Samantha White and the Seven Dwarves

by Mimi Riser

She answered in a throaty purr. “I have an IQ of 170—genius level—but no one ever believes it."

  "I do."

  "I know.” Her voice caught on the words.

  Suddenly she knew a lot, almost too much. Her heart hitched as thoughts and images flashed from his head to hers, telling her more about him—and herself—than she could comfortably swallow. A big, bittersweet pill, all that awareness flooding her so fast. She gulped, trying to choke it down. His mind stretched the boundaries of her consciousness, even as his erection stretched the slick walls of her sex, vibrating within her like a lightning bolt turned solid.

  Or was that his emotion she felt vibrating? She could no longer tell where he began and she ended. Everything he sensed, she sensed, too—sensed it from her perspective and his, then back again as she felt him sensing her. Around and around it went, their feelings boomeranging back and forth, reflected over and over like a mirrored spinning ball.

  He was inside her. Completely. All of him. Filling her to overflowing.

  And she was inside him.

  She ran her hands over his chest, felt him quiver under her palms and quivered with him—knew what her touch felt like to him, knew what his swollen member experienced when she started riding it. Lost in the joining, she lifted and sank ... lifted and sank ... rising and falling like the undulation of an ocean wave, sliding him in and out with hot, smooth thrusts.

  A low growl escaped him and he dropped the last shreds of his resistance. The ‘orm responded by dropping its bonds, giving him free rein to grab Sam and pull her to his chest. His hips matched the rhythm of hers and together they speeded the tempo. The thrusts grew harder, hotter, faster and deeper, fueled by their linked energies. An explosion looking for a place to land...

  It hit like the Big Bang, rocking them, rocking the ‘orm—which panicked and whipped two straps around their middles to keep them from falling out—rocking the entire galaxy, it seemed. Definitely sending a tremor through the ship.

  Sam almost blacked out. Her own orgasm was a lollapalooza, but mixed with the simultaneous sensation of Deuce's, and the double whammy of him feeling hers, and the ricochet reaction of her feeling him feel it ... and so forth and so forth.

  She collapsed like a wrung-out rag over him as the shock waves settled, leaving her all warm and fuzzy inside with his energy tingling through her.

  "It's a miracle we're not dead,” she said.

  Deuce cranked open one eye, acting as though the lid weighed a ton. “You mean I'm still alive?"

  "I'd say it's a safe bet since the ‘orm felt obliged to tie us in. I doubt it would worry about protecting a corpse."

  "Oh. Right. Good point.” He hauled open his other eye to gaze at the straps laced over her back, binding her to him at the waist. “Not that I'm complaining, but I wonder when it'll decide it's safe to let us go."

  Safe? Sam shivered, her warm tingles suddenly mixed with an icy prickle of dread. So much she'd discovered when her mind melded with Deuce's, such a brain-bending blend of good news and bad. The bad had been pushed aside by the recent ecstasy, but demanded attention now.

  She lifted her head off his shoulder to stare down at him. “Will we ever be safe?"

  He didn't answer, didn't have to. The ‘orm still linked them, not as completely as during the lovemaking, not enough to read his thoughts, but enough for her to feel the sudden sadness in him, to see her own anxiety mirrored in his eyes. She'd have sensed his feelings even without the technical aid. They were bound together now by stronger ties than the ‘orm's.

  They were also in serious trouble, the victims of a devious plot hatched years before when dozens of clones had been surreptitiously planted in unsuspecting wombs on Earth and left there to “ripen” until harvest time. It was part of the plans for a bizarre business venture geared to capitalize on a growing interstellar craze for old TV transmissions from Earth. Whoever would have guessed all those eternal, infernal radio waves escaped from Earth's atmosphere to bounce around outer space would have found such an audience?

  The scheme had been masterminded by the Prince of Helle to bolster his planet's sagging economy. All that and more Sam had discovered in Deuce's mind. She knew now that Helle was a tourist world, but with the advent of a certain other tourist “world” on Earth, Helle's business had taken a nosedive. Too many of the galaxy's human population had started vacationing in Florida, instead—and some of the not-so-humans as well since it was so easy for them to blend in there. Who'd notice a few extra four-foot tall mice or talking ducks?

  The pissed-off prince had retaliated by using his rival's planet as his “garden,” secretly seeding it with movie star clones created from the DNA of Earth's most famous sex symbols (famous all over the galaxy due to the escaped TV transmissions), with three copies of each original planted for insurance, because with clones you could never be sure how they'd turn out apparently. The DNA assured a physical duplicate at birth, but how that duplicate developed afterwards depended partly on his or her environment, a difficult thing to control.

  Of the three Marilyn Monroe clones, for instance, Number One had entered sports early on, which modified what otherwise would have been voluptuous curves into lean muscle—not unattractive, but not what the prince needed for his project either. Number Two had formed the right curves, but had formed a deeply religious bent to go with them and become a nun. Which the prince needed even less considering the project in question was a cinematic cat-house, where pampered patrons could watch vintage Earth films from the luxurious comfort of the ‘orm chairs Helle's technicians had created for optimum viewing pleasure. Then the more adventurous patrons could rent their choice of the films’ stars (or their genetic equivalent at least) for a different sort of pleasure.

  From a business standpoint, the plan did have potential, Sam had to admit. It was just too bad she happened to be the third Marilyn Monroe clone and the only one to have “ripened” properly. That made her extra valuable, especially since the prince planned on “Marilyn” being one of his new amusement park's chief rides ... so to speak. As a matter of fact, he'd delayed the grand opening until she could be harvested. Hence, the crash course training enroute to prepare her for the role, with the instructions to not carry things over the edge. She was supposed to be so cranked up by the time they landed on Helle, she'd be ready to leap into action. And, hopefully, her trainer would be, too, since he was the sex-cinema's other prime attraction.

  "He's a clever devil, the Prince of Helle, isn't he?” she mused aloud. “He had it all planned out."

  "But he never suspected how the ‘orm could link us, and that what we found within each other would push us past lust into something more. He didn't plan on us falling in love."

  Sam startled at the sound of Deuce's voice, even though they were still packed together like sardines, even though she was still staring into his eyes ... even though she knew he spoke the truth. That last was the startling part, of course—the good part. They were in love. It had happened so fast. And felt so right.

  Granted, she'd fallen in love fast before—though never as hard as this. She had a habit of loving every man she slept with. A bad habit she'd always thought, and really dumb behavior for someone who prided herself on her brains. But she didn't feel dumb now because the difference this time—for the first time—was that the man loved her back. She wouldn't have believed it, couldn't have, if she hadn't been inside him and felt his love for herself, felt it the way he felt it.

  He loved her.

  A lot.

  Her head reeling with it all, she studied his handsome face, wishing they could enjoy this moment for the miracle it was, untainted by the evil looming like storm clouds on their horizon. If only she could sink into him for a long cuddle, savor the luscious feel of his body, his heart beating against hers, without fearing the future. It was cold comfort to know she hadn't gone nuts, that he did look like who she'd thought when she first saw him standing on the bridge, dripping danger and sex. Ultra suave sizzle. Agent Oh
!-Oh!-Seven in the flesh.

  "If the women on other worlds are anything like the women on Earth, you're going to be a hotter commodity than ‘Marilyn.’ Your blueprint can melt them in their seats even without his hair, and you've still got yours. Hell, given the chance, I'd have paid a bundle to sleep with him myself.” Not that she'd ever had a bundle.

  Which reminded her of the one other good part of this mess—she could stop worrying about her crummy finances now. Slaves didn't need money, did they? Her mouth twisted into a grim smile, irony putting a bitter taste on her tongue.

  Deuce's tone echoed the sarcasm of hers. “Thanks, I really needed to hear that. So you love me because of whose image I was made in? You want to think of me as him?"

  "Don't be an idiot.” Sam's smile softened as her gaze held his. “Yes, I may have been smitten with him—along with a billion other women, probably—and I admit I've wasted a lot of time trying to find someone who matches his image, but I'm a genius. Remember?” The smile turned teasing. “I'm certainly smart enough to know when I've found something better. I've shared your mind, babe, and I can tell you that as nice as your surface is, your interior is infinitely more beautiful. That's who I love—you.

  "And I don't view you as the replica of a Hollywood hottie any more than I think of myself as one. DNA isn't everything. They can clone bodies, but not the souls to put in them. No matter who we look like, we're still our own people."

  "Tell that to the prince. As far as he's concerned, we're property. His.” A humorless laugh rumbled against her as Deuce pulled her flush against his chest.

  The ‘orm tightened its straps, locking them closer, but his arms locked around her even tighter. Sam buried her face in his neck, felt his breath feathering her hair when he spoke, such a wistfulness in the words.

  "You're the clone, love. No one seems to know what I am. Everything about me tests out as human, but how I got this way is a mystery."

  To say nothing of a genuine marvel. She'd glimpsed it in his mind. God only knew what it meant ... if there was a God. For the first time in years, she wondered about that. “The Harvesters found you in stasis in some sort of ancient space capsule—or an artificial womb maybe. I'm thinking the best name for it might be a ‘Genesis Chamber.’ It looked like a giant egg, right?"

  "More or less. And they sold it to the prince—right after it was determined that none of my role model's clones on Earth had turned out properly. The dwarves are independent agents. They call themselves Harvesters, but they're really more salvagers, from what I can tell. There's all sorts of debris floating around the galaxy. They net the more interesting items in a tractor-beam and sell them to the highest bidder."

  "Damn straight we do.” Jotto's voice buzzed through the cabin, a metallic reverberation tinning his tone. “There's a fuckin’ good market for space trash, if you can match the right crap to the right buyer. Helle's always been one of our best customers, what with that bloody big museum they got there for the tourists."

  "Yeah,” Notto's voice added. “Deuce was one of our best finds. Do you lads remember what happened when we opened the egg? The prince took one look inside and asked, ‘What the deuce do you call this?’ And Xotto said, ‘Well shit, that's as good a name as any, I guess.’ So Deuce it was!"

  A raucous round of laughter crackled out from the crew, punctuated by a loud, fruity belch. That had to be Bleggh.

  Sam went rigid, a hot blush burning her crimson. “Have they been watching us?"

  "The glo-globes,” Deuce whispered. “I forgot the blasted things also function as monitoring devices and intercoms. The controls for them are on the bridge. There's no way I can deactivate them from here."

  His hands slid down her spine and cupped her ass. To shield it from view? Very chivalrous of him, Sam was sure, although she suspected an ulterior motive at work, too. His masculine apparatus had slipped out earlier, but now acted like it was hoping to slip back in, hardening against the inside of her thigh.

  "Your timing sucks,” she hissed, through clenched teeth, into Deuce's ear.

  "It's not my idea. It's his,” he defended himself. His erection nuzzled her slit as though nodding agreement. “Can't help himself, poor boy. Got cold, probably. He's just looking for a place to warm up."

  "That's not funny.” She thumped a fist on his shoulder. “Why do men always talk about their dicks like they're separate entities?"

  Jotto chuckled. “'Cause that's what it feels like sometimes. Right, lads?"

  "I got mine trained to do tricks,” Xotto called. “Anyone want to see him jump through a hoop?"

  A chorus of cackles vibrated the air.

  "I'm going to strangle every one of those damn dwarves,” Sam gritted out.

  Deuce moved beneath her, his hands hot on her ass, his hips shifting, angling his rod for entry. With an audience no less.

  She lifted her head to glare at him. “This is depraved. How can you even think about sex right now?"

  Even worse, he was making her think about it. Her nipples hardened against his chest and her breath quickened. She groaned at her body's too-ready response to his.

  "Oh, I don't know. It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the fact there's a beautiful woman I'm in love with lying naked on top of me, could it?"

  "That'd do it for me, all right!” Xotto declared amidst hoots and catcalls from his cronies.

  Perverts.

  Sam gasped as Deuce thrust in. Her eyes crossed with the force of the entry.

  Holy shit...

  ::My feelings, too,:: he said silently, straight into her head. ::But under the circumstances, it's the only way we can communicate without being overheard. We need full sexual contact, apparently, for the ‘orm to link our thoughts.::

  ::Very clever, but you might have warned me somehow, you sneak. I thought you were just being horny.::

  ::I am horny. You have that effect on me. A lucky thing, too, or this wouldn't work.::

  It still might not work. Yes, they could now talk mind-to-mind. But only if she could maintain a coherent stream of thoughts with all the other sensations sweeping her ... that intense blending of their bodies and souls into one. God, this was going to be tricky.

  "Holy shit,” she repeated aloud.

  "Relax, ducky, we can't see nothin'. Just got the audio on,” Jotto told her. “Prince's orders. He told us to keep an eye on you ... Well, an ear, at any rate."

  "Right. Don't get your knickers in a twist,” Flotto put in. A sharp whap sounded as someone smacked him. “Ow! What was that for?"

  "She ain't got no knickers on, you stupid twit,” Vrotto said. “We beamed her up nekkid, didn't we?"

  Notto snorted. “Yeah, that was Princey's orders, too. He's a crafty bastard, he is."

  "With a narsty temper,” Totto grumbled. “He won't like this, y'know. He told Deuce to keep his jumpin’ johnny in his pants, and he told us to stop things if he didn't."

  "Bugger the prince. What he don't know won't hurt us,” Jotto said. “Let ‘em have their fun."

  "Fun?” Totto's voice cracked on the word. “That last bloody bit of ‘fun’ knocked us into hyperspace two points too soon! I had to recalculate the coordinates to compensate for the over-jump."

  "Bitch, bitch, bitch. You and those cruddy coordinates,” Vrotto groused. “I'm with Jotto. Let ‘em have at it, while they can. Didn't you hear them say they're in love? There'll be no more of that once we reach Helle. They'll be stabled in separate quarters and only let out to work. Prince Pain-in-the-Arse ain't about to allow any hanky-panky between his clones. For someone runnin’ a sex-park, he's really kind of a prude, if you ask me."

  A solid whump burst over the intercom with hisses and crackles on its heels. Totto must have slammed his console.

  "Well, nobody did ask you, now did they?” he yelled. “You flamin’ fruit!"

  "Fruit! He said fruit! You know what that word does to me!” Notto let out a bellow like a warthog in heat. “Oooooh ... I need fruit! Now!"

 
"Well, crap, if he's going to, I could go for some, meself,” Xotto chimed in.

  "Me, too!” Flotto panted. “I want one of them big red Martian melons. They're so wet and squishy inside."

  "Shit,” Jotto cursed. “Now you've made me hungry—figuratively speakin'. Vrotto, break out the melons!” he ordered. “And don't cut the holes too big this time. I like a nice tight fit."

  "Oh, God,” Sam said. “They're not going to—"

  ::I'm afraid they are,:: Deuce answered. ::Try not to think about it. Your mental images of them fucking fruit on the bridge are hardly what I call arousing. How am I supposed to concentrate? I'm losing my focus here.::

  ::Hey, buddy, you started this, so don't complain now if things aren't moving along to your liking.:: She pushed back to give him another glare, but, with the ‘orm's straps locking them at the waist, the upward thrust of her top half shoved her lower half down, driving him deeper into her, sending an electric shudder through them both. His erection expanded to new proportions, instantly regaining its ... um, focus. He started rocking his hips, sliding in and out of her in fractions, small partial thrusts wickedly calculated to make her want more.

  "Ah, now that's the kind of ‘moving’ I like,” he murmured. The inner energy that went with the comment sizzled the ‘orm's circuits—and Sam's.

  Groaning, she collapsed full onto him. At least the dwarves couldn't see them. Thank heaven for small favors. For that matter, thank heaven they couldn't see the dwarves, but ... ::Do we have to do this while they're listening?::

  ::Give them a few minutes to get busy with the melons and they'll never notice what we're doing.::

  Sam tensed at the images flowing from his mind to hers.

  ::Deuce, what are we doing?::

  ::Escaping,:: he answered as silently as she asked. ::While they're having a fruit-frolic, we're going to fuck our way to freedom.::

  Good God Almighty ... That's what she thought he'd thought. Chills, hot and cold, swept her as he refined the plan, laying it out in his head for her to read, step by step.

  To begin with, this cabin they were in was, in reality, a separate space capsule, an escape pod, the ship's life raft, so to speak. Deuce had chosen it for their “work area” because it was the only part of the ship the fruity dwarves didn't live in, and therefore the only part free from squalor.