The next moments passed in a glittering haze like their skimming of the Saturnian ring. One moment Danielle was dressed. The next, her gown and everything else she had been wearing lay draped upon one of the furnishings of the master cabin—and the naked Danielle herself strode dreamily to the bed where Dagin sat on his knees with an arm outstretched and the vessel between his legs aimed right at her, ready to be launched.
Danielle, sitting with him on the bed, leaned back her head and let out a long breath at the feeling of his hands moving up and down the full, soft contours of her body. His hands were so wonderfully smooth and hot that he had her in a state of rapture at his first touch. He whispered to her, "Touch me. Feel me. All of me." And Danielle did. She set her hands free to explore the world of smooth, tight, hard muscle that was Dagin's body.
With their mutual caressing came Dagin's kisses on her mouth, hot and wet and deep, his tongue probing between her lips, his lips sucking at hers as if to devour all the passion and desire right out of her. More incredible than the sensations that her lips drank in were the feelings that greeted her hands. So many times she had imagined touching every part of the perfect man and feeling what true perfection of body was. But her imagination paled beside the reality of Dagin's warm, sinewy flesh. She grasped his buttocks and squeezed, feeling them tighten and flex at the command of her eager fingers. He kissed her harder, encouraging her to know more of his body. He took one of her hands and guided it to the erect ship of his sex, and slurped into her mouth, "Touch my zazansa. And the sac of my briole. Feel of my sex and know what I shall do to you."
She did as Dagin said—and as she so dearly wanted. Danielle took hold of the pulsing, throbbing wonder between Dagin's legs and ran her fingers along it, feeling the hot surge of his shaft in her hands and the slick dribble of his pre-seed onto her skin. Oh, was there any part of him that was not warm to the touch? His pre-seed was like a heated nectar. She savored the feeling of it on her, even as she slid her hand back to the root of his shaft to grasp the round, firm fruit of Sarma that lay behind it. His sac, too, was warm, and she knew it was filled with a white sap of maleness that would soon flow deep into her.
Dagin let his own hand slide purposefully from the ample roundness of Danielle's bottom to the treasure under the wreath of hair between her own thighs, and she sighed in mid-kiss with the feeling of his strong fingers exploring the slick, wet opening of her woman cave. Taking her mouth from his, she began to kiss and lick and suck her way along the cord of his neck down to the plateau of his shoulder, while letting him take her sex with his fingers. All the while she continued to fondle and caress his long, hot, thick hardness, making him grunt and groan with the desire for release. "Mmmm," he uttered, sniffing at her hair. "Your gliarra is so wet. And I know my zazansa will find it tight when I put it inside you. I will shadaal you so many times this night. Over and over I will do it to you, Danielle... over and over..."
Breathlessly, she poured out her response, "Yes, Dagin, yes..." And at that moment, his fingers found the dearest prize that her treasure held. His fingertips, slick with her juices, teased and flicked and stroked at the bud of a woman's most special joy. And at the rising of this newest, greatest pleasure so far, she firmly but carefully squeezed the fleshy roundness of his man-prize. Together, they pleasured one another, stroking and strumming and squeezing, Dagin's fingers growing ever wetter with the liquid expression of her delight that flowed onto them. The elation that Danielle felt grew until she could no longer contain it. She tore her lips from his shoulder and cried out, "YEEESSS!" from the seismic shock of an orgasm that thundered through her flesh. Danielle found herself panting in Dagin's arms, still holding his erection as he rained kisses upon her shoulder. She felt herself grow limp from this moment of ultimate ecstasy, and he guided her down onto her back on the bed for what he was ready to do next.
Dagin gently took his lengthy piece from her grasp, put her hands up on either side of her head on the sheets, and opened Danielle's thighs for access to the wet pink flower between them. In a voice husky with a man's desire, he said, "Now I shall show you how a prince shadaals a woman that he desires."
Submitting completely and joyously, Danielle let Dagin come down on top of her and nestle himself between her thighs, and with a skillful stroke he eased his tool inside her. She moaned at his first penetration, the pleasure rising in her once again. With his hardness sheathed in her wetness and reaching all the way to her womb, Danielle belonged to His Highness. Dagin pumped inside her, grunting in what seemed a truly mad joy, "Ah... ah, yes! Oh yes, I knew you had a tight gliarra. I will not want to stop, now I am in you. Aaahhh, it is good. So tight... so good..."
Dagin's humping, the quick, deep, and urgent pistoning of his tool in and out of her, filled Danielle not only with his hard and throbbing flesh, but with a feeling that she had never known. It was a feeling of not being merely taken, not merely entered and penetrated, but almost a feeling of reverence from the magnificent manhood humping away on top of her. It almost seemed to her that Dagin's hot, hard, feverish intercourse was not only a thrusting of his meat into her depths, but a thrusting of his spirit, his being, into her own. How could anything feel as indescribably wonderful as this mounting and pounding by the inhumanly handsome and beautiful prince of another world? Dagin's zazansa moving hard and fast in and out of her, the wet and wondrous sliding of his sex inside her tight channel, made her feel as though his mighty and pulsing organ were a totem pole of passion being buried in the soil of her womanhood.
And Danielle had faith that the thrusting, grunting prince driving that piston of pleasure in and out of her and slamming his crotch against her mound, would be as good as his word. He would be on top of her and in and out of her for hours to come. And speaking of coming...
All at once, Dagin matched the ultimate moment that he gave her with one of his own. He came up on the balls of his hands and drove his steely vessel into her harder and harder with every successive stroke, until the walls of the ship's cabin reverberated with the impacts of his pubis against hers and the sounds of her wailing and his shouting: "Uuuhhh... Uuuhhh... UUUHHH YES!" With one last piledriver blow of his piece into her depths, Dagin let go. In his mind's ear, the gush of his seed into Danielle's womb was a sound to match his own voice. It became a long cascade of thick, wet whiteness, shooting and pouring from his glans into her deepest reaches, until he had given her all that he had... for now.
The two of them panted together as Dagin pulled a still half-erect piece from inside her and they curled up together on the bed. They melted into kisses long, wet, and lingering, their warm breath mixing post-coitally. Somewhere in the midst of it, Dagin's fingers found their way back between Danielle's thighs, and she rejoiced in submitting to him. "That was not even the beginning," he groaned. "I will be in you many times, Danielle. Many times, here on my ship and back in your suite. I will shadaal you more than you have ever dreamed any man could. I have not even begun."
"Please, yes," was all she could say, giving herself in to another long kiss.
Danielle stayed aboard the prince's ship as he said, the ball in his honor now all but forgotten in this mutual celebration of desire. She submitted to his demand for more and ever more of her gliarra and worshipped his body and his zazansa, and lay with him in her suite for still more, as he had said. In the days to come, the interstellar newsfeed would be abuzz with the story of the Prince of Sarma taking a human heiress of Mars with him from Titan II and exploring the known galaxy with her. But the stories would not tell even half of the real exploration that took place in the prince's bed.
THE END
Desired by the Alien Rogue
STACEY AND THE ALIEN ROGUE
She stood, dressed only in a black body suit, and checked herself in the mirror to compare what was with what soon would be.
Of course it was not just any mirror in which Stacey Fagan, all of nineteen years old since last week, scrutinized, judged, and prepared to bid a happy farewell to
the overly round and stout body that nature had dealt her. It was a simulation mirror in whose program she could do with pixels what a surgeon would soon do with lasers, and re-sculpt the image that she saw into her future self: a body sleek and svelte, lean and tight, with slippery curves of exactly the right contour and in exactly the right places to be interesting. A figure to attract and hold what she wanted most.
She frowned a bit at the thought of what she must soon undergo, even knowing it would not hurt and her new body would be ready for business after a day's rest. It really shouldn’t even be necessary for people with bodies too large or too round to lie down for a surgeon with adipose lasers to conduct a physical reconstruction. The mastery of the human genome had enabled humanity, at will, to switch genes on or off or add genes to different organisms. With one flick of the chromosomes it was possible to render fat, girth, and obesity obsolete. But before Stacey was born, there was such a hue and cry about eugenics and genetic discrimination that the technology had never been used to its fullest potential. If applied to the extent of their capabilities, genetic engineering and biotechnology could transform humanity into true beings of the stars, not just travelers in spaceships with warp drives. Perhaps by the time of Stacey's grandchildren it might still happen. For the time being, those unhappy with the girth of their bodies relied on laser surgery to become physically who they wished to be. And now, just on the other side of her nineteenth birthday, it was Stacey's turn.
Like a sorceress making an incantation, she waved her hand before the mirror and said, "Display Stacey Fagan makeover." At once, the reflection in the mirror broke into billions of pixels and reconfigured itself. From the mirror's memory appeared a very different Stacey, recognizable only by the ripples of chestnut-brown hair flowing over her shoulders and down her back and the open smile and eyes like sapphires in her lovely, bright face. The rest of her, in the mirror, had metamorphosed into a body like that of a heroine in a 20th century comic book. Her smile broadened all the more to behold the Stacey-to-be. This was who she was inside, not that too-round and ungainly figure standing outside the glass. She could not wait to become her real self.
Inspecting who she would soon be, Stacey could not suppress a girlish giggle at the rewards of her transformation. Stacey expected to soon know her heart's fondest desire, just as soon as she was surgically remade into what giggled back at her from the simulation. Just outside her window lay boys—so many boys. Handsome boys, muscular boys, athletic boys. Perfect boys. Boys who never wanted the Stacey who stood in front of the mirror. Boys who, assuming they were heterosexual, always wanted something more like what stood inside the simulation looking out. First Stacey would shed the fat that stood between her and what she wanted. With that gone, her equally unwanted virginity would be next.
She knew girls who had what she craved: the touch, the kiss, the physical union with perfect boys. How many nights had she lain alone in the dark, knowing what those girls were getting from those boys, imagining what it must be like to feel them, to be held and entered by them? How many times had she cried for want of knowing what those girls knew? How many times had she despaired of ever knowing it herself? The only boys who would have her stout body were boys she did not want. She had begged and cajoled her parents since she was sixteen to let her go in for the surgery. Now she was nineteen and they finally agreed—which was what brought her to where she was now.
"Freeze display," she commanded the mirror. The simulator locked the image of her post-operative self into a still frame, and Stacey reluctantly turned away from it and crossed her luxury suite to the large picture window. Beyond her window beckoned the lights of Nirvana Planitia, the largest pleasure resort on the planet Mars, enclosed under a connected series of mighty transparent domes that shut out the almost, but not quite, terraformed Martian atmosphere.
The place looked as if the monumental architects of Ancient Greece, Rome, and Egypt had set themselves to building a city like Las Vegas on 21st Century Earth. Nothing about Nirvana Planitia was small and nothing about it was dim. It was all towers, spires, domes, arches, and pyramids, all done up in lights. A bustling traffic of beings from every planet in known space passed through every hour of every day. They came to do anything and everything, so long as it was entertaining or stimulating or sensual or fun. It was a city made solely for gamblers and hedonists of every type and every species, where some laws were written expressly to look the other way from certain pastimes. The slogan and motto of Nirvana Planitia was, "If you can't do it here, you can't do it at all."
Stacey eyed the wonderland of games, entertainment, and pleasure outside her window with a smile to match the lights that called out to her. Without a doubt she would "do it" here on Mars—and then have the most perfect boy she could find "do it" to her, again and again and again.
Feeling as though she had already been through the surgery, she spun around from the window, bounded back across the room, and flung herself across the bed upon which she knew some achingly beautiful boy would soon fling her lighter, sleeker self on. Oh, the things he would do to her! The things she would let him do, and do back to him! This was her birthday gift from her parents, two prominent attorneys of Earth: her first adult trip on her own, and an appointment with one of the finest plastic surgeons on Mars to have her body reshaped. She had not told her parents her intended final objective for this trip, but she and her mother had talked quite a bit about relationships and responsibility, and her mother had made utterly certain that precautions were in place for whatever may arise.
Grinning on the bedspread, Stacey mentally went over her checklist of measures. She had had her ovulation suppressed and her intrauterine condom was in place—double security against accidents. At Stacey's request, her doctor had used a routine cellular procedure to regenerate Stacey's maidenhood after placing the condom. She had been innoculated against all known STDs, not only those of humans but also of non-Earth humanoids. Only her outer body was not ready. Her outer body would be the final thing. After that...
She would be here for ten days in all. Ten days would be plenty of time to find that one boy. Or, who could say, perhaps two. She was hungry for experience.
Stacey rolled over from her stomach onto her back and imagined how the boy that she sought would spread out her new body the same way beneath him. Would he take her here, or somewhere else in Nirvana? Perhaps she'd have him on one of the artificial lily pads on Ares Lake, or on a force field in one of the artificial clouds that floated around and over the spa. The possibilities were endless. All she knew for sure was that it would be the most wonderful thing ever to happen in her life. He would be radiantly handsome with a tight, hard body and every muscle cut like a precious jewel. He would worship her new body as she worshipped his, and he would do all the things to her that young girls—heterosexual ones, anyway—dreamed that a stunning, handsome boy would do to them. And he'd do them over and over. She would find him among all the available young men visiting Nirvana who had posted themselves on the links. All she asked was that he was young, heterosexual, had no girlfriend or wife, and was not a hired stud. That, and physical perfection of face and body, was all she wanted—and what she would soon have at last.
_______________
"Rovan! Hey, Rovan!"
Tavos did not respond at first as he climbed up naked out of the pool in the staff quarters of the resort. He should have known better after all this time. Not responding to the name he had given for himself was liable to give him away. A novice mistake could cost him. When the voice called out a third time—"Rovan! Did you hear me?"—he flinched and started, and turned in the other young man's direction. Jed Nash, one of the other masseurs, lay on a deck sofa between the pool and the rear entrance to the resort and was calling him over.
Tavos changed directions and strode over toward Jed, water rolling off his lean and sinewy body, his zazansa swinging idly between his thighs. The water slicked down the dark hair that normally piled atop his head as well as the tria
ngle of hair that tapered down from his hairline to his nose. Jed was naked as well, this being a clothing-optional resort. It amused Tavos to think of how much more ashamed humans had once been of their bodies, insisting on covering up their zazansa and gliarra when they swam and basked. Well, it was just another of the myriad differences between beings that Tavos might never have known first-hand if he had stayed on Sarma, instead of leaving to be on his own in space.
Jed tossed him a towel. Tavos caught it and began to dry himself off. Jed was another darkly handsome, lean and hard specimen, only a little older than Tavos. Except for the thick, dark hair on his head, he was smooth all over—not like Tavos, who kept a few days' growth of hair on his face and whose chest and abs were seductively haired as well. "Thank you," said Tavos. "I forgot to bring a towel from my room."
"Seems like your mind was somewhere else," said Jed, "like taking a swim didn't get you too clear. Big booking with a client today?"
"A young one," replied Tavos, holding onto the ends of the towel as it draped over his shoulders. "She has just come from Earth by herself, a human girl on holiday."
"Is that right?" Jed grinned. "A lot of the best tippers are on either end—the young ones and the older ones. I had an older one this morning. She'd just had all her wrinkles lasered away. Felt younger than she was, and tipped well—really well. She asked me if I'd throw in the extras for a separate fee. I didn't take her up on it—this time. I usually throw in the extras for the younger ones. Hey, have you done that yet?"
Highlander's Need: Winter Solestice (Against All Odds Series 4) Page 39