Tales of the Quiet Kitty 2: Dancing with the Devil
Camille Anthony
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2004 by Camille Anthony
No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Changeling Press LLC.
ISBN 1-59596-066-X
Formats Available:
HTML, Adobe PDF,
MobiPocket, Microsoft Reader
Publisher:
Changeling Press LLC
PO Box 1561
Shepherdstown, WV 25443-1561
www.ChangelingPress.com
Editor: Sheri Ross Carucci
Cover Artist: Angela Knight
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Chapter One
Captain Brant Sylenus heaved a bored and antsy sigh. Shifting in his command chair, he rolled over onto one hip and crossed his legs.
How much longer are they gonna keep us waiting?
Over at the navigational console, Bevel-leveB flicked his tongue out, tasting the air and Brant flinched, knowing he had taken note of his agitated moodiness. With a sour feeling in his gut, he waited for the alien to let loose with one of his usual acerbic comments. He wasn’t in the mood to be reminded he lacked self-control.
His brother-in-law, being Jenari, enjoyed heckling him about being the impatient sort. Much as he often wanted to refute his second-in-command, stuff his teasing, ciliated tongue back down his throat, he couldn’t argue with the truth. Waiting was hard for him. In fact, in his opinion, waiting took first prize as the part of their smuggling runs he hated most.
Currently he had the Quiet Kitty running on autopilot, locked in synchronous orbit around one of Wistarlandia-2’s minor moons. Everything had been set to go -- cargo weighed, packed and waiting in the hold, ready for unloading… then the Corporation squadron had shown up.
So here he was, after two days, still twiddling his thumbs. He could barely stomach standing tamely by while the colonists danced about, distracting the unscheduled patrol that had set down on planet. The colonists knew it wouldn’t do for the Quiet Kitty to be caught by the Corporation’s goon squad. For one thing, they would lose out on all that sugar.
Out here on the fringes, even basic foodstuffs were hard to come by. The high-priced luxury items -- like the cargo of cane sugar currently resting in the bowels of the Quiet Kitty -- were almost impossible to obtain. The entire populace of W-2 was practically starved for the expensive delicacy. Being a new -- still mired in passage-debt -- colony, they could not afford the Corporation’s exorbitant prices.
Knowing their story, Brant felt sorry for them. The naïve settlers of Wisterlandia-2 hadn’t planned on being carted way out to the edges of the Sauris Galaxy and dumped. The Corporation had seen fit to interpret their contract with the eager travelers as supplying a viable world for colonization and nothing else. They’d abandoned the three thousand settlers on a barely stable, newly terra-formed world and charged them for the privilege.
Ten years later, no longer so naïve, the colonists continued to harbor ill will against all things Corporate. They jumped at every opportunity to thwart their traitorous overlords.
Every year, freak storms conveniently damaged their crops. Seasonal swarms of ravenous insectoids consumed what remained. Their official records showed they rarely had enough crops to support themselves, let alone benefit the galaxy-wide predator that sought to control all known space. In reality, the yearly bumper crops were harvested and left the planet in the holds of enterprising free-traders.
Their animosity toward the Corporation worked just fine for the captain and crew of the Quiet Kitty. Brant’s lips widened in a feral grin as he fondly recalled how avidly the Wistarlandians had responded to his original offers of trade. They’d been more than happy to stiff the Corporation by entering into an ongoing business relationship with him. The thankful people of W-2 gained the sugar and other rare commodities they loved and were able to bask in the happy knowledge that they were royally dissing their landlords.
Of his scheduled runs, this one usually proved the most lucrative because he paid practically nothing for the sugar. It was plentiful and cheap in certain areas of the galaxy and his underground contacts in CCS -- Corporation Central Space -- made it easy for him to pick up raw, black-market cane for a song. Having it processed and packaged took next to no credits and even less time. Once aboard the ship, it was easy to smuggle the cargo of high-grade sugar out to the Rim where he sold it for half the going Inner Rim price.
The true beauty of it all was, once rendered into sugar, the load wasn’t a bit illegal. They could be stopped and boarded and come away with a clean Corporate receipt. The sugar was clean. He was the cargo the Corporation really sought. They wanted him back in their hands something fierce.
That was why smuggling was another plus for him. He wanted those bastards hindered in every way possible. Even the relatively small disruption he caused in the petty enterprise of Corporation sugar sales gave him immense pleasure. Far more importantly, it made him a nice, tidy sum. He realized an even heftier profit from the krasn fruit he took in partial payment.
Krasn fruit was beautiful and looked as good as it tasted. The skin of the long, tubular fruit was pale lilac in color, the flesh inside ruby hued. Bisected by a central stem of pod-like seeds, the meat was firm and sweet -- its flavor indescribably delicious… and addictive.
But the popularity of the fruit did not lie in its flavor and looks, but in its secondary properties. Krasn seeds -- when ground into powder and added to any liquid -- became the most powerful aphrodisiac known to the linked galaxies. So far the substance had proven effective on every species it had been tested on.
It was this quality that made the fruit both sought after and feared. Among many of the races and species inhabiting the three galaxies, the aphrodisiac was known as the Killing Pleasure. In the hands of the skilled, it could become either the perfect torture or the most sublime reward. And used either way, it often resulted in death. Otherwise intelligent beings had been known to chase after the pleasure of the krasn until their hearts gave out.
As far as he knew -- and he’d made discrete, extensive inquiries -- Wistarlandia-2 was only one of two worlds in three galaxies where krasn grew. The colonists had been smart enough to keep that crop information from the Corporation.
The preliminary scans hadn’t been thorough and by some fluke, the fruit had been overlooked by the initial surveyors. More than likely this proved possible due to the fact krasn grew in the dark, usually in caves and underground caverns. Since the scans had been confined to the surface once it had been determined no significant deposits of precious metals resided under the soil, the krasn escaped notice. It helped that right after being terra-formed the land had still been in geothermal turmoil, so active the sensors had constantly malfunctioned.
Brant chuckled. The damned Corporation messed up on that one and the colonists had been quick to take gleeful advantage.
Oh, the krasn brought in great amounts of credit. No matter how much he made on it, Brant still couldn’t quite come to terms with being a dealer in the deadly substance. He, especially, knew how the innocuous-seeming fruit could overpower one’s will. During the years he
’d been force-fed the poison in the breeding pens of the Corporation zoo, Brant had become intimately acquainted with the insidious power of the krasn’s seeds.
An angry, menacing snarl rumbled in his chest, catching him unawares. He hadn’t thought about those years in a long time and had assumed his well of rage had grown shallow. It hadn’t. Now he didn’t think it ever would. Not until he gained his revenge and regained his family.
As their only captured prime Sh’Bahkyr male, he’d been treated like a lowly guinea pig, a lab rat. His captors, the Corporation scientists, had subjected him to a thousand indignities attempting to test the truthfulness of the legends that claimed the males of his race could breed across any species. They hadn’t been too happy when he’d refused to cooperate with their experiments.
Brant’s fangs flashed as he recalled the so-called scientists’ fury at his steadfast refusal to mount the females thrust into his cage. Even when they’d fouled his water with krasn powder and hidden it in his food, he’d forced himself to turn from the Shes, drove them away with threats of death. He had determined in his heart that any cubs he sired would roam free, not live caged to be gawked at in viewing pens by human spectators.
But he’d almost died from the artificially induced and maddening sexual overdrive. His blood pressure had hit the roof and hung there, threatening imminent stroke. Lungs and heart had been pushed to the limit, forced to work overtime as his pulse pounded out of step every minute of every hellish day. Worse, his cock had remained hard; so swollen and stiff he could not bear to wear clothing. Even the ephemeral touch of the wind, blowing against his engorged flesh, had brought shamed, agonized tears to his eyes.
No amount of masturbation helped -- in fact, nothing had hurt more. The agony that ripped through his abused organ during the times he tried to bring himself off had proved almost more than he could bear. Indeed, he could barely tolerate the acidic content of his own piss passing through his throbbing gland.
Just when he’d given up hope, years of playing the dejected, depressed captive finally paid off. A few days after he’d come to the decision to end his life, a new guard had slipped up. He’d been warned to take care, but working around Brant day after day, seeing his dejected state, the man must have decided the thin, pain-wracked Sh’Bahkyr was no threat. He’d entered the cage alone.
Brant had ripped out his jailer’s throat, switched to his Ghost form and escaped. But not before opening the doors to every cage in the scientist’s so-called zoo.
Ever since that day, he’d worked relentlessly toward the goal of gaining revenge on the heartless people who had sought to enslave and break him. Even more important than his revenge was finding his scattered, imprisoned people and rescuing his queen -- who happened to be his twin sister.
A blinking light on the main console caught his eye and refocused his wandering attention. With a disgruntled sigh, Brant made the minor adjustments needed and watched his board signal the expected response. He noted two maintenance lights showing amber and made a mental note to get Willa to take care of those before they turned red.
Keeping an eye on the board, he returned to musing over the unique properties of his next cargo.
Oh, he knew all about krasn, which was why he was extremely cautious of the beings he sold it to. Of course, there were some races he could trust with krasn. Like the Landresid of Plador, a race that had only one use for the drug. Brant had a standing high-priority order from them for all the fruit he could ship.
Over the centuries of their long-lived lives, the Landresid -- the ultra-privileged ruling branch of Pladorian society -- had become sated by and immune to hedonistic pleasures. Their race began dying out due to lack of births. The Landres -- their women -- could only become pregnant during orgasm and without outside help, it seemed they were doomed to attrition.
The Landresid were stunned and hopeful when they discovered that the powerful aphrodisiac contained within the krasn seeds could rouse their deadened libidos. They craved that short-lived jolt of sexual excitement so much they considered the fruit worth its weight in old Earth gold. Since Earth was no more, the value of gold just kept going up. So did the price of krasn. Thankfully the deep coffers of the Landresid seemed to have no bottom.
Turning from his board, Brant yawned and stretched. Shaking his head, he threw off the depressing memories of his dark past. Having to wait always gave him too much time to think… to brood.
Things were different now. He was no longer alone. Soon after his escape, he’d found Bevel-leveB. The poor Jenari had been half out of his head -- both heads -- trying without success to find his lost bond-mate. Together they’d liberated the sole functioning ship remaining of the family’s once strong armada. On the Jenari home world the registry had been obliterated, the ship’s name changed and the Quiet Kitty had been born.
A hunting cat was silent, deadly, sneaking up on its prey on muffled paw. Like the silent cat it was named for, the Quiet Kitty was deadly. Bristling with the latest stealth weaponry and the newest long-range Wave travel capability, the ship was just what they needed to facilitate finding and rescuing the disenfranchised members of their families. For every Sh’Bahkyr Clan was a vein leading from the trunk root of the great Core and as such, claimed kinship to the ruling family.
Brant sighed. These mental trips to the past always disturbed him. He needed to relax for a while. They wouldn’t be able to bring their cargo to market for another day or so and he didn’t want his head crowded with images of the past. What better way to relax than to spend some time with Willa?
His balls were heavy with sperm, his cock thick with need. Now was as good a time as any to see to his new Sexengineer’s required feeding. A smile widening his mouth, he toggled the intercom button on the arm of his command chair with one hand and palmed his cock with the other. “Willa, report to the bridge ASAP.”
Chapter Two
Her sexual appetite never ceased to amaze him.
Brant leaned against the bridge command console, legs planted far apart, his freed cock buried in the depths of his Sprite’s hot little mouth. Combing his fingers through the light feathery mass growing from her skull, he gently directed her motions, carefully feeding her more and still more of his tumescent shaft.
He groaned and shifted, easing the pressure on his testicles. “Willa, use your teeth… yes, like that… now cup and lick my balls.”
One tiny hand cradled his full sac while she nibbled on the vein running the length of his cock, then took him deep. Hollowing her cheeks with the strength of her suction, she swallowed against his length, opening her throat in a practiced move.
A sexy hum vibrated along his erection and a groan escaped him. His knees weak, he tightened his hands on her head, feeling her strong pulling motions all the way to his scrotum. Growling a needy command through clenched fangs, he ordered, “Suck me deeper, darling. Harder.”
His neck arched. Throwing back his head, he gritted his teeth at the feelings caused by her flicking tongue playing in the slit of his glans, hissing in pleasure. Bending his head, eager to watch her small bowed lips greedily engulfing his swollen cock, he tenderly brushed the brilliantly colored plumes off her forehead.
What a beautiful sight.
His eyes unfocused as his distracted gaze swept the starboard viewing port. Outside, the majestic panoply of stars and distant planets moving past the vessel in a lazy crawl beckoned to his wandering soul. The galactic dance coupled with Willa’s virtuoso fellatio performance had his heart pounding. He tried to rein in his galloping lust, wanting this moment to last a little longer.
His grip softened on her head. His fingers played idly in her silky head fronds as he watched the universe put on an outward show just for him. Willa’s tugging lips triggered another show of pyrotechnics.
The dance of stars always soothed him, brought peace when nothing else could. Lately he’d felt that same peaceful calm in the presence of Willa. In the short space of a little over two month’s time, he�
�d grown hungry for the soft feelings she sparked in him. Somehow she always managed to make him feel like those twinkling stars -- as if his insides were going nova, exploding with life and light.
Groaning in gradually rising ecstasy, Brant lowered his head in time to see Bevel-leveB sliding between Willa’s open thighs. They exchanged speaking glances before the Jenari placed long-fingered hands on both the Sprite’s knees and yanked her legs apart. Abruptly and without preamble, Bevel plunged his writhing tongue deep up Willa’s glistening slit.
She tore her mouth away, abandoning Brant’s cock to cry out at the sudden invasion. Her small body trembled and shook under the strong lashing. Brant’s balls tightened at the sexy sight of his Sprite writhing on his brother-in-law’s tentacled tongue.
She soon recovered her focus and buried her head back in his crotch. As her head bobbed up and down his length, her trim bottom swayed to the rhythm of Bevel’s cunnilingus. As he struggled to hold back his rising ardor, Brant couldn’t help wondering what those waving cilia would feel like brushing his own rampant flesh, maybe teasing at his rectum…
He’d never felt curious before. If the Corporation hadn’t disrupted their lives, he’d have shared sex with Bevel before now. As his twin sister’s bonded mate, Bevel-leveB was his closest male relative. The Sh’Bahkyr race usually bred in twins and triplets and it was custom for sibs to share mates among the unmated siblings. Still, with Letshya gone, the thought of engaging in sex with Bevel had never crossed his mind… until now. By sharing Willa with Bevel, the entirely normal desire to taste him, himself, rose in Brant. His flat round nipples tingled and hardened at the idea, while his seed boiled and seethed in his scrotum under Willa’s expert handling.
He knew Bevel wouldn’t mind doing him. Raised on Sh’Bahkyr in the Jenari embassy, Bevel-leveB was well aware of the sexual practices of the royal family. If this particular session hadn’t been strictly for Willa, he’d have done more than contemplate trying out the Jenari’s paces.
Tales of the Quiet Kitty 2: Dancing with the Devil Page 1