He turned back toward camp to see Breanna watching him. She smiled when she saw him looking at her. “Listen up, everybody,” he said. “We’ll stay here tonight, no sense to leave now. Any objections?”
His gaze lingered for a moment on Remington. The big man smiled, but didn’t say anything.
“All right,” Striker said. “That’s settled.” He walked over to where Breanna was sitting, squatted down beside her. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Fine.” She smiled. “Under the circumstances.”
It remained cold and damp underneath the rock shelf. Light drizzle fell from the cloudy sky. Just before dark, a group of four-armed hairy creatures, the size of chimps, dropped from the top of the shelf. When they saw the humans, they uttered high-pitched, shrill cries, but otherwise didn’t make any threatening moves.
“Don’t!” Breanna called out sharply when she saw Remington draw his gun.
“I’m not taking any chances,” Remington growled.
“They are not attacking us. They’re only curious, and probably just as surprised as we are,” Breanna said.
The creatures had flat, almost humanoid faces, with protruding, shimmering eyes. No noses, just slits and round, puckered mouths. Their four arms were long and bony; their double-jointed legs quite thin, but muscular, with sharp-clawed large feet.
Of the eight that Striker counted two were larger than the rest. When he looked closer, he saw a row of small nipples on the chests of three of them. Then he saw that one of them had a tiny infant clinging to its belly.
Breanna must have seen it at the same time. “They’re mammals,” she said, excitement in her voice. “Perhaps even humanoid.”
“Ugly critters,” Remington said. “I wonder if they’ll make good eating. Sooner or later we’ll run out of rations, and we’ll have to start eating local food.”
One of the larger creatures bellowed, the others answered with high-pitched whistles, then they all took off with unexpected speed and agility.
Had they been aggressive they could have created a lot of havoc, Striker thought. We might have lost some people today. From now on, we will post guards.
They kept the two heaters on during the night, and not just for warmth.
“I’ll take the first watch, Lieutenant,” Chu said. “I’m not really that tired.”
To Striker’s surprise Remington volunteered to take the second watch. Striker took the third, and a man named Herm Woolf, one of the geologists, agreed to take the last shift.
It seemed he just fell asleep when Remington kicked him gently in the ribs. “Your turn, Striker,” the big man said.
The pale light of the two satellites threw double shadows as Striker made his way toward the tree they picked as guard post, away from the camp. Striker sat in the darkness of the branches, one of the big laser rifles across his lap, his torchlight beside him, ready to bathe the immediate area around him with bright daylight.
The night filled with strange sounds. Chirping, barking, and soft, eerie hooting. So far, they didn’t see any large life forms, except for those monkeys, but it was obvious, this planet was not dead.
Woolf joined him before it was his turn and Striker sat with him awhile. “So, what do you think, Lieutenant?” Woolf said. “What are our chances for survival?”
“As a group, not bad. As individuals?” he lifted his shoulders again, even though he knew the other man couldn’t see him in the shadows. “Some of us may die. This is going to be a harsh place to survive in.”
“Are you certain they won’t come looking for us?” Woolf sounded hopeful.
“No, I’m not certain, nothing ever is.” Striker chuckled grimly. “Captain Cunningham won’t risk another shuttle or team, but sooner or later a ship will come from Earth. Maybe then.”
“When will that be?”
“My tour of duty is supposed to be for five years. They’ll send replacements then.”
“That’s how long I signed up for also, five years. That’s a long time,” Woolf mused.
“It will seem even longer here.” Striker rose, stretched. “I think I’ll hit the sack again. Keep your eyes and ears open.” He slapped the other man on the shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. It would be good to have another friend.
He barely crawled into his sleeping bag when a shadowy figure knelt beside him.
“Are you sleeping already?” a female voice whispered.
“Almost,” he whispered back and opened one eye to see who it was, but he couldn’t see her face in the darkness.
“I’m cold,” she whispered, “and I feel lonely. I need someone to snuggle up to.”
He undid the seam to his sleeping bag, let her join hers with his, and then she slid into the bag. She must have taken off her heavier outer clothes. When he put one arm around her, he felt her soft breasts beneath her thin blouse. “No wonder you’re cold,” he chuckled. She laughed into his ear; her long hair tickled his face. Then she moved into his embrace, put her lips over his. Her hand snaked toward his chest and stroked it gently.
“Did you know that two naked bodies are much warmer than two clothed ones?” she asked.
“So I’ve heard. What are you telling me?”
Laughing into his mouth, she pulled on his pants. “Take them off,” she whispered huskily.
Naked, she felt warm and soft. He had been a long time without a woman, and when he entered her, he tried to stop himself from moaning too loud. When they reached the peak of their passion he closed her mouth with his, top keep her from crying out. Breathing hard, they lay in each other’s arms until they both fell asleep. He slept well. Dreamed of a soft bed and another willing woman he knew a long time ago. He woke early, slipped naked out of the insulated sleeping bag, trying not to disturb her. Breanna turned in her sleep, her body trembled slightly when the cold morning air caressed her skin, but she didn’t wake up.
After dressing silently and quickly, Striker walked over to the tree where Woolf was keeping watch over the camp. He found the other man leaning against the thick, gnarled trunk with his head bent forward and his chin resting on his chest. Striker nudged him with his foot. Woolf yelped, startled. He looked up, reached for his laser, which had slipped from his fingers.
“Had I been a hostile intruder,” Striker said, “you’d be dead now.”
“I’m sorry,” Woolf stammered. “I must have dozed off just before you came. What time is it?”
“Time to wake the others. We should get an early start.”
Chapter Ten
Alpha Colony
The chanting started low and hypnotic then it rose like the sound of a drum every time he thrust forward. His thighs slammed into the fleshy buttocks of the girl who was kneeling in front of him in the tall grass.
He closed his eyes, let the chanting envelope his mind, concentrated on the waves of exquisite pleasure flooding his body.
The girl moaned loudly and pushed back against him. He felt the gushing of liquid, not his.
“Fill her vessel,” a soft voice whispered beside his ear. Sister Angela. She pressed her naked body against his back, moved with him. Her breasts felt soft and spongy on his skin. He let go, erupted with a hoarse cry. The girl pulled away, another one took her place. Sobbing, he pushed his erect member deep into the offered orifice.
Young, they were so young. Yet, there had not been one virgin among them. They were women, all of them. Their vaginas were tight, but capable and eager to slide over his engorged organ. They had no difficulty taking it completely inside them.
“You are The Chosen One.” Sister Angela whispered. “You must fulfill your destiny.”
He looked up at the bright disks of the satellites already separating. How long had this been going on? He didn’t know. How many young wombs had he filled with his seed? Three? Four? It didn’t matter. As long as that fire burned inside him, and as long as a pair of inviting thighs opened, he would sink his organ into the heavenly bliss they offered.
He realiz
ed that he wasn’t kneeling anymore. Strong arms and thighs cradled him, soft breasts cushioned his chest. “The night is almost over.” Sister Angela’s breath came in ragged gasps. “I will take your gift once more, Brother Thomas.”
He did not come immediately, he moved steadily between her soft slim thighs. She felt warm and yielding, covered his face with kisses and milked him with great passion and expertise. Not an innocent virgin either, this Sister Angela!
The chanting became louder until it reached a crescendo at the same time his orgasm peaked, and then slowly died away. Sister Angela cried out in a foreign language, her body jerking in great spasms as he filled her vessel.
They lay silent for moment, her long legs still wrapped around him, and then she released him. “Go now, Brother Thomas,” she said, “we must end the ceremony. Without you.”
He stumbled away like a man who couldn’t wake from a dream. His mind was numb, his body weak, the chanting seemed far away now. He stopped on top of the narrow bridge, stared into the flowing water of the stream.
What happened to him? He, who never before occupied his mind with sexual fantasies, never held any great desires for other women besides his wife, now seemed consumed by lust. He did not know his sexual prowess. Even now, after exerting himself for hours, he could still feel the hardness of his penis.
His eyes searched the heavens, stared at the reddish alien moon. “Forgive me, Lord,” he prayed silently. “I don’t know what to do.”
As he passed one of the small ponds, he heard soft cries. He stopped, looked toward the pond. He saw naked limbs entwined in each other. A naked breast. A pair of white buttocks moving between spread thighs. Without thinking, he moved closer, watched the copulating pair.
“Preacher man,” a familiar voice said beside him. He turned to look into Orona’s almond shaped dark eyes. She put her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her, her body wet, warm and soft. With a hoarse shout he went inside her, entered her deeply.
The pleasure came immediately and felt almost painful. She squirmed beneath him, pulled up her knees until they touched her shoulders. He put his hands under her buttocks, dug his fingers into the fleshy globes. She doused his mast with her hot discharge, but he couldn’t climax, he was empty, yet, he kept on driving his rod into her tight, creamy sheath with furious thrusts. When she told him to stop he pulled out, rolled onto his back, his breath coming in ragged sobs.
“Take it easy, Preacher man,” Orona whispered. “You’ll drop of a heart attack.” She touched his erection and giggled. “You’re too much man even for me.” He moaned, pulled her face against his. “Finish me,” he begged, “I haven’t come.”
She shook her head. “I’m sore. You were like a wild man. Maybe tomorrow night, come back tomorrow night, but come earlier.”
She stood above him. He stared at her naked body, the outline of her breasts against the sky, the dark shadow between her legs. “Go home to your wife,” she said softly and walked away. His eyes were riveted to her rotating round buttocks, he wanted to run after her, grab them and squeeze them, but somehow it seemed too much of an effort.
The two beside him were still locked together, the woman writhing on top of the man. He watched her breasts as they bobbed up and down, admired her pumping plump buttocks, watched her quiver in the man’s lap as he climaxed inside her.
Tom’s and the woman’s eyes locked. She looked familiar, but he didn’t really know her. He gave her a foolish grin, pointed at his own stiff mast. She nodded, smiled, and then she lifted off the other man. Climbing on top of Tom, she impaled herself on his pole, slowly sank into his lap. “I’m Myrna,” she said, studying his face as she greedily sucked him into her belly.
“Tom,” he grunted. “You feel good.”
“So do you,” she said, her lower body gyrating.
He reached up and dug his fingers into her breasts.
“Are you on something?” she asked. “You look strange.”
“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he almost shouted, “just fuck me!”
“All right,” she said, shrugging. “I don’t mind. As long as you can make me come.”
She pumped tirelessly on top of him and climaxed a couple of times. He felt only half-conscious and just stared at her sweat-drenched naked writhing body. When he came, it rushed with the roar of a swamp tiger. The woman collapsed on top of him. When her breathing went back to normal, she said, “For an old guy you sure have stamina. I’ve never met anyone like you. I heard Orona call you Preacher man. Are you some kind of a preacher?”
“No,” he said, “just a man.”
“Some kind of man” she said thoughtfully.
Tom closed his eyes. He suddenly felt very tired.
* * * *
When he opened his eyes again, the stars and moons were gone. The alien sun began to rise in the west. Tom grew aware of something wet touching his lips. Then he realized that he wasn’t alone.
Two large purple eyes stared into his. He wanted to sit up, but a weight on each of his arms prevented that. “What do you want?” he croaked with a dry throat.
There were three of them. The two who sat on his arms and the one who held a fruit against his lips. Tree-elves.
So far the humans had not been able to make contact with them, didn’t even know if they should consider them intelligent. They were small, frail looking creatures, about a meter tall, with bald heads, large eyes, and pointy ears. The humans saw them flitting through the trees, like monkeys, mostly at night. Any effort at making contact proved unsuccessful. Until now.
The one holding the fruit said something in a soft, almost child-like voice.
Tom shook his head. “I don’t understand you,” he said.
The little creature took a small bite out of the fruit and again offered it to Tom. Tom opened his mouth, bit into it, hoping that it wasn’t poisonous. It tasted sweet, with a tangy, but pleasant aftertaste. He swallowed, took another bite. When the fruit was gone, the two holding him down stood up, and then all three turned and ran toward the trees. Like monkeys, they climbed the trunks, disappearing among the branches.
Tom lay there, staring up into the sky, his thoughts confused. He felt a warm sensation spreading through his body, his feet and fingers tingled. The feeling of lead in his veins disappeared. He sat up, wondering, flexed his muscles. Amazing, he thought, I don’t feel tired. I should be exhausted after last night.
Images of naked young female bodies writhing and squirming above him flashed through his mind. He could still feel the heavenly pleasure he experienced as his hard penis penetrated their tight and soft, young vaginas, heard their cries of ecstasy echo inside his head when he filled their vessels with his discharge.
Had it happened? Had it been nothing but a dream? Or was all this just a figment of his sick imagination? What about the tree-elves? Surely, they had been real! He wasn’t sure of anything.
He discovered that he was naked, the crisp morning air created goose bumps on his skin. His pants and shirt lay in a crumpled heap nearby, but his shoes were on his feet. He slipped out of them, waded into the lake and let the cool water caress his body. Rubbing himself with his hands, he dunked his head under water. The water looked quite clear and he could see something moving close to his face. He reached out and touched a jelly-like substance. Before he could pull away, it wrapped itself around his fist, like a washcloth.
He surfaced, lifted his hand out of the water. As he did so the spongy cloth slipped off his fist, lay for a moment on the surface. Tom studied it, puzzled. It was circular, about 30 centimeters in diameter, almost transparent and the color of pale translucent flesh. He felt a curious pulling in his head as he stared at the softly pulsing object. A shiver ran through the quivering mass, and then it transformed itself into an oblong ball and disappeared under water. Something about its appearance seemed familiar to Tom, but he couldn’t remember what it was.
The sun climbed above the treetops. He pulled himself up onto land, us
ed his shirt to dry his body. Then he headed back toward the settlement. As he walked down the trail, he heard voices. A group of young men came toward him. They were members of the small fighting force that accompanied the colonists. Even from the distance he recognized the big, beefy body of Sergeant Vicks at the head of the group.
“Good morning, McClary. You’re up early.”
Tom gave him a crooked grin. “It’s a beautiful day, can’t waste a day like that.”
Chapter Eleven
Alpha Colony
The Mother-ship supplied the colonists with plenty of building materials. When Sister Angela insisted they build a place of worship, a church, they did. It even sported a steeple. The only thing it lacked was a bell. Behind the church, a small dwelling that served as living quarters for Sister Angela and her Angels, as she called her girls. There were fourteen of them, none of them over twenty years old.
It was hard to tell what Sister Angela looked like under that black, shapeless robe she wore, but flashes of her white, naked form kept popping into Tom’s mind. He knew that her body was slim and lovely, and full of passion. At least he thought he did.
“Tell me about last night, Sister Angela,” he said.
She sat behind a metal desk. It was plain and functional, like the room. Looking up from the book she had been studying, she gave him a curious glance.
She has beautiful eyes, Tom thought, so blue, so innocent and so angelic, just like her face. “Is Angela your real name?” he blurted out.
The gaze of her eyes never wavered. Suddenly, she smiled. “My, we are inquisitive this morning, Brother Thomas,” she said softly. “You look troubled.”
“I am troubled,” he said exasperated. “Tell me about what happened last night.”
The Xandra (Book 1): Daughter of the Dark Page 7