Finding the Zero-G Spot

by Sahara Kelly

  He could see her eyes were closed as he glanced at her reflection. A wonderful image to remember—Boralle taking her pleasure from him superimposed over a floating planet in the darkness of space.

  Rory sighed. Sometimes life offered little surprise presents. That glimpse of Boralle’s face had been one of them.

  He leaned forward and nibbled on one cheek.

  Boralle moaned, making his cock jump a little in response.

  She was soaking wet now, her juices mingling with the lotus oil to create a unique and tantalizing fragrance in the small room.

  Rory continued his gentle arousal of her anus, working her juices upwards from between her legs to blend with the oil he was rubbing around her.

  He could hear her panting, gasping for breath, and felt the muscles in her body shiver at his touch.

  He moved his hands and gripped Boralle firmly by the hips spreading her thighs even more with his legs as he slid beneath her.

  “Sit back love, come down easy on me. Ma cock needs to be inside you.”

  Gently, he pulled Boralle onto his lap and his rigid cock, clenching his teeth as he guided himself into her boiling cunt.

  She slipped over him like the proverbial glove, and easily settled down, taking his length within her like she was made for him.

  Perhaps she was.

  Rory put a hand between her shoulder blades and stopped her from sitting upright.

  “Stay leaning forward, my sweet. You’ll like this.”

  Boralle grunted as she obeyed, leaning forward, impaled on his cock. Her perfect, shining arse was inches from his body.

  He slipped a hand back between them and found her little sensitive place once more.

  With a slight bounce, he began to move himself within her, massive thigh muscles tightening and releasing as he moved her up and down his cock.

  Slowly he built the tension inside her again, knowing that this time his cock was hitting a whole bunch of places inside her that would be ringing her sexual bells loud and clear.

  She moaned loudly now, and slipped a hand to her breast. It had to be a reflex action, simply the movement of a woman whose entire body was now throbbing with need.

  Rory increased the depth and speed of his thrusting, his balls tightening between his legs and his cock pushing high into her soaked heat.

  Her muscles trembled as he brought her close to the edge, and just before he judged she was about to fly into her orgasm, he slipped a finger past her tight muscles and into the nerve-rich ring of her anus.

  She screamed and exploded, her entire body orgasming around his.

  He could feel her spasms as they clamped down on his cock and his finger and the sensation was unlike anything he could imagine.

  His balls were locked and loaded, his cock strained to catch every throb from her cunt, and her cry sent him over the edge.

  “Boralle,” he shouted, from a throat that was hoarse with his need to pump his seed into her.

  He wanted to fill her all the way to her eyebrows. He wanted to push his cock into her until he touched her heart.

  Roughly, he pulled her upright, her back hitting his chest with a thump as he thrust his cock again and again into her twitching cunt.

  His hand slipped around her body and lightly flicked her clit, making her shudder and squirm around him and sending more tremors through her.

  “Oh rass, Rory,” she whispered as the warmth of her orgasm rippled through her. “Oh raaaasssss…”

  His cock eased as the last of her shudders milked him dry.

  “Oh rass, indeed, my sweet.”

  He gentled her, resting her head back against his shoulder and dropping light kisses on the curve of her neck. He eased his finger from her body, and she sighed, almost as if she missed his unique penetration.

  His cock slipped from her body in a gush of blue fog.

  Slowly, he twisted around and lay back on the small couch, pulling Boralle with him until they lay, spooned, in the moonlight. Which was filtered through a rather large amount of blue mist.

  Boralle waved her hand and coughed.

  “Sorry, love,” said Rory, not sounding sorry at all.

  “I’m not,” giggled Boralle. “That was—that was—indescribable. I had no idea.”

  Rory hugged her to him. “I didn’t hurt your perfect little arsehole, did I?”

  Boralle chuckled again. “No you didn’t. You severely damaged a good portion of my cognitive functions, which had no clue such things were possible.”

  “And will they recover?” he asked, a laugh in his voice.

  She rubbed her bottom against him. “Oh yeah. Most definitely yeah. Um, Rory?”

  “What, lass?”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything, sweetheart.”

  “Er—what you just did…is that normal? I mean did humans do that all the time in your world?”

  Rory grinned. “Lass, there is no ‘normal’ between a man and a woman. If they love each other and enjoy each other, then whatever they choose to do is normal. For them. D’ye understand what I’m saying?”

  Boralle was silent for a moment, idly stroking her hand down Rory’s arm which was wrapped firmly around her. “I think I understand. It’s about how the mind feels more than how the body feels, isn’t it?”

  She turned slightly within his grasp and looked up at him, blue eyes thoughtful. “You know, it strikes me that this whole business of having sex with another person is a great deal more intense and hugely more confusing than having sex with a TUNG booth.”

  Rory quirked an eyebrow at her. “That’s as it should be, Boralle. And it’s not ‘having sex’, as you put it, either.”

  “It’s not? You could have fooled me,” she quipped dryly.

  “It’s making love. There’s a big difference, lass.”

  She was quiet for a moment, considering his statement.

  “How do you know when you’re making love, Rory?”

  He thought about her question. “I canna answer that one, honey. I can only tell you…” Rory dropped a light kiss on her hair, “…we just did.”

  * * * * *

  Something warm and glowing crept into Boralle’s heart at Rory’s words. They’d made love. They’d done something she thought had been relegated to the works of ancient poets and playwrights, or was part of the fantasies that could be found tucked between the covers of a Phrygian poem.

  She had no idea that it could actually happen.

  Clinically, she tried to analyze her physical responses.

  Arousal of the sexual organs. Check.

  Swelling of the breasts and consequent hardening of the nipples. Check.

  Lubrication of the vaginal area. Double extra-large check.

  Increased sensitivity of the clitoral area and engorgement of the clitoris itself. Check. Probably. She couldn’t verify that, and wasn’t about to put her head between her legs next time to watch.

  Next time.

  Dear God, she was ready for him again. Her body thrummed, every single molecule sensitive to the man cuddling her.

  And he was cuddling her, too. There was no self-consciousness in Rory, no need to be the mighty warrior who fucked his women and then left for battle with a laugh on his lips and their scents on his cock. Or, as some would have it, warriors who fucked their women and then went out to grab a pizza and beer with a smile and a promise on their lips, and forgetting to return. Ever.

  Perhaps it was this cuddling that made the difference. Boralle continued her analysis dispassionately. Or as dispassionately as she could while lying in the arms of a large and tender Scotsman who was stroking her body like it was the finest silk.

  Boralle knew that there were creatures that purred. She’d never seen one, or heard one, but for a few moments her mind told her that purring would now be appropriate.

  She sighed instead.

  “Are you all right, lass?”

  The quiet question broke the silence that had fallen between them as
they lay together limply, sated from their loving.

  Boralle smiled. “I am so all right it’s impossible to describe,” she answered truthfully.

  Rory smiled back and settled himself more comfortably. “’Tis glad of that, I am. We must talk, Boralle.”

  Her heart thunked. Somewhere in her DNA was a gene that sat up, tapped her on the shoulder and said “Uh oh. Here it comes, babe. The big brush-off.”

  She began to pull away, only to be stayed by a strong arm.

  “Don’t move, love. I like you just where you are. Over ma heart.”

  Boralle melted. Rass him, when he said things like that he turned her into a puddle of Dorkanian goo. Of course she didn’t molecularly metamorphose into a pale lavender gaseous cloud right afterwards, but the principle was the same.

  “All right. I’m not moving. What must we talk about?”

  “These bloody games, Boralle.”

  She frowned a little. “What about them?”

  “Don’t ask me how I know this, lass, but there’s trouble brewing at the Olympiad. And your friends, the Magans, are behind it.”

  Boralle stilled. “Define ‘trouble’.”

  Rory took a breath and blew it out between his teeth. “The Magans are sabotaging the game equipment on Frallien. They’re going to replace it with defective stuff, booths that will dispose of competitors who score below a certain level. They’ll systematically eliminate all the mid-range contestants, leaving them with the top spots. They don’t believe they can be beaten.”

  Boralle’s eyes widened as she let his words sink into her brain. “Dear God, Rory. They’re going to kill the competitors, aren’t they?”

  “That’s their plan, I think. Yes.”

  “Rass.”

  “I couldn’t have said it better, sweetheart.”

  Boralle wrenched herself out of Rory’s arms and started pacing. A futile exercise since she landed up nose to the wall within three steps.

  A squawk of frustration erupted from her throat as she turned to look at him. “Those rassing, degenerate, scum-dwelling…barbed…pricks.”

  Rory’s lips twitched. “If you say so, lass.”

  “This is…this is outrageous. This is…this is…murder. Plain and simple. Heartless, cold-blooded murder.”

  “Aye. That it is.”

  “What do you mean ‘aye’? Is that all you have to say? Can’t you see how brutally wrong this is? Those rassing Magans will swagger in, wipe out half the competitors, score the highest tally and then turn around and walk off with the SPT specs, thus making them power-independent, and putting them in a position of planetary superiority. The next thing you know, they’ll be powering up their ships with SPT generators, and fucking their way to other planets, which they will then fuck into submission.”

  “Aw, fuck.” Rory’s lips curled.

  Boralle frowned fiercely. “This is no laughing matter, Rory. We can’t stand by and let a bunch of rassing reptiles kill harmless competitors at the Frallien Olympiad, let alone seize a technology to which they have no right. It’s…it’s immoral…and…illegal.”

  “Calm down, lass.”

  “I can’t calm down.” Boralle strode away again, forgetting where she was and ending up with her face an inch away from the covering of the small hygiene sweeper.

  “Would it help you to know I have a wee plan?”

  Boralle froze where she stood. “A wee plan?” Slowly she turned her face to Rory, blue eyes narrowed into slits. “You have a wee plan?”

  “That I do, lass. That I do.”

  “And you couldn’t mention this ‘wee plan’ of yours before? You’d rather let me go on ranting, scared to death that I might end up fried in a Frallien sensation booth?”

  “I’d never let that happen, Boralle. Never. And besides,” his eyes twinkled wickedly at her, “yer breasts are lovely when you stomp around. All high and bouncy.”

  She choked, torn between outrage and embarrassment.

  Heedless of the narrow space, she threw herself at him, fully intending to throttle him if she could get her hands around that thick muscled neck of his.

  “Ah, lass. That’s where I like you best.” He laughed and caught her in a clasp of iron, holding her tight against his body.

  She couldn’t help but notice something else that was growing in appreciation of her presence, and she felt her own juices begin to flow in response.

  He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her fears away. His tongue stroked and caressed her, driving all thoughts of intergalactic treachery out of her head and turning her limp with pleasure.

  “Ah, Rory,” she sighed as he pulled his mouth from hers. “You kiss soooo good.”

  “Ah, Boralle,” rumbled Rory. He brushed his lips over her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, any part of her he could reach. “You taste sooooo good.”

  “I need a sweep.” Boralle sighed as she said it, and pulled herself from his all-too-comfortable grasp. “Let’s clean up and then you can tell me about this wee plan of yours. Somehow, it looks like you and I have to come up with a way to remove the Magan threat from this Quadrant.” She shook her head as she tucked her body into the hygiene sweeper and activated the unit. “This certainly isn’t what I signed up for!”

  * * * * *

  In a similar small transport unit, about half an hour behind Rory and Boralle, Commander Bendrick of Magus Prime stood naked with his hands clasped behind him, looking out the window at nothing in particular.

  His plans were in motion, his carefully re-engineered units were being installed at the Olympic forum on Frallien even as he began the long descent to the surface, and the Magan competitors were in peak condition.

  He glanced at his small hold-all and grinned, knowing his Magan wave-pistol was securely hidden in a small, undetectable pocket. Should there be any “objections” to Magan victory in these games, that little weapon should provide a convincing counter-argument.

  The thought of melting the brains of a couple of Fralliens was exciting—stimulating even—and without conscious thought, his cock began to unfurl. Visions of the streets of Magus Prime lined with females cheering his homecoming flashed through the Commander’s mind and his cock grew longer.

  Reaching down he grasped himself. Hard. He was not one to bring himself to completion too often—there were sufficient females available that he had no need for his own hand.

  But here, in the privacy of this small cubicle, alone with his thoughts of success and with victory so close before him, this was a time for a private celebration.

  His three testicles jiggled as he began the jerking tugs that simulated his penetration of a Magan cunt. Fluid leaked from his barb slits and helped ease the friction of his hand, making an increased speed possible and even desirable.

  He visualized the meter on the Olympiad booths registering an incredible score. He saw the applause from both on and off-world as the Magans wiped the interspatial floor with any other competitor.

  He saw alien females screwed into a painful death by his clever machine.

  He saw his barbs spring free and just missed cutting off the top of one of his fingers by pulling back into his balls sharply.

  His hips thrust forward and he began to spray his seed—right across the window.

  With the typical hoarse bark he finished and breathed deeply, cock flopping now against his legs, his balls loose and dangling in their sacs around it.

  A few moments later a small red light appeared over the window and a hiss and crackle announced the activation of a recorded message.

  “Attention passenger 4731dash12D. Your window material has been compromised by an unknown source. Our sensors detect a potential weakening of its molecular structure. To prevent any life-threatening decompression or loss of your customized environment, we will be activating the sealing screen. We apologize for this inconvenience. Thank you for taking the Sontaran Elevator to the surface of Frallien IV. We hope you will travel with us again. Have a pleasant diurnal anomaly.”
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br />   Seconds later a solid metal sheet slid over the window opening, completely covering it and limiting the light in the room to the soft glow from the ceiling.

  Bendrick snorted. So his sperm was acid. Who gave a roaring fuck anyway. He settled himself on the couch and went to sleep.

  His cubicle was sealed tight.

  Rather like a casket.

  Ironically, that particular thought never crossed the Commander’s mind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Before arriving on the surface of Frallien IV, foiling the terrible Magan plot and uniting Rory and Boralle in eternal bliss, we pause for a moment to take a quick look at the root cause of all this trouble—the Fralliens themselves.

  Frallien IV is the fourth planet in a small solar system consisting of twelve planets and an orbiting pile of debris.

  The debris is—or rather was—Fralliens I through III and resulted from a rather extraordinary experiment that took place two star systems away, between a laser, a new and improved birth control device, a small box of dark matter and the back seat of an Antarean station wagon. The two parties involved in the experiment were severely chastised, grounded, and forbidden to see each other again.

  Frallien IV happily remained untouched, and proved to be a charming planet, inhabited by beings whose sexuality was second to none in the quadrant.

  Because Frallien women ovulated only twice a year, and irregularly at that, it was necessary to ensure that both genders were constantly ready to mate. While this may sound rather similar to the senior year of any Terran high school, for the Fralliens it was a serious matter of continuation of their species.

  Consequently, their evolutionary process had ensured more than enough sex appeal to go around.

  Frallien brains contained an enlarged area of sexual receptors, and Frallien bodies were designed to exude the maximum amount of pheromonal emissions possible without rendering the opposite sex unconscious.

  Frallien males were almost incessantly hard.

  Frallien females were almost incessantly in heat.

  It was the perfect match.

  Their skins were pale and soft, and contained three times the number of nerve endings usually found in bi-pedal humanoids.