##Something Wicked
At exactly four hours before midnight, every night for the past three nights, the squadron of four wave serpents would take off and cross the no-man’s-land between their hidden staging ground and the humans’ front lines, aiming to strike at a predetermined list of targets. At exactly two hours and forty-seven minutes before this nameless planet’s midnight, the wave serpents would emerge from the clay ravines, gliding low over the muddy plains. They would pass over the humans’ forward trenches, their anti-grav engines whispering like a bird’s delicate wing, and deliver their payloads to the Imperial installations. Then, they would turn around and exit exactly the way they’d come. Just like every night for the past three nights.

“...and you don’t think the mon’keigh will catch onto this?” Zelkodar asked as he gripped his intricately sculpted grab handle in the center of the wave serpent’s troop compartment.  Each troop’s handle was a turquoise, luminescent sea serpent, diving and surfacing out of the churning black waters of the ceiling.

“No,” Tun’ahain replied curtly, glancing back at the Eldar guardian with distaste. She was the warrior in the squad with the most experience in battle, having walked as a Howling Banshee and a Dire Avenger for many years of her life. She’d stepped off those Paths and walked onto another, that of the scholar, so she now wore the light blue mesh armor of the craftworld’s guardians. Tun’ahain’s status as a prior warrior meant she served as a battle-mentor to most in the squad. She was the one Zelkodar hoped would be at least a little swayed by his strategic reasoning.

“Listen, Zelkodar,” she began, voice as cold as the ocean swirling above them, its waves frozen in time. “Leave the decision-making to those of us with a uterus. There is a reason all our great farseers are women.” Realizing a simple answer was rarely acceptable for the male, Tun’ahain made sure to elaborate. 

“You’re not asked to understand. You’re only called up by Iybraesil to follow orders and serve, not to think. You should be thankful for that. Now, get ready to provide cover for the Fire Dragons.”

Tun’ahain finished and gave him the pitying look with her brows she often gave when she over-explained things to him. Before his defiance could give her cause to over-explain further, he huffed and walked backwards to the compartment’s open egress hatch, glancing at Iywz’e. Zelkodar’s fellow male shrugged his shoulders and shook his head underneath his white helmet. The rest of the cabin, all women, either agreed with what Tun’ahain said or were too apathetic to speak up. 

Oh, sure, they would nod their heads and act infinitely interested when he talked to them back at the staging grounds, but it was all just an act, an attempt to get Zelkodar to snuggle up with them in their sleeping pods for the night. In his mind an image of a jetbike appeared. It was being passed between the squad’s girls, each one activating the psycho-sensitive rune of ignition one after another. ‘And you get a ride… and you get a ride…’ The guardian closest to him coughed into her fist. He realized he’d been emotionally projecting, and slipped his helmet back on. 

Was he truly worth so little? He just couldn’t catch a break from this misandry. Back on Iybraesil, every time he was out in public some matron’s hand would inevitably pinch his behind, or a madam would ‘accidentally’ trip into his chest. He was sick of it! And these girls all thought they’d get a piece of him if they smiled and nodded their heads when he spoke?! In the past, when Zelkodar had gotten this frustrated, he would vent to his friend from Ulthwe through what they called the ‘warp spider’s network’.

Basically, you compose a letter, hand it off to your friend on the Mariner’s Path who was headed out on a job, and then they’d hand it off to someone on the next ship they run across, and they’d hand it off to somebody who knows somebody… maybe a corsair handles it for a bit… repeat this an uncountable number of times, and eventually the letter reaches your friend, or it’s lost to the webway. 

It’d been an especially bad week and so he’d written an especially angsty letter to his friend-- pouring his feelings into the runes as he wrote them-- all about how angry he was at Iybraesil women and their treatment of him. He must have written an entire essay-- no, a novel-- to describe his vexations. And could you imagine what his friend sent back; what he received years after he sent the original letter?

She replied, ‘I bet Iybraesil women fuck mon’keigh men.’

Zelkodar hadn’t sent a letter to her since then. Not because she wasn’t his friend-- his craftworld pride didn’t run deep enough for him to take major offense-- but because he couldn’t think up a response with equal wit. It’d been thirty cycles since he received her single-sentenced letter and only five or so ideas had coalesced in his head, none of them good enough. The thought of any of the women in the cabin with him at that very moment being desperately, shamefully horny enough to have sex with an alien made him laugh so hard he clutched his side. 

“BREAK LEFT, BREAK LEFT!”

The wave serpent cut hard to the side, angling its nose upward and narrowly avoiding the krak missile which passed between it and the serpent flying abreast. The supersonic shockwave of the missile rumbled the cabin of the wave serpent, but no damage was done. A second missile hit the energy projection field on the port-side of the adjacent wave serpent and glanced off, its proximity detonator failing to trigger. In seconds, the squadron passed over the trenches and no further missiles followed. 

“Not even close,” remarked Tun’ahain, fitting her helmet onto her mesh armor.

Iywz’e stepped forward. “Tun’ahain--”

“Be silent so the pilots can focus, Iywz’e.”

“No-- but--”

“I’m going to mute your com-crystal, Iywz’e, and don’t even think about telepathy. It is not the time to be hysterical.”

The male guardian, deprived of his ability to articulate, began pointing toward the open exit portal and gesturing.

“Take a deep breath in, guardian. We’re almost to the first target. Deep breaths… Yes, like that.”

-----

Zelkodar remembered rolling… and rolling… and rolling… he was the embodiment of a plasti-crystal shuriken, spinning endlessly upon the muddy soil like a monomolecular fleck so quickly he couldn’t tell which version of black flashing on his vision was the night sky or the muck. His back impacted with a sizable rock and he was launched a meter into the air, spinning speed finally arrested. He fell for what felt like an eternity until he met the soggy plank wall of the trench and got the opportunity to greet the floor of it three meters down and half a second later.

A base, alien sound wobbled through the thunk-thunk of blood in his head. 

“Woah!” 

The Eldar guardian tried to rise out of the slush of the trench floor, but his arms failed him and his brain was still rolling and he splattered back into the gray paste.

“X-xenos! Girls! Xenos!”

His arms were a little better now, but when he grabbed at the half-rotten boards holding the soil back and lifted himself, Zelkodar discovered his legs weren’t legs but were trench-slime shaped into the suggestion of legs. The board he clawed at for leverage disintegrated and he collapsed onto his knees with a pile of conciliatory mud between his fingers. He dry-heaved and the world still spun. Down the trench, inside a plascrete pillbox, figures flashed back and forth in the shadows behind the green floodlight.

Zelkodar got one knee up, bracing himself against the wall with an elbow. He tried, tortuously, to rise onto both legs, but they shook violently and his muscles screamed at him every centimeter of the way. A pair of mon’keigh approached abreast, cautiously, bayonets fitted to the ends of their lasguns. He realized then that the power-line plugged into his suit’s right elbow was missing, his shuriken catapult along with it.

A larger one with a short-cut, messy toss of blonde hair stepped closer and addressed him with a husky growl. 

“Don’t you move an inch, xenos.”

Zelkodar backed up on uneasy legs and drew his combat blade. If the mon’keigh were going to shoot him, they’d have done it by now. The only alternative was capture, which didn’t seem much better to the eldar than death. He closed his eyes and prayed for the tumbling to end. Fight-or-flight hormones were already pumping through his superior veins and he knew he had one chance to escape and possibly save his eternal soul from She-Who-Thirsts. The waystone on his chest burned, as aware as he was that if he did not make it out, then who could guess what predations would be enacted upon his soul by the whims of the mon’keigh scientists or inquisitors?

He deliberately ignored the order of the human again, wheeling back further, only to discover two more of their kind rushing down the opposite end of the trench in a similar fashion. “Good catch, Anise,” the blonde noted to her shorter companion. The girl nodded back to her friend, but couldn’t hide her concern behind her two bushy, brown eyebrows. Zelkodar rushed the two and tried to get inside the arc of their bayonets, but the mon’keigh had more tenacity than he had strength left in his muscles, and he needed to pivot, bearing his blade at the new set of guardswomen threatening him. 

“It don’t look at all like what they told us,” commented a lanky one with a smear of dirt on her cheeks. She wiped her nose on the top of her wool glove, but kept the bayonet trained on him the entire time. 

“Shouldn’t we just shoot it and get this over with?” her dirty blonde friend noted. Clearly, she was the most intelligent one here. Zelkodar swept his blade back the other way when he heard the original pair shuffling warily towards him. All four of them stood hunched forward with their lasguns, looking like spear-wielding exodites during a big-game hunt. 

“No way. You see the pecs on this thing?” argued the husky guardswoman, her eyes flitting from Zelkodar and back to the smaller, carefuller blonde with a matted ponytail untouched for months by a comb.

“You’re sick. I’d bet its armor is made to seduce us. That’s a xenos you’re eyeballing.”

“Looks like a man, first-and-foremost,” her dirty companion stated, scratching at her gray uniform’s collar and brushing a few stray, black hairs behind her ear. “Ain’t seen one of those for seven months. Ain’t gonna see one more for another few, since they extended our deployment.”

The guardswomen stopped pressing forward, considering their options. Zelkodar could practically hear the synapses firing in their primate brains. 

“And I know you ran outta juice for your vibe three months ago, Neva.”

The pony-tailed one seemed shaken, appearing more like a cornered mouse than the one doing the cornering. “I’ve told you it was my toothbrush making that noise!”

Anise, the brown-haired, bushy-browed one, relaxed her shoulders and responded with a dubious, “In your cot?”

Zelkodar made his move. He crouched lower, tightening his perfect leg muscles, figuring he’d take his chances in the minefield above rather than face certain death in the trenches below. He could kill these four, but the snap of a lasgun would bring more and before he knew it he would fall under the tide of human bodies. The eldar leapt as far as his legs could take him. 

“Get that xenos hunk!”

His legs failed him. Zelkodar grasped recklessly at the soup of soil above, lifting his chest above the lip. He was so close to freedom! Clumsy, mon’keigh hands were grabbing at his slippery ankles. He need only get his center-of-balance over the hump, and he’d be home free! One of the guardswomen leaped up and hugged his waist, refusing to shake off as he wriggled vigorously. Zelkodar’s fingers dug into the ground, but the very planet refused to assist him and he started to slide backwards. His muscles screamed and shook. He wanted to curse the gods for their callousness.

The trench welcomed him back with a splattering of wet clay. The guardswomen fell upon Zelkodar, forcing their whole weight upon his arms and legs as he fought to free himself once more. He tossed the slim, dirty one several meters down the trench as two more of the multiplying animals rushed in and helped restrain him. Out of his view came a windup blow from the wooden butt of a lasgun against the left side of his helmet. His brain was rolling again, over and over like before. He strained, but his limbs refused to lift their captors any longer.

“Get him into the pillbox,” urged the largest one. They dragged him easily over the slimy floorboards of the trench and backed him into a corner of the plascrete structure. The tall blonde held him from behind in a chokehold while she barked orders.

“Anise, grab some rope! Neva, start working on getting this thing’s armor off.”

The guardswoman who’d been studious about her oral hygiene felt around the corners and edges of his light blue mesh carapace. “I don’t know how this frakking works!” she wailed.

“Well, he wasn’t born with it on,” the blonde argued. The lanky mon’keigh whom he’d thrown into the mud during their struggle waddled in, stripping her uniform blouse off her back and tossing it onto an ammo crate.

“I‘d just washed this one too…”

The mon’keigh were swarming over him like a pack of goblinoids, a gleam in their eyes as they pacified their still-struggling prisoner, holding down his wrists and ankles with all their might, fingers slipping off the muddy armor. The pony-tailed blondie smiled when it unhooked one of his helmet’s straps and broke the seal, lifting it off. Exodite’s stables probably smelled better than this place! Disconnected from his suit’s air supply, Zelkodar’s nose stung with the musky scent of unwashed mon’keigh sweat mixed with musty, wet beast. He gagged.

“Look at his eyes,” marveled Neva. “They’re violet!” Zelkodar closed them so they couldn’t have the satisfaction.

The mon’keigh worked as a team, identifying his armor’s chinks as he wrestled against their clumsy explorations. Zelkodar’s blood pumped quickly in his ears; his body knew he needed to run just as much as his mind knew there was no point to trying. After enough poking and prodding with knives they figured out how his variant of mesh armor worked. Once they disconnected the oxygen and power supply on the back, they were able to force their stubby fingers into the two seams and split the psycho-reactive material apart by force. The squad held him steady as best they could and sloughed it off like a snakeskin, stripping him to his tight under-layer of thermals. 

Zelkodar had never walked the warrior’s path, so the flimsy war mask the warlocks ritually gifted him to shield his psyche with before going out into battle deteriorated with the stripping of his mesh armor. He was no longer a guardian. He was merely an eldar, naked, with all the baggage the status entailed. The damp air was now doubly chilled. His fear grew greater than the fear any of these pitiful monsters could experience in their entire lives! At the very least, the smell of mon’keigh couldn’t get any worse. Tears welled in his eyes and he squeezed his eyelids harder, determined not to allow a single drop to fall in the presence of these savages.

Anise returned empty-handed. “Dani, we don’t got any rope in here,” she whispered to the one choking him as if the xenos right in front of her couldn’t hear.

“Then gimme your webbing belt.”

Despite his most impassioned wriggling, the girls were able to get Zelkodar’s hands behind his back and tied with a couple of belts and someone’s spare boot laces. “Fucker’s a fighter, ain’t he?” puffed Dani, who he could only assume was their sergeant at this point by virtue of her authority. She wrapped her legs around his ribs, boots smearing dirt on his belly, groping at the bottom of his black thermal top with a hand.

“Check this out,” she said as she lifted his shirt a few inches, exposing his iliac furrows and the bottom of his abs.

“Holy Emperor,” the unbloused, slim mon’keigh muttered, covering her mouth. “Like one of those statues outside the cathedral…”

“Alright Anise, drop your trousers.”

“What?”

“Just do it,” Dani ordered, messing with Zelkodar’s bound hands and prying the middle and ring digits out of one of his fists. The rustling of trousers shimmying down legs could be heard over the breaths of the lowly creatures salivating over his form. The unnamed, slim black haired one in particular straddled his knee, staring guiltily at his chiseled stomach. Her grip on his thigh shifted from ‘I’m holding you down’ pressure to something… gentler, but no less possessive.

“Oh shit,” murmured Anise as the sergeant rubbed Zelkodar’s fingers in between the girl’s thighs, running them back and forth over her crease through the gray cotton underwear. The mon’keigh’s flower was yearning for a touch other than her own. She took control of his fingers and made sure he could recreate a map of her slit by feel alone, cumbersomely writhing her hips along them since he possessed no room to maneuver his digits, tied as his hands were.

Out front, the sergeant resumed tugging up Zelkodar’s shirt slowly, the fabric pinched between two of her fingers. He’d never seen an audience more enraptured by the raising of the curtains-- and he’d seen several Harlequin performances. When his thermal was raised up to his collarbones, mousey Neva spoke up.

“They’ve even got nipples,” she exclaimed in wonder, giggling. Why wouldn’t he have nipples? He couldn’t comprehend the depths of the mon’keigh’s ignorance. “I’m gonna touch it!”

The dirty blonde, true to her word, twirled her dirty ponytail in one hand as she brought the other cautiously up to his left nipple and flicked it with an index finger. He jolted inside his mon’keigh formed cage and groaned in pain after the initial shock to his erogenous zone subsided. Had any of these women ever handled a man before? The guardswomen looked to each other surprised while Dani broke her chokehold and pulled Zelkodar’s shirt all the way up, popping his head through the shirt’s neck so they would have full access to their marble canvas. She took her now free hands and pinched both his nips between her index and middle fingers, causing another full-body twitch. He must endure it! He refused to give them the satisfaction.

The sergeant growled into his ear, a mon’keigh predatory behavior he didn’t fully understand. “I’m gonna climb all over you like the obstacle course over on the Regimental Fields.”  The forewarning didn’t make sense-- it seemed like they’d already been doing exactly that for the past few minutes. Morai-Heg, why must the eldar hesitate and question all when their war mask dropped? He could have used the energy to escape by now! “Hop on, Anise. You saw him first, so you get first blood.”

Anise left his fingers and crawled between his thighs, rubbing her hands over his abdomen, touching it to confirm what she was seeing was real and not some xenos illusion. “Does everyone else need to… you know?” she sheepishly asked Dani.

“Sheesh, lady, you’re going to fuck him, not romance him,” the sergeant replied. Still, she eyed the two women hovering ever since his arms were bound and issued another command. “Budanovci, Ruma, go keep watch at the doors.” The two troopers slinked away, dejected. 

‘As above, so below’, was what came to mind as the bushy-browed guardswoman peeled her panties to the side and started pawing at the waist of his tight thermal leggings. Zelkodar’s semi-flaccid package slipped out of its constraints and the animal’s lips parted. Taking it up in her hands, Anise delicately pumped the member. 

“Could we get some, uh, *Emperor Protects*?” asked the guardswoman, nervously. Dani blew some air out in frustration (inadvertently buffeting Zelkodar’s eartip) and pointed to the other side of the pillbox, a welcome, if short, reprieve for the Eldar’s right nipple. 

“Neva, go grab it. Left pouch on my rucksack.”

Anise took up the smaller guardswoman’s post on Zelkodar’s thigh, grinding her uncovered crevice against him through the fabric of his pants. His cock throbbed shamefully, his weakened body recognizing the feelings of intimacy being pressed upon his form. “Just don’t want to take any chances,” the girl rationalized to the two other women present. She continued to run her hand lightly up and down his shaft, feeling it grow. 

The other remaining mon’keigh, the slight, raven-haired one, leaned forward, pushed some more stray strands of hair behind her ear and kissed her half of Zelkodar’s cockhead. Oh, the sensation of her wet lips and the slightest bit of suction as she drew them away. Despite it only being a peck, his heart started beating even faster than before and he hated himself for it, despised himself for his weakness.

“Goa! Ew!” chastened Anise. Goa sat back up with a band of scarlet across her cheeks. Dani breathed deep and nestled her chin against his shoulder. He could feel all the gremlin’s sluggish, noisy heartbeats through his own skin, but the sergeant’s was especially deafening as she pressed her chest against his shoulder blades.

“I’ve never got to try that before,” Goa justified, face sinking to avoid eye contact. “And he looks like he probably cleans it better than some of the boys you bagged last R&R.” She placed a single finger over her lips and Zelkodar watched as the soft lines depressed under it. Oh, if those same yielding thin petals could wrap themselves around his crown, her tongue tickling the underside of the ridge, messy, sloppily. She could moisten her lips with her spit and begin to suck--

No. NO! He mustn’t imagine those things! These were lesser beings. Terrible, disgusting rapists. A pack of hyenas circling his corporeal form. At least, this was what he was telling himself.

The shortest guardswoman returned with a narrow brownply box and traded places with Anise. “What’d I miss?” she asked, glancing at her squadmates’s flustered expressions.

“Only Goa being a nasty bitch,” Dani replied, admiringly, from behind Zelkodar. “Now get on with it, Anise. We ain’t got all night.”

Anise unraveled a shimmering, rainbow ribbon which was originally compressed inside the colorful box and tore a square off the end. Zelkodar had never encountered one of these contraptions before, and it only got stranger when the human ripped her square further and removed a purple, circular object from it. The guardswoman positioned it over his cockhead and began unraveling it down his manhood, sheathing it. 

“Woah,” Anise breathed out. “I guess proportionally, he looks… you know...”

She didn’t finish her thought, but Zelkodar could partially intuit where she was going. The see-through, slimy film wasn’t quite large enough to fully cover his weapon. All the mon’keigh females here were easily under three-fourths his height; it wouldn’t make sense for them to manufacture an implement like this for use on eldar-sized tools.

“You’re a big girl,” said Dani, pinching Zelkodar’s nipple again in boredom. “So quit stalling.”

The guardswoman squatted over his piece and ran the head of it across her jungle. Zelkodar closed his eyes and clenched his jaw as the touch of a female embraced his shaft further and snuggled his girth in moist heat. When she paused her descent, having gone as far as she pleased, the guardian released his strained muscles and shivered lightly in the damp cold of the plascrete. The only things warming him were the bodies of the xenos pressed tightly against his person. He tried to psychically regulate his body, but got distracted as his heartbeat aligned with the woman’s, and for every one beat of hers his thumped twice. 

“I think he liked that,” teased the sergeant. “Don’t worry pal, once we’re done with you, you won’t be able to go back to your own girls.”

The mon’keigh started bobbing on his pillar, grabbing and squeezing his chest with her hands for stability. At first, her exertions were short and shallow, timid in the presence of her friends. After a few minutes and the abandonment of good squat form, Anise was bucking up and down his rod like a striking scorpion fresh back from a hunt, panting and staring into his eyes, only averting her gaze, embarrassed, when he stared back. Piddly-winks of primal emotions floated through the air. Warmth, lust, release, envy. They tickled Zelkodar’s brain, but not enough to break one of a race who communicated psychically and empathically as well as verbally.

He needed to avert his eyes to avoid the pleading look of the mon’keigh begging for his seed. Forgive him, Morai-Heg! The human’s quim burned against his arousal, her essence taking him greedily, slovenly. Anise’s wetness marked him as her own, fighting for dominance with the other pheromones her fellow humans produced, each body working harder in their sister’s company than if they’d taken him alone. This was a perverse, violated version of Kurnous and Isha’s love, for the hunter was being consumed and the maiden was ignoble. 

Finally, the guardswoman cried out and shuddered, thighs quivering and trench clutching as he slipped deeper inside. He felt her singular emotion radiate vividly across her skin. Bliss.The mon’keigh’s eyelids grew heavy as she stared into his face. “Whew…” Anise exhaled after a brief rest, rising to his tip. “I needed that.” 

Goa put a hand on Anise’s shoulder before she could climb all the way off. “You’re not done yet,” the unbloused Trooper instructed. “It ain’t polite to get your beans off and leave him hangin’.”

“Like you’d know--” 

Anise fought back, but with her legs tired Goa could easily win the battle and the raven-haired girl forced her back down his pole, the weaker Trooper’s cunt squelching as Zelkodar’s lance parted her inner pathway and her crease pressed on his crotch. The eldar moaned, fully engrossed in twitching, rich, steaming humanity.

“Hooouh shit,” Anise gasped, pressing her forehead against his chest before collapsing from her squat into a straddle and hugging the rest of her body to him, pants tickling his skin.

“See? I knew you could take it all.” 

“Fucker,” Anise stated. Yet, quickly her thighs regained their strength and the mon’keigh was bouncing clumsily on his cock. Lacking in agility, the human made up for it in gusto and raw, bestial jostling, its bush tickling him where it brushed. It seemed the whole pack devolved into growling or giggling in their weird simian ways, feeling their grubby little digits all over his body, pinching or gripping his abs, his ass, his bound forearms. Squeezing ears, pecs, thighs. One hand, its origin untraceable in the chaos, cheekily massaged his sack. Tingling heat rose inside his core.

A breath caught in his throat when the mon’keigh riding him tilted forward and bit his breast around his already tortured nipple. Goddess Isha, the humans were going to mark him as their own and make it so even his own women couldn’t beholdl his body and not claim, ‘sullied goods’.

Cease this, mon’keigh! Could you not understand the shame he would endure if a real woman looked upon him and saw how your foul nails scratched his flesh? Saw how your sharp, predator teeth bruised his alabaster skin?

No, they couldn’t understand.

Anise narrowed her lips and closed her teeth around his nipple. Zelkodar tossed his head back and the emotions shot up his shaft, exploding into the mon’keigh’s womanhood. He moaned harder than he ever had with one of his own women. Curse them all, why did an eldar male’s body seek intimacy so readily, even a human girl could leave him twitching like so? Anise squeaked and the rest of the squad slowed their predations upon his body. Weak from exertion, Zelkodar sucked in the sweaty mon’keigh air as Anise gently lifted herself off his length, the tip on the end of the Il-Kaithe-purple sheath proudly plopping out, filled.

“Look at that,” Neva ogled, “I think he likes you.”

Anise blushed and peeled the slimy seed collector off, tying its end in a knot. Bravery filled her insides where spunk got no chance to. “First one of the night…” she remarked smugly, dangling the purple package to-and-fro playfully in the air. What strange rituals did these beings possess? Did they save their mate’s semen and collect it for trophies? Consume it for nutrients? “How about I get the purple ones, and we’ll count--” 

“Oh, just you wait and see!” Goa interrupted. The girl bounced off Zelkodar’s leg and dropped her uniform trousers, rolling her knickers downward in a rush. She’d managed to brutalize one boot through a leg hole on the standard-issue underwear when one of the sentries at the entrances to the pillbox drew back, frightened, like she’d heard a banshee.

“Somebody’s coming!” 

----- 
[If I had to break it into two chapters, I'd probably break it here.]

The pillbox burst into action. Women tripping on trouser legs, blouses getting re-buttoned in a haste, his mesh armor shoved underneath a tarp. 

“Gimme your panties, Goa!” hissed Dani. In an act of trust worthy of a place in chapter three of the Uplifting Primer, the wiry trooper maneuvered her other foot through its side of the undergarment and passed Dani her best skivvies. Dani shoved the fresh pair into Zelkodar’s mouth and gagged him with someone’s undershirt which was left lying on a crate of rations. The guardian retched from the article of clothing now infusing his spit with its womanly aroma. 

“Shut your mouth or we’re all dead,” the sergeant whispered as she rolled him into a wool blanket and tossed him in a dark corner behind boxes labeled ‘8.25 long’. Thousands of rough mon’keigh fibers itched at him and made his skin crawl.

By the sound of it, two of the guardswomen weaseled out the other side of the pillbox to warn the next emplacement down the trench, spongy trench boards making a ‘kunk-kunk-kunk’ as they fled. Sergeant Dani sounded-off when a new set of boots tapped their way into the plascrete bunker with precision. 

“Good evening, Commissar!” 

The rest stood up from whatever activity they were faking as the commissar entered, the shuffling of their uniforms ceasing and the pillbox falling culpably silent. In the stifling black of the wool blanket, its fibers biting his skin in one thousand different places, he fought back the need to itch, his sense of touch magnified with the removal of his sight.

“Did you have to scream so loud?” asked the new voice, gravelly and canid-like. “Your trooper is trying to sleep.”

The guardian remembered seeing Goa try to wrangle her feet back into her uniform pants but, mon’keigh being clumsy by nature, her boots caught at every available chance. The sound like a bag of tubers flopping over must have been the girl tossing herself onto one of the aluminum-framed cots in the pillbox and throwing a blanket around herself.

“It’s a natural response, ma’am,” apologized Dani, lowering her voice. “Doing your round for the night?”

“I’m doing a circle to see if anyone saw some xenos debris fall from the crafts that flew overhead,” the commissar explained, placing an extra smattering of contempt upon the word ‘xenos’ when she spoke it. “The girls in the 250th said they thought they saw a part come off one of them when they fired their battery at the formation, but I think they’re full of themselves.”

“We ain’t seen any xenos trash around here, ma’am,” the sergeant replied with absolute assurance. On the contrary, they’d found xenos treasure. “But if we do, you’ll be the first to know.”

The steel-toed boots continued their menacing drum toward the other side of the pillbox, alone in their intensity. Zelkodar dared not even swallow. One of the fibers poking against his neck was positively killing him.

“What is this?” the commissar barked when the rap of rubber heels reached the exit.

Time stopped in the plascrete box. The air turned frigid and for the first time in his life, Zelkodar felt he could reach out and touch one of his gods, death was so near. 

“Absolutely unsatisfactory. This is your second warning, Anise. If I catch you one more time without your uniform belt on…”

His heart was jumping in his chest. He tried to steady his breathing, biting on the soggy gag. Zelkodar lived under the impression that the simple mon’keigh only communicated verbally, but here he was, witnessing a concept being conveyed very clearly through some other medium… the implicative. One thousand different punishments played out in his head, each tugging the guardswoman a different direction along the skein until her frail body was ripped into bloody chunks. It was a fate worse than knowing. 

“Carry on, ladies.”

The confident boots exited and thumped their way down the trench. Once not even Zelkodar’s xenos ears could hear them over the sound of his heartbeat, the room breathed a collective, hesitant sigh of relief and the guardswomen could be heard shuffling around once more. 

“Should be the last time she comes by tonight.”

“How many times have I warned you about forgetting your belt?”

“It’s in use right now!... and sometimes I forget to put it on. My trousers sit well enough without it.”

The horde unraveled his wool blanket and Zelkodar’s skin prickled in the dank chill of the plascrete blockhouse, rubbed raw by the fibers. The adrenaline of the prior encounter got the troopers’ blood pumping at an accelerated rate through their inferior muscles and the mass of girls descended upon him with renewed vigor, ripping boots and blouses off, tumbling over whilst removing their pants, each trying to press their body up against his and claim their section of his flesh as their sole dominion. Zelkodar found himself welcoming their heat huddling against him after sharing with them so close a brush with death.

The sergeant climbed on top of his face, peeling the undershirt gag off and extracting the xeno-permeated panties from his mouth, pinched between two fingers. In its place a more pungent mixture of sweat and mon’keigh juices was forced upon him through her crotch, coating his lips and shrouding his senses in its sharp-smelling fog. His mind was already reeling from the swings in emotion the night had wrought, and he lay cloaked and choking in the human’s spice which filled the rest of the space in his muddled head. 

“Let’s play a game, xenos,” Dani insisted joyfully. One of the other guardswomen gave his rising phallus a couple of tugs and slid one of those semen retention receptacles onto it. Zelkodar felt a mon’keigh squat over him and grab his thigh for support, using the other hand to run his crown up her slit. The sergeant placed her hands over his eyes playfully, despite her body blocking his view. “Can you guess which one of us you’re about to fuck?”

How would he know? He could barely think with her alien fluids smearing across his lips like a potent drug.

“Stop teasing him,” Anise spoke up from his chest. “If he understood what you were saying he would have spoken by now!”

“Too slow,” declared Dani as the mystery pussy consumed the tip of Zelkodar’s scepter. He choked on human sex-miasma while his cock swelled hard as wraithbone, pleading to be smothered in the mon’keigh’s tunnel, aching to synchronize itself to his mate and empathically enmesh his body with other’s. “It was Goa. Punish him, girls.”

The guardian shut his eyes and bit lightly on the sergeant’s inner thigh as her squadmates began to avail themselves of his body. His rider eased herself further down his shaft, clenching, swearing at how rigid he was. It was her own fault he was this way! These stupid humans didn’t realize how much their own emotions were fed upon by his spinning mind. Anise, developing an apparent taste for him, focused her lips and everything therein on his left nipple. Neva pushed Dani further up his face and romanced the right side of his neck. He’d never realized it was so receptive to a woman’s kiss until now.

“Come on,” Dani said, “let’s get your tongue working, or else…” The power of her implication was enough to get the Eldar’s muscle lapping. She tasted like daddy issues and domination on his discerning tongue. Sucking sounds popped in his ears from the other mon’keigh’s feasts. The set of teeth leaving blemishes on his chest felt like they were tickling his heart every time they bit. 

“*Bon appetit*,” the human mocked. “Or, what is it the 250th say? *Ziveli!*”

“They say that before they knock back rotgut,” Neva, to her right, corrected. 

“Then it works well enough here,” Dani replied. She grabbed Zelkodar’s hair and ground his face into her genitals, breathing heavily, her air of control faltering as his strong tongue probed places no human would ever reach and his lips brushed against and sucked on her hood. The stuffy atmosphere between her thighs was starting to make him lightheaded.

Goa gorged herself fully on his meat. With her legs growing weary, she shifted, leaning backwards with her hands on his abs and grinding her pelvis back and forth, panting. She hadn’t much in the way of hips-- none of the mon’keigh could ever compare to the most homely of aeldari-- but the combination of her womanhood claiming ownership over Zelkodar’s pole and the rest of the girls suffocating him in the stench and mass of mon’keigh bitch made the feeling in his core well up yet again. Everytime Goa slid her hips back along his groin his cockhead caught on her inner ridges and stole the breath from him. There was no skill or talent involved, only her estrus and willpower, but even those were enough to capture his senses and milk the ever-loving daylight out of him.

The sergeant marking his face as her domain was losing composure. Her calves pressed tight against the sides of his head, unknowingly rubbing his sensitive eartips in the muggy crease along her thighs. The Eldar groaned for his frayed nerve-endings, tongue buried deep inside her. His whole body ached synchronously with his cock’s swelling and throbbing. It was humiliating, but when an Iybraesil man’s mate, regardless of their race, burned for his lifeforce, then by Vaul’s Ninehundred and Ninety-Nine Godly Swords, their thirst would be quenched. There were times in his life when he felt like his craftworld was under some goddess’s sick curse rather than her blessing, but the women of Iybraesil didn’t seem to mind as long as their men *always* rose to the occasion.

Dani curled forward and growled, her face pressed into the wool blanket, grabbing it up in two fists. She scraped her muff against him, feral, grunting feebly. Something released on his lips and she pulsed around his tongue. Rudimentary, human felicity trickled to his brain through his ears along with tomboy sweat and he understood he would be entirely consumed by these animals before the night’s end. Their emotions need not overwhelm him in one great crash, they would wear and eat away at his mind the same way the mon’keigh already ate away at his flesh. His body would be corrupted towards pleasure like the great Empire of old.

Dani’s bitter mixture caught in his esophagus and Zelkodar’s back arched in surprise.  He continued to swirl his tongue which was lost inside her orifice, if only to assert his own meager dominance. Her excitement leaked into his throat and the ache reached its crescendo. 

His hips lifted up involuntarily and he sprayed his own fluids into the mon’keigh girl riding him. It was like his dick knew it must impregnate and yet his captors were denying him even that possibility. Its only recourse was to nut even harder. He collapsed onto the blanket.

The sergeant rolled off Zelkodar, shaking, shoving Neva’s face out of the way with a foot as she wrapped a leg behind the Eldar’s head and over his shoulder. “Can we keep him?” she huffed between breaths.

Goa tenderly freed her damp legs clinging to his waist and claimed her trophy pouch of seed, tossing it, tied, onto the dip of his collarbone. Her selected color was yellow, like Iyanden. She was probably wondering why her orgasm left her legs so weak. None of these women would ever understand an Eldar’s natural empathic transfer, and it would be lost on them regardless. She laid across his body and freed some strands of hair which were caught in her mouth before speaking.

“It’s your call, sarge,” she said with a finger drawing circles on his sternum. “But I don’t think they sell collars large enough for this one.” Zelkodar was flattered by their endearment, but if they wanted a collar for him they had merely to ask his craftworld’s women. Iybraesil already treated its men like they were a lesser race.

Anise, ever the romantic, smiled and ran the back of her hand over his cheek, claiming matter-of-factly, “I bet I could tame him.”

Neva slipped by before someone else could steal her turn, hesitating at his dying member and timidly kissing off the bead of cum leaking out of the tip without anyone catching her. His blood quickened once more; he was being wrapped in their contentment but lust continued to wash through to the back of his mind. The trooper had no trouble unrolling her Alaitoc-blue sheath onto his rod as it re-hardened, bouncing back and forth like a conductor’s baton. Isha, was the mon’keigh refractory period shorter? They were running a well practiced drill on him and his cock could barely keep up. 

The two sentries who’d fled earlier snuck back into the pillbox as Neva rocked Zelkodar into her nethers slowly, rubbing her clit and whispering curses as he split her pale trench wide open.

“We’re back,” one of the sentries whispered excitedly, undoing her uniform blouse’s buttons. “Hope you don’t mind, but Pechora’s squad is coming over too.”

Dani jostled out from underneath Zelkodar’s head. “Damn it, why don’t you alert the entire command while you’re at it!” The sentry looked injured as she shook off her pants. 

“The more people keeping a lookout, the better.”

Dani pushed Neva off his cock and sat on top of it, reverse jetbike style, grinding her labia against it in preparation.

“What’s your issue?” the smaller blonde chittered. “It was my turn!”

“Overruled by seniority,” Dani answered, positioning his head at her entrance and guiding herself on top of it carefully. “I want to get a turn in before Pechora’s girls show up. Don’t sweat it, you’ll get yours eventually.”

The mousey girl huffed and crawled behind Zelkodar, propping him up against her as the sergeant had first done as they were unclothing him. The woman started to bob over his meat weakly, sweat trickling over her toned back muscles and onto him. The other girls in the pillbox gathered around and made themselves busy on his body, tracing his abs or flicking his nipples like they were a toy. Thank the heavens they hadn’t discovered his ears! Goa turned to Anise and mouthed a word: *Shal-low Pus-sy*. The brunette covered her mouth and released an amused hiss of air.

“He’s… kinda big,” admitted Dani, struggling to reach lower than halfway over his pole. Pechora’s squad entered and stared, some of them blinking to make sure what they were seeing was real. None of them appeared to be conflicted over their fellow troopers taking alien penis. 

“Hurry it up,” Neva said, running her fingers down his forearm to his wrists.

“Just gotta warm up and I’ll have him moaning in no time.”

He was getting performance anxiety as more and more of the human females crowded around to watch in their underwear. Steeling his mind, he focused on his rod. If he came, her turn was over, right? And frankly, he preferred some of these other animal’s pussies to this one; even if she could only comfortably take the tip in, she showed no hip action. Neva took his chin in her hand and raised it up so he could regard her, winking. The presumptuousness of these creatures! They didn’t think this was fun for him, did they? Like it was some game? He strained against his bonds, realizing they weren’t there. Then… she must have removed them?

Why? Was this another way they exhibited their superiority? To show him that even unbound he would prostitute himself for the aliens like one of their ‘holy sisters’ that were so popular to keep as slaves in Commorragh? He wanted to snap their chubby little necks!... but he was surrounded by them now. Violence would most assuredly seal his death. He could try to cast them off and run, but a las-shot would catch up to him more easily than he could scale the muddy trench wall. No, they were right. He did have to play their game. Dani dropped at the wrong angle against his lingam and almost snapped it. 

Then, by Khaine, if he had to play their game he would teach this one a lesson while he was at it.

With the graceful speed of his race, Zelkodar burst forward and forced Dani onto the wool blanket, pinning her arms to the ground. Women gasped, several reached for their lasguns. One of them started to rub herself through her cotton panties harder.

“Get him off me! Emperor damn you,” Dani cried. His cock jerked on her cheeks. 

“You can handle him just fine,” Neva said, unconcerned. 

Anise gasped, “You undid his wrists, didn’t you?” 

“If she wants to make him cum, then she needs some help or we’d be here all night.”

“But what if he’s dangerous? What if we haven’t broken him in yet?”

“Broke me in?!” Zelkodar bellowed in their guttural Low Gothic. The plascrete box hushed. “Do you consider me a wild animal? Do you think I’m some… stallion breeding stud?”

“...it *speaks!*” Goa chattered in a panic.

“I will teach you idiodic mon’keigh to respect me!” he yelled, lining up his raging hard-on with Dani’s opening. “Starting--”

“--Get him off me! Get him--”

“--with this one!”

Zelkodar slipped himself into the sergeants ‘shallow pussy’ and extended it, digging it out an inch at a time until it could take his full glory. Each thrust brought with it a squeezing of her muscles as she moaned out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. The veins on his forearm bulged as he tried to exercise control over her while simultaneously checking his anger. Instead of crushing her wrists, he thrust even harder at her ass. 

The girl-swarm closed in after determining he wasn’t a threat. Humming and hah-ing at his performance, they groped his ass or biceps or lats and bit at their lips, trying to satisfy themselves until they could get their dose of his anger, delivered hot and fresh after an agonizing seven months. The other squad’s sergeant kneeled in front of Dani, fingering herself.

“Fuck, Dani, I thought you would’ve had this under control.”

“Shut… up,” she responded weakly. Zelkodar’s body meshed with hers gradually, huffs growing heavier as the exertion of the night took its toll. His muscles ached from the tumble, battered in a million places, but he needed to muster the strength to face these creatures alone. Their lust heated up the pillbox and congealed in the air, crude emotional fumes intoxicating him. 

“Did you want my seed this badly, human?” he growled. “Why don’t you wait your turn next time if you can't handle my dick?!”

Feet bunched into the wool blanket and thighs tensed. Dani groaned into the fabric and Zelkodar could feel he was as close to completion as she was. Her sex was suffocating him, spasming when he smacked on her rump. He wanted to go longer, wanted to beat his supremacy into the creature’s depths so she won’t dare believe she could rape one of his kind again. 

His legs grew too tight. Zelkodar collapsed onto his elbows and pressed himself into her, holding the clench in and hoping it would pass, but he finally gave out.

Thick globs pumped into the elastic sheathe, his sack pulsing in Neva’s hand. He gasped against the blanket and shook, orgasming unceasingly for what felt like a minute. Having run out of room to expand, the penis balloon soon filled to the point where he was getting pushed out. Some of the women muttered prayers to their corpse god and delighted in their own petite morts. He prayed to Isha they would give him even an ounce of water before the next one hopped on.

Zelkodar sat up onto his knees and withdrew, pulling with him a plump blue sperm bubble which sagged under the weight of his load. The pillbox twittered with girls whispering expectantly amongst themselves. He removed the sheathe from his dying pipe and tied it like he’d seen the guardswomen do, flicking it onto Dani’s face with a gratifying slap. 

“There’s your prize, mon’keigh whore. Now, which one of you thinks she can handle me?”

The blonde sergeant tore it off her reddening cheek and flung it back at the guardian.

“You bastard!” she yelled, throwing herself at Zelkodar and trying to wrestle him back into submission. Women chanted for Dani as she struggled with the larger lifeform on the ground. Although he was in a diminished state, the eldar was achieving the upper hand after tumbling with her on the floor, clasping her wrists together on the blanket with his large fingers. A couple of the ‘Da~ni’s shifted to ‘Xe~no’s as the fortunes changed.

“ANISE!” a gravelly voice barked, cutting through the jubilant cries. 

Movement ceased in the pillbox. Pale faces turned slowly to the commissar at the entrance, her laspistol pointed at the trooper. 

“Unsatisfactory,” she spat out, approaching the group with her gun leveled at her hip. The look of disdain on the woman’s face was like an eldar’s looking at an inferior species. Zelkodar stayed as frozen as the guardswomen, and equally as silent. “Failure to wear *all* twenty-three required uniform items during your watch…” The commissar walked over to an ammo crate and wiped the dust off before sitting down in her black uniform skirt (an alternate to the typical commissariat trousers). She straightened her cap. “...except for item number six. Your socks.” None of the eleven other guardswomen in the room, equally as naked, said anything. The commissar began to bend over and undo her knee-high boot’s laces with a single hand. 

“Six months of latrine duty.”

Never one for subtlety, Dani addressed the most out of regulation thing in the room, voice quaking. “Ma’am… the xenos… we can explain…”

The commissar pointed her laspistol at Dani and kicked off her boots, stepping carefully on the cold plascrete ground so she wouldn’t get a speck on her rip-resistant tights. She stopped in front of where Zelkodar and Dani were entangled on the blanket and pointed her laspistol at him, raising his chin to look at her with the tip of an outstretched foot. 

“What xenos? I don’t believe I’ve heard of a xenos that sucks on commissar toes.”

-----

At exactly three hours after this planet’s midnight, give or take fifteen minutes, the squadron of wave serpents crossed back towards the final trench of the Imperial forward lines, running the exact same route it’d taken going the other way. They did not take any precautions because no precautions were necessary. Mon’keigh technology was so vastly inferior to theirs, to even broach the thought that they must be wary of it would invite distaste from their compatriots. Tun’ahain tapped her boots lightly on the deck of the troop cabin, arms crossed. 

“If you’d have told me sooner…” she complained to Iywz’e.

The gunner spoke over their com-crystals. “He’s coming up now, guardians.”

The wave serpent slowed to barely below max speed as it approached. “He’s showing up as hot on thermals,” the pilot noted. Tun’ahain and Iywz’e reached out the back and lifted him into the cabin quicker than a human eye would have been able to see. Seconds later, the wave serpents were across the trenches and skimming the mud flats. Tun’ahain crouched next to her errant guardian.

“Good job surviving until we could return for you, Zelkodar,” the veteran warrior praised. She observed the sorry state of his mesh armor, his psycho-transponder hanging onto his rear pack by a delicate piece of internal lattice. “You’ll have to tell us how you did it later. Oh, but what is this?”

She grabbed the sizable chunk of mon’keigh cardboard out of his hands and cut the rope tying his wrists. The fallen guardian tried to prop himself up, but collapsed onto his elbows, useless. His tongue had seen so much use, Zelkodar’s throat muscles throbbed and words refused to come out, only croaks. He lay on the cabin floor, muscles shivering.

“I can’t read this. Iywz’e, you try. You’re a better xeno-linguist.” Tun’ahain passed the rough paperboard to the other guardian and turned her attention back to Zelkodar. “And what are these, mock spirit stones? An attempt at a mon’keigh peace offering?” She removed a necklace made of black bootlaces with a rainbow assortment of rubbery tears tied to it. Dying spirits seemed to dance within them in the ghostly light of the troop cabin.

Iywz’e was trying his best to decipher the xeno-cuneiform.

MAAM |
NEVA  
ANISE  | |
GOA  | I
DANI  I /
…

The strange words next to the lines went on for ten or so more entries. He flipped the cardboard to the other side and saw words he could translate a little easier.

“It says, ‘THANK YOU FOR THE GIFT’.”

“Well, at least someone on this planet is thankful.”