Oh my god, she smells amazing!

There it is: That tiny, niggling spark that will, in a matter of minutes, bloom into something quite voracious and uncontrollable, like a wild animal slipped from its cage. It's not something I have any power over, any more than the stomach's growls of hunger or the desperate need to pee. It is, for lack of a better word, a compulsion, brought into being by one of nature's more convoluted pranks. The irresistible draw of humans on the puazi psyche. The mind-numbing lust that makes us giggle and drool happily. The hormonal, pheromonal drive to lose our minds and just fuck.

I'm not normally like this, I swear. Over the phone, she would have found a far different woman, someone both intelligent and funny, I dare say. But of course, humans being humans, she has to have her meetings face to face, stubbornly refusing to accept the technological leaps that allows someone like me to speak coherently from the safety of my orderly bedroom. So now here we are, with my knees solidly planted on the linoleum floor and my face pressed into her crotch, with just enough of my deer-like antlers sticking up to tug on her modest skirt. I can taste her through the cotton panties she is wearing, my blue tongue lapping at the growing wet spot there, and yes, my stubby tail is quivering with untamed delight at each and every lungful of her powerful scent that I get. I know this wasn't the way it was supposed to go, I know she isn't going to hire me now, but a part of me suspects that the sole reason she condescended to giving me the interview in the first place was so she could have her way with me. Granted, it is a very small part of me that thinks that; the rest of my mind is consumed with the here-and-now of trying to wiggle my nose past her panties to get to her fragrant honey pot and lap away. Ahhn, she's grabbing my hair now. Things are about to get interesting..!

It's not everyone who sets us off like that, naturally. Some puazi are more susceptible to the hormonal influence, while others are, supposedly, somewhat resistant to it. It is a fundamental thing, however, and one we cannot avoid; that the smell and taste and feel of the human body simply does something to us that, in extreme cases, can leave us quite befuddled. Like a drug, but without any other side effect than coming to our senses a little while later with cum on our teeth and cheeks, or a rich seep of white dribbling down our inner thighs. Even the most stout and stubborn of us eventually succumb, not the least because it feels, to be perfectly blunt, so fucking good. You think you are euphoric when you orgasm? Try getting that sensation merely from the flick of your tongue over an engorged clit, or the spill of sweet, sticky pre-cum on your taste buds. The fact that so many puazi have opted to settle down on Earth ought to give you an indication; 100,000 doe-eared women can't be wrong, right? Especially since our biology prohibits us from getting pregnant from human sperm, which is probably a good thing-- otherwise, most puazi girls would be knocked up within 24 hours of arrival. As it stands, though, there are some preliminary reports about the dropping birth rates of humans worldwide, but I don't know about that; nothing's stopping you from finding a nice, human girl and putting a baby in her belly. Only, she probably won't be drooling over your cock at the mere sight of it, or slurping the cum from your spent rod after you've coated her womb with your seed-- but I digress. Ultimately, we didn't ask to be this way, just as I am sure no human ever asked to be born with the ability to effortlessly arouse a whole species of quasi-nymphomaniac aliens. Yet, here we are, and it seems to me that we owe it to each other to make the most of it, humans and puazi alike.

That's why I'm here, really. To capitalize on the gifts that God gave me, regardless of whatever God you subscribe to. There is little point in arguing against my body, anyway; once the pheromones take over, there's no resisting their effect, and agonizing over indulging in some slutty behavior only makes for a miserable time. Why not embrace it, then? And admit that I do enjoy sex, and that the more I have of it, the happier I am. It's true; even if holding down a steady boyfriend can be hard, I have no trouble finding companionship when I want it - or even when I don't want it, the notion of which tends to correct itself once the first whiff of human musk penetrates into my vulnerable brain. Okay, so let's just say that I am more susceptible than most. And that, perhaps, other puazi would not be sucking quite as much cock in various back alleys as I tend to do. But what is a girl to do? With the job interview a miserable failure, I had little choice but to stagger out of there, girl-cum coating my lips and orange cheeks, and head home. And then you meet a cute guy on the subway, and you let him drag you into an alley along with his two friends, and-- I mean, it's not like any of them were complaining, right? And yeah, so I'm sitting on the ground with two loads of cum on my face and one in my belly, with my hand thrust between my legs to hammer two fingers against my pleasure-buzzer, while the smell and taste of cum makes my eyesight all loopy and my breathing a little giggly-- that sweet, slightly salty tang of cum still lingering on my tongue, mixing with my spit and swirling gently around my mouth even as I drool slightly, the flashing jolts of pleasure sparking through my crotch and into my chest and legs while a few drops of pearly white spunk dribbles down my cheek and falls onto my exposed cleavage, but... mmh.. mmph..! Wh-- what was I saying?

I guess my point is that I am going to fuck, and get fucked, anyway. I can't not. Believe me, I tried - keeping myself pure through cold showers, bland food and playing the hermit for the better part of four days, only to step out for groceries and coming to my senses five hours later, with no clothes, a sore asshole, and the smell of fresh pussy on my face. Seems that the longer we go without the pheromones, the stronger the response gets - or maybe I'm just wired differently from most of my kind. It's hard to say, really. I heard they actually hired a puazi into the police force, paired her up with a human detective, but that seems unlikely to me - how would they ever get anything done?. But whatever the case, I know one thing. I may not have chosen the slut life, but it certainly chose me. So I either hearken to it, or leave Earth altogether, and... well, I don't see that happening any time soon! Not when I'm having so much fun here!

So, hi! My name is Aimee. I'm a puazi, and yeah, I'm a slut. But what else is new?

This was, in case it wasn't obvious, inspired by the artist InCase and his most wondrous creation, the Puazi.

Likes: Loud, exuberant sex; the smell of human arousal; capital-L Lewds

Dislikes: Prudishness; being unemployed; the false sense of smugness that comes from believing one's dull sex life to be superior to anyone else's because one is too unimaginative to explore the depths of pleasure that's truly out there. Oh, and the Dutch, I guess.

^{With loving thanks to /r/werewizard for being a constant source of inspiration}