by Toni Sands
TAMING THE WILD MAN
An erotic novella
Toni Sands
Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2010
ISBN 9781907016820
Copyright © Toni Sands 2010
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
Chapter One
UNIPOD 21 IS SET on autopilot, ascending on suckered struts through bleached sand dunes strewn with gemstones. Gulls hover; dark splashes against a sky the colour of sugar plums. The road flattens, widening as the dunes dissolve into grassy slopes awash with feathery goatsfoot and exotic succulents.
Music is a forbidden fruit in Zia’s world but today she gets to hear a 21st century orchestra pulsing in her ears. As her body thrills to the sensuous beat, she breathes deeply at the thought of what lies ahead. And wonders how she’ll react.
The flip of a switch steers the vehicle into a lay-by. Zia waits while the system checks it’s safe to step outside. The door slides open and her feet hit ground dry as a biscuit as she steps into the sunshine. The silence is broken only by the sweet song of a tiny bluebird and the restless ocean below as Zia allows the security icon to identify her iris pattern and immobilise the vehicle.
The temperature control on her stretchy pantsuit swiftly adjusts to the climate. Tiny silver shorts barely cover her rounded bottom, as she lopes down the cliff path. As soon as Zia’s hover boots bring her safely down, she unfastens her rainbow-striped helmet, worn by every 24th century female travelling above ground. Dark curls tumble around her pale, oval face as she smells the sea-thyme, sniffs the thrift and tastes the breeze’s salty tang. The ocean shimmers, pink-ruffled wavelets lapping against ebony sand.
It’s like the virtual leisure decks … no, much better than anything I’ve experienced before. Soothed by the crooning ocean and relishing the breeze fingering her waterfall of hair, Zia wanders towards something glistening amidst a rocky outcrop. A pool! How can she resist dipping into its depths? Under the surface, sea anemones sway, some dripping lacy fronds, some studded like an old-fashioned pin cushion. She trawls her fingers above the corals and jellies. When she touches the fringed seaweed, the rubbery bubbles slip from her grasp and a tiny shrimp feathers its way through the water towards her.
‘How could anyone ever eat you?’ she exclaims, suddenly shocked by the thought.
This is only the second time Zia’s been selected to journey alone above ground and she jumps up, confused by the intensity of her emotions. The seascape may be peaceful but inside her, long-hidden instincts are stirring. She raises her right hand and licks her fingers one by one. Saltiness coats her tongue, strong as the yearning she doesn’t fully comprehend.
She narrows her eyes. Although this is a planned journey, she’s still a flesh and blood creature: still vulnerable. Someone’s observing her. Zia jerks her head. Further down the shoreline is a figure. A figure too far away to distinguish but her intuition speaks loud and clear. The blood pounds through her veins as again she’s shaken by something disturbing yet tantalising. Her special assignment’s unfolding and her senses are at High Doh.
Zia takes a step towards the man striding across the sands. Images crowd her mind, as if replaying race memories handed down the centuries. She glimpses knights in silver chain mail, astride stallions scenting battle. She sees warriors strutting in scarlet feathers, proud masculine faces daubed with aggression. She sees skin of every hue known to earth people – pale, café au lait and mocha – toughened by adversity or softened by pacifism.
In reality, a long-limbed male with honey-coloured skin approaches. He catches her eye and tosses his tawny mane away from his face. She senses an easy kind of arrogance yet his expression’s wary and she detects something unfathomable in his hazel eyes. She’s been shown a likeness of a similar man. But it was not this man. And what she sees, his feet planted firmly on the shore, excites her far more than a holographic image.
‘A Wild One,’ she says, looking him in the eye.
‘A Star Sister,’ he says, bowing his head. ‘I salute you.’ He gestures towards the cliffs. ‘But surely they haven’t let you venture here alone?’
Zia’s hand touches the hollow beneath her throat. Her pulse quickens and she knows he’s close enough to see how the swell of her breasts disturbs the bodice of her severe tunic. She tries to control her breathing as she watches his gaze fall to the brief shorts where the mound swells beneath the taut material. He looks down at the slender, tapering legs as if he can almost taste how they would feel, wrapped around him. When he raises his eyes to hers, his expression’s no longer inscrutable. It’s raw with longing.
Zia is empowered. ‘I am protected, Wild One. And we both know why I’ve come to you.’
His eyes darken. He takes a step forward. But Zia is fierce in her femininity. Suddenly she’s on the defensive: a tigress waiting to be tamed yet not too quickly. Although too naïve to be fully aware of the lure of the chase, she bounds away from the man, following his trail of footprints in the sand. As she runs, she has no doubt he’ll follow. She may be a woman inexperienced with sexual games but she reads the message in his eyes. She feels the animal magnetism. He hurtles after her, powerful limbs pumping. She glances over her shoulder, confident he won’t overtake, knowing he too has an image to savour. And unaware how turned on he is by the sight of her delicious rear view.
Zia finds the cave as if she’s always known it existed. Cool air caresses her face when she enters. As her eyes adjust to the dimness, she notices the silky pelt spread upon the volcanic shingle. A covered basket stands on a granite shelf, a bottle resting in the rock pool alongside. When a shadow crosses the threshold of the cave, Zia accepts the moment has arrived. The man hesitates, as if waiting until her dark eyes tell him exactly how she wishes him to proceed. He may be a Wild One but he’s no brute.
She wonders how his lips will feel – notices his tender expression as he moves closer. She can smell him now; smell his strength and musky warmth. A tremor ripples through her. She’s used to gentle pleasure rituals with partners of both genders but this is very different. This man will be the first to go where no one’s entered before.
She raises her arms, places her hands upon his powerful shoulders, so that he smiles down at her as men have always smiled at their women across the planet and across the ages.
‘Tell me your name.’
He sighs. Once again the Collective has failed to recognise his individuality but he’s used to their ways. ‘My name is whatever you want it to be,’ he replies. This is a little game he likes to initiate and he enjoys seeing the reaction to his provocative remark.
‘I’m unaccustomed to making such decisions,’ she says.
‘Riffle through the index. Skip through the centuries. If a name comes to mind, then I shall be he.’
He waits, wanting desperately for her to hit upon the right name. And it’s a fact that some star sisters can be psychic. The ache in his groin plays havoc with him as Zia nuzzles the base of his throat while she opens her mind.
‘Conall,’ she says at last. ‘You are Conall.’
He can’t conceal a sharp intake of breath. She’s pure star sister. ‘It will do,’ he says.
She shoots him a sharp look, knowing he’s
teasing her. She also knows he can’t resist any longer. He reaches for her, bending his head. Anticipating the moment, she tilts her face to his, allowing him to explore the yielding mouth, its slightly too-full lips hinting at delights to come. She has no idea how potent is her earthiness mixed with the detachment of a woman bred to regard herself as a treasured concubine. Potential for pleasure-sharing and fitness for creating new progeny within the Collective is all that matters in her rarefied world.
Conall understands he must turn the key gently for she knows him only as one of Earth’s wild ones. He can’t believe his luck in being selected to take this remarkable being to him. Yet, even on the brink of joy, he begrudges the power of the Collective. But he knows better than to disobey its commands. And this woman-child sends shivers down his spine because he wants her with an intensity that’s almost frightening. With an effort, he remembers his manners.
‘Some wine, Zia? It’s chilled from the waters of the rock pool. Here, let me pour.’
She watches as Conall fills two glasses with pale gold liquid. It’s unusual for her to be offered wine but she accepts the drink and sips, letting it trickle down her throat. She swallows, enjoying the unaccustomed rush of ripe fruit and alcohol. Already her limbs are softening, her nervousness melting into a much more delicious sensation.
When her glass is empty, she hands it to Conall. ‘Remove your clothes. I wish to see you naked, Wild Man.’
His eyes widen and he has to turn away to hide his amusement. This is an unexpected challenge. But he copes. ‘Then help me,’ he says. As he stands, muscular arms at his sides, Zia fumbles with the thick cotton shirt.
She raises her eyebrows as her hands touch the coarse material, hesitates as she fingers the thin fabric of his trousers, cut off mid-thigh like pirate pantaloons. When he’s naked, her gaze drops to the silky blond hair on his chest and to the tangle at the base of his flat stomach. The fur beneath her feet tickles her toes.
She tugs at her tunic. It peels away, revealing luscious breasts. Her thighs gleam as she wriggles out of her miniscule shorts. The man gasps at the brazen beauty of her: inviting as a cut persimmon. And he drops to his knees before her.
He’s astonished and delighted by her lack of inhibition. Apart from his recent sprint towards the cave, there’s another reason for his thudding heartbeat. This isn’t usually what happens. Other star sisters have fitted the image of their collective lifestyle. It’s all about serenity and conformity. And it’s the reason why the wild man lives above ground with others who share his conviction. But he must obey the rules. He’s designated as Alpha Male, resigned to becoming a stud when the Collective needs to renew itself.
‘So beautiful … I did not think anyone could possibly be so beautiful. You’re a snow maiden, smooth and pure. And here we are – the virgin and the wild man. What is your name?’
‘Zia,’ she says. ‘Is that a good name for a virgin?’
He smiles at her teasing tone.
Zia drops to her knees, leaving him looking down at her. Her face is so close that he feels her warm breath on his stiffening cock. Even though the sight of her interferes with his breathing, he doesn’t rush. Slowly, deliberately, he kneels too, facing her, waiting a beat before bending his head. He flicks his tongue across her throat, kissing the fine skin over the delicate bones between her neck and the swell of her breasts. His hands play on her body, exploring her softness. His fingers are a whirlpool of strokes round and round her breasts, turning her nipples into twin stalks standing up for him. He sucks at them, encircling each areola in turn with his lips. Zia lies down. Starts grinding her hips against the fur as she arches her back, sensuous as a jungle cat.
‘Not yet, little one … not yet,’ he murmurs. And he lifts the silky strands of hair, slipping his tongue inside her ear.
Zia floats somewhere warm and tingling. She marvels at the unfamiliar firmness of Conall’s muscular body against her own smoothness, used as she is to softer, pliant pleasure-mates. The indescribable feeling is like nothing she’s experienced before in the bliss cubicles used by star personnel. The rush of the wild man’s tongue and the curl of his breath in her ear send a message spiralling to her hips. Her whole body yearns for something unidentifiable, yet something every single nerve-ending craves.
As Conall moves his attention elsewhere, seeking the treasure between her thighs, Zia moans. Crude, beautiful words she’s never before uttered, never before knew existed, pour from her lips. She’s beyond inhibition, her mind transporting her on an age-old journey, with the man a willing travel companion. She moves her head from side to side enjoying the whisper of the fur against her skin as he explores her thighs and belly. He uses his fingers, his lips, his tongue and his eyes to help her on her way. One butterfly kiss with his eyelashes on her inner thigh is so delicate that she calls out as if tortured by the exquisite sensation.
Just as Zia enters that zone where her body demands total satisfaction, just as she loses sense of time and any purpose but the present one, Conall enters her. His solid presence inside her is very different from the tender stroking and kissing she’s used to sharing with the clones in the bliss cubicles.
Conall hesitates then thrusts, tenderly but with determination. The two bodies unite; steel inside velvet and Zia cries out. With the barrier pierced, he penetrates further. Instinctively she matches his movements. Her hands move to his buttocks and she pulls him closer, as if never wanting him to leave. As if she’s craving domination after the gentle foreplay.
Her voice is husky as she begs him. ‘Fuck me. I want you to fuck me hard.’
Conall loops each of her lovely legs in turn so they’re over his shoulders. He begins his climb, wanting and needing Zia to soar with him. His strokes deepen then slow again. One hand feels for her clitoris, brushing it. Then he withdraws a little while he massages, watching her blossom under his touch; stretching, purring beneath his fingers. Now his cock resumes its rhythmic motions, echoing the thump of the ocean on the packed wet sand outside the cave. One more thrust, another deeper thrust and she’s almost there. Two more thrusts and she arches her back, crying out.
His release is immediate and powerful. She lies beneath him, eyes closed. And when she opens them and looks into his face, he doesn’t care whether his task has been fulfilled. All he cares about is that the beautiful virgin in his arms is his woman. At least for now. And after the chase, the conquest and the joy, there’s a touch of sadness in Conall’s expression as Zia nestles against his chest. He kisses her hair, buries his face in its sweet, unfamiliar perfume, and wishes with all his being that things could be different. For once, he doesn’t feel like a stud. For once he knows what it’s like to fall in love.
Far below the crust of Planet Earth, in her chamber, the Regulator calls out in ecstasy. Shara X has followed every moment of Zia’s journey in more ways than one. And she too is shocked. The signal she receives from the cranial chip embedded behind Zia’s right ear allows her to tap straight into the younger woman’s experiences. Shara X’s own body has spun her into such a breathtaking orgasm that she even reaches inside her loose robe, as if expecting to feel the wild one’s essence between her thighs.
Shara X is stunned by the sheer masculinity of the creature her data base knows as Conall. Her cushioned, anodyne existence has included pleasuring by her fellow star sisters and brothers but at 40 years of age, she remains intact. And she’s been saving her favourite star sister for this very important project. Zia is an original: beautiful and ripe for something more than mere harvesting of her womb. As a voyeur, experiencing the sensation of the male pushing his way inside Zia has transported the Regulator far beyond the prescribed boundaries of enjoyment and she wants more. Torn between her professionalism and her appetites, she rises from her silken couch in the air-conditioned chamber to approach the water fountain.
Shara X is a tall, striking woman, her IQ well above that of most of her peers. Her head is shaven, accentuating aquiline features and deep-set blue eyes i
n a long, pale face. A respected member of the Collective, she’s been instrumental in developing the ‘sensation-sharing’ technique. And she’s more and more intrigued by this man who co-exists on the same planet under conditions so very different from her own. So far the experiment goes well. The wild creature is co-operating. As well he must if he wishes to continue his preferred way of life so alien to that of the Collective.
A smile penetrates her calm expression as she considers what lies ahead. She returns to her couch. Lies down and closes her eyes before touching a finger to her right earlobe. She’s minded to let Zia enjoy a little more of what’s gone before. And if the man performs again, that’s no bad thing. Later she’ll re-examine his life data. It will have added significance now she knows just what he’s capable of. Other duties can wait. Shara X has devoted herself to this mission for a while now and feels she deserves some compensation – preferably in the form of his thrusting, hopefully insatiable cock.
‘Now we eat,’ Conall says at last. Zia glances at her discarded clothing but he stretches out a restraining hand. ‘We can eat naked. It’ll be another new experience for you. You’re not cold without your uniform?’
She slides one shapely leg across his thighs, imprisoning him.
‘Such a fox you are. I knew you would be,’ he says. They wrestle for supremacy until she tugs the tangle at his groin; winding her fingers through it.
He holds up his hands, ‘I submit, Star Sister. What is your desire?’
‘The wine’s good.’ She raises her empty glass.
He reaches for the bottle still chilling in the rock pool and refills both goblets. ‘Here’s a toast to us. Let’s drink to continuing harmony, peace and love.’ His tone is slightly but not dangerously mocking. He may be a maverick but he’s mindful of his position.
Zia’s eyes sparkle with mischief. ‘I prefer to drink to further liaisons between us.’ She sips her wine.
