by Dixon, Ruby
Me? I’m exhausted. So I put my arms around his neck and kiss his lightly furred cheek in a thank you, and then rest my head on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow,” I tell him as he carries me through the snow, back to our tent. “We need to see about a better shelter, and materials for a fire. We’re going to need fire if we’re going to survive. But that can wait an evening. We ate cat sushi earlier, and I guess we can have cat sushi for dinner again tonight. Yum yum.” I’m not looking forward to my icy dinner, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that.
“Friend,” is all he tells me.
Right, because we have a bit of a language problem. “Friend,” I agree cheerily. “And—”
“WEEEEE-LAAAAAAAAH,” a male voice calls out in the distance, the sound bouncing off of the jagged cliffs.
Gren snarls and immediately puts both arms around me, clutching me against his chest as he turns and runs in the opposite direction of our camp. In a daze, I cling to his neck, trying to grasp what just happened, when my name is called out again.
“WEEE-LAH!”
The sound is distant, and the heavy accent on my name tells me that it’s one of the sa-khui, the horned blue aliens that “rescued” our group, though rescue might be a matter of opinion.
I can hear the growl rumbling in Gren’s throat as he moves to the nearest outcropping and slams into it, pressing his big body against the rock. A moment later, I’m on the ground and he wedges me behind the wall of fur that’s his back, pinning me against the cliff.
He’s protecting me.
I wrap my arms around him from behind, trying to stroke his stomach. “It’s okay, Gren. I’m not leaving you.” I can feel his wild panting, the frantic rise and fall of his chest. His tail flicks angrily against my legs and the growl rises in his belly again. “Shh,” I tell him. “If we’re quiet, maybe they won’t find us.” And I caress him, because in the past my touch has calmed him and made him quiet.
Gren seems to sag against me, though he doesn’t push me away. I can feel his heart racing under my touch, so I press my cheek to his back and keep stroking his chest and belly, doing my best to calm him. “It’s okay,” I whisper over and over again. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
“WEE-LAH! Are you out there, female?”
I don’t recognize the shouter, but I’m angry that they’re only calling for me and not Gren.
“Stay strong, female! If you are out there, we will find you!” the voice calls again, but it sounds distant, as if wandering away.
Stay strong? I snort with irritation at that. I’m already strong. I don’t need to be found or rescued. I’m not in danger. I’m with Gren, and he’s going to keep me safe.
We remain pressed against the rock, and I continue to stroke a hand up and down Gren’s chest, my face pressed to his back. I’m warm like this, and a sleepy contentment rolls through me. The voice disappears, and after a few more calls, we can’t hear it anymore. Still, Gren doesn’t leave. Part of me wonders if he wants to stay here all night, protecting me. I chuckle to myself because it’s definitely warm, but I doubt it’s comfortable for Gren.
Minutes pass, and I keep soothing him. I murmur soft words, though I know he doesn’t understand them. It doesn’t matter. I need him to calm down. But as the minutes tick past, his pulse is still rabbiting under my hands as if he’s in a race.
“Gren?” I stroke up his chest and accidentally graze one rock-hard nipple.
The big alien groans, sagging against me ever so slightly.
I bite back my gasp, my languidness replaced by heat that pulses deep in my belly. I should stop touching him, I tell myself. I’m working him up and he doesn’t want me. He’s just responding to my touch. I still my hands. “I’m sorry.”
Gren covers one of mine with his and moves it ever so slightly, indicating that he wants me to continue.
The breath catches in my throat, and I can feel my pussy get slick with heat. Why is this such a turn-on? I caress his chest again, this time roving a bit more. I’m not just touching to comfort. I’m touching to explore because I like the way he feels, and I like the way he reacts to my touch. I didn’t think I was this person, to be so bold with a stranger, but maybe the old rules on Earth don’t matter. Who’s going to care if I touch someone as lonely as I am and give him pleasure? Has anyone ever touched him because they wanted to?
I want to give him that.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I murmur, even as I slide my fingers through the thick wealth of hair over his pectorals. It thins out down his belly, and I follow it to his navel…and am surprised to find he doesn’t have one. That’s…odd.
When I stop, though, he touches my hand again. “Willa.”
There’s so much need in his voice that it fires up my blood, and I forget all about navels and anyone else that’s on this planet. There’s only Gren, and I want to touch him. I press a kiss to the fur on his shoulder and then continue downward, heading deliberately for his groin. “I want to touch you,” I tell him. “I’ve wanted to since we left. Is that wrong? I keep fighting it because I’m not this person, but I’m tired of fighting it. I just want to touch you and give you pleasure.”
And I slide my hand lower, seeking his cock.
It’s not hard to find. He’s as hard as iron, and the size of him is shocking. I’ve known that he likes to go around naked—all of the male “gladiator” aliens seem to, and so I’ve made it a point to never look down when I’m with him, because it’d be impolite. I have no idea how I missed such a beast, though. His cock’s enormous, the skin smooth and heated here, and practically pulsing with life. I can hear him choke my name out even as I press my cheek to his shoulder and continue my exploration of him with touch, learning his shape. I’ve never touched a man like this, and I wonder if they all feel this wonderful. He’s impossibly hard and scorching hot, but when I brush my fingertips over his skin, he feels like the softest velvet. I feel a thick vein along his shaft and follow it from the base of his cock up to the head, and gasp to find that not only is the head of him completely wet with seed, but it’s enormous. This isn’t the normal cock-head I’ve expected, that all the anatomy books show back home. The man has a bulb at the end of his shaft, and it feels hard and rounded and slightly elongated, and I wonder how in the heck any of this can possibly fit inside a girl. But it must work just fine, because people reproduce all the time. That’s just the virginity in me talking.
The woman in me is squeezing her thighs together tightly because I can’t imagine how this would feel inside but I’m so, so curious. If a big cock feels better than an average one, Gren’s going to put them all to shame. I slide my fingertips around the head of his cock, learning it by touch, and I’m surprised when his hips jerk and he thrusts against my fingers. A groan of need rises from him.
“Enough play?” I ask, fascinated. “You need more?” And I squeeze the head lightly, because I’m not entirely sure how to give more, but I want to. Maybe I should move to the front, take him into my mouth—
He pumps against my grip again, and I try to make a fist, to give him something to use, but he groans again, and then my hand is covered in thick, sticky fluid.
He came already.
Oh dear. “I don’t suppose I’d have much stamina, either,” I tell him, “If this is all new for you.” I suspect that it is. He always acts surprised when I touch him, which makes me want to do it more.
Now I have a hand full of rapidly cooling semen, though, and I’m not entirely sure what to do with it. Do I…lick my hand? Do I wipe it off in the snow? Is he going to get offended if I do? I have no idea how one figures out the etiquette for an alien hand-job’s aftermath. I gently pull away from him and discreetly bend down to wipe my hand clean in the snow.
Gren just stands completely still in front of me. He won’t look in my direction, won’t move, and for a long, dreadful moment, I worry that I’ve done something wrong. That he’s upset, or I’ve missed some sort of signal entirely and no
w I’ve made him feel awful. That he didn’t want my touch at all and I just violated him.
“Gren?” I whisper, worried.
A full body tremble racks him, and then he grabs his cock in his hand, squeezes hard, and groans heavily. I can’t see what he’s doing—I’m still pinned behind him—but it sounds like he’s coming again. Oh. I slide my hands up and down his tense back. “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m right here.”
He collapses forward on hands and knees, panting hard, and I worry if something’s wrong. I kneel next to him, intending to put a hand on his shoulder, but to my surprise he grabs me and pulls me against him, burying his face against my chest and taking long, shuddering breaths. Oh. I stroke a hand through his tangled, dark mane. “I’m here,” I tell him. “You’re all right.”
8
GREN
I thought my body would be free of its intense, throbbing need once I spent my seed.
Then, I spent my seed again and collapsed in front of my female like a weakling.
But it still doesn’t leave. It races through me like the strongest of drugs, an accelerant gone wild. Is it that the nullifiers are finally out of my blood and all of the need blocked for years and years is crashing through me at once? Or is this something else? Whatever it is, it leaves me feeling weak and unsteady after spending my seed…and yet still ready to do so again.
Over and over and over again.
She touched me. Of her own choosing, Willa touched me. She petted my chest and pressed her mouth to my shoulders and moved her hands over me in ways that I never thought I would be touched. It was too much to hope that she would reach for my cock, and yet she did so on her own. It felt so good that I came at once, but she did not seem to care. Even now, she plays with my mane and whispers sweet, sing-song words in her language. I can smell her scent changing again, and I wonder what that means. It has gone sweet once more, and it makes my mouth water even as my cock stiffens.
I will never be able to stand if this continues. They will find me here, a hundred years from now, cock in hand and spurting seed onto the snow as I think of Willa.
Willa and her freely given touch. Willa and the way she reaches for me without fear, as if I am not an abomination.
I would destroy entire planets with my bare hands for her.
I manage to get to my feet, worn to my core and yet somehow still burning inside. She looks up at me with anxious eyes, and I touch her face to let her know I am well. I want to laugh. I am more than well. For all that I came to this planet a slave, I have a female at my side who looks at me as if I am a normal male, and whose caresses fire my blood with such heat that I do not know that I will survive it.
No matter what comes next, I would not trade a single moment.
She presses a hand to my chest, her brow furrowed, and then presses to her own chest. After a moment, she shakes her head. “Nttng.”
I wonder what she means by that. I want to ask her, to manage the question in our pantomimes and the few shared words we know, but the wind shifts and I catch the smell of the native mesakkah on the breeze. They are still far too close, and I frolic with Willa when I should be protecting her.
That changes now. Ignoring the protests of my curiously weary body—maybe it is also suffering from the lack of accelerants that were part of my daily regimen back in the slave pits—I heft the pack onto my shoulder and pull Willa into my arms. I start the hike back to our encampment, but my thoughts are on her hands and how I can get her to touch me again. Did she like it? Did my shape please her? Though I share many genetic markers of other slave races, I know my form is based off of that of a praxiian male, and my cock is as theirs. An arena slave has seen many bodies, because it is smarter to fight naked and give your opponent nothing to hold onto. I have had masters that shaved my entire body for such a purpose, no matter that it is an insult to a praxiian to be furless. I am not praxiian, not truly, so I did not care. But I have noticed how others are formed, wondering if they are my ancestors. If we are related and they come from the same genetic stock I do.
None of that matters now, but I do try to think of the humans I have seen in the past. The few I have glimpsed were usually playthings for their masters, and fully clothed. I have never fought a human male in the arena. Do they have cocks? Was Willa shocked to feel mine or did she expect it?
I am suddenly curious what she looks like without her clothing. Females are built differently, but I have never seen one naked up close. I find myself suddenly burning with the intense need to explore Willa’s body. I know they have teats, and I know that males bury themselves between their thighs, but some males also bury themselves between the thighs of other males, so that does not tell me much. Whatever she looks like, I want to touch her and give her pleasure like she touched me.
I enjoy that thought, as much as I enjoy that her arms go easily around my neck when I pick her up this time. I am far, far stronger than her and built for endurance—no matter my body’s reaction at the moment—and I can carry her as effortlessly as breathing. With her in my arms, I can take the long way back to our encampment, to ensure that she stays out of scent-range of any mesakkah male who might be hunting her. They have keen senses, but not as keen as my own enhanced ones.
As I carry Willa, I notice that her sweetened scent continues and grows stronger when her thighs are parted. Does her scent change have something to do with her cunt? I have never seen one up close—only females being mated from afar—but the mouthwatering scent seems to grow stronger as she holds onto me. My cock is stiff again, my sac throbbing with need, but I do my best to ignore it.
Willa’s safety first.
* * *
When we return to our camp, the day is growing late, the gray sky darkening. Thick snowflakes fly upon the air, and Willa gives them a worried look. I am secretly glad for their presence, because that means she will cuddle next to me for warmth this night. I move around the edges of our camp carefully, looking for mesakkah scents, but there are none. There are other creatures that have wandered through this area and left spoor behind, but their tracks do not go near my scent or my old tracks. They fear me.
Good. They should be afraid.
Even so, I am on guard as I set Willa down, the heated pulsing in my body temporarily quieted by the thought of danger. She goes into our shelter, talking in her musical language as I check the camp one more time. When I find nothing, I shake the thick snowflakes out of my mane and duck under the shelter to sit at her side. Inside, I see she’s laid out the leather clothing as a pallet once more, and she has an icy chunk of meat from our earlier kill in her hand, trying to cut a slice from it. She looks up as I enter, a welcoming expression on her face. She offers me the first cut piece of meat, and I feel like a king in this moment.
I watch her as I eat, wondering at her sweet scent. It has faded some, and as she eats, I wonder if I can get it to return. My cock is hardening at the thought, and I suspect that I will be able to think of nothing until I discover her scent for myself. Willa yawns, looks uncertainly at the bed she’s made, and then lies down, tucking her hands against her cheek.
I…do not understand this. Is she rejecting me and choosing to sleep alone despite our touching this afternoon? Did I do something wrong? Miss some subtle clue? I lie down on my side of the shelter, and after a moment’s wait, I grow impatient. With an irritated snarl, I reach across, snag her by the waist, and drag her over to my side.
Willa’s giggle is pleasant and makes my balls tighten to hear. She pats my chest and murmurs something apologetic, then settles in next to me, her fingers twining in my chest fur. Her breathing slows and she relaxes, and I tuck her against my body, content with this. Maybe we will touch more tomorrow. She turns and settles against me, her back against my side. I turn over on my side as well, looping my arm over her protectively. She shifts, settling in, and then goes quiet.
I drowse slightly in the half-awake state, attuned to the sound of her breathing and the pleasant feeling of her against
me. Her breath hitches slightly and she trembles, and I open my eyes, waiting for her to say something.
She remains quiet.
After another moment passes, she twitches, and then the sweet scent touches my nose, filling me with hot need. My mouth waters and my cock hardens, and I wonder at the reoccurrence of the scent even as Willa shudders ever so slightly against me.
Is she well? I touch her arm to wake her…only to discover that her hand is in her leggings, between her thighs. She shifts again and the scent of her overwhelms me.
Willa is touching her cunt.
Her cunt is the source of the sweet smell.
I give a low growl of frustration. She does this with her hand? I want to be the one to touch her. I want to be the one that causes her sweet smell to emerge. I want to be the one who gives her pleasure. “Willa.”
“Gren?” Her voice is low and breathless. Her hand slides out of her leggings, her scent blooming even as she gives a little shudder. “Guhbktusleep.”
“You know I do not understand your words, female. Do you hide this from me?” I put my hand over hers, and I can feel the wetness on her fingers, the scent of it incredible. I lift her hand to my nose and inhale deeply, and then groan. Nothing has ever smelled so perfect, nor made me hunger so much. “You say we are fraaand, is this not true?”
“Oh,” Willa says softly. “Fraands, yes.”
