Princess of the Void

The Princess of the Black Pike is hanging upside down. Grant’s hands tuck under her shoulders to keep her stable. Grant’s face is buried in her crotch. Grant’s airways are being constricted by her legs as they wrap in desperation around his head, calves crossed at the nape of his neck. Totally worth it. If he dies, he dies.

Sykora dangles desperately. “Ohmygod Grant—”

“Shhh, babe.” He kisses the flexing tendon of her inner thigh. “Hold on, now. Okay?”

“Are you—oh—” Sykora writhes as Grant tugs her higher. Her thighs clamp around his head. The world goes quiet beneath his quivering blue earmuffs.

He kisses her mound, gentle at first, almost chaste. Then he grips her butt to anchor her and shoves his face further. His lips part her folds. His tongue slides into her and maps her elegant, shapely cunt as it blushes and blooms. He takes a deep, exulting inhale of her, lets his wife’s hot, healthy musk conjure something predatory from the depths of his subconscious. Maybe the Brigadier is right, and he is a barbarian. Because the urge is rising within him, as he breathes the bouquet of his regal highborn wife, to wreck her. To leave this tight, delicate little confection twitching and stretched, molded into his shape and dripping with Maekyonite seed.

He gets down onto one knee and lays Sykora’s back across his leg. Her long hair fans off his leg and brushes against his calf. He watches her squirm, watches the birthmark on the underside of her breast hypnotically sway with the motion of her upturned body. Her horns are poking into his quadriceps as they grow out of her head.

This is fun, he decides, but he’s going for speed, here, and she needs to be comfortable. He stands up again, briefly, and she squeals and tightens her hold, clamping to his jaw like a sexy blue facehugger. He lowers her onto the storage crate lid. Her steel-cable muscles relax as she feels the surface against her back.

Grant continues the motion and kneels before her, burying his face further between her spreading legs. Her breath is billowing harder now. A gasping groan gilds the edge of each exhalation. He brings her clit into a brief, sucking kiss and a violent shiver rocks her. “Grant.” She curls her fingers through his hair and he’s going to keep it long, at least on top, he decides, as she grinds her pelvis across his stubble. Her face is dark and shiny with her blush. “Grant I’m gonna cum I’m g—”

She clenches with such jerking explosivity that her pussy nearly pushes his tongue out. Her thighs squeeze so hard that he wouldn’t be able to stop if he wanted to. She claps her hand over her own mouth to muffle her climactic cry. Her eyes gleam wild and overwhelmed above her hand. He sees them glaze and unfocus and finally shut as her orgasm peaks and coasts.

She loosens her death grip on his skull, and he rocks backward to admire his handiwork. The tossed and wild mane, the skin glistening and flushed. The nipples tight and peaked on her heaving chest.

“That’s—that’s enough, Grantyde.” She blinks rapidly, trying to clear the curling haze. “We have to get back.”

“We still have…” Grant checks Sykora’s communicator. There’s a text chain from Vora on it:

Going over minutiae while we wait for you, Majesty. no rush!

Ignore any texts Hyax sends you, she’s being Hyax.

Don’t fret, Kora. I’m sure he’ll love it :)

And a message from Hyax:

whenever milady is done polishing her maekyonite’s meat spear weve got an invasion to plan

He chuckles as he dismisses them and checks the time. “We still have eighteen minutes,” he says. “You came so quick. Needy little thing.”

Sykora covers her face. “I’m not—it wasn’t on purpose. I just—”

He places the communicator on the ground by her clothes. “But it’s sounding like you can still form sentences. So my job’s not done.”

“Maybe you could—” She swallows. “Your hands. Do the, uh—the thing.”

His thumb stretches the little pouch of softness around her belly button. “What happened to that’s enough?”

“You ass.” She scoffs. “Shut—shut up and fingerfuck me.”

“Ooh. Tough girl.” He dips a finger down across her labia and she squeaks. “I’ll do the thing. But you have to be quiet, okay?”

“I’m being as quiet as I can but you—you—oh f—” She squeaks again as his hand shoves up against her mouth. He stretches her out across the crate and holds her down. His fingers slip inside her sodden body to the first knuckle. With every sucking inch, the swelling up-down motion of her breath across her ribcage speeds up and the air tingling against his grip over her mouth gets hotter and harsher.

His palm presses against the air-chilled dampness of her mound. His thumb teases against the hood of her clit and tears a nonsense plea from her.

“Shh.” He doesn’t slow down. “There’s people out there. Remember?”

She moans her pleasure into his palm.

He puts his lips to her long, pointed ear. “Think of it as practice. We’ve put our kids to bed in the next room and we can’t wake them.”

Another muffled wail. Her spine arches.

“Do you like imagining that?” He shifts his grip and her face burns as the slippery sound of his motion gets louder. “Imagining us together a decade from now? Imagining the father of your children fucking you every night?”

A melting “Mmhmm,” as her hips winch into the air.

“You are going to be the cutest mom,” he whispers.

Her tongue laps at his hand.

He kisses her neck and pushes deeper. She thrashes as he keeps going. She grips the forearm that’s keeping her pinned on her back. He pulls it away, thinking maybe she wants to tell him something, but as she feels the pressure lifting, she gives an urgent tug and he leans back onto her.

He glances at the communicator. “Halfway there.” He opens his fingers around her mouth; her scratchy tongue laps at his thumb. “Do you have another one for me?”

Drool drifts from the edge of her mouth. “Your cock.” She’s pinched and pleading. “Please.”

“Cum for me again.” His palm presses down on her tummy as his other hand’s fingers dig deeper. “One more and I’ll give it to you.”

“Graaant,” she keens. “It’s too—it’s too much I can’t I can’t I’m—” Her hand lands back over her own mouth. Her fangs gleam as they chew her knuckle.

He caresses her as his fingerfucking redoubles. His hand fits perfectly into the curve where her slender, sinuous waist flares into her thick, plump ass. Her cushion jiggles under his palm. A throaty yelp escapes her. “Shhh.” He gives her hip a playful tap. “Be good.”

A weak giggle rises from her perspiring chest. She pants and whines. She lifts their hands away. “You’re—fucking—insufferable—”

Her stomach flexes and trembles. Her legs bicycle helplessly for a moment, and then she gives into the primal breeding urge flooding her synapses, and her thighs spread as they bend up against her body. Her knees push her breasts together. Her horns are dark and extruded all the way. She’s gradually coiling into her favorite position, the one where Grant puts his full weight on top of her and hammers her into the floor like a little blue nail.

She’s never so comfortable as when she’s curled like this, ready to be pressed down and filled up. From what she’s told him about the merciless way Taiikari reproduce, he presumes the desire for a heavy body on her and the sturdy, snug position she assumes are evolutionary instincts.

Her eyes are rolling back into her head. Her insides thicken and bind. He knows what that is, knows what her body is about to do. He kicks their clothes further away. He stops the in-and-out motion and bends his knuckles to focus on the ridge of her g-spot, coaxing the keening song from her. This is the thing Sykora was referring to, and he’s gotten very good at it. He leans forward, so that it’ll get on him and not these poor archivists’ floor. He wants to feel it.

“Grant—you’re gonna make me—” Her lips hang open. Her eyes screw shut.

He crushes her mouth to his and pushes his tongue down her tight, gasping throat. Her orgasmic cry muffles. Her muscles tweak and pull beneath his palm.

A dramatic arching of her spine, a high girlish squeak, and Void Princess Sykora squirts. A warm pulse coats his fingers and forearm and her inner thighs. His little wife stutter-sobs his name into his mouth with the involuntary buck of her hips, Gra-ha-haaant.

His lips depart hers. She’s breathing like she just ran a marathon, hips shaking, mumbling monosyllabic gasps around the loose theme of his name.

“That’s my girl.” He kisses her shivering stomach. “Nine minutes left. I think I’m going to have to get serious if we’re gonna make it to three.”

“You’re gonna break me.” Her hips thrust weakly, humping the air. “You’re gonna break my brain forever.”

“You’re okay, baby.” He cups her face. “You’re okay. You need the word?”

She shakes her head.

“My brave Princess.” He kisses her horn, earning another overwhelmed whine from her, and turns her gently onto her side. Her breasts spill softly, one laying on the other, both of them heaving with her breath. He lifts one of her legs as she lays sideways. She’s so short that her heel doesn’t reach his shoulder, so he holds it against his chest. Her swollen sex throbs against him to the triplet beat of her alien heart as he repositions himself and undoes his belt. He pulls a condom from his uniform pocket and tears its packaging open with a canine.

Her ear twitches at the sound. “No.” She raises herself on an elbow. “No, wait. Grant.” She takes a ragged breath. “Lonesome.”

He freezes. Is he going too far? Is she only tolerating this?

She turns onto her back. Her thighs spread open. Her vulva is blushing and twitching from the marathon he’s putting her through. “No condom,” she says.

He exhales, “I’m sorta hoping to cum too, baby.”

“Cum in me,” she says. “I have panties and leggings and a topcoat. It’ll be fine.”

“You want to debrief with it in you?”

She wags her tail. “Uh huh.”

“I don’t want to ruin your underwear.”

“Ruin it. Ruin me.” She’s shifting seamlessly back into their shared space: “Fuck your Princess raw, Maekyonite.” Her foot nudges his stomach. “That’s an order.”

He grins and takes her ankle in his grip. “I didn’t know you were the one giving orders here, Majesty.” These power plays of theirs—he remembers when it felt awkward to him, when it made him self-conscious. He hasn’t become some kind of alpha since then, but it’s easier and easier to let her flip that switch in him when she needs it.

And it intoxicates him now, too. He admits it. The transformation in them both. The look on her face when his shadow encompasses her, excitement and satisfaction and ardor spiced with a minuscule trace of apprehension.

“I am still in charge, you know.” She swallows to clear away the saliva that her body is making, in anticipation of what her husband is going to do to it. “I’m the only one onboard who outranks you, but I do.”

“Even though you’re a Princess and I’m a Prince.” He shakes his head. “How is that fair, huh?”

“Because you’re a big crude Maekyonite,” she says. “And I’m a cute little Taiikari lady, and we’re in charge.”

He tuts. “That isn’t a very nice thing to say, Princess.”

She snickers and sticks her tongue out at him. “What are you gonna do about—”

He grabs her other ankle and drags her to the edge of the crate. She groans and writhes as he kicks his pants the rest of the way off.

“I’m gonna show you,” he says, “what big crude Maekyonites do to cute little Taiikari ladies who think they’re in charge.”

His hands slip down from her ankles to beneath her knees. He pushes up, and in, and folds his wife in half again, the way she likes. Her glowing blush spreads from her face to the top of her chest.

“You girls think you can just kidnap us and not face any consequences?” His cock slides up and past her pussy, coasting between the quivering pillows of her trapped thighs.

“You’re just. You’re just big. That’s all.” She laughs breathily and undulates her hips. Her abs tighten and flex as she braces to receive him. “You think size matters? We could conquer your planet tomorrow if we wanted.”

Oooh. Sykora’s feeling spicy. Before the gift she gave him today, this might have been too much for Grant. But now it just makes him feel spicy, too.

“You know what? I think you owe the aliens of the firmament an apology, little miss conqueror. I think I’d like to hear you say—” He leans down. “Sorry.”

Her throat trembles. “Taiikari don’t say sorry.”

“Taiikari don’t.” He pushes another slow thrust along her, gliding on her folds. “But you married a Maekyonite.” He hooks a finger into her choker and tugs her halfway up to sitting. “A Maekyonite collared you. And Maekyonites say sorry.”

He observes her carefully. Is this delicious taboo, or is it too far? He opens the door in the back of his head and tarries at the threshold, just in case he needs to get out of the scene and back into doting husband mode.

“Make me, Maekyonite,” she says.

He grins.

“Say you’re sorry,” he says, “and promise you’ll be a good girl. And I’ll give you what you want.”

She shakes her head and moans as his cock slips up and past her entrance again. “Ins—” She trembles so hard it rattles the crate rack. “Insufferable Maekyonite. You—oh—ohgod—”

He pauses. His head nests in her entrance, and he teases a microscopic thrust. Her head tilts back. Her eyes snap open. “Grant,” she pleads.

“We’re running out of time, Majesty.” He cradles her head. His fingertips caress the sensitive conches of her ears. “Say it.”

“I’m sorry!” It’s ripped raw from her. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m—” Another racking spasm takes her. She mewls in desperation and writhes to try to push his cock all the way in. Her body’s seizing, clinging like it’s trying to suck him inside. He stills her with a light but sure hand on the side of her neck. She arches as her cunt squeezes the empty air. “Please, Grant. Please, please—”

“And what else?” he prompts. His rough thumbpad strokes her jaw.

“I’ll be a good girl.” Her voice quakes with the effort to keep her voice down. “I won’t conquer your planet. I’ll do anything you want. I promise. I’ll be good, I’ll be so good—”

His hips slam into hers. The molten heat of her insides. Her triumphant wail muffles into his chest as he impales her. He is almost positive at this point that the archivists outside have politely excused themselves, but she’s still trying so hard to be quiet.

His alpha act is falling apart. His wife is just too fucking cute.

“Come to me.” Her arms are open wide. “Husband.”

The raw vulnerability is obvious on her face. She’s rolled over to show her underbelly. She must be feeling the same thing. Play time is over. She needs his love.

For all their bravado, this is what ends up happening half the time. Setting up these kinky dom/sub situations is straightforward enough during foreplay, but now his wife is holding him and licking his face and her flesh is pulsing around him and the feeling of home and comfort is too strong, and they’ve fallen out of character and become two lovesick idiots again.

He can almost forget, when they're like this, what she's going to do when she leaves this room. The conquest she and her minions are planning.

No—that's letting yourself off the hook. You're planning it, too. But that voice is quiet, and it's getting quieter and quieter every day of his new life. Quiet enough now to be drowned out by shallow breath and slapping skin and beating hearts. So what, if his wife is a tyrant by Maekyonite standards? So what? He’s the only Maekyonite he knows anymore.

His wife is a villainess and he loves her. He loves his evil wife. He wants to have evil kids with her.

He plucks her off the ground and holds her aloft as their tongues slide and intermingle. “Thank you,” he whispers to her. “Thank you so much, baby.” Their noses nuzzle. He gazes into her dilating eyes. “Your gift. I fucking love it.”

She moans into his neck. “Anything.” The crate squeaks as she gyrates to meet his body with hers. “I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll conquer the firmament for you. I’ll be your concubine. Anything, Grant.”

What he wants is to make love to her like this for hours. But he reckons Vora won’t be able to keep the Brigadier from coming down here and tranquilizing them. He glances at the communicator on the floor. Four minutes left. He flips his dazed little doll onto her stomach and rests her on the edge of the crate. Her feet dangle. He holds her securely in place.

Then he fucks her in rapid, jiggling doggy style across the crate’s lid.

His fists close on her horns. He holds her fast for purchase and plows the Void Princess into a whimpering mess. He listens to the rhythmic, breathy ohs she’s trying and failing to suppress. He watches her thick heart-shaped ass ripple as he has his way with her.

Three minutes.

He loves the way her sweat looks on her skin. How it glistens against the hard-won muscle along her back. Every Taiikari woman he’s seen is beautiful; but Sykora has taken that beauty and gone further, forged herself. She is a work of art. The hours of disciplined training, written in the proud lines of her shoulders, her stretching biceps. In the tapered cords of her lats as they tremble with sensation.

Two minutes.

She denied herself the warmth of a lover for forty years. She honed her body into a weapon. His little amazon. His killing machine. The woman he’s splitting open could murder him in the span of a breath. He’s seen it. And now he sees her submitting to his touch, entrusting this warrior body to his care. Making herself soft and open and weak for him. Her dripping folds clutching and relaxing, tugging and coiling. His caveman brain is overheating.

She’s calling out to him, to God, to the wordless overwhelming sensation that has her thrashing in its clutches. A patch of her drool is pooling on the crate lid.

“I’m gonna Maekyonite marry you.” He leans forward. The arch of her spine houses his stomach like they’re two interlocking puzzle pieces. “I want the wedding we never got. I’m gonna put a ring on your finger and swear an oath to you. I’m gonna put you in a wedding dress and then rip you out of it.”

“Yes!” Her voice jostles in time to his rhythm. “Yes please yes yes—”

His mind is fogging. His jaw grinds shut. He sees the cliff approaching and steps on the accelerator, bouncing his wife’s cushioned ass against him, chasing this bruising bliss.

The pumping flex in her abdomen falters and flutters. Her orgasm is close. He fucks her with renewed determination. He lays his hand on the cold plastic of the crate and she gratefully presses her face into it, raising her ass higher as his forceful thrusts clap rhythmic shockwaves along it. Her tail wags madly. He rasps into her ear: “Inside? You’re sure?”

She turns her head. At this bent angle, they’re face to face. Her dark, thick brows are high and pleading. “Inside.”

His hand slips to her neck. He pulls her up into a steep arch. The metal studs of her choker kiss his fingers. His other palm lands on her sweltering belly, and tightens into its tiny, sweat-shining paunch.

His flushed face must give away the primal fantasy captivating him, because she laces her fingers over his and whispers: “Breed me.”

The dam bursts.

One final deep, burying shove. One final ripple along her round inviting ass and then he locks her hips to his and floods her. Her eyes brim and widen with lecherous wonder as she feels the swell and the gushing warmth. His eruption carries her over the edge.

The song of his wife’s climax is different when she’s cumming on his cock. Smokier and huskier, like an animal being rutted. Their slamming haste melts into to a groaning, burrowing half-time as Grant empties himself into Sykora. The percussive sound of skin-on-skin liquefies into lascivious squelching. Her flailing feet twitch and dangle and then relax, her toes fanning out against his knees. Every push is met with another luscious groan and a silky pulse from her tight little core, until he’s shoved so deep into the Princess that he’s nearly on top of the crate himself. Her butt squishes softly outward as his hips settle and flatten her against the lid. Her tail droops across his shoulder like a pageant sash.

“You’re so heavy,” she sighs.

He props himself up. “My bad.”

“No. It’s good.” Her tail reaches past his shoulder to rub his scruff. “Oh, it’s wonderful. If I didn’t have to run this big dumb annexation, I’d wanna spend the rest of the day like this. Pull out and get me my panties, please, dove.”

He slides back and shivers as the copious lubrication he filled her with eases his passage. As he hunts for her underwear, she stretches like a cat, ass arched into the air, arms reaching forward. The shapely muscles in her back stand out.

“Three’s not bad,” she says. “But I’ll bet we can beat it, somewhere easier on the knees. Now you’ve got me feeling competitive.” Her pussy is easing back into the tight innie shape it had before he plowed her. His seed oozes from her lilac insides and mats her sculpted pubes. Her tail points up to the ceiling, exposing the snug blue ring of her asshole. She gives him an impish grin over her shoulder. “I’m not distracting you, dove, am I?”

“You’re the one planning the invasion.” He tosses Sykora her panties. “I’m the distraction. Long live the resistance.”

“Oh, shoot,” she says. “There goes Eqtora, I suppose.” Her butt bounces adorably as she shimmies them on. She sees his attention and turns the motion fluid and presentational. She clasps her uniform back on and tugs her leggings up.

Grant rests his palm on the back of Sykora’s neck as the choker disappears beneath its collar. “Where’d you get that originally, anyway? It was near the back of your jewelry drawer.”

“Oh, I have no clue,” she says. “A lot of my things are gifts from some toady or another and just go into overlooked little corners. I don’t recall whether I’d worn it before you. Normally I’m much spanglier.”

“We could replace it. Something more your style.”

“Absolutely not.” Her palm goes protectively to her throat. “All my favorite things are from overlooked little corners these days.”

He shoulders his uniform back on while she unlocks the door and peers out of it. He guessed right—the crew who were in here have made themselves scarce.

She sighs. “I’m setting an awful example, you know. Coupling is to be done exclusively in registered couples’ cabins or in a reserved room in the conjugal hab. I’m going to catch Gefreitor Reina driving stick-shift in the firing range again and I won’t have a leg to stand on, disciplinary-wise.”

He tucks the scriptomorph under his arm, along with the borrowed pulp book. “We’ll rely on Hyax.”

“For now, we will.” She smirks as she leads him back to the lift. “Don’t think I didn’t see her ogling all those Eqtorans.”

“That thing you do,” he asks her, as the lift hums them through the Pike. “The muscle thing. Does that have a name?”

She nods. “It’s called Nura’s Belt.”

“Can every Taiikari do that?”

“Other girls can, uh, flex,” Sykora says. “But moving it the way I do took hectocycles to master. It’s considered the mark of a nonpareil lover. Princess Nura was one of the greatest bedkeepers of the Terrestrial Empire. I read her books as part of my sexual autodidactism. They’re fascinating and informative. And quite graphic.”

“I still can’t believe you learned all this stuff without a soul to use it on.”

“I am a Void Princess of the Taiikari. I am always prepared. I knew I’d find a husband someday. I just needed someone worthy of my gifts.” Her grin is broad and smug. “Don’t you remember what I told you the night you won me? The night you deflowered me? This is how I keep you.”

The lift slides to a halt. Sykora’s tail thwips out to the button console and holds the doors shut a moment longer.

“I wonder how it will feel,” she whispers. Her finger traces up his leg, to the base of his crotch. “Planning the conquest of an interplanetary civilization, with my Prince’s cum dripping down my thighs.”

She slaps his butt and skitters giggling from the lift.