The first thing Nikita noticed was the cold. It bit into his bare skin, sharp and unyielding, as if the very air was made of ice. His eyes fluttered open, blinking against the harsh, flickering light that seemed to pulse in rhythm with the low hum of machinery surrounding him. He was lying on a slab—hard, metallic, and unapologetically uncomfortable. His wrists and ankles were unbound, but the sheer weight of disorientation kept him pinned in place. The room, if you could call it that, was a cavern of alien design: sleek, metallic walls that shimmered with an eerie, oil-slick sheen, glowing vials of unidentifiable liquid lining shelves, and strange, whirring devices that looked like they belonged in a sci-fi horror flick.
And then there were the women.
They loomed over him, three of them, their presence as commanding as it was unnerving. Their skin shimmered with an iridescent glow, shifting between hues of violet and emerald under the dim light. Their features were sharp—high cheekbones, pointed chins, and eyes that seemed to pierce straight through him, glinting with a predatory curiosity. They were tall, impossibly so, their lithe forms draped in skintight bodysuits that left little to the imagination. Their voices, when they spoke, were low and resonant, carrying an authority that made Nikita’s stomach twist.
“Awake at last,” the tallest one said, her lips curling into a smirk as she tilted her head. Her name, he would later learn, was Veyra. “We were beginning to think you’d sleep through the fun, little human.”
Nikita’s mouth felt like sandpaper, but he managed to croak out, “Where… where am I?”
“On our ship, darling,” another alien replied, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. She had a shorter, more muscular build, her violet eyes glinting with mischief. Her name was Klyra. “Consider it a… field trip. Only, you’re the exhibit.”
He tried to sit up, but a firm hand from the third alien—Rynne, with her angular face and a gaze colder than the slab beneath him—pushed him back down. “Don’t move,” she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We have work to do, and you’re not going anywhere until we’re done with you.”
“Work?” Nikita’s voice cracked as his eyes darted between them, taking in the bizarre instruments on a nearby tray. “What kind of work?”
Veyra stepped closer, her long fingers trailing along the edge of the slab as she leaned over him, her face inches from his. “The kind that starts with you losing those ridiculous scraps of fabric,” she said, her voice a velvet blade. She gestured to his tattered shirt and jeans, which looked absurdly out of place in this sterile hellscape. “Strip. Now.”
His face flushed, a hot wave of embarrassment crashing over him. “You’re kidding, right?”
Klyra laughed, a sharp, barking sound that echoed off the walls. “Oh, sweet thing, do we look like we’re in the mood for jokes? Get it off, or I’ll do it for you. And trust me, I’m not gentle with scissors.”
Nikita’s hands hesitated at the hem of his shirt, his green eyes wide with disbelief. “This is insane. You can’t just—”
“Strip!” Rynne snapped, her voice cutting through his protest like a whip. “Or we’ll peel you like a fruit. Your choice, human.”
Swallowing hard, he fumbled with his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. The jeans came next, though his fingers shook as he worked the button and zipper. When he was down to his boxers, he froze, his cheeks burning under their unrelenting stares.
“Well?” Veyra arched a perfectly sculpted brow, her smirk widening. “What are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Off with those too.”
“I—I can’t,” he stammered, crossing his arms over his chest in a futile attempt at modesty. “This is too much.”
Klyra rolled her eyes dramatically, stepping forward with a predatory grin. “Oh, come now, don’t be shy. We’ve seen it all before. That little patch of cloth isn’t hiding anything we’re not about to inspect in excruciating detail. Your primary work zone is our focus, after all.” She leaned in, her breath cool against his ear as she whispered, “So drop ‘em, pretty boy. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Mortified, Nikita complied, his hands trembling as he slid the boxers down and kicked them away. The air felt even colder now, biting at his exposed skin as he stood there, utterly bare under their clinical scrutiny. He tried to cover himself with his hands, but Rynne swatted them away with a tsk.
“No hiding,” she said, her tone as sharp as her gaze. “We need access. All of it.”
Before he could protest further, Veyra produced a strange, handheld device that emitted a soft buzz. “Hold still,” she commanded, her eyes glinting with amusement. “We’re going to clean you up. Can’t have all that… unsightly hair in the way.”
“Clean me up?” Nikita’s voice rose in panic as the device descended toward his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” Klyra said, her grin wicked as she watched the device glide over his skin, removing every trace of hair with unnerving precision, “that we’re shaving you. Everywhere. Below the neck, of course. We’re not savages.”
“Speak for yourself,” Rynne muttered, earning a chuckle from Veyra as they worked in tandem, leaving Nikita smooth and vulnerable. The sensation was strange—cool and tingling, but utterly humiliating as they moved lower, not sparing an inch.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” Nikita grumbled, his voice tight with embarrassment as Klyra lingered near his groin, her violet eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Oh, absolutely,” she shot back, not missing a beat. “It’s not every day we get to play barber with a squirming human. Hold still, or I might nick something you’d rather keep intact.”
When they were done, Nikita felt more exposed than ever, his skin prickling under the weight of their gazes. “There,” Veyra said, stepping back to admire their work. “Much better. Now you’re ready for the real fun.”
“Fun?” His stomach dropped as Rynne wheeled over a massive, menacing machine with tubes and glowing panels. “What the hell is that?”
“Your new best friend,” Klyra quipped, patting the machine with mock affection. “We call it the Extractor. You, little human, are about to become a sperm generator for our civilization. Lucky you.”
Nikita’s jaw dropped, his mind reeling. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not some… some breeding stock!”
“Oh, but you are,” Veyra said, her tone dripping with condescension as she adjusted a dial on the machine. “And a premium specimen at that. Be flattered. Not every human gets this honor.”
“Honor?” he sputtered, his voice rising in desperation. “This is a nightmare! You can’t just—”
“Quiet,” Rynne interrupted, her cold gaze pinning him in place. “You’ll only make this harder on yourself. Now, lie back. We need to prepare you for connection.”
Before he could argue further, Klyra approached with a small vial of glowing green liquid and a thin, pipette-like instrument. Nikita’s eyes widened in horror as she knelt between his legs, her expression one of detached professionalism mixed with a hint of amusement.
“What… what are you doing with that?” he asked, his voice trembling as he tried to inch away.
“Relax,” Klyra drawled, her smirk returning as she held up the pipette. “Just a little… enhancement. This goes directly into your urethra. Think of it as a booster shot for what’s to come.”
“Are you insane?” Nikita’s voice broke as he tried to sit up, only for Rynne’s firm hand to push him back down. “You can’t just shove stuff in there!”
“Oh, hush,” Klyra said, rolling her eyes as she steadied him with one hand. “It’s no worse than what your kind does to newborns with those little suction things. What do you call them? Bulb syringes? Honestly, you humans are so dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” he yelped, his face a mask of panic as the cool tip of the pipette made contact. “This is assault!”
“It’s science,” Veyra corrected, her tone dry as she watched the procedure with clinical interest. “And you’ll survive. Probably.”
As the strange liquid was administered, a sharp, tingling sensation spread through him, making him gasp. Klyra pulled back, wiping the pipette with a sterile cloth as she grinned down at him. “There. All done. Was that so bad?”
“Yes!” Nikita snapped, his voice hoarse as he glared at her. “That was horrific!”
“Drama queen,” Klyra muttered, exchanging a smirk with Veyra as they prepared the next phase of their invasive experiments. The hum of the Extractor grew louder, and Nikita’s heart pounded in his chest, knowing full well that this was only the beginning of whatever twisted plans these alien women had in store for him.
And as the machine’s tubes descended, their sharp banter and commanding presence made one thing painfully clear: he was at their mercy, and they were going to enjoy every second of it.
Want to know how it ends?
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