Page 16 of Taken to Voraxia
“I’ll do anything you want,” she tells me, gaze flashing to her human. “Please.”
Anything I want. Dark, malignant ideas begin to sprout as I sweep her feet and cradle her body against my chest, holding her as close as I can to my two hearts.
Her breath fans my face and my Xanaxana whispers restlessly, needing, more than anything, to slake its need. I need to feel and feed her pleasure.
But I need her to be willing first.
With control tenuously bound, I whisper, “We will discuss my needs on the ship.”
5
Miari
“You broke her arm! I can’t believe you! You disgust me!” I’m exhausting myself, beating against his chest with both fists as he pushes me into the tiny glass tube in the center of a strange room. The tube walls come up around us and I squeak as water explodes from above and below me.
Hotwater. I’ve never used hot water before and I’ve only ever had access to shallow pools to sponge off in with dirty rags. The sensation is so startling, I forget my ire for a moment as spray sluices over my skin. Blood and dung spiral as they vanish through slats in the white floor beneath my feet.
My red feet against his blue ones. Red blue red blue. Six toes, where I only have five. Thick thighs. I try desperately to avoid looking at the thing hanging between them and focus.
“You don’t…you don’t get to do this…” I whisper, failingly.
He rumbles deep within his chest but doesn’t speak. It wouldn’t matter if he did. All I hear are clicks and ticks, strange gutteral growls that all speak to his anger.He’s angry with me.
I don’t know how it will play out, but for now I’m wary of the gentle motion of his hands as he rubs small, colored pebbles over my body. Light grey, they burst over my skin in surprising colors — pale pinks, light greens and blues — and smell unlike anything I’ve scented before. Light. Almost like a plant, but sweeter.
“I…”
I push on his shoulders, but he bats away my hands and works his palms harder, more aggressively over my body. He turns me around and I catch myself on the side of the tube with both hands. His heat comes up behind me, lining my backside. I can feel…I can feelitjerking against my lower back and I wince each time. My breathing becomes more labored. I can’t speak anymore, not even when I try.
His rough hands find my shoulders and knead them firmly in a way that sends tingles all the way to my toes. I gasp and my elbows threaten to buckle. So do my knees. My mouth is open and I’m breathing heavily.
His palms work their way down, all six of his fingers moving in wonderful circular motions.It feelsgood. Too good. Good enough it hurts.
A gasp escapes my throat as one of his great big hands fists my tail at the base. Pleasure washes over me and my whole body bucks. I pitch forward, unable to control myself or the mewl I make.
He freezes and I look over my shoulder in time to see his eyelids blink sideways — like mine do — over his cold, black eyes and the ridges on his face melt from the blue-grey of his skin to a subtle lavender. What does it mean? I don’t know and I don’t want to. I just want him to stop.I want him to keep going.
My tail flickers and swats his leg, curling around his calf without my telling it to. I never had much control over it, and though I always did my best to hide it, right now it feels powerful. More powerful than the rest of my limbs. It pulls against him.
“Mhmmph,” he moans, falling forward onto his hand. That giant, six-fingered mitt braces the tube just on the outside of my own palm, while the fingers of his other hand find my tailbone, and then the tail sprouting out of it, and begin slowly massaging up and down.
I make a soft sound. His moan deepens. His cheek comes up against my cheek and his chest comes up against my back. The hardened, bracing scratch of the thick, armor-like skin he has there grates against my much softer flesh. Not even that discomfort, however, is enough for me to tell him to stop, or push him away.
I’m going to burst. Frightening electricity coils its way down my body as his braced hand releases and catches my right breast. His thumb — or the sixth and shortest finger of his left palm — passes over my right nipple, flicking it and I shout unintelligibly.
He huffs out a dark, male sound and I feel his…hispartbob urgently against me. My lower lips are squeeze in steady pulses and when his hand on my breast starts its decent lower, stopping dangerously below my navel, I do something I never in all my rotations thought I’d ever do.
I beg.
“Please…” I’m begging my tormentor now, because heistormenting me. My tail is a bundle of nerves and I can’t stop my heavy breathing and worse than all these things is the fact that I’m undulating very subtly, wishing he would keep touching me before I splinter apart. Or maybe,soI can splinter apart…
Water rains around us following the path his hand takes from my navel, passing my hips to rest at the bald bareness between my legs. Svera, Kiki and the other human women have tufts of hair there, but I don’t and I hate myself for wondering then if this brute, whose kind has done nothing but brutalize me and my friends, finds me strange looking.
His fingers slide across my fat, wet mound, burrowing deftly between the folds at the same time that the pressure around my tail increases. I fold forward, slumping against his arm. I need…so close…the world disappears. There are no more consequences.
“Clit,” I whisper.
He answers me in his brutish tongue, but I don’t have the patience to try to understand him. I reach down my body, grab his hand and take two of his fingers to the maddening bundle of nerves at the top of my labia.
