My Prize

by Sahara Kelly

  Several thrusts later, the male would grunt, dump a load of his semen inside her and withdraw, staggering off her back to roll over on his stomach and fall asleep. The female would lie passive, staring at nothing in particular, and wonder what all the fuss was about.

  The advent of clothing for the bodies of these reptiles, coming as it did on the heels of a rather cool winter, changed the nature of sexual intercourse.

  Now, the variety of clothing more than the sexual receptiveness of the female determined the mating probability.

  Females found that walking erect enabled them to wear clothing that emphasized their bodies, clung to all the right places, and yet protected them.

  Males imitated this behavior, although their cocks were constantly being chafed by the snug fabrics.

  The "dickgard" was born of that chafing. A large, softly-lined cup, it allowed the Magan male to coil his penis neatly up on itself and remain tucked away from irritating zippers. It did, of course, require one extra step prior to mating, but most males agreed that this was a fair trade. After all, fucking someone with a sore cock was no fun at all.

  Conversational skills, along with the usual societal changes, were also taking place. But the need to fuck remained pre-eminent amongst Magan urges.

  Tails were a nuisance, but never once did anyone ever consider removing them. They acted as a source of pride for the male and a source of adornment for the female, who would paint, pierce, color or otherwise transform her tail into a work of art.

  As the species evolved toward permanently upright status, small breasts began to develop in the female of the species. Although Magan eggs needed no external or maternal nourishment, something about the mating process was stimulating this lactic evolution. Not one Magan male raised his voice in protest.

  Nipples were next to appear. Once again, the Magan male seemed appreciative rather than concerned.

  Most females had learned that a barbed cock could offer the most exquisite pleasure if welcomed at the right point during intercourse, so with the advent of nipples, one more pleasure center had been added to the pot.

  The Magus Prime race was on its way to sexual ecstasy.

  At about this time, some Magans began experimenting with oral sex. This, sadly, failed.

  Unknown to the species as a whole, the female had retained a vestigial set of teeth, once used to rip and pulverize food for her offspring. Sharp and pointed, these teeth could reduce a large furry willmot into minced willmot within moments. When mixed with the local version of garlic and heated over an open fire, minced willmot burgers were a national favorite.

  However, as Magans evolved, these teeth became less necessary. The open fire gave way to the barbecue, the rotisserie and finally the microwave oven, and females no longer needed their extra teeth.

  It was thought they had vanished.

  It was, unfortunately, an incorrect assumption.

  Josephus Mauldrake, leader of a small Southern tribe, was the first martyr to the cause of oral sex.

  During intercourse, Josephus, who prided himself on his innovative lovemaking techniques, thrust his erect cock into the mouth of his partner, just prior to the emergence of his barbs.

  His partner, who was extremely stimulated by Josephus's action, experienced her own orgasm as she sucked in his cock. This allowed her vestigial teeth to emerge through a hitherto-unknown rift just below the gum line.

  Josephus's scream was heard across a distance of approximately seven Magan measures, and Josephus himself was consequently confined to one of the planet's first rehabilitation centers.

  His experiences became the stuff of legends. Also of caution.

  There was no fellatio on Magus Prime. And because Magans firmly embraced the concept of "turn about is fair play," there was no cunnilingus either. It was just plain and simple fucking.

  Fucking, as they liked to say, was the foundation of life. In fact, they indulged their love of fucking at every opportunity. Small areas were set aside in public places for fucking. Treatises were written by experts on fucking, and videos were made on different fucking techniques.

  The first intergalactic visitors to Magus Prime described it in scientific reports, quite accurately as it turned out, as "that planet with all those fucking reptiles."

  Magus Prime, as a competitor in the Frallien IV Olympiad, had its reputation on the line. The fact that the power technology possessed by the Fralliens was also on the line, was truly only an incidental consideration to most citizens of Magus Prime. For them, it was all about the fucking.

  As it is, of course, just about everywhere else in the galaxy.

  And speaking of which…

  Chapter 9

  Back to cyber-created Scotland and our still-embracing lovers...

  Rory eased his sword further away from his body and settled Boralle more comfortably in his arms.

  Her lips were swollen and soft from their kisses, and her hands lay peacefully on his shoulders. It was the first time he'd seen such a gentle smile cross her features, and his heart warmed at the sight.

  "I want to make love with you, Boralle," he murmured, needing to speak the words aloud for some reason.

  "Oh yes, yes please," she grinned, tracing his features with the tip of a finger. "I'd really like that a lot. And not just from a practice perspective either," she added.

  "You need not fear I'll make you pregnant, you know," he said, letting a little kiss drop onto the finger that strayed to his mouth.

  She chuckled. "Of course not. We don't get pregnant."

  "Excuse me?" Rory stared at her, puzzled.

  "We don't get pregnant," she repeated herself.

  "What do you mean 'we?'You mean people on board your ship? Humans? Females? What?"

  Boralle blinked at his line of questioning. "Why—any of us. All of the above. The whole getting-pregnant thing was discontinued several generations ago. Much too inefficient."

  Rory's jaw dropped. "You mean...you canna have bairns?"

  "I haven't a clue. What the rass is a 'bairn?'"

  He shook his head and put his hand over her belly. "It's a wee one, Boralle. A child. Something that a man and a woman create when they make love and that grows to life within your womb...right about here..."

  He splayed his fingers across her body, letting his warmth sink through the ruffled cotton of her dress.

  "I...I...no. Well, I don't know. I don't think so." She thought for a moment. "The whole business is usually handled in the birthing centers. Donated DNA samples are merged and children are created a short time later. The nurseries take care of them, the educational process teaches them, and it's an efficient way to continue the species." She raised her eyes to Rory's with a question in them. "How else should it be done?"

  Rory sighed. "Ah, lass, it would take a lifetime to tell you. But where I come from, a man and a woman make love together and pleasure each other, and the man plants his seed deep inside the woman, where it meets its mate." His hand was stroking circles now on her stomach and he felt her wriggle.

  "Life begins in a woman's womb. 'Tis a miracle indeed. She nurtures the bairn with her body, just as her mate nurtures her with his love. She bears the child, full-formed, at the end of nine months or so, and what was two becomes three. Becomes a family. If God wills it so, there will be more bairns to fill the rooms of the family's home. Rooms that fill with love. Children are the physical proof that love is real, Boralle. Or at least they should be."

  Boralle sighed. "It sounds quite wonderful, Rory. What a fascinating idea. To give birth to one's own offspring."

  Rory, remembering the assorted aches and pains of the many pregnant women he'd met over the course of his years, wisely held his peace.

  "But first, we have to make love, right?"

  He smiled. "We do indeed, lass. I shall need to seduce you until you are naught but a quivering mound of sensual desire beneath my fingers."

  "Ooh goody." Boralle giggled as his fingers moved up from her stomach to the un
dersides of her breasts. "Will I know when I become this quivering mound, or will you tell me?"

  "Oh, you'll know," growled Rory. "But also you need to know that I'll not release my seed inside you. Because of what I am and where I come from, I have been...changed...altered a little."

  Boralle tipped her head and let her eyes ask the question.

  "The Guardians of Time have a sacred mission to sort out problems, Boralle. Scattering their children throughout the space-time continuum is not the way to go about it."

  "Good point."

  "So, when I...when I release ma...er...when I come inside you, " Rory couldn't believe he was actually blushing, "Dinna be afraid. 'Tis only a wee bit of blue fog that'll fill you. Nae ma seed."

  Realizing his embarrassment had robbed him of his higher speech function, and that Boralle's breast was warm and heavy in his hand, he sighed.

  "Rory, I don't think I understand any of this at all. But perhaps the best thing would be for us to just do it. Don't you think?"

  The Laird McAllen was never a man who had to be asked twice.

  *~*~*~*

  His hand was so gentle, for something the size of a dinner plate. At least it felt like a huge, hot bowl as it cupped and caressed her breast.

  Boralle moved slightly, arching her back and giving him better access.

  "Too many clothes, my love. Let's just loosen the plaids, shall we?"

  Without removing the one hand, a nimble Rory managed to free Boralle's woolen wrap and tug it clear of her body, all the while keeping up his gentle kneading of her breast. He moved to the other one and slipped his sword belt away from his body at the same time.

  His own plaid fell free, and for the first time Boralle caught a glimpse of his fully erect cock.

  My Gods. What a beauty!

  He shifted for a moment and let the fabric fall clear, leaving himself naked to the rays of the warm sunshine. His dark red hair tumbled over his shoulders, giving him the look of a wild and pagan creature come to plunder her body. She'd particularly liked those bits in her historical romance holovids.

  She had a strong feeling at that moment that she'd welcome his plundering, and he could do a little pillaging while he was at it, if he felt like it. But a small voice whispered deep in Boralle's mind that she'd be losing more than her body to this man. He might demand something more precious from her.

  Something she had no idea how to give.

  He smiled as he watched her staring at his cock.

  Unashamed, totally and completely male, he lay quietly touching her, skimming the soft cotton of her skirt up and down the sensitive skin of her legs. He let his cock rest against them, taut and hard, with prominent ridges and veins tracing its length.

  "Would you like to touch, then, lass?"

  There was a certain huskiness to Rory's voice as he asked the question.

  Boralle glanced up. "May I?"

  He coughed and hid his face a little, letting his hair fall between them for a moment. His cock twitched slightly. "Um, Boralle, as a wee point of procedure here, you probably don't have to ask a man if he'd mind you touching his cock." He tossed back his hair and grinned at her, eyes alight with laughter and something else—passion? "Especially not if you're about to get naked with him."

  Suiting words to action, Rory tugged at the ribbons holding the neckline of her dress, and in one strong sweeping movement freed her from her ruffles and skirts and laid her as nude as he was.

  For long seconds she stilled, feeling the most incredibly unusual sensations of the sunshine warming her bare skin and the wind dusting tiny fingers across its sensitive surface.

  "Now. You said something about touching?" That huskiness was back in Rory's voice, and he eased himself down on his back, looking completely comfortable and watching Boralle's face as he waited for her to decide on her next move.

  A shiver of excitement trickled down her spine, and she raised herself up on one elbow, looking at the delectable expanse of masculinity lying next to her.

  All hers.

  It was a heady feeling, and she felt an appreciative grin curl her lips as she wriggled closer to him and put her hand on his chest.

  She could have sworn she felt an answering ripple of pleasure cross his flesh.

  He had a soft furring of red-gold hair dusting his fine muscles, and she ran her fingers through it, stopping when she found a tightly furled nipple that just begged to be played with.

  He sucked in air as she tweaked the copper nubbin, and then sighed as she obeyed some instinct buried deep in her DNA and leaned over to tease it with her tongue.

  "Oh Rory, this is fun," she muttered. She shifted to suck on his other nipple, incidentally brushing her own against him at the same time. "You taste so...so..." The words deserted her.

  How could she describe something she'd never tasted before? She had no frame of reference, but she knew one thing for certain. He didn't taste anything like chicken.

  Getting bolder, she traced the line of his rippling muscles with her tongue, ending up at his navel. Her hands stroked and smoothed wherever they fell, brushing once against his cock and bringing a shudder to the body so generously being offered for her pleasure.

  She smiled. It seemed that she had it in her power to reduce the mighty warrior to trembling. Well, well. Wasn't that interesting?

  Rory's navel yielded its secrets to Boralle's probing tongue as she swirled and dipped and poked, and made him chuckle with her light, tickling forays into his indented belly.

  Then she shifted, and his skin tightened beneath her hands.

  She moved further down, placing one hand on a brawny thigh and feeling the muscles flex under her palm. His forest of red-gold curls tickled her nose, and she blew gently through them, bringing a moan to Rory's lips.

  "Is that a bad thing I'm doing?" she asked.

  "Nay, lass. It's a very good thing you're doing," he whispered.

  Lifting her head she took a good long look at his good long cock. It was truly a thing of beauty. It stood tall, proudly ready to take on whatever challenge the Laird found for it.

  The challenge of bringing her into a new world of knowledge and desire.

  Boralle felt herself loosen inside at the thought of him—of this—pounding into her body. She ran her fingers up its length to the flange that circled the head. Gently she traced the ridge with her tongue.

  The groan from Rory's throat surprised both of them.

  "That hurts?"

  "Oh God, nay, lass. It's so good I'm like to die from it," Rory growled back.

  Boralle grinned. That good, huh? She did it again, this time holding him in one hand and sliding her other onto the flat plane of his belly.

  His unique scent filled her nostrils and she sucked it in, inhaling him, learning him, feeling his musky fragrance slip through her lungs into her bloodstream and imprint itself somewhere near her medulla oblongata. From there it moved quickly and quietly into her hypothalamus.

  She was branded with it. She'd never forget it, and she would know him even if every light in the galaxy went out at the same time.

  She'd know that distinct scent that said "mate."

  It was a moment of sheer wonder for Boralle, and the fact that she was holding an enormously erect cock at the same time unleashed a torrent of strange emotions within her.

  She sank her mouth down over him, as far as she could, licking, sucking, pulling against his silky skin with her teeth. If she could have devoured him, she would have, so hungry was she for this man.

  Rory's moan of pleasure startled her with its strength. God, he must really like this. Which was nice, because she liked it too. She flicked her tongue around the underside of the head and drew back, watching his reaction. He moved beneath her hands, his body taut.

  A small bubble of bluish-tinged liquid oozed from the tiny eye. She delicately touched her tongue to it and let the unique flavor-scent roll over her taste buds.

  Mmm...different. Sweet but tangy, salty and with a dash o
f some exotic flowery kind of overtones.

  She shifted, anxious to get into the best position possible for what she was coming to regard as her safari over Rory's body. Fidgeting, she settled herself between his legs, pushing his massive thighs apart, and grunting a little at the effort required. She glanced up and caught a definite smirk on his face. She stuck her tongue out at him in a totally unguarded moment of sheer childish mischief.

  "Aye lass. You're getting the idea," he chuckled. "Keep that tongue busy and you'll hear no complaints from me."

  She snorted and sat down on her heels between his legs. Oh this was perfect. Now she could play with the rest of his toys. And ooooh...what did we have here?

  *~*~*~*

  Rory gritted his teeth as Boralle carefully discovered his balls. Her touch was tentative, interested and about to drive him over the edge into screaming insanity.

  When she stroked them he gasped. When she lifted them away from his body and rolled them hesitantly in her palms, learning his weight and feel, he nearly lost all semblance of control.

  When she bent her head to run her tongue and lips around them, he knew he was about to die because he swore that he could hear angels singing.

  It was the most amazingly wonderful moment he could ever recall, and although other women had pleasured him in a similar fashion, none had come close to making him feel this way. No one had touched him with the mixture of reverence and curiosity that Boralle was using.

  No one had dropped light kisses on his cock and his balls out of sheer desire to explore him. The mixture of complete innocence and unconscious sensuality was doing him in.

  He had to make her stop. In a matter of light years or so.

  "Rory, are all men made like this?" She breathed the question over his cock, which she'd just pulled from her mouth. Her moisture still coated it and her breath felt cool against the wet shaft.

  He shivered. "What? I...well, I canna say...I dinna think...Oh God, lass." He groaned as Boralle gave up waiting for him to form a coherent sentence and lowered her hot mouth over him once again.

  It was almost too much.

  He pulled away from her soft lips with a sigh. "No more, sweetheart. 'Tis my turn now, or we'll get too far ahead of ourselves."