“Oh, please,” she begged. “Put it in, put it in.”
“Perhaps this would be a good time to discuss men’s superiority to women,” he said, humor in his voice.
“Oh, please, not now! Just fuck me!”
His cock slipped out and back a half-inch, driving her to distraction. “Now, after your miserable performance in the ring, would you not say men are the better fighters?” he teased. “And women should stay at home and care for the house, cook for their masters?”
Jorja could hardly concentrate on his words, her entire being so caught up with the feel of his cock. “You bas-tard,” she gasped, grinning.
“Calling your new master names? Looks like I’ll have to punish you.” With that, he thrust his cock hard into her. She gasped once as it filled her completely, then her breath left her as she exploded into a powerful orgasm. More stars surrounded her head.
Keltar still wasn’t finished. He kept stroking his huge cock into her, bringing her to another climax in a few seconds. Then another. Finally, when she couldn’t imagine coming again, she felt him erupt into her, causing yet another orgasm to rip through her body.
“Oh, Jesus! I can’t stand it!” she cried out, hugging him tightly to her.
They clung together, finally able to express their love for each other. Jorja felt her small sacrifice in the ring was well worth it.
Chapter 36
Six months and three days later, the U.S.S. Saratoga eased into orbit over Devon. Four times the size of the Letanya, this, by all accounts, was a battle ship. It bristled with armaments, including lasers, space cannon and heat-seeking rocket-torpedos designed to work in airless space. The lasers could cut through a planet’s atmosphere and destroy structures—or people—on the ground. The Saratoga normally carried a crew of 25, but the addition of the Marines brought the total up to 40.
Unlike the Letanya, this ship had two large shuttles, capable of carrying ten men in each. Both shuttles would be used in this mission. Nine soldiers would fly down in the first shuttle, followed closely by the second, carrying six soldiers. The remaining space on board was reserved for the hostages, as they had come to call the former crew women of the Letanya.
“Listen up, soldiers,” barked Sgt. Dale Baker once the Marines had shaken off the effects of cryosleep and gathered in their staging area in the shuttle bay. The beefy black sergeant spoke with the authority that fifteen years in the Marines had given him. “You’ve had your beauty sleep, now it’s time to earn your pay. The lieutenant will be in shortly to give us a final briefing, but I just want to remind you: You know you’ve all been hand-picked for this mission. I expect you to honor the code and use your heads. I don’t want anybody to get hurt out there.”
Lt. Carl Nystrom opened the cargo access doors and strode in. Immediately, the group jerked to attention. “At ease,” he said as he walked up the steps to the platform to stand next to the sergeant. “Everything OK?” he asked. Baker nodded.
“All right, listen up.” He eyed the fifteen Marines, dressed in full battle gear, their heavy-duty phase rifles nestled in their arms. “This isn’t going to be a bug hunt or a weenie roast. We’re dealing with intelligent beings, not unlike ourselves, only these guys are big and aggressive. We don’t want to be the Ugly Americans, but we’re not going to be pushed around, either. We’re going to go into the village where we picked up the transponder signals and ask politely for our astronauts back. Only if they refuse will we get medieval on their asses.”
The Marines cheered upon hearing that. They didn’t come all this way to pussyfoot around with the natives, regardless of what the mission parameters were.
“You all have pictures of Dr. Reyes and Lt. Commander Smith, but my advice is, look for the only good-looking women on the planet—from what I hear, these native gals are hairy as apes.” There was derisive laughter all around. “The Letanya reports both Reyes and Smith have Utes, so presumably we’ll be able to communicate with the people, who call themselves the Baktu. That’s what I’ll be doing—talking. You soldiers are to back me up. That’s it. I don’t want anyone to be quick on the trigger. All weapons will be set on stun. And no one fires his weapon unless I fire first, understand?”
There was reluctant nodding all around. A couple of them winked at their buddies and one showed his fingers were crossed.
Nystrom looked at his watch. “All right. We’re dropping down to a lower orbit and should be ready to go in about ten or fifteen minutes. If anyone has to take a leak, now’s the time.” He strode off the platform.
“All right, you heard the man, maggots! Let’s check those weapons. All must be kept in the safe position until you hear from me or the lieutenant. We don’t want to start an intergalactic war with these guys.”
The men—and a few women—milled around trying to hide their pre-raid jitters. Corporal John Sisco caught the eye of his friend, PFC Joe Henderson, and they eased away from the group.
“You think we’ll see any action?” Henderson asked his buddy.
Sisco shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on the humanoids. They’re supposed to be big mother-fuckers. They could tear your arm off.”
“Is it true they keep women as slaves? On leashes?” Henderson’s eyes gave away his overactive imagination.
“Yep. That’s what I hear. Pretty cool, huh?” They guffawed together.
“Hell, instead of fighting ‘em, I may join ‘em.”
Across the room, quite a different conversation was taking place between Private Jane Emerson and her friend, PFC Luisa Rodriquez, two of the three female Marines aboard.
“I’d like to get one of slave-owning bastards in my sights,” Emerson was saying, “I’d blast him to hell.”
“Yeah, but I hear those big fuckers have cocks the size of firehoses. Be a shame to waste that.”
“Maybe we can find one for you to fuck before we shoot him.” They both laughed.
Soon, the ship was in position. The shuttle bays opened. The Marines stowed their weapons and strapped themselves into the jump seats. Sisco would pilot the first craft, Corporal Ben Asmor, the second.
“Listen up,” Nystrom said once the soldiers in the first shuttle had settled in. “We’re going to be landing just outside the village for maximum shock value. When we come to a stop, we want to come out strong and tight and secure a perimeter. Just like textbook, OK?”
“Yes, sir!” The men—and three women—shouted in unison.
“We’re not going to fuck this up, are we?”
“No, sir!”
“All right. Let’s go hunting for some lost lesbos!”
The shuttles were launched one after another into the silent vacuum of space. They turned and dipped down toward the planet below. The soldiers couldn’t see where they were going in the windowless aft section, so they just waited, staring at the walls or grinning at each other to show how brave they were.
Soon, the telltale buffeting began. Sisco adjusted his trim and rode it out as if he had done this a thousand times before. After several bumpy minutes, the craft broke through into blue sky and glided down. Sisco and Asmor extended the wings, increasing the glide coefficient. The ships fell uneventfully until they hit 25,000 feet, then encountered more turbulence. A soldier turned green and vomited quietly into a barf bag. Others hooted at him. In minutes, the turbulence ended and the crafts straightened out.
“Eight thousand, prepare for landing.” Sisco barked into the intercom. There wasn’t much the soldiers needed to do except hang on to their shoulder straps.
The twin crafts swooped in to picture-perfect landings, nearly side-by-side on the dusty plain less than a kilometer from the village. A donkey, strapped to a cart holding two men, brayed and reared up. The men jumped down from the cart and watched as the donkey fled in fear, dragging the cart behind it. They appeared stunned as the crafts slid to a stop not two hundred yards away.