My Prize

by Sahara Kelly

  It was decidedly phallic, but much too large to be anything like the real thing. The wood, however, was soft, and its feel seductive. She liked it. Plain and simple, she liked it. Liked touching it as she passed, stroking it now and again, and just looking at it occasionally.

  It was on a small shelf next to the TUNG.

  That damned satisfaction booth.

  Well, mused Boralle, no time like the present. Maybe if she broke it they'd find someone else to participate in these stupid games. Of course there was no one else on board ship who was as young as she was...

  She sighed, and stripped her clothes off, folding them neatly and sliding them into the recycle chute.

  It was time.

  *~*~*~*

  The TUNG booth was more comfortable than it looked and Boralle was surprised at how well it had been designed.

  Turning around, she stepped backwards into it, placing her feet onto the small steps that slid downwards a little as they accepted her weight.

  There was a slight hum as the system calibrated itself to her individual bodily characteristics.

  Small flashes in the surrounding hardware let Boralle know that her body was being thermally scanned, and made little tingles begin on the insides of her thighs and beneath her breasts.

  She relaxed as the sensations grew stronger and she felt her nipples harden as the sensors swept over them again and again.

  Obeying some instinct, she reached over to the small table and picked up her little vase. Gently, she stroked the soft wood as the TUNG began to attach its probes to various parts of her body.

  The "lovely Darleenni" notwithstanding, this particular unit seemed to need no help in that area, because it unerringly found her labia and her clit on the first try.

  She gasped as a soft clamp pulled her delicate tissues and attached itself gently to her flesh.

  Her hand tightened on the vase and the machine began to whirr. The sensory stimulation to her breasts and nipples increased. Her common sense told her that she wasn't actually being aroused by anything terribly physical, but that the centers of her brain where such messages were received were being told that it was happening.

  Nonetheless, her breasts swelled and her nipples beaded into hard points.

  She groaned as the lower units registered her increased lubrication and eased themselves into the action. A gentle rocking motion against her clit made her moan again.

  This time, her muscles tightened, and the ever-responsive TUNG unit altered its configuration and moved its footrests, opening her thighs to its mechanical loving. She leaned her head back, clutched her vase to her body and closed her eyes.

  She felt a solid probe nudge her between her legs. It was soft, probably covered in one of those new pseudo-dermal fabrics, she guessed. A few seconds later, she stopped guessing and just started feeling.

  The probe seemed to be amazingly versatile. It slid from her clit all the way down across her pussy and back again, spreading her moisture with it and heightening her sensations.

  Boralle moaned as it pushed its way into her body, stretching her, filling her, and then withdrawing until she whimpered.

  "Oh, please...more..." She whispered aloud, surprising herself at her need.

  The gentle but insistent touches to her clit stopped for a moment, then resumed, harder this time, exciting her to the point of insanity.

  The TUNG had tilted her body now, raising her legs off the floor and taking her weight for her. She was open and ready, her juices moistening her thighs and the probe that had somehow moved with the tilt of her body.

  She spared a thought for the incredible engineering involved. Her brain cells were now receiving messages that a hot wet mouth was suckling on her breasts—an experience like no other she'd ever felt.

  She cried out as the mouth released one nipple and moved to the other, leaving the first wet and sensitive.

  The pressure on her clit continued, as did the slow and gentle invasion of her pussy by the probe, which felt a great deal larger than any she'd experienced before. The designers of this TUNG unit deserved some kind of galactic award for technological competence.

  She lay there, writhing a little, groaning a lot, and thankful that the crew quarters were soundproof.

  The imaginary mouth continued its caresses to her breasts, suckling, nibbling, licking and tugging until she was ready to come just from that stimulation alone.

  Bright flashes of light flickered behind her eyelids, but she couldn't have raised them to save her life. Her thighs were spreading of their own accord now, and the TUNG unit was generating impressions of hard hips tight up against her as the probe slid deeper into her body.

  She could swear she almost felt the hips move, thrusting and withdrawing, and then thrusting again.

  A heaviness grew in her belly, a stretching in her cunt, and a yearning so deep inside her that she sobbed out wild words, not even aware that she was doing so. "Yes, oh Gods, more...please...yesssss..."

  The thrusting became a pounding and her whole body felt abraded as she received so many neural inputs that she gave up trying to make sense out of them. She just went with the flow.

  Her clit was screaming, her breasts felt the size of small asteroids, and the warmth and wetness that surrounded them was making her insane.

  How long could the TUNG keep this up? How long could she?

  The answer to both questions was—not that long.

  An urgent tingle tightened her buttocks and her breath failed her. Her cunt began to spasm frantically, and a scream of release tore from her throat.

  Nanoseconds later, the universe, or at least the bit that surrounded Boralle North, went nova.

  *~*~*~*

  She was so relaxed she thought she'd never move again.

  Her body was quietly humming, warm and sated, and she realized with a small amount of astonishment that she was lying on her bed.

  Opening one eye, she focused blearily on the TUNG machine. Its lights were flickering intermittently, in no particular order. Several wires had been pulled out, and a small wisp of smoke was curling up from one of the lower control units. A blue mist seemed to be hanging around the sides of the power surge box.

  It looked pretty much like she felt.

  Screwed silly.

  She grinned to herself and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders. Warmth was relaxing her, a warmth that started above her shoulders and ran all down her naked back to her toes.

  As consciousness slowly seeped back into her sex-clogged brain, she realized that this warmth she was snuggled into was not hers. It was unlike any she'd ever felt, toasting her to her soul and offering more than just heat. It offered comfort, pleasure and a soft heartbeat.

  She stilled.

  The warmth behind her snuffled into her hair and threw a brawny limb over her body. This time her stillness was born of fear. A huge rush of adrenaline surged from her toes to her earlobes as Boralle realized she wasn't alone.

  Her first reaction was to leap from the bed, screaming loudly. While satisfying, that would have accomplished nothing but alerting the intruder to the fact that he, she, or—God forbid—it, had been discovered.

  She gathered her facts together like any good lawyer should, and like the trained officer she knew she ought to be, she ran through her defensive options. Well, any lawyer and officer who found herself lying naked against an unknown living entity, that is.

  Very gently, she slipped from the bed, freeing herself from the heavy weight of the...the...arm.

  Thank God. A humanoid arm. With a hand and the right number of fingers on the end of it.

  Moving silently, she reached for the concealed alert button that would summon security team members and put the whole ship on notice that there was an intruder.

  The body on the bed groaned a little and rolled onto its stomach, arms outstretched. Her eyes opened wide, and her hand stopped moving. As did most of the rest of her body, her heart and her brain.

  It was a man.

/>   And by all the Gods, he was beautiful.

  Chapter 3

  Rory McAllen slowly regained consciousness. His limbs were a little sore and his mind rather foggy.

  He'd gone to sleep in his Anyelan travel vessel, knowing he would awake next to his "target," as she was called by the Guardians. He hadn't expected to awaken with a cock so hard he could have crushed rocks with it, and a mouthful of the sweetest breasts this side of Alpha Centauri.

  Nor had he expected to find her trembling on the brink of a machine-induced orgasm. It had been the matter of seconds to rip away those damned wires and give her the real thing.

  He smiled to himself. She'd welcomed it too.

  Hot and wet, her cunny had swelled for him, tightening around him like a firm handshake and only getting better from there.

  He licked his lips and tasted her flesh—clean, a tad musky, but unique. And definitely pleasant.

  His cock agreed. Time for another session, and perhaps time to get rid of that stupid machine. She had a real man now. What could she possibly need with technology when she had Laird McAllen ready to pleasure her?

  He stretched and tried to turn over.

  He failed.

  Something was holding him face down on the bed. He flexed his muscles and found that he was very securely clamped to the mattress. There were no restraints or irons that he could detect, but all the same, he was trapped like a fly waiting to be swatted.

  He gritted his teeth and forced his head to turn on the pillow.

  Opening his eyes with difficulty, he saw her.

  She was standing beneath a grille with her arms stretched and something liquid was pouring over her. A shower? Doubtful. The liquid was a rather dull green.

  As she spread the liquid over her body, it solidified and Rory realized she was now clothed. Well, damn. Interesting way of getting dressed in the morning.

  He wondered if it was worth panicking, but then his ancient warrior skills suggested not. Best to let your enemy think they've got you right where they want you. Then when the time is right, you can show them that it is absolutely not so.

  He remained still, watching the woman from half-closed lids.

  She ran her fingers through her short blonde hair, tousling it, shaking her head and tucking an errant wisp behind one ear.

  Apparently, this comprised her entire toilette, because as she released the hair she turned toward Rory and his trap.

  "Aroownklgpuke?" she said, raising an eyebrow.

  "What the hell..." Rory answered. He was surprised to find that his voice worked when the rest of him didn't, and that for all the Anyelan wizardry, he was apparently unable to understand the lass.

  "AroownklgPUKE?" she repeated, frowning now.

  "I can't understand you, sweetheart," he answered, trying to soothe her growing anger. "But I'm not going to puke if that's your question."

  She snorted, and flounced over to a wall cabinet.

  Returning with a small metal something in her hand, she crossed to the bed and disappeared from his view.

  Hands pulled his butt cheeks apart and the next minute, Rory McAllen did something he'd never thought he would do.

  He squealed like a girl.

  Something very cold had just been rammed right up his arse.

  The woman returned to the other side of the bed and Rory's line of sight. She was still frowning.

  "Arwoonwrfil alrliieg sih. Tssisle oyopou...herstand me?"

  Rory squinted. "What the hell did you shove up my arse, woman?" he bellowed.

  "A rassing translator, you dunce. Stop bellowing at me."

  Rory shut his mouth with a snap. He was now properly riled. No one riled the Laird and got away with it. "Did you have to shove it up my backside, woman?"

  "I'll ask the questions. Who the rass are you and what are you doing in my cabin?"

  Rory frowned at her.

  She was amazingly unimpressed. "Are you some sort of techno-sex robot?"

  "Are you Major Boralle North?"

  The question obviously rocked her, but to give her credit, she didn't let it throw her off her stride. "Were you sent here by one of the sig-ops crew? The one who's always telling me I need a good fuck to get the kinks out?"

  Rory's lip twitched. "You've got kinks? Sweet one, I can help you with those, for sure."

  "Stop with the holo-romance thing. I've had quite enough, thank you."

  Baffled, Rory stared at her. "What holo-romance thing? What's a holo-romance?"

  "You know, one of those 3D vids that lets you be a part of the romance and you get to do stuff with the hero—"

  "Really? What kind of stuff?"

  "Never mind."

  "No, honestly, I'd like to know." Rory thought that perhaps by pursuing this line of questioning he could encourage her to relax and free him. He had to convince her he was not a threat to her.

  Of course he also wanted to have more wild intergalactic sex with her. But that wasn't posing a threat. At least he didn't think so.

  "What I want to know is what are you doing here and how do you know my name?

  *~*~*~*

  His eyes were green, greener than Boralle could ever remember seeing. On a humanoid, anyway.

  And he was built like a...like...well, she had no frame of reference. The only naked men she'd seen had been in textbooks. Nudity simply wasn't necessary any more, not with the clothing recyclers, and it was impractical during space travel.

  Spaceships had been sanitized, scrutinized, disinfected, and sterilized. Those who lived aboard them took a lot for granted. Nudity was not one of the things that happened. Especially on a Central Galactic Court ship. The CGC and its rather staid representatives simply would never have allowed it.

  Until now. Until this mammoth and extraordinarily attractive man appeared in her bed. Next to her.

  Naked.

  Mouthwateringly, beautifully naked.

  Something inside Boralle was waking up. It was stretching, yawning, toying with the idea of going to the bathroom and brushing its teeth. It was also making her clit twitch.

  She frowned.

  "Now what did I say to make that pretty face of yours scrunch up like that?"

  His voice had a soft burr to it, and although the translator had now entered his body and she could understand every word he said, his intonation was still a little foreign to her.

  "It's more what you didn't say. You have not told me what you're doing here and how you know my name."

  The man thought for a moment, never taking his green gaze off her. "Well now. I might be inclined to share a few details if I wasn'a'clamped down on this damn bed like a slice of ham in a sandwich."

  "A what?" Boralle tipped her head, before she realized he'd done it on purpose. Distracted her. He was a clever one, this man.

  Her eyes narrowed. "I'm sure you'd be able to talk much more freely if I were to release you completely, wouldn't you?"

  "Well, yes, indeed I would, sweetling."

  His smile would have done justice to a newly-born wheefle from Gornley Beta. Unfortunately, within two weeks, the preciously cuddly newborn wheefles grew to a dozen times their birth size and began eating anything that didn't possess a solid exoskeleton. Gornley Beta was home to a race that existed within very rigid carapaces. They were no fun to dance with, that was for sure.

  "Too bad. The force field stays until I get answers."

  His sigh made the bedding flutter, and she felt her lower body do the same. There was something about this man that rang bells in places she'd rather not think about right now. And they were places that shouldn't have had bells in them to start with. She ignored the clang. "So. Let's try this again. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

  He settled his head more comfortably on the pillow. "My name is Rhuadhri McAllen."

  "Roooad...Rurdd...huh?"

  "You can call me Rory, lass. Laird Rory McAllen."

  Boralle tilted her head as a sudden flash of an old holo-vid danced into her mind. She
and a girlfriend had called up a historical romance for a project they'd worked on during their educational process. It had been about a far off time in a far off place, but there had been men called Lairds and they'd worn...skirts, she thought, wrapped around themselves.

  Boralle gaped. "You're from Scotland. Old Scotland. Scotland, like on old Earth."

  Rory grinned. "Got it in one, sweetheart. They said you were incredibly intelligent. And by the looks of things they were right. They dinna tell me what a beauty you are though..."

  In spite of her rigorous training in self-control, Boralle blushed.

  Turning away to hide her confusion, she fiddled with the food synthesizer and called up a mug of javeine. The pungent smell filled the small cabin, and she saw Rory's eyes fasten on the steaming cup.

  "Oh, would that be coffee you're having there, Major Sweetling? If you could just convince yourself I mean you no harm, I'd sure like to be sharing that delight with you."

  Boralle leaned back, sipped from her mug and raised one skeptical eyebrow. "Right. Yes...of course. You announce that you are a Scottish lord from over a thousand years ago, arrive naked in my bed, and then ask for javeine. Which may or may not be this cawfee of yours. I think we need to continue our conversation a little before you start raiding the supplies, don't you?"

  Rory's face firmed into solid masculine lines. "I am who I say I am, Boralle North, whether you care to accept it or nay. Apparently, you are at the center of a small problem that is about to explode and cause great damage to this portion of the Galactic time flow. Your lack of sexual experience and your complete and utter ignorance of your own sensuality will result in a cataclysmic conflict."

  His green eyes bored into her with a ferocity that made her physically tremble.

  "I have been sent by those who tend to such things to correct this problem, and to make sure that time continues on its prescribed course. I am to bring you to the full knowledge of your body and your sexuality. Only then will this part of the galaxy have a fighting chance of surviving what lies ahead. Frallien IV and the Olympiad are the crux of this upcoming catastrophe. Now do you understand?"