Authors: Carmella Jones
3.
Straddling his hips, the slave woman began her own private dance for him. He gurgled and groaned in response, enjoying the pressure of her body on top of his. Seeing him looking at her with his beady, eyes she paused momentarily, slightly afraid that her ministrations were not pleasing to her owner. She clenched and shut her eyes briefly, awaiting either his strike or his voiced displeasure. To her relief she found neither. He simply moaned again in relief as she continued her motions on top of him. Hertzog was not emotional. Some of his other race brothers and sisters felt the need to honor their traditions of bonding and syncing up with their chosen one, but he found that only led to a weakness in body and spirit that the greatest warriors did not ascribe to. He was bred to be a champion, and it was encoded in his destiny. Some called him a madman; others called him a dictator and a ruthless brute. He did not see himself this way, however. He only saw himself as someone doing what was necessary to create the life he wanted. He wanted to rule, and nothing would stop him, especially emotion. The only thing that separated him from the commoners of his people—aside from his great strength and military knowledge—was this lack of warmth, which he believed made him invincible. He would gladly kill an infant if it meant that he would get that infant's share of an estate or the family’s riches for himself. As the slave woman wrapped her arms around his neck, she placed her breasts towards his face, which he reached out and grabbed, making him harder still. He made a mental note to keep this woman around, as her eroticism pleased him greatly.
Hertzog laughed as she gasped when he entered her. He didn't concern himself with her pleasure. He just wanted to extinguish his own need deep within her. As he moved his hips in an upward movement she accepted him further into her. She was warm and inviting, and Hertzog took her, rapidly pounding into her fiercely as the sounds of their lovemaking echoed throughout the cabin, his groans and her moans filling the ship. Hertzog felt fully alive during these times. His eyes glowed with lust and passion as he felt her body tightening around him. As she moaned into the side of his head the tentacles rose up on the back of his neck. He felt powerful as he came hard inside her, and they sat for a moment clinging to one another, both spent. Looking at her after their brief stupor, the light in his eyes faded as he caught his breath. He was more relaxed than ever, and even more confident in his abilities. The slave woman looked at him, slightly unsure what to do next and simply asked, “Did I please you, master?”
He nodded and grunted. “Yes, you did well. I am impressed with your abilities. I think I shall keep you. What do you call yourself?”
“Aretha.”
“Very well then, Aretha, I will call for you again after our battles, but prepare yourself because I will require much more...ferocity.”
“Yes, master. As you wish.”
“Excellent. You are free to go, Aretha.”
As the woman climbed off of his lap, he pulled out a map and surveyed his surroundings in the solar system. The planet they were just on was nothing but an exercise in plundering, but the planet they were going to next was an unusual planet with a more tropical climate than what Hertzog's people were used to. They were a hearty breed that normally thrived in colder temperatures, being from the farther regions of space originally. He knew that the climate might prove a challenge for his troops, but he was confident in their abilities and their training. He didn't expect to encounter much resistance; the people there had not encountered any serious combat situations for many generations. They were a peaceful people. From what he had heard in his travels, the location was more for refueling and enjoying the nice temperatures, a bit of an oasis. They provided food and beverages to thirsty travelers or a brief respite, but the planet itself was barren. He knew that if there was a battle to be had, it wouldn't take long, and he was looking forward not only to his victory, but also to a chance to make his mark and perhaps even enslave the current population, forcing them to work under his rule, therefore entitling him to the riches to be made from their hospitality suites as well. He smiled to himself thinking that life was indeed good when you were a king.
4.
Vangorg stretched Jocasta out on their marriage bed and gazed at her longingly. His eyes feasted on all of her beauty. At times he felt pangs of guilt about taking her from her Earth family and robbing anyone else of the chance of loving her, but he reminded himself that he didn't have a choice in the matter. His people, his race, was dying out, and he needed to find a way to continue the population and bring new life into the world. He was fortunate that Earth women's bodies were compatible enough with their own to make breeding a possibility. Jocasta was more than he could ever have hoped for. When he won the right to pick his bride, he was inexplicably drawn to her. It was more than her body he was interested in. Even now, looking at her delicate curves and pale white flesh, he felt as if he was never really complete until he met her. Lying down beside her, he looked into her eyes, thinking they resembled the luminescence of stars before they burn out and fall. That kind of beauty was a rarity, even in outer space, which was full of those stars.
“Jocasta, my love, you are so beautiful. If I do meet my maker I'm sure he would be just as astonished that he made such a beautiful creature as I am dumbfounded by your majesty every single day.”
“Vangorg, you are one in a million. If I had everything to do all over again, if I had just one heartbeat left, I would take that heartbeat and dream of your touch. You have made me complete. In a million lifetimes, I would marry you over and over again until we both turn to nothing but crimson ashes and stardust.”
Vangorg kissed her softly on the lips and ran his fingers through the delicate strands of her hair. While slightly curled and easily entangled, it clung to his fingertips like gossamer. He hoped he never forgot the softness of it on his skin. He took in her entirety: the rosy hue of her soft, supple lips, which he took within his own, the swoop of her neckline, the angle of her jawbone, a perfect combination of fragility and strength. He looked at the way her ribs slightly protruded from her belly, giving her body shape and form. Jocasta used to tell him stories from Earth, and that was one of their creation myths, that woman was derived from a man using one of the man's ribs that shielded his lungs and heart. He was mesmerized by the simple beauty of the tale that from one life there could be born a second, a soul mate made from nothing but a hollow bone. His people had evolved past the need for creation myths, just accepting themselves for who they were, scientifically evolved beings that once formed from pools of sludge and murk to be transient beings. They honored their ancestors through ceremony and praise along with prayer, summoning them and calling upon their spiritual ether whenever they chose, so he was always fascinated with her stories, myths, and songs. He was enamored with the romantic idea that of all the galaxies and all of the other bodies formed from mere one-celled organisms there was indeed another party, another person with whom there was meant to be a shared fate. If such a thing did indeed exist, he was certain he had found it in Jocasta. His eyes continued to roam the landscape of her body as he took in the dip of her hip and soft curve of her thighs. From the moment they had first made love he knew there wasn't any place he would rather be than wrapped around her warmth. Kissing her gently, then moving his lips to her ear, he murmured, “Is there anything you desire tonight, my dear?”
“Oh, Vangorg, you're all I ever desire. You know I am yours. I have been since the first night you took me in. You could have been a cruel master, and at first I was scared, but oh, how have I grown to love you and your honor.”
“Then allow me to be one with you tonight, Jocasta. The winds of war are looming, and if my time should be limited and I fall in battle, then I want to take this night, this memory with me to my grave.”
“Oh, my love, you will be all right. This I know in my heart of hearts. A wife knows these things about her husband, intuitively. A good wife knows just how little or how much a man needs of her attention or affection. A good wife also knows when her husband is in danger or is sick or is in need of support. You are not in danger or sick, but I know you need my support right now. It will be okay, my Vangorg. I know you worry about your people, my husband, but under your leadership they will survive and you will live for many centuries to do good work. If we were on Earth, I would call you a good man, and that is one of the best compliments I could give you using my limited human vocabulary. Now come to me, my husband, and let me soothe your troubled mind.”
Jocasta pulled Vangorg back down to her and kissed him fiercely, allowing her tongue to explore the crevices of his mouth. She took her time, though, and allowed herself to linger with each and every kiss, treasuring each and every feeling. Deep down, she was worried about the battle ahead, as she had become accustomed to being his wife. She did not have the innate ability to summon ancestors or loved ones from the past, so if anything should ever happen to him she would be truly alone in the galaxy. She loved the planet that had become her home, but there would be an odd shadow of silence that would follow her through all her days, a veil of mourning enveloping the rest of her nights if anything were to happen to Vangorg. She placed her hands on either side of his head and silently encouraged him to take her. He was ferocious in his passion, more so than normal. She could tell he was trying to memorize every single action, to force the feel of her flesh and her sounds into his memory.
Moving his mouth down to the sides of her neck he nipped at her gently, licking its tender sides while she gasped underneath him. He was quite surprised when they first made love that the pulse point was an erogenous zone for human females, and he had used that tactic to his advantage ever since. His strength and dexterity made him a wonderful lover, and he seemed to feel her body's natural rhythms getting in sync with her heartbeat so that he knew exactly what effect his actions were having on her. As he was caressing her jugular with his lips and tongue he took her arms and gently stretched them above her head. Holding her wrists in place with his strength, he knew she couldn't break free and would be completely at his mercy, which he also planned on taking full advantage of. “Jocasta, is that okay?”
“Yes, Vangorg, it is perfect.”
“Don't move.”
A small moan escaped her lips upon hearing those words. She wanted him all the more then. She wanted to take him into her arms, into her mouth and show him just how much she appreciated him, giving him all the pleasure he could stand. He held her still, though, as she squirmed underneath him. She could feel her moisture pooling as he took his tongue and continued his advances inch by inch, slowly savoring the texture of her skin. He relished the way her salty smoothness tasted as he made his way further down her body, taking one of her nipples in his mouth as she let another moan escape her lips. She moved even more then, desperate for more contact between them, but he did not relinquish his grip on her hands. He merely teased her even further, rolling his tongue over her hard peaks, then sucking gently. He felt her pulse point rise, and knew that her desire was peaking, but he used his subtle telepathy to lower her racing heartbeat slightly to prolong her pleasure. He was going to take his time, as he wanted to devote every inch of her being to his memory. If anything he knew that in the coming days he would have to rely upon this, the memory of their shared love for strength.
Gasping for breath, Jocasta was helpless under his command as he slowly touched, teased, licked and caressed every part of her body, yet she gave herself into it readily, only able to speak in broken sentences. “Vangorg...please. What are you? Oh... my love.”
“Jocasta, my wife. Do you give yourself to me once again?”
“Yes. All you need to do is ask, my love.”
With that Vangorg dipped his head lower and inhaled deeply. He closed his eye for a moment and simply enjoyed the anticipation. He breathed in her scent and committed it to memory as well. Her skin gave off a slight aroma of sweat, due to her passion and excitement, but it also had the faint scent of roses, which were exotic in the far reaches of the galaxy, a relic of the past that few people had memory of any longer. In the arid climate they did not bloom, nor were they genetically altered to exist among the cactus flowers that thrived there. So her rarity and her scent brought to his mind a sense of nostalgia and longing. He would never be able to think of something so beautiful and rare again without picturing her in his mind and recalling her scent. Jocasta shivered in anticipation, and Vangorg watched the goosebumps rise on her flesh as he breathed lightly into her folds. He increased the pressure on his grip as she bucked against him, desperately wanting her hands free to touch him and pull him onto her, to give her the release she craved so much.
Parting her folds, he dove into her center sucking her juices into her mouth. He hadn't understood this rather bizarre form of lovemaking until Jocasta had educated him that it had nothing to do with reproduction or the process of producing children, but instead it existed solely for pleasuring one's partner, as human females had highly sensitive genitalia and often craved stimulation before any lovemaking could begin. This was not the case for his race. They had evolved beyond the point of needing anything more than an empty womb to carry their children in. The almost ritualistic behavior of having intercourse was inefficient to them. Jocasta, however, had taught him the joys of this process, and now he found the act to be almost meditative, a religious ceremony that somehow bound their atoms together as one. He understood how that intimacy was necessary now and even saw the benefits of establishing this bond for the process of bringing new life into the world. As he licked her clit she moaned and arched her back but he did not relent. He only continued his actions, occasionally varying his rhythms and pressure until her body was on the edge of ultimate pleasure.
It was only then that he inserted himself into her while letting out a guttural groan. His people were not inclined to expressions of emotion, so for him to utter anything in passion or pain was remarkable. His movements were cat-like and quick as he pressed himself down upon her, feeling the warmth and softness of her innermost flesh against him. He was hard, and buried himself inside her deeper, forcing himself in and out of her crevices with complete control of her body and his own. He released her hands and she grasped his back for support as she worked her hips against him, panting and moaning. Allowing himself to feel every inch of her, committing that to memory as well, he took his time while inside her, moving slowly and gracefully before finally finishing her, pounding into her flesh furiously. Throwing his head back and howling, their bodies shuddered and collapsed into one another, spent and drained of energy.