GREN

I thought my body would be free of its intense, throbbing need once I spent my seed.

Then, I spent my seed again and collapsed in front of my female like a weakling.

But it still doesn’t leave. It races through me like the strongest of drugs, an accelerant gone wild. Is it that the nullifiers are finally out of my blood and all of the need blocked for years and years is crashing through me at once? Or is this something else? Whatever it is, it leaves me feeling weak and unsteady after spending my seed…and yet still ready to do so again.

Over and over and over again.

She touched me. Of her own choosing, Willa touched me. She petted my chest and pressed her mouth to my shoulders and moved her hands over me in ways that I never thought I would be touched. It was too much to hope that she would reach for my cock, and yet she did so on her own. It felt so good that I came at once, but she did not seem to care. Even now, she plays with my mane and whispers sweet, sing-song words in her language. I can smell her scent changing again, and I wonder what that means. It has gone sweet once more, and it makes my mouth water even as my cock stiffens.

I will never be able to stand if this continues. They will find me here, a hundred years from now, cock in hand and spurting seed onto the snow as I think of Willa.

Willa and her freely given touch. Willa and the way she reaches for me without fear, as if I am not an abomination.

I would destroy entire planets with my bare hands for her.

I manage to get to my feet, worn to my core and yet somehow still burning inside. She looks up at me with anxious eyes, and I touch her face to let her know I am well. I want to laugh. I am more than well. For all that I came to this planet a slave, I have a female at my side who looks at me as if I am a normal male, and whose caresses fire my blood with such heat that I do not know that I will survive it.

No matter what comes next, I would not trade a single moment.

She presses a hand to my chest, her brow furrowed, and then presses to her own chest. After a moment, she shakes her head. “Nttng.”

I wonder what she means by that. I want to ask her, to manage the question in our pantomimes and the few shared words we know, but the wind shifts and I catch the smell of the native mesakkah on the breeze. They are still far too close, and I frolic with Willa when I should be protecting her.

That changes now. Ignoring the protests of my curiously weary body—maybe it is also suffering from the lack of accelerants that were part of my daily regimen back in the slave pits—I heft the pack onto my shoulder and pull Willa into my arms. I start the hike back to our encampment, but my thoughts are on her hands and how I can get her to touch me again. Did she like it? Did my shape please her? Though I share many genetic markers of other slave races, I know my form is based off of that of a praxiian male, and my cock is as theirs. An arena slave has seen many bodies, because it is smarter to fight naked and give your opponent nothing to hold onto. I have had masters that shaved my entire body for such a purpose, no matter that it is an insult to a praxiian to be furless. I am not praxiian, not truly, so I did not care. But I have noticed how others are formed, wondering if they are my ancestors. If we are related and they come from the same genetic stock I do.

None of that matters now, but I do try to think of the humans I have seen in the past. The few I have glimpsed were usually playthings for their masters, and fully clothed. I have never fought a human male in the arena. Do they have cocks? Was Willa shocked to feel mine or did she expect it?

I am suddenly curious what she looks like without her clothing. Females are built differently, but I have never seen one naked up close. I find myself suddenly burning with the intense need to explore Willa’s body. I know they have teats, and I know that males bury themselves between their thighs, but some males also bury themselves between the thighs of other males, so that does not tell me much. Whatever she looks like, I want to touch her and give her pleasure like she touched me.

I enjoy that thought, as much as I enjoy that her arms go easily around my neck when I pick her up this time. I am far, far stronger than her and built for endurance—no matter my body’s reaction at the moment—and I can carry her as effortlessly as breathing. With her in my arms, I can take the long way back to our encampment, to ensure that she stays out of scent-range of any mesakkah male who might be hunting her. They have keen senses, but not as keen as my own enhanced ones.

As I carry Willa, I notice that her sweetened scent continues and grows stronger when her thighs are parted. Does her scent change have something to do with her cunt? I have never seen one up close—only females being mated from afar—but the mouthwatering scent seems to grow stronger as she holds onto me. My cock is stiff again, my sac throbbing with need, but I do my best to ignore it.

Willa’s safety first.

When we return to our camp, the day is growing late, the gray sky darkening. Thick snowflakes fly upon the air, and Willa gives them a worried look. I am secretly glad for their presence, because that means she will cuddle next to me for warmth this night. I move around the edges of our camp carefully, looking for mesakkah scents, but there are none. There are other creatures that have wandered through this area and left spoor behind, but their tracks do not go near my scent or my old tracks. They fear me.

Good. They should be afraid.

Even so, I am on guard as I set Willa down, the heated pulsing in my body temporarily quieted by the thought of danger. She goes into our shelter, talking in her musical language as I check the camp one more time. When I find nothing, I shake the thick snowflakes out of my mane and duck under the shelter to sit at her side. Inside, I see she’s laid out the leather clothing as a pallet once more, and she has an icy chunk of meat from our earlier kill in her hand, trying to cut a slice from it. She looks up as I enter, a welcoming expression on her face. She offers me the first cut piece of meat, and I feel like a king in this moment.

I watch her as I eat, wondering at her sweet scent. It has faded some, and as she eats, I wonder if I can get it to return. My cock is hardening at the thought, and I suspect that I will be able to think of nothing until I discover her scent for myself. Willa yawns, looks uncertainly at the bed she’s made, and then lies down, tucking her hands against her cheek.

I…do not understand this. Is she rejecting me and choosing to sleep alone despite our touching this afternoon? Did I do something wrong? Miss some subtle clue? I lie down on my side of the shelter, and after a moment’s wait, I grow impatient. With an irritated snarl, I reach across, snag her by the waist, and drag her over to my side.

Willa’s giggle is pleasant and makes my balls tighten to hear. She pats my chest and murmurs something apologetic, then settles in next to me, her fingers twining in my chest fur. Her breathing slows and she relaxes, and I tuck her against my body, content with this. Maybe we will touch more tomorrow. She turns and settles against me, her back against my side. I turn over on my side as well, looping my arm over her protectively. She shifts, settling in, and then goes quiet.

I drowse slightly in the half-awake state, attuned to the sound of her breathing and the pleasant feeling of her against me. Her breath hitches slightly and she trembles, and I open my eyes, waiting for her to say something.

She remains quiet.

After another moment passes, she twitches, and then the sweet scent touches my nose, filling me with hot need. My mouth waters and my cock hardens, and I wonder at the reoccurrence of the scent even as Willa shudders ever so slightly against me.

Is she well? I touch her arm to wake her…only to discover that her hand is in her leggings, between her thighs. She shifts again and the scent of her overwhelms me.

Willa is touching her cunt.

Her cunt is the source of the sweet smell.

I give a low growl of frustration. She does this with her hand? I want to be the one to touch her. I want to be the one that causes her sweet smell to emerge. I want to be the one who gives her pleasure. “Willa.”

“Gren?” Her voice is low and breathless. Her hand slides out of her leggings, her scent blooming even as she gives a little shudder. “Guhbktusleep.”

“You know I do not understand your words, female. Do you hide this from me?” I put my hand over hers, and I can feel the wetness on her fingers, the scent of it incredible. I lift her hand to my nose and inhale deeply, and then groan. Nothing has ever smelled so perfect, nor made me hunger so much. “You say we are fraaand, is this not true?”

“Oh,” Willa says softly. “Fraands, yes.”

“Then let me, as your fraaand, touch you.” I put my hand on her belly and when she does not protest, I move it lower, like she did to me. “Let me pleasure you like you pleasured me.”

She moans and then slides onto her back. In the darkness, I can see the soft glow of her eyes, and the way her legs part ever so slightly in welcome.

It is enough permission for me. I nuzzle at her neck, burying my face against her hair and breathing in her scent like she did to me. Should I lay her atop me and touch her from behind as she did to me? I do not know how this is done, but she seems to permit my touch well enough this way, so I continue. I push past the waist of her leggings and touch between her thighs, mindful of my big claws and her delicate skin.

She is hot here, hot and sultry, and she has soft, pettable fur over her cunt. I groan low, surprised at this revelation. “You have been hiding this from me? I feel how wet with need you are, Willa. Let me learn you as you learned me. Nothing would give me more joy.”

Her breath hitches, and she buries her hands in my fur, holding tightly to me. “Gren,” she pants, and then arches up against my hand. “Tchmee.”

“I am going to learn your words,” I vow to her, even though I know what she wants. The way she rises up to meet my caress tells me plenty. “And then there will be no misunderstandings between us.” I stroke the little mound of heat that is her cunt, and I’m even more surprised when it parts under my touch. She has folds here, soft and slippery and wet with her scent. My mouth waters again, and I suddenly want nothing more in the world than to taste her. I do not know if such things are allowed, however, and so I will only do what Willa has done to me. I do not want to frighten her with the intensity of my need.

But I touch her, learning her with fingertips and claw, grazing over the sleek folds of her cunt and running a fingertip through her wet heat. She writhes against me, pulling at my fur and panting with need, but she does not erupt quickly like I did. Perhaps she takes more touching.

“Gren,” she pants, then babbles out a string of sounds I do not grasp.

“Show me,” I demand of her. “Tell me what you want. Tell me how to touch you.” I do not stop my gentle exploration, though. I keep touching, hoping I will strike upon the caress that will make her pleasure burst forth from her like a supernova.

She clutches at my wrist, writhing underneath my hand, and it is the most exciting and frustrating thing I have ever experienced. My own seed boils, ready to erupt, but she does not climax. She pants and pleads and squirms, but I do not know what she is asking for.

“Show me,” I demand again, and this time I take her hand and push it into her leggings. “Show me what I do wrong.”

Willa whimpers, the sound utterly intoxicating, and then her fingers push past mine. She touches the apex of her folds, and then rubs there in speedy, jerky motions. I push her hand aside and place mine there instead, and the moment I feel the slight bump nestled in her folds, she arches up with a cry, her hands tugging so hard at my fur that it causes me to come. My seed spills into my lap and down my thigh, but I ignore it, just as I ignore the wild panting of my breath, because Willa is beside herself right now, the thick, rich scent of her filling the shelter. She is so wet that I can hear my fingers as they slick through her folds, and I rub that small bump as if it is the greatest prize in any intergalactic arena.

She stiffens, and her mouth falls open in a silent scream. Wet heat floods my hand, and then she rocks against me, rubbing at my hand even as she climaxes over and over again. I keep rubbing her, lost in the moment, entranced by the slickness of her cunt and the overwhelming, sweet musk that envelops my senses. “Willa,” I grit out, and when she shudders against me again, I hope that I’ve made her come twice. “Do it again,” I tell her, demanding. “I want to watch you come again.”

But she only falls back against me, boneless and sated, and pulls my hand from between her thighs. She tucks my arm around her, hugging it to her breasts, and presses her mouth to my upper arm before curling up against me, a happy sigh escaping her.

“Did I please you?” I murmur, nuzzling at her mane. “As much as you pleased me earlier?”

“Mmm,” she says, then runs her mouth against my arm once more, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

I carefully extract my arm from her grip, but not before nuzzling at her mane again. “I must clean up,” I tell her. “I cannot let my fur stiffen with my seed.” And because she is soft and sweet and now mine, I have decided, I will do the same for her.

I gather up a handful of snow, and then press it into the front of Willa’s leggings.

My female shrieks and bolts upright out of our bed.

Hmm. Perhaps humans do not do that, then.