When She Dances: A SciFi Alien Romance (A Risdaverse Tale)

by Ruby Dixon

  She moans, her hips jerking back against me. "Clit. Clitoris."

  "And what purpose does it serve?" I wonder if it's like my spur, where it serves little purpose in the body but remains, like my tail, for decoration.

  "That." Her breath stutters and she arches, moaning, as I drag my finger along the hood. "Fuuuck. That. That. It does that."

  A spot just for erotic pleasure? I'm starting to see why humans are in such hot demand. I slide a finger back into the hot well of her cunt, and she's very wet and soft and ready for me. At least…she seems to be. I'm learning fast, and I've learned more about pleasing a female in the last hour than I have from years of watching porn vids. I glance down at my cock, hard and aching, my own pleasure momentarily forgotten in the pleasure of teasing her. I move my hands to her hips, noticing how big my grip is compared to her smaller form. Each of my hands can practically span half her backside, and I pull her body toward mine again as she wriggles on the bed.

  "Are you ready?" I ask her. "Do you need more touching?"

  She moans, and I watch in fascination as the entrance to her cunt clenches around nothing. "Ready," she pants. "Give it to me."

  Give it to her? I want to laugh, except…I want more than anything to be hilt-deep inside her. I hold her in place as I guide my cock into her warmth. This time, I find her entrance without difficulty, and press the head of my cock in slowly, testing the give of her channel. Gods have mercy, but being inside her without the plas-film is sheer joy. I can feel everything with twice the intensity. I find myself staring, entranced, as I feed my cock into her, and she stretches around my length to accommodate me. I grit my teeth as the sensation of her hot cunt tightening around me takes over. Kef me, I've never felt anything better.

  The female breathes my name, and now I see why it's so important to her for me to learn her name. Just hearing mine on her lips makes my cock twitch with need. "Say it again," I demand, spearing her with my length, watching the entire time. I can't take my eyes off of the ridges of my cock disappearing into her welcoming body, or the dip of my spur into the pucker of her backside.

  "Zakoar," she pants. "The guy who's gonna make me come again."

  I growl at that. Just when I think she's defeated, she tosses something surprising—and arousing—into my face. I sink deep, gripping her hips tight and plunging into her. She lets out another sound of intense pleasure, and when I pump into her again, she rocks her hips back to meet me. It makes our bodies slam together, increasing the friction, and my sac slaps against her skin. Kef me, but I like that. With a grunt, I drive into her harder, faster, and my cock shuttles in and out of her delicious, wet channel as if she was made for me. "You're going to come?" I demand. "You're going to squeeze me tight with that cunt of yours?"

  She lets out a needy little sound, and her hand slides under her body, moving between her thighs to work her clit.

  Grr. That's mine. I reach forward, pushing her hand aside and working it for her, stroking deep even as I touch her button—her clit—and I am rewarded with the choked gasp of her orgasm, the tight squeeze of her cunt on my cock, and the wet release of her body.

  As I drive toward my own release, I realize two months might not be enough.

  I'm going to need this female for much, much longer.

  9

  TESSA

  I'm dying. I've been killed by dick.

  I lay panting, undone, sprawled on the bed as he continues to caress my hips and thighs, as if he can't quite get enough. Here I thought earning my way to this farm planet would be simple, if not pleasant. Turns out it's going to be exceedingly pleasant but not simple. He's going to make me come so many times that it's going to wear me out. And…I'm perfectly all right with that.

  He pulls off of me and I sigh, curling up at the edge of the bed. His seed is sliding down my thighs and I really should get up and pee, but I'm just wiped. My brains have been effectively fucked out of my head, and if I could think straight, I'm sure I'd analyze the situation a bit more. As it is, I'm just tired. Thirsty, and tired.

  As if he can read my mind, Zakoar returns to the bed and caresses my hip, holding out a glass of water. "Drink this."

  That might be the kindest thing anyone's done for me in a long, long time. I hate that I feel a surge of gratitude over a glass of water (of all things) and take it in silence, draining the glass. He takes it back from me and I glance at the bathroom. "Should I clean up?"

  "If you like. I'm going to take you again, but I need a minute." His eyes glitter as he watches me.

  Good lord. Well, at least he's forthright. There's no guessing with this man. "What if I say no?"

  "Then my cock will be hard all night and I will ask again in the morning." He reaches out and touches my jaw, grazing a thumb over my skin. "How many times must I say I am not interested in an unwilling female?"

  "Just checking. Do you remember my name?"

  "Clit."

  Well, that's a name I told him, but not mine. With a scowl, I glare at him and he gives me a flash of a smile. It's odd to see, his face stretching on only one side, but I like that he can smile. A moment later, as if he realizes what he's doing, the smile is gone and his expression sobers once more.

  Instinctively I recoil, uncertain of his reaction. Have I offended him with my frowning? I remember how I kicked him earlier—or tried to—and he just laughed. I'm probably getting too comfortable too fast.

  "Your name is Testa," he announces.

  Close. At least he's trying. "Tessa. And you're Zakoar of the Broken Back."

  He grunts, but there's a possessive gleam in his eyes again, and something tells me I'm about to end up on my hands and knees once more. "A name you will scream out in bed." He trails a finger along my jaw. "I thought you were joking."

  "To be fair, so did I."

  "Are you still frightened of me?"

  I glance up at him, and his expression is hard to read. He always looks angry, I realize, because of the metal curving his jaw. His mouth is flat, his expression hard, but I sense a bit of vulnerability behind the question. After all, if he was a huge asshole, why would he care? Throughout all of this, he's been surprisingly thoughtful in his weird way. I don't think he's familiar with sex—or owning a slave—despite his fearsome demeanor and age. Even so, he's been gentle with me and he's made me come. He's made sure I'm okay with everything even as he boldly stated what he intended. No one else has cared to get my feedback at all. So yeah…however fierce he might look, he's not an uncaring jerk. "I'm not scared of you," I admit. "I've been scared of the situation. I didn't like being at the cantina, but I knew what to expect there. I didn't know what to expect with you."

  "I told you," he says, and he sounds a little impatient now. "I plan to keep you in my bed for a time, until I tire of you. Then I'll free you and take you to Risda. That's what I want from you."

  I nod. "I know. And I appreciate having it boldly stated. It's nice to know where I stand. It makes me feel less powerless." I won't admit it, but I still feel a bit like I'm dreaming. Sure, it's not the fairy tale I imagined, but a lot of it is pretty close. The guy I find fascinating strides in, buys me from a slave auction, and then fucks me so hard I come. Twice. And he intends on freeing me. It's not a fairy tale, but if things got any better, I'd have to start pinching myself.

  Now I just hope he's telling the truth. But since I've got nothing else to go on, I'm just going to assume the best.

  I glance up at him as his fingers skim along my mouth. He's been utterly insatiable, this Zakoar, and while I'm tired and would like to go to sleep, when I see the intense heat in his gaze, my body clenches involuntarily. Sleep can wait. Pleasing him needs to be the top priority, and really, it's no hardship to do so, especially when he wants me to come before he does. "Are you tired?" I ask softly, already knowing the answer.

  "No."

  I lick my lips at the same time his fingers graze over my mouth, and then I'm licking his metal fingertips. I keep expecting them to be cold and unpleasant
, but they're warm and as hard as the rest of him, and oddly enough, I like it. I lick them again, watching him as I do. "Female," he begins.

  "Tessa," I correct.

  "Tessa," he amends, his fingers playing at my mouth. "Hands and knees."

  10

  TESSA

  He fucks me twice more, and then tugs me into the shower and washes me off. I'm half-asleep as he carries me back to bed, and the moment he sets me down on the mattress, I try to crawl away. I haven't been invited to stay, and I don't want to overstep. But Zakoar just makes a sound of annoyance, pulls me back into bed, and then tucks me against his side. I go to sleep with his hands all over me, as if I'm his personal teddy bear.

  I wake up several hours later when the bed shifts, and he gets up. He pads away, heading for the bathroom, and I roll over, determined to squeeze a few more minutes of sleep out of the situation before he returns and fucks me again. I'm drifting off when I hear a sound of displeasure, and the trained slave in me immediately jerks awake, eyes wide. I sit up, panicked.

  Zakoar is gazing at me from the edge of the bed, a deep frown on his face.

  "What's wrong?" I ask, worried. "Should I…do you want me out of bed?" Is he mad that I'm still asleep?

  He reaches over and I instinctively flinch, which only makes his mood even more sour. He flicks me an irritated look and pulls the blanket out of my hands, uncovering my body. "You didn't tell me that I hurt you."

  Huh? I glance down and sure enough, my hips are covered in light bruises, some of them finger shaped, from where he was holding me as he fucked me. "Oh. You didn't hurt me."

  "You're bruised."

  I nod. "I am. I bruise easily. That's why I was in the window instead of serving customers." I immediately shut up, because he probably doesn't want to hear about me “serving” customers. As possessive as he is, he might freak out at the thought of someone else touching me. So I bite back any more of an explanation and smile brightly. "Truly, I'm fine. I would have said something if you'd hurt me…or at the very least, I'd have yelped a few times."

  "Mmm." Zakoar is still frowning. He reaches over and caresses my hip and backside, clearly displeased at the marks on my flesh. "I think the med-bay will have a cream for this."

  "It might, but it's not necessary." Abuar never gave me anything like that because a med-bay machine is expensive, and refilling the medical goods even more so. "It'll heal up in a day or two."

  "You're getting cream," he says stubbornly. "I don't care how keffing expensive it is." His fingers brush over my skin again, his expression thoughtful. "I'm going to have to be more careful. I didn't realize."

  "It's okay, really," I say in a soft voice. "We're still in the figuring each other out stage. Don't beat yourself up." In a way, it's rather sweet that he's so worried over a few bruises. That makes me feel better about the situation. He's not into pain, then. At least, not mine.

  "Wait here," Zakoar commands, striding away. He leaves the room—heading to the med-bay installed in the house, I'm guessing—and I watch him leave, fascinated at the studs all the way up his tail. That, and he's totally naked and his backside is fascinatingly tight and I like the sight of it.

  Then, I really do pinch myself because I must be dreaming if I'm lusting after an alien who bought me. I wince and then smooth my hand over the mark. I don't want to leave another bruise for him to fret over.

  My stomach growls, and I ponder waiting in bed, but my mouth is dry, too. I decide to head into the kitchen. I still don't have clothes to wear, and the sheets smell like sex, so I pad across the cool metal floor on bare feet, hoping he doesn't mind a naked slave wandering his apartment. His kitchen is full of high-tech machinery, the walls covered with dispensers of every kind, buttons flashing, and I can't read a word of the writing. I double tap one of the screens, hoping there's a visual guide, and to my joy, there is. I flip through the pictures, looking for something appetizing, when I hear footsteps behind me again.

  "I told you to stay put," Zakoar says. His tone is grumpy, but he doesn't sound truly mad, so I choose to ignore it.

  I turn to smile brightly at him. He's got a vial of something pale pink in his hand, and his cock is standing erect once more, piercings winking at me. Jesus, this man and his stamina. "Yes, but I was thirsty and hoped you wouldn't mind if I checked out the kitchen. I'm really trying not to bother you. Just show me a protein bar and water and I'll be a happy camper."

  He strides over to me, beautiful and deadly, and starts pushing buttons on one of the panels. I can't help but admire him because naked, he's fascinating to look at. There's not an inch of him that looks as if it hasn't been reworked in some way. His back is a lattice of metal, his spine is, too. His chest seems as if it's been stitched together and his face has the same patchwork look to it. Even so, he moves with lethal grace, a man utterly confident in his deadliness. My earlier estimation of Zakoar being a man who's been through some shit and emerged out the other side stronger and meaner is absolutely spot-on, I suspect. Maybe this is why he's a virgin.

  Was. Was a virgin. The man standing next to me with the hard cock is an absolute beast in bed and very much no longer a virgin. I can't believe someone with a libido like his hasn't had sex before, but I can't shake that feeling. I also can't believe he's turned on again.

  Actually, no, I can believe it. It's my poor bruised pussy that's both anticipating and dreading another round.

  "You're not eating a protein bar," he grumbles as the dispenser drops a dish carefully into place and begins to fill it with hot water and something that smells sweet and delicious. "You can have a normal morning meal like any other sentient being."

  "Thank you." I nudge him with my hip. "You charmer you."

  "Charmer?"

  I smile to take the sting out of my words. Okay, he doesn't get my jokes, so I guess we're not at that level of friendliness yet despite both of us standing in his kitchen, naked, after multiple rounds of sex. "I just…when you refer to me as a sentient being instead of a person, it makes me think of like…sentient rocks and plants. Not people."

  To my surprise, he flushes a little, his cheek staining a darker shade of blue, and he looks uncomfortable. "I didn't mean it like that."

  "I know. I was teasing." Suddenly uncertain, I draw back a little. It's in my nature to be informal and teasing with someone when I'm comfortable with them, and I feel safe here with Zakoar. But if he doesn't appreciate my easiness with him, I need to rein it in. The last thing I want is him getting frustrated or angry with me because he misunderstands a joke. "I apologize. I won't do it again."

  Zakoar narrows his eyes at me, and to my surprise, he bumps my hip with his, as well. "I like your teasing. Just because I ask for clarification doesn't mean you should stop. I much prefer this to your weeping."

  "If it makes you feel any better, I much prefer this to weeping.”

  He pulls the plate out from under the dispenser and holds it out to me. What looks like steaming slabs of something pancake-like have a fruity sauce dribbled over them and it smells utterly divine. I take it from him, my mouth watering, and don't even bother with a seat. I just grab the stick-utensil he holds out to me and spear the first one.

  It tastes like a cross between cake and a nutty, thick oatmeal. It's slightly grainy, but the sweetness is delicious and I want to cry with how good it is. Oh my god. For someone that's lived on protein bars for the last several years, this is heaven on earth. I close my eyes, savoring the taste.

  "Are you all right?" His voice is surprisingly gentle.

  "I think this might be the happiest I've been in five years," I admit, taking another bite. I try to eat slower, but oh god, it's so good.

  He chuckles, and the sound is raspy, as if it's unfamiliar for him to be laughing this early in the morning. Or at all. "I didn't realize that was all it took to please you."

  "Me and every other slave on this station," I admit. My stomach feels full already, but I keep eating, determined to cram every bit of deliciousness
into my mouth. I am not leaving a drop of syrup or a single crumb on this plate.

  "I don't own every other slave on this station, but I do own you. For now." His hand goes to my shoulder, and then he glances down at my hips, his expression unhappy. "And I don't like that I bruised you. When you're done eating, I want to put this on you." He picks up the vial again. "It'll help you heal quickly."

  I shove the last cake into my mouth, my cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. It takes some creative chewing to get all the food down, but I manage and use my finger to get the last of the syrup off the plate. I'd bring the entire thing to my mouth and lick it clean if Zakoar wasn't looking. Instead, I just wash it down with some water and try not to think about how delicious it was or that I'd probably murder someone for another plate of it.

  Zakoar's hand is on my hip, gliding over some of the bruises. "Turn around. Hands on the counter."

  "Sex?" I ask, a little surprised. "In here?"

  "What's wrong with in here?" He shakes his head. "But no. I'm going to take care of your wounds." He gives me an impatient look. "I don't feel the need to rut on every surface in my home, thank you."

  Yeah, but he's felt the need to rut every time I seem to turn around, but I keep that thought to myself. I put my hands on the counter, leaning forward. It's a counter height for a mesakkah, so the “counter” itself hits me right in the tits, and the cool metal feels interestingly good against my nipples. I don't rub against it like a shameless wanton, because my nipples aren't bruised. He hasn't even touched my tits. It's like he doesn't quite know what to do with them.

  Heck, he probably doesn't. I wonder if it'd be too bossy of me to show him the other pleasure spots on humans?

  I wait impatiently as he uncaps the healing lotion (or whatever it is) and hope it's not smelly and sticky like the things I remember my mother rubbing on my chest as a child. To my surprise, the first touch of his fingers feels decadently wonderful. The stuff goes on smooth and cool and tingles wherever he touches me.