The Commander's Woman: Celestial Soul-Mates, Book 2

by Opal Carew

  Viltori tried not to gape, but the man was huge, hairy and, hottest of all, uncut. Most men on Diola, even those in the barbaric outer regions, were circumcised shortly after birth. Viltori had not known of the difference until he’d traveled to Oughun. As he stood with several other men urinating directly into a rushing stream, they’d excitedly pointed to his differentness. The Oughun men asked a hundred questions and Viltori hoped he’d answered them fully. Oughunian men had never seen a cut cock and Viltori had never seen one that wasn’t. Culturally they exchanged much that bonded them together. Viltori knew Drahka was uncut, and he’d tried to tell Drahka that he should inform Bithia, but when he’d tried to show him this information, he’d lashed out. Oughnians had clearly defined taboos about same-sex touching of any sort.

  To his horror, Drahka noticed the direction of Viltori’s gaze. Before he could babble out an explanation, Drahka cupped his cock and asked, “What is wrong with my cock?” Lowering his head he said, “You tried to touch, to show me, and I tried to hit you. I’m sorry. Please now show me what is wrong with my cock.”

  Gulping, Viltori said, “Nothing.” Not a damn thing he could see, anyway. He’d like nothing better than to do to Drahka what Rown had done to him earlier. “What makes you think there is anything wrong with your cock?”

  “Bithia say something uncute.”

  After a moment, where he couldn’t imagine anyone, even Bithia, calling a cock cute or not, Viltori understood. “Not cut,” he said. “Uncut, not un-cute.” Briefly, he explained the difference between the two words, then tried valiantly to convey the meaning behind Bithia’s comment.

  Thrusting his finger at Viltori, Drahka demanded, “Show me yours that is cut.” Concern filled his stoic face as if he were genuinely worried that someone had cut up Viltori’s cock.

  Eyeing the door, wondering just how much longer Bithia would be gone and if she’d be upset about him teaching her consort this, Viltori moved to a seat that blocked him from view of the doorway. If she did enter suddenly, he could pull his robe closed before she saw what he was doing.

  Drahka seemed to understand the furtive nature of their discussion. Frowning, Drahka moved to the couch, sitting next to him. He eyed the door that was well over the high back of the couch. When Viltori parted his robe, showing Drahka his painfully hard, circumcised cock, Drahka leaned over.

  Breathing hard enough to brush hot air over the pounding length of Viltori’s cock, Drahka said, “You not cut.” Reaching out his left hand, Drahka wrapped his fist around Viltori’s cock. “No cut.” Lowering his head, placing his face a bare breath above the tip, Drahka bellowed, “Ah! Cut off tip!” Pulling back, yanking open his robe, Drahka grasped his own cock and tugged his foreskin. “Cut off tip, not cut up cock!” Proudly displaying his penis, Drahka considered Viltori’s for another moment, then grasped him again. Running his fingers up and down, hardening him further, Drahka leaned close again and asked, “When you were cut, were you hurt?”

  “I was a baby when they cut me.” He thanked the gods for that. He couldn’t imagine what having that done as an adult would be like.

  “You no feel pain now?” Drahka ran a fingertip along the faint circumcision scar that encircled the hardest part of Viltori’s prick.

  “No, it doesn’t hurt now.” Of course, that wasn’t quite true. He was so hard and excited his prick truly did hurt. If not for Rown’s generous gift, he would have erupted all over Drahka’s hand.

  Drahka nodded, turning his attention to his own cock. “Mine hurts. Bithia’s servants scrubbed under the tip.”

  Viltori cast a wary eye to the door, than to Drahka’s hand-held prick. “Does it hurt now?”

  “Some.” Frowning, Drahka looked toward the door Bithia had exited. “She take twice, then suck once. Still I am excited thinking of her.”

  Nodding, Viltori asked, “On Oughun, do men seek solo pleasure?”

  Horrified, Drahka yanked his hand off his cock. “I not doing that, just showing!”

  “Calm down. I’m not accusing, just asking.” However, clearly by his response, the men of Drahka’s tribe did not masturbate. In a way, such a taboo made perfect sense. His tribe was relatively infertile. Each ejaculation was sacred and necessary for the continuation of his people. Self-fulfillment would be considered the height of selfishness.

  Not only had Drahka been a virgin when he’d gone to Bithia, he’d been relatively untouched. If he could have swooned, Viltori would have. Drahka was a blank slate. Anything he or Bithia taught him about their culture he would believe, accept and likely perform. Heady with the erotic possibilities, then cautioned by the ethical dilemma, Viltori reluctantly wrapped his robe around his body.

  Following suit, Drahka covered himself up too. “Is looking wrong?”

  “No, I’m cold. Did you want to see more?” Gods, why was he asking? He should let this matter drop.

  Drahka considered for a moment, then whispered, “Do you do solo touching?”

  Technically, he wasn’t supposed to, but then he realized he was teaching and letting Drahka watch him masturbate could be considered a form of education. Or maybe he was just desperately trying to justify doing what he wanted to do.

  “Do you want me to show you?” Viltori caught their reflection in a mirror strategically placed across from the couch. They made a wicked contrast: he in white, Drahka in crimson, his finger-length blond hair glowing, and Drahka’s long black hair gleaming. Drahka was bigger, broader, the silk of his robe caressing massive muscles below. Viltori was muscular too, but not like Drahka. In his tribe, Drahka had been a hunter, felling great beasts to feed the entire group. He also cut trees for their fires. Such hard labor gave him a remarkable body, one the elite would pay handsomely to mimic through surgical enhancement.

  Drahka nodded. “Show me solo touching.”

  Parting his robe, Viltori took his cock in hand, cradling his shaft with his dominant right hand as he cupped his balls with the left. “The trick is not to rush.” Gods no, he wasn’t going to rush. He wanted to enjoy every bit of this encounter. Desperately he prayed to the god of Harvesters that Bithia would not return until he was finished with his lesson.

  Drahka watched intently for a moment, then parted his robe. He gripped his cock with his right hand and stroked, fumbling.

  “Use your dominant hand.” Viltori nodded to his left.

  Drahka switched to his left hand. Now his motions were sleek and exact, mimicking perfectly what Viltori did.

  “Slowly?” Drahka asked. “Faster would feel better.”

  “Stroke too fast and it’s over too fast.” Viltori had to summon the very depth of his will to continue with his measured, even strokes. “Solo touching is a way to learn to last longer when with a woman.”

  “Ah, that is good to learn. Bithia happy with longer lasting.”

  “Bithia will be happier with me lasting longer,” Viltori corrected automatically.

  “Bithia will be happier with me lasting longer.” Drahka repeated the words, then looked to him for confirmation that he’d spoken correctly.

  Viltori nodded, knowing full well his interest at the moment was not with Bithia’s pleasure. His gaze darted between his own hand, Drahka’s, and the mirror where he could see them both. Drahka’s body was big and covered in dark hair. Muscles flexed as he tightened his form to keep his mounting passion at bay.

  “Feels good,” Drahka said, squeezing his fist a bit tighter, causing his foreskin to move smoothly up and down his shaft, exposing the slick, dusky-red tip.

  Viltori thought he would climax right there. Drahka kept his gaze on Viltori’s hand, mimicking each motion. He followed along so exactly that when Viltori looked into the mirror he felt he was stroking Drahka’s cock. His mouth watered, desperate for a taste of him.

  Behind them, they heard a click. Their eyes met, widened, and they hastily jumped to their feet. Viltori had his robe down covering his prick in an instant, but Drahka struggled with the open ends and the tied sash.
Before he could determine if the couch was high enough to shield him from Bithia’s view, she looked directly into his eyes through one of the mirrors.

  “Tell me, Viltori, exactly what have you been teaching my consort?”