by Alana Khan
“Slag. Perfect.”
As much as I love a man going downtown on me, it’s usually an appetizer prior to the main course. I’m surprised, then, when I edge toward release. My fingers grab his thick shoulders with an intensity that might hurt another male, but it spurs Slag on in all the best ways as his tongue circles faster, a second finger joins the first, and he pumps harder.
It still doesn’t feel like enough, so I meet him thrust for thrust until I scream my release.
My moans fly around the enclosed chamber, echoing on themselves, continuing after my last spasm fades.
“Shit, Slag. You’re a fast learner,” I pant.
That usually impassive face looks pretty proud right this moment. The thrusting chest and gleam in his eye give him away.
So does his engorged cock. The green skin looks glossy, as if it’s stretched far too tightly.
I lean over, ready to perform a reprise of the other night’s oral sex, when I realize I’m ready for round two myself.
No, not ready. I’m desperate.
I reach between my legs and feel my slickness. I’m so drenched and dripping wet I feel it drizzling down onto my back hole. I’ve never been this wet before, never been this horny.
The thought bursts into my brain that something’s not right. I like Slag. I want to pleasure him and receive pleasure in return, but my body isn’t normal. Maybe this is the radiation, but that doesn’t even make sense.
And Slag. Look at him. The normally mild-mannered male who lets me call the shots is fisting his cock, his gaze riveted to mine. If I could read it, the thought-bubble over his head would say, ‘If we don’t fuck in one minute I’m going to explode’.
I think it’s the reds. I wonder if they’re aphrodisiacs. Garden of Eden. Apples. Snack. I don’t have time for this train of thought.
“Slag, you’re going to have to go slow. You get me? Slow.”
He nods his head and I have no idea if he understands a word I just said.
I have a better idea. We’re going to do this at my pace.
Straddling him, I place him at my entrance with the full intention of taking long minutes making sure I’m not only lubed and prepared, but can handle him.
Lubed? Check.
I press onto him, certainly not more than half an inch.
“Dear God. You’re so hot!” His flesh on mine is burning as his girth sits in the entrance to my hole.
He’s huffing now. He’s lodged his fingers in my hair. One look at his face tells me he’s trying with all his might to keep his ass on the mat and not thrust up into me. Odds are fifty-fifty he can follow through with those great intentions for even one minute more.
I slide a millimeter lower, surprised to find my body’s putting up no resistance.
“Nothing compares to this,” I babble as I throw my head back. The feeling’s just too good for me not to comment on it.
I slide lower, still encountering no problems. I look down in the dim light at our bodies as they merge. His impossibly huge green cock entering my channel is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I have no idea how it’s working, but it is.
On my next glide downward, I take a gamble and travel an entire inch. No barriers to entry.
Being intimately acquainted with his member, I know this is where things are going to get real. There’s a big bulge coming up. On a normal-sized male, this would be heaven. I have a feeling that on Slag it’s going to be hell—or impossible.
I pump a few times where I am, then test him, touching his bulge with my fingers. It’s lubed to the max from my cream.
“Here goes, big guy.” I stop in mid-motion, though, and look at him.
He’s got to be so horny he could burst, but he’s looking at me with this amazing sweet and sexy combo. His luminous green eyes are full of soft emotion and hard lust.
I lean forward and kiss those wide chartreuse lips at the same time I pulse downward, sliding right over the thickest part of his cock. There’s a stretch and burn that is as far opposite of pain as something can be.
I moan into Slag’s mouth as he moans into mine. And that signals the end of my dominance.
In a swift motion, I’m on my back and Slag’s knees are between my thighs. He makes two long, slow thrusts, his gaze never leaving my face. I’m certain he’s confirming that no Earth girls are going to be harmed in the making of this stellar sex act.
“Good,” I moan, making the word into three syllables. The echo elongates it even more.
Preliminaries are over. Slag pounds into me, his hips pistoning like a jackhammer. I must be in an altered state. I’m not paying attention to the stone I feel under the thin mat, the insects buzzing in the depths of the cave, the water rushing nearby, or the wind howling outside. My mind isn’t thinking of the prohibitions against what we’re doing or the incongruity of the fact that I’ve never felt so connected to a man before except this is not a man.
“Fuck me harder,” I demand, even though it’s not possible. But it is! He’s thrusting me off the mat and onto the stone floor itself, and I don’t fucking care. All I say is, “Harder!” and he pounds into me, the sounds of our flesh slapping together eliciting hoots and caws from the mystery animals residing in the cave’s depths.
He’s grunting like an animal. No, maybe that’s me. Finally, his rhythm changes and the fast, full thrusts slow down into those wonderful all-the-way-out-and-all-the-way-in-again pulses that make me go wild and indicate he’s about to come.
He pounds against me one last time, spilling his essence into me with a groan that would sound like he’s just been pierced through the heart, except the look on his face is pure fucking bliss.
That’s it. It’s that look that pushes me over the edge and I come like I’ve never come in my life. My inner muscles milk his cock for minutes. Can a person die during orgasm? Because this is too fucking good to tolerate.
I finally quit spasming and fall back onto the stone floor, not caring that there’s a hump of rock pressing between my shoulder blades. How could it irritate me when I’m in bliss?
Slag rolls me on top of him and kisses me everywhere his lips can reach. I wish I could read his mind. Does he think this was more than sex? Do I?
“Who gives a fuck?” I ask myself out loud. “That was amazing.”
I feel his essence drip out of me as I nestle my head under his chin and pass out.
Slag
Love.
Chapter Four
KJ
I etch a line into the wall every morning. I just marked number twenty-one. That sums up a lot of what the last three weeks signify—marking time.
At first, when I helped Slag climb out of that hole, I felt like a character at the end of a happy Disney movie. I’d discovered water, we had shelter, and I assumed we’d find something edible in the bioluminescent cave. I had my new friend and optimism that somehow we’d find a way to escape to a better place. All I needed were a few singing birds circling my head and the credits would roll for another Hollywood blockbuster.
Then we swam and found the reds and had better-than-ever-in-my-life sex. And I’m certain Slag would agree because for him it was the-only-sex-in-my-life sex.
That first night I had a good hunch the reds were aphrodisiacs. Now I’m certain of it. We had sex in every possible way and in every position. We had it fast and slow and in the water. Slag learned every way to turn me on, and then he perfected it. And then I got sore. But we couldn’t stop.
I tried an experiment. I decided we shouldn’t eat for a few days. It’s not like there were other things on the menu. The animals we hear at night have better night vision than us—we can’t sneak up on them. There’s no other vegetation that looks promising. And eating insects? I won’t even go there.
So the intense arousal began to subside after two days of fasting, but how long could we be expected to keep that up?
Now we just fast when my poor nethers can’t take it anymore.
I shouldn’t complain, though,
not only is the sex terrific, but Slag and I are friends. I’m pretty sure his thoughts are more clear than they had been in the mine. I think he understands most of what I tell him.
We found several huge rocks that made natural bowls, and due to Slag’s colossal strength, he fills and carries them from the interior every day so we have fresh drinking water in the outer cave at all times.
We try to explore the planet, but it’s hard since the reds make us so horny we have to stop every hour or two to take the edge off. Thus far, though, we haven’t come upon any other humanoids, so we don’t have to worry about being interrupted.
A week ago we explored farther outside the cave than we have in the past, and saw the rooftop of Sooma Ryone’s mansion. It’s half a day’s walk and I doubt anyone’s looking for us. They left us for dead. But still, his evil presence looms over us like a pall.
The day after our return from that expedition everything changed.
I’d worried about Slag’s health since I realized the mine was heavily irradiated. I was only there two days and felt the effects. Since escaping, though, my energy and thinking have returned to normal.
Though Slag can’t talk, he understands some of what I say and can nod and shake his head.
Communication is hard, I have to ask just the right questions. He has a subdural translator just like me. I guess it’s worth the expense to our owners so we can be more productive slaves. If I ask the perfect questions, I can get a lot of information with just him nodding yes or no.
I’ve seen so many times in emergency situations where it’s only after the adrenaline wears off that the body feels exhausted. I can’t imagine how long Slag’s body has been in survival mode
After asking hundreds of questions, I understand he was down there a long time. Like years. Many years. He says most miners die within months, some last a year. The big male has no idea why he stayed strong and never died.
But he’s dying now. At least I think he is. It doesn’t make sense that within weeks of escaping the toxic environment, his body decides to give out now, but that seems to be what’s happening. I guess all those years in the mines have finally taken their toll.
Six days ago, the normally strong green giant laid down for a nap. In the middle of the day. That alone should have tipped me off, but I chalked it up to being his first vacation day in years.
The day after that he rested after carrying one hollowed-out rock from the stream. Usually, he brought two.
Since then his health has swiftly declined. Sometimes his eyes can’t focus on me, even though he tries. Just now I started crying when his hand couldn’t get a piece of fruit from where it lay on his chest to his mouth.
“Slag,” I say as I crawl next to him on the soft pile of vines we’ve made into a bed in the outer cave. I turn to face him and cup my hand to his cheek. Although I’m afraid to admit to either of us how much he means to me, I decide to say it.
“I don’t know how much you understand, Big Guy.” I pet his face. “Sometimes I think you get everything I say. Sometimes you fade out on me.”
I think he’s tuned in now. His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“You scared me so much at first. When you came roaring toward me that first day and knocked all those males to the ground, I thought it was so you could have me to yourself . . . you know, to hurt me. But you protected me, Slag, and continue to protect me. I care about you. We’re a team.”
He nuzzles my hand, then his head falls against the bed and his eyes glaze over.
I couldn’t love him, could I? I don’t even know him. It’s not Stockholm Syndrome—he didn’t kidnap me—but maybe it’s some White Knight Syndrome. He certainly saved my life a couple of times. Although I saved his, too.
I cuddle him all day as he gets quieter, refusing food and water.
Geographically, we’re in a bowl. I think that’s why we escape the brunt of the howling winds much of the time, but all day the winds have been picking up, punctuating the drama that’s going on inside our little cave.
Suddenly, the ground trembles. Between the intensifying winds and the quaking soil, it pulls Slag from his slumber.
I stand at the mouth of our cave looking out, shielding my face from the sandy wind. What I see scares the shit out of me. The ground is moving as if something underneath it is writhing under the crust. It’s almost as if an animal has created a burrow right under the top of the soil and is moving at lightning speed.
Far off in the distance, I see something burst through the ground and grab one of the little mammals we see darting through the landscape from time to time. The enormous toothed worm dives back underground, the small mammal already swallowed alive.
Slag got out of bed a few minutes ago. He was at my side and watched the life and death drama unfold. Pulling me next to him, he leans against the cave opening and we watch as the world goes haywire outside our front door.
The underground animals create furrows under the soil, but they stay a football field away from us, or more. They must not be able to break through rock, and we’re sitting on thick slabs of it.
I urge Slag to go back to bed, the effort of standing is obviously costing him, he’s sweating even though the furious winds have brought the temperature down a bit. He doesn’t, though, he stands like a stone sentinel at the arched opening to our cave, his posture screaming to whatever’s out there that they’ll have to fight him to get to me.
It’s almost fully dark when he stiffens, looking off to the left out the safety of our cave. He stands straighter with a soft grunt.
“What is it?” I wonder out loud.
He points.
“More worms?”
He shakes his head and points to me and then himself.
“People?”
He nods.
Shit. We haven’t met any nice people on this planet. None.
He points to the small opening into the bioluminescent cave. He wants me to hide there. I can’t hide when he’s half-dead on his feet.
“Are you going out there? Unarmed? Sick? Are you crazy?”
He shakes his head, just once, as if moving more than that is too much effort, then he points again to the almost-invisible opening.
I grab the small knife I’ve been working on. I’ve chipped away at a jagged piece of obsidian and wrapped the handle in vines. Sticking it into my jeans pocket, I return to his side.
Pointing at the hole again, he makes his sternest face—brows lowered, bottom lip thrust out. I can tell he has no energy left to argue with me and no intention of staying here. I don’t want to cost him anymore effort, so I crawl into the humid cave and wait for him to leave, then trot behind. He didn’t even grab the axe when he left, so I think he’s too sick to notice me.
Even though he’s barely been able to think since I met him and he’s been worse the last week, he has a sixth sense about self-preservation. He doesn’t walk in a straight line, he meanders, always staying on the hard, black igneous rock to keep us safe from the underground worms.
He stops suddenly. From behind, he doesn’t look near death now. He looks formidable, every thick muscle in his body is on red alert. Pulling my knife from my pocket, it provides me no comfort. It’s so small it barely qualifies as a weapon.
It’s too late for him to send me back to our cave, so I approach from behind and touch the bare skin on the small of his back. He’s not startled, nor did I expect him to be. He knew I was following.
I see people emerge through the blowing sands. It looks like five humanoids, four different races. The one female among them looks remarkably human. They stop in their tracks as they see us. One of the males pushes the female behind his back to protect her. Perhaps these people have some sense of decency.
We’ve come all this way, I guess there’s no reason to hide now. I hope they’re friendly.
“Hello,” I call.
“Hello,” the female calls back. Have I lost my mind, or did she speak in English? I don’t think my translator needed to e
ngage.
“Human?” I ask.
“Elyse from New Jersey,” she says.
A laugh bubbles up out of my mouth. A human! From New Jersey!
“KJ from Illinois,” I say as I take a step forward.
“Stop!” she says, putting her palm up in a halt motion. “Who’s he?”
“Slag. A friend. Harmless.” Shit. I shouldn’t have admitted that. I can see all four males are armed. This could all be a trick and I just announced my only protection is harmless. “He’s big and strong, but he’s kind. A helper. He’s the one who came to help you, but he knew he’d need my help to smooth the way.”
