by Rena Marks
“Go back to the sex lesson,” Tristan said. “Not that I have anything to learn, mind you.”
Someone in the back snorted, and everyone held their breath. Tristan decided to ignore that, though he bared his teeth and looked behind him.
“If there is dew on her petals, she will pant while you stroke the folds lightly, tenderly, as if they are the softest, most fragile...”
“What if you do not feel like being tender?” The male who asked raised his hand.
“It does not matter what you feel like,” Bajoc said sternly. “Your female will lead the way. Sometimes she will like it rough and wild, other times she will wish to be worshipped like the goddess that she is.”
Tristan snickered. “Yes, don’t you all remember when Pritchard made the mistake of worshipping Pariah all the time? She practically called him a pansy.”
There were loud guffaws. “Poor fool.”
“The wuss was clueless with females.”
“If ever a soul needed lessons...it is that poor idiot.”
“I imagine he’ll still need to sign up for the tea class when he gets to return from his honeyed moon.”
Baub raised his hand. “Could you get back to the dewy petals?”
“Of course, my dear student. Your woman is panting now, and she will spread her legs automatically, making room for your larger hand and fingers. Next I like to cover Marcie’s entire mound of fuzzy, wispy blond hair with my palm, warming it gently. Her petals will part of their own accord, and you are able to take one finger to dip into the honey—”
“Oh, the honey,” someone moaned.
“Yes, yes,” Tristan agreed. “There is nothing like the nectar from between a mate’s thighs!”
“Shh,” Viktel hushed. “I must hear Bajoc’s story.”
“Marcie is going wild with need at this point, biting and nipping, and trying to yank off my clothing…”
Someone in back of the room sighed. “You have such a way with words, Bajoc. You are the true poet.”
“He does. He really does,” someone else agreed.
“When you have used the tip of your finger to gather the rich, warm nectar, trace it back up gently. There is a secret treasure hidden in the silken folds, a tiny pearl of pleasure, like a ripe, juicy berry hiding in the doughy folds of yeasty perfection—”
“What?!” The feminine shriek that came from the front of the building was so loud it nearly ruptured eardrums. Most warriors in the room winced.
Bajoc paled to a color that matched Kamau. “Marcie, my dove…” He swallowed, the movement moving up the column of his neck.
“What the hell are you teaching?” Her voice was still painfully loud.
“T-Tea,” Bajoc stammered. “Just a class on having tea.”
Marcie looked confused for long moments. Slowly, a sheepish expression washed over her face. “Oh. My scone recipe. Of course. I’m so sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to interrupt your class.”
She glided up to where Bajoc stood, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing the large, ugly warrior soundly. “I am so proud of you,” she whispered. “You are doing so much good for the community.”
“That’s what I told them,” Bajoc whispered.
“I’ll just check on the children in the playground, and head back to the ladies and the crochet lessons. We’ll stay out of your way.”
“You know you are always welcome,” Bajoc said, sweeping his giant arm around the room generously. Since her back was to many of the males, Marcie missed the wincing, the eye-rolling, and one fellow motioning death with a finger swiping across his throat.
“No, no. I just wanted to make sure the babies out back were safe. I should give you privacy and get back to the crochet class. I’m gonna make you something special, you lucky man.” She winked, and deliberately trailed her eyes down his massive body.
Bajoc kissed his tiny mate tenderly, and she slipped out the back door. “Remember, soldiers,” Marcie called out before she left. “Bajoc’s motto. Treat your scones like you would your lady. Delicate.”
With that she was gone.
“What the frak just happened?” Rojan muttered, scratching his head.
Tristan guffawed. “The man is magical. Magic, I tell you. He has that tiny female wrapped around his finger.”
“It is the magic of the mannered, upper crust gentleman,” Bajoc said haughtily. “When I asked her to join the class, I did not really want her to be here. But just extending the courtesy made her politely refuse. Not only that, but I now get lucky tonight. She’s probably rushing back to the sashay class even now, finagling with Lara to watch our offsprings for an hour or two.”
“You lucky devil.” Tristan’s voice held the highest reverence. He elbowed Kresna next to him. “Is he a smart son-of-an-ass-teroid, or what?”
Chapter Eight
Joy:
“Anita, loosen your stitches or this section will be too short,” Joy said. She’d never seen any crochet work look so terrible. It looked as if Titi might’ve crocheted the piece. Of course, it could have been her fault. She’d given advice and then her mind had wandered to the last visit with Rojan, in which he declared his infatuation with her. He’d kissed her within an inch of her life, until she’d agreed to not avoid him any longer. She’d held out a good amount of time, because his kisses were so wondrous.
“Are you sure?” Anita asked. “I don’t want the air to waft through the stitches and make the blanket too chilly…”
Anita’s voice brought her back to awareness. The ladies were all staring confusedly at her, her head angled and her lips open as if to accept his kiss.
She snapped her mouth shut and straightened her head, but Pariah saved her the embarrassment.
“At this rate your blanket is going to be a wash rag.” Pariah snickered. “And while it’s nice and quiet in here…Joy, tell me about this Rojan.”
Joy sighed. “I’d like to lose my virginity to him. Oh, I know he’s here to kill me as Joy. But as Jo, well, she wants to lose it before Joy dies. Jannie’s helping me with sex lessons…”
“Tramp,” Tris whispered.
Virginia and Molli giggled.
“Shame on you,” Pariah admonished. “I taught you better than that. If your sister wishes to lose her virginity, she doesn’t need you three treating her the same as the Quaker males do and making her feel guilty for having normal, womanly feelings.”
The other ladies looked properly chastised. “We have those feelings, too, Mother Pariah.”
“It’s just Pariah now. I am a Freijian by marriage, and no longer Puritan.”
“Did you renounce your citizenship?”
“I did,” Pariah said proudly.
“Oh, dear.” Lara bit her lip. “I’m not sure if that was a good idea. Should the girls need a witness, you wouldn’t be allowed to take the stand in their defense.”
“We’ll have to make sure they’re never caught, won’t we?” Pariah sounded unperturbed. “Besides, I have a back-up plan. It’s why I asked my dear husband Lennard to drop me off here for a few days while he meets with the Mayor’s Council.”
“You do? What is it?”
“As you know, Puritans come from prestigious, wealthy families. Joy here is from one of the wealthiest of them all. And if necessary, I shall swallow my pride and contact my sworn enemy to beg her for help in protecting my girls.”
“Who is my family?” Joy asked.
“Why, my dear, you come from the royal family of Fagina.”
“Fudge-eye-na?” Anita snickered. “Sounds like—” She was elbowed into silence.
“Millie Fagina, Mayor’s Peenis’s wife, is your very own sister. She has benefitted greatly from your Puritan sacrifice.”
Joy’s jaw dropped. “But she’s so old!”
“She’s my age,” Pariah all but snapped. “We’re but a mere ten cycles from your tender virginal age. I have one, maybe two, very minor laugh lines, barely visible except for in the brightest of light. And that
is only because I am so happy lately. Granted, Millie has not aged as well…”
“I don’t want to be a slut,” Joy said. “Like Wilma said. Because what if all Puritans eventually go crazy, like she did? I feel so different now—since we’ve come to this planet.”
“You’re exposed to situations here that you’ve never encountered. It’s normal to be confused and having feelings arise that you’ve never dealt with.” Pariah sighed. “It doesn’t make you a slut in any way, shape or form. Look, girls. You were taken as babies and kept locked in a virtuous tower, away from the world. You were trained on how to be meek, and sweet. You have not had any outside influences whatsoever and suddenly, you were banished to this planet where you were exposed to other races, and cultures and joys such as music and dancing…”
“They didn’t even have dancing?” Anita asked.
“No,” Pariah said sadly. “All they’ve known is prayer. And that is partly my fault. In trying to make up for my early transgressions, I allowed Wilma to take too much liberty in the raising of the young girls. I wanted them to be banished along with me to correct the errors, but things have escalated horribly. The Quakers are sparing no expense to kill the Puritans. They don’t want their tradition destroyed of raising perfect women for themselves. So this batch will be sacrificed in order to return things to as they were. My dear,” she turned to Joy, “you are only a slut if you believe it. As modern women, the four of you need to stand up and confront labels and limitations placed upon you.”
The front door opened as Marcie walked in, Titi and Reese in tow with small, fuzzy blankets and dolls. She had left earlier to check on the men, saying, “We can’t leave them alone for too long. Who knows what they’ll get into?”
“How were the guys?” Lara asked. “I see you brought the little bits.” She leaned down to accept a wet kiss from Titi.
“It was nap time, but these two were being obnoxious and bugging the other children. So I told them they’d sleep here in the corner. Go lay down, you two.”
Titi and Reese took their blankets and dolls to the corner, away from the ladies. They lay on their sides, facing each other, and giggling softly as they hugged their dolls.
Marcie sighed. “Our guys are great. You can’t believe what they’re doing! Tea. My wonderful, genteel husband is teaching the guys how to appreciate tea and bake scrumptious scones. You know he once said you want to be delicate with your scones just like you’d be delicate with your lady.”
Anita’s mouth dropped. “Bajoc?”
“Well, how many genteel husbands do I have?” Marcie snapped. “And you, Miss Anita,”—she mimicked Bajoc’s voice—“are so very lucky. I saw Kamau sitting in the front of the class, paying rapt attention.”
“Are you sure that’s what they were doing?” Anita asked suspiciously.
“Very. Bajoc was wearing that ruffled pirate shirt the Commander found at a trading post. He only wears it to tea.”
“I hate that thing,” Lara swore. “Every day Tristan asks if it would be polite to ask Bajoc to replicate it. Every day I assure him it’s rude as hell to ask for a personal belonging to be replicated.”
Marcie grimaced. “Yeah, I don’t know what Goodwill post the commander found that one at, but at least the men are trying for a fashion statement. Twenty years from now, we’ll look back at our hair and their shirts and laugh.”
“Some woman is grateful she talked her husband in donating that thing,” Diamond snickered.
“But I’m proud of Bajoc for working so hard at bringing your men up to speed,” Marcie said. “I’m going to crochet him something lovely. Perhaps a new blazer so he can look professional when he teaches his classes.”
“I’m not sure if you’re that good yet,” Joy said carefully. “We just started learning a few basic stitches…”
“Pfft,” Marcie snorted. “What’s so difficult? I’ll crochet two long pieces and roll them together, stitching them closed for sleeves. Then I’ll crochet one long piece for the midsection, folding it over for shoulders. I’ll sew the sleeves on, and voilà! A blazer.”
“We’ll call it the Frankenstein collection with all the stitched pieces,” Anita snickered.
Marcie narrowed her eyes. “You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous? You said Kamau was sitting up front, being an apt pupil. That means he wants to learn. You know why? For me. To impress me. Hell, I’m gonna make him something, too. I got a start right here. A pair of pants will be easier than a blazer because you haven’t even figured out where you’re gonna stick the hole for the head when your blazer folds over his shoulders.”
“Um, the pants may be too short,” Joy said gently. She didn’t want to insult the poor woman, but the statement of pants for anyone’s legs, much less the giant warriors, was a wee bit ridiculous. The humans couldn’t even stitch a simple square with four even sides. And Joy had stressed the importance to them of the sides being even.
“I’ll just make them longer,” Anita announced. She yanked and pulled the bits of fabric that she had just crocheted like bread dough.
Joy sighed. That had been lesson number one she just ruined…not to stretch the yarn as one stitched.
“Tristan needs a shirt,” Lara said. “He’s such a good husband. He signed up for the class just to support his buddy, Bajoc. It’s not like he needed tea lessons.”
“Are you saying Kamau did?” Anita’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you remember when men’s rompers were all the rage?” Marcie asked. “I’ll bet if you make an extra long shirt and fasten it with a quick stitch between the legs, it’ll make a really elegant romper.”
Anita snorted. “Yeah. Maybe with a beanie. You know what’s cool about knitting? We don’t have to make holes for their horns in the beanie. They can just poke their horns through.”
“Crochet, not knit,” Joy corrected.
“Ladies, let’s not quibble,” Joy said. “Let’s just focus on the clothing you wish to make your men.” Suddenly the Frankenstitched clothing didn’t sound like such a bad idea. These real humans were a dramatic lot. Thankfully, the thought of the clothing smoothed over the ugliness in the mates’ eyes, too.
“I’ll start more slowly than them,” Diamond said. “I’ll just knit a tie for Kresna.”
“Crochet,” Joy corrected softly.
“Whatever. I’ll make him a lovely tie.”
“I always thought a man with a scarf all knotted around his throat was sexy,” Jannie said. “And we’d like to get pregnant, so I’ll make the scarf in pink and blue for my amazing Chautles.”
“Dammit, I was gonna use those colors for Tristan since we have a boy and a girl,” Lara snapped. “Oh well, I guess I’ll make his in a neutral lemon yellow and spring green.”
“Maybe a nice mint,” Marcie suggested helpfully.
“Yes. That’ll go nice with his coloring,” Lara said, pacified.
Joy looked at the wide eyes of her sisters as they stared at the interaction of the humans. These humans were weird. They had absolutely no fashion sense. Not like the Puritans who were boldly exploring colors and frou-frou fabrics.
“I’m wearing my wedding gown tonight,” Virginia announced. “But I’m enhancing it. Making it sexy with a slit up the front of the skirt that reaches all the way up to a slit that bares my cleavage. That slit will have a wide gap, exposing the valley between my breasts, and narrows down to my waist. I’ll fasten the area where they meet at the center with a bow.”
All the humans stared agape.
“What?”
“Um, you only wear a wedding dress during a wedding. You know that, right?”
“Well, how else will I tell Baub I now wish to get married unless he sees how beautiful I am in it?”
“That makes sense,” Tris said, nodding helpfully.
“Um, it’s bad luck for the groom to see you dressed in it before the wedding,” Anita said.
“Technically, he’s not her groom,” Joy said. “He’s not even her boyfr
iend, really.”
Anita shrugged. “I guess that’s a good point.”
“I’ll wear the prom dress,” Joy announced.
“I’m not wearing a dress,” Molli said. “I’m going to try out those cool see-through pants we made after seeing those belly dancing clothes. Oh! I have to remember to shave these legs…”
Joy shuddered. She couldn’t believe they never thought to shave under Pariah’s care. It was a good thing they met these humans. She loved the way the silky smooth skin felt instead. That was the best part about all these fashion clothes they’d discovered. All the different textures. As Puritans, all they ever wore was itchy, heavy wool. While it was excellent for covering up the hairy legs, (and truth be told, the thick forest between their thighs) it was cumbersome.
But those days were long gone. She’d never go back to being a Quakestrarian Puritan. Who cares what she was born and bred for? In fact, it wouldn’t be long now and she wouldn’t even be a virgin.
Dear Goddess of the Sacred Oyster. That was the answer. She’d be the first of her sisters to actually seduce Rojan, way before Virginia, who at the moment seemed to be angling for marriage as if they’d live. She’d seduce him tomorrow, as a matter of fact. Mother Pariah had set her straight.
“Screw the prom dress. I’m going to wear the sheer belly dancer clothing, too.” She announced suddenly. So sheer, he would know exactly what he was getting.
“She only knitting with oooone neeedle,” Titi whispered to Reese. The two gave hysterical, sleepy giggles.
* * * * *
The sisters were distracted, arguing over the outfits they were going to wear when Joy slipped out the front door.
Now what? Should she just wander the village, hoping to run into Rojan again? Or should she wander back and forth in front of his ship a few times, hoping he’d come out and notice?
Darn it, she didn’t think about this part. Perhaps she’d go see Jannie and have lesson number three. But to get there, she had to go around the Echo Nine ship. The men were nowhere to be found. She could easily have snuck into their vessel to spy, if she had been an evil Puritan, that is.
