Molten

Molten

Kira Stone

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2019 Kira Stone

BIN: 008770-02835

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Publisher:

Changeling Press LLC

315 N. Centre St.

Martinsburg, WV 25404

www.ChangelingPress.com

Editor: Margaret Riley

Cover Artist: Bryan Keller

Adult Sexual Content

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Table of Contents

Molten

Molten (Molten 1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

More Molten

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Molten Mayhem

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Epilogue

Kira Stone

Molten

Kira Stone

Mostly Humanoid, definitely alien, sentient liquid metal. Not what Dolan had hoped for in a lover.

Molten: Condemned to serve as an indentured miner on a backwater way station, intergalactic translator Dolan knows more about Molten, the liquid metal that fuels Parkeet station, than most. So when he’s ordered to mate with a being that on first contact looks like a pool of the stuff he’s been mining, he’s less than enthusiastic. But his alternative is death.

More Molten: Dolan and his Molten lover, Zian, are on a mission -- collect the bits of Molten that have been blown all over the galaxy. Can they rescue the younglings and return them to the Molten home world without blowing up this universe -- or their relationship?

Molten Mayhem: Trapped in an escape pod with his mate’s future dependent on him, anger and the need to find Zian drive Dolan to escape, but time is against him. Will Dolan’s rescue bring the couple together or will it separate Dolan and Zian for good, and signal doom for the Molten race?

Molten (Molten 1)

Kira Stone

Mostly Humanoid, definitely alien, sentient liquid metal. Not what Dolan had hoped for in a lover.

Convicted of fraud and condemned to serve as an indentured miner on a backwater way station, intergalactic translator Dolan knows more about Molten, the liquid metal that fuels Parkeet station, than most. So when he’s ordered to mate with a being that on first contact looks like a pool of the stuff he’s been mining, he’s less than enthusiastic. But his alternative is death.

Xzavia’n has been searching the universe for Molten embryos that were lost when their solar system underwent a catastrophic event. His hunt leads him to Parkeet Station, where he plans to negotiate -- or just plain steal -- his babies back.

From Xzavia’n, Dolan learns more about Molten with each passing moment. Dolan’s first priority is to keep his newfound information from the station researchers. The second is to help Xzavia’n get his embryos off the station and back to the new Molten homeworld. But once Xzavia’n’s escape is secured, Dolan must choose -- return to the only life he’s ever known, or follow his heart -- and Xzavia’n…

Chapter 1

So, I’m on the job chasing Molten -- the runny metallic stuff that, when harnessed, powers Parkeet space station -- and I get this summons to appear in the Health Center. The people running this place don’t exactly put a high priority on hygiene. Your soul, possibly. Your health, nah. Unless you’re worth more dead. So my first thought is, What’s the deal?

By the way, I’m Dolan Exeter, Class D Indentured Guest on Parkeet. D is code for Digger. Really sneaky, eh? Indentured servant, well that means they bailed my butt out of a Crimenus jail so I could work in their blarting mines until my loan is paid off. With all the extras, like drinks and meals, I might make it out of here by my second or third existence.

So I’m diggin’ to earn my freedom like every other blarting day on this floating hunk of rock when I get an order to report to the Health Center. Immediately. Hell, the summons even made my boss blink, and he’s got nothing a xeno-biologist would call eyes.

So I get to the Health Center after verifying at every level of mine management that I’d received a real summons, and as soon as I opened the door to those hallowed halls this lab-coated machine takes me to a white room one could actually turn around in, where all I see, aside from us, is a human sized ovoid… thing.

Mate now, the medical droid ordered tonelessly.

You want me to do what? I blinked, never hearing before that sexual service was part of the indentured program. Not that I was complaining. Fucking my way to freedom sounded a lot better than chasing Molten through the small, dirty tunnels winding through this bit of space debris.

Mate. Intercourse. Reproduction. Fuck. The robot seemed unfazed by the use of blunt terminology.

You’re asking me to be a fucking lab experiment? I’m more than willing to experiment when it comes to sex -- hey, someone has to do it first -- but nothing in the room said, Fuck me…

Now, yes.

I looked around. The square room held all the eroticism of a specimen lab. The only even remotely inviting thing in the space was… well, I had no idea what to call the thing. It was about my size in height and width, ovoid in shape, and the skin glowed blue. Kinda. Mate with who?

Organic Specimen 825MC.

I scanned the room again for another vaguely humanoid being, or even just a being, and failed to find one. They couldn’t mean the egg, could they? Then I glanced over the white walls for something to fuck on, or with, and came up with more nothing. How long until the Specimen joins us?

It is here. The droid gestured toward the egg.

This whole situation was blarting strange. I wanted an explanation or I wanted out. I can’t see anything to get my hands on here. Maybe you can give me a clue as to how I’m supposed to, err, mate with this… specimen-person.

The blue glowing thing dimmed a bit. The shadows playing on the exterior could be something shifting around inside. Dinner? Offspring? A portal to another dimension? I’d seen a lot of oddities in my life, but nothing about that egg said fuck me.

It has been determined that you and Specimen 825MC have compatible genetics. A mating between the two of you has an 84% chance of a satisfying result.

The concept of me fucking an egg only slightly smaller than myself was, well, laughable. I managed to keep my reaction down to a smirk. What do I get out of my donation to the sperm bank?

The orb darkened further, and I really wanted to remove the boot from the back of my throat. You’ll notice I have a tendency to be sarcastic, but that’s not a good way to start off with a stranger you’re supposed to become intimate with in a few minutes. Even if it is an egg.

You will be well compensated for your efforts toward producing offspring.

Offspring? Now there we might have a problem. I’ve been inoculated against having offspring of any sort.

I saw the tiny port slide open on the bot’s shoulder. Not knowing what projectile was coming but sure I wasn’t going to like it, I darted to the left. The needle reached me faster. The blarting thing injected and dissolved in a blink. The egg seemed unfazed. Fertilization restored, the lab minion intoned.

Great. Add another few weeks of labor to get that function reversed. Assuming this fucking business didn’t leave me dead. Or worse. In the unlikely event that this copulation thing doesn’t produce the desired result, what happens?

The egg darkened. If the Specimen were remotely human, I’d have called its expression glowering. Since I didn’t even know if it was organic, I continued to pretend the orb was part of the decor.

Failure to perform --

Hey, now, I’m not saying I can’t perform. I’m asking about the other party in this experiment. What if the other half of this equation fails to breed? Or cooperate? Or the chemistry just isn’t right?

And what Organic Specimen was I being paired up with anyway? My race is pretty compatible with other humanoids and few non-humans. As long as I’m not the one who’s supposed to --"Oh, blart. I’m not expected to carry the babies, am I?"

That was so not my thing. I’m up for sexual exploration in almost any area but that one. Genetically, I’m sure this remote controlled droid could make such a thing possible, but I really didn’t want to go there.

No, you will not have any contact with the Specimen once you mate. The mechanical lab rat rolled over to the egg, scrutinized it, then consulted his charts. Compatibility probability 82% now. It turned to face me again. Make your decision, Digger HH485. Once the percentage reaches 80%, you will no longer have the option to participate and you will be terminated.

Translation: Mate with the egg, and I have an 82% chance that a year will be taken off the balance of my indentured term. Decline, and I can sell my soul to whatever hell will have me, cause I won’t be needing it anymore. Right, sign me up for egg sex. I mean, given those terms, wouldn’t you?

You have twelve station hours in which to complete the mating. The bot turned to leave -- I swear he grinned at me like I had just stepped in oonaz vomit -- when I called the mechanical bit of hell back. Is there, like, an operator’s manual for this thing?

I’m almost positive the irritating hunk of junk said No, before the door shut behind him. Which made me wonder how many others had tried this experiment before me. Somehow I doubted I was the first. But with no guidelines to go by, no hints from the egg, just what the blart was I supposed to do with it?

Sex. I’d had a lot of practice at that. So I started putting my moves on the egg. Stroking it, crooning to it, sending the Specimen any kind of sexy thought that crossed my mind -- OK, bad idea since not all of them involved the egg, but hey, I was flying solo here.

Which got me thinking. Maybe a solo job would do. You know, kinda shower the organism with my spunk and let this thing do whatever it needed to do with my little swimmers. At least I had a plan.

My digging uniform was a thin synthetic rubber, self lubricating for faster gliding around the channels Molten had carved through the rock. When ready for work, we looked much like a giant, lubed condom, or so the mining team joked.

Given the dirt I accumulated during my shift, I’d have preferred a shower before becoming intimate with this Specimen. First impressions and all. But since our suite lacked that amenity, I stripped down and stood before the egg in all my naked, semi-aroused glory.

My looks were average among the residents of the station but somehow people drifted toward me. More than one fight -- between men, women and the indefinable -- had started over me. So I figured in time this thing would make a move for at least a look at me.

Well, when the Specimen did so, it rolled over with as much grace as an egg could. And then the blartin’ orb ate my suit. Well, perhaps not so much ate the latex as absorb it.

The blue became more blue, which I took as a good sign, but on the other hand the organism had consumed my suit and who knew what kind of condition it’d be in when my suit came back. If it came back. More money added to my sentence. This experiment was becoming one sucky, expensive arrangement.

And then, as suddenly as my uniform had disappeared, it reappeared. The suit, I mean. As clean as the day it had been assigned to me. Ummm… thank you.

The egg flashed pink for a second, then went back to its happy shade of blue. Then the Specimen started rolling more toward me.

My brain started screaming a lot of reactions to this, given what happened to my suit -- clean, great; consumed, not so much -- most of which boiled down to run and hide. Not exactly a sexy or productive response. Especially in a room I couldn’t escape from, and with nothing to hide me. So I stood there trying to look as non-threatening as I could while it embraced me. Kinda.

As the liquid metal-like substance swallowed my toes and ran up my legs, I couldn’t call the sensation unpleasant. The sensation paralleled my suit being slowly rolled up my body with just a hint of stroking fur. The Specimen was politely snug around my genitals. Only when the stretchable being started to cover my neck did I panic a little. "Blart you! I need to breathe. You can’t --"

Apparently it could and did, covering my mouth and nose completely. I would even go so far to say it invaded those orifices, along with my ears and my… err… rectum, until I felt completely filled. I didn’t seem to breathe, nor, to my great surprise, did I require air. And then, without warning, the orb spit me out. Well, the being reformed into an egg a short distance away again. I must say I felt much cleaner than before it swallowed me, but I still couldn’t call that bit of intimacy sex.

So… what now?

I waited a few minutes for the egg to make another move. When the Specimen didn’t eat me again, I felt a bit more fondly toward it and gave the organism my best to stimulate some kind of amorous reaction.

It’s hard -- no pun intended -- to keep yourself going when your partner is showing less interest than the medical drone. All right, so this being had better color accessories than the mechanical machine. Still, the orb’s actions weren’t simulating my libido much.

So I sat on the floor, which turned out to be a lot more comfortable than the bed in my own quarters, and gave the egg a nice view of what I had to offer.

I started stroking my schel -- cock to many of you humanoids -- and let my brain drift to sexual places I’d enjoyed in the past. My one and only session with the Orgasmatron. Threesome sex with the male twins from Fortunas Delta. And the one that just made my toes curl -- the top yearly fuck from the demon sex club on Trios.

And then there was him. The one I’d never had but always imagined to be somewhere. The one I looked for in every crowd. The one every other encounter failed, if only marginally, to equal.

Though I became instantly hard and ready to rock, the egg chose that moment to melt. Deform. Puddle.

Nothing will put a wilt in a creature’s sexual enthusiasm like having your partner disintegrate before penetration, let alone afterward. Unless, of course, that’s how they get off. But I’d never come across one who did that, and I didn’t feel that was the case with my egg partner.

The egg did this kind of melting thing, and then this pulsing thing, and then it just kind of ran together and began to rise. Not even a ripple crossed its surface as it took on another shape. That action alone should have told me something important but I didn’t figure out what until later.

When this organism finished re-morphing, it was my turn to collapse. Faint, really. For what I saw before me was not an egg, but the male of my dreams. No, I don’t mean the kind you have when you shut down for an hour in the rejuvenation chamber and wake a bit sticky. I mean the real mental fantasy I had when I was, err, egging on the egg. The perfect male I’d pictured but never met.

Now I know anything on Parkeet Station is