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“Hey,” she said, indignant.

I barely heard her. Her legs appeared even stronger and yet pleasantly soft without their covering, and now I clearly envisioned how they would look and feel wrapped around my waist. And between them, her lovely pink pussy captivated me, quivering and waiting to be touched.

“Look,” I said, my voice a low purring sound. I trailed my fingertips over her thigh, toward the source of the wetness that ran down the inside of her leg. “Look at your pussy, so wet, so hungry.”

She did not look down, though. She studied me, her brow furrowed, as if she thought I might be mocking her, and still clearly angry about her torn clothing.

So I turned her toward the shiny, mirror-like metal of the diner’s wall and made her look at our reflection. We could not have been more opposite in appearance. I towered over her, though she was not short for her people. Her fair skin and shoulder-length brown hair stood out from the gray metal of our surroundings and my own red skin, black hair, and black clothing. I had yet to remove her shirt, but its hem hung to just below her navel and did not hide her pink folds at all.

“See,” I said, my fingers gliding along her thigh to collect the slick moisture. “See it dripping. Why does your pussy drip?”

“I…” For the first time, she seemed unsure of herself. The woman who had threatened me with clenched fists had no words for me now.

“It drips for me,” I stated. “That is my wager won. You agree?”

“Yes!” Now she was mad again, for reasons I did not understand. “You just have to rub it in, don’t you?”

“Rub?” I frowned. “Why? Thrust, force, drive them in, as deeply as I can. You prefer I rub?”

She chuckled. Her reactions made as little sense as her obvious pride in that beast of a Bacorian coffee machine and the foul liquid it produced.

“It’s an expression,” she said. “I didn’t mean literally—wait, what? What do you mean,them?”

I snarled. “No more talking.” I wrapped my arms around her from behind and hooked one of her feet with mine to pull her legs apart. I held them in place with her feet off the floor and trapped behind my thick calves as I supported her weight. She squawked in surprise and tried to get away, but I held her still.

“Watch,” I said, and pointed to the mirrored wall. “Tell me again: how much do I owe you for my meal?”

“Eight thousand one hundred and eighty credits, plus tip,” she said automatically. “But?—”

I interrupted her by squeezing her closer. “Keep track of my ledger,” I commanded, and slipped my hand between her thighs, where she was softest and sopping and pink. Drops of wetness landed on my fingers. She moaned before I even touched her, her fingernails digging into my arm.

A promising start.

Carefully, I coaxed her delicate lips apart to delve into her wet folds. The guttural sound she made was quite gratifying, and I felt her relax against me, accepting that I could hold her up with no difficulty. My finger slid effortlessly through the wetness of her arousal as I explored, seeking the places that made her shake and whimper and curse in her own language.

Now satisfied that I had her full attention and cooperation, I slipped my finger into her slick tunnel for the first time. She arched against me and her eyes closed instead of watching us, as I had ordered her to do. I let her keep them closed for now. Seeing her bliss and hearing her moans was its own reward.

When she began riding my hand in earnest, I added another finger to give her more and begin the process of stretching her to accommodate my cocks. Even one at a time, they were considerably larger than a human male’s. If she enjoyed pain with her pleasure, I could certainly provide both, but physical limitations were physical limitations.

One certain way to increase her pliability was attention to her most sensitive areas. I curled my fingers within her and began a slower, deliberate stroking, seeking a particular reaction I had learned to note from previous partners. She made a telltale sound low in her throat and shuddered in my arms.There, I thought with satisfaction.

I focused my attentions on that spot and she thrashed against me, her pleas turning to wordless cries. In the midst of the almost unintelligible sounds, I heard my name just before her tunnel clenched around my fingers and she wailed. Her nectar flowed over my hand.

I showed her no mercy. I did not pause, did not slow my strokes, and more spasms shook her body from her shoulders to her toes. Whether this was a second orgasm or simply a continuation of the first, I could not tell, but her head fell back against my chest, her mouth open and gasping for air as she mumbled words that tumbled over each other like poetry.

The scent of her and the sound of my name on her lips made my cocks strain the fabric of my pants. My level of arousal now bordered on pain.

“What does my ledger read now?” I asked as she panted.

When she did not reply, I slipped my fingers from her tunnel and up to the pearl hidden in the pink folds just above it. I began to circle this pearl and rub my fingertips over it. She made a ragged sound that was part protest, part demand.

“My ledger?” I asked again, my fingers slowing. “How much are you still owed?”

chapterfive

ariel

My orgasm wenton and on. Oh, gods above, it wasso fucking good.