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Love. Ha. That bursts my bubble, just a little. There's no love here. It's transactional, just like he said.
My fantasy dissipates, and I slow my dancing, turning to him, about to ask if he wants me to keep going.
Zakoar jumps to his feet, and I see that the pupil in his right eye—his real eye—is completely blown with lust. "Come with me," he growls, grabbing my hand.
I follow behind him as he steers me toward the back room—the bedroom, I assume. We pass through the curtains and sure enough, there's a large, square bed with no pillows and a blanket covering, just like beds in the cantina. This one looks soft, though, and the covering clean and expensive. He stops right in front of it and then jerks at his clothing, desperately tearing at it. He won't look at me, though.
"Should I get plas-film?" I ask in a soft voice, not wanting to irk him. He gives me a jerky nod, fumbling with his belt, and I move to the attached lavatory, heading to the dispenser. There's one here, and it looks…full. I tear a sheet off, and something tells me that Zakoar doesn't get a lot of company, cantina whores or otherwise.
I breathe on the plas-film to activate it, then move back into the bedroom toward him.
He's naked and staring down at his cock. Or maybe he's just determined not to make eye contact with me. Either way…whoa.
I've known that his chest is a zigzag pattern of metal and different shades of skin, most of them probably synthetic of some kind. He's got scars on top of scars, and even his arms seem to be swimming in more metal. I'm not sure what I was expecting below the belt, but…it doesn't disappoint. Zakoar is huge, of course, his cock just as ridged up and down the length as I've been told. The head of his cock is more prominent than expected, and the two large ball studs on the tip are unexpected, too. More than that, though, I'm surprised that the metal lines that move under his skin don't stop here. In fact, there's a large, silvery vein running up and down the length of his penis, blatantly obvious against the blue skin that, even here, seems to be scarred and two different shades. Even his spur is scarred, which is strange.
All right, then. It's a great big cyborg penis. No big deal. As long as it fucks like a regular penis, there will be no surprises.
I glance at Zakoar as I approach. His hand is on the base of his cock, and I can see the tip is coated with beads of pre-cum, but he makes no effort to look at me. I think about that unused dispenser of plas-film and the scars all over his body, and how deeply, deeply uncomfortable he seems to be right now, and I wonder if he's ever had sex.
Not that it matters. Sex is like sneezing—it's a release, and sometimes it's not all that sexy. Most times, actually. It doesn't matter if he's fucked an entire mesakkah football team (or whatever the alien equivalent is) or if he's a virgin. I'm not expecting this to be anything but me as a convenient hole for him. He wants that fantasy girl in the window, so I need to keep on giving him that.
So I move to his side and drop to my knees in front of him again. I don't cower or try to look submissive like before. Instead, I toss my hair back and give him a bold look. "Shall I put this on you?"
That metal jaw clenches. He nods. Just once, and the motion is so small and reluctant that I almost miss it.
I hum to myself as I smooth the plas-film over him. For a metal guy, he's scorching with heat. His skin is flushed deep with blood, as if it's all pooled here and the metal vein is throbbing wildly as I smooth the plas-film over his shaft. He's larger than I thought, and the ridges more pronounced this close up. He twitches as I touch him, his hands clenched at his side, and I make my efforts as quick as possible. I tug on the film after it's on, creating a small reservoir on the tip, and then I get to my feet. "Where do you want me?"
"Bed."
"On my back?" I ask, turning toward the mattress. "Or do you want—"
The words die in my throat because in the next moment, his big body is pressed up against mine. He moves me toward the bed, his cock stabbing into my back, and when the fronts of my knees hit the bed, I get on my hands and knees automatically. I can take a hint as much as the next girl.
