Page 17 of Caveman Alien’s Horn (Caveman Aliens #26)

17

- Cora -

I’m being direct about what I want, but I’m done pretending not to be uncontrollably horny. Sprisk feels the same way, judging from the way his cock throbs and pulsates inside me, and how his actual horn is pointing right at me.

He helps lift me, taking my weight in his strong arms in a way that no Earth man would be able to. His cock slides out of me, and then back in as I’m being let back down.

“Yeahhh…” I groan, allowing myself to relax. This time, I know it fits and I know that it can do.

Helped by Sprisk’s gigantic strength, I fuck myself on his cock, experiment with depth and speed. But nothing feels as good as just taking him all the way in, a little harder than I would have guessed. It feels incredible.

I quickly find the rhythm that feels the best - fast in, then slowly out, so that I can enjoy all the exotic ridges and bulbs and features of his unicorn cock.

Taking hold of his horn, I steady myself for the climax that’s quickly approaching. I don’t need any time with him - he’s the full package and there are no doubts. I really want this.

As if he senses it, Sprisk speeds up and fucks me faster. The orgasm comes towards me, slow and determined.

Then his second cock starts its magical stroking right at my clit, like a lit match to a short fuse, and I’m pushed over the edge.

My screams and whimpers don’t resonate as well as inside the tree, but hearing the echoes from the trees around us has its own, unfiltered arousal factor. This is incredibly primal.

Sprisk’s war cry rings in my ears, and this time I swear I can feel the pressure from his spray, deep inside my womanhood.

Losing my strength, I lean forwards onto Sprisk, while he keeps thrusting, slow and steady.

“My woman,” he growls as he adjusts me. “ Mine.”

For a while I’m busy catching my breath and riding out delightful little aftershocks, Sprisk’s massive arm under my head. His heart beats slowly next to me.

I look up. It should feel weird to be inside a wooden smoke stack, but I’m getting used to it. It is an incredible place, though.

“Sprisk?”

“Mm?” he grunts next to me.

“How you made this tree? The inside? You not use steel and iron, you say. Only use stone blades?”

He snorts. “Stones? If I had, I wouldn’t even be half finished by now. No, I used something better.”

“Something better than steel and stone?”

He gets to his knees on the net. “Do you want to see?”

I sit up, interested. “Yes, please.”

He checks the wooden wall for a suitable spot. His horn extends out from his head, he puts the point on a specific point, and then pushes it in. It goes in with surprising ease, but all his massive muscles tense up and the veins stand out at the side of his neck.

The wood creaks as he pries a big chunk out of the wall.

He shows it to me. “The wood out here is really too hard. It was much softer in the middle. I could break off pieces ten times this size. The most important thing is to find the right spot, and then to push the horn at the right angle.”

I turn the piece of wood over in my hands. “Is big. Not hurts when you break it off?”

“The horn is strong,” he says with obvious pride. “And I’m used to finding ways to make it work for me. I like using it. It feels good.”

That makes sense to me. If you’re born with something like that, of course it might be instinctive to use it for as many things as you can. It’s like having a permanently attached blade-slash-spike.

And in combination with his camouflage skin, it must make him one of the deadliest creatures in the jungle. What is it like, being this amazing and always on top of things? He’s like a super-caveman, so well suited for life in the jungle that nothing seems to phase him.

“Come,” I urge him, reaching out one hand.

He drops into the net as if it were a trampoline. His great weight makes me bounce off it into the air. I squeal in surprise and terror, but of course he catches me perfectly safely in his arms when I land. And anyway, there are nets all the way down.

“I’m here,” he growls into my ear.

I grab his horn. If it weren’t so pointy, I’d have some idea of where he could put it next. That texture about halfway down the shaft, all the way down to his thick hair… It looks like it was made especially for some really naughty purpose. “One day I want see other things to do with horn. But now, have better thing.” I let go of the horn and reach for his still hard cock instead.

“That is better for some purposes,” Sprisk agrees. “Especially for pleasure. The horn is more for work. And I heard someone say we always work before pleasure.”

I throw one leg over him and sit up to straddle him, his cock right in front of me. “You worked with horn, taking wood off. Very hard work! Let’s have some pleasure now.”

He grabs my butt with both hands and pulls me to him, positioning me right over his straining shaft. “I didn’t see you work.”

I feign shock. “Oh, you want pleasure alone?”

He laughs. “No, thank you. I actually think you’ll be doing some work right now.”

I slide back until the head of his cock is at my entrance, which is still slick with our combined juices. “Oh…” I slide further back, impaling myself on his alien cock.

It’s a nice way to Mate, but later I’ll ask if we can go inside where the acoustics are better and the nets more comfortable than the ground. “Yes, my unicorn. Take me.”

- - -

T he next day we keep building the loom. Sprisk makes the wooden parts and ties them together, while I prepare the heddle wires. The rings are still a concern. The threads of the warp will pass through them before they reach the reed that I’ll work with. They must be strong enough to stand constant tension, and also the friction from the warp yarn. So the obvious material is wood. But I need like a hundred of them.

I explain the concept to Sprisk. “Is there way to make many small rings fast?”

“How small? How many?”

“A hundred rings. This size.” I show him with my fingers, making a ring that’s about a half inch in diameter.

He thinks about it. “Very small rings. There is a way I know. When do you need them?”

“Before the loom can be used,” I tell him. “Make from wood, maybe?”

“Maybe, but there’s another way. Must they be wood?”

“No, but are much wood around here.” I point to the huge stack of logs Sprisk has gathered for the loom.

He nods and goes back to his work. “I’ll start making them when they are needed.”

“I can help,” I assure him as I keep making strings from the mushroom root fibers.

“It will mean doing work,” he warns with mock seriousness. “You know we must have pleasure afterwards. Those are the rules.”

Hard tingles go through my girly parts. “Those are the rules,” I echo. “We must follow rules.”

We keep working. Most of the frame for the loom is done, and I think it’ll be pretty easy to make the reed and the rolls. I might even ask Sprisk to split a log with his horn, so that I get some straight edges to work with, not just round branches and logs. That would be useful for the treadles.

I smile to myself. I can’t believe how fast this is going! At this rate, once we get the rings I need, this thing could be done in a few days. My experience with the one in the tree helps a lot, but the most important thing is Sprisk and his great capacity for both work and pleasure.

Well, I can’t have him leave me behind. So I keep making threads for the heddle strings. Soon I will have to consider making the long warp yarn, and then the fine threads for the weft…

Eric comes bouncing, keeping his distance to Sprisk.

“Hi, Eric,” I sign.

He greets me politely, then signs “mushrooms are bad.”

“Bad? Why?”

“Diana say are bad,” he tells me. “Not touch mushrooms.”

“All right,” I sign slowly. “Did she say what wrong with them?”

There’s a flurry of hand movements, but I can’t understand the meaning, except that it has something to do with aliens. Which could mean anything — I am an alien, for instance. And for all I know, the vismonks may think that Sprisk is, too. My guess is that Diana doesn’t like Sprisk, and anything that has to do with him is inherently bad. And he found this mushroom clearing.

“I’ll be careful,” I promise. “Will you stay here? I show you the loom.”

He glances at it. “You had one in your tree.”

“Yes,” I signal. “Sprisk help me build a new one.”

“You don’t live in your tree anymore?”

It’s a good question, one that I have pondered myself. “Not right now. I may come back, but I not know.”

“I think you should live in your tree,” Eric signals quickly, looking over at Sprisk.

His simple statement brings me almost back to reality. I was brought here against my will. Now I have to admit that I’m staying willingly. Because of the loom, of course. Because of the safety here. But mostly because of Sprisk. Is this going to be my life now? Have I moved out of the tree?

I can’t be sure. How long will I be happy here? At some point, will I want to go back? And if I do, will Sprisk be okay with it? Will the vismonks be happy with me returning to a really good tree like nothing’s happened?

I take a moment to see how I feel.

No. Right now, going back to that place is the last thing I want. I was so lonely there. It wasn’t good for my mental health at all.

“Will someone else use the tree?” I ask carefully. “If I’m not there?”

“We don’t know anyone else like you,” Eric says, thinking he answered the question.

Which maybe he did. Probably the vismonks won’t use the tree for anything, and I can use it if I need to.

“Tell Diana ‘thank you’ from me,” I instruct the young vismonk. “Thank you for everything. Eric, do you want some fruit?”

Eric stares over at Sprisk. “Mushrooms are bad. Goodbye.”

He turns and bounces out of the clearing, into the dark jungle.

I guess his mission was just to tell me about the mushrooms.

Sprisk comes over, casually twirling a log that you could use as a light post in Chicago. “He is good at using his arms, that Eric.”

“Is how they talk, and he just learned to talk. He likes it. He say the mushrooms are bad.”

Sprisk frowns. “Bad? In what way?”

I shrug. “He not say or not know. Just say they bad.”

“So far, they have been good,” Sprisk calmly points out. “They keep the Bigs away, and they give us roots.”

I locate the string we used to measure the mushroom last night. “And they grow. We see how much they grow?”

Again we cross the creek, noticing that the roots we took have been replaced by new, much thinner ones. I can’t help but wonder how that works — the growing roots would have to cross many feet of thin air. Do they just shoot across, somehow?

The mushroom we measured is easy to find, and it has definitely grown. “What you say, Sprisk? It was from elbow a thumb width from the knuckles?”

“Two thumb’s widths,” he corrects me as he measures again. “Now it’s… elbow to half a finger’s length past the hand. It’s much bigger.”

I measure with my string. Before, the mushroom’s cap was maybe eighteen inches wide. Now, it’s closer to two feet. “It add another third in one night,” I marvel. “Grow so fast!”

Sprisk bends down over the mushroom. “What’s that smell?”

I sniff it myself. It’s a sweet, organic smell that stings the nose like bleach would. But it’s not bleach. And yet, I know I’ve smelled it before, but I can’t place it.

“Mushroom smell,” I conclude. “Better if not smell it.”

I look over to the middle of the clearing. The central mushroom has grown, too. It reminds me of a blue Christmas tree, except it’s thicker in the middle than on the bottom. It’s a loose, translucent structure, as fine as the most intricate lace. It’s even more beautiful than before, with that inner glow.

“I wonder if that—” I begin, but Sprisk grabs my upper arm and pulls me away.

“Big,” he growls.

I stare into the jungle. Sure enough, there’s a dinosaur there, right at the treeline beyond the mushrooms. It’s a big one, too, bigger than the dactyls. It’s thin enough to fit between the trees, but it’s very long and it has a long, pointed head like a swordfish. Because of the mushrooms I can’t see its legs, but it has a spiked back and a long tail. The four eyes are placed on the sides of the head and the front, so this is very likely a predator.

My suspicion is confirmed when the dinosaur opens its swordfish mouth and reveals the usual assortment of messy, triangular teeth.

“What is that?” I ask, peering at the dino from behind Sprisk. We’re almost at the creek.

“A Big,” he says tightly. “And it must be a wily one if it were able to avoid all the pits I’ve dug.”

The dinosaur slowly comes towards us. It seems to be hesitating, right behind the mushrooms.

“Cross the creek,” Sprisk orders me. “Go into the tree and climb the nets inside.”

“And you?” I ask, not wanting him to put himself in danger.

“I want to chase it out.” His voice is flat and not open to being argued with.

“Don’t be killed,” I suggest. “And don’t kill,” I add before I scramble down into the creek channel, splash through the stream, and climb up the other side.

The spearasaurus is halfway through the mushrooms, moving slowly and gingerly stepping over them with its eight powerful legs not touching them.

Sprisk stands ready, his chameleon skin making him hard to spot except for the loincloth and the shadow he casts. His horn stands out of his head, looking dangerous.

The dinosaur focuses its two front eyes on him, moving fully into the clearing. It’s a long, sleek dinosaur, patterned in light blue and gray, looking like both a snake and a lizard. And a swordfish, especially with its gape closed, so the long spear that must be its snout stands out more.

Sprisk drops his loincloth, making himself fully camouflaged, except for the horn. Even to me, never a fighter and with a well developed flight instinct, a fight with one horned fighter practically invisible can only go one way.

But maybe the dinosaur has more senses than just sight. It suddenly runs straight at Sprisk, swordfish spear first. As far as I can tell, Sprisk throws himself out of the way.

The dino turns in a really tight circle, and it doesn’t look like it’s slowing down. All the legs must help with that.

It lowers its head and speeds up, like a bull aiming at a bullfighter, except faster and much deadlier. Again it looks like Sprisk has to jump to get out of the monster’s way, but I can’t be sure. He’s really hard to keep track of. In the low sun, I can’t really see the shadow he casts on the ground.

This goes on for longer than I would have thought. The dinosaur attacks in a thunderous gallop, again and again, but it doesn’t hit anything.

Sprisk’s horn is the only thing I can see of him, and now I see it from the side. The dinosaur comes charging, all its feet spraying dirt and dry grass, accelerating like a screaming motorcycle. The horn barely moves as it passes, but the dinosaur clearly didn’t hit anything, and it turns again, raising a cloud of dust and debris as the ground shakes under it.

Ah . Of course. Sprisk is only playing with the dinosaur. I think he’s making entertainment for me, very much like a bullfight. He stands in its way, waving his horn and making it obvious where he is. Then, when the monster comes charging, he moves a small amount to get out of harm’s way, and the dino’s snout-spear only hits the air.

After maybe a couple of minutes, the dinosaur is much slower, getting exhausted. It roars in pain and twitches all along its length, and then it quickly slinks away from the arena. Even going out, it’s careful to step over the mushrooms before the jungle swallows it.

I can’t see Sprisk, although I know he must have hit the dino with his spear and chased it away.

The minutes pass, and I start to worry. Did the dinosaur trample him or skewer him somehow, and he’s lying injured on the ground, hidden from sight by a rotting tree or a withered bush?

I’ve just decided to go back across the creek when there’s a voice right beside my ear.

“Was that work or pleasure?”

“ Aiee! ” I squeal, in my tense state so startled it makes me jump. “You monster!”

Sprisk catches me before I fall into the creek channel, and slowly his skin turns from camouflage to his ordinary tone. “Half-monster, if you don’t mind. I’m half alien, half Big, half unicorn, and half man. And now half monster, too. I’m all halves, Cora.”

My heartbeat settles back down. “Not scare please, Sprisk. Are many afraid already.”

“Sorry,” he says, pulling me close and embracing me, briefly lifting me off my feet. “I couldn’t resist. Now answer: Work or pleasure?”