Rapier
By Candy Dance
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Rapier |
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Full Page Excerpt from "Rapier" The moment Lieutenant Bran Fowler saw the woman backed against the wall in the ascetic room, he knew she was a civilian. He could not recall how many years it had been since he had seen a nonmilitary woman. The differences were striking. The alien Trak-grub-wald behind him, roughly shoved him into the center of the circular room, with its coiled wald-tail forced into the small of his bare back. The woman backed away along the circular wall with faltering steps on bare feet, but of course she could get no further away from him or the Grub-wald. Her fear was palatable, in startling green eyes. It was an eye coloring that he had not seen on a woman before. Blue, gray, or brown, but never a living green like this. Real grass could be that color, he thought fleetingly.
"Fucking!"the Trak-grub-wald screeched suddenly, bodily shoving Bran toward the woman so that he staggered. Christ! He had thought many things could happen to him, when he’d been captured by the enemy grubs. But this?
"What the hell-!" Bran tried to turn as he cursed, knowing it was a mistake, but he was too disbelieving to stop. Predictably, a second later, he found himself dropped to his knees. The pain slicing through his body was mild, it only doubled him over as he clutched at the immoveable metal collar around his neck, which produced the shocking pain. The dirty grubs would have to do better than this, he thought dogmatically, as he held back his scream. Then the spasm of pain stabbing from his head to his toes, stopped as suddenly as it had started.
The seven-foot tall Trak-grub-wald shrieked again. "Fucking!"
Bran did not move from his kneeling position. He was trained to withstand torture. He was born into the militaries elitist troopers. The alien grub behind him didn’t know that . . . and it never would.
The woman’s tortured screams were immediate and excruciating. Bran’s head snapped upward with his metallic-silver irises expanding as he saw the woman writhing naked on the smooth metal flooring. She was helpless beneath the torture of the collar around her slender neck.
"Death!" the Grub-wald howled within a piercing treble of high notes.
"Bastard!" Bran swore. The damned scorpioid grub was laughing. Bran stood swiftly, with lithe tightly muscled motion, and his voice raised to a rumbling snarl. "Fucking," he growled savagely.
Then Grub-wald, used one of its four underdeveloped forelimbs to touch a place on the belt that strapped its distended belly inward. At once, the woman stopped screaming, to then lay weeping on the cold metal flooring. She was soft. Too damn soft, she would never survive this. Bran realized grimly that it would be kinder to let the Grub kill her, or conceivably he should. He knew that he could do it painlessly, within seconds, once he was close enough to touch her. He approached the woman then on silent bare feet, watching carefully as the Grub-wald back away. But, it was obvious the rancid grub intended to stay and watch.
He nearly laughed. Wouldn’t the Rapier Command love to find out that the scrappy grubs were voyeurs? Where in the ninety-fifth nebula had the Trak-grub-wald race gotten a civilian woman from, he wondered, as he went down on his hands and knees over the naked shivering woman?
Starling gazed upward with a sob caught in her throat, at the ebony haired muscle man kneeling over her. She had heard the seven-foot alien’s screeched word, and she knew what this man intended to do to her. She tried to stop shaking or even crying, but the tears that spilled from her eyes were relentless. Would it make any difference, in the continuum of horrendous events that she was untried?
"What is your name?"
The silver-eyed man brought his square hand upward, and Starling flinched with the expectation of pain. But, he only clasped his hand over the collar she wore and her throat beneath. His touch was surprisingly gentle.
"S-Starling," she whispered, unable to stop the quivering in her voice. The man looked unexpectedly startled, when she said her name, and his silver irises swirled into a metallic dark coloring. She had never seen eyes like his before, but she knew from people talking that he must be a Rapier trooper. Likely, one of the highest rankings, and his eyes could see things that mere humans could not.
"Beautiful," Bran uttered. He had never heard a more unexpected and feminine name, and it fit her completely, he thought, inexplicably releasing her slender throat.
"Fucking!"
Starling lurched beneath his looming body, grasping his forearms in reaction to the Grub-wald’s shriek as he continued to gaze down at her. He had never fucked a real woman in his life, and only a dozen or so sexual cyborg’s over the years. Cyborg’s that the military provided its troopers. He certainly never expected to see genuine large, moon-shaped breasts beneath him, so close that he could touch them. Breasts, firm and plump with thrusting nipple tips of rosy pink. Military women surgically lessened their chests to nonexistence and not one of them had pubic hair topping their delicate cunts like Starling’s was. Curls of rich brown color, shaped into an elegant V above the tender coral-colored slit of her pussy lips.
If he wondered, whether it would be possible to fuck Starling beneath these circumstances, he no longer did. His dick rose upward between his thickly muscled thighs. It was boldly hard and pumped red with blood filled lust. Unaccountably, he found himself craving hours and complete privacy.
"You must do what I tell you, beauty. Can you do that?"
Bran judged the endearment he used inspirational, and he was amazed at the way the foreignness of it had come to his tongue so easily. Starling, gazing up at him with fear and brittle surrender in her leafy green irises, changed when he called her beauty, her green eyes darken to a moss coloring with tentative hopefulness.
She had toppled to his command. "Yes," she whispered.
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