My Prize (10 page)

Extracting the datacard from the reader, he thoughtfully slipped it into one of his inner pockets. Experience had taught him when to laugh, when to kiss tail, and when to shut up. It had also taught him never to neglect an opportunity should it present itself.

He liked to be prepared. For him, it was almost better than sex. Almost.

For readers who need a brief respite from interdimensional scene-jumping...

It is often useful when telling a tale of this nature to include a visual representation of some of the species that are so closely involved with the adventure. Unfortunately, the limitations of this technology prohibit our doing so at the present time, so we will have to settle for a brief history and description of the "villains" of the piece—the inhabitants of Magus Prime.

While helping to cement solid images in the minds of our readers, it will also provide relief for those suffering inter-cranial distress from all the interdimensional traveling that is currently taking place. Please be advised that such jaunts through the space-time continuum will not lead to a singularity, but to the rest of the story. Take two Atraxian painkillers, unfasten your boot links, and read on...

Magus Prime was once a fertile and lush planet, where life had evolved to the point of reptilian supremacy. The two suns brought relatively pleasant climatic conditions in regular cycles to the majority of the land masses, and the reptiles themselves enjoyed the sunshine warming their cool bodies. Because the food supply was plentiful, the reptiles flourished.

No asteroids felt it necessary to whomp the shit out of this little backwater world, and thus nothing occurred to exterminate or eliminate them. They were able to fully realize their potential.

They developed a fondness for sexual activity.

Young males would gather at local watering holes, busily imbibing the liquid that drained through various plants and grains, and then calling out loud and usually impertinent things at the females who passed by.

Often these males would be building something at the time.

Mating would take place in the normal way, with the receptive female presenting her genitals to the male who would leap on her back, fasten his teeth to her neck and pound his erect penis deep into her body.

Several thrusts later, the male would grunt, dump a load of his semen inside her and withdraw, staggering off her back to roll over on his stomach and fall asleep. The female would lie passive, staring at nothing in particular, and wonder what all the fuss was about.

The advent of clothing for the bodies of these reptiles, coming as it did on the heels of a rather cool winter, changed the nature of sexual intercourse.

Now, the variety of clothing more than the sexual receptiveness of the female determined the mating probability.

Females found that walking erect enabled them to wear clothing that emphasized their bodies, clung to all the right places, and yet protected them.

Males imitated this behavior, although their cocks were constantly being chafed by the snug fabrics.

The "dickgard" was born of that chafing. A large, softly-lined cup, it allowed the Magan male to coil his penis neatly up on itself and remain tucked away from irritating zippers. It did, of course, require one extra step prior to mating, but most males agreed that this was a fair trade. After all, fucking someone with a sore cock was no fun at all.

Conversational skills, along with the usual societal changes, were also taking place. But the need to fuck remained pre-eminent amongst Magan urges.

Tails were a nuisance, but never once did anyone ever consider removing them. They acted as a source of pride for the male and a source of adornment for the female, who would paint, pierce, color or otherwise transform her tail into a work of art.

As the species evolved toward permanently upright status, small breasts began to develop in the female of the species. Although Magan eggs needed no external or maternal nourishment, something about the mating process was stimulating this lactic evolution. Not one Magan male raised his voice in protest.

Nipples were next to appear. Once again, the Magan male seemed appreciative rather than concerned.

Most females had learned that a barbed cock could offer the most exquisite pleasure if welcomed at the right point during intercourse, so with the advent of nipples, one more pleasure center had been added to the pot.

The Magus Prime race was on its way to sexual ecstasy.

At about this time, some Magans began experimenting with oral sex. This, sadly, failed.

Unknown to the species as a whole, the female had retained a vestigial set of teeth, once used to rip and pulverize food for her offspring. Sharp and pointed, these teeth could reduce a large furry willmot into minced willmot within moments. When mixed with the local version of garlic and heated over an open fire, minced willmot burgers were a national favorite.

However, as Magans evolved, these teeth became less necessary. The open fire gave way to the barbecue, the rotisserie and finally the microwave oven, and females no longer needed their extra teeth.

It was thought they had vanished.

It was, unfortunately, an incorrect assumption.

Josephus Mauldrake, leader of a small Southern tribe, was the first martyr to the cause of oral sex.

During intercourse, Josephus, who prided himself on his innovative lovemaking techniques, thrust his erect cock into the mouth of his partner, just prior to the emergence of his barbs.

His partner, who was extremely stimulated by Josephus's action, experienced her own orgasm as she sucked in his cock. This allowed her vestigial teeth to emerge through a hitherto-unknown rift just below the gum line.

Josephus's scream was heard across a distance of approximately seven Magan measures, and Josephus himself was consequently confined to one of the planet's first rehabilitation centers.

His experiences became the stuff of legends. Also of caution.

There was no fellatio on Magus Prime. And because Magans firmly embraced the concept of "turn about is fair play," there was no cunnilingus either. It was just plain and simple fucking.

Fucking, as they liked to say, was the foundation of life. In fact, they indulged their love of fucking at every opportunity. Small areas were set aside in public places for fucking. Treatises were written by experts on fucking, and videos were made on different fucking techniques.

The first intergalactic visitors to Magus Prime described it in scientific reports, quite accurately as it turned out, as "that planet with all those fucking reptiles."

Magus Prime, as a competitor in the Frallien IV Olympiad, had its reputation on the line. The fact that the power technology possessed by the Fralliens was also on the line, was truly only an incidental consideration to most citizens of Magus Prime. For them, it was all about the fucking.

As it is, of course, just about everywhere else in the galaxy.

And speaking of which…

Back to cyber-created Scotland and our still-embracing lovers...

Rory eased his sword further away from his body and settled Boralle more comfortably in his arms.

Her lips were swollen and soft from their kisses, and her hands lay peacefully on his shoulders. It was the first time he'd seen such a gentle smile cross her features, and his heart warmed at the sight.

"I want to make love with you, Boralle," he murmured, needing to speak the words aloud for some reason.

"Oh yes, yes please," she grinned, tracing his features with the tip of a finger. "I'd
really
like that a lot. And not just from a practice perspective either," she added.

"You need not fear I'll make you pregnant, you know," he said, letting a little kiss drop onto the finger that strayed to his mouth.

She chuckled. "Of course not. We don't get pregnant."

"Excuse me?" Rory stared at her, puzzled.

"We don't get pregnant," she repeated herself.

"What do you mean 'we?'You mean people on board your ship? Humans? Females? What?"

Boralle blinked at his line of questioning. "Why—any of us. All of the above. The whole getting-pregnant thing was discontinued several generations ago. Much too inefficient."

Rory's jaw dropped. "You mean...you canna have bairns?"

"I haven't a clue. What the rass is a 'bairn?'"

He shook his head and put his hand over her belly. "It's a wee one, Boralle. A child. Something that a man and a woman create when they make love and that grows to life within your womb...right about here..."

He splayed his fingers across her body, letting his warmth sink through the ruffled cotton of her dress.

"I...I...no. Well, I don't know. I don't think so." She thought for a moment. "The whole business is usually handled in the birthing centers. Donated DNA samples are merged and children are created a short time later. The nurseries take care of them, the educational process teaches them, and it's an efficient way to continue the species." She raised her eyes to Rory's with a question in them. "How else should it be done?"

Rory sighed. "Ah, lass, it would take a lifetime to tell you. But where I come from, a man and a woman make love together and pleasure each other, and the man plants his seed deep inside the woman, where it meets its mate." His hand was stroking circles now on her stomach and he felt her wriggle.

"Life begins in a woman's womb. 'Tis a miracle indeed. She nurtures the bairn with her body, just as her mate nurtures her with his love. She bears the child, full-formed, at the end of nine months or so, and what was two becomes three. Becomes a family. If God wills it so, there will be more bairns to fill the rooms of the family's home. Rooms that fill with love. Children are the physical proof that love is real, Boralle. Or at least they should be."

Boralle sighed. "It sounds quite wonderful, Rory. What a fascinating idea. To give birth to one's own offspring."

Rory, remembering the assorted aches and pains of the many pregnant women he'd met over the course of his years, wisely held his peace.

"But first, we have to make love, right?"

He smiled. "We do indeed, lass. I shall need to seduce you until you are naught but a quivering mound of sensual desire beneath my fingers."

"Ooh goody." Boralle giggled as his fingers moved up from her stomach to the undersides of her breasts. "Will I know when I become this quivering mound, or will you tell me?"

"Oh, you'll know," growled Rory. "But also you need to know that I'll not release my seed inside you. Because of what I am and where I come from, I have been...changed...altered a little."

Boralle tipped her head and let her eyes ask the question.

"The Guardians of Time have a sacred mission to sort out problems, Boralle. Scattering their children throughout the space-time continuum is not the way to go about it."

"Good point."

"So, when I...when I release ma...er...when I come inside you, " Rory couldn't believe he was actually blushing, "Dinna be afraid. 'Tis only a wee bit of blue fog that'll fill you. Nae ma seed."

Realizing his embarrassment had robbed him of his higher speech function, and that Boralle's breast was warm and heavy in his hand, he sighed.

"Rory, I don't think I understand any of this at all. But perhaps the best thing would be for us to just do it. Don't you think?"

The Laird McAllen was never a man who had to be asked twice.

*~*~*~*

His hand was so gentle, for something the size of a dinner plate. At least it felt like a huge, hot bowl as it cupped and caressed her breast.

Boralle moved slightly, arching her back and giving him better access.

"Too many clothes, my love. Let's just loosen the plaids, shall we?"

Without removing the one hand, a nimble Rory managed to free Boralle's woolen wrap and tug it clear of her body, all the while keeping up his gentle kneading of her breast. He moved to the other one and slipped his sword belt away from his body at the same time.

His own plaid fell free, and for the first time Boralle caught a glimpse of his fully erect cock.

My Gods. What a beauty!

He shifted for a moment and let the fabric fall clear, leaving himself naked to the rays of the warm sunshine. His dark red hair tumbled over his shoulders, giving him the look of a wild and pagan creature come to plunder her body. She'd particularly liked those bits in her historical romance holovids.

She had a strong feeling at that moment that she'd welcome his plundering, and he could do a little pillaging while he was at it, if he felt like it. But a small voice whispered deep in Boralle's mind that she'd be losing more than her body to this man. He might demand something more precious from her.

Something she had no idea how to give.

He smiled as he watched her staring at his cock.

Unashamed, totally and completely male, he lay quietly touching her, skimming the soft cotton of her skirt up and down the sensitive skin of her legs. He let his cock rest against them, taut and hard, with prominent ridges and veins tracing its length.

"Would you like to touch, then, lass?"

There was a certain huskiness to Rory's voice as he asked the question.

Boralle glanced up. "May I?"

He coughed and hid his face a little, letting his hair fall between them for a moment. His cock twitched slightly. "Um, Boralle, as a wee point of procedure here, you probably don't have to ask a man if he'd mind you touching his cock." He tossed back his hair and grinned at her, eyes alight with laughter and something else—passion? "Especially not if you're about to get naked with him."

Suiting words to action, Rory tugged at the ribbons holding the neckline of her dress, and in one strong sweeping movement freed her from her ruffles and skirts and laid her as nude as he was.

For long seconds she stilled, feeling the most incredibly unusual sensations of the sunshine warming her bare skin and the wind dusting tiny fingers across its sensitive surface.