by Renee Rose
“But not tonight,” she says, her whole body taut.
“Not if you are good,” I agree, and slap her pussy again, harder.
She sucks in a breath and her thighs clench, but her legs remain open.
“Juicy enough for you yet, Tarren?” I ask, slapping her a third time, making this one even sharper.
She moans and jerks her hips up to me. “Do it again.”
I dip a finger into her body. “You’re so wet, Riya.” I slap her a few times, lighter ones, making sure that the last few land on her clit. Her body twists and she cries out, the sound one of pleasure.
“Almost wet enough,” growls Tarren, so I slap her again, the sound reverberating around the chamber.
“Over,” I say, tapping her hip, “and up on your hands and knees. You know that’s my favorite way to veck your ass.”
“It’s my favorite, too,” she murmurs, and I groan with the sudden need that surges through my body.
I reach for the bottle of lubricant that is waiting on the cover and press the tip of it to her hole. I squeeze, allowing a good amount of it to squirt into her body. She shifts and mumbles something unintelligible, so I slap her ass and squirt again. By the time I drizzle the lube onto my rock-hard cock, I can barely wait.
“Keep your ass cheeks soft and open for me,” I remind her, pressing the tip to her entrance. She clenches up, then relaxes, and I press in.
“Oh,” she cries, arousal in her voice, as she always does when one of our cocks enters her ass. I hold her hips steady as I push in, inch by inch, enjoying her wiggles. Once I’m fully seated, just as always, she relaxes into me as her muscles accept my member, making a low moan of appreciation.
“Veck, it feels so good to be deep inside you like this,” I say, holding her hard enough to leave bruises. “I’m going to veck you hard. Remember, you don’t get to come, and if you do, you get punished.”
“I remember,” she gasps. “But I might have to come anyway.” She loves being made to wait, though, so I don’t feel guilty. She’s told us more than once that being forced to hold out results in the best orgasms.
Teasing her is so vecking fun—taking her to the edge of her self-control and forcing her to stay there, take it, take whatever I want to give. It’s a headrush like no other, and I veck her for a long time, drawing my cock out and thrusting in, sometimes reaching down to finger her clit until she grows frantic under my body and I can sense that she’s no more than a second from giving in.
We’re both sweating by the time I roar her name and thrust deep, coming so hard I see stars, filling her ass with my cum. She’s chanting my name, and I don’t know if she’s begging me for release, or if it’s an invocation to the universe to help her hold out. Either way, my orgasm is the most glorious thing in my world and I fall beside her, sated, and hold her in my arms until I can think again.
Tarren
Riya is so needy now that her eyes are glassy with desire, and her whole body is taut with the need to come. Ronan wipes her ass gently, cleaning her after his veck, but I can see that she has only one thing on her mind right now… My cock, that if she’s lucky, will grant her an orgasm of her own.
She stares at me, her eyes wide, and I need her just as badly. She’s under my skin, she’s in my mind, she’s the one I think of when I fall asleep and when I awake in the morning. Watching my cousins veck her and leave her wanting has made me so hard I can barely stand. She’s dying for a cock, and it’s mine that will satisfy her. Mine that will please her tonight.
I bend down to lick her, the taste that drives me mad, and then kiss her, and she attacks my mouth eagerly, thrusting her tongue to meet mine, pushing her hips to me.
“Taste yourself?” I ask, and bend down to lick her again, over and over, before pressing my lips to hers. “Taste that pussy, the one we all love so vecking much.”
“Mmm,” she murmurs, sucking my tongue, reaching her hand down to squeeze my cock.
“Yeah, grab it hard, rub it like that,” I urge her, as she starts stroking me. “Stick your fingers in your pussy and get your juices all over your hand so it’s slick while you stroke me.”
She does, and the feel of her wet palm is pure bliss. I can only take a few minutes before I flip her onto her back. “I’m going to go so deep you’ll scream,” I warn her, kneeling on the hoverdisk and tugging her hips so her ass is on my thighs. I spread her legs and adjust my stance so my cock pushes at her cunt. “Like this, little human.”
I press into her body and she cries out, trembling, as I stretch and fill her. Even wet as she is, my cock is so large that I have to move slowly to avoid hurting her as I enter.
“Tarren, so good,” she mumbles, tossing her head.
“Squeeze your nipples, hard,” I order. “Pull them out from your body until I say to stop.”
She does it, taking hold of her hard nubs and tugging.
Her nipples are so pretty, taut and extended—I could watch her do this all planet rotation. “Tarren, please, I need you,” she says.
I can tell the tingle in her nipples is at that perfect level to drive her arousal higher. I’ve learned her body well these past lunar cycles, and I don’t want to cause her pain… just a little sting, enough to maximize her pleasure. “Stop there and hold that position,” I tell her, “while I veck you. If you let go or reduce the pressure, I will not let you come. I want you to feel your nipples aching while your pussy explodes.”
“Oh, Mother Earth,” she mutters, but keeps the tension on her nipples.
Before, I wanted to strap her, but right now, all I can think about is exploding inside her body. Using her hips as leverage, I veck her, slowly at first, then harder, until I know my release is approaching.
“Do you want to come?” I murmur, my voice low and rough.
“Yes!” She’s hoarse with need, playing with her nipples for both of us.
“Do you think you were a good little human for us tonight? Did you get wet enough and accept your mouth and ass vecking? Did you love every second of it?” As I speak, I thrust harder.
“Yes,” she wails. “I’m your good sex slave. I love it when you veck my mouth and my ass, I love it all, but please let me come, don’t make me wait!”
“If I tell you to wait until tomorrow, or you’ll get a whipping, will you wait?”
I tease her clit with my index finger.
She jerks in my hands. “I’ll wait if you tell me to, but please, for the love of the planet, please let me come!”
I flick her clit a few more times. “Will you be good for us again tomorrow, and offer up your ass and pussy for spanking and vecking? Without arguments?”
“Yes, anything,” she says, desperation in her tone.
“Then you may come,” I decree. “When I tell you.”
I pump her one more time. “Now.”
And she screams again and again, body contorting, as I come into her as hard as I ever have. “Tarren,” she wails. “TarrenRonanJax!” And she crumples up her face and her whole body stiffens, then she goes slack, panting, a sheen of sweat covering her body.
I roar out my orgasm, fire flashing in my eyes, and then collapse beside her, grabbing her to me, as if by holding her tightly, I could keep her with me forever.
When I come back to myself and look around, I note while Riya’s lying on my chest, her other hand is in Ronan’s. Stretched across the foot of the hoverdisk, relaxed and casual, Jax has one hand on her calf, stroking it up and down. He loves massaging her feet and legs—I smile at our usual positions. Somehow, nobody argues that I’m usually the one to hold her against my body, the one who vecks her last.
Riya
We lie on the hoverdisk, relaxing. Surrounded by the fiercest warriors on this planet, I revel in the utter safety and comfort they provide. When we are together, I lose all of my fears, all of my ugly past, and just exist in the moment. Joy I’d never known existed.
But now, as we relax together, the world slips back into my brain, settling like a
thick fog, sending tendrils of the usual anxiety. I sigh.
Jax squeezes my calf. “Riya…” His voice sounds sated, but also questioning.
“I’m great,” I tell him—and it was. “Just relaxing. Making sure my legs still work.”
Ronan chuckles. “If they don’t, I will carry you around like a large baby.”
All three of them laugh, but my unease intensifies when Tarren places a hand on my belly. “Soon, then, you’ll be carrying two of them, Ronan—her, and the one she’ll grow for us.”
I bite my lip, trying not to tense under his palm, feeling less protected now, and more—trapped. Tied up in my own untruths and secrets.
“I never knew life could be like this,” Ronan says, his voice musing and soft, pressing my palm to his lips.
“Nor did I.” Pain rips through my chest. Mother Earth, it hurts. If I’d been honest with them from the start, I wouldn’t be here now, enjoying this intimacy. But in telling the truth, I would have avoided the inevitable conflict that lies ahead of me like a predetermined cancer.
“I think what I like most,” Tarren says, his voice slow, like he’s feeling out the words as he goes, “is the trust we have built.”
Ronan and Jax makes noises of assent as Tarren continues. “The three of us, our bond has only deepened by sharing you, Riya. Having you at our side, working with us, gives me happiness.” He pulls me to him for an unexpected kiss on my temple, and I tear up.
Jax caresses my ankle. “Knowing that we don’t have to worry about lies, or deceit, that we come home to a place full of safety and affection, it’s everything.”
Ronan entwines our fingers. “They’re right. There are so many beings in the galaxy that are full of misery—even the ones we should be able to trust the most. Like Gunt, stealing crystals from King Zander.”
Tarren’s grip tightens. “Do not mention that vecking piece of excrement to Riya. You dishonor her purity by bringing him up.”
I blink rapidly, a cold feeling gripping my chest. “I want to learn about your past. Tell me?”
“He was a dishonest thief who does not deserve to share the same air we breathe. His deception and betrayal cost us dearly and hurt Zandians we care for greatly.” Tarren’s voice is hard. “He was running the crystal out on every excursion we took with him. We had no idea he was lying to us. Zandians never lie.”
Jax massages my toes, something that usually makes me moan with pleasure and melt into the covers, but this planet rotation I’m stiff. “That’s horrible.”
“Prison is too good for him.” Tarren’s body tightens, before he relaxes. “He will never be forgiven, as long as he and I live.”
I nod. “I guess some things… are too big for forgiveness.” I’m amazed my voice doesn’t tremble.
Zandians never lie. How will my warriors ever forgive my deceit?
“Can you pull up a cover? I’m feeling cold.”
Ronan jumps down and retrieves my favorite fleece blanket from the side couch he favors. His jaw is red as he spreads it over me. “I like sleeping with it,” he admits. “It smells like you. I don’t mind at all that you sleep with Tarren most nights, but I sleep better with your scent near me.”
I reach out and run my fingers through his hair. “You can sleep with it always. I just want it right now.” Even with the cover over me, the cold won’t leave my bones.
9
Riya
My breath comes faster as I step outside the dome and look past my gardens, and I squeeze the hand-knife in my pocket to make sure it’s still there. Hoisting my canvas sack to my shoulder, I take a deep breath. The scent is of wet earth, moist from a recent rain, and the green smell of my sprouts. My mates are all gone for their daily assignments, and I have plans of my own.
I look back at the dome, seeing the marigolds reflect like fire through the rippling glass, undulating in my field of vision like carpets of orange. I learned the secret to make them grow.
Once I requested the ancient texts to be sent to our comms unit, I began the arduous work of translations. English is a dead language, not just dead but forgotten, but some beings in the galaxy have collected libraries of old things. Scripts from Alexandrine, a galaxy that exploded eons ago, after a small group escaped by pods. Scrolls from the Tarrhexian planet, obliterated in a battle that’s long since been forgotten by history. And tomes from Earth, books that long ago expired into dust, but were scanned into electronic form to live on as long as some being deems them worthy of space on some galactic server.
I’m no genius. But I knew I could teach myself to cipher, and I did it. King Zander mentioned that all humans would receive training in time, once a program was created later, but allowed me to try on my own.
I spent hours toiling over the strange symbols, using a word list to translate the archaic phrases into my tongue. Slowly the words came alive, burst into three-dimensional color, as I unlocked—line by line—the advice from human farmers, planters, like me who lived so many years ago.
I have so many things I can teach my friends, but first I need to make sure my gardens are reliable, that what worked once will work time and again. And right now, I need some plants that grow only here, because the mixture of old Earth seeds with Zandian plants is proving to help strengthen the Earth salves and lotions a dozen-fold.
Tarren has forbidden me to go past our property boundaries without him or another mate and has told me I may definitely not—ever—travel alone, until this vipn outbreak is understood and contained. Why the population is moving toward the edge of the forest is a mystery, one that is not as interesting to the Zandians as the rehabitation projects.
I need to get bark from the Argrax bush. I heard rumor that it contains a powerful medicine—salicylic acid—that helps reduce fever and inflammation. If it’s true, I am positive that if I can extract acid from the bark, I can include it in a salve that will increase Zandian healing time by five times.
It’s just that the bark is located in the forest where I’m not supposed to go. Still, I have my knife for protection, and, tucked into my sack, an acidic mixture I created, which I keep tightly capped in a glass vial. Chemical warfare for one. I would be loathe to hurt a living being, but just in case…
In the back of my mind an idea grows, imagining this fluid sprayed large-scale onto an enemy ship, weakening the metal, causing the thing to split open like ripe seed pod in fall, brown and brittle. Maybe I will become Jax’s warrior general, after all, someday.
I shake my head and regrip the knife. It’s silent but for the trills of the Barillia, brightly plumed birds whose raucous call awakens us in the morning, birds that are not for eating, as their flesh is bitter and caustic. Their eggs, however, are divine—and I’ve discovered the shells, crushed into a fine powder, make a good fertilizer for herbs.
A sound makes me dart my head around, but it’s just a branch blowing in the wind. My pace is fast, my legs strong on the uneven ground. The woods are only seven miles away from the dome, but it’s another world, a place I never get to see. Even though I’m nervous about disobeying, and on constant lookout for vipn, the exultation of a solo adventure fills me with giddy joy, and I whoop and race ahead, feeling my hair stream out behind me, as free as I’ve ever been.
Medic work made me strong, and my daily tasks keep my muscles toned and tight, and I find that running a distance isn’t taxing. Yet as I approach the dark, misted reaches of the forest, I slow down, panting, and look around for danger. Seeing nothing extraordinary, I approach, keeping my footfalls soft and easy, eyes looking for my prize.
The Agrax is an epiphyte; it grows wound around other trees, roots exposed, absorbing what it needs from the misty air, using the host as a prop to stay off the forest floor. They favor the forest entrance, where the sunlight is stronger, but not the direct edge, because it’s too dry. I’m not too worried about the beasts, because they prefer the other part of the woods, where it’s darker and more protected. Still, they’ve been venturing out further these days
, so I need to be on the lookout.
Another slave told me on Earth, all those thousands of years ago, my ancestors tracked animals on foot, using prints, tracks, scat, and crushed grass to tell the path as clearly as if the animal stood up and called out the location. If only I could do that for the plants I need.
I hold the knife at the ready, my fist tight, ready to strike if necessary, but nothing comes, and as I advance slowly into the gloom, my heartrate calms, and I’m able to look around me and examine the area as a botanist.
Moss on the sides of the trees—all the same side. Needles from trees, leaves underfoot, making a cushioned mat. Bright blue fungal growths snarled in protruding roots—could that be Lissa, a mushroom that’s toxic when raw, but when cooked, releases a potent medicine that can aid sleep? I crouch down and cut some with my knife, allowing it to fall into a clean container that I seal up, then cleanse the knife on moss. I know better than to touch it with my bare fingers.
As I venture further, the air grows moist and a floral smell lingers. There are no bird calls here, just the crunch of debris under my feet. I pause as a shadow passes over the sun. It’s a long way back, and I need to leave soon if I want to stop by Holla’s dome on the way back home. She has herbs I need, not for a project, but for myself. If I stay on schedule, I can fit it all in and still beat my mates back home to avoid questions.
It’s then that I see it—the epiphyte I need. “I found you!” I exclaim. I pull another vial and scrape the loose, papery bark into the container. To my surprise, it rolls up into little scrolls, and it’s easy to get a lot of it.
I put on gloves and carefully unwind a smaller Agrax from the branch it has claimed, careful not to tear roots or rip leaves. It’s not toxic, but I don’t want to damage the fragile plant. I wrap it in a piece of lintless cloth and place it into my bag. If this bark is useful, I may be able to figure out how to make this bush grow back in my dome. I extricate another.