Celestial Erotic

Science Fiction Fantasy

Excerpt: How to Become A Space Slut

 

… in 13 Days or Less!

Disco Light Dancer

On Turing Station, Anything Goes

With Earth conquered by a violent alien race, Vina LaPlace is stranded on Turing Station, surrounded by strange aliens and customs.  In the secret hot spot nightclub owned by the exotic android Ban, she comes face to face with the enemy… 

 

A few dancers left the floor to refill drinks, and the crowding eased. Vina was able to stretch her arms, move her feet, become one with the sound. Her eyes scanned the floor, looking for another body that might be alone to match her movements. The Andaru was striking out with another partner, a Safaran woman who Vina started to move towards, to provide a rescue from the Andaru’s attentions if need be. And that’s when she saw him.

He was moving onto the dance floor in slow easy strides, a graceful sleekness of movement. He was half-Gadarazi, that was certain, but what the other half was, she couldn’t identify. Druvic? Hevia? ju-un-not? Fabna? Certainly not Earther. The very idea of Gadaraz with an Earther made her twinge. The hatred between their races had gone on too very long.  Yet there was something familiar about him, in the turn of his head, in the grey-blaze of his gaze as it found her across the floor.

She moved in time to the music, rolling her head on her shoulders, pretending not to see him as he drew closer through the fray. The music was an element of heat, added to an encounter she couldn’t quite draw herself away from wanting, and she whipped back to meet his gaze again. He moved with slick grace, closer and closer until they were less than a meter apart on the floor.  Other limbs, flashes of clothing, a whip of hair, came between them time and again, but the space remained free otherwise, as Vina responded to the movement of his dancing with her own.

He was graceful, smooth, eloquent in the language of club-dance, all signs of someone who lived within his body, and she responded by closing the gap between them, making direct eye contact as she moved into his space. What was she doing? Dancing with the enemy? But was he her enemy? He was a half-breed, only part Gadaraz. He was only half of what she feared.

His hand reached out, touched her shoulder, taking the lead in the dance and she surrendered to the movement, following his direction. Their dance left the free-form of the club and entered the more formal, the shaped partnering dance of the Uzm that had swept the popular club scene universally a few years before. Some called it disgusting, as it practically mimicked the mating ritual of the Uzm, but most found it good fun, challenging enough in its movements, and easy to dance alone, in groups, or, as best intended, with a partner.

And he was an excellent partner. She had often thought Gadaraz slow and thick, but now she had to wonder how much of that was a product of being raised by her father.  This one was like fire, dancing flames that extended and contracted, graceful as any Premier danseur. He wore smooth black Uzm weave trousers that stretched to his muscular thighs and calves, ending in sleek black boots. His shirt, a white loose affair of Gadaraz design, interwoven ribbons of plant-based fabric, hung loose at his broad shoulders, allowing him to move freely. Glimpses of his pectoral and abdominal muscles rippled beneath the open weave. His eyes were pale grey, and his skin was even paler grey. His ears, too, belied his mixed heritage; smoothly curved but rounded away from his skull, unlike flat Gadaraz ears.

Vina danced closed, following the form to perfection. It was one of her favorite dances, formalized in step but allowing for much personal flair. Curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear as she asked, in Universal, “Do I know you?”

He twisted his head to hers, breaking the form of the dance to answer with a low voice that sent a shiver down her spine, “Not yet.”

His feet and hips re-aligned to the dance form and she had no choice but to follow. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. It was a promise of more. People were backing away, giving them more room to stay true to the form. An audience was gathering, cheering them on, but Vina was aware of little more than the chase of his body against hers, the way his lean hard hips met hers, how his hands felt as they brushed her shoulders and arms, keeping her in syncopation with the dance he led them on.

Their gazes caught and held, and there was another surge of familiarity that Vina couldn’t quite shake. Where had she seen him before?  The dance reached its culmination and she slipped into the final form, braced over his left arm, his right hand on hers, palm to palm, and their parted lips inches apart. Instead of righting and releasing her, his mouth closed over hers in a kiss that sent the dancers around them into cheers and send his dancers fire straight to her groin. When he drew back and released her, she was breathless.

The music started again, this time with heavier biorhythmics and they parted, Vina starting to move back towards Ban’s table, but found her upper arm looped in his fingers, dragging her back into the dancing. What was she doing? She had to be out of her mind. Dancing with the enemy…

The enemy.

Or the partner she had been waiting for so many nights in this club?

Their audience had paused to see if they would do something spectacular, but when they returned to free-form club dance, the audience shifted back to their own self-centric movements. Vina turned back into him, not sure if the erotic heat was hers alone or was his as well. The answering brush of his body against hers answered the question- he was aroused, and he was so close there was no denying the attraction she felt for him.

Vina, slow down, she thought to herself. This wasn’t a paying client. There was no vetting process. Anyone who knew the way could come to the club, and he was Gadarazi.

  Half. Half Gadarazi.

And she could feel his body heat. Her hand reached out, touched his hip, curved to his waist, feeling the sleek twist of his body as it moved with hers. Attraction, magnetic, gravity. The words didn’t do justice. He was like her, she was like him, and the rhythms of their heartbeats were synced. She slid her thigh up his, hooked her foot around his back, drawing him in, touching to the boundary of impropriety but not beyond.

“Come with me…” He hissed in her ear, drawing them both towards the back of the dance floor, into the laser-flash probed shadows, “Come with me.”

“What’s your name?”

“Mikel… and you are?”

“Veska.”

“Come with me.”

Any argument she wanted to have with herself dusted away as he tilted her back over his arm, his lips hovering briefly over her breast before he drew her upright again. And then they were off the dance floor, into the heated dark corners of the club. She was against the wall and his hands were under her skirt, drawing down her panties, sliding them over her heeled boots.

She cried out as his fingers slide upward and into her already wet and wanting sex. The sound couldn’t have been heard over the music, but he sealed it with his kiss. Teeth on teeth, tongue on tongue, as if to consume each other. Her fingers fumbled at the waist of his trousers, found the clips that held them closed and unsnapped them at last, reaching in to draw out his organ, thick and pulsing in her palms as she wrapped it in her fingers and imagined in it inside of her.

The hand that wasn’t plying her sex with swift teasing short strokes was running through her hair, tilting her head back against the pliable club wall, the sound-proofing material providing adequate padding as he pressed her into it. She rocked her body, arching back as she reached down to yank his hand away from her sex and curve it around her buttocks, supporting her as she locked her arms around his neck and lifted herself onto his thick sex, groaning as it filled her.

Their mouths met again, the passion of their kiss matching the heated wildness of their lovemaking. He released her mouth in favor of her neck, the curve wide and open to him, then lower. She heard the pop of the buttons on her blouse as he parted them from the fabric, then his teeth caught the top of her bra, yanking the satin fabric down to expose her breast to his sucking, biting mouth.

Vina let go, let him take the lead in this dance as well, lost in the pounding music, the thick drive of his flesh inside of hers, the sensations that he ripped from her body. This wasn’t for money or profit. This wasn’t for fear or need. It was strictly for want.

WANT MORE?  “How to Become a Space Slut in 13 Days or Less” is being queried to publishers. I’ll keep you posted! 

text copyright-lizettelynne, 1/9/2014: May not be reproduced in part or whole, except for reasons of legitimate review or critique.
photo copyright – Salvatore Vuono, image ID: 10034668, FreeDigitalPhotos.Net

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