Stud (45 page)

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Authors: Cheryl Brooks

From
Outcast

Every man’s dream…

One man’s nightmare…

***

Lynx was only seventeen when he was taken prisoner in the war that destroyed his planet. Slated to be executed, he and the other members of his unit were instead sold into slavery. Thrown into the hold of a ship with no food and very little water, the new slaves were smuggled halfway across the galaxy to a slave auction on a distant world.

Dragged onto the auction block, the terrified boy almost wished he’d been killed. To be bought and sold like an animal was unheard of on his own planet of Zetith, where the world had been green and beautiful and the people were free. On this planet, whose name he never knew, he was sold to a trader who then sold him to someone else.

Stowed in the hold of yet another ship, exhaustion outweighed his fear, and Lynx fell asleep on the journey, only to be rudely awakened by two men. As one held him down, a flexible tube was painfully injected into the soft skin of the inner side of his left upper arm.

“Take that out, and you die,” he was told, then was given a drink and left alone again in the darkness.

Lynx lay sobbing with fear and pain and hunger. Even war had not terrified him like this. He had no idea where he was, or where he was going, and he believed that death would have been preferable to the life he now faced. He felt completely and utterly alone. Not knowing if the journey lasted for days or weeks, he lost all track of time and was fed at odd intervals, which served to disorient him that much more.

At last, the ship landed, and the bright glare nearly blinded Lynx as he was pulled into the harsh sunlight by his captors, who marched him down a dusty street and into a large palatial building.

“Pretty, isn’t he?” the ugly, harsh-voiced man remarked to his cohort as they stripped Lynx of his bonds and his clothing.

“He’ll fit right in!” the other man laughed. Unlocking a large, ornate door, he pushed Lynx inside. “You’re their slave now,” he said with a nod. “You do whatever they tell you.”

The light inside was much brighter than the corridor through which Lynx had been brought, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust as the scent of perfume wafted forward and curled into his sensitive nose. Green was the first color he saw: lush, tropical plants growing in profusion. Then he saw the women—scores of them, all beautiful, and all as naked as he was himself. They smelled of desire, and, despite his fear, that desire aroused him instantly.

Not knowing what to do, Lynx simply stood by the door but was beginning to feel somewhat relieved by what he saw. Being the slave of women wouldn’t be so bad; he was fairly certain they wouldn’t beat or torture him. But Lynx had never understood women. Most of the time, he felt intimidated by them—never knowing what to say or do—and had remained alone in the background while his friends found lovers. Granted, he was young, but the concept of enticement was something that Zetithian males generally grasped at an early age; Lynx, however, was mystified.

As he stood there waiting, the women ignored him at first, but his erection eventually elicited a few stares, and soon he was being touched by several soft hands—hands which soon found his hard cock and played in the fluid which had begun to ooze from the scalloped edges of the wide corona on the head. Lynx gasped as they fondled him before pulling him down onto the soft cushions on the floor. He’d never felt such pleasure before in his life. Then one of the women licked him, savoring his fluids until her body contracted in a powerful orgasm. Then another tasted him, and another, and another. He had the same effect on all of them, and they marveled at his attractive feline features and his sexual prowess.

He was the slave of other slaves, and he did whatever they asked, though his own needs were never considered. Not even given food of his own, to survive he had to scavenge what he could from what the women left behind. If they ever felt the need to punish him, they made sure that there was nothing left for him. When they finally gave him permission to eat, they laughed at the way he wolfed down his food.

Still, it was easy at first, for he was young and his sexual desires were at their peak. Day after day he fucked them, fed them, licked them, and massaged them. He catered to their needs and overheard their conversations, but more than anything, they craved his body, for he affected them in a way that no other man had ever done. He was both lover and slave to each of them, who were, in turn, the slaves of a man who owned far more women than he could possibly service.

At first, Lynx didn’t understand their language very well, but as he learned, he discovered that the women’s greatest fear seemed to be that of bearing his child. Whenever one of them discovered her pregnancy, he saw the terror in her eyes as the others reassured her that Lynx couldn’t possibly be the father. This puzzled him greatly, for he could never understand why having his child was such a horrible thing—or why they never did—but he heard it constantly, and his heart grew bitter. They would take what pleasure he could give them but wanted nothing more; not his children, and certainly not his love.

And so, for many years he lived with them, at first only watching as their children were born, then later assisting with the births and caring for the children. He liked the babies and never held it against them that they weren’t his own. He could never understand why none of the children ever resembled him, though he’d had intercourse with each and every one of their mothers. After a while, he came to realize that he must have been unable to father children, and this weakened his self-esteem even further.

His sleep was seldom undisturbed, for there was always a woman seeking his attention—whether it was to bring her food or to make love to her—and before long, it all began to seem the same to him. What he had initially considered to be a blessing now became a curse. The sound of female voices began to grate on his nerves, and the constant bickering among them irritated him almost to the point of screaming. There was no respite, no time to himself; they were always there, always demanding his undivided attention and the sexual gratification he could give them.

His bitterness grew, and his exhaustion was never-ending. As time went on, his erections began to diminish, becoming infrequent before finally ceasing altogether. Then one day, three men marched into the harem, seized Lynx, and dragged him out to be resold. He heard some of the women laughing, and, knowing that they must have complained about his impotence, any feelings he might have had for them turned to dust.

Marched naked to the auction block, Lynx was sold again, but this time, his companions were all male, which was a welcome change. The men might have been rough and crude, but they were undemanding, and Lynx slept well for the first time in many years. His new owner, a just man who didn’t believe in slavery, told Lynx that after five years of service, he would be freed. Seeing hope for the first time since he was enslaved, Lynx put in his time, working hard and learning what the men could teach him, after which he was freed. He stayed on for several more years, working in the diamond mines and saving his pay, for he had heard of a new colony on a planet called Terra Minor where he could be his own master and live out the remainder of his days in peaceful solitude.

Peace and quiet were the things he longed for most of all, but to find that peace, Lynx needed money, so he saved his own and watched as other men gambled away their pay or wasted it on the favors of women. As a free man, Lynx saw women and could smell their desire, but he was never aroused by them, and he avoided them whenever he could, for, having been used and betrayed by women, he now despised them all.

But their voices still haunted his dreams, and he would wake up in a cold sweat with the sound of their laughter echoing through his mind as he was dragged away—not one of them even whispering good-bye.

From
Fugitive

Manx knew she was watching him. The gentle breeze that blew across the deck and sent her erotic scent wafting down toward the lake confirmed it. He stretched upward with his head thrown back, inhaling deeply as he felt his body respond. Within moments, her scent intensified; she was not only aroused, but, judging from the strength of her enticing aroma, she was also naked; there was nothing between them but the cool night air. His mind took that image and savored it—her soft breasts, her hard nipples—and even across the distance that separated them, he could sense the wet heat between her thighs, could almost hear her body calling out to him, and his cock turned to stone.

He closed his eyes and imagined her coming to him, her touch gentle on his skin, her fingers teasing him to a feverish pitch. She was the most intoxicating female he had ever encountered, and he knew that soon, he would mate with her. But for now, he held back, sensing her shyness and knowing just how tenuous his own existence was. He might be captured at any moment and taken from her, though it was easy to ignore that fact when his body was demanding release.

Reaching down, he touched his rigid penis, the orgasm-inducing fluid already beginning to ooze from the starlike coronal points of the head. Pleasuring oneself was almost unheard of among his kind—few Zetithian males were even capable—and though he knew that males of other species engaged in such practices regularly, he’d seldom felt the need for it until encountering her. This woman’s scent was particularly potent, and she did things to him no other woman had ever done; made him reckless when he’d been so cautious in the past, made him want to risk everything for the chance to sheathe himself with her and give her joy.

For now, he could only imagine holding her in his arms. As his eyes closed again, he dreamed of her soft lips kissing his stiff shaft, her hot mouth sucking the snard from his testicles, and her entire body crashing into orgasm just from tasting it. He could almost see her deep, auburn hair shimmering in the moonlight, light that was even now caressing her skin as he longed to do himself. He didn’t know the color of her eyes—hadn’t been close enough yet to discover that secret—but he knew how they would gaze up at him, heavy-lidded with desire, but soft with the expression of her love.

And she would love him; he was certain of that. He’d watched her down by the lake while she created her stunning works of art. She imparted the love she felt for those creatures onto the canvas, just as she had with the image she’d painted of him. He’d felt that when he first viewed the portrait; something in the gentle brushstrokes made him feel that she had actually swept her hands over his back, down to his waist and thighs. She had somehow captured not only his image, but her feelings toward him—furtive, tentative, and definitely intrigued.

His cock was slick with his fluid—fluid that he hoped would affect her just as it had affected the women of his world—and his hands tightened around his cock, pumping faster, seeming to pull him forward as though seeking her out. Turning his profile toward her, he let her see what she was doing to him, and he felt a sudden gush of his fluids at the thought of her eyes on him. In his mind, these were no longer his hands, but hers, wrapping him in a firm tunnel, squeezing him hard, tightening so that he had to push even harder to slide through them.

He felt his balls tighten and his breathing grew coarse and ragged as he began purring—whether she could hear him or not. Widening his stance, he let his head fall back, his long, black curls tickling his backside the way hers would as she passed behind him. He wanted to know the feel of her, the taste of her. He knew her eyes were on him, their heated gaze exploring his body—and, knowing that he didn’t need to be secretive any longer, he was no longer silent, letting his grunts of effort be as loud as they needed to be, letting her know what she was doing to him.

At last he felt it: the unmistakable signal of impending climax. With an accompanying roar that echoed across the still lake, his balls repeatedly squeezed out his snard in long, powerful arcs. He imagined it hitting her succulent breasts, her beautiful face, and her softly parted lips, and as she tasted it, he could almost see her expression of joy.

As he took in a deep, cleansing breath, he smiled. She had seen him, and he could smell her climax even from where he stood—could even hear her soft sighs of ecstasy. She would be his mate. It was only a matter of time.

From
Hero

Trag knew it was a mistake to attend the wedding. Not that he begrudged Manx and Drusilla their new state of wedded bliss or that he didn’t enjoy seeing his old friend again, but because he knew he’d be sitting just exactly where he was right now; on Kyra’s left while his brother, Tychar, sat on her right. She was as warm and lovely as she had been on the day Trag left Darconia, but just as firmly fixed as his brother’s mate as she had been on the day they met. There was no getting past fate, destiny, or Zetithian visions, particularly when they involved a future mate. Tychar had known Kyra would be his long before he ever saw her; he just hadn’t bothered to mention it to Trag.

Trag was thankful that he was wearing clothing, which he hadn’t done when he and Ty had been slaves to the Darconian queen, because his reaction to her scent was the same as always; his cock was so hard he couldn’t think about anything else.

He stared at Jack in a desperate attempt to divert his thoughts as she performed the wedding ceremony. It gave Jack great pleasure to be able to have all of the remaining Zetithians aboard her ship, and gave her even greater satisfaction to be tying the knot between the last known Zetithian and his Terran mate.

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