Page 13 of Caveman Alien’s Horn (Caveman Aliens #26)

13

- Cora -

It slides out of the bulge in Sprisk’s skull in the same smooth way as a cat’s claws emerge from its paws. But this is much bigger.

“You’re a unicorn,” I whisper in awe as my cavemannish fails me. “That’s incredible!”

It’s not the twisted, straight horn that unicorns are usually depicted with. And of course it doesn’t grow out of the middle of his forehead, but higher up, so that the bulge is hidden by his thick hair.

It’s white with purple seams all over it, eight inches long and as thick as a banana. It has a slight upward curve and a mild taper until it ends in a sharp point that I could pop a balloon on.

“I can?” I ask, but before Sprisk can reply, I lightly grab the horn with one hand. The texture is rough close to the head, smoothing out towards the tip.

“Only my clansbrothers know about the horn,” Sprisk rumbles. “The tribesmen don’t. Not even Brak’s and Noker’s wives know.”

I slide both hands the length of the horn. It’s a dangerous weapon, obviously. “It’s so cool! And you killed that raptor with it!” Right now I’m so amazed that I have to use English.

“Did you ask if I killed that rekh with it?” Sprisk asks. “I recognize some of the words.”

“You recognize all!” I exclaim. “Is exactly what I asked.”

“I rammed it into the rekh that attacked you. I don’t think that’s what killed it, but it may have been. I think it ran straight off a cliff afterwards, which isn’t common for them. I just know that when you saw me, I made you scream.”

“I scream,” I admit, not wanting to take my hand off the horn. “Because was so scary! I not could see all you! Only horn, dripping with blood from rekh!”

“That was why? You could only see the horn?”

“Only that,” I tell him. “And it was so blood.”

Sprisk changes his position to get closer to me. “I washed it off later. I make sure the horn is clean at all times.”

“Is very clean,” I praise him and stroke my hand along the horn. “All men should have horn.”

“You like it?” he asks with such boyish shyness that I have to smile.

I get up on my knees and pull his head down so I can place a small kiss at its tip. “What you think?”

He puts his hand on my shoulder, right by the neck. “I thought you’d hate it and scream again.”

Gently tapping his horn, then the spikes that stand out from his chin, I feel a hot surge go through me. He’s so alien, and yet so human. The mix is absolutely intoxicating. “Not hate, Sprisk. I like. I really like.

“Good. Because I really like you, too.” He strokes my hair and runs his hand down my side, over the rough woven grass of my tunic.

“Sprisk,” I begin, my mouth dry from an arousal that’s been on a simmer most of the day. “What did before. With lips.”

He slowly licks his lips with that dexterous tongue, just to let me know he gets it. “Yes?”

Heat gathers at my core. “Can do again?”

There’s definitely a smirk on his alien face. “Not while you’re wearing all those things.”

I quickly strip off my Stone Age outfit and slide the precious panties down my legs, then hang them from the net above me.

Sprisk takes charge, grabs my hips, and pulls me further down in the net. It raises my hips and leaves me spread open for him.

This time he ignores the rest of me, just cups one breast in his hand and starts kissing around my sex. His jaw spikes stroke softly against my skin, just the right side of tickling. It makes that whole area come alive with anticipation and tingles, being gently touched by obviously dangerous spikes.

I smell my own arousal, but I don’t care - I want him to know how turned on I am. When he starts to lick, the touch is so light at first I’m not even sure it started. But his tongue slowly increases the pressure until it’s perfect - light and swirly. I once heard that the perfect way to lick pussy is to spell out the alphabet with your tongue. If that’s what Sprisk is doing, then the caveman alphabet must have some seriously intricate and swirly letters. Because what he’s doing down there feels like making art. The tingles and the sensations he creates come and go, ebb and flow, always reaching a delightful stage and making me hold my breath before it starts again somewhere else.

“Ohh yeahh…” In my feverishly blissed-out mind I realize that this could go on for a long time, and I could enjoy it like this, just being kept at a simmer without boiling over. Sprisk is being experimental, trying many things and scoring with most of them. I swear he’s enjoying himself a great deal. And that tongue… it’s very special.

I quickly learn to moan when he does something I like so that he’ll do more of it. After a short while he only does the things that feel the best and I know that this is going to have a really happy ending.

I grab hold of his horn. “Oh, unicorn… keep going…”

Damn, this is a story for the ages. Being eaten out by an alien unicorn for the second time is even better than the first.

Sprisk finally focuses on the exactly right spot, swirling firmly and wetly right where it counts the most. And then he stays there. I have no choice, because he forces me to come. The heat builds in me until I erupt in bliss and a long, keening moan, clutching his horn.

The sound travels up the huge wooden cylinder, being amplified so I sound like a climaxing little foghorn.

I collapse in the net, arms out to the side and legs spread wide.

“I swear,” I pant, “that even better.”

Sprisk gives me a satisfied smirk. “Maybe it was the horn.”

“Yeah,” I groan as an aftershock shakes through me. “Ooooh…”

His cock stands skywards, twitching and bobbing. I swear my girly bits are clenching at the sight, both from fear and from breathless desire to have that in me.

“I want that,” I tell Sprisk. “I want very. But wait. I just breathe.”

He climbs into the net with me and lies down behind me, with one hand on my breast. “Breathing is important. We have time.”

I push my butt into him, enjoying the feeling of his warm, hard rod right along my crack. It helps me relax.

Oh, his heartbeat is so strong and so slow, and he’s so warm… I’ll just close my eyes for a moment.

The next morning I’m up early, feeling refreshed and taking a quick bath in the creek while Sprisk cooks breakfast. When I’m done, I saunter over to the nearest edge of the clearing. I swear the mushrooms are bigger now than yesterday. But there must be thousands of them, so it’s impossible to be completely sure.

I pick some berries from a bush that grows just outside the mushroom ring and bring them back to the campfire.

“Sorry I fall asleep,” I begin. “I wanted more. Really very wanted. But also tired.”

“We have time,” Sprisk rumbles, giving me a look so suggestive that I have to look away to not blush.

“Much time,” I agree.

“Today we’ll find materials for the loom,” Sprisk says as he hands me a big, green leaf filled with a stew that smells great. “We need long, slender pieces of wood, I think.”

I’ve been thinking about it. “We need two big pieces. Must bury into ground so they are so.” I hold one forearm straight up. “Then need many smaller pieces. And string. And rocks. If find stone with… hmm…” I don’t remember the word for ‘hole’, so I form a circle with my fingers.

“A rock with a hole,” Sprisk completes my sentence. “There aren’t many of those. But we can make one.”

“Can use wood also,” I tell him. “Wood with stone inside. To make heavy.”

Sprisk goes over to one of the fallen and half-rotted trees and returns with some white threads. “These are from inside the mushroom roots. I hung them to dry.” He hands them to me.

It’s even better than I hoped. The strands of fibers that make up the roots are thin and as strong as regular sewing threads on Earth, about fifty weight. They’re smooth, too. Almost too smooth — a weave needs some friction between the threads to keep it structured. But there are ways to add friction if they’re too slippery for fabric.

The bundle of threads feels light, almost unnaturally so. Holding one strand up to the light, I start to suspect that even these thin strands are hollow.

“What think you?” I ask and hand one thread back to Sprisk. “Can use to build?”

He easily snaps the thread between his fingers. “They’re strong when spun together. Ten strands for the thinnest string, I think. No, better make it thirty. You never know when a unicorn may step into it.”

“Unicorn feet not is danger. Only one unicorn on Xren, he step in one loom. Not will step in two.”

Sprisk gives me a lopsided smile and touches his arm where I stabbed him. “He won’t do it on purpose, anyway.”

“Sorry,” I say again. “I not have knife now, even if you crush our loom. Unicorn is safe.”

“Hmm. I’m not sure a loom is ever safe for me. They’re dangerous things, lurking in trees and trapping honest unicorns in their threads.” He stands up. “Let’s go.”

We walk into the jungle, and he leads me an intricate route, avoiding flat areas that look perfectly nice to walk on. He may have dug pits to keep intruders at bay, then carefully hidden them.

“This?” Sprisk asks and nods towards a tree with a slender trunk. It’s clearly a sapling, although it would qualify as a full tree on Earth.

I consider it. “Too thick.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t like thick?”

I’m just able to not blush. “Like thick sometimes. Just not when tree.”

“Let’s find a thin one.”

We walk on until we find a good one, thin and slender and still definitely strong enough. Sprisk cuts it down with the machete, then cuts off the crown. It leaves us with the long trunk.

I measure it in pace-lengths. “Sixteen yards. Is enough for many posts.”

“We’ll bring it back.” Sprisk bends over, lifts the whole trunk, and places it on his shoulder in a jaw-dropping display of sheer strength.

“That not heavy?” I ask, concerned. It must weigh five hundred pounds, probably more since it’s so full of sap it drips like a faucet from both cut ends.

“It’s heavy,” Sprisk admits. “But so am I.”

“Fair point,” I mutter as I trail him back to the clearing.

I want the loom close to the hollow tree, so I readjust the rocks I placed last night until they form a rectangle about four by eight feet. This loom will be much larger than most looms on Earth, which are usually about the size of a piano. But everything on Xren is bigger, and being with Sprisk for days has me feeling even more dainty and small than usual. Now that I have a giant for a co-constructor, as well as a huge source of incredible threads, I want to make a giant loom. One that I can still use, of course. But this isn’t for making tapestries — I want this thing to produce big sheets of fabric for clothes. Clothes that I just might want to show the other girls.

“We dig here,” I state and point to the ground.

Sprisk takes a sharpened stick and rams it into the ground. It hits the layer of mushroom roots and stops, forcing him to push the roots away to keep digging under them.

“You good at dig,” I praise him. It’s true — he digs a hole for the first post in an astonishingly short time.

“I like going deep,” Sprisk says as he uses his hands to dig out loose dirt. “As deep as possible.”

His innuendo isn’t lost on me. I owe him some really good experiences after what he did for me last night.

“I know,” I tell him, feeling heat start down below. “Later we see how deep can go.”

“That would be nice.” He digs three more holes, places the upright posts in them, and fills the holes with big rocks and fine sand from the creek to keep them steady. We both stomp around the posts to compress the dirt as much as possible, and then Sprisk places big rocks around them for good measure.

I put my hand on one post and try to move it. Even using my full weight, I can’t make it budge. “Is good,” I judge. “Even a rekh not move it.”

Sprisk wipes dirt off his hands. “Are you sure? They’re bigger than you.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Oh? They are stronger?”

He chuckles. “Only some of them.”

“See?” I sniff. “I right. Posts very strong and not move.”

“What’s next?” Sprisk asks.

“Next is this,” I tell him and hold my hand up, palm outward. “You hit.”

He gingerly reaches out and touches my hand. “Hmm.”

“No, hit ,” I instruct and demonstrate with my other hand.

He slaps my palm with what is moderate strength for him, but the impact makes my whole hand numb. “Interesting.”

I blow on my stinging, red palm, then put it between my thighs and squeeze. “ Damn. Next time maybe not so strong. But is good, Sprisk. Is good.”

“Alien ritual,” he ponders as he too blows on his hand and places his hand between his thighs, mimicking me. “I’m becoming more and more like you. Soon I’ll say ‘damn’ and ‘delicious’, too. And ‘okay’.”

“Is ritual for when success,” I inform him as I straighten up and shake my hand in the air. “We very success with posts for loom. Now we success with other pieces, please. Need string now. Rope.”

He shakes his hand too. “You mean roots. The ones in the creek.”

I saunter towards the stream. “The ones in the creek are easy get. No digging.”

“Some digging,” he says as he passes me, holding the machete. “Because we want the roots to be long. Or is long things something else you don’t like?”

“Same as thick things,” I tell him. “I like some things long.”

He turns to me and flicks out his long, alien tongue, setting off tingles in my core because now I know what he can do with that thing.

At the creek, he starts cutting the thousands of mushroom roots that span it. First on the near bank of the creek, then the other. The roots are maybe ten feet long, and should be fine for tying the loom together. When I start weaving, I’ll need longer threads than that.

I get the cut roots and roll them up, stacking them tidily. I’m still surprised at how light they are — they must consist mostly of air. That, combined with the smoothness, could make them hard to work with.

Sprisk climbs the bank and looks down on me. “Oh no .”

“What?” I ask, alarmed.

“You’re dirty .” He bends down and picks a small leaf off my tunic. “You need a bath.”

“But I just took bath this morni iiiaaaa !”

He grabs me, lifts me up, and carries me down into the creek channel, his big feet splashing to the middle of it. “We must not be dirty when making a loom. All the shamans say that.”

“You not shaman!” I slap his shoulder, his display of strength sending new tingles to my center. He could do whatever he’d want to me. And right now, I might not protest too much. “You only unicorn!”

“Where shall I put you down?” Sprisk ponders. “Where is the water deep? You need a lot of water, as dirty as you are.”

“I are not dirty!” I insist, reaching out to touch his cheek. “But you! Look! Dirty face, dirty hand, dirty… mind!”

He looks down, checking himself and his twitching bulge. “I can’t say you’re wrong. We both need a bath. Maybe we will be clean after. Our minds, too.”

“Fine,” I concede. “Put down me.”

“Stand still.” He sets me down on the dry bank, then proceeds to discard his loincloth. His alien cock stands skywards, twitching and looking dangerous with all its protrusions and bulbs. The other, smaller one has a kinder look to it, but I’m most intrigued by the big one. It haunted my dreams last night and my thoughts today.

I see no reason why I can’t be naked too, so I strip off, making sure my panties are carefully arranged far from the water. I really want them to dry out before I put them on again.

Wading out to the middle of the creek, I enjoy the half-unicorn’s gaze on my nakedness.

“I will help clean you,” Sprisk says and helpfully splashes me with cool creek water.

I squeal and splash him right back. “No, I will help you! ”

He splashes me again with a mighty flood wave. “No, I will help you! ”

The wave washes over me and knocks me off my feet. Gasping and spluttering, I push my hair out of my face and regain my balance. “How you dare help me! I very clean already!”

Sprisk grins. “Unicorn say, not very clean already! Must be more clean!” Another mighty wave comes my way, washing me downstream.

“Ha!” I triumph, swimming a couple of strokes. “I escape!”

“Oh no, you don’t,” Sprisk calls after me. He reaches up and grabs hold of one of the creek-spanning roots we didn’t cut, then another, arm-walking his way down the stream towards me. His big cock bobs and bounces from his crotch.

He looks so ridiculous I’m bent double with laughter. Then one of the roots he grabs snaps in his hand, and he squeals as he falls into the creek, butt first, making an immense splash.

“I was perfectly clean,” he splutters as his head comes out of the water. “But now I have water all over me.”

I howl with uncontrollable mirth. That giant, always-in-control alien unicorn, total master of the jungle, dropping into the creek with flailing limbs and a girly little scream…

Then it hits me: I’m laughing . I’m laughing, having a good time!