by Robin Lovett
But around us, the arena is filling, and the games could start anytime. I almost forgot. “Koviye, I’d like to have a Fellamana for a partner in the Sex Games instead of Gahnin.”
His brow furrows as if I’ve said something incomprehensible. “But why? You burn for him. I saw it in you this afternoon. There is no reason—”
“My reasons are my own, thank you very much. I don’t want him.” The lie trips on my tongue, and I have to swallow and cool my expression to hide it.
“You don’t…want him?” His mouth opens and closes as if not knowing what to say. “Is my translation off? I must not be understanding you correctly.”
I inhale for patience. “No, you understand. I want someone else.”
“We certainly would not force you. Consent is as sacred as nonviolence among the Fellamana.” He steps closer, his lips pressing together with concern. “I will find you someone else, if you’re sure.”
“Did you say, ‘someone else’?” Gahnin’s voice comes thick and ominous behind me.
I turn and…words fail me.
Leather straps, that’s all Gahnin wears. They crisscross his massive chest, making his abs and pecs look impossibly harder than they already are. They wrap the top of his hips then circle around his back, doing I can only imagine what to show off his ass, then circle around his thighs and twine down his legs. His quads bulging and flexing…
But none of that matters, because of what’s in the middle. The lengths of leather draw the eye to his most spectacular asset.
I knew he was big but—my, oh my. He’s even more stunning than I remembered.
His cock is perfection. An impressive length as well as girth. Obscene but not grotesque. As though the Ssedez female anatomy he’s made for must be similar to that of the human female.
He hangs, or almost hangs because he’s protruding outward as well, to his mid-thigh. He’s partially erect, thick and swelling. And there are adornments—a golden piece of jewelry that attaches to the base of his cock and hangs on a small chain downward. It emphasizes his size—not that he needs it, but this is the Fellamana who are dressing him.
But the thing that most intrigues me is the flaring crown of the jewel. It protrudes above his cock flat against his pelvis, and I can only imagine what it would feel like while he pounded inside me, to feel it rubbing against my clit…
He clears his throat. I’m blatantly staring. Which was the Fellamana’s point in his garb, but I finally tear my eyes upward and glance at his face.
His eyes burn, like the hottest of blue flames. He glares at me with such sexual demand, I’m surprised I’m not already on my back with my legs spread for him. I would—if there weren’t so many people around.
I was right. One look at him, and my will to resist him has crumbled.
“There will be no one else,” he growls, his words rumbling in his chest and sending unexpected tremors of arousal from my head to my toes. His fangs protrude from his mouth, descending past his lower lip at my eye level.
Fascinated, I reach to feel them.
He grasps my wrist before I can. “Do not touch.”
Koviye chuckles behind us and severs our locked gaze. “Assura, I’m guessing you have changed your mind?”
Gahnin interrupts me from answering. “It is either sex with me or no sex at all.”
I gape at him. “Are you serious?” Where did this male-must-claim-female shit come from? And what’s more confusing…why do I kind of…like it? Even in my outrage, it’s causing heat to gather in my center. Thinking of fucking anyone but him is a non-option anyway right now. But still.
He nudges my elbow and turns us away from Koviye so we can talk without being overheard. “Why would you have need for someone else? Do I not satisfy you?” There is grit in his tone. He knows he satisfies me plenty; he’s daring me to tell him otherwise.
But I’m not giving in to him that easily. “Maybe I want someone different. Maybe I’ve had enough of you.”
He bares his fangs, and an animallike hiss issues from his mouth. “You think you have experienced all of me in one night?”
I stare at his fangs and know what I want. “Would you bite me this time?” I can’t explain why I want it. Getting bitten should hurt, but the way they come out only when he’s hard, the way he looks at me with scorching heat whenever they’re extended, makes me think his fangs would have an erotic effect on me that I would like as much as his cock.
He jerks back from me as though I have slapped him. “Never.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, fine. No biting.” I can’t deny the sliver of disappointment that seeps into my stomach.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as though trying to calm himself. “Look, I know you hate me because my warriors brought down your ship and attempted to kill you.”
My breath quickens. That is the opposite of what he’s supposed to think. Now is my moment. Here is where I confess to him what I have done in my past life with the Ten Systems so that he refuses me. So that his urge to have sex with me changes to a desire to kill me.
He mistakes my hesitation. “For diplomacy’s sake, we need to make this right with the Fellamana. I promise to make it good for you. Better than last night.”
But my throat clenches. Maybe I can make this right another way, because I want him and he wants me and Koviye is right, why deny ourselves the indulgence? Why should I deny Gahnin what he wants?
“You’re right,” I say. “Let’s find out the rules of this sex game.”
I have to find out if my new plans for giving Gahnin the pleasure of his life fall within the parameters of the game.
Chapter Eight
GAHNIN
Koviye explains the rules of the game: points for most adventurous, points for number of orgasms. He separates us, and I am led by a Fellamana to the opposite side of the arena from Assura. Like we are on an opposing team.
I sit on a glass bench, with Assura in full view across the stage from me. She is exposed and exquisite. I am unable to control my physical reactions to her. Her tight breasts perch outside her robe. Her navel and the treasure trove between her thighs are visible to everyone.
They’re all watching her.
The pull to cross the arena to get to her is fierce in my gut. There’s a raised platform, a stage of sorts, between us. It is a bed the size of a match ring. I climb the steps, but someone grabs my arm. A Fellamana guard pulls me back, and I’m forced back to my bench.
I cover my face with my hands. It is as though I have become a slave to her—or a slave to my desire for her. The instinct in me to call her mine, to keep her and make sure no one else touches her, is getting stronger, not weaker.
When she asked me if I would bite her, a beast roared in my chest, crying yes! It is taking all of my willpower to suppress that voice. For me to get through this charade without biting her will be a miracle.
I do not know what is happening to me.
She is human. She is from the Ten Systems. Sharing my venom with her is an unthinkable possibility. My instinct, my carnal desire, is a traitor to my mind.
And my heart—it hurts.
Tiortan. My feelings are a betrayal to her in this hour.
All I swore on her death, all the vengeance I decreed I would bring her memory…it is slipping through my fingers like sand. Without my need for vengeance…I do not understand the world. My purpose has turned on its head, and I cannot tell which way is right and which way is wrong.
I cling to thoughts of tomorrow. My warriors and I will get out of this town and away from the Fellamana. To hell with the human; if she fights me again, I will leave her behind. I will tell Oten his assigned duty was impossible, and she was sabotaging our mission. If I want, I can never speak to her or look at her again. It will work. It has to. Or I will lose my sanity to her.
But I have to get through this. I have to fuck her again, first. And I promised I would make it better than before. I swear to every god, I do not know ho
w I am going to live through this. I need a plan. Some survival strategy.
A melodious chime sounds through the arena. The Fellamana gasp with excitement and hurry to their seats that are made of—what else?—glass. A Fellamana dressed in an elaborate ceremonial robe stands in front of our line and speaks. Koviye appears at my side and gives me a wink.
I wish I could translate what the announcer is saying. I do not even know the rules. “Explain this game to me, Koviye. What do the Fellamana consider adventurous?” If our participation is part diplomacy, I should know the expectations of the spectators.
“You will see. Your aggressive foreplay from the hospital the other day will be a requested starter.”
A fight I can do.
There’s a deafening roar from the crowd, and I realize thousands have filed into the seats shrouded in the dark above me. I cannot see beyond the bright lights highlighting the stage.
I make out the words “Ssedez” and “Ten Systems” from the announcer, and I am blinded by a spotlight. Koviye pushes me forward.
“Wave at them!” he calls over the deafening sound. “You want them to like you. That’s the whole point of this.”
I feign a smile and lift my hand.
Assura is in a similar spotlight across from me. At the sight of her, the ache in me to be inside her is intensely visceral. I’m torn between wanting to be next to her and wanting to be as far away as I can get.
“You are the stars of the show this evening,” Koviye says.
“I thought this was a competition, not a show.”
“I…” Koviye hesitates. “I don’t think my translation is off. Perhaps it is both. Or maybe…a spectacle! That’s the right word.”
I clamp down on my impatience and grit, “I want to go first.” To get it over with.
Koviye chuckles darkly. “Uh, no. You, our guests of honor, are last.”
“How long is that?” I grumble.
“Hours.”
I growl in protest and force myself to breathe deep. I have to get a hold over myself. I’m primed for her. My lack of control over myself is disturbing. I feel as though a feral beast has bred inside my chest, and the only meal it’s starved for is her.
The Attachment.
The word seeps through my brain. I have to shake it out. What I feel starting is not real. It’s a delusion. It has to be.
The emcee continues, and Koviye translates for me, detailing the intricate rules of the game that he described earlier. The points system for winning is more complex, but I disconnect after the fourth or fifth points category.
“The only number I care about,” I mumble, “is the number of times she comes.”
Koviye’s shoulders shake with amusement. “That’s how I play when I’m the main attraction.”
“You’ve done this?”
“Many times. I have skills that, well…” He smirks like there’s a private joke for him in this. “I’m a favorite, you might say. All Fellamana see the change in energy when either of you orgasms, so yes, the number of orgasms is the primary way of tallying points. Though there are extra for most original and creative. We like to be entertained.”
He clears his throat to keep from laughing. “We love watching how different species make love. They saw Oten and Nemona but—”
“You saw Oten and Nemona?”
“Yes, they gave us a bit of a show. It makes us more excited to see you and Assura.” He leans close to my ear. “They’re dying to see your aggressive foreplay.”
Which won’t be difficult. I’m liable to tackle her the first chance I have, and she will no doubt want to fight first.
The contests begin, and it would be thrilling to watch, if I were not flooded with lust stealing my senses and robbing me of clear thought.
The Fellamana are creative. Much more creative than I. Most acts—or scenes, as Koviye refers to them—are not merely couples but groups, varying in number and gender. Most are rather artistic. The crowd politely watches in silence and reserves their cheers for the end. Usually when the last male, if there is one, or more than one, climaxes.
I begin to have ideas, fantasies about what this setup will allow me to do to Assura, of the pleasurable things I could give her. There’s an elaborate assortment of toys and devices spread on a table, which most participants make liberal use of. There’s a grid of hanging apparatus above the bed, which they reset each time the whole stage and bed are cleaned between acts. Many enjoy using some suspension. Ideas keep mounting in my imagination, distracting me from how dishonorable it is for me to enjoy this whole scenario.
I wonder when the competition stops and if there’s a time limit. I do not know how long I will keep going at Assura, but these paltry acts lasting less than thirty minutes are not comparable, if my need for her is anything like last night.
It feels worse.
I have begun to wonder if I will ever be flaccid again. It has yet to fully reduce in swelling today.
At the beginning of each scene, the participants go to two designated Fellamana who seem to be like referees. “What are they doing?” I ask Koviye.
“Setting hard limits. People can get carried away sometimes in the thrill of the crowd. Those two are there to interfere if anything goes beyond what another person is comfortable with.”
Fear bursts in my chest, and I have to force myself to breathe. “I have to speak to Assura. I do not know what her limits are.”
“You can’t.”
I face him and give him the full fury of my gaze. “I. Must. Speak. With. Her.”
“It’s against the rules.”
“Damn the rules. I will storm this stage right now.”
Koviye sighs heavily and puts hands on my shoulders. “Gahnin. Stay. The referees will tell you what she says before you begin. And you will be able to talk to her during your scene. That is the beauty and intimacy of the setup. You can speak, but we’ll have no idea what you say.”
This calms my immediate fury, but not my mounting anticipation.
Hours pass, scene after scene, until it is a monotony of bodies and sex. I witness sexual positions I never would have dreamed possible in groups of three or four. Polyamory is rare among the Ssedez. We are a serially monogamous people—a hazard with how we are genetically prone to the Attachment, but I wallow in the desire simmering through my veins, unable to focus on anything but getting to Assura.
It’s torture.
The current scene, one of three males and one female, ends to thunderous cheers from the crowd.
“You’re next,” cries Koviye over the noise.
That fact does not bring me relief. It makes everything worse. My body aches.
The spotlights fall on me and Assura, and sweat sprouts on the back of my neck. With the way I feel right now, with my horror at myself for wanting her like I will stop breathing if I cannot have her, I barely register the Fellamana’s announcement of our names. There is only her, and my fear of whether I can get through this and still know who I am when it’s over.
We are led up the stage steps on opposite sides. We watch each other, and I am strangely comforted that her gaze is locked on me with a similar ferocity to mine.
She wants me.
Assura is taken to the referees first. She stands before them like a goddess who has deigned to walk on two legs. The ends of her robe flow around her firm calves and thighs, tantalizing us, making us desperate for her to take it off.
That’s the first thing I will do.
I suspect I’m not supposed to be able to hear her, but my Ssedez hearing is obviously more attuned than the Fellamana know.
Koviye translates the referees’ questions for her. “How many partners are you comfortable having?”
I stiffen. I did not know adding someone else was an option. The feral animal in my chest roars in protest. It would beat the person bloody before it let someone else touch Assura.
I close my eyes and work for control. I can do this. I am not an animal. I am a sentient being with
a rational mind. Breathe. Breathe.
I register Assura’s, “Just Gahnin,” and my eyes pop open in surprise.
Koviye translates again, his mouth stretched in a knowing smile. I wonder for a moment if he’s saying all this just to torture us both. “Assura, you’re sure you do not want a Fellamana to join you? Or another Ssedez? Gahnin’s other warriors are watching.”
I inhale to roar, No!
But I do not need to.
Assura shakes her head firmly and repeats, “Just Gahnin.” It sends an irrational, misplaced sense of pride soaring through my limbs, but the referees begin to laugh.
“This may cost you the prestige of first place,” Koviye says to her. “All the other scenes have had at least three and—”
Assura cracks a mischievous smile. “You have not seen us together yet.”
It is like she has set fire to my veins, like I am a racer slamming on the gate at the starting line. I am done waiting. It is time.
They ask her about more limits, and I listen like her word is my new sacred creed. She does not like pain. Bondage is fine, though she warns it never truly works on her because she can escape anything.
Interesting.
“Is there any point at which you’d like us to intervene?” Koviye asks.
Assura chuckles. “If it looks like I might kill him by accident, you’re welcome to try to rescue him.”
Koviye smiles, like he’s humoring her and doesn’t believe her. I know better. I know how formidable she is. Soon, the rest of them will know, too.
“Any questions for us?” Koviye asks.
She asks what I have been wondering. “Is there a time limit?”
“No,” Koviye says. “It goes as long as he lasts.”
It’s Assura’s turn for a humoring smile. “What if he can go for hours?”
Koviye pats her hand. “The pressure on a male of doing this in front of a crowd usually makes that impossible. So I wouldn’t worry about it.”