198. Frail Me

Yul sat in her quarters, alone. Wasn’t the first time with Rog having been in hospital for so long, but this aloneness was different. He could be here if he wanted. He wasn’t; and that species of aloneness was a very different animal. Frail him, she thought. I was there for him, by his bedside, in the chapel, lighting candles and now that he is better and life is good for him, now that I need him, he chooses to be elsewhere. She picked up a vase and, with a motion Rog would have been proud of, hurled it against the stone wall. It shattered into a thousand sparkling pieces, each little jagged edge jutting up like so many icebergs, beautiful and dangerous.

She thought to clean the mess but then thought why. She tried to cry but could not produce a tear and she realized her anger needed, demanded, an outlet and there were not enough vases on the entire ship to sate her ire. But there was the cabinet.

Her cabinet had three drawers. Her modified, albeit illegal, Oblivions were in the top drawer; tempting, but completely unsatisfying. You could erase the memories from the mind, but memory took root thought-out the whole body. Call it molecular memory, but a hand once bloody, well, there was no Oblivion capable of bleaching that stain from the offending cells. And memory was more than just one’s own domain. Others knew, they had their own memories, and no Oblivion was going to erase the actual event. They were, perhaps, best left to their original purpose.

Drawer two held her blue vials--her second little secret. Almost got her in trouble with Trev and the agent of choice for terminal selection, nevertheless the risk was well worth the reward. Besides, she thought, Trev could have been fun and if you were going to go, well, there were worse ways. Note to self: life is short. Reconsider helping peach boy. Oooooh, maybe he'll bring his camera this time.

As much as current events still painfully throbbed, temptation was stronger, or perhaps just too delicious. This time, she rationalized, was for pleasure, so she removed one vial, put a couple drops on her wrist, closed the small crystal cruet and returned it to the drawer. A drop on each wrist was all that was needed. Any more and, well, she had been down that route. Frail you Rog, she thought as a wicked smile took hold of her face. Her contraband didn’t take long to work and whether it was suggestive or not, she felt the warm wetness between her legs signal the point of no return, or was it the beginning. No matter, she mused. Let the games begin. Lifting her arms, Yul did a little dance, rolling her unlooking eyes upward and snapping her fingers.

But drawer three, yes sir, we’ll take number three. Oh the glow, the heft, the smoothness and that sublime curve. Rog had given it to her as a gift. Best damn present she had ever gotten and by Janus it was just frailing perfect. At least that Hynerian did something right, she thought. She would have her fun and she would have it with his gift. Just the nastiness of the thought tightened the flesh between her ambulatory limbs.

Yul held the phallic instrument, or tool as she liked to call it, in her slender hands and it begin to warm with a very slight pulsation. "Whoa, baby, not just yet," and the tool hummed down. Voice activation, what a brilliant idea, she thought. Had to be female in origin. The tool, was more than just a toy with simple voice response. Rog had picked it up on Neraj. Paid an arm and a leg for it too. She didn’t believe him at first, but the device was also auto-suggestive. Neat little trick, until Yul used it one night with the vial (which is what she called the potent aphrodisiac she had procured illegally). The two used together were nothing less than mind blowing. And people wondered why she always had a smile on her face.

Moving to her bed, Yul stepped out of her crimson robe, letting the silky garment slide to the floor. She turned the dial on the bed to warm; it would take less than a minute to reach optimum temperature. Standing straight, her back arched, she watched her reflection in the window as her nipples caught a slight breeze and hardened to a pale blue. What a frailing rush to frail in front of the cosmos. She had never imagined the thrill until the first time Rog had taken her on Bravo. My Janus, she mused, and I didn’t even have the vial in use. What a frailing ride that was. Her legs quivered for days and she could have sworn everyone knew.

Setting the tool down, she slowly ran her hands from her hips up her side letting her fingers lightly graze the sides of her breasts like juju feathers. She was careful not to touch her aching nipples. Timing was important. A good frail needed to build, spiced with dreamy anticipation. And a good frail was as much a matter of the mind as of the bod. Imagination, tonight, was not going to be an issue. Waking the neighbors could be. Poor Em, she thought. Her room was next door. Mmm, maybe I should invite the little sea nymph over, but then she thought the better. If I share the vial, she’ll just want more and more. Of course, I could teach her to use the tool and then, who would need Rog. Yul laughed at her own wicked imagination. Mmm, little Emy on my bed, now that was a thought and her nipples glowed a brighter shade of blue. No place for shame in the bedroom, at least that’s what she was taught, and she had found no reason to dispute it. Neither did Rog for that matter.

The bed was ready, warm. Pulling the sheets back to the foot of the bed she laid down, two norsewill down pillows cased in azure venusian silk under her head. Half the fun, she thought was watching the penetration. I want to feel your long, hard, throbbing shaft sliding between my warm, wet, tight inviting pinkish lips and I want to see it too baby, she would tell Rog. Just the sight of the veins bulging bluish purple on the side of his rigid piston made her legs weak and her mouth hung low, watered with anticipation. Been awhile since she was deflowered, but she liked to imagine it happening all over again and again. Are you going to take me tonight baby? The tool hummed back to life. What a frailing device.

She brought her wrist up to her nose and inhaled. My frailing Janus, did that feel good, electric, as if every nerve ending was on fire, demanding to be pinched and pulled and twisted with fingers oiled. Can’t buy drugs anywhere like the vial. No wonder more murders surrounded this trade than any other. Kisses to my benefactor. Oh, and Rog, frail you too. Yul laughed.

Lying spread eagle, exposed to the universe, she closed her eyes and instead of Rog, John came into view. Involuntarily, she felt a purr slip between her lips. Oh my, what was that exotic alien packing, and she pressed her head back into her pillows, her blue tongue gliding over her parted glistening purple lips. Come to mama John, Yulie has a little something to milk those concerns from your tired shoulders.

Yul scooted her feet toward her hips, her knees hinging upward to form an inverted V. Her slender hands, each finger ringed with ornaments silver and gold, remained at her side as she rotated her hips and practiced the ancient art of the body/mind scan. What a mind frail, she thought. Again she brought the inside of her wrist to her nose and inhaled. A shiver traveled down her spine from neck to hide where the warm sensation settled and seemed to expand in intensifying waves of pleasure, each building upon the other, each more intense than the one before.

Her hips begin to move on their own. She anchored her hands by her side, palms down with fingers spread like eagle's claws, arched her back, and let her mind take over, or so the illusion of control implied. Her erect nipples, as if taking the high ground, throbbed as beacons toward the ceiling, casting bluish shadows into the valley of her firm orbs and upon the river of gold that flowed from her neck in the form of chains and medallions. Cold metal on hot skin, fire and ice, pleasure and pain. The circle of pleasure, the eternal cycle of beginning and end not as two.

The vial had the effect of inducing a lucid dream state while keeping one conscious. And right now, John was in bed, naked, hard muscled, brimming with the confidence of a master bull fighter standing center stage—only the red cape was missing. She couldn’t move, her legs fixed in a spread, her slit glistening with carnal desire as she felt a small lubricious trickle slide to her arse, and John saw it all. He smiled and her imagination shifted into overdrive. Was he looking to mount me, there? He was alien after all. Perhaps he didn’t know which orifice was which? How long had he wanted me? Had he already taken certain liberties after the quilling? Maybe this wasn’t his first time. Oh my Janus, maybe he’s already frailed me and I don’t even know it. And so the thoughts built and Yul slipped further and further into the drug induced state.

She tried to moan, but John put his finger to her lips motioning her to silence. He was going to frail her, frail her like Rog had never frailed her before, like Rog wasn’t capable of doing, and she was not going to utter a single solitary sound. She tried to move her hands, and couldn’t. His strong grasp held hers in place and he flashed that mature seductive grin, starlight gleaming off his straight white teeth. His strapping legs, solid as aged oak, moved inside her tender long white thighs pinning them open, exposed; and his skin felt summer sun warm, tingling warm as visions of secluded beaches and hidden coves awash with warm salty azure waters filled her wicked mind’s eye.

She pressed her legs against his. They didn’t bulge. Like the inevitableness of the setting suns—Rubion and Triste--the warmth of his breath descended to her neck leaving kisses along her protruding external jugular vein. She breathed in, chest rising, nipples aching, and he skipped a kiss further down. Another breath, another kiss—a touch of skin, the feel of life exhaled, and so he moved down the river of gold to those exotic pulsing blue mounds. The room began to glow with the hardening blueness of her erect nipples and she saw lust reflecting in the upper irises of John's eyes. The aroma of her wetness intermingled with his silky lather, intoxicating beyond the potency of Trev's blue snoot. Or maybe it was just the vial. Winners don't question the call.

She tried to speak but his left hand covered her lips and he shook his head like a scolding schoolmaster. A wicked grin spread across his cheeks as she silently opened her soft lips, sucking in his left index finger deeper and deeper, her doe eyes wide and unblinking. His eyes fixed on hers as his strong right hand explored the slick sticky wetness between her legs. Her hips took over, embracing his touch like a young girl running down the dock to hug her sailor returning from a long voyage. The embrace of warmth and wetness, of desire and lust, of drugs and imagination overwhelmed all else. Energy pulsed to the heartbeat of the universe and where there were two, only one could be seen. Fully exposed, vulnerable and helpless, she was right on the edge of loosing control. There was only ever one first time, one first moment of hardness sliding into wetness, one first stroke where reality overwhelmed the imagination and dreams seemed like the playthings of children. Who was ridden and who rode mattered not for the ride shared a mutual ecstasy that threatened to rip the bed from its foundation breaking the hull and sucking them to certain death in the vacuum of space. What a frailing way to go, she thought, and she slid into the dream deeper with each imaged stroke, each alien thrust between the tight velvet wetness of her animal lust fueled by the scent of a forbidden aphrodisiac.

Her legs clamped around John’s back like a well-oiled bear trap on a humid morning. By Janus, he was going to frail her or she was going to frail him or they would frail each other with the heat of passion born of neglect and educated with an anger grown in the fields of stress--tribute to be paid in the coin of release. She felt sweat, hers or his or both was hard to say as the planetary light glistened off their skin like so much glitter, their movements causing each bead to twinkle like starlight. The room, or her mind, hard to tell, begin to spin like the mirrored ball at a high school dance.

Her arms reached around his back and her nails dug into his flesh as if to mark her territory. She drew blood and he pounded her harder, his head falling to her chest, inhaling first her left nipple and then the right, moving back and forth, watching them swell and pulse to the darting of his firm tongue and succulent soft lips. He bit down, teeth sheathed between his lips and rotated his gums like twin babies suckling milk. Pain and pleasure blended together in that way that makes eyes sparkle and lovers bond in a symphony beyond language or poets or sages. Music played without sound and light flashed where there was only darkness and the opening of time revealed itself in an instant of pleasure beyond the reach of concept or sensation.

She craned her neck and bit his ear as if to say don’t you stop, whatever you frailing do, don’t you stop. Frail me baby, just frail me like a lathered John Henry pounding out rock through my tunnel. And he obliged. Somewhere she heard a slap, a constant steady wet slap of skin on skin, of passion kissing passion in ways that made the prude turn red and the pious turn the page. Her legs felt as if on fire from the heat of liquid friction, a luscious sucking sound with each thrust that spoke as if living and breathing of its own accord. His arms, muscled like bulging pythons, braced himself on either side of the top of her pale shoulders, her legs spread over the top of his, as exposed as she could make herself, reaching, deeper, thrusting, looking, begging for just a little more, just a little faster, just a little harder, just a little more--now.

Her eyelids started to flutter and her nipples felt full and heavy and ached with a sensitivity born of hard use. Breathing became labored and John shifted position. How he rotated her to her stomach without withdrawing his flesh was but a blur. Arching her back, raw, uninhibited, shameless wantonness took control. She grabbed the headboard and screamed out. His right hand firmly on her hip, his left holding her hair like the reins of a thoroughbred coming down the back stretch, whether he was pulling her into him or she was impaling herself on his hardness could not be said, but either way, the bed shook and light danced and the neighbors took notice.

The banging continued and muted voices were heard. She looked at John and he shrugged his shoulders as if to say I told you so as he faded from sight. The banging continued and she recognized Emy’s voice. Oh my Janus, she thought while grabbing her robe off the floor.

“Hang on Em, I’ll be right there. Damn.”


Categories: Story, Yul