by Tristan Vick
“My name is Aidora,” the girl said, bowing slightly. Her raven black hair trailed down to the small of her back, the silkiest hair Onelle had ever seen. The girl rose up and cautiously inched closer, keeping a demure pose, so as not to startle her guest. “I’ll be your personal equerry for the duration of your stay aboard the ship.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Onelle said, stepping down off the teleportation platform.
The Nyctan girl clasped both hands timidly in front of her, and then bowed her head. “Welcome aboard the Qui’tek’alon, Mistress Te’Legra.”
“Qui’tek’alon?” Onelle repeated inquisitively. “That’s a Seyfferian word, is it not?”
The girl’s eyes rose back up and she smiled with diminutive, thin lips that had a slight nervous quiver to them. “Yes, it means the Great Negotiator in their people’s tongue.” She could see by Onelle’s confusion that more explanation needed to be done. “Our people often name diplomatic vessels in the tongue of the races we are dealing with. Minor things like this prove to be psychologically beneficial when engaging in diplomatic talks.”
“Is that why the Voice called me here? Is this going to be the peace renegotiation summit that people have been whispering about?”
The Nyctan girl smiled more broadly, her smooth white skin giving her the appearance of a porcelain doll. “It may be more than just peace talks, but those are a part of it, yes.”
“All right, then,” Onelle said, stepping off the teleportation pad and walking up to the girl. “Please show me to my quarters.”
Again, the girl bowed reverently, spun deftly on her heels, and led Onelle out of the teleportation room and into a massive corridor which was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. Ships this size made even her biggest space stations look like middling yachts; even her biggest space yacht would fit in the smallest hangar bay of this massive vessel.
But that was Nyctan design for you, always opulent, intricate; always over the top. The religious aspect of their towering cathedrals and religious monoliths back on their homeworld carried over into every aspect of their ship design. This ship even had arches and buttresses built onto the outside of the vessel, giving it an ornate, almost decadent quality, and it looked like nothing else she’d ever seen.
After a long, winding walk through the elaborately decorated interiors, they eventually arrived at Onelle’s chambers.
“This is you,” Aidora said, gesturing with a wave toward the entrance to Onelle’s quarters. “Will there be anything else you require, my mistress?”
“I would prefer my dinner be prepared fresh. None of the synthesized stuff. And no animal flesh, either. Any of the Arkadian dishes should be fine.”
“As you wish,” Aidora replied, bowing slightly and then turning to leave.
Onelle watched her stroll up the corridor and then entered her quarters. The lighting was dim, and she said, “Computer, raise lighting by fifty percent.”
“Belay that order,” a voice called out from the darkness.
Reflexively, Onelle slipped her hand into the v-cut opening of her dress, reached under her left breast and drew out a compact blaster—no bigger than a digital stylus pen. “Who’s there?”
“Somebody that has a proposition for you.”
Her green skin bristled with goosebumps and her stomach clenched tight. Not believing the mysterious figure hiding in the shadows, she demanded, “Come out where I can see you.”
An older, but well groomed, Dagon gentlemen with flowing white hair that rested past his shoulders stepped into view. Onelle recognized him from the galactic televid news.
“Senator Targon?” she gasped, wondering why he’d invited himself into her room like this. “What are you doing in my personal chambers?”
“I apologize for the cloak and dagger routine, but this vessel has eyes and ears everywhere.” He drew out a small device from his tunic-styled senatorial gown and flipped it open like a compact mirror. It started flashing and sending out a strange, rhythmic chirp. “This,” Targon said, nodding at the device laying in the palm of his hand, “will allow us to speak freely.”
“What is there to talk about that requires a scrambler?” Onelle asked, tucking the pen-styled blaster back into her green cleavage.
“The Nyctans are going to open up limited trade with the colonies that acquiesce to the rule of the Gilded Protectorate. That’s what they’re calling themselves now. Predictably, Dagon Prime will not submit to any rule of law they themselves haven’t erected. This means the siege will continue indefinitely for the greater systems, though you shall continue to oversee all the trade. You hold all the cards. Which is why you hold great leverage at these hearings.”
“So, what is it you’re asking of me, Senator?” She eyed him suspiciously.
“I want to establish a more robust black market.”
“There’s already a thriving black market,” she countered.
“Let me put it another way. I want a limited share in controlling the black market. You, of course, would be the galactic kingpin of the operation. I would merely bring you access to the systems that do not comply with this so-called Gilded Protectorate.”
He smiled, then took a step closer. “Consider it a partnership. I win by becoming the hero to my people. You win by having me at your mercy. And what is better than having a Dagon Senator who sits on the High Council at your beck and call?”
“At my mercy?” Onelle repeated, her curiosity piqued. She strode over to the standing bar, took a glass, added a couple of large ice cubes, and began to mix herself a drink. “It’s a tempting offer, but it sounds like a lot of trouble. What if the Nyctans catch wind of our back-channel dealings? I doubt the Voice of H’aaztre would be happy we have allied ourselves against her interests.”
“Ah” he replied, stroking his grizzled chin. “A very reasonable concern. But let me assure you, anything said here, in this room, stays here.”
Onelle eyed the handsome gentleman up and down. He was older, but he looked nice enough. She imagined that if her mother had even been half as beautiful, well, she could see where Callestra got her stunning good looks.
Presumably to raise a leg comfortably on the nearby chair, Onelle slowly rolled up the hemline of her dress. She hiked the stretchy fabric up until her sky-blue lace panties peeked out.
“Prove you mean it. Seal the deal with a kiss,” she said, a prurient smile forming on her lips, her drink dangling casually in her left hand.
Senator Targon slowly settled onto his knees before the woman and ran his blue hand along her bare thigh. Her green skin was the softest he’d ever felt.
Once he had his fingers curled around the waistband of her underwear, he looked up into her lime green eyes with purpose and slowly began to slide her panties down her slender green thighs.
Still holding her drink out, the ice cubes rattling in the glass, she looked down at him as he buried his face in-between her thighs. She kicked her head back and let out a loud moan as soon as she felt his warm tongue penetrate her flowery garden patch.
Onelle grabbed the back of Targon’s head, threading her green fingers through his long white hair. She pulled him in so tight he could scarcely breathe. She held him there until panic set in.
When he squeezed her ass with such vigor, she thought she might scream, she pressed her crotch into him even more. After another minute and a half of him unable to breathe, she felt his body go limp and she dropped him to the floor.
Senator Targon fell to the floor with a thud, unconscious. Her blue panties around her ankles, Onelle looked down at him with a curious expression and then downed her drink in one smooth swig.
Crouching down next to him, she whispered into his ear, “I’ll think about it.” Rising back up, she pulled up her panties, rolled her dress down, and then looked around the room for the bathroom.
Once inside, she undressed, took a shower, and cleaned the Dagon stench off of her. After her shower, she put on the bathrobe and
went back out into the main room, only to find Aidora with a silver dome sitting on a food cart.
“I took the honor of removing the gentleman caller from your chambers, Mistress Onelle,” Aidora said.
“I appreciate that,” Onelle replied.
“May I inquire as to what the senator was doing here?”
Onelle shot the girl a harsh look, but the girl did not flinch—which meant she was under obligation to ask such invasive questions. Onelle smiled at her own personal little spy. At least she hadn’t committed to anything that would get her in trouble, so she decided the truth was the best option.
“He was...trying to negotiate a side-deal.”
“And how did you answer?”
“I didn’t,” Onelle replied. “I don’t do business with just anyone. Not unless there’s something to gain from it. I’m afraid all the senator had to offer were empty promises.”
“That’s a relief,” Aidora said, letting loose a pent-up sigh. “I’m glad you’re as smart and cunning as they say you are.”
“And who would they be, exactly?” Onelle asked. She was never one to let a good compliment go overlooked.
“Azra’il Nun, for one,” Aidora answered.
“The Voice herself? Are you serious?” Onelle asked, half skeptical. “Did she actually say that?”
“Something to that effect, mistress,” Aidora replied, her smile growing. “She was quite impressed with how you handled the ‘Raphine’ situation.”
“Ah, I see.” Onelle took another sip of her drink and then sighed deeply. “That’s a relief to hear.”
Aidora went over to the tray cover and removed it, showing a very lovely presentation of steaming vegetables garnishing a perfectly cooked Arkadian king prawn, her personal favorite. “Your dinner, Mistress Onelle.”
“Oh, thank goodness it’s not that Nyctan worm slag,” she said in a relieved tone.
Aidora raised an eyebrow.
“I mean, no offense, or anything,” Onelle said, back tracking a bit, “but Nyctan food doesn’t sit well with me. A sensitive stomach, I’m afraid.”
“Understandable,” Aidora said. Her tone wasn’t the least judgmental and she politely bowed again and left Onelle to enjoy her dinner in solitude.
After exiting Onelle’s chambers, Aidora waited in the hall until the doors shut behind her. She locked her hand behind her back and a sinister smile formed on her thin lips. Her big, black eyes blinked twice, and then two golden halos appeared in them.
She turned up the hall and found Senator Targon being propped up by two massive Nyctan guards. He looked a tad roughed up, as though they’d done a bit of work on him after finding him in Onelle’s room.
“You’ve been a very naughty boy, Senator,” she said, looking up at him. “Now, what in the world am I going to do with you?”
“Why don’t you just kill me and see how far that gets you?” he snarled.
“Tsk, tsk, Senator. Is that any way to be?”
“You and your kind can just burn in Helios for all I care.”
“If I wanted you dead, Senator, you’d be dead. But I’m afraid I must tolerate your obstinance a while longer as, it seems, my master has plans for you.”
“How about you tell your master for me that he can suck my—”
“Sleep,” the girl commanded and, like a narcoleptic, Senator Targon immediately drifted off to sleep.
Aidora turned her back to the guards and, after a moment’s thought, said, “Take him back to his quarters and tuck him into bed. Lay out some empty bottles of Dragonian ale and some Arkadian brandy and erase the last hour of his memory.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the soldiers said, and with that they hauled Senator Targon away.
Aidora took a deep breath, blinked her eyes twice, and the golden halo, the mark of H’aaztre, vanished. She looked around as though she were confused what she was doing out in the corridor, and then went back to Onelle’s door. It chimed once and Onelle’s voice beckoned her to come inside.
“I take it the meal is to your satisfaction?” Aidora asked, finding Onelle seated at the large dinner table off to the side of the main room.
With a mouth full of king prawn, Onelle replied, “It’s so juicy...care to try some?”
Aidora shook her head and politely declined. After a few more bites, Onelle looked back up at the girl watching her eat.
“It’s a little bit weird...you just standing there watching me eat like that. Just try some.”
“Apologies,” Aidora said, “I didn’t realize I was being rude.” She turned her back to Onelle and continued to wait for her to finish eating without watching.
“No, no, that’s worse,” Onelle informed the girl.
Aidora turned back around and resumed her staring.
“Just one bite,” Onelle said, holing out a piece of the stringy white meat.
“Just one bite,” Aidora said, leaning in. Opening her mouth, she accepted the morsel of king prawn and began chewing. With her mouth full, she mumbled, “Oh, my Gilded God, this tastes superb!”
“See? I told you,” Onelle said, pointing the petite, three-pronged shellfish fork at the girl.
Wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand, she lowered her gaze. “Apologies, I’m not supposed to...” she trailed off and looked back up at Onelle, who was smiling at her.
“Are you always this timid?”
“No, but I’m on duty. And there’s a certain level of etiquette that my job requires. I’ve overstepped my bounds and must report my failings.”
“And what will happen once you’ve done that?”
“I’ll be punished for my insubordination.”
“Punished how?” Onelle asked in a worried tone.
“By receiving ten lashes.”
“Seems a bit extreme, if you ask me,” Onelle replied.
Aidora looked her straight in the eyes. “Not if I deserve it.”
“And do you feel that you deserve it?”
“Yes,” Aidora replied without even the slightest hesitation.
Onelle shrugged. Aidora really was just a serf, after all.
“Will there be anything else?” Aidora asked as she gathered up Onelle’s dishes and began setting them back onto the tray.
“Are there any Knights of Caelum aboard?” Onelle asked.
Aidora raised her black eyes and stared at Onelle for a moment and then replied, “Yes. Every Nyctan battled cruiser has at least one Knight aboard.”
“Excellent,” Onelle replied, leaning back in her seat and rubbing her stomach. “Be a good girl and call the knight to my chambers.”
Aidora nodded, finished tidying up, and then rolled the cart out of Onelle’s room. As she stood in the entrance, she looked back and said, “I’ll see to it right away, Mistress Onelle.”
Onelle Te’Legra Agnar smiled and watched the girl leave. Once she was gone, she sprang to her feet and hastened over to the small kitchen nook and prepared all the things she needed for the green tea ceremony.
She knew that Knights made a solemn oath to remain celibate, but she had always wanted to challenge herself and seduce one. As an expert courtesan, there wasn’t a man or woman in the galaxy who could resist her. And she was determined to prove it by seducing a Knight of Caelum.
After a few minutes the door chimed. Onelle said, “Enter.”
When the devilishly handsome Nyctan warrior stepped into her room, she finished setting the ceremonial table and gestured for him to come in. “Please, take a seat.”
He did as she said, trying not to stare at her breasts as she leaned over to pour the tea. Of course, she’d deliberately loosened her robe so it would slip open easily.
She set the steaming pot down and gestured with a nod for him to drink.
She, too, took her cup, matching him movement for movement. When he sipped, she sipped. When he put his cup down again, so did she. “Tell me, knight,” she said, taking the teapot and refilling his and her cup, “what is the punishment for beddin
g a woman?”
“Twenty lashes, my mistress. If it happens twice, there is a mandatory demotion.”
“And what is the punishment for not obeying a ranking superior, sir knight?”
“Also, twenty lashes.”
“Now answer me this...am I your superior?”
He looked over at her with uncertain eyes and then, after studying the feminine curvature of her body, cleared his throat.
“Azra’il Nun has appointed you Captain of Commerce, which means you outrank me, yes.”
“So, if both punishments are equal, it doesn’t matter which one of them you break, now, does it?” She set the teapot down and waited for his answer.
He shook his head, unable to come out with a clear answer. “I don’t know, mistress. These rules of conduct and other protocols aren’t laws, per se. But there are punishments for disobeying them.”
“In that case...I won’t tell if you don’t.” She raised her cup, beckoning him to do the same. He did, and they drank.
After finishing their tea, she rose up, letting her robe slip to the floor. Standing before him, naked, she said in a sultry voice, “Now, knight, join me in bed.”
Onelle’s pheromone production was off the charts, and she had nearly broken a sweat by secreting as many pheromones as she possibly could. After all, it was the only way she knew with certainty that she could seduce a Knight. In fact, the formal tea drinking ceremony was just a ruse. She was flooding her entire chambers with so many pheromones it would make any normal man lose himself to pure lust-induced madness.
“Yes, mistress,” he answered, and slowly, almost reluctantly, began to unclasp the braided loops of his uniform.
Once he was standing before her in nothing but the nervous expression he wore on his face, she took his hand and led him over to the bed.
She lay down first, spreading out across the satin sheets. She swiveled her hips to the side, slowly raising one leg up and over, spreading her knees wide and displaying herself in all of her luxuriant splendor for him to behold.
The knight’s cheeks flushed as he stood at the end of the bed, and he couldn’t help but look away with embarrassment. He’d never seen a woman in all her glory before.
