by Sahara Kelly
“I will?”
He smiled. “You will. You and Rory together. Man and woman, united, can succeed in whatever they put their minds to. It only takes a little self confidence and a lot of something else…”
She gazed at the stars. “If it’s love you’re talking about, Guardian, then I guess I will prevail tomorrow. Because I’ve found that I have that in abundance.”
“You do indeed, my dear. Rory is a lucky fellow.” The Guardian joined her in gazing at the stars.
They were silent for a moment, then something made Boralle ask a question she didn’t even know she was thinking.
“Can I keep him?”
The Guardian shimmered before her eyes as the Anyelan night fell.
“Do you want him?” The question fell into the growing distance between them.
The answer came straight from her soul. “More than life.”
“Then—we shall see, Boralle North. We shall see…”
The Guardian’s words came from a great distance, and Boralle slowly awoke, realizing that she was still tucked up against Rory in her quarters on Frallien IV.
Anyela seemed like a dream and yet not a dream.
The words she’d spoken sounded prophetic, but she knew with every ounce of her being that they had been the simple truth.
She loved Rory McAllen more than life itself. And heaven help her if she lost him.
* * * * *
Rory woke with the sound of Anyelan bells ringing in his ears. For a moment he expected to find himself back there, amidst the laughter and the sunshine and the colors of that magical world.
Then something moved next to him and he realized he was still on Frallien IV, still holding Boralle in his arms, and still facing the challenges of the Olympiad.
Today’s Olympiad.
The digital readout that hovered above the desk console told him it was early, too early to move away from the warmth generated by their bodies as they nestled beneath the blanket.
Boralle snuffled softly and wriggled her butt against him, pushing him a little and plastering her body even closer to his.
He wormed his way around her, bringing his knees up to rest against the backs of her thighs, and letting his hand lie gently on her hip.
She sighed in her sleep.
He hoped it was a contented sigh.
His chin brushed her head as he shared her pillow, almost surrounding her with his presence and encompassing her with his protection.
She was every inch a woman, and every inch as brave a warrior as was he. To take on this challenge, to willingly face what she was going to face this day—his heart ached with admiration for her courage and love for her spirit.
The Boralle North he knew was fundamentally shy. Yet she was about to bare her body and her heart to millions, assuming the GNN estimates of live coverage ratings were accurate—and have the most personal of sexual experiences, an orgasm, in front of cameras and judges alike.
And she was going to do this, knowing that she would be using a machine with the potential to injure her or worse.
Plus, the fate of a couple of planets and their inhabitants were resting on the outcome of this contest.
Yet she slept like a bairn in his arms. She’d put her faith in him—a magical creature who’d appeared like a genie from a lamp to regale her with wild stories about the future and the nature of the time-space continuum.
She was one hell of a woman. And he owed her a bath in the loch. He made himself a pledge to move heaven and earth if need be to make sure she got that bath. And that he was there to scrub her back.
And her front.
And maybe a few other bits as well.
His body stirred as he considered the wonderfully appealing possibility of a naked Boralle in his loch with a bar of soap and him. Naked also, of course.
A soft giggle came from the area over his heart, and a pair of buttocks twitched around his lengthening cock.
“And good morning to you, too.” She turned slightly to gaze sleepily into his face. “Feels like you slept well…” She wriggled again, this time rubbing her ass against him and making him groan with pleasure.
Rory smiled down at her, his heart turning over as he quietly examined her features.
Her blonde hair was tumbled every which way, and her skin flushed with the heat of their closeness. Her eyes were soft and rested and her mouth—ah, that mouth.
Rory leaned over and dropped a light kiss on it. “Good morrow to you, lass. How lovely you are when you wake.”
A snort greeted his words. “Yeah. Sure. I’ve got serious bed hair, dents in my face, I probably drooled half the night, and I expect my breath could vaporize a small asteroid.”
“I think you’re beautiful. The rest is of no matter.” Rory knew his words sounded rather arrogant, but he couldn’t help it. He truly believed what he said. Although he did wait rather cautiously for Boralle’s response.
She surprised him. “I think you’re beautiful, too.”
To his astonishment he found his cheeks warming under her smile. The Laird McAllen was actually blushing.
Chapter Twenty
Boralle missed the warm presence of Rory by her side as she made her way down to the arena where the events would take place, but they’d both agreed that he would probably be more of a distraction than she needed at this point, and he’d be there for her big moment, without a doubt.
Besides, talking to an invisible friend probably wouldn’t endear her to many of the crowd that jostled and chattered around her. Although such behavior wasn’t actually out of the ordinary, given the number and variety of races and species that intermingled on this sunny Frallien day.
In addition to their obvious and cherished sexuality, the Fralliens loved a good show. The Olympiad was custom made for the noise, color, pageantry and gaudy exhibitionism they so adored.
Not content with welcoming visitors from around the galaxy, the hosts of the event made sure that the competitors and their supporters were well entertained by music, dance, art festivals and parades featuring Frallien performers as well as others recruited especially for the occasion.
This Olympiad was turning out to be more spectacular than Boralle had believed possible.
The morning was taken up with speeches, introductions, the reading of the contestant list and order of competitors, and a couple of large parades. Marching bands from several planets vied with each other to numb the most ears, with the winner probably being the drum corps from Agera Epsilon. Having twelve ambidextrous limbs, each capable of holding a different percussion instrument, certainly tipped the scales in their favor.
The fact that one of the instruments was actually a small shrieking rodent, native to Agera, added the finishing flourish.
It took half an hour for Boralle’s ears to stop ringing after the Agera Epsilon band had merrily pounded its way down the main street.
It was followed by the dance troupe from Agera Theta, part of the same star system. The Thetan troupe was comprised of a large number of mostly naked Thetan women, who were energetically swinging their triple breasted costumes in time to the music. They couldn’t hear the music, of course, because all communication on Agera Theta was telepathic—the noise from Agera Epsilon having long since destroyed any Thetan aural nerves.
To compensate for the lack of ears, Thetan women had developed an extra breast, to the delight of Thetan men. For some reason, however, the males hadn’t yet evolved an extra hand. But Boralle noted that their mouths seemed to be rather large in comparison to the rest of their face.
While she would have loved to species-watch for hours as the parade continued, she knew it was time for her to make her way to the arena.
Her simple white robe marked her as a contestant, and she was treated to many a smile, a bow and a nod of acknowledgement wherever she went. Contestants were honored by Frallien. Most of them, anyway.
The Magans weren’t endearing themselves to their hosts.
Two fights had broken
out, according to gossip, and the Magans were involved each time.
There had been some kind of dispute between a Magan and one of the judges, which resulted in the Magan being expelled from the planet, and the Frallien judge needing minor surgery.
Apparently there were some things that Fralliens couldn’t shove up their asses after all.
Boralle crossed to the Olympian arena and presented her credentials to the guard at the door.
She was passed through with courteous greetings, and found herself in the Contestants Ready Room.
Now it was just her, a dozen or so other competitors, and the competition.
The games were about to begin.
* * * * *
There was a hush of anticipation in the arena as the first competitor was introduced.
A Cynerian male, he was typical of the species, being very tall, slender and with hair that was almost white. His eyes would be dark blue, but Boralle was too far away to be able to see them clearly. She had heard that they turned purple at the moment of orgasm, but doubted she’d get the chance to check that rumor out.
The arena itself was very large.
A circular dais rose from the center of the floor to the height of several feet, and it was on this surface that the booths had been arranged. There were twelve, spaced at regular intervals in a circle, rather like the numbers on one of the old Earth timepieces.
The workings of the booths were tucked into the plinths upon which they rested, looking like a dozen huge bubbles sitting on squat stone pillars. The air hummed slightly as the circuits were activated, and small green lights appeared as each unit declared itself all systems go.
The Cynerian mounted the steps to the dais and moved to the center of the floor. He dropped his robe and turned slowly, displaying himself to the judges and the crowd.
Boralle swallowed. She knew that this was part of the event. Each contestant had to show his or her body prior to competing. This verified that they were who they said they were, and also that they were carrying no items that might affect their scores.
No masturbatory devices, for example, since the nasty incident with a sucking orchid in some past Olympiad. The Frallien who’d tried that little stunt was still in rehab and the rules had been tightened to prevent such a thing from happening again.
The Cynerian raised his hands in a dramatic gesture, allowing his sleek body to catch the spotlights as he turned slowly.
The crowd was appreciative, applauding enthusiastically.
The judges nodded, and his number appeared above his head, hanging there in holographic majesty. His readings were entered into the system and his unit was selected for him at random from the ones that met his physical requirements.
He crossed to the booth that was slowly opening, and slipped inside.
The crowd quieted to a rustle, an occasional cough and the squawk of a feathered Dak when someone stepped on his wing.
The Cynerian reclined on the bench and stretched languorously as the cover came back down over him, enclosing him.
A projector was activated, and the arena was treated to a wide screen holo-vid of him as he wriggled his buttocks into a comfortable position.
The moving probe was activated and began to traverse his body, stimulating his system as it went. Boralle swore she heard a pin drop somewhere high up in the crowd.
She was watching from a small enclosed area just to one side of the dais, and could see the Cynerian quite clearly, without need for any amplification by cameras or holo devices.
A stir in the audience told her something was happening.
The Cynerian was shivering slightly and his cock was starting to harden. With hardly any body hair, Cynerian men always seemed inordinately well-hung to Boralle, and she had a sneaking suspicion they worked hard at appearing that way. Her researches had told her that there was, in fact, a universal standard for male genitalia, and it bore a direct mathematical relation to the female genitalia within which they would perform.
These statistics had, of course, never really been accepted by the males of any species, who preferred to believe that they were actually bigger, harder, longer and better equipped than any of their contemporaries.
Cynerians did, however, have one interesting feature. Boralle’s eyes widened as Competitor Seven demonstrated the unusual “split-head” anomaly.
As his cock grew harder, it sprouted two separate heads.
The crowd gasped at the evidence of this Cynerian aberration, watching in fascination as his cock expanded and hardened, and the two extensions at the end began to ooze the orange Cynerian version of pre-come.
Of course, Boralle knew that Cynerian females possessed a matching split vagina, leading to two independent uteri. It was all basic biology, but seeing the darn thing waving at thousands of onlookers was still pretty impressive.
The Cynerian was now shaking, his legs heaving, and sweat beading on his elegant brow.
The probe was moving quite fast, concentrating on his cock and the tiny little sacs that were clenching spasmodically beneath his erection.
He cried out, and Boralle spared a glance for the huge holo-vid—yes, his eyes were indeed turning purple.
His cock jumped, and waved from side to side, as veins throbbed in time to the Cynerian’s heartbeat.
One great whoosh of semen gushed from each head, spattering the inside of the bubble, and dribbling down over the protective covering.
With a sob, the Cynerian flopped into a heap of limp muscles, his cock drooping now and retracting both heads. Within seconds he was back to his flaccid state, lying quietly and relishing a job well done.
A small probe quickly cleaned the inside of the booth and the cover lifted.
Boralle’s heart was in her mouth. The Cynerian hadn’t moved. What the hell was his score?
Her mind screamed at him to get out of the damn thing before the numbers were posted in case it was a high one, within the limits the Magans had set for termination. She had no idea which were the Magan booths. As far as she was concerned they were all suspect.
The seconds seemed like lifetimes for Boralle as she waited, with the rest of the crowd, to see the Cynerian’s score.
Finally, it appeared.
Four point two.
A burst of applause greeted the flashing red numbers on the vid screen, and the Cynerian himself, now dressing in his robe, bowed slightly in acknowledgement.
Not a bad score, and one that would set a benchmark for the contestants yet to come.
At least the next one, thought Boralle. She fully intended to be the last contestant. She was damned if she’d let lives be lost here in this arena.
The next Cynerian stepped onto the dais. This time it was a woman, beautifully blonde, with a lithe figure.
The crowd roared its approval as she dropped her robe.
This woman had not followed her co-competitor’s example, because she was quite proudly displaying a well-trimmed fluff of pubic hair. Shaped rather like a rocket ship, it was narrow on her mound, and widened as it reached her belly.
The crowd loved it, and so did the camera, zooming in on the curls as the Cynerian turned slowly.
Boralle figured that the Galactic News Network boys had to be getting their jollies from this assignment. She devoutly hoped that the data would never make it back to any portion of the galaxy where she knew anybody. The thought of a tight shot of her pussy, in all its naked glory, being distributed amongst her old classmates, sent a shiver of horror down her spine.
The Cynerian woman had entered her booth and settled herself, spreading her legs wide in a rather theatrical fashion. She’d bent one leg slightly at the knee.
These Cynerians could have posed for an erotic calendar and made a fortune, mused Boralle, watching the woman as she trailed her fingers up the inside of her thigh and across her own mound.
The booth clicked shut and the probe began its work, concentrating this time on the sensitive area between the Cynerian’s legs.
&
nbsp; Within moments she was aroused. Cynerian nipples were quite large, to compensate for small Cynerian breasts, and these two were standing up and saluting for all they were worth.
She was moaning, writhing, and rubbing her buttocks against the bench, and the crowd was responding, with several moans of its own.
Boralle couldn’t help it, she felt an answering tingle low in her stomach. She was no voyeur, but the sight of a beautiful woman coming to orgasm was quite stimulating.
The camera was lovingly detailing the Cynerian’s swollen labia, which were turning orange now as her arousal level climbed.
She was shaking, her muscles clearly tensing as her climax neared.
Suddenly, she grasped her own breasts and pulled on her nipples, spreading her legs as wide as the booth would permit.
A piercing scream echoed through the arena, and shattered a water glass on the judge’s table.
The Cynerian was coming. She was also screaming. Loudly. Her yells became grunts, and finally sobbing whispers.
She, too, collapsed onto the bench.
The applause was deafening.
Boralle held her breath and waited. Please don’t let her score too highly.
A green light popped and fizzled beneath the booth, and Boralle jumped, ready to rush out and pull the Cynerian from the booth if it looked like it was going to malfunction.
Then the numbers appeared.
A solid five point five.
Nothing happened.
The breath whooshed from Boralle’s lungs as she offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.
Then she realized something else.
It was her turn.
Chapter Twenty One
Showmanship, thought Rory. It was all about showmanship.
He was lurking, unseen, to the side of the dais, invisible to everyone including Boralle. They’d run through this portion of the ceremonies several times, the first two sessions being of no help whatsoever. They had ended up with the two of them plunging into a maelstrom of hot sex.
Finally, desires temporarily abated, they’d managed to rehearse the entire thing.