The first one was green. Three of them, actually—the traders. The leader stepped forward, his cock already rigid, a deep green shaft with a ridge pattern that looked almost decorative. He grabbed the back of her head with both hands—four-fingered, cool to the touch—and pushed himself into her mouth.

Kara let it happen. She opened her jaw and took him in, and the alien made a sound that was halfway between a groan and a chirp, his vertical pupils rolling back. He was thick. Thicker than human, with a texture that felt like warm rubber. She could feel his pulse through it, rapid and desperate.

He fucked her face with the clumsy enthusiasm of someone who had never done anything like this before—or maybe someone who had done it a thousand times and still couldn’t believe his luck. His hands gripped her skull, fingers pressing into her temples, and he thrust with increasing force, his hips snapping forward, the ridge pattern dragging against her tongue.

This is what it feels like, Kara thought, when a god lets ants climb on her.

She wasn’t aroused. Not really. There was a mild warmth between her legs, a vague acknowledgment that something was happening to her body, but it was distant. Clinical. Like reading about weather in another hemisphere. The alien’s cock hit the back of her throat and she didn’t gag—couldn’t gag, her muscles were too controlled, her biology too refined—and he groaned louder, his chirping becoming almost musical.

He came inside her mouth. Hot, thick, tasting like copper and something floral. She held it for a moment, swirled it around her tongue with the detached curiosity of a sommelier, then spit out the stream of his cum. The alien shuddered, made a sound like a deflating balloon, and stumbled back.

The next one was already there. Purple scales, forked cock that split at the tip into two distinct heads. He grabbed her by the hair—rough, possessive—and shoved both heads into her mouth simultaneously. Kara raised an eyebrow. Creative.

He fucked her harder than the purple one. Faster. The split tips pressed against different parts of her palate, and each thrust sent a dual sensation through her jaw. She could feel his scales against her lips, rough and warm, and his grip on her hair was tight enough that a human woman would have screamed. Kara just blinked.

I once caught a falling satellite with one hand, she thought. I’ve punched through hull plating. I’ve flown through a star’s corona and felt nothing but warmth. And now I’m on my knees in a bar on a planet nobody’s heard of, letting a lizard man use my face like a fleshlight.

The green one came with a hiss—literally, a hiss, his forked tongue lashing out—and she felt the cum hit the back of her throat in two distinct pulses. She swallowed the first load and let the second pool in her mouth, then turned her head and spat it onto the floor. A thick, iridescent strand of green-tinged fluid that caught the neon light.

Next came a weird one with arms, tentacles, and a tentacle for a penis. It wrapped tentacles around her neck and squeezed, then began to fuck her face with its penis tentacle. Something was wrong. She felt a warm pleasure seeping through her and she felt the creature enter her mind. Her mental defenses softened. She looked into its squid-like face and began to feel like she wanted to be with him forever. What could be more...

Her eyes glowed red and lasers blasted the creature back. That was not part of the deal.

The furry one was next. Its cock was sheathed—retractable, apparently—and when it emerged it was covered in short, coarse fur that tickled her lips. The alien made a rumbling sound, deep and resonant, and its claws gripped the sides of her head with surprising gentleness. It fucked her slowly. Deliberately. Each thrust measured, like it was savoring something.

Kara almost laughed. The furry one has manners. Of course.

It came with a growl that vibrated through her skull, and she felt the cum hit her tongue—warm, slightly sweet, with a texture like honey. She swallowed without ceremony.

The next three were a blur. A blue-skinned alien with a cock that tapered to a point. A creature with translucent skin and visible internal structures that pulsed as it thrust. A hulking brute with arms like tree trunks and a cock to match, who grabbed her head with both massive hands and used her like a handle, pumping with enough force to crack concrete.

Kara took it all. Each one. Every thrust, every grip, every desperate grunt and groan and alien noise of release. She swallowed when she felt like it, spat when she didn’t, and through it all maintained the same expression—slightly amused, slightly bored, like someone watching a moderately entertaining film they’d seen before.

One of them—the translucent one—pulled out at the last second and shot his load across her face. It hit her cheek, her chin, a strand of it catching her eyelash. Warm. Slightly acidic. She didn’t flinch.

Another—the blue one—did the same, coating her chest in streaks of luminescent fluid that glowed faintly in the dim light.

Art, Kara thought. I’m a canvas now. A living, breathing Jackson Pollock in alien spunk.

The line kept moving. The ten minutes stretched—or compressed, she wasn’t really counting, time was relative when you could process information at the speed of thought—and each alien took his turn with the desperate gratitude of a man finding water in a desert. They grabbed her head. They pulled her hair. They thrust and groaned and came inside her or on her, and she accepted it all with the same patient endurance she brought to everything.

This is what it means to be powerful, she thought, as a seven-foot-tall alien with chitinous plating pressed his cock against her lips. Not the strength. Not the flight. The ability to endure absolutely anything and feel absolutely nothing unless you choose to.

She chose, briefly, to feel something. She focused on the sensation—the pressure, the texture, the rhythm—and allowed herself a small, private flicker of pleasure. Not much. A candle flame in a cathedral. But it was there, and it was real, and for three seconds she wasn’t bored.

Then it passed, and she was bored again.

The last alien—a thin, birdlike creature with a hooked beak and a cock that curved upward—finished with a shrill cry, and Kara felt the cum hit the roof of her mouth. She held it, tilted her head back, and let it slide down her throat in one long, smooth motion.

Silence.

The bar was quiet except for the heavy breathing of ten—eleven, twelve, she’d lost count—satisfied aliens and the ambient hum of the ventilation system. They stood around her in various states of dishevelment, belts undone, expressions dazed, looking at the naked woman on her knees in the center of the room like she was something holy and profane simultaneously.

Kara stood up. Fluids dripped from her chin, her chest, her stomach. Streaks of purple and green and luminescent blue painted her skin in abstract patterns. A strand of cum hung from her lower lip, catching the light.

She looked at the insectoid bartender, who hadn’t moved the entire time.

“Tab,” she said.

The bartender blinked—all four eyes, in sequence—and punched something into his register. Kara walked to the bar, leaving wet footprints on the metal floor, and dropped a handful of credits on the counter. More than enough. She always overpaid. It was easier than haggling.

She picked up her clothes from the floor. The tank top, the sports bra, the cargo pants, the underwear. She pulled them on one by one, not bothering to wipe herself clean. The fabric clung to her damp skin, the cum soaking through in places, and she didn’t care. Didn’t even think about it. She laced her boots, ran a hand through her tangled hair, and walked toward the exit.

Not one of the aliens said a word. They watched her go with the reverent silence of witnesses to a miracle they couldn’t explain.

The door of The Rusted Hull hissed open, and Kara stepped out into the Krellus V night. The air was thin and cold and smelled like sulfur and ozone. Two moons hung in the sky—one white, one rust-red—casting dual shadows across the landing field.

Her ship sat at the far end of the field. A Kryptonian scout vessel, sleek and silver, its hull still bearing the scars of her journey through the asteroid belt around Cygnus.

---

Part II: Back on the Ship

[Note: This part features canine loving - if you don't want to see that, please skip!]

She crossed the field in long, unhurried strides, her boots crunching on the gravel. The ship’s boarding ramp lowered as she approached—biometric recognition, keyed to her Kryptonian DNA—and she stepped inside, the hull sealing behind her with a pneumatic hiss.

The interior was warm. Familiar. The scent of recycled air and something faintly canine.

She made it three steps before the white blur hit her.

Krypto came from the upper deck at full speed—flying, actually flying, his cape flapping behind him—and slammed into her chest with enough force to send a human woman through a wall. Kara stumbled back, caught herself against the bulkhead, and went down anyway, landing on her ass on the cold metal floor with a seventy-pound superdog on top of her, licking her face with a tongue that could strip paint.

“Hey—hey, easy—” She laughed, the sound coming out rougher than she expected. His tail was going so fast it was a blur, thwacking against the floor in a rapid staccato. His paws pressed into her chest, and he was whining—that high, desperate whine he made when she’d been gone too long—and his tongue found her nose, her cheek, her chin, the dried cum still clinging to her skin, and he didn’t care, didn’t even notice, he was just happy she was back.

Kara wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. His fur was warm and clean and smelled like the ship’s recycled air and something uniquely him—something animal and comforting and real. She buried her face in his neck and felt something crack open behind her sternum, a pressure valve releasing, and the warmth that flooded through her was so sudden and so complete that her eyes stung.

Not tears. She didn’t cry. Kryptonians didn’t cry, or at least that’s what she told herself.

But she held him tighter, and her breath hitched, and for a moment—just a moment—the vast, crushing emptiness of three months in the black receded to something manageable. Something small enough to hold.

“Good boy,” she whispered into his fur. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

He licked her ear.

She sat there on the floor for another minute, maybe two, letting him press against her, feeling his heartbeat through her chest—rapid and steady and alive. Then she pushed him gently aside, stood up, and scratched behind his ears. His tail kept going. She could hear the air displacement.

“Let me get clean, okay? I’ll be right back.”

The shower was a Kryptonian design—sonic, not water, though she’d installed a water system years ago because the sonic one felt like being sandblasted. She stripped for the second time that night, dropping the cum-stained clothes in the recycler, and stepped under the spray.

Hot water. Real water. The luxury of it still caught her sometimes, even after all these years. She stood under the stream and let it run over her body, watching the alien fluids wash away—purple and green and luminescent blue swirling down the drain in a kaleidoscope of bad decisions. She scrubbed her face with her hands, ran her fingers through her hair, and felt the last traces of Krellus V disappear.

By the time she stepped out, the alcohol was gone. Completely. Her metabolism had burned through it sometime during the walk back to the ship—or maybe during the shower, she hadn’t been paying attention. The buzz that had been humming in her veins for three hours was just... gone. Replaced by the crystalline clarity that came with a Kryptonian liver doing its job with ruthless efficiency.

She toweled off and didn’t bother with clothes. The ship’s climate control was set to a comfortable seventy-two degrees, and she was alone except for Krypto, and Krypto had seen her naked approximately ten thousand times.

She walked to the main cabin and dropped onto the couch. The leather was cool against her bare skin. She sprawled—legs apart, arms spread, head tilted back against the cushion—and stared at the ceiling.

The memory of the bar surfaced without invitation. Ten—eleven, twelve—aliens. Their hands on her head. Their cocks in her mouth. The sounds they made. The desperation. The way they’d looked at her afterward, like she’d given them something sacred.

She shifted on the couch. The leather creaked.

Her body was doing something now that it hadn’t done in the bar. A warmth had settled between her legs—low and insistent, a slow-building pressure that the alcohol had been masking. Now that the liquor was gone, the sensation was right there, front and center, demanding attention.

She’d been fucked in the mouth by a dozen aliens and felt nothing. And now, sitting alone on her couch, naked and sober and three months removed from any kind of real connection, her body decided to wake up.

Typical.

She let her hand drift down, fingertips brushing her inner thigh. The touch sent a shiver up her spine. She was wet—actually wet, not the clinical dampness from the shower but something warmer, something that came from inside.

She thought about the bar. About the purple trader with his ridged cock. About the green merchant with his forked tip pressing against her palate. About the way the furry accountant-bear had fucked her with such deliberate, almost tender restraint.

Her fingers moved higher.

Then stopped.

She pulled her hand away and dropped it to her side. Not like this. Not alone, on a couch, in the dark, chasing a ghost of sensation that a dozen strangers hadn’t been able to give her.

But the warmth was still there. Pulsing. Patient.

She sat up. Looked around the cabin. The ship hummed its familiar, empty hum. The stars moved past the viewport in silent procession. And somewhere on the upper deck, she could hear the soft click-click-click of claws on metal.

“Here, boy.”

The claws went from clicking to pounding. Krypto came around the corner at a sprint—four legs, no flying this time, just pure canine speed—and launched himself onto the couch beside her. The impact made the whole frame shift. His tail was going again, and he pressed his head against her thigh, nuzzling, whining softly.

Kara smiled. A real smile this time—warm, unguarded, the kind that reached her eyes. She reached down and scratched behind his ears, and he leaned into it with the full weight of his body, his eyes half-closing in that blissed-out way dogs had when you hit the right spot.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Hey, buddy.”

He licked her hand. His tongue was warm and rough.

She kept petting him—behind the ears, down his neck, along his spine—and he pressed closer, his body radiating heat against her bare skin. She could feel his heartbeat through his ribs, steady and strong.

The warmth between her legs hadn’t gone away. If anything, it had intensified, fed by the proximity of something warm and alive and devoted to her in a way that nothing else in the universe was.

She shifted on the couch, spreading her legs wider. The movement was casual—almost unconscious—but her body was making an offer it had made before. Many times before. On nights exactly like this one, in cabins exactly like this one, when the loneliness got too heavy and the emptiness got too loud and the only thing in the entire galaxy that made her feel like a person instead of a weapon was the creature sitting beside her.

Krypto’s nose twitched. His head lifted from her thigh, and she watched his nostrils flare—taking in her scent, reading the chemical message her body was broadcasting with embarrassing clarity.

He didn’t need to be asked. He never did.

His tongue found her first—a long, flat stroke from bottom to top that made her breath catch. She settled back against the cushions, one hand still buried in his fur, and let her eyes close.

The sensation was immediate and electric. His tongue was rough—rougher than a human’s, textured with tiny ridges that dragged against her most sensitive skin with a friction that sent sparks racing up her spine. He licked her again, and again, each stroke deliberate and enthusiastic, his tail wagging so hard the couch was vibrating.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, that’s—yeah. Right there.”

He found her clit on the third lick and zeroed in with the unerring precision of a creature that had done this dozens of times. His tongue circled it—fast, then slow, then fast again—and Kara’s hand tightened in his fur, her fingers gripping the white strands.

The pleasure built in a way it never had with the aliens. With them, it had been distant. Academic. A candle flame observed through glass. This was different. This was a wildfire starting at the point of contact and spreading outward through her entire body, heating her skin, tightening her muscles, pulling a moan from her throat that she didn’t try to suppress.

Because it was Krypto. Because he was hers, and she was his, and in the vast, indifferent darkness of space, that meant something.

He was so good at this. The thought surfaced through the haze of building pleasure, clear and fond. So goddamn good. The aliens in the bar had fumbled and grabbed and thrust like they were trying to solve a puzzle with brute force. Krypto worked with patience and instinct, his tongue moving in patterns that seemed random but were anything but—circling, flicking, pressing flat, then pointed—reading her responses in real time and adjusting.

Her hips started to move. Subtle at first—a slow roll, meeting each stroke—then more deliberate, pushing against his mouth, chasing the sensation. Her breathing had gone shallow and quick, and she could hear herself making sounds—soft, involuntary sounds that echoed in the quiet cabin.

She loved him. The thought arrived with the force of absolute truth, uncomplicated and complete. She loved this dog more than she’d loved anything since Krypton burned. More than Earth. More than the people she’d left behind. He had followed her into the void without hesitation, without question, and he was here now—right now—making her feel something real when nothing else in the universe could.

His tongue pushed inside her—not deep, just a quick, probing thrust—and she gasped, her back arching off the couch. The pleasure spiked, sharp and bright, and she felt herself getting close—the tension coiling at the base of her spine, the heat pooling lower, the edges of her vision going soft.

But she pulled back. Gently. She pressed her hand against his muzzle, and he stopped immediately, looking up at her with those big, dark eyes—eager, devoted, waiting for her next command.

“Not yet,” she whispered. Her voice was rough. “My turn.”

She sat up and reached for him, sliding her hands under his chest and lifting. He went limp in her arms—the universal dog surrender—and she laid him on his back across her lap. His legs splayed, his belly exposed, and between his hind legs his cock was already out—rigid, red, standing straight up from its sheath like a flagpole.

Kara looked down at him and felt a surge of tenderness so fierce it almost hurt. His tongue was lolling. His tail was still going, thumping against her thigh. He looked up at her with complete, unquestioning trust.

“Aw,” she said, scratching his belly with one hand. “You want a belly rub? Is that what this is about?”

He barked. Once. Sharp and insistent. Not the playful bark he used when he wanted food or attention. Something more urgent. His hips shifted, and his cock bobbed with the movement, and he barked again—louder this time, almost demanding.

Kara blinked. She looked at his cock. Looked at his face. Looked back at his cock.

“Oh,” she said. Understanding arrived with a small, private smile. “Oh, you want...”

He barked a third time, and his front paws paddled the air—the universal dog gesture for hurry up.

She laughed. The sound was bright and genuine and filled the cabin. “Okay, okay. Impatient.”

She bent down and took him in her mouth.

The taste was familiar—warm, slightly salty, with a musk that was purely animal and not unpleasant. She’d done this before. Many times. It was part of their arrangement, their quiet, private understanding that existed outside the boundaries of anything she’d ever been taught or told. She was alone in the universe except for him, and he was alone except for her, and the things they did together were nobody’s business but theirs.

She sucked him slowly. Lovingly. Her tongue traced the length of his shaft, flat and warm, and she felt him shudder in her lap. His paws pressed against her chest, claws retracted, the pads warm and slightly rough against her skin. She hollowed her cheeks and sucked with gentle pressure, her hand working the base in a slow, steady rhythm.

He was making sounds—low, rumbling sounds that vibrated through her chest where he was pressed against her. Not barks anymore. Something deeper. Something that lived in his throat and came out as a continuous, contented groan. His tail had stopped wagging, which meant he was fully focused, fully present, his entire world narrowed to the wet heat of her mouth.

She took him deeper, then pulled back. Deeper again. Her tongue swirled around the head—that sensitive spot just below the ridge—and she felt him twitch against her lips, felt his hips push up in a small, involuntary thrust. She smiled around him, the expression pulling at her cheeks, and eased back.

Not yet. She wasn’t going to let him finish like this. Not tonight.

She gave him one more long, slow suck—tongue flat, pressure even—and then pulled off with a soft pop. A strand of saliva connected her lower lip to the tip of his cock for a moment before breaking. She looked down at him, and he was staring up at her with an expression of such pure, desperate need that she almost laughed.

“Come on,” she said, and stood from the couch.

She walked to the sleeping quarters—a small room off the main cabin, just big enough for the bed and a narrow shelf. The bed was Kryptonian-standard: wide, low, with a surface that adjusted to body heat. She climbed onto it on all fours, her knees sinking into the material, and arched her back, presenting herself to the open doorway with the casual confidence of someone who knew exactly what was about to happen.

She didn’t have to wait.

The sound came first—the thunder of claws on metal, the rapid-fire percussion of a superdog moving at full speed—and then he was there, a white blur that hit the bed with enough force to rock the entire frame. The mattress compressed under his weight, and she felt him mount her from behind, his front paws landing on her back, his body pressing against her back.

His cock was already there—hot, rigid, sliding against her with the frantic, uncoordinated energy of a creature operating on pure instinct. He was thrusting blindly, his hips pumping in short, desperate strokes, and his cock was dragging across her ass, her lower back, the space between her thighs—everywhere except where it needed to go.

Kara laughed. The sound was warm and fond and carried no judgment.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. His tongue was out, his eyes were wide, and he looked like he was trying to solve the world’s most urgent geometry problem. “You need some help finding the hole? It’s right—”

The words died in her throat.

His next thrust wasn’t blind. It was aimed—with the kind of accidental precision that only desperation could produce—and she felt the head of his cock push hard against her anus, the pressure sudden and insistent and—

Oh.

The ring of muscle gave way. Not gradually, not with the slow, careful easing that a human partner might have provided. All at once, in a single, slick pop that sent a bolt of sensation straight up her spine. His cock slid in—all of it, the full length, the ridge at the base pressing against her entrance—and she felt him bottom out inside her with a completeness that made her vision white out for a half-second.

“Oh—wow.” The words came out breathless. Her hands gripped the sheets, knuckles going white. “Oh, wow.”

The stretch was incredible. She could feel every inch of him—the heat, the pulse, the way his cock twitched inside her as his body registered what had happened. He was fully sheathed, his hips flush against her ass, and he made a sound—a high, keening whine that was equal parts surprise and overwhelming pleasure.

Then he started to move.

Not the frantic, graceless thrusting from before. This was different. Slower. More deliberate. He pulled back—she felt the ridge drag against her inner walls, sending sparks cascading through her nervous system—and pushed forward again, and the sensation was so intense, so perfectly concentrated, that she dropped her forehead to the mattress and let out a moan that she felt in her teeth.

He found his rhythm. Back and forth. Steady and deep. Each thrust pushed the air from her lungs, and each withdrawal pulled a sound from her throat—not words, not really, just raw vocalizations that she couldn’t control and didn’t want to. His paws gripped her hips, claws retracted, and she could feel his breath on the back of her neck—hot and rapid and punctuated by those low, rumbling groans.

The pleasure built from the point of contact outward. Not the wildfire of before—something different. Denser. More focused. It started in her ass, where his cock was stretching her, filling her, hitting spots that sent electric currents racing through her pelvis, and it spread upward through her abdomen, tightening her muscles, coiling at the base of her spine like a spring being wound.

She was moaning constantly now. A continuous, rolling sound that matched his rhythm. Her hips pushed back to meet each thrust, and the impact sent shockwaves through the bed frame—she could hear the metal creaking, the bolts straining. If he’d been a normal dog, the bed would have collapsed. If she’d been a normal woman, her hips would have shattered.

They weren’t normal. That was the point.

His pace increased. She felt it in the tightening of his grip, the shortening of his strokes, the way his groans pitched higher. He was getting close, and she could feel it—the swelling at the base of his cock, the way his thrusts became erratic, losing their rhythm as instinct overrode technique.

But she was closer.

The coil at the base of her spine was wound so tight she could feel it in her teeth. Every nerve ending below her waist was firing simultaneously, and the sensation was building toward something inevitable—a wave that had been gathering force since the first stroke of his tongue, since the first alien pressed himself into her mouth, since the first night she’d left Earth and realized that the only thing waiting for her in the void was this.

She came.

It hit her like a solar flare—sudden, total, all-consuming. Her vision went white, then red, then white again. Her back arched so hard the mattress groaned, and the sound that came out of her was primal—a sharp, keening cry that echoed off the metal walls of the sleeping quarters. Her muscles clenched around him, and she felt him shudder against her, felt his cock swell one final time, and then—

He came inside her.

She felt it in pulses—thick, hot, filling her with a warmth that spread through her pelvis and radiated outward. His body locked against hers, his paws gripping her hips with desperate strength, and he made a sound she’d never heard from him before—a deep, shuddering bark that was half pain and half something beyond language.

They stayed like that. Connected. Breathing. The only sounds in the room were their ragged breathing and the soft, wet sound of his cock still twitching inside her.

Then he pulled out—slowly, carefully—and she felt the sudden absence of him like a physical thing. Cool air hit where he’d been, and she collapsed forward onto the mattress, her arms giving out, her face pressing into the sheets.