My Prize

by Sahara Kelly

  His cock slipped from her body in a gush of blue fog.

  Slowly, he twisted around and lay back on the small couch, pulling Boralle with him until they lay, spooned, in the moonlight. Which was filtered through a rather large amount of blue mist.

  Boralle waved her hand and coughed.

  "Sorry, love," said Rory, not sounding sorry at all.

  "I'm not," giggled Boralle. "That was—that was—indescribable. I had no idea."

  Rory hugged her to him. "I didn't hurt your perfect little arsehole, did I?"

  Boralle chuckled again. "No you didn't. You severely damaged a good portion of my cognitive functions, which had no clue such things were possible."

  "And will they recover?" he asked, a laugh in his voice.

  She rubbed her bottom against him. "Oh yeah. Most definitely yeah. Um, Rory?"

  "What, lass?"

  "Can I ask you a question?"

  "Anything, sweetheart."

  "Er—what you just did...is that normal? I mean did humans do that all the time in your world?"

  He grinned. "Lass, there is no 'normal'between a man and a woman. If they love each other and enjoy each other, then whatever they choose to do is normal. For them. D'ye understand what I'm saying?"

  Boralle was silent for a moment, idly stroking her hand down Rory's arm which was wrapped firmly around her. "I think I understand. It's about how the mind feels more than how the body feels, isn't it?"

  She turned slightly within his grasp and looked up at him, blue eyes thoughtful. "You know, it strikes me that this whole business of having sex with another person is a great deal more intense and hugely more confusing than having sex with a TUNG booth."

  He quirked an eyebrow at her. "That's as it should be, Boralle. And it's not 'having sex', as you put it, either."

  "It's not? You could have fooled me," she quipped dryly.

  "It's making love. There's a big difference, lass."

  She was quiet for a moment, considering his statement.

  "How do you know when you're making love, Rory?"

  He thought about her question. "I canna answer that one, honey. I can only tell you..." he dropped a light kiss on her hair, "...we just did."

  *~*~*~*

  Something warm and glowing crept into Boralle's heart at Rory's words. They'd made love. They'd done something she thought had been relegated to the works of ancient poets and playwrights, or was part of the fantasies that could be found tucked between the covers of a Phrygian poem.

  She had no idea that it could actually happen. Clinically, she tried to analyze her physical responses.

  Arousal of the sexual organs. Check.

  Swelling of the breasts and consequent hardening of the nipples. Check.

  Lubrication of the vaginal area. Double extra-large check.

  Increased sensitivity of the clitoral area and engorgement of the clitoris itself. Check. Probably. She couldn't verify that, and wasn't about to put her head between her legs next time to watch.

  Next time.

  Dear God, she was ready for him again. Her body thrummed, every single molecule sensitive to the man cuddling her.

  And he was cuddling her, no mistake about it. There was no self-consciousness in Rory, no need to be the mighty warrior who fucked his women and then left for battle with a laugh on his lips and their scents on his cock. Or, as some would have it, warriors who fucked their women and then went out to grab a pizza and beer with a smile and a promise on their lips, and forgetting to return. Ever.

  Perhaps it was this cuddling that made the difference. Boralle continued her analysis dispassionately. Or as dispassionately as she could while lying in the arms of a large and tender Scotsman who was stroking her body like it was the finest silk.

  She knew there were creatures that purred. She'd never seen one, or heard one, but for a few moments her mind told her that purring would now be appropriate.

  She sighed instead.

  "Are you all right, lass?"

  The quiet question broke the silence that had fallen between them as they lay together limply, sated from their loving.

  Boralle smiled. "I am so all right it's impossible to describe," she answered truthfully.

  Rory smiled back and settled himself more comfortably. "'Tis glad of that, I am. We must talk, love."

  Her heart thunked. Somewhere in her DNA was a gene that sat up, tapped her on the shoulder and said "Uh oh. Here it comes, babe. The big brush-off."

  She began to pull away, only to be stayed by a strong arm.

  "Don't move. I like you just where you are. Over ma heart."

  She melted. Rass him, when he said things like that he turned her into a puddle of Dorkanian goo. Of course she didn't molecularly metamorphose into a pale lavender gaseous cloud right afterwards, but the principle was the same.

  "All right. I'm not moving. What must we talk about?"

  "These bloody games, Boralle."

  She frowned a little. "What about them?"

  "Don't ask me how I know this, lass, but there's trouble brewing at the Olympiad. And your friends, the Magans, are behind it."

  She stilled. "Define 'trouble'."

  Rory took a breath and blew it out between his teeth. "The Magans are sabotaging the game equipment on Frallien. They're going to replace it with defective stuff, booths that will dispose of competitors who score below a certain level. They'll systematically eliminate all the mid-range contestants, leaving them with the top spots. They don't believe they can be beaten."

  Her eyes widened as she let his words sink into her brain. "Dear God, Rory. They're going to kill the competitors, aren't they?"

  "That's their plan, I think. Yes."

  "Rass."

  "I couldn't have said it better, sweetheart."

  She wrenched herself out of his arms and started pacing. A futile exercise since she landed up nose to the wall within three steps.

  A squawk of frustration erupted from her throat as she turned to look at him. "Those rassing, degenerate, scum-dwelling...barbed...pricks."

  Rory's lips twitched. "If you say so, lass."

  "This is...this is outrageous. This is...this is...murder. Plain and simple. Heartless, cold-blooded murder."

  "Aye. That it is."

  "What do you mean 'aye'? Is that all you have to say? Can't you see how brutally wrong this is? Those rassing Magans will swagger in, wipe out half the competitors, score the highest tally and then turn around and walk off with the SPT specs, thus making them power-independent, and putting them in a position of planetary superiority. The next thing you know, they'll be powering up their ships with SPT generators, and fucking their way to other planets, which they will then fuck into submission."

  "Aw, fuck." His lips curled.

  Boralle frowned fiercely. "This is no laughing matter, Rory. We can't stand by and let a bunch of rassing reptiles kill harmless competitors at the Frallien Olympiad, let alone seize a technology to which they have no right. It's...it's immoral...and...illegal."

  "Calm down, lass."

  "I can't calm down." She strode away again, forgetting where she was and ending up with her face an inch away from the covering of the small hygiene sweeper.

  "Would it help you to know I have a wee plan?"

  She froze where she stood. "A wee plan?" Slowly she turned her face to Rory, blue eyes narrowed into slits. "You have a wee plan?"

  "That I do, lass. That I do."

  "And you couldn't mention this 'wee plan'of yours before? You'd rather let me go on ranting, scared to death that I might end up fried in a Frallien sensation booth?"

  "I'd never let that happen, lass. Never. And besides," his eyes twinkled wickedly at her, "yer breasts are lovely when you stomp around. All high and bouncy."

  She choked, torn between outrage and embarrassment.

  Heedless of the narrow space, she threw herself at him, fully intending to throttle him if she could get her hands around that thick muscled neck of his.

  "Ah
, lass. That's where I like you best." He laughed and caught her in a clasp of iron, holding her tight against his body.

  She couldn't help but notice something else that was growing in appreciation of her presence, and she felt her own juices begin to flow in response.

  He lowered his lips to hers and kissed her fears away. His tongue stroked and caressed her, driving all thoughts of intergalactic treachery out of her head and turning her limp with pleasure.

  "Ah, Rory," she sighed as he pulled his mouth from hers. "You kiss soooo good."

  "Ah, Boralle." He brushed his lips over her eyes, her cheeks, her nose, any part of her he could reach. "You taste sooooo good."

  "I need a sweep." She sighed as she said it, and pulled herself from his all-too-comfortable grasp. "Let's clean up and then you can tell me about this wee plan of yours. Somehow, it looks like you and I have to come up with a way to remove the Magan threat from this Quadrant." She shook her head as she tucked her body into the hygiene sweeper and activated the unit. "This certainly isn't what I signed up for!

  *~*~*~*

  In a similar small transport unit, about two hours behind Rory and Boralle, Commander Bendrick of Magus Prime stood naked with his hands clasped behind him, looking out the window at nothing in particular.

  His plans were in motion, his carefully re-engineered units were being installed at the Olympic forum on Frallien even as he began the long descent to the surface, and the Magan competitors were in peak condition.

  He glanced at his small hold-all and grinned, knowing his Magan wave-pistol was securely hidden in a small, undetectable pocket. Should there be any "objections" to Magan victory in these games, that little weapon should provide a convincing counter-argument.

  The thought of melting the brains of a couple of Fralliens was exciting—stimulating even—and without conscious thought, his cock began to unfurl. Visions of the streets of Magus Prime lined with females cheering his homecoming flashed through the Commander's mind and his cock grew longer.

  Reaching down he grasped himself. Hard. He was not one to bring himself to completion too often—there were sufficient females available that he had no need for his own hand.

  But here, in the privacy of this small cubicle, alone with his thoughts of success and with victory so close before him, this was a time for a private celebration.

  His three testicles jiggled as he began the jerking tugs that simulated his penetration of a Magan cunt. Fluid leaked from his barb slits and helped ease the friction of his hand, making an increased speed possible and even desirable.

  He visualized the meter on the Olympiad booths registering an incredible score. He saw the applause from both on and off-world as the Magans wiped the interspatial floor with any other competitor.

  He saw alien females screwed into a painful death by his clever machine.

  He saw his barbs spring free and just missed cutting off the top of one of his fingers by pulling back into his balls sharply.

  His hips thrust forward and he began to spray his seed—right across the window.

  With the typical hoarse bark he finished and breathed deeply, cock flopping now against his legs, his balls loose and dangling in their sacs around it.

  A few moments later a small red light appeared over the window and a hiss and crackle announced the activation of a recorded message.

  "Attention passenger 4731dash12D. Your window material has been compromised by an unknown source. Our sensors detect a potential weakening of its molecular structure. To prevent any life-threatening decompression or loss of your customized environment, we will be activating the sealing screen. We apologize for this inconvenience. Thank you for taking the Sontaran Elevator to the surface of Frallien IV. We hope you will travel with us again. Have a pleasant diurnal anomaly."

  Seconds later a solid metal sheet slid over the window opening, completely covering it and limiting the light in the room to the soft glow from the ceiling.

  Bendrick snorted. So his sperm was acid. Who gave a roaring fuck anyway. He settled himself on the couch and went to sleep.

  His cubicle was sealed tight not unlike like a casket.

  Ironically, that particular thought never crossed the Commander's mind.

  Chapter 15

  Before arriving on the surface of Frallien IV, foiling the terrible Magan plot and uniting Rory and Boralle in eternal bliss, we really should pause for a moment and familiarize ourselves with the root cause of all this trouble—the Fralliens, hosts of this whole whoop-de-doo.

  Frallien IV is the fourth planet in a small solar system consisting of twelve planets and an orbiting pile of debris.

  The debris is—or rather was—Fralliens I through III and resulted from a rather extraordinary experiment that took place two star systems away, between a laser, a new and improved birth control device, a small box of dark matter and the back seat of an Antarean station wagon. The two parties involved in the experiment were severely chastised, grounded, and forbidden to see each other again.

  Frallien IV happily remained untouched, and proved to be a charming planet, inhabited by beings whose sexuality was second to none in the quadrant.

  Because Frallien women ovulated only twice a year, and irregularly at that, it was necessary to ensure that both genders were constantly ready to mate. While this may sound rather similar to the senior year of any Terran high school, for the Fralliens it was a serious matter of continuation of their species.

  Consequently, their evolutionary process had ensured more than enough sex appeal to go around.

  Frallien brains contained an enlarged area of sexual receptors, and Frallien bodies were designed to exude the maximum amount of pheromonal emissions possible without rendering the opposite sex unconscious.

  Frallien males were almost incessantly hard.

  Frallien females were almost incessantly in heat.

  It was the perfect match.

  Their skins were pale and soft, and contained three times the number of nerve endings usually found in bi-pedal humanoids.

  The Frallien woman was always ready to leap on some of that fine upstanding Frallien cock, and the Frallien male was ready to lie down and let her at the drop of a metaphorical Frallien hat.

  Zippers were unknown on Frallien and, because of the temperate climate, clothing itself was mostly optional.

  All this excessive sexual energy had stimulated the thought processes of the Frallien scientists when they weren't fucking themselves into a stupor. The scientists, unfortunately, were rather lower on the list of eligible sex partners than, for example, sports figures or vid stars, and consequently they had a little more time to cultivate these thought processes.

  The chief scientist of the Frallien Research Institute was the man responsible for considering harnessing the sexual energy so blithely emitted by his people, and using it for purposes other than a crashingly fine orgasm.

  Within a generation, the technology was working, albeit in a somewhat limited fashion. It did require that a couple remain orgasmic for quite some time, and the electrodes and wiring tended to get caught up around their toes.

  Oral sex, which was very popular, didn't seem to result in the same output of energy, but anal sex, same-sex sex, and masturbation (in any one of a variety of inventive ways) worked just fine.

  Any minor inconveniences were ruled as annoying but manageable, and the population rapidly embraced the idea that a good fuck could power their vacuums, and a couple of eye-rolling orgasms would run the dishwasher.

  After more tweaking, thinking, orgasming and building, giant capacitors were created that stored all this output, and the Sexual Power Technology was perfected.

  Doing what they did best had provided the Fralliens with an almost inexhaustible source of clean, renewable energy.

  It was probably unsurprising that the majority of the residents wore smiles and little else, and Frallien became known throughout the local galactic cluster as "that fucking happy planet."

  The idea for the
Olympiad had been born soon after the technology was declared "on line", since even a planet full of happy little fuckers couldn't produce sufficient energy to continually power all the new appliances that were springing up as a result of this new, free supply.

  After manufacturing the most enormous storage capacitors, the Fralliens offered the first Olympiad and found, to their delight, that the sexual energies given off by almost any species was usable by their technology.

  Suddenly the SPT secrets were a hot property.

  They were immediately placed in a safe and undisclosed location (beneath the mattress of the Chief Scientist), and while other planets looked on enviously, the Fralliens merrily fucked their way into bigger and better microwaves and a nice selection of personal bug zappers that completely eliminated the mosquito problem on Frallien IV.

  Thus the Fralliens were happy, sated, smiling, and completely unprepared for the violence that the Magans had planned for them.

  They were also unprepared for Laird Rory McAllen.

  Who, as mentioned earlier, has a "wee plan", which he is now about to explain to Major Boralle North.

  Even though neither Boralle nor Rory is a Frallien, we should mention that their sexual energies certainly match or exceed any thus far measured on Frallien IV.

  And with that thought in mind...

  Chapter 16

  "Now, about this wee plan..." Boralle sat down next to Rory on the small couch, clean and somewhat refreshed.

  Rory had scrunched himself into the little cubicle and run the sweep unit as well, although he grumbled about it. It just wasn't the same as a good clean shower.

  They hadn't bothered to dress, both acknowledging that it would probably be a futile effort. Given their inability to keep their hands off one another, whatever they put on would be taken off again long before they reached the surface.

  Besides, realized Rory, being naked around Boralle was as natural as breathing now. He loved being able to feast his eyes on her body, all soft in the right places and smooth and firm in other right places.