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“Ambassador Patel, we are approaching Treaty Station,” announced the ship’s AI pilot.
“Thank you,” she responded.
The ship was a small one. Her position qualified her for something larger, with room for support staff, but she preferred this simpler, automated model. If asked, she explained it as a costsaving measure. No need for support staff on a largely ceremonial annual visit. After all, she would chuckle knowingly, it wasn’t like the aliens were going to show up.
But Divya had a secret. The aliens did show up. Every year. This would be her seventh encounter with them. And she’d never told anyone.
Of course, they hadn’t always. In fact, that was why Divya had been able to gain the position. There was no real competition for ambassador to a race of aliens that wanted nothing to do with humanity.
Two generations ago, as humans spread outward from their solar system, the question of extraterrestrial life had finally been answered, in the least satisfying way possible, when human ships encountered nonhuman craft with no interest in us.
They made no effort to communicate, and ignored all our attempts to do so. The only thing they did was hold position along an unseen boundary in space. Any attempt by human ships to approach was met by a nonhostile but assertive maneuver to block their way. Eventually, through trial and error, the border was mapped.
Not wanting to risk upsetting the only other sentient species we’d met, with whoknowswhat capabilities, everyone had quickly agreed to respect their space. A station was constructed, and towed into position, directly along the boundary. It had no markings, only two docking ports, one facing human space, and the other facing them.
A human ship docked, and the first designated ambassador came aboard, sitting at a large table with a copy of a treaty that basically said, “We’ll stay out of your way, but we’d like to get to know you better.”
They had no idea how the aliens would react. Would they understand this was an invitation? Would they come aboard? Could they come aboard? We didn’t even know if they could tolerate our atmosphere.
Astonishingly, an alien ship did dock with the station. What happened next was broadcast live across all of human space, and is still, to this day, the mostwatched recording of all time. The airlock opened, and a single alien entered.
The creature most closely resembled a Portuguese man o’ war. That is, if a man o’ war walked upright on long squidlike tentacles, and had a mantle the size of a horse, with colors rippling along the dorsal ridge like a cuttlefish.
It ducked through the airlock and approached the table. The ambassador stood, and recited a small speech that had been meticulously prepared by a crack team of scientists who were practically frothing at their mouths to define the new fields of xenobiology, xenosociology, and xenolinguistics.
The alien waited calmly as the ambassador spoke, tentacles rippling gently. When he finished speaking, it turned and left. That was the first and only time anyone saw the aliens.
Some eighty years later, Divya Patel was offered the nolonger desirable position of ambassador. She had an office in the UN, a small staff, an even smaller budget, and a single responsibility: Visit the treaty station every year, just in case.
The previous ambassador, who had served for five years, shook her hand, and recommended she pack some books.
Divya’s first visit to the station had been a surprise. She’d watched the first contact recording as much as anyone else, and thought she knew what to expect: A small room with a rather nice table of darkstained wood, a UN flag hanging on the wall, and a single chair facing the alien’s door.
Instead, the table was pushed up against the wall under the flag to make room for a secondhand sofa on the opposite wall. There was also a cheap flatpack bookshelf, overflowing with dogeared paperback novels. Someone had even attempted to make the place more friendly with a few plastic plants on the table.
She’d spent her first few hours doing paperwork, but had eventually given into boredom and investigated the bookshelves. A surprising amount were romance novels, and by her third visit, she’d read most of them. On her fourth visit she brought a set of comfortable pajamas, a fuzzy bathrobe, and contributed several steamy new romances to the collection. On her fifth visit, she also brought a vibrator.
Which is how she found herself naked on her back, legs spread, a book in one hand, magic wand in the other, holding the rumbling head to her clit, when the airlock opened and an alien walked in.
Divya squealed, dropped everything, and jumped to her feet, pulling her robe on. She apologized frantically, knowing she was babbling, and that it probably couldn’t understand her anyway. The vibrator was buzzing loudly on the floor. She cursed, switched it off, and kicked it under the couch.
The alien stood, impassively, near the entrance, tentacles slowly moving as if flowing in a current.
Divya glanced around and felt a burning shame for her role in the state of the room. It looked less like an embassy and more like a dorm room. She crossed her arms, pulling her robe tighter. The air smelled like . Her heart was pounding with a mixture of panic and lingering arousal.
Slowly, it dawned on her that she was only the second human in hi to be in the presence of an alien. Was it the same one? How long did they live? She stared, trying to compare it to her memory of the one from the recording. That one’s mantle was a darker shade of purple, she thought, while this one had more of a zebrastripe pattern fading from a dark cerulean to a bright lavender.
Her eyes constantly drifted back to the tentacles. They rippled and flowed in constant hypnotic motion, fading from a rich brown to a rosy pink. Near the mantle, they were as thick as her thigh, but they tapered down to a bulbous, ridged tip. She shook her head, unsure if they’d always looked so phallic, or if her mind was simply primed to see them that way due to her frustrated masturbation session.
“Um,” she cleared her throat, with as much dignity as she could muster, reminding herself she had a job to do. “Welcome aboard. I am Ambassador Patel, and, um, I…” Her mind was a blank. There was something she was supposed to say. Some speech written decades before. The binder! She turned to the bookshelf, pulled down a faded threering binder, and flipped through the pages.
“Where is it, where is it,” she muttered. “Ah, here! On behalf of the human race, I, um…” She trailed off as the alien drifted toward her. One tentacle reached up, and gently pushed the binder away. Following its lead, she stopped reading and placed it on the table.
She gazed up at the colors rippling along its dorsal ridge. Was that how they communicated? Its tentacles waved gently as it came closer. She backed away, then stopped, unsure if that would be considered an insult. It raised one arm, and tentatively brushed against her cheek, as tender as a new lover.
She’d expected it to feel cold and clammy, but it was smooth and hot to the touch. She shivered as the tip trailed down her neck. A second arm joined the first, and they slipped into her robe, following her collarbone in opposite directions.
While the tentacles were quite flexible, the ends were a bit stiffer, with taut skin, and a clearly defined ridge. It really was astonishingly like a human erection. An odd coincidence of evolution that would have been fascinating in any other context, but was currently causing her to have a rather inappropriate physical reaction as the firm tips moved along her shoulders.
Divya struggled to remain professional. She was an ambassador of the human race, and this was the most interest the aliens had ever expressed. They had no eyes as far as she could tell. Perhaps they communicated by touch. This could simply be the alien equivalent of a handshake. She resolved to not ruin their second chance at alien relations by being prudish.
She exhaled shakily and released her grip on the robe as it was parted by the wandering tentacles. Additional arms joined the first two, and her skin felt hot as they boldly explored her body. She felt a tip tracing her spine, another moving along her hip, one sliding down her belly, and one wandering over her chest.
The tips fumbled aimlessly, prodding her armpit, bumping along her knee, teasing along the cleft of her buttocks. One tangled curiously through her hair, while another wrapped around her breast, drawing a surprised inhalation from her as it squeezed gently.
The colors on its mantle seemed to flush red, though surely, it was anthropomorphizing to see that as a ual response. Even so, Divya found herself trembling as she parted her legs and arms to allow the alien complete access to her body. The tentacle fondling her breast seemed to be contracting rhythmically, and the surprisingly dexterous tip was nudging deliciously against her stiffened nipple.
An arm moved sinuously around her leg, wandering up her thigh slowly enough to leave her tense with anticipation. Abandoning her hair, that tip softly explored her face, brushing over her eyelids, pressing against the tip of her nose, and tracing over her lips.
She gasped as the tip that had been caressing her back and buttocks slipped between her thighs from behind, teasing her most sensitive spots. Perhaps sensing a change, it moved back and forth, rubbing against the wetness coating her stillswollen lips, and sending waves of sensation rippling through her body.
No longer able to resist, Divya gave up any further attempts at professionalism. She rocked shamelessly back and forth, gasping and sliding her slick lips over the firm heat between her legs. Another tentacle wrapped around her other breast, stimulating her nipple. She knew it was foolish to read human motivations into an alien creature, but it was hard not to think it was trying to cause her pleasure.
The tip that was exploring her mouth probed between her lips. Startled, she let out a muffled cry as a thick, firm, heat pushed inward. It started flexing, rubbing along the length of her tongue. Instinctively, she wrapped her lips around it and sucked, her body rocking in the creature’s firm grasp.
The tentacle that was rubbing between her legs slipped further forward, angling up until the ridged tip was rubbing directly over her clit. Her insides fluttered, and she squeezed her legs around it, moaning around the shaft in her mouth.
More and more tentacles roamed her body. How many did it have? There seemed to be an endless number, caressing, prodding, rubbing. Her breasts seemed to swell in the warm massage, nipples pinched and pulled in a way that couldn’t be accidental.
She felt herself lifted off the ground, tentacles wrapping her legs and arms, supporting her back. As her weight shifted and her legs spread, she felt a thick tip pressing against her entrance. She moaned eagerly, squeezing a supporting tentacle encouragingly, and was rewarded. It slipped in, the bulbous head spreading her open. Another hot tentacle rested against her clit, heavy and firm, as the first pushed deeper inside.
She could barely focus anymore, but could still see the rippling colors flashing back and forth along the creature’s dorsal ridge. The zebra stripes on its mantle were undeniably throbbing, flashing a dark red in time with her heartbeat. A distant part of her brain wondered what was happening here. Was this mating behavior? A new stage of diplomatic relations? Was she about to be eaten? She couldn’t bring herself to care.
The tentacle inside her pussy seemed to be swelling, thrusting deep inside and holding before sliding out in a way that dragged the ridge over a spot that made her see flares of color. Her clit thrummed, and her nipples sang under the creature’s touch. Warmth wrapped her skin everywhere as the tentacles coiled around her, supporting her and touching her in ways a human lover never could.
Then she felt a new probing against her back door. She arched her back and moaned around the cocklike shaft in her mouth. The tentacles held her firmly in the air, as the heat worked insistently against her tightly clenched ass. She tried to relax, grunting as it writhed, slick with her juices, slowly working its way in.
The one in her mouth twitched, and she moaned, tasting something new, a salty flavor that reminded her of the ocean. Was it going to cum? She squirmed in its grasp, both excited and alarmed at the prospect. Some part of her worried if it was safe, but a louder and more primal part of her desperately wanted it.
As if sensing her eagerness, it began moving more urgently, thrusting into her from every direction. She sputtered and groaned as it pushed deeper, sliding into her throat. She felt the shaft in her pussy swell until she felt stretched taut as it thrust over and over, alternating strokes with the one in her ass, which seemed to go deeper every time.
Her climax crashed through her body with astonishing force. She tensed, toes curling, fingers grasping. She felt her core clenching over and over around the intruders, hard and unyielding and radiating heat inside her. One after another, the orgasms rolled over her in waves. They grew so intense she worried she would pass out, but the creature never slowed.
“Please,” she tried to moan around the throbbing tentacle filling her mouth. She rocked back and forth in the creature’s grasp, cumming again and again as it fucked her relentlessly. Pleasure so overwhelming it was nearly painful. Her nipples sparked electricity down her spine, and her clit buzzed angrily as a tentacle coiled against it, still thrusting into her, and it was too much, too much, too much.
“Cum,” she begged, unintelligibly, “please!”
Suddenly, the creature’s entire mantle pulsed red. It began to shake and spasm. She screamed and choked as every tentacle gushed a sticky, viscous liquid over her. It coated her skin, poured down her throat, and flooded her pussy and ass. She felt a wave of euphoria as she frantically swallowed, moaning with relief and squirming in the nowslippery grasp of the tentacles.
After a moment, the creature shuddered, and withdrew from her all at once. She cried out at the sensation, then found herself being laid gently on the floor, gasping and drenched with the creature’s cum. For a long moment, all she could do was pant, trying to catch her breath and slow her heart rate. Dimly, she heard the sound of the airlock door cycling.
When she finally sat up, still shaky, hugging herself in a puddle of fluid, the alien was gone.
Later, as she cleaned up the mess, she wondered how she would ever report this. She grimaced as she imagined trying to explain why the alien had walked in on her masturbating. Bestcase scenario, she was in for some extremely awkward discussions with the scientists and politicians. Worst case, she could go to prison for ruining the only attempt by the aliens to make contact in eighty years.
In the end, as she stepped back onto her ship with a day bag containing an extremely soiled bathrobe, she decided not to tell anyone. After all, what was there actually to tell? No communication had taken place. There was, as far as she could tell, no change to the treaty.
Better to act like everything was normal.
And in the end, it was fine. After all, no one expected anything to happen, so her standard report raised no eyebrows.
The following year passed without incident.
Except. Divya could not stop thinking about it. She was constantly distracted. Someone would call on her in a meeting, and she would startle out of a fantasy of being fucked by grasping tentacles. Her dreams became increasingly erotic, while at the same time, no human lover could compare.
She started counting the days until the next visit.
When she finally made the journey back to Treaty Station, she sat on the couch, wearing a scandalous set of lingerie, vibrating with tension and soaking her panties.
When the door opened and her alien stepped out, she laughed with relief.
It wasted no time, seeming just as eager as she was. It bent her over the table and took her forcefully from behind, until she cried with passion, and it drenched her with cum again.
The lingerie was a total loss.
The next year, she lay on the couch, and it climbed on top of her, caressed her lovingly, then fucked her so hard she saw stars.
And the year after that.
And the year after that.
And the year after that.
She no longer felt any guilt or shame for her secret. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, nothing had happened. There was no change in the aliens’ behavior, so why rock the boat?
Someday, she would retire. Maybe she’d reveal the truth then. Or perhaps, when that day came, she would pick another young woman who looked like she could keep a secret, and pass her the keys to the station.
“Ambassador Patel, we have docked with Treaty Station. You may go aboard,” announced the ship’s AI pilot.
“Thank you, ship.” She stood up and loosened the belt on her robe.
Maybe someday. But not today.
