Taming The Wild Man - an erotic romance

by Toni Sands

  His eyes widen with delight. ‘Such boldness from a star sister! What would your punishment be if your Galactic Suprema could hear you? Come, let’s eat.’

  Zia almost retorts that the Galactic Suprema has more important things to do. But she holds her tongue and watches him unclasp the wicker hamper and spread a cloth upon the rug. She’s uncertain how matters will proceed now. It’s not a star sister’s place to question command. Suddenly she feels shy again. Here she has no script to follow. Her boldness seems to come from somewhere deep within … somewhere previously untapped. But she’s loving every minute.

  She watches Conall unwrap vine leaf parcels. Zia’s learnt about the variety of foods enjoyed by people preferring to live at the mercy of nature and she wonders how she’ll enjoy sampling such produce. She’s used to bland but nutritious food. Now she sniffs ripe cheese – smells the yeastiness of newly-baked bread. She picks up a sprig of parsley, rubs it between thumb and forefinger, breathing in the green. Conall produces a paste which he tells her is made from garlic and basil leaves. He spreads the mixture on a chunk of wholemeal bread and offers it. Watches as her firm white teeth tear into it. She feeds him the remainder. Then he takes a mouthful of wine and brings his mouth close to hers. He prises her lips apart with his tongue, allowing the wine to trickle inside for her to swallow.

  Then he groans as she takes a mouthful from his glass and burrows her head against his inner thigh. He closes his eyes as the wine trickles over his skin, closely followed by Zia’s tongue.

  ‘Careful, my beautiful,’ he warns as she laps the liquid. ‘Man cannot live on love alone.’

  ‘I could easily become accustomed to such a diet,’ she says.

  Stunned, he gazes into her eyes, so dark and solemn now. Fleetingly he imagines life with this awesome young woman at his side. His family home is high above the shore. There’s ample land for another house. A wave of melancholy touches him and he curses his stupidity. He and Zia may share the same gene pool but the similarity ends there. He and his family reject the views of the Collective and abhor its life style. Conall still has parents ageing naturally. If they were part of the Collective, and were deemed suitable to continue their existence, they’d be given life-enhancing drugs and remain wrinkle-free and lithe-limbed. Nothing unpleasant would be allowed to threaten them. Utopia? He thinks not.

  Conall pushes these thoughts away as Zia’s ministrations come to a halt. He begins feeding her grapes, rolling them first across her nipples. She retaliates, cramming two or three fruits inside her mouth, biting into them. She kisses him. And when his tongue penetrates her mouth and probes the juicy grape flesh, he groans as the sensation jolts his body.

  He reaches for a ripe pear, peels it with a thin-bladed knife, feeding pieces to Zia, then takes the remaining slices and pushes her gently on her back. He arranges the firm, juicy segments on her mound. He bends over her, his tongue searching, lapping her delicate folds, seeking her clitoris and coaxing it to response.

  She gasps. ‘More ... you have to.’

  But he pulls away, eyes laughing. Still kneeling beside her, his fingers travel down his body. She watches his every move. Now he strokes his own thighs, his hands moving upwards towards his centre. Lazily, he strokes his wakening penis. Zia responds, cupping her lush breasts and offering them. Somehow he resists. He reaches across and selects a piece of fruit. The only sound in the quiet cave is Zia’s breathing. He peels the banana and feeds its creamy tip inside her mouth. She grazes it with her teeth, taking in its length bit by bit. Then one bite splits the soft flesh. Conall devours the other half of the fruit slowly, concentrating his stroking upon his own body and not hers. His magnificent cock takes on a life of its own.

  Zia focuses on him, half-sobbing, little animal noises spilling from her parted lips. Her eyes glaze with desire. She’s panting, begging him again. ‘Now! Now, please Conall, now.’

  He makes no move towards her. ‘You like me fucking you?’

  She scrambles across so she’s sitting on his chest but he pushes her gently backwards. She wriggles into position. They form a perfect 69. His fingers and his tongue lay siege to her.

  ‘Please,’ she begs once more.

  He slides one, then two fingers inside her slipperiness. The first spasm wracks her with sweet intensity. She starts to moan and reach out for him.

  ‘Not yet. I want to watch you as you come,’ he says.

  She squeezes herself around his hand, finding the right rhythm until she comes against him, juddering and shuddering into her climax. He waits, still rock-hard. And once again she surprises him: bends her dark head between his thighs. Sucks on his taut balls. Her little pointy tongue flicks around his dark rim and sneaks inside. Her hair brushes his thighs as she moves her face round and fastens her lips to the base of his tight-veined cock. She tongues her way upwards ’til a tiny pearl of moisture appears at its tip. He groans again. She laughs. Sucks on him and traps him inside her mouth. The warmth and wetness overwhelms him. And it’s his turn to come.

  She takes him straight down her throat; the triumph in her eyes as old as time. They share the rest of the wine, drinking in turn from the bottle so the juice of the vine mingles with the man’s juices and the woman’s wetness. Then they lie in each other’s arms.

  Alone in her quarters far beneath the above-ground world Shara X writhes. All in the course of research. She lies still and waits for her breathing to return to normal, a little smile playing on her lips. It intrigues her that the wild man should spill his seed in this wasteful way. But she’s sent Zia to him in the most advantageous time segment for conception to occur. The Collective’s technology will quickly determine success. She wonders if it will prove necessary for Zia to return. If so, Shara X could share this experience with the Galactic Suprema. At the thought of this mutual orgasm and the bonding thus created, she closes her eyes.

  Chapter Two

  ‘SURELY YOU DON’T live here?’ Zia’s gaze takes in the stark interior. A simple bunk with a pillow and a blanket woven from what she thinks must be wool, stands near the entrance. In her formative years as a Status One Star Sister, she’s learnt much about these people. Now she’s awed to be dropping in on their world.

  ‘In summer, yes I do. Mornings, I walk along the shore. Evenings I fish and cook my catch on the fire. In between I work on my parents’ farm and sometimes I read.’

  She frowns. ‘You have word-tabs?’

  He looks solemn. ‘Afraid not. I have a few 21st century relics in the form of paper. They’re called books.’

  Zia regards him curiously. How strange to live in a world bereft of the items she takes for granted. She indicates the wooden chest she’s noticed for the first time. ‘You keep food and drink here without difficulty? Surely you don’t drink wine every day?’

  His laughter echoes round the cave. Gently, he touches her cheek. ‘What an impression I’ve made on you. My family home’s not too distant. I return every now and then to collect water and other things. I was there this morning, preparing to entertain a very important visitor.’

  ‘I’d so like to see your home. How long have you known about my visit?’ She cocks her head to one side, watching his expression.

  The beeping is an obscenity within the confines of the natural cave. At once Zia pulls away and reaches for her uniform. Taking a metallic wand from a pocket she taps in a code, then nods. She begins to wriggle into her briefs, then her shorts and tunic, intent on her task and showing no signs of the wine she’s enjoyed.

  The man knows he’ll jeopardise his safety if he uses delaying tactics. ‘You’ll visit again and share my food?’ he asks when he sees she’s ready to go. He already knows the answer.

  ‘If they allow,’ she says.

  As Conall rises, his face is a mix of emotions. It’s clear she’s distancing herself from him. She doesn’t continue her questions. The opportunity to draw her into his life by pointing out what he’s convinced she’s missing is lost. Their two worlds, having collid
ed for a brief, sweet interval, must now separate. The two stand, looking at each other. They press their palms together like colleagues. They bow their heads. Conall watches Zia walks out into the sunshine. Sees her pause to gaze at the ocean where flying fish, their scales a sequinned shower, paint half-circles of spray above the water. He looks around and pounces on a shell lying on the cave floor, catching up as Zia glides towards the cliff path.

  ‘A gift to remember me by.’ He presses the object into her palm.

  ‘For me?’ She looks down at a perfect pink cowry that’s somehow escaped the bizarre colour changes so typical of the 24th century land and seascape. The shiny carapace flashes in the sunlight as she slips it inside her tunic pocket.

  When she’s gone, the man sits on the beach, alone with his thoughts. This star sister has brought him delights he’s only dreamed of before now. So many women opted for the underground haven offered by the Collective as Earth slowly recovered from the devastation of the planet in the 22nd century. The human race was decimated. Self-preservation was paramount. The natural world became something to fear and flee from. Collectives sprang up all over what remained of the original planet. Humankind reinvented itself and created numerous below-ground habitations. But it also lost its way in its phobia over creating safe havens.

  Conall sighs. He has no life partner in this wild, abstract land. He has a married older brother and a sister nearby, as well as his parents. He has cousins and good friends. There’s a woman, widowed and in her 30s, with whom he sleeps during the winter months. Previous summer couplings with star sisters have provided physical release even though he detests the cold-blooded reason. But he’s always performed his duty, knowing his existence here in the wild zone depends upon his concurrence with the demands of the Galactic Suprema, ruler of the Collective.

  It’s possible he’s fathered three children via loveless liaisons. But a close relationship leading to the joy of parenthood isn’t something likely to happen for him. Today’s events have awakened a longing he suspects won’t easily disappear. And for the first time, the dreamlike partner Conall sometimes conjures in his fantasies has an identity. When he raises his fingers to his face he can still catch her scent.

  Luckily, he’s oblivious of the prototype system by which Shara X has enjoyed his strong, young body. There are too many rumours about the ways of the Collective and he and his fellow wild ones take as little heed as possible of them. The one thing he’s sure of is that the fertility programme is important to the Collective. Will he ever see Zia again? The answer, he knows, will depend upon whether or not he’s impregnated her today.

  Conall kicks at the shingle as he walks on, his masculine pride fighting his yearning. His joy at imagining Zia carrying his child is tainted by knowledge of the Collective’s policy. The embryo, should it exist, will be harvested and reared under strict conditions. Its mother will, after a suitable interval, be made available to another wild one – could be sent even to someone he knows. He doesn’t think he could bear that. But the Collective doesn’t deal in feelings. He bows his head, watching a small crab, black as his mood, scuttle towards the entrance of his cave.

  Conall’s fingernails dig into the palms of his hands. ‘Why?’ he yells. ‘Why? Oh why?’

  High above the beach, the auto pod admits its driver. Zia takes her seat and feels her uniform adjust to the cooler interior temperature. Then she tunes into her control, Shara X, shutting her eyes as a voice patches into her consciousness.

  Excellent, Star Sister. Control Zone must monitor your cranial chip. And you will undergo a scan to establish cell cluster origination. After which you will attend upon me in my private quarters. Return now, Zia.

  Shara X says no more. She’s not obliged to report all her findings to the receptacle star sister.

  Zia opens her eyes and gasps. Why this darkness? Then she sees the bird of prey hovering above her car, huge wings invading her space, hooded eyes predatory. She raises a finger, looks straight into its amber gaze and watches it swoop across the bay. If it has screeched, she hasn’t heard it, cocooned as she is. She knows she must always be on her guard even though she’s cloaked by a protective shield. It’s still light. But it’s time to return to base. As the vehicle follows the route between the dunes she abandons her mind to music: its tempo different now. Such a calm, pure melody is unlikely to stir dangerous desires. She’s returning to her kind: images of Conall fast fading. Just as the Collective intends.

  Shara X returns to her thought transference task, the words strip-screening across her mind, inputting facts on the monitor before her. These findings will be presented to the Galactic Suprema. And she anticipates extra privileges in return for her diligence.

  Star Sister Zia registered an enjoyment factor of 98 per cent. This is a significant increase on my last controlled test while she was in the Bliss Cubicle with a high-grade star brother. This experiment suggests that the crude sexual act, while not strictly necessary for our advanced conception procedures, produces in some females, high levels of satisfaction. I recommend that use of bliss cubicles for sisters and brothers to enjoy one another’s bodies in the prescribed manner for purposes of relaxation should remain in place.

  I would also recommend should conception not occur in this time segment, that the Wild One is the subject of a further visit by Zia. If the man has already impregnated her, I respectfully suggest he will have served his purpose until another star sister is ready to be sent to him.

  Shara X pauses as she considers what she’s written. How to describe the recent soaring journey as her body approached meltdown isn’t easy. She tries to remain professional but she finds herself deleting her last sentence and presenting something rather different.

  In any case, I request permission to conduct another experiment with Conall and Zia. I am confident that you could link in just as I have done today in order to ‘inhabit’ the body and mind of our star sister. The enhanced pleasure level will, I assure you, assist our health and support the anti-ageing initiative in, dare I say it, an extremely enjoyable way.

  So, Majesty, I assure you that Prototype Program Zero Delta is tested to a level suitable for your participation and approval as our beloved Galactic Suprema. As soon as Zia has undergone examination I shall report further.

  Shara X Zone 5

  The Regulator values the trust placed in her by the Galactic Suprema and the opportunity to use her quick brain on projects such as this. Pleasure is paramount to the Collective. They don’t have to expend their thoughts and energies on staying alive as must the inferior wild ones above ground.

  Zia glimpses a slice of rich, intriguing ocean far below as the auto pod begins its descent. She leaves the dunes and graceful grasses and reaches cruise-mode, following empty highways. All travel is achieved via predetermined routes and robotic controls. Zia, safe in her vehicle, is drawn further and further from Conall’s disturbing, visceral world. She’s very conscious of the wisdom of banishing all thoughts of him from her mind, should images appear.

  If she displays any emotion, she’ll risk the displeasure of her superiors. That would mean no bliss cubicles. No more sight-seeing above ground. In the event that conception hasn’t occurred, she knows she’ll be given a second chance to conceive naturally. But should this still not occur, she’ll be harvested for eggs for however long it takes for her to provide several star children. She knows Conall could be subjected to a clinical procedure that having visited him, she realises he’ll despise. This thought is dangerous. She mustn’t show any concern for his welfare, in spite of the intimacy they’ve so recently shared.

  She doesn’t usually have trouble keeping herself in a state of neutrality and acquiescence. She really can’t understand why today’s procedure has affected her in such a way. Even though the memory of their passion is fast fading, for the first time ever she understands the meaning of a “heavy heart”. Zia changes the music again, expecting the electronic harmony to soothe her. But somehow it fails. What’s happen
ing? She struggles to understand, knowing she’ll have much to explain when she reports in.

  For the first time ever, Zia fears for her future. As a flock of emerald green hawks bursts from a cluster of crimson trees, she breathes deeply; focusing on the vivid foliage and the aerial ballet. It’s time to tug her emotional gearbox back to neutral. Time to remember that life in the Collective is simple, provided one conforms. Zia brushes an angry tear from her cheek and pulls herself together. Before it’s too late. The world to which she belongs awaits her. And Conall must remain in his.

  Shara X sits at her work station. The free-floating chair ensures comfort and aligns her body, eliminating stress. She sometimes spends a whole time segment searching and updating the database. Her particular responsibility contains the details and reports on fifty star personnel. Now, with the wild man’s CV in front of her, she scrutinises the screen, her eyes narrowed.

  Category: Alpha Male: super-tall with medium build and colouring. Of American descent, Conall is a Two in Collective-speak, aged 23 years in old-style terminology. Generations of his family have chosen to live above ground which means he comes of sound stock. His late grandfather and his father have provided five boy children and three girls to the Collective. Conall’s father, now the equivalent of Status Four, is deemed unfit for further procreation. He’s allowed to wander where he will but prevented from siring more children in the wild world because the Collective has performed sterilisation. A few centuries ago he’d doubtless, at his current age of 46, have been deemed an attractive older man in his prime.

  His elder son has already sired three sons and the younger one, Conall, has fathered twin daughters although he’s unaware of this. Shara X anticipates altering that number to three. She thinks of the pretty clone receptacle chosen to bear Conall’s first children and immediately the girls’ images appear on her screen, alongside pictures of their parents. The twin fledglings have inherited their father’s gold-flecked eyes and their mother’s platinum hair. They’re prize specimens and will one day further strengthen the Collective bloodline. But it’s also vital to mate wild ones like Conall with original humans like Zia.