Jasmin/The Alien's Liar part 7

This is the most reckless prostitute ever.

I see her through my advanced night vision. She’s leaning against the wall, staring at the darkness with concern. She looks so innocent, but I know she’s capable of bewitchment. I’m her victim. Just look at me now, sitting on this infernal chair with my cock in my hands.

The fever burned me for two hours before it faded from my system. I was left feeling cold.

My body has fully recovered. I’m immensely strong physically, but mentally, I’m weak against her. I can’t forget her touch. How she jumped to take care of me. I can’t remember the last time someone looked after me. Nowadays, my only nurse is bottles of alcohol.

Sleep wouldn’t come, so I figured I could speed the process by beating the thoughts out through my cock. I jerked it for three minutes before she showed up, looking wild with her hair rowdy and my shirt skipping off one shoulder.

It’s her scent, though, that nearly made me erupt. I had to dig my nails into my thigh to distract my balls from spraying cum with all the pressure it can muster with the hopes of landing on her.

Now my thigh is bloody, my cock is raging in my fist, and the human female stands directly in front me without a clue.

I wonder what her expression would have been if she saw what I’m doing. If she finally realized how calloused I am to still be gripping myself in her presence instead of hiding with shame.

“Aldrek?” She calls for me again.

I only grumble and force my stubborn cock into my trews.

“Return to bed.”

“I can’t sleep while knowing you’re out here. Has the fever gone down? Come to bed.”

I see an opportunity,

My balls were heavy with desire, but now ache with greed. Although I’m strong, I’m no god. I’m only a red-blooded, mortal male made of meat that this female torments. I’m stiff, hard, and on full alert.

“Fine,” I concede.

My footsteps are heavy on the wooden boards as I approach her. Loud like the emotions raging inside me.

The closer I get, the heavier she leans against the wall.

“Should… should I warm the sock?”

I huff. She is an intriguing woman, with her obsession with cock coverings.

“No.”

“Are you feeling better?” She reaches for my face, palming my cheek first and jolting as if startled by my skin.

Does my stubble hurt her delicate hands? I will shave for her.

Look at me, making plans like she will stay here. She will be gone in a few days, and then I will have to grow my beard and hope I forget her touch.

It will be hard. Her small, warm palm prickles my skin with strange sensations. I have been slapped and punched plenty of times in fights, but this female got the closest to knocking me down.

She asks if I’m feeling better. I have recovered fully, and my only frustration now is one that would make her own face red and feverish once she realizes my attraction.

Her hand moves to my forehead to check my temperature.

“No,” I reply. It’s a lie, because I’m so despicable and desperate for her nurturing touch that I will pretend to be weak.

At least only for a few days. The only feminine touch I’ve had in many years is sexual. The occasional warm body. There has been nothing like this. A concern for me instead of the coins in my pockets.

I’m taking advantage of her kindness.

She takes my hand. I nearly don’t notice it, as it’s dwarfed by mine. Then, she leads me through my home like she knows the waters she’s treading in. She turns her back on me, revealing just how innocent she is. I am fire. Danger. No one should turn their backs on me.

We enter the room, and it seems smaller than usual. Maybe it’s because I’ve never had anyone in here.

Her footsteps come faster. She rushes to the bed, struggling to climb it. It’s a good four feet off the ground, not built for her shorter stature.

The ridiculous thought of lowering the platform crosses my mind. I would shave and rearrange furniture for her. What ridiculous notion is next?

I sigh and sink onto the bed, sitting with my legs touching the floor.

“Come.” She says.

I'm curious about what she wants. About how we’ll sleep beside each other. I’ve always taken curiosity as a challenge, and that makes my pull to her stronger.

When I learned about humans existing in a foreign world, I read whatever scrolls I could get my hands on. I learned their language long ago, and I suppose that has proven itself useful. My books are stacked in a closet since there is no space for an archive room. Rebuilding the cabin is long overdue.

I lie back on my bed and stare at the ceiling like I do every night. I rest one of my palms over my crotch to put a barrier between my desire and the woman that’s inches away.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Yes,” I lie again. She must’ve noticed I’m no longer feverish. I need an excuse for her attention.

“I’ll rub your temples, okay? It should help your head.”

Rub my temples? Odd.

She kneels beside me, and I feel the warmth of her thighs against. My fingers twitch with instinct. If she were mine, I would have whipped an arm around her to grab a handful of her ass and pulled her to my lap. I would have been the one caressing her.

Her fingers touch the sides of my head. I’m tense at first, because temples are a fragile part of the body. I shouldn’t trust anyone this closely.

She circles the sides of my head. This feels… magical.

My shoulders relax, and she notices.

“Do you… like it?”

“Keep going,” I mutter, ready to give her my fortune if that’s what she charges.

She laughs softly. “My mother taught me how to do this.”

“Is she a medic?”

Her breath hitches, and she doesn’t respond. It looks like she has secrets, too.

“I have a question you will answer.”

“It’s interesting how your people often speak in commands.”

I shrug. “That is how things are. Tell me, why do humans believe in so many gods?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Doesn’t Le’vris have many gods, too?”

“Yes, but nothing like yours. They are strange. I do not understand why you worship this Snow White goddess, who had seven short men as disciples. Then there is the goddess with the long hair that lived in a tower, and the goddess of the sea with the singing fish.”

She giggles. “Where did you hear of these gods?”

“I read your bibles. You have gods for everything. Gods of apples, hair, and fish. It’s exhausting. You must pray for hours.”

“Did you hear about the goddess of shoes, Cinderella?”

“Fascinating,” I reply. The goddess of shoes would hate me, since my boots are dirty and beat in.

“Tell me more.”

Her gentle voice shares the story of the servant girl, who became worthy to be a goddess by running away from a rich man and leaving a shoe behind. I’ve noticed that it’s very easy for humans to earn honor and become gods.

Before I realize it, her soft touch and voice lull me to sleep. The last thought I have before I go under is that I’ll never want to read a book again. Not when she can recite stories about her endless gods to me.

A/n: he thinks our cartoons are gods 🤣

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