They Were Born Here

Many died. They are still dying. The integration of extraterrestrials into Earth's ecosystem and human systems is ongoing. Already, more of them have been born on Earth than remain from the initial group of refugees from the stars. More arrive—latecomers, from more distant points, drawn by the promise, the possibility, of life and acceptance. The Exodus was not a one-time event. It is ongoing. They are still coming here, and increasingly, Earth is their home. They know no other. They were born here.
—Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 1

The body beneath the robe twitched. Uncontrollable convulsions. The tentacle of the Ancient remained fixed in place. All of the brain slug hosts seemed frozen in place. Mel felt Jordan's hand tighten on his own.

Only Anastasia broke the silence.

"The initial integration can cause symptoms similar to a grand mal seizure. That's part of the reason for the gag. Keep the new host from accidentally biting their own tongue," she said. "In the wild, the brain slug would be doing this on its own, navigating the unfamiliar nervous system. But the hive mind is here, guiding the integration. That's why they're all here."

The convulsions slowed, stopped. A line of drool oozed from the gag. Mel watched their shoulders rise and fall, breathing heavily. His own heart hammered inside his chest. The brain slug on the back of the new host's neck was still, solid as green glass that darkened to black at the edges, the skin around it an angry red. Things moved and coiled in those emerald depths.

Then it began to pulse. Slowly, weakly, but steadily. Something about the light in the chamber changed. Mel looked around and saw that the brain slugs on every host were pulsing in perfect sync. One of the Ancient's great tentacle-arms shifted and came down on the shaven side of Jordan's head. She straightened, posture subtly stiffer as she let go of Jenny's hand and stepped towards the new host. Her other hand left Mel's and grabbed at the stiff shaft that pointed out from his body, gripping it firmly but gently, indicating he was to come with her.

The new host had flopped forward in their wheelchair, like a puppet with their strings cut. As Mel grew closer, he could see the bulky casts on arms and legs beneath the robe. He had thought that the wheelchair was a convenience, but now, as his bare feet touched the pool, he realized that the new host might be seriously injured.

"It takes time," Anastasia said. "For the brain slug to attach its digestive intake to the host's mouth. Once it hits the stomach, the semen is processed like any other protein or amino acid; the brain slug can't use it. Needs it fresh, so the slug's digestive track is connected directly to the oral cavity. But it can't process semen taken in by the host orally right away, not until those connections are made."

When the liquid was at ankle height, Mel found his glans was just about level with the brain slug. Its sensory tentacles were fully extended, and the small dark head moved towards him. There was already a grey bead at the tip of the swollen purple head. With the Ancient touching her, Jordan was part of the network, but her hands were free. One hand held him just behind the crest of the glans, while the other stroked his shaft. A week of pent-up need throbbed within him as he realized what 'stasia was saying.

He couldn't use the new host's mouth. Not yet.

"The brain slug uses all of its stored-up reserves for this one moment. There is no second chance. If it fails here, the new being is stillborn, and both brain slug and host will die. This is what . . ." here, Anastasia's voice choked. ". . . this is what they agreed to."

Mel felt the pressure build inside of him as Jordan stroked. There was no rush to it, though he knew there must be some timeline. Her hands were slow, patient. He enjoyed her touch, though it wasn't as intense as earlier, and while he couldn't feel many eyes on them, he was aware of the audience, including the vast bulk of the ancient, one glowing eye not two meters away, fixed on where he was being stroked.

After a week, it didn't take long. His breath came in quick pants. Mel couldn't take his eyes off the neck, shaved clean just for this purpose, at the little broken map of blood vessels beneath the skin, the necessary violence of the bonding. The tiny head, no bigger than his thumb, which had licked at him so eagerly this morning—or had it been yesterday?—it was surely past midnight now—

"Ah!" Mel tensed as his anticipation went over the edge, faster than he had expected it. Something hot traveled up the length of him, but Jordan's fingers clamped tight behind the head. A moment later, he saw why. Her thumb and forefinger eased slightly, just enough to let out a thick, gooey gob of yellow-white jism, then tightened once again. The hungry brain slug ate it up, the tiny mouth-parts tickling Mel's urethra. Only when it was all gone did Jordan ease once again.

It was like an ejaculation stretched out over an entire minute. Not intense. Frustrating, really. Mel stood there, cheeks blushing, as he was milked like a cow, the brain slug taking in as much as it could.

"It'll use the extra nutrients to extend more tendrils in its neural network. Speed up integration with the host. They're still conscious, even if they can't move," Anastasia said. Her lower lip trembled. "You can hear me, even if you can't respond. I want you to know it's okay. It's all going to be okay. You don't have to be scared. You don't have to hide anymore."

There were tears in her eyes, and Mel and Rachel shared a glance, not understanding. Anastasia gave them both the saddest smile they had ever seen.

"Later. Keep going. She needs more."

Jordan didn't let Mel grow soft. She knelt down and licked his head, her tongue scraping behind the crown of his purple helmet, along the soft, sensitive underside of his glans, right up to the little slit. Her other hand continued to stroke him, never letting his erection die down completely. Mel wondered, then, if it was the hive mind guiding her, or if it was her own experience guiding the hive mind. How many of them were tasting his dick right now? Could the new host taste it yet? Would the consciousness trapped within that body be able to sense the new connections being formed, or would it be increasingly cut off as the brain slug took over?

Mel didn't know. Yet he felt the excitement, the need build within him again after a few minutes.

It had been a long week.

Not knowing what else to do with his hands, Mel put them behind his back. He felt warm hands on his tense shoulders, massaging gently, and Mel looked back to see Rachel there, blue eyes full of an expression he couldn't guess.

Anastasia was still talking. To herself, or to the new host, Mel wasn't sure.

"You wanted this, didn't you? Wondered what it would taste like. You'll know, soon, what it feels like on your lips, your tongue. I hope it's everything you ever wanted. Your body is changing. Your mind is a part of something bigger than yourself. How tempting it must have been to just stop being you. I can see now how much you must have wanted this, in your secret heart. You were so scared of it, nightmares each night about feeling it creep up on your neck, that last and most terrible kiss. The disappointment in the morning to find it hadn't happened. Now it's finally happening, and I wonder, I really wonder, if you realize that you're not losing yourself. You're becoming who you really are," 'stasia said, and she didn't hide the tears as they ran down her cheeks, to drip onto her bare breasts.

Mel remembered the feeding sessions with Jenny and Maxine. This was different. More controlled. After the third time, Jordan seemed to relax. She let Mel go and grabbed the new host's shoulders, carefully levering them back up into a sitting position.

The tongue moved around the mouth-hole. Exploring. Eager. Jordan leaned forward, her own tongue extended. Just far enough that the two muscles could touch. Mel didn't know why, but he expected a spark to leap from one to the other. Yet it was nothing like that. Just the two wet little muscles rubbing against each other, swapping spit.

Mel was too focused on the sight to notice that the other brain slug hosts were moving. He wasn't aware of it until he felt Rachel's hands slide off his shoulders, and other hands took his place. A dozen hands gripped him, lifted him up off the floor. He saw, too, that the new host was pulled from their wheelchair.

"Don't resist!" Anastasia called out. "She's ready for you now. It's time for her first feeding."

Mel didn't resist. There were a dozen brain slug hosts hovering over him, touching him. Not exactly holding him down, but he looked up and saw strangers with glowing eyes and placid, unsmiling faces, their fingers rubbing his skin in eerie unison. Then Jenny came and lifted up his head. She settled into a sitting position, buttocks on her heels, and placed Mel's head in her lap. Her fingers wiped away the sweat that had gathered on his brow and licked the dew from her fingertips.

Hands gently spread his legs. Mel looked down his body and saw Jordan at the forefront of the brain slug hosts that held the masked host, one hand under the jaw

It can't see, Mel realized. The mask covered the eyes. The tongue slid around in the gag hole, but it couldn't see him through its own eyes. It has to rely on the rest of the hive.

Jordan helped guide that masked head down between Mel's legs. This part, at least, was familiar. He slid into that mouth-hole, felt the familiar warmth, the suction as the figure eagerly began slurping and sucking.

Hours passed. Rachel and Anastasia hovered around the edge of things, but Mel could hardly see or hear them. His attention was focused on the singular, desperate need. None of them let him go soft. None of them let him rest. Fingers explored and toyed with his balls, pressed into his taint. Hot mouths licked his nipples, and bent down to kiss his lips. The refractory period was still there—Mel might have been 18, but he was only human—and the period between each ejaculation grew longer, the amount of each burst less, more watery.

The stimulation to urge him on to just one more effort, greater.

He felt the soreness build and build inside of him. Mel lost count of how many times he had fed the slug, but he was aware of a burning line that ran the length of his aching erection. Lack of sleep made his brain fuzzy, and the parade of constant stimulation began to make his head swim.

Late into the night or the early morning, he was aware of a pussy that lowered onto his face, and his tongue went to work, automatically, without caring who it was. Something like relief ran through him when he heard Rachel moan "right there, right there, fuck yeah..." in her Ottawa Valley brogue. It sent a shiver through his body, for one final effort. His dazed mind reacted to her scent; the taste and sound of her aroused secret fantasies, the promise of what would come after. A flagging erection spurred on to a startling stiffness that seemed to hit the back of the masked host's throat.

Mel couldn't see the blood that oozed out around the mouth-hole, the trauma of the new orifices breaking through the skin, open wounds that bled freely and mixed with spit and jizz.

His hips jerked, and a hot spike of liquid burst inside the new host's mouth. Mel imagined the newly made orifices in the back of the throat, sucking up the semen, taking it straight to the brain slug to process. He wondered if he could look through the transparent green flesh and see the white jizz flow into its tiny stomach, filling it to capacity.

Then, they withdrew.

Rachel slid off his face. The brain slug host ceased touching Mel and fell back. The absence of their touch was like a chill on his skin where they no longer stroked him. He sat up, panting, brain and body spent, limp and shriveled and with a desperate need to pee. They were carrying the new host back to their chair. Jordan and Jenny stood, the tentacle-arm of the ancient still on them both, and the ancient itself had risen out of the pool so that the humans could see the bulk of it, so like a Terran squid but subtly different.

Jenny held a bandage and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Jordan held out a small scalpel in one hand, the blade of dark green glass. In the other was a tiny bluish-purple orb, nacreous and milky, with flashes of electric blue in the dim light of the glowing eyes of the brain slug hosts.

"A blue pearl," Anastasia said, suddenly breathless. "I've never seen one before. No human has. But it must be."

"What is it?" Rachel said, and she sounded almost as tired as Mel. Dribbles of saliva ran down her naked thighs.

"A node in their neural network. A relay for the hive mind. To be offered a blue pearl is an offer to be made a part of them. An honorary brain slug," Anastasia's voice grew excited. "They didn't bring us here to welcome one new member. They want two!"