by Merel Pierce
“That’s right. Look at you,” Zeke said. “Look at her now, Foster. Damn. That stuff is good. But it won’t last long. Not long enough for my knot, anyway.”
Niddie didn’t understand, but she didn’t care. He’d done something, and she had lost herself.
“Please,” she said, crawling toward his crotch.
That smell. He had what she needed. What she wanted. She had to get that smell, suck it inside of her, taste it.
Oh, yes. She had to taste it right now.
Chapter Three
Druku
Druku opened the door. The little lamb who had ventured earlier into the lion’s den was now on her knees. He liked the sight. Lost to the drug forced upon her, all her haughty, pristine, self-imagined power eaten up by carnal need, she’d been reduced to a pose of supplication instead of command. Her sweet, exotic perfume saturated the room, a ripe, dew-heavy fruit ready to be devoured, calling to his basest self.
Reward. The word pounded through his brain.
She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Her hair was an iridescent brownish gray, framing her porcelain white face, pink cheeks, and full lips. Her little tongue came out to lick her bottom lip and his cock pulsed, suddenly painfully hard at the sight
And soon to be in Druku’s arms and on his cock.
This was a rare breeding female, born to be tied to a male. On this world, they labeled women like her an omega. The word had had no meaning to him at first, but in the ten days since his arrival, Zeke had spoken often of “the omega bitch in the house.” As if to torment the slaves, he spoke daily of his plan to sink into her omega heat. He taunted the males with the reward of the slut if they obeyed him when he killed the old man and took over the property.
Taken over by the drug, the woman reached for the foreman’s crotch.
“What the hell? Foster!” Zeke yelled. The surprise at seeing Druku, the big slave, enter the room uninvited contorted his face into a comical expression.
Druku left the double doors swinging wide behind him, letting Zeke see the twisted bodies of his friend and the convicts he had brought into the house. The alpha foreman reddened, fumbling for the kill switch at his side. Snarling in triumph, he lifted the black box.
The buzz at Druku’s neck went right through his skin to his nerves. It hurt, but he’d still been a child when his makers taught him how to control pain responses. This was nothing compared to other things he’d suffered.
Gripping his collar over its secondary detonation core—a small bomb positioned right over the spine and capable of blowing up half a person’s skull—Druku twisted. The device snapped with a loud crack. He let it drop to the floor, savoring the expression of Zeke’s face. Druku was not a man made of weak flesh and blood. He was not huumon. Or mortal.
An orki original was not brought low by such feeble things.
He had been alive a very long time, trapped in the world of these stinking huumon things. Nothing yet had managed to bring him low.
Except maybe this female.
He rushed Zeke, wanting done with the pitiful creature. He had to get him out of the way before the lamb touched any sickness-contaminated part of this stupid male.
For all his size, Druku was still a predator, fast and deadly, his core DNA stolen from other predators to make killing instinctive. With one hand he lifted Zeke by the head and shook him hard, snapped his neck, and then tossed him aside. There’d been more time in the entryway to hear the satisfying crunch of bone and enjoy the color of huumon blood as it splashed thick and heavy. Now there was no time.
There was only a female in need.
“Please. Please, help me. Touch me,” she whimpered, crawling up to him.
Pulling off his clothing, he ripped the thin slave pants from his waist, baring himself to her, his cock readied by her scent. Her pupils were so blown he couldn’t see her irises.
Carefully, as gentle as he could be, Druku cupped her head in his hand, steadied her, and touched the rich silk of her impossible hair. She’d done something artificial to it to get that frosty, light-chocolate color, but he liked it. It suited her.
Her tongue swiped her bottom lip again, and he willed himself not to spill his long-held seed all over her face.
Among his people, showing one’s tongue was the most intimate of acts, but it was also a common huumon habit that had ceased to affect him ages ago. They didn’t know any better. Never taught their young the sensuality of what he was sure should be a universal truth.
He’d had few interactions with females. In his captivity, he’d been used for heavy labor or killing when it suited him to follow orders. He had never seen a woman’s tongue eager to taste him, to know him in the basest way she could. He had never encountered one who smelled like this, delicious and ready for mating.
Nuzzling her face into his pelvis, she opened the sensuous cave of her mouth, licking over his sac with the tip of her tongue as she breathed in his scent. A rumble started in his chest that Druku couldn’t contain; a growl he watched ripple over her body, thickening her scent as the gathering moisture between her things dampened everything.
Mating. This was mating. He’d never had a female touch him. Want him. But his shared dreams, his memories and understanding from his lost brothers, told him what to do.
The little woman followed his scent to the tapered head of his cock. A lick there caused a pleasured kick at the base of his spine that made his hips jerk. She gripped his thick stem in her small, pale hands, trying to wrap them around him, capture him, bring him closer. He hissed at the sensation of her bold touch, then dropped to his knees to better accommodate the disparity in their heights.
“Woman,” he rumbled. “Take me in your mouth.”
She mewled, her tongue chasing the thick seepage of precum. The taking of his non-huumon essence into her body would cause changes and a bonding that could not be undone. She couldn’t know, and he wouldn’t tell her, not when her tongue licked at him, delved into his small slit seeking more of his essence, then closed over the reddened tip to suck.
Years he had lived and lost, separated from his kind, consigned to the mercy of races who used and abused him, and nothing—no one—had ever summoned a moan from the cradle of his being the way this female did. The deep sound poured out of him with her sucking. Her little hands gripped him, fingers fitting between the ribbing of his sex organ, tugging with the need to milk more of the stream from him.
She wiggled as she sucked him, taking as much of him as she could, and in her throat, there vibrated an answer to his own moan.
The smell of her made his head spin. She must be soaked. Wet. Ready. He would fuck her until she knew nothing but him.
Letting the female drink at him, he reached over, pulling at her clothing. She didn’t fight, but she wouldn’t move her mouth either. Druku had never undressed a woman before. Tearing the fabric with his extended claws seemed a better solution than trying to unfasten her.
He growled at her belt, tugging impatiently at it hard enough to lift her off the floor. Then he gave up and instead tore at the seams in her pants from where that sweet, addictive smell emanated, splitting her clothing open like paper.
Arousal dripped off her, a shine coating the cleft of her naked, hairless sex. He released a hungry growl at the sight, and slick rained from the swollen lips while her body trembled as if he’d stroked her. He growled again, found he could maintain the sound, and watched the noise wreck her.
“Oh! Oh, please!” She was whining and begging at his cock, twisting and trying to get him to pay more attention to the puffy flesh of her slit.
Bending fully to the floor, clumsy with the sensation of her mouth, he turned her and lay back so he could get his own taste of her sweetness. He tugged her toward him, and she cried out in distress at losing her treat.
“Please. Can’t you help me? I don’t know what’s wrong, don’t know what that pig gave me, but please, I need. I’ll do anything.”
“I want m
y turn. You will give me that and more,” Druku said, pulling the plush seam of her directly to his mouth and taking his feast, licking from back to front.
A surprised sound escaped her, as if all the air had been drawn from her chest and forced back in before she was ready. He licked at her, sampling the syrup of life and grace and future coating her sweet cunt.
Little hips wiggling in his hands, she tried to drive his mouth to her sensitive, needy places—the delicate pucker of her rear; the deeper, welcoming hole between her thighs; and the tiny hill of flesh at the top of her slit. She was flushed in shades of pink and red, the petals of a dangerous, alien flower that was going to hold him and never let him go.
Exactly like he had dreamed.
He growled as she writhed, and her body arched in response and pushed toward him, moisture for him to taste leaking free. She stroked and tugged his cock in stuttered attempts to capture him, but the pleasure at her own core made her jerk and tremble too much to simultaneously breathe and pay him proper homage.
There would be time to teach her how to split her focus later.
“Please,” she sobbed. “I need more.”
With the gorgeous curve of her spine and ass facing him, he could only see her face in profile. Her mouth, small and lush, bitten by her own teeth. He was going to set his teeth there also, test that cushiony softness with his own lips. Her hair brushed her face, cascading over the porcelain skin of her back. This woman was the cleanest, whitest thing he’d ever seen in his long life.
He was going to cover her in his slave cum, own her by the end of the day in the way only a male could own a female. She would only ever see Druku again; he would blind her to all others.
“What do you need, woman?”
“I don’t know. I feel—I don’t know.” She was crying. Her tears trickled down his belly.
He pulled her back, maneuvering her so he could tongue and suck that delicate, stiff organ at the top of her slit and explore her female channel with his fingers. Howling, she moved as if hit with the full voltage of a slave collar.
On the edges of his senses, Druku was aware of the huumon slaves he’d left alive. They hovered, anxious and uncertain, outside the door. He snapped his teeth in warning at them, a loud chomp only an orki could make. He would not share her. She would not succor them in their need—ever. He’d follow the instructions of his dream stories. He’d claim and keep her, teach her how to see him.
She’d take him forever.
With his forefinger, he touched the pink of her little entrance, caressing the wet, swollen tissue there. The way inside seemed abnormally small to him. Cautiously he sank his finger in, watching her body open.
“Oh. Hurts! Need. Please. Please!” Reduced to broken, insensible words, the woman begged him for more.
“Stay still,” he told her, giving her flank a swat. “You’ll hurt yourself. You’re small here. Wet. Tight.”
Her answers were noises of animal need. “Going to die if you don’t fill me. Don’t play. Please. Please. Please…”
What had made her this way? Should he fill her up, seed her, bind them irrevocably when the only thing that had made her accept him was a drug?
It was barely a question. Druku asked it of himself before discarding it. He’d take what was his. He’d claim and keep.
The woman was his redress for living in this forsaken world, and nothing would make him give her up now that he’d laid eyes on her.
“I see you, woman. See you.” He spoke in his own language, one that had not crossed his tongue in years. “You will see me. I’ll take you. Is that what you want? Do you want this orki slave to fuck you? Mount you like a bitch in heat?”
There’d be no whining that she didn’t want him later. He knew how these huumons worked, breaking promises, telling lies, ignoring laws to suit themselves.
Pushing his finger deep, he opened her, thrusting in and out, pumping it the way he was going to pump his cock. She squeezed at him, incredibly soft and welcoming. Putting his mouth back on that knobby hill at the top of her mound, he sucked while he fingered her, listening to her wail. Her muscles under his hands twitched and flexed, and he drank up her offering of cum.
“Name, huumon. What is your name?” he asked.
She blubbered something. He gave her ass a smack, watching the tight little curves jiggle. “Tell me what you are called. Tell me who you are.”
She howled. “Please, fill me!”
Three hard swats followed, changing her skin from white to hot-pink and dripping her liquid need all over him. “Tell me your name,” he commanded, two of his fingers stretching her, going deep.
“Niddie!” she cried. “I’m Niddie!”
“Niddie. My little lamb. My Niddie.” He pulled his fingers out, saw blood mixed with her dew, and lapped up the taste with his tongue. His kind did not bleed, engineered by the creator aliens so that their skin could split, their bones could break, and their insides could rupture, but they would always reshape themselves back to their original coding, an undying bio-machine.
Blood was a treasure, an incomprehensible power, a blessing; the first blood of his woman: sacred. Druku savored the copper and salt taste of it, worshiped it with his tongue while his redress female whimpered on top of him, legs splayed around his head and shoulders, chest against his sternum, hands pulling hard at his cock.
To take the root of him, she’d have to at least take three of his fingers. His hands were obscene things on her smooth, flawless skin. They were split and dry, light gray on the palms and speckled green, brown and black with natural camouflage on the back up to his shoulders. He’d never been more conscious of his size or beastliness.
Her noises were music to his ears, pain and pleasure, desire that inflamed her, took her over, and wrecked her. Drugged or not, he had every intention of keeping her this way as long as possible, invading her tender places, taking over, owning her.
“Niddie is mine. You belong to Druku Orki. My reward. My Ending. No other will touch you. Say it.”
“Please, please, please,” she begged.
He removed his fingers, spun her around, and filled his palm with her hair, tugging so that she felt the bite of pain. Disoriented, she blinked at him, one hand braced on his shoulder, the other over his head, her fingers buried in the long ropes of his mane.
“No other will touch you. Say it.”
She stumbled over her words, her mouth shaping sounds that were not the ones he wanted to hear. Helpless lamb. Fragile thing. Used to getting her own way. She must be taught to listen.
He gave her three fast swats; Druku would not be ignored. “No other will touch you. Say it.”
Her face crumpled in confused pain. “No other will touch me.”
“That’s right. I will kill any male who dares. Any male—soft high-born, robed master, or dirty slum-dweller. No other will touch my Niddie.”
He stared into her eyes, into her soul, watching shock and desire mingle there. It wasn’t what she wanted. Whatever played behind her eyes, it was not acceptance of his declaration.
He palmed her ass, moving her little shape down until his cock was right there, right where it could pierce her. Holding her still with his hands, he waited, watching her face as the drug she’d been given heated her insides to the breaking point.
“Please. It hurts. He did something to me,” she said.
“Say ‘I belong to Druku. No other will touch me. No other will see me.’ ”
“I don’t even know you. You’re a—”