Almost every single one of his shipmates availed themselves of the opportunity for a quick fuck nearly every time they landed. Well, except for Captain Glo’ll—Cytovins reproduced through asexual budding. But aside from him, every male on The Dark Star couldn’t wait to get a piece of ass the moment they landed. Hell, Drung sometimes went through three or four fuck-bots a night, since no living female in her right mind would try to accommodate the Trollox’s monstrous shaft.
But despite all the licentious activity going on around him, Need had never been tempted once.
It had seemed that when Cleah died, his sex drive died with her. He had no desire for any kind of female—no interest in sex of any kind, in fact. As a younger male he had often had very sexual dreams and woken up with his belly wet with his seed. But he hadn’t had a single lust dream in ten cycles. In fact, Need couldn’t even remember the last time he’d jerked off. He didn’t because he didn’t have to—didn’t need to.
And yet now his shaft was aching in his trousers and all from the sight of a naked girl who offered herself, not out of love and devotion, but out of fear.
Just the fact that he had looked at her with lust and admired her full breasts with their berry dark nipples, had imagined cupping her rounded hips with the neatly shaved mound of her pussy at their center, made him angry with himself.
You’re disgusting, he told himself. Wanting that poor girl when she’s only offering to bed you because she’s frightened you’ll sell her back to those damn slavers.
The thought of touching her ought to leave him cold.
But somehow it didn’t.
Instead, his shaft was throbbing for a long-overdue release and even stranger, his fangs had suddenly grown sharp again. They had been blunted for years—ever since Cleah died. Now they were sharp enough to cut his tongue on if he wasn’t careful, and he could taste the cool sweetness of his essence flowing from their tips again.
Why now? Need asked himself in exasperation. Why after ten years of effortless celibacy is my desire suddenly coming back?
It was probably only because the girl was naked and so close to him, he told himself uneasily. He wouldn’t have been tempted otherwise.
Well then I hope you’re ready to be tempted again, a little voice in the back of his head whispered. Because you’re going to have to get close to heal her. You’re going to have to use your essence on her—there’s no other way to repair the injuries that damn stick did to her soft little pussy.
He had a vivid mental image again of himself between her thighs, lapping gently at her sex. But no—Need pushed the picture away. He wouldn’t do that—wouldn’t heal her that way. He might have to use his essence—there was no other way to get the torn flesh to knit back together. But he would use his fingers to apply it, not his tongue.
And after that, he wouldn’t touch her again, Need swore to himself. He’d have nothing to do with her. And eventually, he would get her back to where she’d come from and never have to see her again.
That would be the best thing for both of them, he told himself.
He was sure of it.
Eight
The dark blue, bell-shaped flowers of the wash blossoms had a unique way of cleaning, Lan’ara observed. They used a light suction to attach their tiny petal mouths to her skin and then skimmed along her limbs and torso, sucking away any dirt or dust they found.
After she got used to the sensation, she found it was actually very refreshing to allow the wash blossoms to clean her and she settled back in the tub to let them do their job.
The thing was however, the blossoms didn’t seem to distinguish between ordinary body parts like arms and legs and more sensitive areas like her breasts and between her thighs.
Lan’ara sucked in her breath at the strange sensation of the blue blossoms sucking delicately at the tight tips of her nipples and the sensitive flesh of her sex. Somehow one of them even found its way between her pussy lips and fastened its little sucking mouth to the throbbing button of her clit.
She wondered if she ought to remove the blossoms—they were making her feel extremely strange in ways she knew she shouldn’t like. Her body was for her owner’s enjoyment—not her own—she shouldn’t be getting pleasure from this. In fact, she was certain she wouldn’t be, if the soft little wash blossoms had fastened onto the spot lower down where she was wounded. But somehow they knew to avoid that area and only cleaned her where she was well.
I ought to make them stop, Lan’ara told herself. But the big Kindred had told her to let the blossoms do their work on her—had this been what he meant? What if he was trying to get her ready for his advances and he wanted her to let the blossoms pleasure her?