Outpost: Hetero Version

She withdrew her tongue slowly, as if she were sucking up a giant strand of spaghetti, wanting him to appreciate every inch. They parted lips with a wet smack, Scarface poised over Schaffer, watching him pant and shiver. Damn it, he thought to himself, if word spread about his weakness to their deep kisses then he would always end up at the bottom of the pile.

Scarface looked down and began to open the seals on his suit, struggling with the clasps that were too small for her sausage-like fingers. She kept her grip on his neck the entire time, as if to say you aren't going anywhere, little human.

She finally succeeded, pushing her hand beneath his underclothes to pull out his erection. He giggled and writhed as her fur tickled his groin, then his vocalizations trailed off into a low, sultry moan as she squeezed his cock in her massive hand.

He hoped that she might slide down his body and wrap her lips around the head, putting that serpentine tongue to good use, but she seemed to want only one thing. She was a selfish lover, greedy, but that kind of turned him on. She had the scars, all she needed now was a leather jacket and a cigarette, then the bad girl look would be complete.

She reached between her matted thighs, catching some of her leaking nectar in her hand and wiping it along the length of his pulsating shaft. She coated him in her juices, the sensation of her wet fur on his skin making his hips jerk and shift. Her furry fingers glided, lubricated by her slime. She wasted no time, angling his member towards her opening and lowering herself down on him, eager to get started. She was tighter than Osha had been, smaller and leaner than her giant packmate, giving even Runt a run for her money. Schaffer covered his face with his hands as she dropped, slamming him up to the base in one smooth motion. She exhaled slowly, shifting her hips from side to side as she grew accustomed to the feeling of having him throbbing inside her.

He peeked through his fingers as she began to move, her velutinous muscles gripping his member like a noose, almost strong enough to hurt. It was raw and harsh, a delicious ache traveling up through his body as her tunnel fought against his pulsing organ, clinging to it like a second skin. His legs turned to jelly, every slight motion or contraction driving a bolt of pleasure up his spine that made his head spin and his eyes snap shut of their own accord. She pulled his hands away from his face, pinning them against the leather of the couch on either side of his head as she pressed him deep into the cushions. Its wooden frame creaked and protested, he could feel the metal springs beneath the seat cushions compressing under their combined weight.

She circled her hips, stirring him around inside her, and he felt her grip on his wrists tighten as he struggled and bucked against the intolerable stimulation. She was treating him like prey, ever the wily Huntress as she kept him under control, wetting her pink lips with her tongue as she watched his face contort. Still she did not speak, she seemed to want only to watch him, to subject him to these maddening pleasures and to feed on his reaction.

She began to bounce on top of him, fucking him more ardently, splaying her massive thighs so that she could lower herself down far enough to get him all the way inside her. These aliens seemed to like it hard and deep, perhaps accustomed to sex far more athletic or passionate than a frail human would be able to provide. On every downward thrust, she took him to the hilt, driving his member as deep as she could take it. Was it not for the quantity and viscosity of the fluid that escaped from her loins, she might have been too tight to allow for such a violent pace. Schaffer could feel every bump, every crease of her vagina. Her organ fit him like a glove, clinging to every inch of his skin and scouring it with damp satin. He couldn't do much more than try to regulate his breathing and hang for dear life.

His forceful lover reached back and unfastened the tie on her ponytail, letting her mop of unkempt hair fall over them like a curtain, the silky strands tickling him. She quickly returned her hand to his wrist, keeping him pinned down as she rode him. The alien's scarred face was obscured beneath her mane of bouncing, slate-grey hair, but he occasionally glimpsed a reflective eye peering out at him. She panted like a beast, her breath blowing her fringe.

Schaffer got into the rhythm, pushing up to meet her downward blows, their hips colliding with enough force to bruise. She seemed to enjoy that, he could feel her hands trembling around his wrists, her grip becoming inconsistent.

She released him, sinking her sharp claws into the lining of the couch where his hands had been, tearing at the fabric and stabbing into the foam cushioning beneath. With her new purchase, she increased the force of her lovemaking even further, crushing the hapless human beneath her hips. The ache grew into a more urgent burning, a need to seek out more stimulation, more friction. He sank his fingers into her doughy hips, pulling himself towards her as she slammed him into the couch.

He felt his orgasm nearing, the numbness of his battered pelvis giving way to a familiar tightness and a surging, undeniable pleasure. She leaned down, breathing hot air into his hair as she gyrated and pumped, the contractions of her slippery walls betraying her own mounting climax.

"Oh fuck," he exclaimed through gritted teeth, squirming as her pace increased yet again. She was intent on driving them both towards their inevitable peak, giving no quarter. She was coming down on him almost hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs, and through the haze of mingling pleasure, he felt something give beneath his seat.

They fell, still locked together as the couch gave out. Its frame crumpled under the weight of the pair's violent coupling, whatever surplus wood the thing was built from snapping and caving in on itself. There was a crash as the furniture crumbled, the springs making angry, metallic noises as they uncoiled and the wood splintering. Scarface did not relent, unconcerned by the death throes of the shoddy furniture. The Huntress continued to pound Schaffer into the cushions and headrest that remained, heaped on the ground in a pile.

The Huntress suddenly threw her head back, her long hair falling down her spine as she closed her legs around him and shuddered violently. The shifting of her exquisite flesh around his buried member grew more intense, the cruel contractions of her toned muscles coming harder and faster, her taut abs flexing beneath her fur as she started to climax. Her lower body jerked and twitched, her hair falling over her face once more as she doubled over, hiding her pained expression. Schaffer soon joined her in her rapturous pleasure, covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to stifle the wail that escaped his lips. Scarface loosed a bestial growl as she felt his seed flood her reaches, hot and thick against her pulsing flesh. They didn't slow their pace even for a second, rutting like wild animals, a blend of her fluids and the milky ropes of his ejaculate forced out of her spasming passage to seep down her furry thighs. They fed into each other's orgasm, spiraling higher and higher until they reached a crescendo that made Schaffer feel as if someone had hooked the pleasure center of his brain up to a car battery. He had never felt anything so raw, so primal. They might be totally different species, but his body sought to impregnate her as his sore muscles wrung him of every last drop of his emission.

They remained locked together, questing hands roaming across flesh and fur, every twitch and contraction in one partner provoking a fresh wave of pleasure in the other. Their tempo had slowed to that of shivers and gentle thrusts, the two lovers adrift in an ocean of bliss. Finally, they started to come down together. Their breathing became more regular, stark, raw pleasure giving way to the euphoria and afterglow that followed good sex. Schaffer looked around, seeing the mess that they had made of the couch as if for the first time. The wooden frame was trashed, pointy springs protruding through some of the foam cushions. The headrest had been shredded by Scarface's wicked claws, it looked as though a giant housecat had been using it as a scratching post.

He laughed to himself, looking back up at Scarface. Her eyelids drooped as she basked in her lingering haze, her myriad of blemishes failing to lessen her womanly glow.

She did not stay for long, rising after a few minutes and leaving in the direction the storage room in search of food no doubt, without so much as a second glance at Schaffer. He rested for a while, sore and bruised, yet more satisfied than he could recall ever being as he lay amongst the remains of the ruined couch.

CHAPTER 9: EUREKA

There had to be some way to modify the outgoing signal, or to inject his own data into the stream. Schaffer slammed the console with his fist in frustration. He had mapped every function that he could find and was now reduced to trawling the maze of menus and submenus contained within the operating system. Half of the functions required commands that he did not know, the system was entirely custom, though loosely based on a kind of UNN security system management software that he was somewhat familiar with. Whoever was tasked with operating this system would have had prior training, they would have been supplied with reference material detailing all of the console commands and their functions, they would have had in-depth schematics detailing the machine itself. Without any of that, the central computer would remain mostly a mystery to Schaffer. There had to be some kind of communications system. It would be absurd to build a second antenna for the sole purpose of sending messages when the outpost itself was constructed around a massive transmitter. He knew that encoded and non-encoded data could be sent at the same time through the same stream, if he could just find a way to piggyback a ten-kilobyte text message on the back of the signal, then he would be home free.

He had already mapped the functions on the console that would orient the dish, he could aim it wherever he pleased, even if he couldn't send a message. Right now, it was tracking a satellite in orbit around the planet, one of the quantum-entangled variety that could transmit data instantaneously over interstellar distances without having to rely on radio or laser methods that could take decades to reach their destination.

An interruption to the data stream might alert UNN intelligence and prompt them to visit the outpost to make repairs, perhaps simply screwing with the alignment would suffice. Then again, he couldn't count on that. He had seen firsthand how repair requests piled up.

He would be able to point it in the vicinity of an orbiting spacecraft and then blast them with a high-powered transmission. It would be impossible to ignore, but the encrypted data would just be gibberish to them. He also had no way to locate them from the ground, he needed coordinates in order to reorient the dish.

Fuck it, this wasn't getting him anywhere. He leaned back in his chair as the display lights and buttons on the console bank flickered and glowed. He had to think about this from a fresh perspective.

A spark of inspiration hit him like a lightning bolt.

He typed frantically on the embedded keyboard, bringing up the dish programming menu. The dish had to be programmed to track the target receiver, and Schaffer had access to those functions. What if he intentionally interrupted the signal in order to transmit a message via morse code? That would draw far more attention than simply cutting the stream, which would be attributed to a mechanical or software malfunction. He knew basic morse code, everyone in the UNN did. If the power generator on a vessel was taken out, leaving the ship dead in space, flashing an S.O.S at rescue ships might be the only way to indicate that there was anyone alive in what to sensors would just be a dark wreck.

He could program the dish to only aim at the satellite long enough to transmit a burst of data, then swivel to point at empty space. With any luck, the person on the other end would have their head out of their ass and would notice the telltale fluctuations.

He entered the commands in sequence, three short bursts of data, then three long bursts followed by another three short bursts. S.O.S, the most standard and widely recognized plea for aid in human space. It might take hours to receive a reply, who knew how long it would take to get noticed. Now he just had to wait.

***

Schaffer sat at the console for the entire day, waving away the aliens who came in search of him to find out what he was doing. He wished that he had some coffee to keep him alert, but all of the sachets that he had found during his frantic search for food all those days ago were spoiled and unfit for consumption. He awaited a reply, hoping against hope that somebody would see his signal in a bandwidth graph or notice the size of the fragmented data packets and work out that it was a message. He felt like an ancient sailor casting a note into the ocean in a glass bottle, an almost futile gesture.

Night eventually came, and he found himself dozing off in his seat, rubbing his itchy eyes as he waited for a message that might never come. Perhaps he was kidding himself, and his plan was ridiculous. What if there were no humans manning the receiver and it was all handled by an automated system? The base itself was unmanned after all. His plan assumed that there was some UNN office worker sitting at a desk when there might very well not be.

Just as he was beginning to lose hope, deciding to turn in and try again the following day, a window appeared on the main monitor. There was an icon indicating an incoming message. He scrambled awake, spinning the trackball to mouse over the symbol. He clicked the icon, and a simple text message displayed.

-WHO IS THIS?-

Simple and to the point, fair enough. Now that this unknown function had been activated, he was able to reply by simply clicking the option beneath the original message. How insultingly basic after all the time that he had spent trawling the operating system searching for just such a function. He typed out his reply and hit send.

-I AM CORPORAL SCHAFFER, SERIAL #374627834, I AM STRANDED AND REQUIRE IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE. I HAVE INFORMATION PERTAINING TO A TRAITOR IN THE ADMIRALTY.-

That should raise some eyebrows. He was elated, his plan had worked. He was in contact with the UNN, and he might soon be off this godforsaken rock. He should get some rest now, by the time he woke up, he might have received a new message. He rose from his seat, leaving the message window open, afraid that he wouldn't be able to open it again if he closed it. As happy as he was, something nagged at him. There was an itch in the back of his brain, a kind of apprehension that he wasn't quite able to place.

As he made his way to one of the crew quarters and crawled into a pile of sleeping felines, he realized that he would miss these aliens. This pack had become his family while he had stayed here, they cared more about him than any of the so-called friends who had sold him out to Rawling, or failed to go looking for him when they had been shuffled around and reassigned.

Was this life better than what he had to look forward to back in human space? Had his job taking inventory of cargo and repairing broken vending machines been fulfilling? He had signed up to be a combat engineer, trained for battle, but he had eventually ended up on that damned station where the most pressing work available to an engineer was routine maintenance.

He might never be safe from Rawling's goons, either. Even if the man was sent to a military penitentiary, there were always ways for the more influential and resourceful prisoners to get messages out. If he had tried to kill Schaffer for threatening to expose his black market operation, then Rawling would surely be far more motivated if Schaffer succeeded in ruining the corrupt Admiral's life. There was no way to arrest everyone involved and to uncover every smuggling network, Schaffer would be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

He would sleep on it, he decided, enjoying the sensation of a warm, furry arm enclosing him. It would certainly be jarring to go back to the bachelor's life after the last few days, that much was sure.

***

Over the next few days, Schaffer communicated with the UNN via the message system at a snail's pace. They were initially very skeptical, asking probing questions about his deployment history and personnel record to ensure that it was indeed a UNN Corporal who had gained access to the central computer and the satellite dish, rather than some especially handy native. They inquired as to how he had survived for so long without supplies, and he had told them about the pack. They confirmed his suspicions, the aliens were Polar Borealans, a furred cousin of the Borealans commonly seen in UNN-controlled space. They were quite surprised to hear that there were still Polars who remained on the planet, as they were under the impression that the entire population had been relocated to a colony in Siberia on Earth some time ago.

This pack had been left behind, forgotten, which explained the business with the trading post. It was heartbreaking for him to think about, these Polars were primitives, they couldn't possibly have known about the mass exodus without anyone there to tell them. Their entire race had abandoned them. Whoever had manned the trading post had been their only lifeline with the more civilized world, and they had either forgotten or neglected to inform them. The pack had been damned to a slow death, or at least a total reversion to their animal state without tools or supplies. They likely still had no idea as to where their people had gone, or why they had left them so abruptly. Schaffer could help them though, he could secure all the supplies that they might need.

Borealis was a Coalition planet, that meant that they were allied with the UNN, and so Schaffer became irate when the person on the other end declared that they would not contact the Borealan authorities in order to evacuate him as soon as possible. They cited fears that their most likely illegal listening post would be discovered and that it would cause a diplomatic incident. There were UNN ships in orbit around Borealis, and a shuttle would be dispatched to evacuate him in a couple of days.

They peppered him with questions about the corruption that he had hinted at, but it was his trump card, and he refused to speak about it over the air regardless of how well encrypted the signal was. He didn't know who was listening in, who among the staff at whatever facility operated the receiver might be on Rawling's payroll, how far his reach extended throughout the UNN. They agreed to put an MP on the shuttle and that Schaffer would give him the information in person when it arrived.

***

The supplies of food were thinning. Schaffer had succeeded in explaining to Zagza that something would happen in two days, but not what. The Polar, Schaffer might as well start referring to the aliens by their proper name, seemed to trust him. Scarface had some success hunting, she had brought back a few fish and some of the rabbit-like fauna. Although not enough to keep the whole pack fed, it had raised spirits. She had saved one fish for Schaffer, thrusting it into his hands with a sultry smile. Was he being bribed for more sex? She certainly seemed to have warmed up to him since their encounter, which for Scarface, was saying something. She rarely even interacted with Zagza besides to present her catches to him.