by Sahara Kelly
His cock stirred as he recalled this particular session, and he knew he was more than ready to take care of his end of their plan. He would always be more than ready where Boralle was concerned.
With a grin, he took a breath and watched as his woman mounted the dais.
Her white robe clung to her curves and her short blonde hair lifted and moved a little with her steps.
She bowed to the judges and raised her hand in acknowledgement to the crowd. Then she beckoned an aide forward.
He emerged carrying a long box, which he brought to the dais.
Above her head, an informative holo-vid flashed her lifeform details, and added the information that she would be using a personal icon, and had requested to be allowed to compete outside the booth.
There was a rustle and a murmur of interest from the crowd, accompanied by a couple of hoots of derision from the Magan cheering section.
Reverently, Boralle opened the lid of the box, making sure that the spotlights fell fully on the sword within.
She was unable to use her Pondo gloves here, so had to rely on the lighting.
It was sufficient to bring a gasp and a round of applause. The brilliance of the gems was heightened by the intense lighting, and the huge holo-screen featured a very detailed shot of the beautiful handle and the simple but awesome blade as it lay nestled in the green silk.
Gently, Boralle withdrew the sword.
She grasped it beneath the handle, exactly as Rory had shown her, and pulled it away from the box. The aide and the box withdrew, leaving Boralle and the sword in the spotlight.
She stood quietly for a moment, playing the crowd, waiting for the mutterings to die down.
Then she pulled the sword close to her body, fitting the long handle between her breasts and the cross pieces just below. She raised her head and closed her eyes, letting the light wash over her.
Rory caught his breath. She was ethereal, angelic—so much more than beautiful at that moment.
A woman holding his sword. Simple, but magnificent.
And effective. The crowd was completely silent.
After a minute or so, Boralle slowly raised the sword away from her body, and with both hands grasped the handle.
Gently, she raised it above her head, letting the silk sleeves of her robe fall away from her arms and reveal the muscles that were flexing as she lifted the weight of the sword over her head.
She stood, motionless, letting arcs of light dance from the tip of the sword as it pierced the beams of the spotlights.
Rory closed his eyes and concentrated. A gasp from the crowd let him know his little bit of theater was working.
He opened his eyes and grinned.
Boralle was still standing with the sword raised above her head like an avenging angel, but now there was light coming from the sword itself. This light was tumbling down over Boralle and turning her robe to a multi-hued thing of beauty.
Wild colors marched side by side throughout the fabric—colors that rather strongly resembled the McAllen plaid.
He thanked his lucky stars that Boralle’s robe had been white because this little projection would have been a damn sight more difficult with a dark backdrop.
Slowly, he allowed the colors to fade away, until the garment was restored to its pristine white condition.
She lowered the sword and rested it, point down, before her.
The crowd loved it. She hadn’t removed a stitch of clothing, but already she was getting a standing ovation.
She bowed her head without so much as a flicker of a smile.
Damn, thought Rory. She’s good. She’s bloody good.
Once again giving the crowd time to settle, Boralle moved to lean the sword against a booth. Slowly, she reached for her tie, and equally slowly she released it and moved her shoulders, letting the robe fall around her feet.
She was totally, gloriously naked.
In front of millions of eager eyes.
Rory ground his teeth in silent frustration. He knew this was part of the ceremony and knew it was vital to the success of their plan. But bloody hell!
That was his woman there. His woman, showing her body, flaunting her breasts, running her hands through her hair and turning slowly around, giving the crowd an eyeful of things he considered his.
Part of him rejoiced that the crowd was applauding loudly, cheering her on and encouraging her with their support. But most of him just wanted to yank the cameras out of their sockets, grab about twelve blankets and a large fur rug, and cover Boralle up as fast as possible.
Then he’d like to take her away someplace private, and love her to within an inch of unconsciousness for the next few years.
He struggled against his baser instincts, repeatedly telling himself that this whole procedure was crucial to the Galactic Timeline. He tried reminding himself of Anyela, the Guardian, the seriousness of the situation.
But his anger was still close to the surface and his heart was thumping wildly as Boralle completed her interplanetary version of an X-rated Show and Tell.
The number sixteen flashed above a booth, and the lid rose, beckoning Boralle. Now it was time for both of them to get to work.
With an abundance of energy, fueled by a heart-wrenching need to hold his woman, Rory McAllen leapt onto the dais.
Knowing he was invisible, he took shameless advantage of that fact by making an extraordinarily rude gesture toward the Magan section. It was pointless, childish, and made him feel much better.
He turned to Boralle.
Now it was up to the two of them. They had to have the best sex in the galaxy and Boralle had to out-orgasm generations of beings who had come before her.
Grinning at his own pun, Rory went to his woman.
Oh yeah. This they could do.
* * * * *
Boralle was numb. She’d just wantonly displayed her naked body to uncounted millions of curious eyes. She’d probably relive this moment in nightmares for the rest of her life.
Then she felt a light touch at the base of her spine and all her tension and horror left her in one moment.
He was there. With her. Rory was at her side, ready to love her into the history books.
His tongue touched her shoulder and she felt herself tremble.
“Not yet,” she hissed.
“Why not?” came the response.
She snorted, and picked up the sword again. “Because I have to set this up. Give me a couple of moments.”
The presence backed off slightly, and the audience watched as Boralle, apparently muttering prayers over her icon, moved to the booth that had opened for her use.
There was a bench inside this booth, but there was also a table, placed next to it.
She reverently placed the sword itself on the bench inside the booth, and clipped a small unit to its tip. The system hummed and lights lit up, going green sequentially through the panel as the system accepted these new readings.
Boralle took a small infrared armband and clipped it to her forearm, and followed that with a similar band, which she clipped to her ankle.
Tiny lights illuminated the silver fittings, and she circled again, slowly, so that the judges could verify her procedures.
A nod signified their assent.
She was ready.
She lay on the table next to the booth, and dramatically slid her hands up her body and across her breasts, until they came to rest above her head.
Once again, she felt Rory’s presence.
“Now, love, you’ll not stop me this time.”
Boralle smiled and closed her eyes. She focused on an image of Rory. His scent, his feel, his touch, all the wonderful things she loved about him.
“You’re thinking of me, aren’t you?” whispered his voice.
She could hear the smile in it, but knew that speaking was now out of the question. This was all about her orgasm.
Rory had concentrated his energies into his body, invisible though it was.
She had
no problem feeling his hands as they slipped around her hips, and no difficulty feeling his hair sweep her skin as he bent to kiss her.
He held her hands locked behind her head when she would have reached for him.
“You canna move, lass. You’re at my mercy now.” He chuckled and pressed hot kisses against her mouth, licking her lips and biting softly at her chin.
She groaned and her hips moved.
A distant part of her registered a low rumble throughout the crowd, but Rory’s magic was beginning to work on her and the world was starting to fade away, to be replaced by his touch.
She scarcely remembered how worried she’d been that she’d never be able to respond to him in front of a crowd.
Hah.
She was learning she could respond to him anywhere. Hang her upside down in a Dilerian anthill and she’d probably still get wet for him. And Dilerian ants were about twelve inches across.
He was pressing his body against hers now, keeping her hands above her head with a firm grip.
She found her fingers clutching at the edges of the table as he moved downwards and began loving her breasts.
Once again her hips rolled as his mouth found her and began to suckle. She groaned, loving the warmth of his tongue as it teased her nipples, and feeling the heat spread through her body to her cunt.
She knew she was starting to get wet and she widened her legs a little in readiness.
Her nipples felt hard as nails, but it wasn’t good enough for Rory. With fierce loving tugs, he pulled at them, making her gasp as he encouraged them to stand high and away from her swollen breasts.
She felt his naked chest against her belly as he moved over her. It was a heady sensation—he was all muscle and a scattering of hair and so wonderfully abrasive against her sensitive flesh that her legs instinctively bent at the knee as she wiggled in a dance as old as time itself.
Rory responded to her movements with a dance of his own. He slid down even further, leaving her breasts pointing skywards, and nipping his way around her navel as he headed south.
She sighed as he lavished hot kisses on her bare pussy and she thrust her hips up to meet his mouth.
His wonderful, incredibly talented, mouth.
Which was now kissing and suckling and pressing against her swollen flesh. She couldn’t help it—she cried out as his tongue found her clit and began to love it with quick soft thrusts.
Another sound intruded, moans and cries from a vast number of throats.
Suddenly a bolt of awareness shot through Boralle. She was being watched. Instead of freezing her into a block of rigid plasma, she found to her amazement, that she was getting even more turned on!
She thrust her breasts upwards and rolled her hips some more, hungry now, not just for Rory’s tongue but for the response of the crowd.
And they gave it to her, with applause, cheers, groans and cries of their own.
She was soaking wet, open to Rory’s touches, and getting a thrill from being watched. My word. At some point in the next few years, she was going to have a field day analyzing all this. But not right now.
Right now, she just wanted to be fucked.
Rory had teased her and tantalized her, and tickled her toes, and turned her into a fidgeting, pulsing, thrusting pile of wantonly erotic need.
She needed his cock. And she needed it very soon, or this whole exercise was going to be a waste as she quietly orgasmed herself to death around his tongue.
She relied on Rory to sense her condition. And he didn’t let her down.
She felt squashed for a moment as he slid back up over her, dragging his body against hers and bringing a groan of pleasure to her throat.
“Now,” she whispered. “Please, love, now…”
“Just one minute more…” The rough voice made her shiver, because she knew if she could see him, Rory would be trembling above her, cock a rigid marvel, perhaps gleaming with one or two drops of his own special juices, and his eyes that wonderful deep green that reflected his arousal.
She kept her eyes closed and his face firmly in her mind.
His fingers slid inside her and he moved them around, touching, stroking caressing, and teasing, until he crossed a certain spot…
Boralle cried out.
It was like a mixture of pleasure and pain. Rory returned and stroked it again with a delicate touch, just brushing his fingertips across it.
Again, Boralle sobbed at the sensation.
It was nothing like she’d ever experienced. Her body felt like it was going to explode, her bladder throbbed and she didn’t know if she was going to pass out or pee.
If it came down to a choice, she rather hoped for the former.
Then Rory’s fingers withdrew, leaving her empty and shivering.
But not for long. Within seconds, he was there, pushing, opening, filling her with that wonderful piece of Scottish architecture that was his cock.
Her newly sensitized inner tissues went into a massive cheering routine, welcoming him with drenching approval.
He held himself above her, letting his cock do the work, while his balls brushed her buttocks.
Her knees were high and wide, and for a second she wondered what the crowd was seeing. Then she figured she really didn’t want to know.
Rory was so solid within her. It was comforting, arousing, exciting, wonderful, and she ran out of adjectives within moments.
His hips pushed his cock deep inside her and then pulled back out, brushing past that extra sensitive spot on the way.
A couple of movements like this, and she was ready—oh-so-ready, as the tingles that heralded her orgasm began in her buttocks and her thighs, and this time in her toes, her fingertips, her earlobes and probably her eyelashes.
Rory’s rhythm picked up speed, and he slammed into her. She thrust back, trying to get him ever deeper inside her.
She was panting and crying out now, her hips raising and lowering themselves in time with his movements.
Her lips curled back from her teeth, the tendons in her neck stretched as she rolled her head back, and with a final squeeze of her thighs she pulled Rory into her, deeper than he’d ever been before.
Boralle screamed.
And her world vanished in a massive explosion of white and colored lights that filled her vision, deadened her brain and numbed her soul.
Her body rocked with the orgasm, shudders and spasms coursing their way over every inch of her sweating flesh.
It went on and on, waves rolling over her body, tightening and loosening her muscles with their violence.
Finally, at last, it was over.
Rory had slipped from her body sometime during that mammoth climax, and she could no longer sense him near her.
She felt lost for a moment or two, and dazed as she opened her eyes and found herself naked and exposed to millions of prying eyes.
She burst into tears.
The arena was in an uproar. The crowd was on its feet, on its back, between its legs and semi-conscious.
Through her tears, Boralle started to notice the audience, yelling, stomping, and blatantly satisfying itself.
Two Fralliens were fucking on the floor beside the dais, and other races were mating in their seats, standing up, on their knees, wherever they could find the space.
Several Magans were frantically masturbating as their eyes remained glued to the huge holo-vid screen, and the feathered Dak was trying to impregnate a decorative marble gryphon.
Boralle wiped her tears away then quietly slid from the table and grabbed her robe, thankfully pulling it over her nakedness. She had no idea what to do next, so she waited tensely by the booth, where her sword was glowing happily on the bench. She removed her sensors and placed them next to the sword.
There was a slight popping sound.
Suddenly the lights in the arena flickered and the whole amphitheater darkened for a moment, then the lights reappeared.
The crowd began to settle, as the Fralliens finally spent
themselves, the Magans barked and sprayed their semen into a nearby plant pot thus killing its occupant, and the Dak realized he was seriously bruising his cock and gave up on the gryphon.
It took a few minutes, but finally there was relative calm within the arena and the judges were seated back at their table. One was nude.
An expectant hum ran through the crowd as they realized it was time for the score to be posted for Boralle.
The digital readout holo-vid was poised above Boralle’s head, and she held her breath, waiting, along with the rest of the audience.
The judges were huddled, nodding, shaking their heads, gesturing, and repeating the process.
There was an extended process of entering data into their commpanel units, and several aides were summoned for some reason. They then scurried away, only to return with more data, which was then entered and fussed over in much the same way.
Boralle cleared her throat.
Her thighs were sticky, she was tired, her butt was still a bit cramped from her orgasm, and all she wanted was to climb on top of Rory McAllen and sleep for about a week.
Finally, the judges settled themselves. But instead of posting a score, the lead judge reached for a microphone.
“Ahem. Your attention please.”
There was instant silence throughout the arena.
“We are unable to provide a digital readout of the contestant Boralle North’s score.”
There was a roar of disapproval from the crowd. The judge raised his hand and shook his head.
“This is simply due to a malfunction in our power grid. Apparently, the contestant’s climax was of such magnitude that a good portion of the local subsystem was…was…deactivated at the moment of her orgasm.”
His voice shook slightly, as if he was unable to accept what had happened.
The crowd was stunned into silence.
“Nothing like this has ever happened before. In fact, the magnitude of the sexual power released by this competitor seriously compromised our planetary storage system.” He looked at Boralle in astonishment. “I’m being told that several buildings have been damaged, amongst them the building which housed the blueprints for our Sexual Power Technology systems.”
This information was received with a low murmur, as the crowd began to realize the importance of the loss.