219. We’re Going to Have Some Fun
219
We’re Going to Have Some Fun
A ’Dar
My body falls onto the bed with such force the mattress groans as a small puff of dust flies into the air. My female had to practically carry me into this room. It’s enough to make me loathe myself.
If I were back on Xenon and if there were still males alive, I would be shamed by every male on the planet for letting her shoulder me as a burden.
It’s only when I gather my thoughts that I remember what we learned in school. When machta begins, couples are so consumed with each other and the process, so biologically driven, they can barely fend for themselves. It’s why they’re isolated, why food is delivered to their door, and why they’re relieved of their jobs until the initial throes of machta resolve.
Before I ask, my little mate offers, “You need to feed, A’Dar. We’re safe here, at least for a moment. Let me take care of you.”
I love this little female. My mate. I’ve wondered if my attraction was purely biological, or if it’s simply a factor of the almost-desperate need to protect that seems to be programmed into my genetics. But hearing her offer, despite her fatigue and everything that has bombarded her since we met, how could I not love a female who at once can be so strong and yet so giving?
“We’ll feed each other, mate,” I say, hoping my voice conveys the affection I feel. “We’re safe here. At least for now.
“I don’t know how much of me is human anymore, A’Dar. I have these… urges. These desires. Not just to have your magnificent cock pierce into me, not just to ingest your essence and your blood. I was kind of getting used to that. But I want to own you. To claim you. I want you to smell like me.”
I indulge her. How could I not? She’s already drenched for me, so I use her cream to paint my face. Although invisible, it reminds me of my history lessons, when my ancestors used to paint themselves before fighting their enemies.
“Let me make you feel good,” I say, hoping these are the last words I’ll speak for a long time.
Jahzara Zedd
I snake my hand under my dress and push my panties aside as I watch the female ride the Xenon’s muscular body. Her breasts are bouncing, her braids shaking, the beads tinkling, her breath escaping in short little bursts.
Plunging my fingers into my channel, I feel no compunction about eavesdropping on these two. In fact, I stop pleasuring myself long enough to order, “Bozgan, broadcast the feed from drone 1182.” Idiot. Why do I have to do all the intellectual heavy-lifting?
The female is riding him harder, her fingers gripped in those segmented things on his head. Her orgasm is loud and enthusiastic as she tips back and then forward, moans in delight, then slumps onto him with a contented sigh.
After I emit my own contented sigh, certainly more sensual than her low-class noises, I’m just about to start scrolling again when their ridiculous pillow talk catches my attention.
“You must feel better,” she says with a smile. “Your eyes are almost back to normal.”
“Aye. Now let me give you my essence, my heart. I think it will be more potent if I feed it to you. You’ll need your strength.”
I’ve been approached and propositioned by the best of them, but that’s a line I’ve never heard. No one has ever tried to entice me into sex by telling me it will give me strength.
As I listen more closely and watch him place his seed on her tongue as if it’s a sacrament, I pull up the Intergalactic Database on another computer. When the action lags in their bedplay, I research Xenons.
“Fuck!” I shout to the empty, soundproofed room. Where is the bitch who found this venue, this ship full of Xenons in stasis? My assistant, what is her name? Sherlonn? Carlonn? I need to fire her. Shit. I already have.
Why didn’t she tell me the very best part about having all these Xenons on board? They devolve into some primitive, desperate need for sex and blood. Why didn’t Darlonn lead with that little piece of information when she was pitching Earth as the venue for the next Game?
Machta . The intense desire created when a Xenon smells his true mate. It’s compelling and powerful and can end in death if not fulfilled. By the looks of things, humans can trigger it in Xenons.
Delicious. Just think of the mayhem, the sex, the chaos that might arise when two thousand Xenons awake hungry and need to slake their sexual thirst on… what sounds good? Five hundred humans? No, how about one thousand?
I’m picturing it now. Chaos in the hallways. Fighting for supremacy. Wanton sex. A veritable bacchanal. A two-to-one ratio guarantees battles to the death. We’ll upgrade and call the best parts the Mayhem Package.
“Bozgan, I want research on this machta phenomenon. Everything you can find on the Intergalactic Database,” I say the moment my assistant answers my comm. “You have one hour to choose one thousand human females and transport them to the holding tent. Use any other staff at your disposal. Call them in on their off days if you must. In sixty minutes, I want all one thousand of them here with translator chips already inserted. Oh, and have someone bring all the Xenons out of stasis. We’re going to have some fun.”