Page 92 of Border Control

“I… want to do something nice for you. For us.”

I glance down to find a look in her eye. Predatory, in a way which makes my cock leap in its carapace and mycrinisswell.

Her nails score slowly across the scales on my chest. “Mm. You mentioned that you find it hard to think when we’re in a scene.” Heat pulses between us, an ebb and flow.

I have to take a deep breath to steady my heart rates. “Did I say the wrong thing?”

“No. Well, I’d prefer they thought I was having sex with you rather than doing kinky things with you until we both come.”

My scales tingle, as if a simulation of her hand brushes along them. “But we enjoy that.”

“Yes, but they don’t need to know that.”

Yet another of Law-rah’s borders, the boundaries she maintains.

She continues, “Anyway, as we have two weeks until we get there, and you said it helps you suspend all thought for a while, I wondered if you wanted to… play.”

Her word doesn’t encompass the depth of feeling I have for what we do together. It’s too lighthearted, too loose.

“I will always want to please you.”

She licks her lips. “Meet me in the kitchen galley in five minutes.” Then she rushes toward her quarters.

Sitting on a seat next to the pilot's at the console, I stare out into the dark heart of the universe. Law-rah wants someone willing to come second in her priorities. I have always come second at best: second to Nevare, second to Arik. I'm in no way worthy to come second in a female's consideration. My place is much lower, and I'm content with that.

I am.

I count three hundred double heartbeats before I go to the galley. Inside is a state of the art meal dispensing machine connected to a pantry of delights from all across the universe, anywhere Olorian Gerverstock units have been able to return from. The amount of sweat, scales and blood that’s been poured into obtaining these ingredients must be huge, but their sacrifice is a worthy one if it means Law-rah can taste some of the best food from galaxies beside her own.

She waits for me next to the dinner table, a simple metal rectangle with rounded edges and four legs bolted to the floor. Alongside it sits a long couch covered with a luxurious fabric.

Her lips are a bright fire red, a warning color in any other species, but in response my scales harden along with my cock. Mycrinispresses against my carapace in delicious pressure.

“Welcome. Do you enter this scene of your own free will?” she asks.

My own lips are suddenly dry. “Yes.”

She pats the top of the surface. “I want you on here, legs spread, hands holding on to the table legs above your head. How does that sound?”

It sounds perfect. Like a sacrifice, from Oloria’s deepest history, when primitive males would tear out the hearts of the willing to offer them to our system star, before we understood how the universe truly worked. A sacrifice is the ideal state ofbeing for a Parthiastock, living their life in service to a female, perhaps even dying for them.

I nearly come there and then, my carapace straining to contain my cock.

Pulling my attention back to the tiny human, I ask, “How will I pleasure you from that position, Law-rah?”

“I’m going to pleasure you.” Her eyes turn dark as she brings her finger to her lips. “This time, I want to handle your cock myself.”

My knees weaken. I lean against the table, but first, an urgent requirement intrudes. “Gara explained that we should use CNULG during intimate occasions where my cock is exposed. After what happened to Arra-bellah, I would request we use them now.”

Law-rah’s nose wrinkles. “What's see-nulg?”

“Containing Natural Urges at Low Gravity. CNULG. A covering for my intimate areas so that my emissions do not affect you.”

“Oh, smart. I suppose that’s healthy. I’ll have some of that.”

I find it for her and hand the case over. She sets it onto the cabinet next to the food creator with a click which rings in the silence.

“Strip,” she orders, and I do so, ripping down my heavy pants. My carapace pulses with each beat of my hearts, my breathing getting heavier, louder.