortlessly. For one wonderful free moment I can guzzle it as deep as I like. I’ve almost got it all the way down when it gets hold of my hair again.
“Do not move.” There’s no annoyance. No amusement. Just pure, firm insistence. This is what I get. This is what I deserve.
After thirty minutes, I’m genuinely starting to worry it won’t stop. I’ve tried to grind my crotch myself into the street so hard, I’ve chaffed my knees through my jeans. But it holds me too tight, too high up. All I can do is trash my legs and try, desperately, to rub myself on something. Anything. But it knows. It won’t let me.
I don’t deserve it. It’s too much. It’s too good.
All I can do is get fucked in the mouth. And its cock will never, ever, get tired. It won’t lose interest. I’m the only thing it has to worry about, and I need correcting. I need to take cock and learn my lesson. Don’t run. Don’t struggle. Stay still.
After an hour, I’m exhausted. Bone tired, in a way I never thought I could be from cock. My tears are long dried. My pants have soaked and dried so many times; the need to cum is a dull throb. I’m no closer, and it’s only gotten harder.
And still it continues to fuck my throat. And my throat is always moist, and my lips are chaffed but I continue to moan. Because it’s more than I’ve ever had, and almost, almost as much as I could ever possibly want.
I realize, in a terrible sick moment. I love this. I love taking this untiring, perfect, hard steel cock. I could do it for another hour. I could do it forever. They could hook me up to a nutrient drip and pound my throat and I’d never ask it to stop. That’s how much a a fucking slut for cock I am.
And somehow, they knew. They knew exactly how to make me a good little bitch.
I haven’t thought about running away once since it put that cock down my throat. My whole world’s wrapped around the next thrust, the endless back and forth, in and out, the perfect glide of warm steel on wet lips and the throbbing fullness in my throat.
When it pulls out, I’m too dazed to notice. I only mouth the air for another second, two, blink. My mouth closes sore, but it feels empty. I glance up, my cheeks streaked with dry tears, my lips tasting of snot. Its hands are firm on my hair, my legs still folded under me. My precum is a cold, wet fact in my pants.
Its glowing, red eyes do not blink as they tighten and consider me. A lens clicks down. A chime sounds.
“Advanced compliance protocols complete.”
An hour later, the pursuit drone deposits me on the counter of the city center authority post. It backs up and stands at attention. A Phant officer waddles over as fast as his half ton of grey, mottled flesh inside a too-small uniform will allow. His secondary hands wriggle a pen from his pocket and start filling out a form. Two of his black, beady eyes survey me while the other two runs down the paper.
“Another runaway? We know how to handle your sort.”
His primary arm uncoils toward the far wall, where an empty compliance suit hangs. It’s dark and glossy and studded all over with pain circuits. The plastic mask is thick and heavy, but tight enough to seal me off completely. The space where my face will go is a dark pit staring back at me.
A scared looking youngish human woman, about my age, is sitting in a chair beside the ‘suit. Every now and then, she glances up toward it, the over at the desk, then down at the floor. Her legs are folded underneath her and her hands are clasped so tight the knuckles are white.
“Now,” the Phant officer grumbles at me. “Are you going to be good? Or do you need to be gift wrapped?”
Behind his desk, a Squid officer laughs, an oily hiss.
[VOTE ON THEIR CHOICE HERE!](https://www.reddit.com/r/pollgames/comments/pn7l7a/that_time_i_joined_an_alien_harem_chapter_2/)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/pn7ngp/that_time_i_joined_an_alien_harem_chapter_2