My Prize

by Sahara Kelly

  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.

  "Our digital readout system is not working at all. Many of our systems are now on backup generators. It is estimated that the score for this competitor would have been registered at...at..." He consulted a small palm device, hit a few buttons, double checked the result and shook his head.

  "It is estimated, Major Boralle North, that your orgasm was a twenty-two point nine four."

  The silence was deafening. Boralle herself paled as she heard the judge's solemn, and rather disbelieving voice.

  Dear God, she'd done it. They'd done it. She and Rory had fucked their way to victory and saved the galaxy at the same time.

  She sagged against the booth in relief.

  "There is no other option for us other than to declare you the winner and formally announce these games closed."

  Chapter 22

  "I have an option." The harsh voice rang out over the crowd bringing silence in its wake. A Magan male leaped onto the dais and stood in front of Boralle, tail twitching, throat pouch pulsing and teeth bared.

  "This is a cheat, a fake. This Terran slut did something with that icon of hers. Magus Prime will not be defeated this way. I will not be defeated this way."

  It was the Magan Commander, and Boralle recognized two things very rapidly.

  Firstly, he was seriously pissed off, and secondly, he was armed.

  She cautiously backed away, putting the booth between them. Facing an armed and pissed off Magan male while wearing a silk robe was not on the list of things she'd planned on doing today.

  Strip and orgasm in public? Yes. Mess with a furious Magan Commander sporting a wave pistol? No.

  "There's no place to hide, weakling bitch," snarled the Magan.

  Boralle sighed. He really needed to work on his threatening and intimidating dialogue.

  "Look, Commander," she began. "The Galactic Legal system really frowns on anyone bringing a weapon into this sort of event..."

  The Magan snarled and moved a step closer.

  Right. Boralle moved a step back. She had just tried to thwart a furious Magan's attack with a batch of legalities. Nice going, idiot.

  Unfortunately, she was now backed up against another booth. She was naked beneath her robe, and it didn't look as though anyone was in a hurry to jump up onto the dais and place themselves between her and an angry Magan.

  Sheesh. What was the matter with everyone today?

  The Commander's eyes narrowed and he raised the wave pistol. "You may be able to come like some screaming she-devil, but I know it's a trick to win these games and defraud Magus of what is rightfully mine..."

  Boralle's mind absorbed his words. Mine, huh? Little megalomania going on here perhaps?

  Whatever it was, it certainly meant that he was quite likely to flex that finger which she could see was, even now, lowering onto the firing button.

  "Well, I can take care of you, for a start. Then we'll see about the rest of these games." His eyes hardened even more as he stared at her.

  Her world seemed to slip into some kind of slow-motion vid as she watched him push the red button in as far as it would go.

  She braced herself, knowing that there would be no avoiding this pulse. Her heart cried out for Rory as she faced instant death.

  As if he heard her prayers, there was a sudden commotion, an
d before the pulse had left the barrel of the pistol, a cloudy vision had appeared above the sword, which was still in the booth.

  Grabbing the sword, this vision had leaped in front of Boralle and deflected the incoming pulse with the shining metal blade.

  Roaring, the Magan fired again and again, but each time the sword swung with lightning precision to an intercept point.

  "No..." Screamed the Magan, flicking the weapon up to its highest strength.

  "Yesss..." Hissed Rory from his vague mouth.

  The blast from the pistol was vicious and blinding, but Rory found it, stopped it and whacked it right back into the Magan.

  With a scream, he fell, a smoking pile of green ooze staining the nicely polished floor of the dais.

  Without a backwards glance, the apparition turned and knelt before Boralle, the solidity of the sword offering a visual contrast to his vaporous appearance.

  He offered her the sword. And a quick wink. "I love you, lass. See you back in our room."

  Boralle took the sword in nerveless hands. "I love you too." She sucked in a breath and tried to get her brain to catch up to what had just happened. It was impossible.

  Rory disappeared.

  She slid down the booth and ended up on the floor with a thump. On the other side of the dais she could see the nasty mess that used to be the Magan, and she could dimly make out the sound of one of the Cynerian contestants quietly vomiting. Cynerians were notoriously squeamish.

  Boralle blinked and breathed deeply.

  How the rass was she going to explain all this to General Morrone?

  *~*~*~*

  To judge from the enormously drunken grin that was pasted across the round face of General Morrone at the Terran-sponsored party/orgy/drinking binge later that evening, Boralle wasn't going to have to worry too much about explanations.

  "Fine job, Major. Fine job. You—er—'came' through for us." He guffawed at his own joke.

  One of his aides grinned at her. "He's been like this since late this afternoon." The man's whisper brought an answering smile to her face. "He got into the Frallien brandy, and it's been sweet sailing ever since."

  Nodding politely, she eased herself away from her superior, trying not to trip over the Frallien partygoer who had managed to get a lawyer from Boralle's ship flat on the floor and half stripped.