My Prize (16 page)

His plans were in motion, his carefully re-engineered units were being installed at the Olympic forum on Frallien even as he began the long descent to the surface, and the Magan competitors were in peak condition.

He glanced at his small hold-all and grinned, knowing his Magan wave-pistol was securely hidden in a small, undetectable pocket. Should there be any "objections" to Magan victory in these games, that little weapon should provide a convincing counter-argument.

The thought of melting the brains of a couple of Fralliens was exciting—stimulating even—and without conscious thought, his cock began to unfurl. Visions of the streets of Magus Prime lined with females cheering his homecoming flashed through the Commander's mind and his cock grew longer.

Reaching down he grasped himself. Hard. He was not one to bring himself to completion too often—there were sufficient females available that he had no need for his own hand.

But here, in the privacy of this small cubicle, alone with his thoughts of success and with victory so close before him,
this
was a time for a private celebration.

His three testicles jiggled as he began the jerking tugs that simulated his penetration of a Magan cunt. Fluid leaked from his barb slits and helped ease the friction of his hand, making an increased speed possible and even desirable.

He visualized the meter on the Olympiad booths registering an incredible score. He saw the applause from both on and off-world as the Magans wiped the interspatial floor with any other competitor.

He saw alien females screwed into a painful death by his clever machine.

He saw his barbs spring free and just missed cutting off the top of one of his fingers by pulling back into his balls sharply.

His hips thrust forward and he began to spray his seed—right across the window.

With the typical hoarse bark he finished and breathed deeply, cock flopping now against his legs, his balls loose and dangling in their sacs around it.

A few moments later a small red light appeared over the window and a hiss and crackle announced the activation of a recorded message.

"
Attention passenger 4731dash12D. Your window material has been compromised by an unknown source. Our sensors detect a potential weakening of its molecular structure. To prevent any life-threatening decompression or loss of your customized environment, we will be activating the sealing screen. We apologize for this inconvenience. Thank you for taking the Sontaran Elevator to the surface of Frallien IV. We hope you will travel with us again. Have a pleasant diurnal anomaly."

Seconds later a solid metal sheet slid over the window opening, completely covering it and limiting the light in the room to the soft glow from the ceiling.

Bendrick snorted. So his sperm was acid. Who gave a roaring fuck anyway. He settled himself on the couch and went to sleep.

His cubicle was sealed tight not unlike like a casket.

Ironically, that particular thought never crossed the Commander's mind.

Before arriving on the surface of Frallien IV, foiling the terrible Magan plot and uniting Rory and Boralle in eternal bliss, we really should pause for a moment and familiarize ourselves with the root cause of all this trouble—the Fralliens, hosts of this whole whoop-de-doo.

Frallien IV is the fourth planet in a small solar system consisting of twelve planets and an orbiting pile of debris.

The debris is—or rather was—Fralliens I through III and resulted from a rather extraordinary experiment that took place two star systems away, between a laser, a new and improved birth control device, a small box of dark matter and the back seat of an Antarean station wagon. The two parties involved in the experiment were severely chastised, grounded, and forbidden to see each other again.

Frallien IV happily remained untouched, and proved to be a charming planet, inhabited by beings whose sexuality was second to none in the quadrant.

Because Frallien women ovulated only twice a year, and irregularly at that, it was necessary to ensure that both genders were constantly ready to mate. While this may sound rather similar to the senior year of any Terran high school, for the Fralliens it was a serious matter of continuation of their species.

Consequently, their evolutionary process had ensured more than enough sex appeal to go around.

Frallien brains contained an enlarged area of sexual receptors, and Frallien bodies were designed to exude the maximum amount of pheromonal emissions possible without rendering the opposite sex unconscious.

Frallien males were almost incessantly hard.

Frallien females were almost incessantly in heat.

It was the perfect match.

Their skins were pale and soft, and contained three times the number of nerve endings usually found in bi-pedal humanoids.

The Frallien woman was always ready to leap on some of that fine upstanding Frallien cock, and the Frallien male was ready to lie down and let her at the drop of a metaphorical Frallien hat.

Zippers were unknown on Frallien and, because of the temperate climate, clothing itself was mostly optional.

All this excessive sexual energy had stimulated the thought processes of the Frallien scientists when they weren't fucking themselves into a stupor. The scientists, unfortunately, were rather lower on the list of eligible sex partners than, for example, sports figures or vid stars, and consequently they had a little more time to cultivate these thought processes.

The chief scientist of the Frallien Research Institute was the man responsible for considering harnessing the sexual energy so blithely emitted by his people, and using it for purposes other than a crashingly fine orgasm.

Within a generation, the technology was working, albeit in a somewhat limited fashion. It did require that a couple remain orgasmic for quite some time, and the electrodes and wiring tended to get caught up around their toes.

Oral sex, which was very popular, didn't seem to result in the same output of energy, but anal sex, same-sex sex, and masturbation (in any one of a variety of inventive ways) worked just fine.

Any minor inconveniences were ruled as annoying but manageable, and the population rapidly embraced the idea that a good fuck could power their vacuums, and a couple of eye-rolling orgasms would run the dishwasher.

After more tweaking, thinking, orgasming and building, giant capacitors were created that stored all this output, and the Sexual Power Technology was perfected.

Doing what they did best had provided the Fralliens with an almost inexhaustible source of clean, renewable energy.

It was probably unsurprising that the majority of the residents wore smiles and little else, and Frallien became known throughout the local galactic cluster as "that fucking happy planet."

The idea for the Olympiad had been born soon after the technology was declared "on line", since even a planet full of happy little fuckers couldn't produce sufficient energy to continually power all the new appliances that were springing up as a result of this new, free supply.

After manufacturing the most enormous storage capacitors, the Fralliens offered the first Olympiad and found, to their delight, that the sexual energies given off by almost any species was usable by their technology.

Suddenly the SPT secrets were a hot property.

They were immediately placed in a safe and undisclosed location (beneath the mattress of the Chief Scientist), and while other planets looked on enviously, the Fralliens merrily fucked their way into bigger and better microwaves and a nice selection of personal bug zappers that completely eliminated the mosquito problem on Frallien IV.

Thus the Fralliens were happy, sated, smiling, and completely unprepared for the violence that the Magans had planned for them.

They were also unprepared for Laird Rory McAllen.

Who, as mentioned earlier, has a "wee plan", which he is now about to explain to Major Boralle North.

Even though neither Boralle nor Rory is a Frallien, we should mention that their sexual energies certainly match or exceed any thus far measured on Frallien IV.

And with that thought in mind...

"Now, about this wee plan..." Boralle sat down next to Rory on the small couch, clean and somewhat refreshed.

Rory had scrunched himself into the little cubicle and run the sweep unit as well, although he grumbled about it. It just wasn't the same as a good clean shower.

They hadn't bothered to dress, both acknowledging that it would probably be a futile effort. Given their inability to keep their hands off one another, whatever they put on would be taken off again long before they reached the surface.

Besides, realized Rory, being naked around Boralle was as natural as breathing now. He loved being able to feast his eyes on her body, all soft in the right places and smooth and firm in other right places.

He loved her bare mound with its full and tempting lips, and had a very difficult time keeping his hands off it. The fact that he had a sneaking suspicion she knew
exactly
what he wanted to do didn't bother him at all. Sure, she managed to flash him some cunny on more occasions than necessary. But that was just fine. She could flash him until the universe shrank to nothing and he'd never get tired of it.

He grinned.

"Your plan is funny?"

"Oh, no. Sorry. I was thinking about something else" He struggled to keep his eyes on her face and not her crotch. Damn, it was hard.

"Well, don't get distracted now. We need to decide on what to do before we get to the surface. I suppose we
should
go to the authorities..."

He snorted, mind finally diverted from Boralle's body. "And they'd do what? Check the booths, correct some of the wiring, and the Magans would stand, looking innocent and outraged, and never be caught, and
still
stand a good chance of winning."

"But if we told the Frallien officials..."

"Sweetheart, the Fralliens are butterflies. Pushovers. They've no warriors or military to speak of. How would they possibly defend themselves if the Magans decided to launch a full-out attack? You have to say this for the Magans, they could have just blasted Frallien out of the cosmos and taken what they wanted by force. At least they're trying to cheat their way into it, instead of butchering for it."

"You say that like it's a good thing." She frowned at him.

Rory sighed. "How can I explain, lass? I've seen bloody battles. My old world was harsh and we had to fight to survive. Nowadays, there's probably a much cleaner way of doing it, but killing is still killing. It's not good."

She swallowed. "God, I'm sorry. Of course, you're right." She reached out a hand and touched his in an affectionate gesture.

Rory blinked. This woman was touching him in so many new ways. Not just with her body, but with her mind, her heart, possibly even her soul. He was getting to the point where she was essential to his survival.

Was this intended? Had the Guardians of Time meant for him to become so involved with Boralle that all he could think of was her? His need to touch her, be with her, take her with him on sensual journeys to places neither could imagine? To love her?

He pushed the thoughts aside, knowing he'd deal with them when the time came. His priority right now was keeping her alive and preventing a disaster of interplanetary proportions. When that was taken care of,
then
they could deal with these other issues.

He tugged her arm and pulled her close to his side, settling her in to his body the way he loved.

"All right, lass. Here's ma plan. Are you ready?"

Her eyes turned hot at the words. "Always, Rory."

He chuckled and ignored his twitching cock. He was getting used to living in a state of semi-hardness anyway. "You know that you are the only person who's aware of my existence. That only you can see me?"

"Yes. You proved that back on the ship."

"And that if you take ma vessel along with you, I can be by your side wherever you are?"

"Yeeesss..." The word was drawn out as Boralle's eyes narrowed.

"And if you were to have the most massive orgasm in the entire known galaxy, blow the meters off the machines and win the contest, the Magans would have absolutely no recourse but to leave with their tails between their legs?"

"Magans can't get their tails between their legs. They aren't built that way."

"Whatever." He waved her objection aside. "You get ma point, lass?"

"I
think
so," said Boralle, contemplatively.

She gazed out of their small window. "You want to help me hit the high notes in the contest which you can do with no one seeing you because you're invisible to everyone but me. This way, we'll win and the Magans go home empty handed." She turned to Rory. "They'll be furious, but they'll be empty handed."

"That's about the size of it, lass."

"You want to cheat."

"Aw, sweetheart. Don't look at it that way. I know that no one will see me take you to yer peak, but it'll be a peak you'll be reaching, just the same. Just as if you were in a booth. You won't be breaking the rules. It's the orgasm that scores, right? Not how you get it..."

"I suppose..." She toyed with the idea, obviously turning it over in her mind.

He watched, fascinated at the way his woman explored every challenge before her, pulling at it, looking at it from every angle, and analyzing it thoroughly.

"But what if the machine reacts to our score by malfunctioning? Can we take that risk?"

"No. I won't take that risk with you, love." He tightened his arm around her and stroked her hair, dropping a kiss on her head. "That's where you'll have to do a little insisting."

"Insisting?"

"Yep. You'll have to insist that you'll be allowed to compete
outside
of the booth."

Boralle stilled. "
Outside
the booth?"

"Aye. Outside the booth."

"But...but...if I do that, how will the cummeter register my score?"