“Bram!” she gasped, reaching up to grab onto his broad shoulder as he leaned over her. “Oh Gods, Bram, what are you doing to me?”
“Stoking your sweet little clit. Getting you closer, little one,” he murmured as his finger continued the gentle swirling motion over and around the tingling button at her center.
“Closer to…to…?” Alanah couldn’t finish the sentence. A feeling was building up inside her—a feeling so high and hard and deep she could hardly hold her hips still while Bram stroked her with that one gentle fingertip.
“Closer to coming, little one,” he murmured in her ear. “It’s all right, just let the pleasure build. And when it reaches a peak just let yourself go.”
Alanah didn’t have to ask what he meant by reaching a peak. She could feel her body doing it now. Closer and closer he pushed her—higher and higher, filling her body with bewilderingly pleasurable sensations she’d never felt before but somehow knew she had always craved.
If I’d known this was possible before, I would have been doing it all the time, she thought and then she felt the peak that Bram had been talking about. It was like something snapping inside her—a jagged bolt of pleasure that was overwhelming in its intensity.
“Ahh…Bram!” she cried, her hips bucking wildly under his gentle touch. The pleasure seemed to affect her entire body—her heart raced, her muscles stiffened, and her hands curled into fists. “Oh…Oh.” The moans and cries were drawn from her lips as the wonderful sensation swept over her in a wave.
Through it all, Bram held her close and murmured sweet encouragement in her ear.
“That’s right, little one—let yourself go. Let yourself come. Gods, you’re so beautiful…so perfect when you come.”
The sensation seemed to last forever but at last, it faded and Alanah was left panting in his arms. She looked up at him in wonder, her fists finally unclenching as her body relaxed into a warm kind of torpor.
“Bram that was…I didn’t even know I could feel such things.”
“I think the fact that you can proves this ‘blooming’ you’re so worried about isn’t as big a problem as you think,” he rumbled. “Look…you’re even getting a little wet.” He stroked his fingertip gently down her slit to show her how it was glistening with moisture.
“But my petals are still flat and I have no curls.” Alanah couldn’t help feeling disappointed. It seemed to her that the intense pleasure she’d just experienced should have somehow cured her. But of course, that was impossible—she couldn’t bloom fully without the fertility ritual performed by the Elder Witch, she reminded herself. Still, her flower seemed to be a little more open.
“Maybe you don’t need to ‘bloom,’” Bram suggested softly. “Alanah, may I have your permission to touch lower…to stroke the entrance to your pussy?”
“The…my entrance?” Alanah felt uncertain all over again. “You…you can, but I’m afraid it will be pursed tight,” she whispered. “Much too tight to enter.”
“Let me see,” Bram murmured. His seeking finger traveled lower and soon she felt the warm tip sliding gently against her unused core. “You’re quite slippery down here,” he told her. “I think the orgasm you had has helped a bit.”
“Orgasm?” Alanah asked breathlessly.
“The intense sensation of pleasure when I made you come,” Bram explained. As he spoke, he slipped his finger gently inside her—or tried to, anyway. Her entrance was still pursed tight, as Alanah had predicted. Her giant could barely get his finger into her to the first knuckle before she started squirming uncomfortably.
“Bram,” she whimpered softly. “That hurts—it’s too tight.”
He stopped at once. “I’m sorry little one—forgive me,” he murmured, withdrawing.
“It’s all right,” Alanah said but then a sob choked her. Because it wasn’t all right—not a bit! If Bram couldn’t even get a finger into her, how was she ever going to accommodate the long, thick shaft she saw straining at the shiny black fabric of his sleep trousers?
“Oh sweetheart…” he rumbled gently. “Please don’t cry—I promise everything is going to be all right.”
“How can it be?” Alanah sobbed, pressing her hot face to the smooth, hard wall of his chest as he stroked her shaking shoulders. Somehow the intense pleasure she’d had earlier seemed to have brought all her other emotions closer to the surface and now she couldn’t help crying. “How can things be all right if I can’t let you in me?” She looked up at him, her eyes stinging with tears. “And Bram, I want to let you inside me. I want to feel you filling me up—making me yours. So much.”
“That’s not important,” he assured her, gathering her close to him and kissing her wet cheeks. “What’s important is that we’re together, holding each other, loving each other. Everything is going to be all right, Alanah—I swear it.”
But Alanah couldn’t see how it would be all right. She only knew she was miserable because she couldn’t give herself to her giant the way she wanted to. And all because that horrible Thiera had denied her the fertility ritual.
Chapter Eleven
“So I’ve run an analysis of her blood and genetic makeup and I think the problem is a combination of factors.” Ren looked thoughtfully at the clip-chart in his hand.
“What factors?” Bram said anxiously. “Tell me—and tell me what I can do to fix it!”
“Easy, Brother.” Ren put a hand on his arm. “You’re really bothered by this, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m Goddess-damn bothered,” Bram growled, pacing back and forth in front of the med-station desk where his friend was sitting. “You should have seen Alanah—she was distraught.”
Ren frowned. “So you’re not just worried because this…condition means you might not be able to bond with her?”
Bram ran a hand over his hair.
“Bonding is important, of course, but even more than that, I want her happiness,” he said earnestly. “Do you think the bonding fruit will help?”
Ren shook his head doubtfully. “I’m not entirely certain, Bram. In light of the problem—”
“What exactly is the problem?” Bram interrupted him. “And don’t tell me it’s because that damn witch wouldn’t give her blessing—it has to be something besides that superstitious bullshit!”
“Calm down and listen.” Ren rose and went around the desk to show him the chart. “Look here, I think that if Alanah is a typical of her kind, the females of her race may have been genetically altered somehow to remain virgins until their joining night.”
“What? What are you talking about—how is that possible?” Bram demanded.
“Her DNA has been tampered with—or the DNA of her ancestors, anyway—and it was passed down to her.” Ren tapped the clip-chart. “Remember we thought Alanah’s people might be a colony from the other world in her solar system?”
“Of course—though why they would want to leave a much more habitable planet for that cold, ball of rock we found Alanah on I don’t understand,” Bram growled.
“What if they were a religious sect?” Ren asked, his green eyes glowing. “Some order that believed in the absolute sexual purity of females until they were given to a male? They left the warmer planet, which was probably too permissive for their tastes, and made their home someplace remote, where they could make their own rules.”
“That sounds feasible,” Bram admitted, frowning. “But it doesn’t solve our problem. Alanah says that…” He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. “She says when a female “blooms” her pussy becomes plump and pink and she grows curls on her mound.”
“In other words, she reaches complete sexual maturity,” Ren said. “Whoever tampered with the DNA of her ancestors found a way to keep the women of her kind sexually immature—at least in some ways—until—”
“Until what?” Bram demanded. “What can I do to fix this? How can I help her, Ren?”
Ren sighed. “As I was saying before, I think the problem is two-fold—it’s physical, yes—there’s
clear evidence for that. But it’s psychological as well.”
“Meaning she’s certain she can’t bloom without that Goddess-damned witch’s ritual,” Bram growled. “That much is obvious, but what’s the physical part of it?”
“I think she needs to be exposed to male essence—male hormones,” Ren said thoughtfully. “Tell me, Bram—you said you, uh, touched her last night but did you taste her as well?”
Bram shook his head. “No, we haven’t even done our Bathing Day yet, let alone the Tasting Day—I’ve been trying to follow the Claiming Period rules and work up to things gradually. Besides…” He grimaced. “Alanah was much too upset to try anything else after I was unable to get even my finger inside her.”
“Well, we always knew size was going to be an issue,” Ren reminded him. “The bonding fruit will probably help with that if we can solve this other problem first.”
“But how?” Bram asked. “You said she needs to be exposed to male essence? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, considering the ritual you described to me, I think she needs the compounds in your saliva and possibly in your seed—or at least your precum,” Ren said. “I’m fairly certain that’s how the women of her kind, ahem, ‘bloom’ on their wedding nights. It’s a combination of knowing that they have the ritual done by the witch and having their new mates rub against them that effects the change. At least I think that must be the case.”
“So you think I should taste her and rub my seed into her pussy and nipples?” Bram frowned. “Will that really work?”
“Only if she believes it will,” Ren said earnestly. “You have to address the psychological factor too.”
“How?” Bram frowned. “I can’t force that damn witch to come do the ritual, though the Goddess knows I wish I could…”
“Do your own ritual,” Ren suggested. “Tonight is your Bathing Night, right? You’re allowed to bathe your bride and caress and massage her with scented oils. Make a ritual of it—something mystic and special. Help her believe that she can bloom for you and she will. Oh, and give her plenty of orgasms.”
“The one I gave her last night did seem to help some,” Bram remarked thoughtfully. “Her sex had a little more color and moisture afterwards.”
“Patience, practice and a gentle hand and tongue—that’s my prescription,” Ren remarked, tapping the chart. “And after you’ve caused her body to open, then we can try the bonding fruit.” He frowned. “I really wouldn’t recommend trying to enter her with your shaft until she’s had a dose of that.”
“Of course not,” Bram growled. “I just thank the Goddess we still had the seeds for the fruit in our storage banks.”
“Some of our ancestors obviously knew we would need them eventually,” Ren remarked. “After all, the main Branch of the Kindred is already large compared with most humanoid species. Making a genetic trade with the Jor’gen increased our height and mass another twenty to thirty percent and you know males of our species already had large shafts, even before our trade increased them proportionate to our new size.”
“Which turns out to be a disadvantage now,” Bram said, running a hand over his braids.
“Not when the bonding fruit is employed,” Ren said. “For most humanoid species the female vaginal canal is on average between four and six inches in length. With the bonding fruit, it can lengthen to twice or even three times that amount. The chemicals in the fruit help with a female’s elasticity too, so she can accommodate a Jor’gen Kindred’s increased girth as well.”
“That’s all well and good but you say I’ll have to help Alanah bloom before we can use the fruit?” Bram asked.
Ren nodded. “I’m afraid so. Her sexual organs must be completely developed before the bonding fruit can be employed.”
Bram growled in frustration. “Whoever played with Alanah’s people’s DNA to make it so difficult for them to open up should be shot!”
“That ship has sailed, my friend, probably centuries ago,” Ren remarked. “All you can do now is deal with the problem as best you can.”
Bram sighed. “I just pray to the Goddess I can help Alanah open up. She’s the most progressive of her people—if she can’t open without that damned witch’s say-so, I doubt any of them can.”
Ren cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Are you concerned about our race being unable to bond with theirs?”
“Of course I am,” Bram growled. “But more than that, I’m worried about Alana. I love her Ren—so damn much.” He ran a hand over his braids again. “It’s killing both of us not being able to be completely together.”
“Concentrate on making her bloom first—you can worry about bonding later,” his friend counseled. “I’ll say a prayer to the Goddess for you both.”
“Thank you.” Bram sighed. “I just hope your advice works.”
“So do I, Bram.” Ren gave him a sympathetic look. “Because the dreams I’ve been having…”
“Don’t tell me you’ve been dream sharing with one of Alanah’s kinswomen!” Bram exclaimed.
Ren’s expression became guarded.
“It’s probably too early to be for sure. But, well…” He shook his head. “I’d rather not speak of it until we’re certain things can, ahem, work out between a male of our species and a female of theirs.”
“Meaning I’d better do a damn good job helping Alanah bloom,” Bram said dryly. “If you’ve started dream-sharing, Brother, then the rest of our warriors can’t be far behind.”
“I just hope we’re dream-sharing because we’re genuinely compatible—not just because these are the only available females we’ve found,” Ren remarked. “I wish we hadn’t lost touch with the main Branch of the Kindred race. Who knows where their Mother Ship is now—it’s been so many hundreds of centuries since we’ve had any contact with them.”
“Wherever they are, I’m sure the Goddess watches over us all,” Bram said. He clapped his oldest friend on the shoulder. “I must go—I left Alanah alone in my suite after teaching her how to use the simulator so she could make herself some new clothes.”
Ren frowned. “Do you think that was wise? Did you program it for her language?” Being Kindred and therefore able to pick up any language in a matter of minutes, he and Bram understood what Bram’s new bride-to-be was saying. But their Mother Ship was still programmed in the guttural Kindred language.
Bram frowned. “I programmed the personal droid I got for her to her language but I didn’t think it would be necessary to reprogram the clothing simulator. After all, it runs off thought waves, not spoken language.”
“Yes but you still think in your own language. All I’m saying is that you should either give Alanah a dose of translation bacteria or reprogram your entire suite to recognize her native tongue.”
“A good point.” Bram nodded. “Thank you. I’d really better go now.”
“I’ll see you later. Let me know how your…efforts at helping her bloom go.” Ren sounded hopeful and Bram knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that his old friend was dream-sharing with a female of Alanah’s race…and probably hoping and praying that bonding with her would be possible.
That’s my hope too, he thought grimly as he left the med station. Please Goddess, let me know how to help Alanah—let me help her bloom.
Chapter Twelve
Alanah couldn’t help feeling nervous—it was the Bathing Day, after all, but Bram had hinted that much more than bathing would be happening when he came home from speaking to his friend, the healer. She had met the healer—Ren—earlier that morning and he had taken some of her blood to “run tests” whatever that meant.
Afterwards, Bram had taken her to a place to eat where they served Jor’gen Kindred food and she’d gotten to try some of his favorite dishes which seemed to include a lot of meat. But then, to her surprise, Bram had claimed that the meat was actually “plant based protein”—or meat made of plants. This didn’t seem to make any sense to Alanah but then, much of his world didn’t. Not that it
was bad—just different and something she knew she’d have to get used to.
The food had been good—if somewhat strange to her tastes—but Bram had also promised that he would help her program his “droid” to make the kind of food she was used to.
“Or you can cook it yourself if you’d rather,” he added when she’d said she didn’t know what she would do with all her free time. “I’ll teach you how to use the kitchen implements and the simulator can make any kind of ingredients you want.”
Of course, before she could learn to cook in his kitchen, she would have to be able to reach everything in it, Alanah acknowledged to herself. To help with this dilemma, her giant had gotten her a little droid of her own that looked a little like a sleek metal catkin. It flowed around her legs and followed her everywhere and when she wanted to reach something up high it would either jump up and get what Alanah wanted, or transform itself into a sturdy step stool which would raise her as high as she needed to go to get whatever it was she wanted to reach.
Alanah was becoming quite fond of her new pet, which she had named “Tabby” after a catkin she’d had once as a little girl. She only wished it had fur instead of a metal hide so she could stroke it and listen to it purr.
Right now she was engaged in trying to get the clothing simulator to work. It was a long, flat machine which ran on a kind of fine multicolored sand that was poured in one end. A flat, round metal disk called a “thought transmitter” connected to a long rope that Bram called a “neuro wire” was attached to it. The disk was supposed to stick on your forehead and then, when you had the garment you wanted pictured firmly in your mind, you pressed the red button on the simulator’s side and it spat out the required clothing from its long, flat mouth.
Alanah had been amazed when he first showed her how to work it by “thinking” a uniform shirt into existence. He explained how the machine picked up “thought waves” and heated the multicolored sands, which were called “polymer dots” until they became pliable enough to stretch into fibers. The machine then wove these fibers into the requested garment—all at an incredible speed.
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