AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A cool hand is on my back, stroking gently. Rivlor croons in my ear. “Somewhat cute Wyatt, I think I would like to fuck you.”
I gasp out a breath.
“Yes, I think you would like that too.” Her hand travels up to ruffle my hair. “I want to see if that golden hair on your head matches the hair you have above your cock.”
Breathe in. Breathe out.
“And I would like to see your cock. I think it is just the right size to fit in my mouth.” More stroking along my back. “I want to taste your essence. They say Humans do not have a sweet nectar like a Venorian male, but in any case, I prefer sour to sweet, and I like my food well salted.”
Unbelievably, my cock twitches at her words. I catch a hint of her scent as she leans over me, something vibrant and lemony, like the smell of freshly cut grass. She chuckles next to me. “Somewhat cute Wyatt, I like your smell too.” Damn, I forgot she’s telepathic.
She continues her slow, hypnotic strokes along my back. My face is still buried in the paper bag, breathing rapidly in and out. I feel a gentle touch to my neck as Rivlor runs her nose over the sensitive skin, inhaling deeply. “Oh yes, you smell good too, somewhat cute Wyatt.”
I grunt into the bag, “How about you ditch the somewhat and just call me cute?”
She laughs delightedly. “Where would be the fun in that?” Her warm breath along the back of my neck has my hair standing on end. My cock stands fully erect, straining against the zipper of my pants. I’m breathing in and out quickly. All I can focus on is that teasing touch on my neck and the fresh scent of her skin. One of her hands slithers slowly down my arm, on to my lap. Will she? I gasp as I feel her inches from my cock.Oh God!
I thrust my groin up instinctively. My backside lands with a bump back on the seat. It’s then I register that we’ve landed. In that same instant, Rivlor removes her hand and stands. “We have arrived,” she says briskly and strides to open the drone’s door. Nimbly, she climbs out while I take an extra moment to recover. I look down at the paper bag in my hand and crumple it up. Turns out, all I needed was a bit of sexual foreplay to distract me from my fear of flying. I stand and exit the drone on shaky legs.Get a grip Wyatt.
We have landed at the space docking station, empty right now except for Rivlor’s massive cargo ship. It’s a concave structure encased in pale silver metal, triangular in shape with one long pointy end. From my limited knowledge, I know the ship tilts with the pointed end facing upwards for take-off and breaking through the atmosphere, then swings back to its horizontal position once in space. Up close, the ship is a giant beast, ferocious looking with its beaky point.
Rivlor taps a code on a console embedded into the widest part of the structure, and a door slides open sideways revealing a small hatch. She steps inside, and with a slight hesitation, I follow. The door slides shut behind us, leaving us shrouded in near darkness except for the light shining from Rivlor’s communicator. She steps forward and places her hand on a wall pad. Immediately, another door opens into a second, wider hatch. We walk into it, and she tells me, “Stand there. The ship’s security system needs to scan us before we are cleared to enter.”
I do as she asks. A moment later, a purple beam of light above us performs the scan. It takes a few seconds for the computer to process the results, but then, another hatch door opens, this time leading into the interior of the ship. I follow Rivlor, too curious about my surroundings to feel any trepidation. We have entered a long corridor, the dove gray walls covered in some kind of plastic coating. As we walk down the corridor, we pass various sliding doors.
“These are our sleeping quarters,” explains Rivlor. “There is a private chamber for myself and my second-in-command, a guest chamber which was most recently used by Krantor’s mate, and a further chamber shared by the remaining three members of my crew.”
It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to figure out there are not nearly enough rooms to accommodate my large troupe of performers. There must be somewhere else where we will be able to bed down.
Rivlor glances back at me. “I will show you where your Humans can sleep.” Her ability to read my mind is uncanny.
A few paces later, she stops in front of a door and presses her hand to the scanner. It slides open, revealing a large, empty space, about fifty feet long. “This is one of our cargo holds. It is ventilated, so it can be used for Human occupation. You will have to procure sleeping pods for each of your performers.”
“What about washing facilities?”
“There is a large communal bath which we all use. Our chambers also have private rainmakers, so never fear, you can have privacy when you bathe should you choose.” She points down the corridor. “The communal bath is down this way, and beside it are toilet facilities. It is not luxury living, but this is a cargo ship, not a passenger ship.”
“I understand. What is the maximum number of people you can accommodate?”
She thinks for a moment. “Thirty-five. Maybe forty at a stretch.”
My mind does the math quickly. We will have to reduce our orchestra to just a handful of players, or perhaps make do with recorded music. I’m already considering where I can shave off the numbers and how this could impact our ability to put on a good show. I reach for my communicator and start tapping out messages to several of my contacts, arranging an online meeting with them later that afternoon.
“Let’s talk numbers,” I say. “How much will you charge per person for a round trip to Ven, Krovatia and Driskia?”
“Including all meals, I want one hundred and twenty credits per person, plus ten percent of the profits you make on your shows.”
I make a tsk sound. “I’ll agree to one hundred credits per person and five percent of the profits.”
She looks me square in the eye. “Wyatt, you want a deal, no? So do not waste my time with counteroffers. It is one hundred and twenty credits per person, plus ten percent of the profits.”
“How about this? We make it one hundred credits per person, and I give you a greater share of the profits, say fifteen percent?”
“Fifteen percent of nothing is still nothing. How do I know your shows are going to be a success? No, I need to ensure my costs are covered regardless.”
“Well then, can we agree to one hundred and twenty credits per person, but reduce your share of the profits to two percent?”
“Oh no, because if by some great miracle you do make a success of these shows, I want in on the profits.”
