Future Fantasies Volume One
Cherry-Girl & Princess Concubine
By Candy Dance
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Future Fantasies Volume One |
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Full Page Excerpt from "Future
Fantasies Volume One"
"Cherry-Girl" "Dinner?" Lisette mumbled. "I did not know sexual cyborg’s had anything to do with dinner!" Maybe they were programmed for it, Lisette thought, and what did she know about cooking food on a technological Mecca like this ship? She had never seen so many do-dad’s and gadgets. Darn, this ruse could be harder than she thought! It had seemed, like such a brilliant idea when she’d first conjured it up. She, a human woman, posing as a sexual cyborg to get pregnant. Men were so hard to find out here on the spacial rim. A woman just had to be clever. All the cargo carriers, who were men, shunned taking real women on these lengthy space voyages. There were stories about real life murders a half of century ago when they had tried it, and it was not always the women who were in their last death throes at the end of the voyage. "Men," Lisette grumbled as she tried to turn her body in the direction that she presumed the kitchen attachment to be, only the skin tight spandex she wore was anything but resilient. She moved down the cramped companionway like a paste up stick-figure. Darn, she could not even bend her elbows. But she had put on the gut tight garment, figuring to firm up and refine any small shapely flaws she might have. Heavens, sex bot’s were perfect! It was one of those stumbling points, of many, her sister Leah had pointed out along the way. When she took the suit off, perfection would fall. "Not terribly," Lisette reassured herself. "I’m still young!" Only she had envisioned this man Rider, who by the way was not the lithe blonde with swirling blue eyes who she thought this postal journey was contracted for. She thought that he would be in the throes of passion when she disrobed. Or at least it would be in the dark. She understood the men and women made love in the dark. However, this man Rider had a masculine virility that she would never have comprehended, had she not seen him in person. Lisette shivered as she turned a tight corner in the companionway. She’d only seen two men in person, in her entire life. She’d seen a lot of pictures, but only two men breathing the same air. One was a postal carrier named Sam that came to Maidenheads, the all female colony where she lived. Sam came once a month to deliver the mail, and the only way that she or any other women on Maidenheads could see Sam was to buy a ticket. Sam didn’t know anything about the viewing, he went about his work unloading the postal carrier, obliviously, while hundreds of ladies watch him from a distance using binoculars. The other man was her dad, but she’d only been four years old the last time she’d seen him. Lisette shook her head of short blonde curls. She did not enjoy remembering her dad because it always made her sad. Now Rider looked nothing like Sam, or any of the other men she’d seen in the black market pictures of men that she hoarded. Rider was older. Rider was bigger. Rider was . . . well, scruffier. All of the men in her black market collection of pictures were clean shaven. But Rider had a shadow of whiskers on his square chin. It was not a beard, just a rough dark shadow, and he had gray hair—lot’s of it. Long silvery-gray hair, peppered with strands of black, hanging down to his shoulders and curling around his neck. A neck, Lisette mused, that she had spent quite a bit of time staring at. Why, there was even peppered gray hair curled in the deeply muscular hollow of Rider’s larynx. Heavens, even his throat had muscular tendons. Lisette tried to bend her elbows so she could bring her hands up to cover her overheated cheeks, but they wouldn’t budge more than a quarter of the way up. Darn, she was going to have to do something serious about this. Maybe cut the sleeves off. If she ever found the kitchen attachment. It was a good thing that the sexual cyborg’s, labeled the virgin maiden model, were touted to be blushers, because Lisette concluded she would be doing a lot of that.
It was ironic—or perhaps brilliant that he could hide his true goal. A goal that should be obvious to both worlds that were involved. Yet would never be, because of whom he was. What he was. A Bengar warrior. No one would think above the reason that he was here to conquer. When instead he was here to meld. Would the Kimaree concubine behind these doors find him abhorrent? Would she hide her disgust in the belief that she was saving her race? Would it matter? He had not demanded willing. He had just demanded her. He had never seen her before, and only seen virtual images of two Kimaree women. He had not found them completely distasteful, simply different. He was procrastinating and he knew it, however, what he did next was crucial. So crucial, it involved the continuation of his race. Slavery or companionship? That was what he must decide in the next several moments. Or perhaps a combination of both. He needed this princess-concubine willing—or to at least appear to be willing. He needed to display what charms he could find in her favorably, so other Bengar male’s might-. Hiss- The retractor door before Prey slid open suddenly and he saw the lithely fingered hand poised in motion that had done it. Perfect, Shybell Lee thought. He was perfectly male, perfectly muscled with a smoothly bald head that was uniquely arousing and he carried the full lips of a sensual male. She was astounded once again at the sight of a full-grown Bengar male. She had been told—lead to believe that Bengar males were frightful looking beasts. The stories she had been told were of brawny misshapen structures, looking more like beasts than males. Toughly hewn muscle? Yes. Misshapen? No. This one was as arousing as the other, Tigar—only this one was much more so! Especially with his amber eyes surrounded by a rim of sapphire in each iris. She could not say that she liked the marks upon his rugged angular face. A male’s hard powerful face. Yet the markings made him no less appealing to her inclination. She purred. Instinctively, she sensed his abundance of the masculine aura, drawing her immediately . . . irrevocably. Why the lie? This male was heady . . . He was intoxicating beyond her understanding. Why had the men of the council of Ishtar, mourned her? Why had they reacted as if she were being sent to the stone mountain of the dead? Why had she spent agonizing hours preparing herself mentally for the horror, so she would not react abhorred to him, who was her new master? It was maddening and crazy to comprehend, because this fate she would gladly embrace! There was only one conclusion she could come to in this astounding moment and that was that no Kimaree women had ever seen Bengar males first, or this mistake would not have been made! If indeed it was a mistake?
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