“Under the table, sir?”
“Drunk off their asses
.”
“Ah.”
Judging by his increasingly rough thrusts and the sweat condensing on his sleek musculature,
Ensign Hastion was reaching critical mass. Unable to help himself, Kellen watched
as Hastion pulled out and flipped the female onto her belly, yanking her to her knees
and immediately driving his desperate length back into her glistening red vaginal
opening, his spur coming closer to her puckered anal sphincter with every thrust.
That could be him soon, Kellen was a bit disturbed to realize, ramming himself into
an unfamiliar backside with less sentiment than an animal. He’d never taken a female
in such a position, would never have thought to introduce his spur into his mate’s
waste canal, not that she’d have permitted it. But considering the yawning span of
years since he’d last spent his seed, the idea was far less unpalatable than it might
once have been.
“The position of a Terran woman’s anus relative to her vagina, and the sturdy thickness
of the tissue separating vagina from rectum, make it possible for the Garathani’s
spur not only to penetrate, but to clamp down sufficiently for ejaculation to occur,”
the doctor continued. “Which is why Terran females are such ideal candidates for both
copulative and reproductive services to the Garathani.”
Hastion paused to adjust the positioning of his knees, grasping the female’s fleshy
hips tightly to perfect his angle for double penetration. He was just driving inward
when Dr. Snow cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, Ensign—this might be a good time for the students to get a look at your
spur.”
Opening the link to Hastion, Shauss commiserated,
“Oh
,
now
that’s
brutal
.
”
“But that
’
s the agreement”
, Hastion sighed. Jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut, he pulled out altogether and leaned
back on his hands, arching his pelvis upward to display his jutting sexual organs.
The smooth-skinned spur, broader and flatter than Kellen’s own, showed no signs of
flagging under the Terrans’ scrutiny. An abundance of natural female lubricant matted
the dark hair at Hastion’s groin, a single shimmering strand of it bridging the gap
between the head of his penis and her swollen opening. How long could it hang there?
Only Kellen’s acute Garathani hearing, picking up two barely audible whispers from
the back of the room, saved him from the lustful abyss threatening to engulf him at
the intimate sight.
“I wish I had binoculars.”
“Binoculars, hell. I wish I had my camera.”
Peserin
’
s gown
! He averted his eyes with a tight smile, tucking the mental image safely away before
it brought him to his knees.
“You’ll note that this male exhibits textbook erectile proportions, having a spur
length of roughly one-half that of his penis,” the doctor approved. “We’re still uncertain
why ejaculation can’t be manually or artificially induced, but we’ll continue to investigate
all conceivable causes, including both physiological and psychological.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Shauss’ eyes grew wide as he stiffened.
“Did he just suggest the problem might be all in our heads?”
“Stand down
,
Lieutenant
,
”
Kellen ordered.
“Terrans tend to leave no stone, however futile, unturned. You should be used to it
by now.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Please continue.”
Needing no further encouragement, Hastion sprang forward and powered into the redhead.
She let loose a throaty scream, twisting handfuls of the white hospital bedding beneath
her forehead as his spur sank deep into her anal orifice, which had been carefully
prepared prior to the demonstration. Or so Kellen had been told, although what it
took to prepare her fell quite outside the scope of what he cared to know. Another
glance around the dimmed room told him a few of the females were looking decidedly
worried now, despite their foreknowledge of the subject’s previous experience.
When her orgasmic cries threatened to completely undo him, Kellen turned his eyes
to the wood-paneled wall ahead and mentally began reciting the elements of the periodic
table—the complete one, not the pitifully inadequate Terran version—and their weights.
He’d only gotten as far as helium when he heard the long, gurgling growl of a hungry
stomach from very nearby.
His chin snapped down as he scanned the seats closest to him. When the rumbling sounded
again, he zeroed in on a pair of Terran females. The tiny blonde had caught his notice
earlier, simply because she insisted on looking everywhere but at the couple she was
here to observe. The other one was leaning over her desk, arms wrapped across her
stomach. At least he was fairly certain that one was female. He’d glimpsed her in
the compound several times and wondered at her androgynous and deliberately bizarre
look. The shells of her ears were lined with metal studs and rings, the opaque black
of her hair, cut ruthlessly short, was obviously artificial, and her facial cosmetics
appeared to have been applied with…some sort of gardening implement.
A
trowel
, that was it.
Mildly curious, he’d taken note of her, and upon hearing a colleague call her Dr.
Gothchild, he’d looked up the name, only to find there was no such person listed on
the compound’s roster. A chance discussion among his men had enlightened him about
the Goth subculture, thus explaining her appearance, and he’d promptly dismissed the
odd female from his mind.
That might have been a mistake.
Her companion gaped in astonishment as the Goth female’s stomach gurgled again.
“Commander
,
are you hearing what I
’
m hearing?”
Shauss’ sharp gaze caught his.
“Jeez, Teague—try eating breakfast next time,” one of the males leaned over and whispered.
“Had breakfast.” The reply from the bent head was groggy, sounding urgent alarms in
Kellen’s head.
“Monica, are you okay?” asked her blonde friend.
In reply, the hunched-over Monica slurred, “Oh God, Shel, what are they cooking for
lunch? It smells absolutely divine!”
Kellen’s thoughts raced. Androgynous appearance, hunger response, olfactory excitement—
“Holy shit, are you drunk?” the male hissed.
And apparent intoxication in a room bursting with Garathani male pheromones…
Could she possibly be a Sparnite?
Kellen linked with the cerecom server.
“Empran
,
research Monica Teague
,
current assignment Beaumont
–
Thayer Compound,”
he requested, his link with Shauss still open.
The computer replied almost instantly.
*Beaumont
–
Thayer file incomplete
.
Searching alternate sources
.
*
Three seconds later, Empran continued,
*Dr
.
Monica Sessienne Teague
,
female
,
aged thirty
-
two Terran years
.
Medical specialty
,
perinatology
.
Contracted for ten
-
year service on Garathan
.
*
“Spell Sessienne.”
His eyes narrowed as Empran complied. The name was too close for coincidence, and
she was thirty-two, the perfect age…
“Known developmental
anomalies?”
*Searching
.
Conflicting data
,
Commander
.
Only one of seven available pediatric charts cites incomplete development of reproductive
organs
.
One gynecological examination at age fifteen
,
terminated prematurely for reasons unknown
,
notes delayed development of secondary sexual characteristics
.
Beaumont
–
Thayer intake documents indicate sterility attributed to anovulation
,
no determination of pathology
.
*
With his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, Kellen ordered,
“Empran
,
file an instant petition with the High Council on my behalf to claim full
-
spectrum mating privileges with Dr
.
Monica Teague
,
tentatively identified as a GaraTer hybrid
.
Request mass notification immediately upon approval
,
withholding the female
’
s middle name
,
and restrict access to the petition.”
Shauss’ eyes widened but he didn’t comment.
*Secondary claimant
?
*
Empran inquired.
“Lieutenant Shauss.”
“I think I love you, Sir.” Shauss grinned at him.
Kellen frowned.
“Save it for the Sparnite.”
*Tertiary claimant
?
*
“Reserve.”
The next eighty-four seconds were the longest of his life. He and Shauss both stared
at the female with an intensity that would probably have frightened her, had she raised
her head and noticed them. The demonstration on stage was all but forgotten by the
two officers as they watched her rock forward and back in her seat, taking deep breaths
of the air so heavily saturated with their pheromones.
*Petition filed
,
Council audience waived
,
unilateral approval by Minister Cecine
.
Mass notification pending
.
*
At Empran’s words, anticipation like he hadn’t known in years hammered through Kellen
and the smile that curved his lips must have been predatory indeed, because Shauss
urged,
“Careful, Commander. It could be months, even years before she matures enough for
mating.”
Then he had to go and add,
“If she even survives.”
Kellen grimaced. It was nothing less than the truth—her death was not beyond the realm
of possibility. Only a handful of Garathani females, fewer than two dozen in all of
their recorded history, had ever experienced Sparna’s Delay, and of those, six had
not survived the violent maturation that commenced once they were exposed to male
pheromones. There was no predicting what effect her Terran genes might have on the
process. It seemed the odd but now infinitely precious Dr. Teague was about to make
the history books on Garathan.
Unfortunately, he doubted she was going to enjoy the experience.
*Critical notification
,
*
Empran announced over the cerecom system to every Garathani within range. Even Hastion
paused mid-thrust to listen.
*Effective immediately
,
Commander Kellen
,
third son Aizery
,
first house Menina
,
is awarded full
-
spectrum mating privileges with the GaraTer hybrid known as Dr
.
Monica Teague
,
current domicile Beaumont
–
Thayer Compound
,
Montana
,
United States
,
Planet Earth
.
The commander is seconded by Lieutenant Shauss
,
first son Frantere
,
third house Andagon
,
allegiance transfer pending
.
Tertiary claimant is in reserve
.
This award and all information related to it are classified under the seal of the
Garathani High Council as authorized by Minister Cecine
.
*
“Well
,
that bites
,
”
Hastion grimaced humorously over his shoulder as he resumed pounding his partner
into erotic oblivion.
“Here I am
,
taking one for the team
—
”
“And we all feel
so
sorry for you
,
”
Shauss drawled.
“While you two are busy snapping up one of the missing hybrids right
—
behind
—
my
—
back!”
Hastion exploded into the woman with a roar that provoked paper-shuffling and throat-clearing
from one end of the classroom to the other.
Kellen just smiled.
* * * * *
“Cripes, Monica,” Shelley muttered as the lights went up and doctors and nurses began
shuffling out around them. “You picked a hell of a time to come in three sheets to
the wind.”
“I square to God, I haven’t had a drop!” Monica leaned back in her seat, blinking
at the sudden brightness.
“You
square
, huh?”
“Nice,” Sean snorted. “You’d better pull your head out of your ass before Snow pulls
the plug on your contract.”
“Get lost, McKay,” Shelley fired back. “I’ll take care of Monica.”
Monica sighed, her bleary eyes following the slightly squishy-looking butt of Dr.
Sean McKay as he sauntered to the door. “God, Shel, I love you so much! Thank you
for saving me from that creepin’ cretin.”
She giggled at her own creativity, giggled even louder when Shelley rolled her eyes.
“What is with you? Are you diabetic or something? Is your blood sugar bottoming out?”
“I don’ know, but I’m absolutely staaaarving!” Monica bellowed, mystified yet pleased
by the sensations that speaking so loudly sparked in her lower belly. “Take me to
the catef-cafeteria and get me some o’ whatever they’re dishin’ up today, ‘cause,
by God, it smells good enough to eat for a change!”
“Shhh!” Shelley looked around wildly before leaning over the side of her desk and
muttering, “Sean wasn’t kidding when he said Snow would have your butt in a sling
if he thought you were drunk.”