by Sahara Kelly
Her hands slid to his cock.
He groaned.
“I want…I want to taste you, Rory. Really taste you.” She touched him gently, running her hands up his length and back down again in a gesture so natural it almost brought tears to his eyes.
“Well, lass, when you put it like that…” He sighed, stretching out and resting his head on his hands. With his head propped up slightly, he could watch her.
And he wanted to hang on to this moment. To preserve the expression on her face as she admired his rigid length.
It was the most erotic thing he could remember happening to him in a long time. Well, actually, he could never remember anything quite as erotic.
Her hands learned him slowly, brushing softly over him then becoming more confident and grasping him firmly.
“Is this okay?” She asked the question quietly, seeming to sense his concentration on her movements.
“Sweetheart, if it was any more okay I’d be levitating ma body off the couch,” he groaned.
A wicked little grin crossed her face, and Rory mentally crossed himself. He wondered if he should send up a little prayer for protection against her naughty inclinations.
He silently smacked his brain for even considering it.
Her head dipped and her tongue flicked out. Rory held his breath waiting…waiting for that first brush of warm moisture against his cock.
And there! There it was.
He lurched, not realizing how sensitive he was to her slightest move.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked, raising one eyebrow and smiling. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Ach, you’re a wicked woman and I love it,” moaned Rory. “More, lass. More. Anything…”
“Okay.”
She bent and sucked him deep into her mouth, bringing a groan of pleasure to his lips.
She tongued his head, traced his veins and ridges and scraped her teeth gently over his taut flesh. She worked him with all the skill she possessed, and for a woman who’d been used to sex with circuit boards, she seemed to possess a lot of instinctive skill.
He felt the sweat break out on his brow as he watched her focus on his cock and take him again and again into her hot mouth.
She slipped a hand beneath and fondled his balls, weighing them, moving them gently on her palm, and then slipping away from his cock to press kisses on them.
A small bead of moisture peeking from the tiny slit fascinated her. She licked at it, tasting it, cleaning the slit with soft swipes of her tongue and encouraging another drop to appear.
She ran her fingers through his soft curls as she loved him, as if she wanted to become part of his body, to swallow his cock, and merge herself into his spirit.
Her busy fingers found a spot beneath his balls that sent shivers through him, and she realized it almost immediately. Being the very bright lass she was, she didn’t waste the opportunity.
Combining her hot mouth with her seeking fingers, she quickly brought Rory to the point of no return.
“Boralle,” he gasped, head thrown back, neck cords tight, and hands gripping the couch like a drowning man on a life preserver.
She raised her head and looked at him over his cock. Her eyes were dark blue and stormy, a little unfocussed and full of desire for him. Her body was soaking his thigh, and he knew that she was as aroused as he was.
“Let me see you come, Rory,” she whispered. “I want to see your cock as you come for me.”
Her words were enough.
Rory’s hips thrust at her, and he felt the shudder of sexual voltage building at the base of his spine. With his teeth clenched he managed to mutter a few words at her. “Are ye sure, lass?”
“Dammit, let go, Rory McAllen.”
She tightened her grip on him, giving him one last long swirling lick, and finishing with a hard teasing flutter beneath the head. Right on the exact spot that would cause him to explode.
And explode he did.
Boralle held him in her hands and watched.
He was completely and absolutely amazing as his body rippled into an orgasm. And she’d been responsible for it.
She grinned as she observed him, trying to be clinical and dispassionate, but failing, as she relished each moan, each groan, each twitch and thrust of his hips.
His lips peeled away from his teeth in a feral snarl and she could feel his muscles as they tightened beneath her body.
He pushed his cock harder into her grasp, thrusting now, uncontrollably.
His cock took on a life of its own, throbbing within her grip, pulsing with the force of his climax.
She waited for the moment when his body would let go. And she didn’t have to wait long.
With a great cry, Rory McAllen climaxed in front of Boralle North.
His cock twitched and his body became rigid. The veins beneath her hands swelled as his seed pushed its way from his body.
But of course, there were no jets of creamy come, just a fountain of delicately scented blue fog.
Boralle lowered her mouth to him, sucking the last of the blue fog into her mouth, and licking away the little droplets of moisture.
He tasted so fine, like some rare dessert.
“Oh Rory, “ she sighed, gently releasing her grip on his cock as it relaxed.
“Lass, that was…that was…”
Boralle grinned again. She’d rendered the mighty warrior speechless. How nice.
He slid bonelessly down, flat on his back and blew a hair away from his face. “God, love, how can I explain what that feels like?”
“I doubt that you can,” she said. “You could, of course, tell me how sensational I am.”
Rory chuckled. “You are that, lass. No arguments there.”
He moved her slightly, and she felt herself shudder as his thigh brushed her swollen mound.
“Of course, there is one way I can make you understand…”
With a quick tug, Rory pulled Boralle up his body, legs still straddling him.
Within seconds she was straddling his neck, her clit open and exposed and incredibly close to his mouth.
Amazingly close to his mouth.
Ohmigod. Waaaay too close to his mouth.
“Rory,” she squawked. His tongue found her as his strong grip settled her hips right where he wanted her. Practically sitting on his face.
“Shush,” he mumbled, sending the most delightful sensations through her. She’d never had anybody mumble into her clit before.
She shushed, simply relaxing into his caresses and letting all her worries and concerns evaporate.
She let his tongue work its magic, loving, twirling, teasing and caressing her into writhing bliss.
Within moments she was tensing, and seconds later he clamped his lips around her clit and sucked. Hard.
It was her turn to scream, and scream she did.
Waves of pleasure swept her from head to toe, tightening her muscles, cramping her thighs and sending her cunt into a paroxysm of contractions.
She trembled and shuddered above Rory as his tongue gentled her, then pressed again in a different place and sent another rush of screaming ecstasy through her body.
One part of her mind knew if he kept this up she’d die before she ever reached the surface. Another part asked, ‘so what?’
Finally, the spasms eased and she could again draw breath.
She wriggled back down Rory’s body and collapsed on his chest.
He stroked her, calmed her, and held her next to his heart. It beat solidly beneath her ear and soothed her as her mind drifted.
Exhausted, sticky, and completely content, they slept.
* * * * *
The surface of Frallien IV was nothing short of a paradise, thought Boralle, as she finally stepped out of her cramped traveling quarters and into the soft sunlight.
In spite of the binary star system that hosted this particular planetary orbit, the solar distances involved allowed life to be warmly enhanced by their rays, rather than fried by
the UV light.
The greenish skies told of the alien combination of gases in the atmosphere and the bounce in Boralle’s steps reminded her of the lower level of specific gravity here on Frallien.
She was able to pick up her holdall and a rather large ornate box all by herself—something that had worried her before landing.
The welcoming official eyed the box suspiciously, especially when a discreet alarm sounded as she passed by.
Checking his schedule, he crossed the crowded floor to her side.
“Major Boralle North? Central Galactic Court entrant?”
Boralle turned and nodded politely. “Yes. That’s me. Hello.”
“Welcome, Major North. Frallien greetings to you and your ancestors.”
This, Boralle knew, was the traditional Frallien way of saying hello. The Fralliens were firm believers in ancestors, heritage, past histories—given that their entire social structure had been developed by their scientific forebears, it wasn’t surprising.
She responded courteously, inclining her head in answer. “We are grateful for your welcome. My family honors Frallien.”
“May I ask you to step this way for a moment? There seems to be an anomalous reading coming from your luggage.”
Boralle knew a moment’s terror. What the rass? Was it Rory’s vessel that was setting it off? The sword? What was the problem?
“It seems that your bags contain an unusual concentration of chemicals, that are not native to this planet. It is merely a precaution, you understand…”
“But surely everyone has such a concentration? After all, you’ve got who knows how many aliens arriving for the games?” Boralle spoke with what she hoped was just the right amount of confusion in her voice.
The official smiled. “Indeed, Major. You are quite correct. And in fact, your readings aren’t much more anomalous than anyone else’s. But there are a couple of blips we’d like to check. Do you have any objections?”
Boralle looked the man in the eyes. They were orange.
She shrugged. “Not at all. I’m simply another contestant. Please feel free to rummage away.”
They entered a small office and Boralle’s hold-all and the box were placed on a table. Without being asked, Boralle opened the hold-all, revealing a few personal possessions, her favorite fragrance and the vessel.
Of course, the official picked that up right away, running his hands down the handle with a raised eyebrow.
“My, my.” He licked his lips. “This is quite lovely.”
“Thank you.” Boralle held her tongue, watching as the Frallien continued to stroke and caress the handle. Which looked dangerously familiar to her now. The Frallien sighed, and she noticed a distinct tent forming in his official robes.
“Don’t suppose you’d be interested in selling this, would you?” he asked, licking his lips again.
She could swear he’d be slavering over the damn thing before much longer. And she knew Rory wouldn’t appreciate that.
“Uh, no. Sorry. Family heirloom.” Containing some prime family jewels.
“Too bad.” The official gave the vessel one last lingering touch, and then turned to the box.
He frowned as he looked at it, unable to see a clasp. “Would you open this please?”
Boralle squared her shoulders.
Now her carefully planned little scenario was about to begin.
“I’d be happy to. One moment.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of sleek Pondo skin gloves that was the palest yellow, and had been created by Rory’s magic when she began to work through the plan with him. The vapor given off by the Pondo skin caused them to glow when touched by any kind of light.
The official seemed a little taken aback.
Then Boralle dropped to one knee, raised her clasped hands to her forehead and began to intone in a very solemn voice “Spirit of the Glen, Spirit of the Glen…”
The Frallien’s brows drew together. “Um, excuse me…”
“Sshhh,” said Boralle, not looking up. “Spirit of the Glen, Spirit of the Glen, we honor you. Spirit of the Glen, we revere you. Shine your blessings and your protection on us, your children, Spirit of the Glen.”
The official was clearly uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to another. The Fralliens set great store by their icons, and clearly, here was one who wasn’t sure if he should worship an alien one as a matter of respect, or not.
Boralle grinned to herself. So far—so good.
After a moment’s low humming—a nice touch suggested by Rory, who had actually wanted bagpipe music, but had been talked out of it by a swift nip to his cock from Boralle—she rose to her feet again, and slid one finger across the front decoration on the box.
Rory had outdone himself with the container. It was a warm wood, not unlike his vessel, deepened with age and handling. There was a lot of intricate inlay on the top, and ornate carving on the sides. It had the appearance of something that could easily be millennia in age, even though Boralle knew that Rory had made it less than two hours ago.
The lid slowly opened, revealing a deep emerald green silk interior. And there, nestled in a perfectly shaped depression in the silk, was the broadsword.
Shining brilliantly—the handle now featuring a selection of jewels which sparkled and glittered—it lay in all its magnificence.
Rory had complained bitterly about the jewels, knowing no fighting man could hope for victory while wielding such an over-decorated piece of, in his terms, gaudy crap.
Pointing out that she had no intention of lopping off any Frallien heads with it, Boralle returned to take a couple more nips and licks at Rory’s cock, and within moments had more than enough jewels on the handle to make it look like a valuable family icon.
Which was how she intended to present it.
She had learned that the Fralliens would probably permit her to introduce a religious artifact into her portion of the games, within limits, and she’d also learned that the way to handle Rory was to pay large amounts of attention to his manhood, and distract him any time she suggested something that didn’t quite match his own opinion.
The smile with which she looked down on the broadsword was quite brilliant and dazzled the Frallien official.
“What a beautiful piece. It must have been in your family for eons,” he said, backing up a step respectfully.
“It has indeed,” answered Boralle, closing the lid of the box at his nod. “I couldn’t imagine being here without it to give me its blessings. It is truly one of our family’s jewels.”
She didn’t, of course, mention that the real owner was in possession of the rest of the family jewels.
But she could have sworn she heard a soft chuckle coming from the vicinity of the vessel in her hold-all.
Chapter Eighteen
Rory looked out over the white buildings that formed the housing quarters for the Olympiad contestants while Boralle fussed around the room behind him.
He was cautiously optimistic that their plan would work, but there were many uncertainties, a lot of variables, and too many things that could wrong.
He’d woken before her as they completed the last leg of their free fall to the surface of Frallien, and had held her tightly against him as she slept.
His recent experiences had showed him a universe that was filled with miracles beyond his understanding, but none had diminished his firm belief that one Hand was guiding it along.
So he prayed. Quietly and sincerely, the Laird McAllen asked for some divine blessings on their upcoming venture. And he asked for something else too.
He asked to be allowed to love Boralle North for the rest of his life.
She fit against him like the other half of a mold, buttocks tucked into his groin, nursing his cock as it lengthened against her. Her breasts filled his hands perfectly, her head had found an ideal spot on his shoulder, and her soul had crept into his, curled itself up into a ball, and had fallen soundly asleep, becoming part of him without his realizing it.
<
br /> She was everything he could ever want, and he knew that his life would be unalterably changed now, because of this one slip of a woman.
The one who was now cursing colorfully behind him.
“No time. No damn time,” she muttered as she stared at a holoschedule that was presenting itself above the desk.
All contestants had similar, utilitarian quarters. But they were the Frallien idea of utilitarian, so they involved windows, carpeting, soft beds, entertainment outlets, and a nicely sized desk with an assortment of communication devices. Fralliens took sensuality everywhere, even into decorating.
Under other circumstances, Boralle probably would have loved it, but Rory knew she was focused on the games to come.
And it didn’t take a genius to realize she was getting frazzled.
“No time for what, lass?” he asked.
“No time for anything. Look at this…” She pointed a finger at the schedule. “The way it’s set up, I’ve got less than an hour before I have to go make the Statement of Intent. I wanted more rassing time. I haven’t written my rassing speech. I haven’t prepared…I can’t do it…”
Her wail of frustration and fear caught at Rory’s heart and he put his arms completely around her and hugged her tight.
“Of course you can, lass. You’re my woman. You can do anything.”
She snorted into his chest hairs and giggled at the sound.
“That’s ma girl. Come on, Boralle, this isn’t like you. You’re the best there is, that’s why we’re here.”
She raised worried eyes. “This is going to be the hard part, Rory. Convincing them that the sword is a religious artifact. That I cannot compete without it. It looks so…so…dangerous.”
“It wouldn’a be a good icon if it didn’t, sweetheart. The Fralliens will recognize power when they see it.” Rory rested his chin on Boralle’s head. “You’ll do this just fine. It’s my part I’m worried about…”
“You?” Boralle laughed. “You’re invisible.”
“Aye, that’s as mebbe. But I still canna pick up the numbers and give them to the Olympiad Committee. I have to be more subtle than that.”