A Poll Your Own Erotic Adventure
The Story so Far: our hero attempted to flee their fate, but was subdued by a tireless police robot. Now appropriately grateful and a tad more compliant, they’ve fallen into the custody of the occupying alien empire’s soldiers…
[Chapter 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/pollgames/comments/plpja8/that_time_i_joined_an_alien_harem_chapter_1/) [Chapter 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/pollgames/comments/pn7l7a/that_time_i_joined_an_alien_harem_chapter_2/)
—————
CW: NSFW, 18+, bondage, brief mentions of full-body encasement and lobotomy
—————
I shiver on the desk in the authority post where the pursuit drone left me. The Phant officer on duty scrutinizes me with all four of his beady black eyes, buried in the grey folds of his face.
“Are you going to be good? Or do you need to be gift wrapped?”
The empty black plastic and metal compliance suit stares back at me. It’s waiting.
I say, “I’ll be good officer, I swear.”
The Phant grunts with a disdainful flick of his primary arm. It’s thick, and muscled, and veiny, and ends in three stick fingers, like a misshapen mitten. Part of the way up, on a knobby spur like a bent back elbow, his single nostril flares.
“We’ll see.”
I’m shackled to the transport car by my waist and ankles and neck. Like a piece of furniture strapped to a hand truck. Except it’s a small antigravity platform with a handle on the back and a hollow just large enough for one. It’s deep night when they roll me out onto the spaceport tarmac. The city Pylon is a black scar against scattered stars. The Station twinkles up above.
They roll me up the dropship ramp and put me down just across from the girl from the authority post. She’s sealed to her transport platform like me. It’s a tiny cabin; we’re close enough to reach out. For some reason, they’ve left out arms free.
She’s youngish, maybe a bit older than me. Brown skin and slender with long black hair in braids. If we weren’t both prisoners in an alien dropship for transport to our new lives as harem slaves, I’d ask her to do my hair for me. I’ve never known what to do with it.
“Hey,” I whisper. Her eyes unclench and open. She glances around feverishly. There’s sweat on her forehead.
“Are they going to ‘suit us?” Her voice is hoarse, like she spent most of the day crying.
I murmur, “I think we’re on our way. So probably not.”
“Oh thank Christ.” Her shoulders slump in the braces that hold her tight. She stares at the ceiling; her eyes close. Her chest heaves and she sighs, like silent sobs.
I say, “Yeah those things are nasty.” Not because I believe it, but because she probably needs to hear someone’s voice that isn’t fucking alien chirps. And maybe I don’t mind being the second most scared-shitless in the room for a change today.
“I ran.” She swallows again. “They caught me on the border. They put me in for…” she shivers. “I don’t know how long. I was so thirsty when they let me out. I didn’t stop shaking for hours…”
“That sucks,” I say.
She sobs, just once. And it’s enough to spill tears down her cheeks.
“I’ll be good,” she whispers. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good.” She’s talking to herself. It’s like she’s praying. Begging.
Shit. I knew the ‘suits were bad. But I thought maybe they might be a little bit sexy. Rubber and steel, total control, yum? Plus emotional stimulation through the hindbrain. But then I think: what if they set it to fear and forgot to turn it off?
I whisper, a bit louder, “It’s okay. We’re safe.”
They’ve closed the transport door. We’re alone in the sudden, deep blood red glow of the launch lights. Outside, the engines are a gathering whine.
But she’s still crying, big fat tears that leave lines all the way down to her chin. She shakes, and struggles against the restraints. Her breaths are shallow and far, far too quick.
I muster all my confidence and say, “Hey. You’re okay. We’ll be okay. We’re just going on a trip. To see the universe. Didn’t you ever want to go into space?”
She blinks at me.
“Not, uh.” She sort of hiccups and sucks in a little snot. “Not as an alien harem slave.”
“Tell me about it,” I say with superb fuck-my-life energy. “Couldn’t they buy me a drink first?”
She laughs, just once and only a little. But it’s enough. She starts to breathe normally and blink away the tears. Without thinking, I reach over and brush one way with my thumb. Before I know it, she’s pressing her lips to my palm. And then my fingers are in her mouth.
I thought I was fucked out. But the pressure between my legs says otherwise. I’m so dizzy, so scared, I hardly know what I’m doing. But she seems to like it and want more.
I run my fingers around her lips. They’re so full. I hate the harsh, red light and shadows they’ve got us in. I’m sure she’s a lovely caramel color.
She stops. She holds my wet fingers in her hands and stumbles through, “I have a girlfriend. I’m sorry. I should have said.”
I blink. “Do you want to stop?”
She holds in a sob and stares at me with big, brown eyes.
“No! No, I want this. She’s gone. That’s not fair. I’m the one who’s probably never coming back. I need to forget her. I hope…” She sniffles, and tears well up. “I hope she’s already forgotten me. That’d be easier. Wouldn’t it?”
I say, “Yes, that’d be easier,” and brush more tears from her eyes. She hums softly at my every touch. Poor thing, I think. She’s so brave. She’s leaving behind so much more than me. She deserves a little kindness.
She’s spread her legs as far as she can in the restraints. It’s a little pathetic. It’s very hot. She sees me staring, and for the first time, she smiles.
I start to ask, “Can I touch you?” but before I finish she presses my hand between her legs. It’s warm and just a little wet, even through her jeans. I cup the denim and press until she gasps and rub until she moans.
“Is this okay?” I ask, but she’s already nodding, over and over, and gasping through grit teeth. She’s trying so hard to rub herself on my hand. Trying to steal just one moment of real, human touch before whatever’s waiting for us up in the stars. And for a few minutes, we both forget about everything else. We’ve got someone.
The dropship hull gives one last, fitful sputter. Thrusters flare through little porthole windows, bright enough to make me squint. We’re hammered into our restraints. The ground is a blur, and the city is a dwindling constellation, and the stars are bursting in on every inch of everywhere around us.
We both moan as the ship throbs into our bodies. She presses my hand so close, I don’t even have to move. The liftoff makes my arm vibrate all the way from my toes to the tips of my fingers, buried between her leg. Slowly, then all at once, Earth slips away. Slowly the atmosphere lets us slip through its fingers and the shaking starts to calm. My hand feels like it’s moving on its own, in time to her grunts, now the loudest thing in the universe.
She cums in a shivery way. It starts with a shake in her shoulders and finishes with a curl of her toes. She slumps in the restraints and breathes deep, calm moments.
“Thank you,” she mutters.
“No problem,” I say. Her fingers are already halfway to my waist before I catch them, fold her hand in mine, and press it to my lips.
“Not tonight,” I murmur into the skin of her palm. “I uh.” I roll my eyes up at the restraints on my forehead. “I have a headache.”
She laughs, and for a second everything’s okay.
She says, “I’m Gemma.”
“Nice to meet you, Gemma. I’m Sam. Or Sammy. Just not Samantha or Samuel. So uh. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
She laughs again, brighter and clearer. And she smiles, and lets me cradle her hand in mine and caress the tips of her fingers with my lips. That’s enough for me. The world’s falling away beneath us, but we’re held in each other’s eyes.
But really, I’m worried if she touches me where my body wants her to, I’ll break. Snap like a cheap pair of plastic laundry clips that have sat in the sun too long. And there’s a sturdy little voice in the back of my head that says: I gotta be strong. Gotta be sustainably brave. You ain’t seen nothin yet.
So all I need’s a little touch. To remind me I’m still here.
They can take me away from everything. But they can’t take me from me.
After a while, Gemma dozes off. But I can’t seem to even close my eyes.
The Station is a point in the void that becomes a grey tangle of decks and struts that becomes a glittering panoply of steel and glass as the shuttle thrusts toward it. The Earth only a blue-grey disc when the dropship windows rotates past.
Once, I think I see another ship, a blazing line down towards the edge of the world. Maybe they’re carrying materials for a new Pylon? A troop of battle thralls? Alien garbage to dump in that expanding spot in the middle of the Sahara? …the remains of the last batch of harem slaves?
No, I think. That’s ridiculous. When they’re done with us they’ll probably just incinerate the bodies. Why waste fuel? I don’t mention this thought to Gemma.
We dock and they roll us out and down the gangway. Before we’re pulled apart, Gemma gives me a quick squeeze of my fingers. I give her my best wink and jaunty wave, but it’s half-hearted. Then I’m rolling through a long hallway. My heart’s starting to twist and hammer inside my chest. There’s sweat down the back of my shirt where I’m pressed to the metal cart.
They leave me in a small room with white walls and no windows. A wheezing Squid officer checks something on his wrist-comm and leaves. The door seals behind him. I’m alone. My breaths are the loudest thing in the room. No matter how hard I try, they sound like a steam engine in my ears.
The door hisses open. There’s no footsteps, no sign of anyone entering. It seals shut.
I hold my breath. I hear breathing.
“Clever,” says a voice, just beside my ear. Soft. Lyrical. Cold. “Usually I have a nice, long preliminary observation period. But since you know we’re alone…”
They flicker into view just beside me.
They’re roughly humanoid but very slender. They’ve got four long arms with double joints. They’re wearing a grey skin-tight suit with gloves. Only their face is showing, but that’s bad enough. Their skin is… bubbly. Slick and sick-green and covered with glistening egg-like sacks that swell when they breathe. Their mouth goes all the way from one side to the other. Inside, there’s wriggle of tongues like a tangle of snakes.
“I see surprise,” they say, and take a note on a pad they take from their suit pocket. “Traces of fascination. Significant disgust. I conclude: you’ve never seen an etzitencuatlacti before.”
“Uh.” I blink. There’s a heavy, dizzy feeling in my head. “Could you spell that?”
Their slug-like throat throat makes a quivering sound.
“Humor.” They make a note. “We don’t test for that in the selection program. It may need to be removed.”
I swallow. “Removed?”
They’re moving around me now. They have two wet, bulbous eyes, but they rotate independently. One examines me; it flicks from my hands, to my shoulders, to my legs, and on and on. The other eye never leaves my face. When they blink, it’s a thin, translucent lens that contracts over. First one then the other. I’m never out of sight.
They say, “Certain forms of humor are useful in a harem slave. Others are not. Luckily, our science is making rapid strides in understanding primate brains. The rate of vegetation in cranially altered Earther subjects is now only thirty percent.”
“Oh.” My voice feels very distant in my own ears. “That’s good.”
Three fat, gooey fingers press against my belly. Another squeezes points up and down my arm. The other two hands make notes.
They say, “Biological and psychological research is one of the many useful offshoots of the imperial harem program. For you, I would cut here…” their finger taps the top of my head. “And just to be sure, here.” They tap just above my ear.
I open my mouth to beg: please please don’t cut me up, I’ll do anything doctor frog man, just don’t take part of my brain it’s all I have…
But I never get as far as my first, terrified moan, before they say, “Seeing as you’re the first batch from your world, there’s probably much to be gained from observing your natural state. I’m marking you down as ‘not currently in need of alteration’.”
Thank you thank you thank you, I want to say. I bite it back. This bubble-faced bastard’s one of them. The alien fucking empire. And even after everything, there’s still that hot coal of rebellion at the bottom of my heart. I don’t have to be grateful for shit.
They say, “But there are a few preliminary tests to go through.”
They’ve got a scalpel out before I can gasp. They cuts through my clothes, their thick, webbed glove tight on the collar of my shirt. In a moment I’m stripped to rags. The steel restraints are cold against my bare waist and ankles. We both look down at me.
They ask, with only a twinge of curiosity, “What am I working with here?”
[Poll your response here](https://www.reddit.com/r/pollgames/comments/por1be/that_time_i_joined_an_alien_harem_chapter_3_i/)
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/por3cm/that_time_i_joined_an_alien_harem_chapter_3_i