Swept Off Her Feet

by Camille Anthony

  A small zip of excitement ripped through her as she stepped into the glassed-in shower cubicle and adjusted the thermostat with a practiced twist to the sleek, faux gold handles.

  Hot water gushed out, cascading down her long black hair, sheeting over her quivering body. She lifted her face into the spray, eyes half-closed against the streaming water and allowed the flow to relax her tension-knotted muscles. After a long sybaritic moment under the pounding spray, she turned and presented her back to the downpour, groaning softly as the water’s massage aroused her sensitive nerve-endings.

  Methodically squeezing shower gel onto her bath sponge, she lathered vigorously, scrubbing until her skin glowed, all the while trying to ignore her peaking nipples and seeping cunt.

  How ironic, she thought, re-soaping her sponge and attacking her legs. Now that I am coming to grips with my life, no longer Jones-ing for what I can’t have, I find out I’m more alien than I ever imagined.

  As it turned out, not only she was an alien Princess from Mars, she was a Princess in sexual heat. Horny as a she-cat and mad as hell about the situation.

  This entire situation went against the grain of what she felt was her nature. Like the foster mom who’d raised her, she prided herself on being pragmatic and down-to-earth. She didn’t consider herself to be flighty, a woman easily swept off her feet…romantically or otherwise. So she was not best pleased with the discovery that she would have to go through these cycles of pava—the Rb’qarmshi version of ovulation the women of her race underwent every one point five Earth years—twice more before she could hope for relief.

  She had also learned that while in pava, in addition to her breasts and pussy, every inch of her skin—especially her scalp and shoulders—became erotically sensitive areas, responsive to the lightest touch. Having learned the mind-stealing pleasure she gained from masturbation carried a high price, she tried not to stimulate herself too much. Every orgasm wore off more quickly, the unfulfilling pleasure rapidly giving way to the relentless, knife-sharp ache of escalating need. Her father’s colony boasted not a single eligible male to assuage her biologically induced lusts, and she’d learned the hard, humiliating way that a human male couldn’t assuage her heat. Her unlamented ex-husband, Ronald “the Rocket” Waldon had been the proof of that.

  Of course, she’d gained all this information after having suffered ignorantly through her first pava. Before entering pava, she had felt mild arousal and sexual desire as she matured—after all, watching Arnold Schwarzenegger materialize as a naked cyborg was enough to spark the gonads of any breathing, ovulating female—but she had never experienced anything like the passionate, all-consuming yearnings that flamed hotly under her skin, stoked and fueled by her body’s biological imperative to breed, to take a mate.

  She’d met Ronald half way through her first year-long cycle. Tortured with the incessant, burning, aching needs of her newly awakened body, Nnora had thought the husky pro basketball player to be the answer to her insecure, romance-starved dreams. Instead, he’d been her monumental marital mistake. Nearing the end of his less than illustrious career, Ron had wooed her with a player’s practiced ease, scheming to bolster his failing earnings with her foster-family’s money. Unfortunately, she hadn’t learned the truth of Ron’s machinations until after their marriage ceremony.

  Oh, he had fooled her good. He had seemed so sincere, or perhaps—she was now able to admit to herself—she had been desperate for affection and acceptance. She had wanted to be normal…and there was nothing more normal than marriage. Right?

  Ron’s flattering lies, coupled with the desperate sexual hunger of her first pava, had made her capitulation to his studied seduction a sure bet. The intensely physical side effects of her sexual heat hadn’t helped her rational thinking processes much and she acknowledged, ruefully, that she had been a ripe plum for Ron’s picking.

  Almost from the moment she said “I do” the relationship ran into problems, translating her dream of normalcy into nightmarish reality. Recalling the emotional desolation of those days, she swallowed sickly, leaning her head against the tiled wall of the shower and let the echoes of her ex-husband’s angry accusations reverberate in her mind.

  Grip me tighter, damn it! I’m swimming around in here. No way were you a virgin, Nnora. My own hand is tighter, you whoring slut! You’re looser than a two-bit Harlem prostitute…

  She idly swirled the cloth about her belly, lost in dark memories, wishing for the hundredth time she had learned the truth of her otherworldly heritage before embarking on her marriage fiasco. She’d been a virgin—still was, for that matter.

  How could she have known the vast difference between her body’s internal scale and that of a human woman’s? Who would have guessed that Ron’s cock—while impressive on a human scale—was incapable of matching her pussy’s dimensions and could not meet her fevered needs, let alone extend far enough to breech her maidenhead?

  After a few months of mounting frustrations and increasing bitterness on both their parts, the marriage had dissolved by mutual disagreement. Her foster family, in their uniquely wonderful ways, had formed a solid wall of support for her.

  Explaining the break-up to her sister, Nnora had half-joked, “I guess I never stroked his ego enough, and he sure as hell never managed a stroke deep enough to reach my sexual cravings…let alone appease them.”

  Poppi Brewster, bless him, had absently noted that the divorce had taken longer than the entire marriage, then offered to hire some goons to rough Ron up.

  However, her fondest memory was of Hattie Brewster herding her into the kitchen for one of her “momma-daughter” talks, sitting her down and gazing deeply into her eyes as if to assess the damage to her baby. Her foster mother, who had been vehemently against the marriage from the start, held her hand as she said, “Nnora, you just came through a mighty troubling time. Much as I wanted to steer you clear of this mess, it was your mess to deal with. Now, before you go off getting into some more mess, I have a story to tell you.”

  Nnora had settled down to listen, knowing the futility of trying to rush her mother. “All right, Mom, I am all ears.”

  “It was winter time and a newborn chick was freezing. He cried out for help. A cow, hearing the chick’s cry, took pity on the little one and dropped a load of manure over the baby. Well, that made the little thing furious and while it sat in the steaming pile, fuming at the cow, a fox came along and plucked it out. Before the chick could say ‘thank ye kindly’, the fox quickly brushed the manure off the chick and ate it. And the moral of the story is: not everyone who drops a load of shit on your head means bad by you, and not everyone who plucks you up out of a pile of shit is doing you a favor.”

  Nnora remembered she’d felt a headache pounding behind her eyes. “Mom, I keep trying to associate this with my problem, but I just don’t get it.”

  Mom Brewster had slapped her knees and pushed herself away from the table. “You thought you were pretty miserable not having any boyfriends or going on dates. Then along came that fox, Ronald and plucked you up. He dumped a whole load of dirt on you, as if making you feel an inch high added to his own height. Compared to what that devil was shoveling, that first pile of manure ain’t looking so bad, is it, baby?”

  “No, Ma’am!” Nnora had meekly replied. When Mom Brewster—world-renowned biochemist responsible for decoding the final key element of the human genome—spoke Ebonics, Nnora listened.

  Before they left the kitchen, Mom had also addressed her fears of going home. “No matter where you go, you are always going to be our baby. Nothing’s going to change that, Nnora. You just stop your fretting and go meet your other family. Your Daddy’s been struggling to climb out of a pile of shit, too. You can either help each other out, or wallow in it. What’s it going to be?”

  Mom had been right, Nnora acknowledged, stepping under the spray to rinse off the peach scented suds. She had been afraid that embracing her biological family would mean losing her adoptive one. Fortifi
ed with her Mom’s reassurances, she found it easier to anticipate the upcoming trip with a growing amount of pleasure.

  Mom was right about so many things. Her life pre-Ronald hadn’t been too bad. Since her failed marriage, she’d taken the time to appreciate what she had and find contentment in simply being herself. She had friends she had gained while in college and more importantly, she had a loving relationship with her foster family.

  Perhaps most important, her failed marriage had driven home the fact that, annoying pava cycles aside, she simply wasn’t the passionate type—she just hadn’t cared that much that she couldn’t get off with Ron.

  Lost in thought, she yelped in surprise when the water suddenly turned from warm to icy cold. Ruefully cursing her wandering attention, she skipped back and away from the chilly downpour.

  Reaching at arm’s length to shut off the water, she hugged the back of the stall, determinately abandoning her painful train of thought. “I am damned sure not going to allow any past misfortunes to add to my worries concerning this coming trip.”

  Groping blindly for a towel, she snatched one off the warming rack. Wrapping her dripping hair in the warm terry cloth, she vigorously rubbed the moisture from her knee-length tresses, closing her contact-free eyes in blissful pleasure. She twisted a bath sheet about her chilled body, reveling in the instant warmth.

  She stepped out of the shower and flipped on the overhead fan to dissipate the swirls of steamy mist floating on the ceiling. Bending under the sink, she took out the hairdryer for a quick blow-dry, careful to minimize the stimulation to her scalp.

  Clenching her teeth, she fought the urge to fondle the beaded tips of her aching breasts, knowing just how fleeting the momentary relief would be. The flow of warm air wafting over her hair and scalp made her stomach muscles clench, squeezing a dollop of heated cream from her empty vagina. She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together, and the movement applied unintentional pressure to her aching clit. The pleasure slammed through her, weakening her knees and her determination.

  She gave up trying to resist turning the blower nozzle of the hair dryer towards her spasming cunt. Dropping her towel, she played the sultry air across her swollen labia, letting it caress her throbbing vagina, and surrendered to the resulting volcanic rise of passion.

  It felt so good.

  She widened her stance, half-squatting against the cool tile of the wall as she played the warm breeze over her sensitive labia. Her clitoris swelled and stiffened, poking from beneath its protective hood. She held herself open with two fingers of her left hand while employing her middle finger to stab at the stiffened bundle of nerves, alternately circling it then pressing it hard against the floor of her pubic bone.

  “Hhhmmmmm, sooo goood!” she whimpered, continuing to stimulate her ravenous cleft as the hot air blasted the folds of her pussy. She licked her lips, wetting the parched flesh as she ruthlessly directed the stream of heated air so it flowed over her aching clit and pussy. Placing the nozzle closer to her weeping entrance, her free hand forced her lips wide open, allowing the contrived breeze to blast its way into her hungry depths.

  Her hips rocked forward as she sought to deepen the sultry contact, every move and every action only making her hotter and more needful of relief.

  With a broken sob, wishing it were a lover’s hand entering her, pleasuring her, she thrust two fingers into the liquid depths of her pussy, working them up and in. Moaning, she pumped her fingers in a frantic rhythm that soon had her hips bucking in a wild dance of arousal. Her inner muscles clenched as an upsurge of lustful explosions whipped through her, causing her fingers to spasm. The hair dryer slid from her slack grasp, thumping onto the carpeted floor while she brought both hands into play, one pinching and twisting first one then the other of her long, erect nipples, the other busying itself between the dripping folds of her rippling sex.

  Stabbing pleasure darted from the hard tips of her breasts to explode in the clasping depths of her aching pussy. With a tortured gasping cry, she slumped against the wall, her breathing choppy and labored as she rode out the bucking thrill ride of a prolonged, explosive orgasm. Every inch of her body sizzled and sparked, quaking with multiple detonations of a pleasure so intense, it almost stole her reason.

  Boneless with her momentary satiation, Nnora floated on a wave of euphoria.

  * * * * *

  Prince Glendevtorvas fumed as he led his small contingent of warriors past the saluting guards. He’d hoped to have time to court the fem fate had chosen as his cherzda’va. GanR’dari’s news blasted those hopes. Newly explosive tempers and seditious events back home required his immediate presence. There would be no time to woo and win the good favor of the Princess he hoped to mate with.

  With a regal nod of his head, Dev gestured the guards assigned to Glennora’s safety off duty, replacing them with his own men. Narrow-eyed, he made sure the three colonists embarked on the vessel he’d designated to return them to their Chyya, Brevchanka. Satisfied the males were indeed gone, he ordered his men to deploy themselves about the living room and signaled to his second-in-command to follow him as he went in search of his future queen.

  As they moved through her small apartment, Dev noticed the understated elegance with which Glennora had decorated her home. Each piece seemed to fit, to dovetail with every other element creating a seamless whole—a home not merely a house. His eyes took in everything, analyzing carefully every iota of information that pertained to his future mate. With each passing moment, he grew more anxious to meet her.

  From the corner of his eye, Dev saw GanR’dari raise his right hand, signaling a halt. Catching the eye of his second-in-command, Dev quirked his eyebrow in question. When his friend gestured towards the closed door, Dev quietly crept forward, silently ordering GanR’dari to remain where he was.

  The sound of running water assaulted his keen hearing as he approached the second door in the hallway. With stealth honed on the battlefield, he quietly turned the doorknob and eased the door open. The crack afforded him a glimpse into the room beyond the door, without betraying his presence on the other side. His breathing quickened. His heart slammed against his chest, beating a rapid tattoo at the incredible sight of the naked figure of the woman he would soon be bonded with.

  Mouth going dry, he swallowed thickly, almost choking on a lump of lust. He grew instantly hard, his cherzda rising strong and vigorous, straining against the confining material of his jeans. Determined to see more, he moved closer to the crack in the doorway.

  Glennora—with her long black hair curling under the plump, round globes of the most beautiful ass he’d ever seen—almost floored him. Holding his breath lest his panting give away his position, he watched as the fem ran a soapy cloth over her abundant curves. Her body, small and delicate, more finely formed than the Rb’qarmshi norm, twisted and turned under the spray of water, droplets glistening and highlighting her flesh. Her breasts were soft-looking creamy mounds, topped with inch-long jutting nipples. Her arms were gently rounded and her long legs and thighs nicely fleshed. Sweat sheeted his forehead as Dev envisioned her trim ankles wrapped about his waist as he sank into her luscious-smelling heat.

  When she began to rub her cleansing cloth slowly across the concave valley of her belly, he released his held breath, mouth falling agape as his gaze was dragged in the wake of those trailing fingers. He didn’t think he could stand it when she leaned against the cubicle wall and let her head fall back against the tile, the saddest expression he’d ever witnessed dampening the natural glow of her beauty. He wanted nothing more than to fling the door open and gather her in his arms, promising her that nothing would hurt her while in his care.

  Glennora let out a yelp.

  His nerves jumped. Was he discovered?

  Peering through the crack, he saw her half-leap away from the cascading water to huddle at the back of the small space, muttering something under her breath about past mistakes and trips.

  He figured out the stream had grown
cold when he saw the raised flesh on her shivering body as she gingerly reached to shut off the spray. He drew back some, allowing the bulk of the door to shield him while she grabbed a towel and vigorously rubbed her long tresses with it before stepping out of the shower and retrieving a machine shaped like a pulsar gun. His fingers itched to thread through the drying mass while she employed the machine to hasten the drying of her hair. He longed to sink his hand in her hair and discover whether the strands were as soft and silky as they appeared.

  He almost swallowed his tongue when she let the towel drop and began running the barrel of the dryer up and down her body, paying close attention to her nipples and her flowering pava.

  Tears flooded his eyes as his nostrils flared; he drank in her heady, life-affirming scent. It had been more than twenty years since he had smelled the intoxicating aroma of a fem’s flowering pava.

  Eyes locked on her writhing form, he lowered his hands to his jeans-covered cherzda and palmed his demanding bulge. Leaning closer to the door, trying not to miss a moment, he felt his terat constricting, felt the tingling as they roared to life and softened. He barely managed to bite back a groan as he witnessed her solitary dance.

  His own tears fell as he watched her slump down in utter despair after the last tremor of ecstasy faded away. He felt so connected to her, could almost read her thoughts.

  He hurt for her.

  Carefully, quietly, he eased away from the door. By Deth’s gate! She would never again have occasion to suffer through her pava, alone and lonely.

  His plan to deliver her to her father changed in that moment.

  * * * * *

  Nnora rose at last from her crouched position, biting back a harsh moan as intimate muscles twanged and pulled. She bent over to retrieve the hair dryer, moving like a tired, old woman. She sighed worriedly as she turned the appliance off, wrapping the cord around the squat round barrel before storing it away. The pleasurable relief had not lasted nearly long enough.