Chapter 7: Salted Caramel

Zhari shoveled a large spoonful of the cold dessert into her mouth, her eyes fixed on the screen in front of the couch as two sides of a Medieval battlefield met, horses braying and metal clashing as they fell upon each other. She seemed to be enjoying the ice cream, as well as the movie. McGregor knew that her people weren’t too sensitive to sweet tastes, and so he had chosen a salted caramel flavor instead of the usual chocolate or vanilla.

He laughed as she swallowed a hunk that was too large, sticking out her long tongue and screwing her eyes shut.

“You’ll give yourself brain freeze, slow down!”

She set the bowl down on the armrest and waved her furry hands, licking her palate like a dog trying to eat peanut butter as he laughed at her.

“It’ll stop soon, don’t worry. Don’t you have refrigeration where you come from?”

“Not like this,” she sputtered, the sensation finally abating. “This is really cold!”

“It’s ice cream, that’s the point.”

She returned the spoon to her mouth as soon as she was able, watching as the armored knights in the movie fought one another, banners flapping in the wind as the soldiers battered their foes with shields and flails. Cavalry charged into the fray, horses speared on pikes as their riders swung swords into the crowd below.

“Tell me again what they’re fighting over?” She asked, her sharp teeth clicking on her spoon.

“Territory mostly, King Henry is leading the English against the French at Agincourt. The two countries fought for over a hundred years.”

“He’s their Patriarch?”

“In a way. He’s the King, back in those days the right to rule was decided by blood.”

“That seems inefficient, what if he was a bad leader?”

“You’re right, there were many bad leaders. It wasn’t a very good system of government. There was Henry the Eighth, King John, Ivan the Terrible and King Leopold. That system lasted for a significant chunk of our history, however.”

“You like history?” She asked, swallowing another mouthful of ice cream. “You know a lot about this stuff.”

“I guess I do, yeah. We humans like to share our hobbies with the people that we like.”

“And these two factions, they’re allies now?”

“Close friends, yeah.”

She pondered for a moment as she watched the battle play out, basking in the heat from the holographic fireplace as the digital flames licked at the hearth.

“I don’t understand how they can become friends after fighting for so long. They fought for a hundred years, and then they just stopped one day?”

“It’s not really that simple,” McGregor chuckled, “and the hundred years war was only one of many. All things considered, they probably fought on and off for a thousand years. Countries become allies for various reasons, to unite against a common enemy that threatens them both for example, or because they realize that cooperation is more fruitful than war.”

“Like what you said about all of the colonies uniting against the Bugs?”

“Exactly, it’s a similar situation.”

She looked thoughtful, mulling over what he had said as she sat there with the spoon in her mouth. McGregor could tell what she was thinking.

“You’re wondering if the same thing will happen on Borealis,” he volunteered, and she nodded. “It’s possible, likely even. Borealis hasn’t been directly threatened by the Bugs yet, you have no offworld colonies to defend either. While you serve as auxiliaries in the Coalition, I get the impression that the reality of the situation hasn’t really hit the homeworld yet. They’re still mired in old rivalries that would be made insignificant once they realized the real threat.”

“If all of the territories united, we would be unstoppable,” she said as she stared into space.

“Not without a fleet you wouldn’t. If the Bugs wanted to take Borealis, they could bombard it from orbit and your people wouldn’t be able to do a damned thing to stop them. That’s why there’s a UNN fleet stationed in the system at all times.”

“Elysia has a fleet!” Zhari protested.

“Junkers,” McGregor laughed, “and your pilots have no training or combat experience. I hate to think what the upkeep is like, don’t you land them in the desert because you have no orbital installations?”

She pouted, and he patted her thigh apologetically.

“I’m not trying to put you down, we need you as much as you need us after all. Our Marines used to get torn up by Bugs in close combat before we started using Borealan shock troops.”

That seemed to cheer her up, and she finished off her ice cream as she watched the end of the movie, licking the bowl clean with her long tongue.

“Good?” McGregor asked, and she nodded contentedly. Borealans were so easy to please, all it took was a few treats to make them happy. He had bought a gallon of ice cream, and she would probably have eaten the whole thing in one sitting if he wasn’t rationing it.

“I’ve got another treat for you,” he said, and her ears perked up.

“What is it?”

“Stay here.”

He rose to his feet, walking over to where the mystery box was waiting on the kitchen counter.

Zhari kept her eyes forward, remembering that McGregor had ordered her not to look inside the box. The first item that he had brought from it was the costume that she was currently wearing, would it be a different kind of clothing? He had said that he had a treat for her, and the outfit seemed more for his benefit than hers. Was it more food maybe? Her mouth began to water as she imagined new and exciting flavors of ice cream.

She heard him rummaging through the box’s contents, and then his footsteps as they transitioned from tile to carpet, McGregor making his way back to the couch. There was some kind of ... device in his hand that she didn’t recognize. A rubber wire with some kind of ball on the end of it.

She eyed it curiously as he sat down beside her and unraveled the coiled wire, taking the bullet-shaped end between his thumb and forefinger.

“What’s that?” She asked.

He reached down and slid a hand between her legs, parting them. She gasped as she felt his fingers trace the glass-smooth skin of inner thigh, her muscles tensing as he roamed higher, tantalizingly close to her loins. She leaned back into the plush cushions, tingling pleasure shooting through her as his questing digits reached the band of lace and fabric that was coiled high on her leg.

He lifted it with a finger, sliding the bullet-shaped device beneath it, and then wrapping the long, flexible wire around it. There was a block on the other end, and he let it hang from her garter, the wire wound tightly enough to prevent it from falling.

Zhari was too aroused to ask questions now, her breath becoming ragged as his hand strayed higher, his fingers sliding beneath her skirt and brushing the fabric of her panties. She shivered, her juices flowing as her arousal mounted, leaking forth to dampen her lace underwear. He pressed his fingers against her loins, the ‘squish’ audible to her sensitive ears, and perhaps to his too. He brushed her swollen clitoris through the fabric, and she arched her spine as a wave of excitement tore through her.

Was he finally relenting? Desire burned inside her like a smoldering fire, she felt so woefully empty. It was if there was an itch deep inside her that she couldn’t reach, her thighs closing around his hand as he teased her.

He hooked a finger around her insubstantial panties and pulled them aside, linked to her swollen lips by a sagging web of fluids. She felt something cool, textured, and she realized that he was pushing the bullet-shaped device on the end of the long wire inside her.

It was ribbed, made from flexible plastic or perhaps silicone, dragging against the sensitive walls of her passage as he pushed it deeper. Her muscular tunnel closed around it, a tremor rolling through her body, sparks of pleasure searing her nerves. She was so wet that McGregor’s progress was scarcely impeded by her clenching, and he continued on until the device was buried in her most intimate depths.

He withdrew, her amber eyes following his finger as he brought it to his mouth and sucked her juices from it, leaving her aching and wanting. What had been the point of that? Was he just teasing her? He seemed to see the question in her expression, and he withdrew something from his pocket, brandishing what looked like a smaller version of the remote that he had used to control the movie screen.

Before she could ask what it was, he pushed one of the buttons, and she was filled with a sudden burst of unexpected pleasure. The object that he had pushed inside her was moving of its own accord, shaking and vibrating as her muscular passage tightened around it, the sensation so sudden and powerful that it drove a pitiful mewl from her lips. Her spine arched off the couch, her claws digging into the fabric of the armrest, her thighs squeezing together as she writhed.

The vibrations spread through her in waves, washing up her torso and down her legs, as if everything between her chest and her knees was being massaged by a thousand tiny hands. It penetrated her muscles, she could feel it in her bones, her syrupy emissions seeping through her panties and falling to wet the cushions beneath her.

McGregor pressed the button again, and the vibrations ceased.

She sank into the couch, breathing heavily, rubbing her now sticky thighs together as she recovered from the sensation. She had never felt anything like that before, it must be some kind of human machine, designed to dispense pleasure. She was constantly surprised by the gadgets and trinkets that the little aliens came up with.

The wracking pleasure had been intense, almost unbearable, but he had ended it before she had been able to get off. She turned her head to look at him, her cheeks red, her feline eyes pleading for more.

“Good girl,” he whispered, and she bit her lower lip as she felt a fresh flare of lust rise up inside her. It made her feel funny when he said that, turned on, but also oddly acquiescent. She was a good girl, or at least she tried to be, and she was pleased when he praised her for her good behavior. Serving her Alpha was her primary purpose after all, the greatest aspiration of all Borealans.

“Now I want ‘you’ to say it,” he said, a sly smile curling his lips. “Who’s my good girl?”

“I-I am,” she stammered, her heart beating so hard that it was making her chest wobble in her frilled brassiere.

Her toes curled as he pressed the button, the tiny egg that he had pushed inside her vibrating violently, making her feel as if every nerve that she had down there was being stroked simultaneously. As abruptly as it had come, the sensation abated, leaving her frustrated and desperate for more. Her loins were drooling like a hungry mouth, she couldn’t stand much more of his teasing.

“Say it,” he repeated.

“I-I’m your good girl,” she repeated, her passage spasming and twitching with residual pleasure. Why did those words make her so hot, why did they make her face burn and her loins ache?

He hit the button again, sending her into convulsions of ecstasy, the couch’s wooden frame creaking its displeasure beneath her as she shivered and whined. McGregor played with more buttons, and she felt a change in the device, the violent shaking growing weaker and leveling out into a dull buzz. It still kept her on edge, the slow throb making stars dance before her eyes, her thighs pressing together reflexively to match its pulsing rhythm.

She reached a hand between her legs, intent on rubbing out the orgasm that she had been building towards all day, but she hesitated as she heard McGregor give her a stern command.

“No. Don’t touch yourself.”

“But...” She whined, torn between pleasure and obedience.

“Zhari,” he growled, “obey your Alpha.”

Reluctantly, she did as she was ordered, letting her hands fall limply at her sides.

“You’re not to touch yourself unless I give you permission, understand?”

She nodded, her expression sullen.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, “a good Alpha never gives with one hand and takes with the other. Be a good girl, and your obedience will be rewarded.”

She let out a stifled groan as he dialed up the vibrations again, the device dancing and oscillating inside her. Its textured surface was maddening, rubbing against her silken walls as they did their utmost to squeeze against it, drawing it ever deeper. She couldn’t help but contract her muscles around it, and the tighter her loins became, the more she felt its maddening resonance. As amazing as it felt, and as much as it turned her legs to jelly, it wasn’t enough to make her climax.

She was jolted back to alertness by the sensation of McGregor’s hand resting on her leg, his fingers stroking her, enjoying her velvet skin and the firm muscle that lurked beneath. He watched her convulse for a moment, before lowering the intensity so that she could function again.

“Do you want to come?” He asked, her round ears swiveling to listen intently.

“Yes,” she whined, quivering as he squeezed the soft meat of her thigh.