I yelped. At once, Cifa brushed my distended clit with a finger, setting off flashes of rapture. My cry twisted into eagerness.
Cifa tugged on the other clamp, setting off another ripple of torment as he pushed iron into my ass and pussy. I fought the field holding me then, the tangled sensations of desire and pain too poignant to stay still against. However, the stasis was uncompromising, reminding me yet again that I had no escape.
A stroke to my clit, a rush of exaltation. An additional inch of invasion, incredible pleasure. A tug on a nipple, burning, biting agony. Stroke. Thrust. Tug. Ecstasy. Penetration. Pain.
It began measured, one thing at a time. I swung from torment to delight, my arousal on a pendulum, unable to discern which way I would go. However, Cifa increased the pace, crowding the actions close, twining the sensations together, until at the end, he was playing all the notes at once.
Ecstasy. Infiltration. Throbbing. Coiling, the lines between each blurring, melding them into one. Three separate sensations, becoming a single, incredible feeling filling my sex, my stomach. Heavy, billowing, massive pleasure with spikes of pure bliss. The strikes of brightness came with more frequency as Cifa fucked me with a steady, delicious rhythm, playing with the weights and my clit. I got that incredible tickly feeling that lit me within.
“My Matara.” Cifa’s worshipful groan told me he felt what I did. Not just physically, but the joining of so much more, the parts of us that truly mattered. Hearts and souls, we were one. That was what mattered. The incredible sex was icing on the cake.
But such delectable icing it was.
We chased gratification, Cifa making every effort to bring me along with him on that sublime path. Our gasps rose in concert, our moans growing in length and volume with each thrust. The occasional “I love you,” bound us closer yet.
“Take me with you,” I sobbed as he closed on the end, the sounds of his moans higher in pitch as they always became when he was on the brink.
“Yes. Yes, come with me, my Shalia. Almost…almost there.”
The telltale burst of hottest excitement flared in my clit. “Just…just a little more. Just…another second…”
“Oh! Come, Shalia! Come now!”
White-noise roar in my ears. Whiter flash of light before my eyes. And blinding brilliance blasting me from within, a detonation that consumed us both in a roiling, heaving cataclysm. Then delectable, delightful waves of shared release, our voices mingling in a joyous chorus of love.
And afterward, Cifa proved my assessment of how our joining was more than mere sex, holding me, kissing me, caressing me in the afterglow, whispering his everlasting devotion and adoration.
I have to applaud Seot for his patience. Somehow, he intuited the emotional wave that had swamped us and allowed his sensitive Imdiko and weeping Matara to process the moment. He said nothing to hurry us along, to demand his equal time with his female mate. He is all a Dramok should be.
At last, Cifa remembered it wasn’t just he and I. He removed all the pretty decorations he’d placed on me and stepped away, though it was clear he hadn’t yet come down from all the sentiments filling his big heart. When he sat next to Larten, appearing overwhelmed, our Nobek held him, stroking his hair while Cifa got himself under control.
Meanwhile, Seot saw to settling me down, acting as if his engorged cocks weren’t bothering him in the least. He gave me some water and then juice, and wiped my tearstreaked face with a cool, damp cloth. Whew, it’s amazing what feelings can be released during sex sometimes. I’d been swept up after the day. Ha, after the last year and a half.
Little by little, I felt less of the overpowering impact of being a part of my clan, and more of the magical specialness of it. I smiled at Seot, grateful to him for being the man he was: strong, understanding, always putting his clanmates first.
“Better?” he asked.
“Until I get hit again by the full force of how lucky I am.”
He chuckled. “You and me, both. We have the best clanmates.”
“And your clanmates have the best Dramok.”
He kissed me for that. The kiss kept going, his body strong against mine, until my libido stirred yet again. But how could it not? I can’t imagine a day when Seot won’t make me eager.
As he kissed me, my Dramok stroked down to my buttocks, which stung in reminder of Larten’s discipline. That was no deterrent to the delight warming me once more. Seot rubbed me, his exciting hands fondling with slow sweeps up and down. In no hurry, he kissed me once, twice, a few more times, pausing between each to whisper how much he loved me, how wonderful I was, how beautiful I was…oh, all a woman wants to hear from the man she adores as he gazes into her eyes. His cocks curled hard between our bellies, but he rushed none of it. He made me feel as if I were the most cherished woman in the universe.
He ignored whatever call of lust he felt even when his attentions moved in that direction. He set me floating in the field on my back, raising me high so that my pussy was on level with his face. Seot continued his slow, sweet seduction by bestowing those gentle kisses on my womanhood. More romantic than carnal, he brought me to a simmer and held me there. Only when my sighs turned to whimpers did he go further, treating my pussy to drawn-out laps of his tongue.
Ah, that tongue, so rough and exciting despite the care he used. It rasped against me, bringing the inviting warmth inside to a blaze that left me trembling. Each exquisite nuance of that magnificent tongue lingered over each fold as it explored every crease. More incredible was when it dove into me, tasting me as deeply as it could go.
Seot settled his thumb on my clit and rubbed, sending new spikes of need through me. But it wasn’t just that…he’d slipped a vibrating sleeve over his thumb. It shivered to life, a gentle thrumming sensation to awaken all the cells of my being. I gasped his name.
Seot said nothing in return, continuing to fuck me with his tongue as he drew circles around my most responsive flesh. My hips fought to move, to put that vibrating sleeve where I needed it to be, to grind my pussy against my Dramok’s mouth. I thought that he would torment me forever, as Larten had.
But no…that was not Seot’s plan. Instead, as my cries grew louder and more desperate, he settled the pad against my swollen nub, letting it play against the most sensitive spot. Ecstasy swept in, and tender convulsions moved through me. A quiet, lazy orgasm, one I could ride with lucid enjoyment rather than being blasted out of my skull.
When the spasms began to quiet, Seot returned to drawing circles around my clit, still pumping his tongue in and out of me. He gave me a few minutes to recover and regain heightened desire once more before setting off another pleasant climax.
It was lovely to indulge in such serene satisfaction. Which do I prefer—full steam ahead, gonzo obliteration? Or this calm, quiet bliss that let me remain in the moment as waves of rapture ebbed and flowed?
I like both equally. They are perfect for different reasons.
Seot finally ended his feast. He lowered me and brought me to a sitting position in mid-air.
“I do love it when your eyes have that unfocused glaze,” Seot teased me. “It makes me feel as if I’ve done something right.”
“You have yet to do anything wrong,’ I sighed.
He kissed my lips again, chuckling as he did so. I tasted myself on him, and found the proof of what he’d done exhilarating. As we kissed, he positioned me, setting my entrance against his primary. He pulled me down.
But only a little, just enough that I’d captured the tip of him. What followed was a slow taking, as Cifa had done, except I was tugged onto Seot rather than him pushing into me.
Without clamps and weights to distract me, I was as aware of my Dramok’s cocks as I had been of his tongue when he’d used that on me. I felt the heat of him against the rim of my ass, the lips of my sex. His slickness mingled with mine, making it impossible to know which of the two of us was the wetter. The slow nudging of his cocks as their tapered ends gave way to more girth forced me t
o yield inch by inch. When he was more deeply within, I could feel the throb of his pulse inside me. Our slow joining was profound in its simplicity, in the fact that he did nothing else but squeeze my breasts and kiss my lips. It made me aware of every sensation, every breath, every tremor.
Bit by bit, inch by inch, I sank down, joining us. When he wasn’t kissing me, we gazed in each other’s eyes, and I felt on the most profound level our union. Have I mentioned how I love that man? As I write this, I am swamped with the emotion all over again. I love him, all of them, so much.
At last, we were fused, man and woman, on all possible levels. I almost wept again at the perfection. How was it I’d been so lucky, had survived all I had, to make it here? Surely someone or something, whether it was the ancestors, God, whatever, had to have ordained it to happen.
With us so fully entwined, Seot stared into my eyes yet again. “Field, off,” he whispered.
Gravity drew on me, putting my full weight on Seot. Not that he seemed to notice. I wrapped my legs and arms around him, holding on, delighting in being able to cling so tightly.
We didn’t speak. When we moved, we went slow, reveling in our connection, making each shift, each undulation, each thrust mindful. Meaningful. Paying intent attention to how we slid against each other. We saw each twitch of a jaw muscle, intake of breath, flutter of eyelids. We moved and gauged the other’s responses, a slow, careful exploration of what caused reaction.
Desire rose slow and sure, a gradual increase in heat and excitement. We did not rush anything. We gloried in each passing moment, in perfection of our togetherness. When more profound surges of elation fired inside me, I didn’t hurry the pace. Seot’s soft moans rather than eager thrusting told me of his increased excitement. We didn’t go at each other with the usual desperate reach for culmination, chasing that lightning strike of completion. We coaxed it in with soft kisses, gentle friction, and love in our gazes.
Even with that careful ride that I believe neither of us wanted to end, desire mounted higher. My pussy tightened on Seot’s jerking cock with increasing frequency, warning we couldn’t go on forever. I was glowing from within, surges of the purest pleasure drawing me taut. Deliberate slides of our bodies brought fresh waves of luscious electricity, crackling my senses.
Seot clutched my ass, indicating his approaching dissolution. “I’m coming,” he gasped. “My Matara, I’m coming.”
The tension of oncoming release drew his brows tight. At last he broke eye contact, his head falling back, mouth opening as he tensed. Seeing him succumb was all I needed to break: rapture swept through me too, as if his jolting primary poured his release inside, to be expended by me.
Our cries rang through the room as we writhed against each other, holding on tightly, moving to coax each mote of pleasure from the other, not going still until the final sweet pulse of exhilaration bled away.
Keeping us joined, Seot carried me to the bed where the other two awaited us. I was placed in the center of the clan, my men’s warm bodies curled against mine, our limbs twined in a knot as if to tie us all together forever.
It had been a long, sometimes horrific journey to this point. From Earth with its repressive government, post-Armageddon starvation, and violent adherents to the old ways; to space with enemies at every turn waiting to spring on my transport; to Kalquor and the confrontations with my mother, Nang, and myself…yet somehow, I’d won through. I was here, a mother to a beautiful baby girl with another on the way. And clanned to men who uplifted me in all ways loving mates could elevate a woman.
Life is going to be fine from now on. I’m going to be okay. No, not okay…amazing.
A Daughter’s Letter
To: Professor Elibsa
Historical Preservation Campus
Archives of the Empire
Imperial University of Kalquor
From: Matara Anrel, Doctor of Fertility Sciences, retired
House Anrel
Hetlad Territory, Capital District
My dearest Elibsa,
First of all, forgive me for sending along a text in response to your kind message, rather than a live vid. At my advanced age and declining condition, it is necessary for me to dictate correspondence in short sessions. I trust you will excuse a very old woman for taking so long to answer, especially in a communication as lengthy as this will be.
I am delighted you received the journal of my mother, Matara Shalia of Clan Seot. I agree it will add greatly to the archives, detailing the early experiences of Earther women immigrating to the Kalquorian Empire in the wake of their planet’s demise. I was shocked when you told me that so few kept diaries of that period—but with all the upheavals of the era, perhaps it’s not so surprising, after all. That my mother noted down what she did, and in such detail, is a credit to her. However, I doubt she expected it to be enshrined for posterity. Indeed, had she guessed it would become a ‘treasured artifact’ as you describe it, she might have written a good deal less about the more personal details.
I will do my best to answer the questions you posed, clearing up the matters and detailing the history her earliest journals don’t answer. I can only answer from my own viewpoint, limited as it is. Also, the passage of years and my subjective opinion of my mother may have dimmed a few of my memories. The woman I knew as Matara Shalia bears little resemblance to the Shalia Monroe who began her journal as a desperate survivor in the wake of Armageddon. For me, Mom was confident, in control of her destiny, unafraid to face anything or anyone. Well, maybe with the exception of her own mother. Reading her thoughts has been a revelation.
That’s one thing that opening those old journal files did for me, for which I will be forever grateful: understanding Mom better than I could have hoped for.
In answer to your first question: as far as I’m aware, Mom never did see Clan Dusa again. She didn’t speak of them to me. For many years, I knew nothing of their existence. If she continued to wonder as to their fate and lives after she left them, I suppose I will never know. However, if you will forgive me for saying so, perhaps there is another question behind what you asked. Am I accurate in supposing you wonder if my biological sire was pinpointed?
I understand the reluctance to come right out and ask such. We do not question parentage in our society. As it should be; Clan Seot was my parent clan, in every way. My fathers gave me no reason to be concerned that I was the sole child of their clan not blood-related to them. They treated me with the same love and care as they did my siblings. In fact, I believe I was doted on more than the rest, by virtue of being the firstborn.
I wouldn’t have thought twice about the matter myself, had a message not once gotten through to me from Dramok Nang, held in a criminal psychiatric ward off the planet. Somehow, though it shouldn’t have happened, he managed to send a vid to me when I was twelve years old. In it, he affirmed he was my father, that he still loved my mother, that we would all someday be together as a family. Naturally, I wasn’t sure of what to make of the message from this white-haired, bent, scarred, and wasted creature. After my parents’ excitement died down, it was explained to me that Mom had known this man before she’d met my fathers, and yes, there was a slight chance he could be my biological sire. Being the mischievous and outspoken pre-teen I was, my initial reaction was to tell my mother that I was glad her taste in men had improved since Nang. I believe my exact words were: “Were you blind or did you feel sorry for the ugly old thing?” Her response was, “He didn’t always look sickly. And he wasn’t always confused about reality.”
Except for some tension in the following weeks, that was all that was said about the matter. Dramok Nang never sent out any further messages. He didn’t leave that penal colony until his death a few years later, when his clanmates claimed his body and put him to rest. And yes, my mother did continue to train like a Nobek, even after his supposed threat died with him. I hope it was due to her enjoyment of being strong, rather than living in some sort of post-traumatic fear for the rest of her day
s.
But returning to the issue of Clan Dusa. I didn’t discuss them with my mother, nor would I have gone out of my way to meet them. However, I do have an interesting tale to relate.
I believe I was fourteen when my grandmother, Eve Monroe, came for a surprise visit. It never failed that Mimi would show up unannounced when Mom had a gazillion things going on and was at her most frantic. I don’t know if that was done on purpose. Mom swore it was. Mimi had a habit of being contrary, as well as outrageous, for the sake of her own amusement. Maybe it was her means of driving Mom crazy. (I’ll discuss your question about their relationship post-surgery in a bit.)
Anyway, Mom couldn’t take off from her crazy schedule for an impromptu invasion from Mimi. I was more than happy when my grandmother suggested to me that us ‘women’ go off for a shopping jaunt. My oldest sister was ten, and I thought myself far too grown up for the likes of her. I had such an attitude until I reached my twenties! Maybe later than that. I’d been the only daughter for far too long and didn’t want to share the limelight at that precarious age.
Shalia's Diary Book 12 Page 19
