Settling In

The truth of the job is that flanked alongside you at all times hangs the twin furies of duty and ****. You work the core of duty in the presence of ****, and **** must be employed in the service of duty. Like a guardian spirit, the scales in one hand, the flaming blade in the other.

The truth of time off the job exists in the presence of the singular fury of the human urges in the inhuman body.

A quick search of the internet in the room terminal you find in the corner of your depressing little room pulls up the wealth of the information available on you since you made your presence known to the humans. You're an alien, simply and plainly. You came to earth in a small pod, were raised by a small family in the midwest, the whole nine yards. The two exceptions that separate you from the others with the background are of course the external womanhood that hides the secret between your legs, and the fact that you're you.

The "secret" between your legs, barely contained as it is, promises to be a constant and undeniable issue.

Knowledge is a harsh thing to pin down for you still fresh into this body. In the immediate moment of assuming the form, you had the rush of the fleeting thoughts of the previous owner, now somewhere that could be anybody's guess, there was the rush of the immediate and long-term, but it feels as though you possess the first and last chapter of a long book. You're at the mercy of what you can learn from others. Unfortunately, the extent of the knowledge that these humans have about you is what your body's previous ower revealed, which wasn't much. The previous owner was reserved, humble, resistant to their powers, suppressing their dirty thoughts. The kind of home-grown corn-fed buffoon that makes an elegant hammer for systems of justice when given power and a willing subservient when denied it. The previous owner gave no intimate knowledge, kept no journals. You start, in essence, with the knowledge of what may be felt and perceived with your body.

Anatomically, you are a human female with a cock between her legs that would make a size queen blush and a set of balls that seem to churn irritatingly at all hours. Whether this second fact is a result of your new occupation of the body, or something that the previous host simply suffered in silence is unknowable. Over time, as you inhabit this form, the secrets may unravel to you, both as the memories decrypt and the former friends give you details, for now, you are standing in a room, observing the rise and fall of your breaths as they move your chest, staring down between your legs at that most alien and out of place anatomy. Even in the face of flight and super-strength, this remains the alien attribute, and it hungers to be seen.

The urges to breed rise almost beyond physiological normality. There is no real desire to sate the urges and return to normalcy, acting as if on a hormonal schedule. It borders on all-consuming. It can be suppressed, through feats of will that border on monumental, but it never goes away.

Your ears are trained beyond any mere human capacity. You hear one of the girls in the room adjacent sleeping deeply, soft and slow breath warping her chest inward and outward. In the room next to you, another sits awake at her terminal, a position you also occupied until recently. You hear her keypresses, not just the individual hits, but the song each key uniquely seems to sing when pressed. It's almost maddening, seeing the words take shape from incomprehensible soft sounds. You remain unable to drone out the inanity of the words. You have to know the inane words, the typos and backspace. You can't not listen to it, it sounds like it's coming from next to you, and the analytical processes of making words from the character sounds happens automatically. The typed cycles from news articles, to arguing about the veracity of their contents in the comments section, to cycling to a personal blog.

"If any of you have read the recent coverage of our new arrival, you've been pree *backspace* -tty misinformed! As the Daily Horn would have you believe, she's some terrifying alien from the stars who could destroy us at any moment! However, as your girl with the inside scoop on the goings-on at The Lower-Eastside Megatropolis Hero Guild, I can tell you firtshand that she's super cool!"

You are getting very tired of hearing about yourself in third person through text, when she drops a bomb that makes you pay attention.

"I was actually pretty surprised when I saw her on the news, you may not know this (And I won't say where!) but we actually went to High School together at one point! I totally recognized her!"

You slip back into the starchy pajamas they provided you and slide your door open slowly. Even though you can hear that most of the girls are sleeping, the walls here are thin, even for a girl with normal human hearing. You quietly creep out into the hall and over to the typing girl's room. Before you can enter, you hear the sound of her fingers drifting from the keyboard slowly, seemingly distracted in the process of writing. You hear the sound of them creeping into a waistband, the small sub-breath of anticipation releasing. It makes you pause for a moment. Normally you'd walk away, maybe listen voyeuristically and have your own fun, but you decide that you care a little more about answers now, so you knock on her door.

There's a quick little gulping gasp, followed by the sound of a waistband snapping back into place. Eventually, you hear a soft but panicked "Come in!"

You slide the door open, finding the room to be lit by a single depressing orange lamp situated at the opposite end of the room from the girl at the computer desk. Were it not for her already wearing thick goggles that doubled as coke-bottle glasses, you would warn her of the deleterious effect on her eyesight. The massive lenses inside the brown gear-coated goggles make her green eyes stand out by virtue of making them saucer-plate wide. She has her own custom pajamas, ones that seem far softer than the starchy defaults that you've been given as a short-term holdover. She's adorned the blueish-white fabric with little atom patterns as well as clockwork gears. The loose pajamas don't hide the general roundness of her belly and the fullness of her form, including the chest of the pajama shirt seeming to strain slightly against the breasts. She fills out loose clothing pleasingly, and the mousy small features of her face and mop of curly brunette hair make her look like a pastiche of bookwormish attributes. Judging by how she treated the machines and dummies, you have a feeling that the looks are close to the truth.

"O-oh! Hey!" She tries to greet you casually.

You close the door behind you softly, not taking your eyes off of her. As well as reading her looks, you've sized her up about a dozen times over. If you **** yourself on her right now, either with violent or sexual intent, there is absolutely no way that she could stop you, even if you used a mere tenth of your actual power. The thought of her plump form supine or prone on the bed mere seconds after entering her room sends a quick flash of excitement through you. You could fuck her like no human being, man or woman, ever could dream of. Or that she could dream of, for that matter. Even if she resisted you at first, she would come to love it, her body supplicant for you as you twisted her mind with orgasms both wanted and unwanted, emptying your balls into her like a toy.

You blink, realizing that you've become sidetracked by these thoughts long enough for her to stare at you as you stand there awkwardly. There's a gentle panic to her face, both from the anxiety of the social situation, and because she likely realizes how powerless she is in the face of you just like you have. The surge of heat to your groin pushes those thoughts away, without ever quenching them.

You clear your throat, "Mind if I sit down on your bed?"

"Yeah, sure!" She responds nervously, turning to minimize her tabs as she does. As you step over to the bed, you see the blog tab minimizing, catching sight of the tabs it joins as it does. The news article is still open to the comments section, the original article being about your arrival and the potential bad omen you represent. The notion amuses you, especially in the face of how your previous train of thought compares to the respectful restrain you sit on the girl's bed with and look at her with. Alongside the article are several different pictures of you, your manager, and her teammates in her tabs. Which one she was enjoying a moment with her hand between her legs to the thought of is anybody's guess, but you have a feeling it wasn't round-faced Tom.

You sit on the bed gently, crossing your long legs to hide any potential rising issues that may rear their head. "Sorry to bug you so late at night."

"Oh! No problem! I'm actually more of a night owl anyway. If I was a little short with you earlier, I'm sorry, I was working on a shortage of sleep."

There's an earnest honesty to everything she says and a belief in her words. However, there's also a distinct expectation in her face. Waiting to see if you'll push her on something or broach an unspoken but known subject. It's equal parts happy anticipation and paranoid wariness.

"This may sound odd," You use a soft and playful tone, trying to put her more at ease. The less she thinks of you as an alien, the more comfortable she's likely to be. "But, do I know you from somewhere? Your face looks familiar."

Her eyes light up, clearly, you've hit on the subject she was hoping you would. "Yeah! I'm surprised you remember somebody like me, but we went to high school together."

You raise an eyebrow, "I thought so, I'm afraid high school was such a blur for me, I'm not sure I'd recognize anybody."

She scratches her chin, "You and me both! Still, I'm surprised you'd remember me of all people. I spent most of my time in the library or lab, and was only there for a semester before transferring to gifted classes. You were always off with your sporty friends, cheerleaders and the like. I suppose now that the secret's out that you're... an alien with powers, does that mean you were technically cheating by doing sports with humans?"

You shrug, "I always held back, but I suppose there really wasn't a way around it."

She waves it off, "Integrity in sports is a myth anyway. I just remember you being like... the brightest star at that school."

"How do you mean?"

She blushes with her ears, "I guess you sorta had like a... radiance. It made people want to be around you."

"Did it make a lot of people envious?"

"Not even that really! I think just about every girl at that school was just as hot for you as the guys were! I guess that must have been like.. alien pheromones or something?" She catches herself, "No offense?"

"Am I still radiant?" You joke.

She blushes with her full face, "I mean, the pajamas don't do as much for you as baggy sweatpants and a bomber jacket, but you're still super hot."

As soon as she's said it, she claps a hand over her mouth.

You laugh it off, "Don't worry, it's not pheromones per se, but ever since I was a kid, people have had a hard time keeping secrets around me."

She sighs, "I guess that's why you got so many confessions, honestly I'm surprised you didn't get one from me."

The hand goes back over her mouth.

You laugh it off again, giving her a soft smile, "Maybe I would have accepted."

"Yeah right! You turned down every single one! I think that only made most of them crazier about you."

"Why do you think I did?"

She shrugs, "I dunno. I guess in hindsight it was because you were an alien. Maybe you're not attracted to humans, or maybe you're weird down there, nobody knows." She starts to bring her hand over her mouth again but stops herself.

"I'm not not attracted to humans," You muse, adopting an overly analytical tone. "However, I'm not exactly a normal human girl where it counts."

Her face flushes red, but she also grins, "You know, I'm the team doctor too, maybe we should schedule you for a physical." This time she can't stop the hand over the mouth.

"It seems like you wear a lot of hats around here." You decide to give her an easy change of subject.

"Some of us get superstrength, some of us can fire magic bolts, some of us can bend like a pretzel." She complains. "My "special power" is that I studied hard enough to be indispensable. It means I get to play hero while mostly being here to file taxes and build training dummies."

"Aren't you proud of your intelligence?"

She sighs, "It's less embarrassing than joining MENSA, but I still wind up being the one normal person surrounded by costumed weirdos most of the time. No offense."

You raise an eyebrow, "Would you really say those like Diane are that far away, in the grand scheme of things?"

"Maybe it seems like a small difference when you're the only one of your species, but it does make me feel kinda useless."

"On my planet, we held doctors in the highest esteem."

She looks at you excitedly, "Really?"

You shrug and laugh, "No idea, I left when I was an infant."

Her face shrivels somewhat, but the scientific interest in you seems to win out. "So what do you actually know about your race?"

"Close to nothing."

Her face brightens, not just from the full-face blush, "I know we're not exactly in a professional setting, but would you mind if I examined you?"

"Do you play doctor with all of your friends?"

"Do you blame me for having a more than usual amount of interest in you?"

She may regret the clinicality of the way she phrased it, but she seems to be more comfortable and less regretful about her both attraction and scientific interest in you. It's hard to tell where the line between the professional side of her and the unashamed perversion of it begins, but you get the feeling that they're inextricable for her at this stage.

"How thorough of an examination do you mean?"

She shuffles out of her computer chair and steps over to the wall, turning on the overhead room light before going over to her closet. "Nothing invasive, mostly just stuff like reflexes and physiognomy. I may draw some blood when you're in my office proper, but I wouldn't ask you to let me do that in my bedroom."

Even with your own initial depraved train of thought, you're taken aback by how quickly she's moving ahead. In no time, she's fished a heavy-looking leather bag out of her closet and lugged it over beside the bed.

"I suppose I wouldn't object. Off the record?"

"Right! If I make you uncomfortable at any point, just say so!"

She opens the bag and sits on the bed beside you, pulling out a head circumference tape and wrapping it around your head. After she gets her measurements with that, she grabs another skull measuring device, then another. Throughout all of it, she'll occasionally place a soft and small palm on your cheek, or pinch your chin to turn your head. She smells nutty, that and her warm skin make her almost cozy to be around, even as she pinches and prods you.

"Do you mind if I take some notes?" She asks softly.

"I thought you agreed off the record."

"It would save me having to redo things later. I have a good memory, but it isn't photographic."

"Would they be just between you and me?"

"Of course!" She looks shocked, "I take doctor-patient confidentiality very seriously. Especially since my duties usually include more psychological affairs."

You relent and she pulls out a small clipboard, jotting down some notes on it.

"Proportionally, you're almost indistinguishable from human, aside from slightly more developed eyes and ears. I can't measure them in here, so we'll save them for later. I do need to take some other measurements I can't really get at this angle though."

"So what do I do?"

She stands and then faces you head-on. She places a gentle set of hands on your collarbone and slowly pushes you back until you're laying on the bed with your feet hanging off the edge. Without much warning, she then crawls over you, face hanging with its curtain of curly hair down into yours. Looking down, the wide collar of her baggy shirt sags down and you can stare down her pale skin to her navel. Her pillowy breasts dangle to either side.

"Sorry if I flash you a bit, this is pretty spur the moment." She mumbles.

Again without warning, she plops her round ass down onto your stomach, straightening up to take notes on her clipboard. She sets it aside and leans down, chest now pressing against you as she leans on her elbows to measure your neck.

"This is a pretty odd checkup," You murmur, feeling your pants starting to shift.

"I never said checkup," She whispers back, "I said examination."

"Do you give all of your teammates examinations?"

"Only when they let me."

She sits back on your stomach, taking more notes. Her face is flushed red and her breathing is starting to get more uneven. You could snap right now, throw her underneath you and take what you want, but you keep the thin lid of control on. It helps that you're pretty certain she intends to give you what you would take willingly.

"Is it hot in here to you too?" She asks, looking down mischievously.

"A bit."

She reaches for her shirt buttons, "Do you mind if I take these off? They're pretty warm, so in a summer like this one I usually sleep without them."

You nod and she unfastens her buttons slowly, face flushing a little deeper with each one. When she finally pulls the cloth to either side and off of her, her face is nearly ruby red. Her breasts hang seemingly past her ribs, each punctuated by a large puffy pink nipple, hard by the time the air hits them.

"Thanks, now, where were we?"

She leans back down, running her fingers along your collar bone as her breasts press into your chest. She's shorter than you by a few heads, but with her waist lined up with your stomach, she can bring her face down to let you feel her breaths on your neck.

"Would you mind if I took your shirt off too?" She whispers.

Without even waiting for an answer, her fingers find the top buttons of your pajama shirt. Her deft little hands unhook each one and she rocks back to a sitting position when they're all down. She opens one flap of your shirt, then the other, unfolding them like the coverings of a delicate book. She draws in a slow and deep breath when you're uncovered beneath her, placing one of her palms on your tight stomach and pressing softly to feel the returned sturdiness of well-defined abs. Her hands creep up and find your breasts, rolling them like she's checking for lumps before gently flicking her fingers over your nipples and pinching them.

"Patient is in... phenomenal shape..." She mumbles, ducking her eyes away in embarrassment.

You can feel her pussy pressing damply through her pants onto your waist and stomach. She rocks grindingly against you like this, in doing so feeling a momentary brush of your hard cock against her ass. She looks confused, then reaches back and feels you through your pants.

"You've got... ?" She half-asks.

You nod.

She stands up off of the bed and clears her throat, "Would you mind standing up for me?"

You rise from the bed, suppressing your usual instinct to tuck or hide your package, letting it tent visibly in your pajama bottoms.

"R-right, you did say earlier..." She mumbles, making notes.

"Is this still a standard examination?" You tease.

Surprisingly, she nods, "Sex is a physiological need, even for heroes. Relief is a perfectly valid medical-" She cuts herself off and you see the hand jerk to go over the mouth, but she gives up and settles for dropping her pants. A wet shine glistens to you from a mess of dark brown hair.

"R-right, so... I'm gonna... drop your pants now..." She mumbles. "Let me know if you want me to stop."

She drops to one knee and sinks her fingers into your waistband, lowering it slowly and watching the v of muscles narrow as it approached the moment of truth. As the waistband sinks past the point of no return and starts to expose your cock to the air, she pulls her head back for the inevitable moment it springs free. Even with her head drawn back, when it springs free it still almost hits her in the face.

"Ohmygod!"

The bag opens again, another measuring implement comes out. She sets it against your cock and then wraps it around it gingerly, acting the whole time like if she touches the rod improperly, it might explode.

"F-fourteen inches long and e-eight inches around... if you were curious." She mumbles, writing furiously. "That would put you in the t-top 0.001 percent for a human."

"Is that a problem?"

"W-well, I don't think anybody without powers is ever going to take you to the base..."

It takes one of her soft hands on your balls to realize just how intense the churning inside has gotten.

"J-Jesus! You might be carrying an entire pint!"

"Impressed?" You smirk.

"More like terrified!"

You place a hand on her head, ruffling her hair, as you do you push the head of your cock closer to her face.

"Come on doc, don't get cold feet on me now."

Your cock twitches against her soft cheek, she gulps and fumbles to put her clipboard down. "I n-never said that!"

She wraps her hands around your cock and squeezes firmly, grasping the overwhelming meat in her hand. She looks it up and down incredulously as she starts to stroke it, small hands grasping with reassuring firmness. If there was any blood in your body that wasn't already making you stand at attention, it quickly rushes into your cock. You realize very quickly why the previous host must have tried so hard to avoid contact with humans, it takes every fiber of your focus not to throw the good doctor down on her own bed and use her like a fleshlight. She seems to recognize as much.

"Is it... overwhelming?"

You barely manage to respond through teeth clenched tight enough to risk cracking. "Yes."

She drops her hands from your cock, making it surge with enough **** that you feel control lapsing for a moment and your hand jerking to her head. You catch yourself in time, stopping before you hurt her. She reaches quickly into her bag and pulls out a bottle of clear fluid, then drizzles the cool fluid onto your cock. She gets back to jerking, aided by the liquid making your cock slick. Her small hands glide over your skin effortlessly, her stroking is now far faster, like she's trying to make you explode as quickly as possible to lighten your burden. Unfortunately, the closer you feel yourself getting, the harder it is to control. By the time you feel yourself approaching the edge, you can swear you'll snap any second. The doctor seems to get it, speeding even further. She takes one hand off to grab a vial from the bag, preparing to collect a sample as she aims your cock toward her own face as she makes milking motions.

And as you feel the first wave of pressure cracking and beginning to release, the self-control snaps. Your hands jerk to the doctors' head and don't allow her a moment to protest before you ram the head of your cock at her lips. Perhaps fortunately, she has the goodwill to let you in so you don't spend the next few seconds slamming your cock against her teeth, an exchange her teeth would surely lose. Feeling her tongue flatten against the underside of your cockhead is enough to make the pressure wave break fully and you squeeze your eyes shut with a whimper. The first blast of cum that comes out of you jets with the **** of a hydrant directly down the good doctor's throat, as does each ecstatic squeeze after. You feel her fumbling hands brace against your waist, trying to keep you from ramming yourself down into her stomach. She would be powerless to actually stop it from happening, but the sensation of release makes you sensitive enough that having any amount of you inside of her is enough. That, and some part of your brain, no matter how small, remains conscious during the process. However, as the churning and squeezing of your bloated balls overrides all other sensations, that small part is easy to drown out, toes curling against the carpet of her floor as you feel your unbearable pressure slowly emptying into the girl on her knees. When the waves of pleasure grow weaker and the intense swelling of your balls subsides to a gentle squirming, you open your eyes and look back down. The doctor has taken all of the cum she can, but her cheeks are still bulging with more. Tears have started sliding down her face, but she looks up at you warmly. When you let your cock slide out, she sputters and drools the cum in her mouth into the vial, hiccuping occasionally.

"Well," She croaks, "It's a tainted sample, but you made me swallow most of the rest."

"Sorry," You mumble, still somewhat pleasure-drunk. "You okay?"

"Oh yeah," She winces, "Other than the fact that I just drank a pint of cum."

She stumbles over to her computer desk, her own cum dribbling down the inside of her thighs, then corks the vial. On her way back, she collapses into your arms.

"Hey uh... I wanna keep going, but I've also been up for like... twenty-eight hours now. Would you mind coming back tomorrow, in my office?"

The feeling of her soft skin against you makes your body tell you that you are very much not done. However, you help the doctor over to her bed and set her down in it. By the time you pull your pajama pants back on and tuck your tent away, she's fallen asleep. You let yourself out quietly.

Unfortunately for you, it's not so easy as simply falling into bed and falling asleep. By the time you've gotten back to your room, your balls already feel almost as swollen as they had before you left your room. Either by process of self-denial, or purely by alien anatomy, all your tryst did was provide temporary release... and awaken a hunger in your that your body didn't know it was missing before. Eventually, you jerk yourself to another climax in bed, soiling the spare pair of pajamas you had to save your sheets, and manage to fall asleep in the afterglow.