A Real Husband

"To be with a Trader girl," said Vika, "you need to know how to handle her body. You need to be careful. Gentle. Understanding. You need to have the Precious Sense, the way a man knows what someone is thinking without asking." She knelt behind Fesri, and her hands picked at his body, traveled down to his sex. The moonlight reflected off the metal of his caged cock and the little metal padlock that hung in front of his balls. "I'm going to unlock him. And I want you to pleasure him. Do it any way you wish. Only make him love it, and take all the time you need. Prove to me that you have the Precious Sense." She stood up, swaying her hips as she walked up to Mustafa. She leaned on his bare chest, brought her lips within finger-widths of his. She held up a key between them. "He is all yours. Show me what you can do."

Vika stepped back and seated herself on a rock to watch the show.

It took Mustafa a minute to adjust. He had been expecting sex with her- It was plain to see on his face. But Vika waited patiently. She could see things happening behind his eyes. Then the magic moment came, and he knelt down in front of Fesri.

"Have you ever been pleasured by a man, catboy?" asked Mustafa.

Fesri gave an ambiguous murmur.

"I haven't ever done it," said Mustafa. "But a cat boy's just like a man in bed, I know that much. And I know what a man likes." He eased himself around Fesri, tracing a finger along his pretty jaw. "You can't see me. That's okay. You don't need to. Your woman Vika is having us do this, and I think she meant for me to be in charge." He put his hands on Fesri's ass, started to rub the cheeks, then kneaded him.

Vika leaned forward.

"How long's it been since you had release?"

Fesri gave another meaningless muffle.

Mustafa laughed. It was an obviously fake laugh, but Vika appreciated the attempt. "No, I'm not going to free up your mouth. I'm just going to find out for myself." He held up Vika's key, danced it in the air in front of Fesri's face so that in jingled on its ring. "You know what this is, right?"

Without looking at Vika, he lowered it gently to Fesri's imprisoned cock, lifted it up and fit the key into the padlock. There was a soft, delicious sound of metal finding its place, and the lock fell away. The cage fell away. And Fesri's cock rose free.

"Look at you," said Mustafa, cupping Fesri's balls. He jiggled them gently as he held up his cock, something Vika had never thought to do before. "You are so ready. You would have been halfway to exploding even if I hadn't released you." He put a hand around Fesri's neck. "Wouldn't you?"

Fesri gave another whimper.

"Now," said Mustafa. "The woman is watching. Make this look good." He put his fingers around Fesri's tip, then slid them down around his head. Then the rest of his fingers wrapped around the straight, glistening shaft like the legs of a spider around its prey. And with Fesri's tip aimed at the sky, he stroked. He did not pump Fesri's cock, but squeezed, it, gently massaging it in and out of his fingers, along his palm. Fesri's pent-up cock squelched with juices, and it was not long before he started breathing heavily.

"You like that?" said Mustafa.

He went a little faster. White droplets fell on the ground. Mustafa began to lean on Fesri, whispering husky things into the catboy's ear that Vika wished she could have heard. Breath hissed through Fesri's nose, he groaned and finally released.

The thin line of white erupted into the air, plopped onto the ground and erupted again. Fesri released everything, his whole body tight with the effort, in three great, long waves. Then he went slack.

Here, a lesser man would have stood up triumphantly. But Mustafa stayed on his knees. He eased Fesri back, onto his rear, then to his back, looking up at the stars. "That's a good boy," he cooed. Then he looked up at Vika.

Vika stood up. "That was beautiful." She walked daintily up to the two males and knelt down, petting Fesri's hot, heaving body. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mustafa cracked a wry smile. "Gets lonely in the barracks sometimes."

"Mustafa..." she took both of his hands in hers. "You have the Precious Sense. You can be mine."

He smiled.

Vika was almost frustrated that he did not know what to do next, but she fought it down. He was an outsider, she knew, and it wasn't fair to expect him to know. She took Hetevan's advice and said, "Kiss me, Mustafa."

And he enveloped her. Warm and strong, he was the bread to Fesri's wine. Vika gave into her urges and went limp, moaning into his mouth as she relaxed every muscle in her body. Finally, their lips separated, and she climbed up to his ear to say, "There is a packet underneath my sleeping cot. Go and bring it here. It contains something that will prevent me from growing big with child after you make love to me."

He stiffened.

"Go," she said, "But leave this on." She fondled the waistline of his trousers. "I want to take it off myself."

After he left, Vika second-guessed herself. She was mostly sure she had put it under her cot. But had she? Maybe she had forgotten it in her rucksack. Maybe Mustafa was picking through her campsite, finding nothing and making a fool of himself!

Evidently, Vika really had put it where she'd thought she had, because he came back with the tube of sheepgut unpacked.

Vika attacked his trousers, sent them plopping to the ground and watched as Mustafa's manhood rose in front of her, a great, smooth, bulb-tipped shaft. She savored every moment as she rolled the sheepgut down his length and tied it off.

"Now do it to me," she purred. "However you know how. Just do it."

He walked her out into a sandy clearing, and without asking permission, he began to strip her. Her shoes came off first, and her feet sank into the soft, cool sand. Then her coat and shirt, and soon her chest felt the cool night air washing over her shoulders, around her waist, over her breasts. He fondled her, not like snaking across her body like Fesri always had, but slowly, unstoppably. Every slightest movement of his fingers crackled under her skin, and she began to sweat.

Then the rest of her clothes began to disappear. Her belt. Her packs. Her skirt. One by one, clothes fluttered to the ground, until she was naked, nothing but pure, sweating, sexual energy.

He pressed to her, and she felt his cock on her body. It shifted, rolled over her skin. His cock brushed down the arch of her back, teased around her folds, and he heard his deep whisper, "Are you ready, Vika?"

"Yes..." it came out as one high, airy moan.

He entered her. It was faster than she wanted, but his Precious Sense told him that, and he slowed down, pleasuring her not with each thrust, but with each part of the thrust.

His hands did not stay idle. They petted and kneaded her ass the way he had with Fesri, then they crawled up her body, holding her still with every thrust, until finally they found her arms, her wrists.

She bent over, spread her legs wider, and his pull on her wrists kept her from falling. He was unstoppable, a storm of pleasure inside her, and she made no effort to resist the coming climax. He brought her to the edge and cast her over, and she howled out her orgasm.

When she came down from her heights, she was still bent over, still held up by Mustafa's strength on her wrists. And his cock was still ready. He eased himself in, a little, and she responded with an encouraging sigh. A little more, and he began building his rhythm up again. Not just her sex, but her whole body felt consumed by him. It was out of her control. She bent and stretched, and she moaned according to his movements, not hers. And the pressure began to build again.

This time, she resisted. She drew it out, biting her lip with the effort. He slowed a little, and for a moment she thought she could stop the orgasm altogether, maybe even outlast him, but it was not to be. She buckled, and he forced her to another orgasm, this one flooding her senses completely. When her legs ceased to be stiff, she wobbled, fell off his cock and eased herself to the ground.

Mustafa eased himself down with her. His arms enfolded her again, and she gazed up at him. Her fingers played with his chin. "Welcome," she said to him. "Welcome to the band, Mustafa."

*

"Mustafa? Fesri? Lay out the cots."

Mustafa was not her husband yet, but he would be. It had been two days since his ravishing performance on her. Fesri had taken a liking to him, that much was clear; Mustafa had already gently fended off a sexual advance from him. Vika giggled at the memory. Mustafa would have to get used to that.

"What is it?" asked Mustafa, turning to her.

"Oh, nothing," said Vika. "I was just thinking of you with Fesri."

"And with you?"

"Me too, I suppose. Eventually."

Fesri gave a sexual purr.

Having lain out Vika's cot, Mustafa stood up to fetch his own, but Vika stopped him with a gentle hand on her wrist. He looked a question at her.

"You won't need a cot of your own," she said. "Come on, lie down in mine."

He unbuckled his knife and gun, hanging the belt on a convenient, low tree branch. Then, following her lead, he slid himself in with her.

Trader cots were meant to hold only one person, with room enough for them to get up without trouble. So it was a tight fit, forcing Vika and Mustafa together. Their chins touched. Their shoulders bulged against the edge of the bag.

"You know," she said airily, "I've been thinking. About our future."

Mustafa raised his eyebrows nervously.

"You, a handsome wandering warrior, and me, the daughter of Traders who span the globe..." she snaked her arms around him, pressed her body to his. "I think we make an excellent match."

"Not that I've had much of a choice," said Mustafa with a laugh. "You've barely restrained yourself from putting me on a collar and leash."

"Oh, I'll definitely collar you," she said. "And I'll put a totem on your collar to seal our connection." She caressed his neck with her fingers, imagining it. "But I won't put you on a leash, because with you, I don't plan to need it." She shifted her hips, straddled him, then stood over him on all fours, her face just a few hand-widths above his, their bodies mirrored. "I want to keep you." She said. "I want you to come with us, everywhere we go. I want you to guard the caravan, watch over the supplies and the children, over everything. I want you to load up in the morning and unpack at night, and when we have time for ourselves, I want to mount you and love you."

Mustafa waited for a moment, seeming to expect more, then he said, "I can do that. All of it."

"There's more." And this, Hetevan had warned her, was the sticking point with outsider males. "You must stay with me. Forever. Your duty to me will last as long as I live. Can you do that?"

"Can I protect you and love you?" He petted her cheek. "No problem."

Vika half-sighed, half-moaned as she pressed her into his palm. Heat flared down her spine, out to her fingers and toes, but she resisted her urge for now, because she was not finished. "And there is another thing," she said. "I will feed you deadroot, so your seed will not give me children." She sat astride him, her hands on his chest. "But one day, I'll stop feeding it to you. And there will be children. Can you be their father? Can you teach them and feed them and protect them when they need it?"

"A father?" His eyes got a faraway look as he imagined the possibilities. "I will not be like my own father. He was... wise. He was ready for anything in a way I could never master."

"But can you be a father to them?"

He thought for a long moment, and this time Vika was patient.

"Yes," he said.

The fear knotted in his muscles loosened as he said it. Vika felt him relax under her palms. She sighed out her own relief. She had felt old-womanish, lecturing her man-to-be about children and fatherhood. But now the feeling vanished as she eased herself down onto his chest, feeling herself rise and fall as he breathed underneath her. "Five days to the east of us," she said, "there is a grotto, a grotto sacred to us Traders. If we go there, then we can be married." She slid herself up his body and kissed him. "Soon," she said. She laid her head down on him and lost herself in the warmth.