Chapter 10: Undercover

The shuttle drifted through empty space, its engines offline now that it had finished its initial burn, reducing its telltale heat signature. While it was unlikely that their pursuers had the means to reach them, there was no harm in going silent running, as it would help conserve fuel and battery charge just in case they had to make a return journey.

Boyd was sitting on a crate in the cargo bay, while Lorza sat cross-legged on the deck opposite him, tall enough that her head remained level with his. She had thrown together some kind of vegetable and beef stew from the contents of the crates, and Boyd wasn’t sure if it was just starvation talking, but it was one of the most delicious things that he had ever had the privilege of tasting. After their ordeal on the ice moon, this rusty old shuttle might as well have been a gourmet restaurant in a Parisian cul-de-sac, and this amalgamation of MREs and canned food rivaled the finest cuisine. She watched him raise the metal cooking pot that he was using as a bowl to his lips, wolfing down the last few mouthfuls, the Polar smiling as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Okay, I admit it,” he began as he lowered the pot. “You’re the queen of ration cooking. How the hell did you learn to cook like this in the first place? I feel like if I gave you two rocks and a bird’s nest as ingredients, you could come back to me with a lasagna.”

She grinned as she hooked a piece of beef that was floating in her broth with a pointed claw, popping it into her mouth and chewing contentedly. She was taking her time now, savoring each bite, in stark contrast to when she had wolfed down a couple of hundred pounds of squid meat in a matter of minutes.

“When you live with scarcity, you have to make do with what you have,” she replied. “Back on Borealis, food was not plentiful, so we had to know how to make the best of whatever the hunters and foragers brought back. Things are better now, but sharing food and communal eating are still huge parts of our culture. A hunter was honored for their skill in bringing down prey, the whole community helped prepare the meal, and everyone ate together. Impress with a particularly large kill, or wow with your cooking skills, and you would have your pick of bedmates that night.”

“What was it like where you used to live?” Boyd asked.

“Borealis or Siberia?” she said.

“Either way,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s hard to picture.”

“Then, let me illuminate you,” she added as she shifted her weight to get comfortable on the deck. “Storytelling and oral histories are also important to my people, and there is value in being able to enthrall an audience. Close your eyes,” she added with a smile, Boyd doing as she asked.

“Alright, they’re closed.”

“Imagine yourself traveling alone in a freezing tundra,” she began. “It should not be hard after what we have been through. You have no fancy space suit – only your furs, and the freezing wind tears at them. You trudge through ankle-deep snow, heading for a building in the distance that promises shelter. It is a longhouse made from hewn logs, as large as any structure you have seen.”

“Big wood hut, got it.”

“You would not be so dismissive if you could see one for yourself,” she scolded. “Now, silence. You approach the doors, and as you push them aside, a great swell of warmth drives away the bitter cold. You step into a cavernous hall, a dozen crackling fire pits running down its length, racks of curing meat and drying pelts surrounding each one. At the edges of the room, where the firelight gives way to shadow, there are piles of sleeping Polars. Some wake to greet you, embracing you as a friend, inviting you to eat. Between the fire pits are long tables, large enough to seat whole packs, where that day’s hunt is being prepared. A herd animal fattened on spring chutes is being butchered, great slabs of marbled meat stripped from its pale bones. Cooks turn the flesh on spits, its scent filling the room, drawing more sleepy Polars from their alcoves. When the meat is perfectly charred, you shed your heavy clothes, and your hosts bid you to sit with them. The succulent meat and the warmth of the fire are shared freely with no expectation of payment, for that is our way. When food and shelter are scarce, to refuse is no different from killing with one’s own claws. When all have full bellies and their hunger has been sated, you are guided to a sleeping pile, where more hospitality is extended to you. The comfort of sharing a bed and the pleasure of lovemaking are given just as freely.”

“Sounds almost idyllic,” Boyd replied, her words painting a detailed picture in his mind. “I can see how that kind of environment could mold such a social culture. There are human cultures that share similar traits – eating communally, sharing resources. Some places still have cultural and religious events where families or even whole communities are expected to eat together at the same table. Thanksgiving, for example. Those are more about tradition than necessity now, though. Technology enables people to live very isolated lives if they choose. Has technology not changed the way you live on Earth?”

“We lived simple lives through necessity,” Lorza said, spooning another portion of the stew into Boyd’s pot as though afraid that he wasn’t eating enough. “There is nobility in a simple and satisfying life, but we have not rejected the advancements that living on Earth has brought. The Elysians withheld technology from us when the UNN came to Borealis, but you humans share it freely. I can still enjoy a longhouse I helped to build from timber that I cut with my own hands – whether it has fire pits or central heating does not detract from the effort that went into it. Torches for light or electric bulbs, animal pelts or synthetic fabrics – it does not make a difference to us. We use what tools are available.”

“From what you’ve told me, it sounds like your people are just happy to be warm and fed,” Boyd said as he started on his next helping of stew.

“You could say that,” she replied, pausing to take a sip from her bowl. “Life aboard a long-range spacecraft was particularly difficult for me. It took me light-years from my pack – from the people I would usually eat and share a sleeping pile with. Humans understand the concept of loneliness, but for a Polar, being separated from their pack is akin to being separated from family, friends, and lovers all in one. I grew homesick, and I sorely missed the physical intimacy that so many humans seem averse to. I missed the social experience of sharing a table. I decided to apply what I knew about cooking to the rations we were given, and I went from being ignored by the rest of the crew to being praised and valued practically overnight. We are not so different in the end. Every living creature likes to eat, and if you do favors for people, they will usually reciprocate.”

“Do you ... miss your crew?” Boyd asked a little hesitantly.

“I had grown accustomed to them, and they to me,” she said as she stirred her meal with a spoon. “They were never as close to me as my pack, we did not share a bed or bathe together, but they were the closest thing to a family that I had. I have mourned them already – there is no point dwelling on it any longer.”

“Human social behavior really seems to confuse you,” he added, reaching for a packet of chips. “Is it so weird that we don’t want to take showers with our friends and fuck our coworkers?”

“I find it perplexing that you refuse simple comforts,” she elaborated, her long tongue seeking out droplets of stew at the bottom of her empty bowl. “You live together, yet you remain apart. The simple warmth of another’s embrace, the solace of shared pleasure and affection – these things are often treated as poisons. I have lived among humans now for many years, and it still makes little sense to me.”

“Humans have different relationship dynamics,” he explained, biting into a potato chip. “We fall in love, we court, we don’t just fuck friends and strangers.”

“Not true,” she shot back, waving her spoon at him accusingly. “Humans have friends with benefits, and you are perfectly happy to make love with complete strangers. I have seen it on many occasions.”

“Well,” he began, then paused to consider. “I mean, for the most part, we have monogamous relationships with a single partner.”

“Also untrue,” she replied adamantly. “I have discerned no pattern of behavior other than that there is no pattern. Not only are individual humans different, but their sensibilities even change depending on their mood.”

“I guess it’s just a cultural thing, then,” he conceded with a shrug. “We make distinctions between acquaintances, friends, lovers. We have no concept of packs like you do. Giving your friend head to cheer him up when he’s sad isn’t something people do,” he added with a chuckle.

“You weren’t complaining when I did that,” Lorza purred, her tone becoming sly. She reached out to grab his wrist, pulling his hand out of the packet of chips and guiding it towards her mouth. She slid her soft lips over his finger, her warm, slimy tongue coiling around it like a snake. His breath caught in his throat as she lingered there, then she released him, those blue eyes watching him intently. “Go on,” she cooed. “Make a case for why I should not do it again. I will wait.”

“We’re ... more than friends, I’d say,” Boyd replied as she crawled closer like a tiger stalking its prey. She plucked the packet of chips from his hands and tossed it aside, then took his face in her furry palms, her silky fur brushing his rapidly reddening cheeks.

“I would call you packmate,” she said, leaning in for a kiss. She pressed her full, warm lips against his and slipped her tongue into his mouth, stroking his cheeks with her silky fingers as she subjected him to a lurid embrace. She tasted of the stew, and Boyd allowed himself to melt into her fur, letting her warmth overcome him. It had barely been a day since their romp in the cave, but it had been on his mind ever since, stuck there like an intrusive thought. She was intoxicating, and being so close to her without being able to touch her had been maddening.

Her pace was lazy, indulgent. They had all the time in the world now, stuck on a tiny shuttle barely the size of a walk-in closet with nothing better to do than fuck to pass the time. They had eaten well for the first time since the shuttle crash, leaving them satisfied and lethargic, and Boyd had even turned up the temperature in the craft as though trying to spite the frozen hellscape they had just escaped from. They were warm, full, and there was nobody around to disturb them.

Lorza slid her sinuous tongue back out of his mouth as she drew back, a strand of saliva linking their lips, the Polar giving him a sultry look that he knew all too well. There were no beds on the shuttle, but she still had her sleeping bag, the Polar reaching for it. She pulled out the roll of padded fabric from beneath some nearby netting, then laid it out on the deck between the crates. It was almost large enough to stretch from the cockpit to the ramp.

Boyd watched as she began to strip off her coveralls, pulling down the zipper slowly to put on a show for him, letting the weight of her copious bust spread it open as she went. She had to lean over a little in the confines of the shuttle to avoid bumping her head against the ceiling, but that didn’t diminish the effect, Boyd getting an admirable view straight into her cleavage. When she got low enough, there was an explosion of white fur and wobbling flesh, her breasts escaping the garment’s confines. She reached the soft little pouch of her belly, then turned her back to him, her wide hips swaying as she fought to get the blue fabric past her rump. She made sure that he could see the way her plump rear spilled out of her clothes as she dragged them down around her ankles, bending over to discard them, presenting her heart-shaped ass to him.

Lorza wormed her way into the sleeping bag and held it open in invitation, Boyd’s erection already straining conspicuously against his suit.

“I have eaten well, I am warm, and I am content,” she declared. “Now, I wish to come at least twice before I sleep. I trust that you will not disappoint me?”

Boyd rose from his seat and stripped off in kind, Lorza’s covetous gaze roaming over his lightly muscled figure, her blue eyes lingering on the various healed scars and puncture wounds that decorated his skin. She wet her lips as his erection bounced free, her eyes tracking it as it twitched and jumped in time with his heartbeat.

“When have I ever disappointed you?” he demanded.

Her long, fuzzy tail snaked out of the bag to wind around his member, her soft fur brushing against his belly. His knees weakened as it tightened, almost making him stumble, Lorza leading him towards the sleeping bag with a smug expression on her face. She reached out to grab him when he came into range, wrapping her arms around him tightly as she pulled him inside the bag like a giant trapdoor spider. He found himself pressed up against her paunchy body, pillowy flesh enveloping him, the Polar holding him with one arm while she pulled up the zipper with the other. The scent of their lurid activities from the prior night still lingered, exciting him on a primal level, his cock pressing into the cushion of her belly as she danced her sharp talons down his spine.

Lying with Lorza was so comfortable that it almost overrode his excitement. She was like a giant heated pillow that could hug back, the softness of her coat and her familiar scent making him sleepy and lightheaded. The desires to fuck and sleep battled in his mind, Boyd breathing in the aroma of her copious breasts as she pressed his face deep into her inviting cleavage, Lorza gently dragging her pointed claws up and down his back all the while. She made the decision for him, pushing her furry thigh against his groin, his erection sinking deep into the delicate fat. He groaned, and she chuckled, bringing her head down to chew softly at his ear with her pointed teeth.

“Do not fall asleep on me, malish,” she purred. “There will be time for that later, but only after I have exhausted you.”

She took his face in her hand, angling it up so that she could lead him into another kiss. His head spun as her powerful tongue pushed its way into his mouth, her pace far greedier now, its every teasing stroke imbued with unabashed carnality. As much as he did his best to meet her embrace, she was overwhelming, the meat of her bosom spilling over his chest as she leaned over him.

She broke off, making him watch as inches of glistening tongue snaked back between her lips, then she planted a hand on the top of his head. It was almost large enough to encompass his skull, like he was wearing a furry ushanka. With a smile, she began to push him down into the sleeping bag, rolling onto her back as he crawled over the doughy mound of her belly. He soon ended up between her legs, and her abundant thighs parted to give him access, enough light making it into the bag that he could see the sliver of glistening pink nestled in her fur.

Boyd parted her swollen lips with his fingers, feeling her massive body shiver, a rumbling purr that rattled his bones escaping from her throat. It was almost enough to overpower the vibrations from the shuttle – like sitting atop a running engine. He pressed his lips against her warm loins in a tentative kiss, finding them feverishly hot, already slick with her anticipation. Lorza’s long spine arched off the deck as he traced the contours of her vulva with his tongue, the texture of her folds like wet velvet. Her familiar taste and scent filled his head like a drug, her massive body quivering with each lick and glance, so wonderfully reactive. He felt her claws on his scalp, her fingers delving into his hair as she pressed him deeper, pushing his face into her groin with an almost desperate desire.

Her groans of encouragement filled the bay as he painted her loins, mapping her anatomy with his tongue, his hands sinking into the tufts of snowy fur and the plush fat of her thighs as he roved. He felt her legs tremble around him as he circled her opening with the tip of his finger, her oozing nectar making it slippery and wet, her muscles gripping it as he pushed it inside her. He knew what she liked by now – he knew her weak points, where she was most sensitive, starting to stroke her passage as it undulated around his digit.

“You learn quickly,” she sighed, unable to stop herself from grinding her hips against his finger. It was subtle – barely perceptible – but he could feel her moving.

“We call it information gathering,” he replied, glancing up at her with a smirk to see her peering back at him from the top of the bag. He faltered, groaning into her loins as her long, velvet-soft tail snuck up from behind him. Moving as though it had a mind all its own, it began to gently brush against his inner thighs and his balls, just as dexterous as her hands. That impossibly fluffy, feather-soft fur glanced his skin, each lingering stroke scrambling his senses. He lay his head on her mound – as soft as a pillow – taking a moment to bask in the sensation. When he returned his lips to hers, it was with renewed enthusiasm, each throb of pleasure coaxing him on. Lorza wriggled contentedly as he delved deeper and more greedily, massaging her with his finger, his lips roaming across her anatomy.

“What is the matter?” she asked, half a pant and half a chuckle. “I thought you had eaten your fill already?”

Boyd sought out her swollen, needy clitoris with his tongue, and that silenced her. A gasp caught in her throat, then escaped as a low, sultry whine that set his heart fluttering. She growled like a lioness as he pursed his lips around the bud of pulsing flesh, teasing her with quick glances and slow, lingering swirls that made her grip on his hair tighten. Her tail was distracting him from his work – it was like having a feather duster lightly dragged across his most sensitive areas, its touch so gentle that it was frustrating. Almost as though she could sense his need, it began to wind around his shaft like a furry snake, tightening to make him buck into it reflexively.

“Do not slack off, or I may have to sit on your face again,” she chuckled. “Or, is that what you want?”

He scowled and gave her clitoris another cruel lick, cutting off her laughter and transforming it into a long, drawn-out moan that was somewhere between arousal and the growl of an angry bear. He circled it slowly – too slowly to give her any real gratification, but just enough to keep her on edge. Her passage was tightening around his finger with fresh ferocity, massaging its length with cruel clenches and squeezes. A sudden desperate, urgent need for her welled up inside him, and he felt as though he might explode if his desire wasn’t indulged. He wanted to feel those slick, fever-hot walls enclose his aching member, their embrace at once firm and delicate. He needed those tight muscles milking him again, memories of their last night of passion flashing through his mind.

Lorza seemed to notice that he was growing more aggressive, gripping his hair to lift him from between her thighs, a strand of her fluids dangling from his chin.

“Gotta slow you down or you might finish me off too soon,” she purred, wiping away a glob of her juices that was clinging to his red cheek with her thumb pad. “I have an idea,” she added with a chuckle, reaching down to grab him.

She rolled him onto his back within the confines of the sleeping bag, swinging a leg over him as she straddled him. Rather than mount him, she began to crawl lower, tenting the fabric as Boyd watched her with a blend of curiosity and anticipation. She knelt, sitting upright, then cupped her furry hands beneath his butt to lift him off the deck. His stomach lurched as she slid him up the furry slope created by her thighs, Boyd having to spread his legs as he straddled her belly like it was an exercise ball. His hips were elevated off the deck now, his head and shoulders still resting on the sleeping bag. As he watched, she doubled over, letting the weight of her generous breasts spill over his thighs. Lorza corralled them by creating a barrier with her arms, as though cake batter was being poured into a pan, her luxuriantly soft fat filling the space and burying his pulsing cock in the process. Their weight alone was enough to create a wonderful pressure, her cleavage engulfing his shaft in its warm, fluffy confines. The shelf of doughy flesh quivered as she adjusted her position a little, Boyd gasping as the motion made her bosom rock around his length. Smirking down at him, she tightened her grip, her boobs bulging over her forearms like muffins overflowing their molds as she squeezed. They were soft enough that his cock sank into their surfaces almost without resistance, but their weight gave them a wonderful heft, pushing back against him.

“How does that feel?” she asked, her round ears tracking him eagerly as she waited for his reply.

“Amazing,” he replied, exhaling a sigh.

“I cannot even see you anymore,” she giggled, glancing down into the shadow of her own cleavage. She began to move, keeping her grip tight as she struggled to prevent her assets from escaping her arms, lifting them off him. Boyd shivered as he felt the feathery strands of her downy coat glide up his shaft, tickling his glans, every subtle movement making her bust quiver and wobble. At her apex, she let them drop again, their weight carrying them down to impact his hips and thighs with a tangible thud. They bounced around his buried cock, the sensation without compare, his eyes lingering on them as her springy fat slowly settled. He could have made a game out of giving them a slap, then seeing how long it took them to stop shaking. It was hard to resist the impulse to just rut into them, but he didn’t have the leverage in this compromising position – he was practically upside down.

“Lie still and let me have my fun,” she chuckled, feeling him wriggle in frustration.

She found a steady pace, lifting her breasts off him, then letting them fall again. She kept her arms wrapped tightly around them, struggling to contain their mass, stopping the quivering globes of flesh from escaping her grasp. Each impact reverberated through him, her boobs bouncing against his hips, Lorza keeping her cleavage tight enough that he could feel her yielding fat mold around his shaft like putty. It was like fucking a pair of fluffy, silken pillows.

“Enjoying yourself?” she purred, drinking in his dazed expression. “You think I do not notice you staring at these whenever the opportunity presents itself? For a spy, you are not very discreet, Boyd.”

“Well, your tits aren’t very discreet,” he replied. “Fucking things are always in my face.”

Lorza pressed her hands against her breasts, Boyd watching as they sank up to the wrist in the boundless ocean of flesh, the pressure around his shaft increasing. She began to move them independently of one another, pushing one forward, then pulling the other back as she alternated between them. It was a struggle for her to maneuver them, but she managed to manipulate them in spite of their considerable mass, moving her hands almost like a cat massaging its favorite blanket. Boyd gritted his teeth, this new sensation assailing him with fresh waves of pleasure.

“You’re just full of creative ideas,” he sighed, relaxing on the sleeping bag as he let the pleasant waves of euphoria wash over him.

“Is it making you lightheaded?” she chuckled, enjoying his reaction.

“Nah, all my blood is in my fucking head.”

Lorza laughed, the mountains of flesh shaking around his cock with the motion. All she was really doing was rubbing her silky fur and soft fat against his skin, but her cleavage was so intoxicatingly warm and tight, the weight of her breasts pressing them together so that they fit him like a glove. There wasn’t an inch of his skin that wasn’t in contact with something plump and plush. Despite her strength, it was a challenge for her to corral them. They were heavy and pliable enough that it was almost like trying to hold wet sand, her doughy fat spilling through her fingers, bulging around her hands as gravity sought to wrest back control of them.

Boyd managed to tear his eyes away from the beautiful sight of her breasts for a moment to glance at her face, seeing that she was wearing as large a smile as he had ever seen. This wasn’t just about sex – she was really having fun with this, exploring and experimenting as much as she was pleasuring him. There was satisfaction in finding positions that worked for them, their vast difference in stature and weight making it somewhat akin to solving a puzzle. Every encounter was a new challenge and a new opportunity to work their brains as much as their loins.

“You are buried so deep,” she said with a sly grin, her blue eyes fixed on her bust.

She wrapped her arms around her breasts again, that wonderful tightness increasing, eliciting a groan from Boyd. He watched as she leaned closer, bringing her head down towards her cleavage, the grey strands of her hair falling over her face. She lay her head on the wobbling shelf formed by her bosom, then Boyd lurched, feeling something warm and slippery brush against his glans. It was her tongue – she was extending the long organ down into her cleavage, blindly worming it deeper.

When she found him, the length of hot, wet muscle began to circle his head. He winced, another throb of pleasure rocking him, each delicate stroke plucking at his nerves like she was strumming the strings of a guitar. She licked his sensitive tip, sliding the satin-smooth underside beneath his foreskin, painting it with her warm saliva. It gradually snaked its way down his length until he was all but encompassed in its undulating coils, fur soaked with her drool sticking to his skin.

Once she had mapped him out in her mind, she began to tighten her grip, her slippery flesh sliding up his shaft with all the dexterity and control that he had come to expect from her. Lovemaking was an art form to the Polars, and Lorza was a master at her craft.

His toes curled as she circled his tender glans, drenching his skin in her stringy saliva, her increasingly wet fur tickling him as she began to move her breasts again. He was assailed from every angle – the wonderful warmth and softness of her breasts, the glass-smooth flesh of her winding tongue, the strands of damp fur caressing his pulsing shaft. It was like being trapped in some kind of cruel paradise.

“Lorza, I dunno how much more of this I can take,” he gasped.

“Well, steel yourself,” she replied as she chuckled into her bust. “Did you not say that you were trained to resist torture and that no interrogator could break you?”

“Not in so many words,” he muttered.

“Perhaps I will be the first to break you,” she purred, rolling her Rs. “The thought excites me...”

Before he could come up with a scathing reply, she plunged back into her bust, her breasts quivering as her puffy lips wrapped around his head. She drew him deeper into her mouth, guiding him with her tongue, the gentle suction making him take handfuls of the sleeping bag’s soft padding.

She crawled her lips down his shaft, the lining of her inner cheeks pressing around him as though he was being vacuum-packed in her velvet flesh, her tongue jostling for space. Her breasts parted as her lips kissed his base, her tongue coiling out to lap at his balls. He felt her throat muscles grip him like a smooth, slippery glove, drawing him deeper into her gullet as she swallowed in teasing waves.

He lay back and stared vacantly at the ceiling of the troop bay as she began to bob her head on his shaft, pushing down to take him all the way to the hilt, then sliding her pursed lips back up his length to circle his tip with her tongue. Her sinuous organ coiled and squeezed, wrapping his member in its slimy surface, the ropy muscle massaging him with its ruthless strokes. He still lacked the leverage to thrust, but she did it for him now, his glans grazing the back of her throat as she slammed her face down on his cock. Her sharp claws pricked his butt as she cupped it in her hand, lifting him off her lap, the other fighting to keep her breasts sealed tightly around his cock. Every time he left the warmth of her mouth, her soaking-wet fur was there to greet him, matted with the bubbling saliva that lubricated his shaft. It was a strange and novel sensation, different from anything that she had subjected him to thus far. Strands of her drool were leaking out of the bottom of her cleavage now, droplets of it sliding up his belly, strands falling to the plush fabric beneath them. They were going to have to burn this damned sleeping bag once they got back to civilization – there was no salvaging it after everything they had subjected it to.

He winced as her throat tightened its grip on him, as if she was attempting to swallow his member, firm muscles squeezing and pulling beneath her slick flesh. She was so gentle and careful despite her ruthless pace, never catching him with her rows of carnivore teeth or the rough barbs of her tongue.