Peric awoke in the same position as yesterday, underneath Onia’s hands. This time however, he lay directly on her stomach — no knapsack between his skin and hers. No clothing either. He stuck his hand between a slit in her fingers, then jerked it back into the warmth. He wouldn’t punish her today, not because of the oath he’d made with himself, but because it was utterly frigid out there. He wasn’t sure when she’d awaken, but he had no immediate desire to leave his confinement.

Her abdominal skin. Thin hairs between his fingers. Where his hand traveled, her heat increased. The minor influx of cold air couldn’t overpower her radiant heat. The only problem was his arousal. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had morning wood, but he definitely had a bad case this morning. And with the way her hand pressed down on him, he couldn’t touch or even adjust himself.

He pushed against her palm. He might as well have attempted to bench press a car. He twisted his body left and right, then something happened. Her hands shifted an inch and he flipped onto his front, his penis sandwiched upward between his body and hers.

He couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t masturbated in weeks and the skin on skin sensations overwhelmed his mind. His body started humping on it’s own, entirely out of his control. Maddeningly, he couldn’t touch himself, not in the tightness of his confines, but he was so close. Her smooth skin rubbed against his like hot breath, setting his entire body aflame. His thoughts wandered to recent events, specifically, the leech hunt. Her mouth, her butt, her v —

“Ahhhhh.” He came, shooting load after load between his stomach and hers. But as the afterglow set in, so did the guilt.

“What the fuck.”

Beastiality was illegal on his home planet. Sure, it wasn’t like he fucked Onia directly. Would that even be possible? But thoughts of her had filled his mind at the moment of his climax. What the fuck had happened to him? She’d have no idea what he’d done. Neither would anyone else. But why the hell did he do it?

Then again, why not? He was human and he hadn’t been with a woman in five months. Seven if he included his time on Earth. If anything, it was amazing he’d managed to go so long without doing something like this.

Like this...

His mind screamed at him — she was an animal, not a human. He just had sex with an animal.

Fuck it. He’d add it to the long list of fucked up things he’d done in life. He couldn’t hope to atone for them all, let alone any single one. He’d just have to live with it and keep moving. If he never returned to Earth, none of it would matter anyway.

An hour or two later, Onia awakened. The mistchill had receded, so when she lifted her hands, he didn’t freeze to death. He peeled himself off her upper abdomen. Though sticky, his shameful emission had dried, at least to the point where she wouldn’t be able to detect it. Hell, she wouldn’t know what it was even if he did it on her face. Not that he needed another lewd image to add to his collection.

“Punish Onia?” she asked.

“No.” Here he was, standing naked on her stomach after everything he’d done, and she feared punishment. She’d warmed him, kept him from certain hypothermia. Yet, she thought he’d punish her for it. Just as he’d done yesterday.

“Onia do good,” he said.

“Onia do good.” Her expression relaxed.

He jumped off and dressed himself in items from the clothesline, still warm from their proximity to the dying fire. How had she managed to light it without awakening him?

He turned around to watch her rise. Though not brawny by human standards, the sheer size of her limbs commanded respect. Outlines of toned muscle became visible when she exerted force to move. He’d forgotten how many tonnes she weighed. Was it a hundred and fifty? Whatever it was, it was enough to sink the clearing (where she spent most of her resting time) a good two or three feet below the surrounding land. She had to be unbelievably strong to support that amount of weight. After all, she’d snapped a Tarlo’s neck without so much as a hint of strain.

He had to stop looking at her. “Get dressed.”

She obeyed and they went about their morning routine. He ate Tarlo leftovers combined with fruits he hadn’t bothered naming yet. She devoured a medium sized Aezock tree, one near the edge of the clearing. The clearing itself had been full of trees when they’d arrived at the campsite last month. Needless to say, it’s diameter expanded daily. Soon they’d move to a new site because he didn’t allow her to eat in private. She might not stop, and that would be bad for both of them.

***

He spent the next three days wading through kale in what had become known as the designated pooping area. Onia carried him there when she was ready to ‘release’ and even helped him search, pancaking the substance with her hand so it rose merely to his knees. She showed no aversion to her own excrement. None whatsoever. She might as well have been playing in a fresh pile of snow.

Snow wasn’t a bad analogy considering the oldest pile of dung had all but ‘melted’ away, leaving no trace of it’s existence. Kale wasn’t intended to be stored. Even in the freezing nighttime conditions, it steadily disappeared. Whether it was absorbed into the ground or evaporated into the air he didn’t know.

On the evening of the third day, he sat in front of her crossed legs, waiting for the Tarlo soup to boil. His position between her body and the fire had become one of his favorite, a refuge from the elements. It gave space to think.

He hadn’t punished her since the fire incident, nor had he wanted to. He hadn’t thought of her sexually again either, in spite of sleeping on her stomach every night. Whatever had possessed him on that morning had vanished. He saw her not as a mate, not as chattel, but perhaps something in between. Something he had yet to define.

A rhythmic rustling sound caught his attention. He turned to find Onia casually rubbing her shift, specifically the area between her parted legs. The thin material glistened in the flickering firelight.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She stopped rubbing but her hand remained in place. “Onia feel good.”

He knew exactly what she was doing, and he should tell her to stop. But why? Just so he could feel like a saint or suppress his own lustful desires? Screw that. If she wanted to masturbate, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

“Tomas say no when Onia touch,” she said.

“Forget Tomas.”

“Onia do good?” she asked.

How the fuck was he supposed to respond to that?

“Onia can do what Onia wants with her body,” he said after some consideration.

Her brow wrinkled. “Onia do good?”

He sighed. “Onia do good.”

Her face lit up and she resumed her lower massage, hand moving in slow circles. He watched for a while, aroused but not enough to risk getting wet at night. For her part, she seemed content with the circular caress. She’d probably never been taught anything about her own body. Did they even have sex ed for Fyths? Come to think of it, how did they reproduce anyway?

As he dined, the rustling sound transformed from slick to squishy. He shut it out, concentrating instead on the hot food. They’d have to hunt again soon, as the remains of the Tarlo had begun to spoil. It shouldn’t take too long to find —

A particularly loud squish and a muffled moan. Then, a dry finger from her free hand hung in front of him, blocking his view of the fire.

“Peric touch Onia.”

He hesitated, then reached up and grabbed the tip of her finger. Another moan, this one significantly louder followed by a squelch, and her finger shook in the air. It hooked around his upper body and scooted him backwards until he became trapped between her finger and her ankle. Intermittent vibrations traveled from the surrounding flesh and into his body. It must’ve continued for a half a minute.

“Ok.” He pushed against the entrapping digit, causing it to withdraw. “Bedtime.”

Promptly, she lay down and lifted him onto her stomach, covering his body with her hands as had become their custom. Her breathing seemed particularly relaxed, her warmth a degree or two higher than usual. She’d likely experienced an orgasm, something he didn’t even know was possible for a Fyth, and she’d done it with his help. He’d used her for masturbation and she’d done the same to him. In a weird way, it alleviated some of his guilt.

“Onia like Peric.” Her voice rumbled through her upper abdomen. He both felt it and heard it.

And he slept well that night.

***

Peric tied one end of the forty foot rope around his ankle, and the other around Onia’s forefinger. She sat watching him, eyebrows furrowed inquisitively.

“Raise your arm slowly.”

She lifted her arm higher and higher while he sat on the ground. Eventually his right leg rose into the air, and she stopped.

“Keep going until I’m off the ground.”

She extended her arm higher until he dangled upside down, naked, his fingertips touching the leaves. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t painful either. For the short amount of time he intended to use the technique, it shouldn’t be a problem.

“Ok. Back down now.”

She lowered her arm a bit too quickly and he ducked and rolled to prevent a painful impact. He then stepped onto her hand and commanded her to bring him to her mouth. It was the same mouth as always, relatively thin lips pressed together in a straight line, but today they seemed a bit more formidable.

“Open up.”

She obeyed and he peered inside. Immaculate teeth reflected the afternoon’s light and a pinkish tongue retracted. Eating wood on a regular basis must have some hygienic properties as he’d never seen her brush. Not that they made Fyth toothbrushes.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You listening?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to swallow me. Then, after I blow my whistle, you’ll pull me out. Understand?”

“Onia eat Peric?” She chewed on her tongue.

“No. Don’t eat Peric. Swallow Peric.”

“Onia s — swallow Peric.”

“Yup. Then pull Peric out when you hear the whistle.”

“Pull Peric after w — wisssel.”

He gave her a thumbs up. He couldn’t count the number of things that could go wrong, but he had no other choice. Without the harvester, he had no way of extracting the iron and using it to rebuild the delicate circuitry. It was time for risks. Besides, he’d never known a Fyth to intentionally harm a human, even when commanded. Something hardwired in their DNA. So, he’d probably be ok. Worst case, she’d puke him up.

“Now open up. When I reach the back of your throat, try to swallow me.”

She opened her mouth. He pressed a button on his watch, then crawled head first into the pine scented cubby hole. Her tongue squished under his hands like a moss covered water bed, and her exhalations got warmer and muggier with each second. After ducking under her uvula, he dove, pulling his legs in along with him. When she swallowed, his feet passed the border of her lips.

Then she gagged.

Her upper esophagus squeezed his shoulders and liquid seeped into his nose. He pushed off her bottom teeth with his feet, surging forward another couple inches, but she gagged again, this time reversing his progress.

A third time and bile splashed his face, resulting in a fit of coughing, both on her part and his. The world spun. Before he could push again, he found himself halfway out, his feet on her palm. He backed out the rest of the way and sat there, catching his breath, hair dripping orange goo.

“Sorry,” she said, drooling from the corners of her lips.

“It’s ok.” At least she didn’t say ‘punish Onia’. He’d finally broken her of the habit. He had no intention of punishing her again and he’d rather she not mention the word. It only caused memories to resurface when heard it.

Besides, he wasn’t out of ideas yet.