A Whore at Dread Harbor Ch. 06

Author's Note:

It was a damn close vote guys, but after tallying the numbers, readers voted for "Follow Corani Upstairs" than the Couch option. Thus, despite the deceptive percentage, it squeaked by a win (we're talking within 3 votes here, so it was still quite close).

Either way, remember your vote matters because man have these been nail biters!

Previous choice:

Follow Corani upstairs

Deckard turned to stare across the wide vistas of Dread Harbor's myriad spires, towards the pale gold towers of immaculate, if unimaginative construction. They jutted up towards the void like upturned needles in the starlight, like little pinpricks bristling in his chest.

The tired gunslinger's heart was a confused, lonely thing. He hadn't seen Corani in years, yet the day he came back to see her he was already contemplating joining her in her bed. Maybe he really wanted her; maybe he was just taking her for granted.

...Or maybe he was just tired of the loneliness, the primal need to free himself from his self imposed isolation, in whatever trifling way he could.

The answers to his unasked questions were not to be found staring out at this thrice-damned station, however. He lingered downstairs for a few more minutes, both to gather his courage and settle the frenzied butterflies in his stomach.

He paced the polished floor, pausing for a moment at her massive aquarium filled with exotic fish from across the galaxy. A yellow Joo-Zi fish wriggled up to the glass, attaching one of its myriad tentacles to the surface in a vain attempt to get at Deckard. He stared into its four, glassy eyes for a long moment, then moved on.

He perused the tall, imperial bookshelf that loomed against the wall. The tomes on the shelf were in perfect symmetry, organized alphabetically by subject. It was dry reading for the most part: treatises on intergalactic banking, annotated histories of the sixteen Great Megacorporations, the collected lectures of Dr. Heinlein on the subject of modern astrophysics.

There was even a gigantic anatomy compendium featuring the different Seminal races. Intrigued, Deckard pulled it out, flicking through the pages. He was greeted with the diagram of a Loupian's bone structure, how different breeds bred different bone density, jaw structure, and even basic endoskeleton design.

Flipping at random, he skipped past the different sections at random. He saw a cross-section of a Catian's powerful calf muscles, a Human's outsized brain, an Elf's calibrated eyeball and a Dwarf's thick skull. Each was unique in their own way, each distinct in subtle manners to their fellow Seminal species.

He had learned all of this in when he'd been a medic, of course, but it was strange for Corani to have something like this.

...Or, on reflection, maybe it wasn't.

Deckard closed the book and set it back in its place on the shelf. He downed a final shot, set the glass upon the windowsill, and trudged upstairs with unsteady footsteps.

Reaching the second floor of Corani's apartment was like ascending into her inner world. The stairs were laid out such that the climber reached the top with their back turned, allowing whomever was upstairs to get a good, long look at them before they entered.

Clever girl. Deckard thought with pride. You remembered my lessons about hideouts.

The first floor of Corani's apartment had been immaculate but fake, a blatant attempt to present herself to visitors in the most favorable possible light. The decor had been opulent to the point of theatrical.

But upstairs... upstairs was where she dropped all pretense, and became the woman he knew.

The second story itself was a single, gigantic room: a sheltered cove of feminine warmth hidden like an attic from the cold austerity below. The walls were painted in long, tribal lines of happy yellows and soft reds, providing a welcoming atmosphere.

Unlike the downstairs, her bedroom was entirely devoid of ostentation. Near the center of the room was an old, ratty couch of faded tan. Deckard smiled when he realized it was the same ratty couch that he had left behind in his apartment on Dread Harbor. All those years, and Corani had kept it close.

Pink scented candles were everywhere, crowding every available surface and casting the room in a cheery firelight glow. The smell they gave off was sweet, but unobtrusive. Like crisp mountain air tinged with mint and honeybloom.

Another, smaller bookshelf sat in the corner, near her bed. It's contents were of far less esoteric fare than the one she put on display downstairs. Crime dramas, two-bit horror stories and adventure dime novels cluttered her shelves in a haphazard, disorganized fashion. It looked like nothing so much as the aftermath of an earthquake hitting a city block.

A worn novel rested upon her nightstand like an old friend next to her bed. It's faded cover and well-thumbed pages attested to Corani's repeat readings. It was a cheesy interspecies romance story, of a kind the Catians in particular were fond of consuming.

Deckard had seen that exact cover of a Catian woman draped in dramatic fashion across the lap of a supple Elven Male in a pleasure garden before. His Catian step-sisters had been overly fond of the series, though he could not recall its name. He recalled having thumbed through one of the earlier books as a young teenager, only to close it red faced in embarrassment as he skimmed over a particularly graphic paragraph.

Next to the salacious book sat an empty wine glass, with an open, half empty bottle of Argian Merlot next to it. He smiled: it was a gutter-wine, of a kind Corani would never be caught dead drinking in public.

Her bed was a large, circular Pryde-mattress, set low to the ground. It was made in the traditional fashion: much larger than a king size, built with half a dozen bodies in mind.

There were no covers, for the Pryde were instead supposed to share their body heat. Deckard felt a low sadness sweep over him as he imagined Corani in that bed. He wondered if she got cold in the evenings.

Just as Deckard was getting his drunken bearings, Corani emerged from her spacious walk-in linen closet. She'd let her hair down, having cleaned the excessive Catian makeup off her face.

Gone were her erotic clothes and trappings denoting her station as the premiere whore of Dread Harbor. She had dressed herself instead in a white shirt and blue-padded leggings that clung tight to her lower body. She was in her pajamas. Deckard couldn't help but notice she wasn't wearing a bra.

Corani paused in place as her gaze fell upon the gunslinger standing awkwardly in the middle of her room.

"Oh!" She murmured, a note of surprise in her voice. "I... honestly didn't think you'd join me."

Deckard felt a twinge of guilt and embarrassment bubble up from his gut. He shifted from side to side, not knowing how to respond. The drink had made him bashful.

"We... we don't have to-" He began.

Corani's eyes widened, realizing she'd struck him directly in the ego. "No! Deckard, of course it's okay. I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to." She disarmed him with that awkward smile of hers. "I just... wasn't expecting it, is all."

She extended her hand, her eyes swirling with reds and blues. "Come! Come sit. I wanted to show you something, anyway."

Having already surrendered to his instincts, Deckard complied. Feeling like an intruder in this sacred place, he walked over and took her extended palm in his. Her grip was soft, but firm. She subtly squeezed his hand as she pulled him to the bed.

He sat down, planting his feet and spreading his knees equidistant to his waist. His spine went rigid, his body tense, either with anticipation or terror. He could no longer tell the difference. His cheeks were hot, his head was spinning from the whiskey in his gut.

Corani sat down next to him on the bed, ignoring his stiff posture and settling into his personal space. He could feel her body heat next to his, his pulse quickening as he slowly came to terms with the fact that this was really happening.

"Hold on, I need to reach the-" Corani clambered halfway across Deckard's lap, reaching out with her arm to grab a small remote sitting on the bed. He inhaled, smelling the sweet scent of her body in such close proximity. Deckard watched her lithe spine bend this way and that as she hovered over him, before pulling back to her original place.

"Got it." She said, flashing a smile at him. She pressed a button, and the room darkened. "Listen to this."

Deckard listened. He smiled as the sound of gentle rainfall filled his ears, emerging from hidden speakers in the ceiling above.

There was a soft pitter-patter to the noise, as if the water were striking off of large, verdant leaves, flowing down in glutted rain channels like waterfalls into the dim canopy below. He could picture it so vividly.

Green, arboreal colors sprouted in dim reflection on the walls, shadows sweeping back and forth like dense foliage in the heart of the jungle. The room darkened to a primeval color, as if the world around them were shaded by tall trees, lit only by candlelight.

He heard a bird call, followed by another rising in the far distance. It was a Kryll, one of the four-winged wonders of Corani's homeworld of Catia. Deep in the farthest distance, he heard the whooping cry of a red-maned Gildobeast.

"I use this to fall asleep, sometimes." Corani said, threading her fingers through Deckard's own as she rested her head on his shoulder. "Just curl up with a pillow, look at the wall and imagine myself on Catia, wandering through the Mother Garden.

"It's..." Deckard murmured, his raspy voice giving out on him.

The alcohol had made him moody, that was what this feeling must be. It was the only explanation for the soft tears that built up in his cheeks. Corani was a Catian, after all. The jungle was her home. He listened to the wistful, homesick sounds of a distant homeworld neither of them had ever been to, feeling a strange, nonsensical longing in his chest.

Corani pressed another button, and a small pillar emerged from the floor in the center of the room. Atop this pillar, which reached less than five feet tall, was a large, globular glass ball. A light turned on inside of it, and suddenly the walls were painted in stars from the night sky.

Deckard let out a wordless hum of wonder. He leaned back on his hands, relaxing for the first time since he'd returned to Dread Harbor. Some childlike part of him marveled at the simple beauty in the room. The rainfall mixed with animal calls and shifting leaves all slid across his ears like a warm blanket of sound.

He was smiling. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled so much. It was effortless, like seeing the comforting hologram of an old friend, now passed. He turned his head to look at Corani, and saw her glittering eyes staring back at him.

She leaned over him, putting her hands to his chest and gently pushing him back against the bed. Deckard didn't resist, lulled into a meditative stupor by the gentle rainfall and clamouring caws of a wingless Yalnoi bird in the background.

She leaned in, kissing him on the lips. Corani's tongue gently propped open Deckard's lips, sliding into his mouth with the ease of a practiced lover. She pulled closer, her body pressing against him as they shared a long moment beneath the glow of the illusory starlight.

They moved closer, the unexpected chemistry between them goading both to unexpected boldness. Corani's hand reached down, trailing low to grope his thickening erection through his pants. Deckard groaned, his own hand finding the soft purchase of her breast through her shirt.

Corani let out a moan. She pulled open his duster coat, revealing his white, long sleeved tactical shirt. Her fingers traced across his chest, feeling the extra padding of the hemix-Kevlar layering obfuscating her attempts to get in contact with his bare skin.

Corani pulled back from the kiss, letting out a quiet huff of humored air. "...Still protecting yourself, eh Lieutenant? Always another layer beneath the last one."

Deckard didn't respond, instead reaching up to cup her cheek. She let him, though she didn't move further than that. She ran the back of her fingers across his rough stubble.

"How do you want me?" She asked in a soft tone.

"What do you mean?" Deckard whispered back. He felt a strange mixture of exhaustion and excitement. He hadn't let his guard down like this in a long time. Whatever strange feelings he harbored otherwise, he wanted her.

Corani smirked. "You've got a once in a lifetime opportunity here, Deckard. I can be whatever you want, however you want me. What should I look like?"

Deckard shook his head. The alcohol was messing with his faculties. "Just... be yourself, for tonight."

Corani's smirk faded, her eyes flickering for a brief moment to their natural blue color. She glanced away from him.

"Nothing personal, Deckard. But..." She looked back at him, her eyes a pale, apologetic purple. "I can't. I'm never... me when I do this, do you understand?" Her smile returned, this time a bit more mournful than before.

Deckard swallowed back his nervousness and nodded. "I... I understand, little mouse."

Corani let out a candy-sweet chuckle; her fingertips stroked his face. "I always liked it when you called me that: 'little mouse.'" She kissed him again.

Corani stood up, pulling out of Deckard's grasp as she tried to catch her breath. "Here..." she breathed in a voice that was little more than a whisper. "Let me help you. I have a few 'templates' that I've developed over the years. Some client want different things from a girl like me." She cast a coy smirk at him, "-And I learned how to provide."

Corani slunk over to her walk-in closet, disappearing for a moment behind the door. There was a creaking, cracking sound, followed by a pained gasp. There was a pause, followed by a sultry giggle.

What emerged from the closet was an entirely different Corani. For one thing, she was naked, her breasts having ballooned in size to buxom proportions, her spacious ass doing the same. She was shorter than her normal size, with a waspish waist and thick thighs that gave her a curvaceous look.

But more than the physical changes, it was her body language and mannerisms that had shifted the most. Gone was her cool demeanor, replaced by this bubbly, bouncing bimbo with long hair and a naughty look in her eye.

She flounced into the room with a cheerful sexuality, her lips spreading into a wide smile as she struck a wide-legged pose, giving Deckard a long look at her plump hindquarters.

She let out a girlish giggle, her voice high pitched and ditzy. "Like what you see, Lieutenant?" Corani asked, curling her finger around a stray strand of her long, blonde hair.

"Uh..." Deckard said, at a loss for words.

Corani smiled, dropping her accent for a moment to speak directly to him. "Most guys mean business when they hire me. That means playing the scatterbrain slut; and I do it very well."

It was uncanny how good an actress she was. Were it not for her eyes and distinctive tail, Deckard would have never guessed this was Corani.

She winked. "Let me try a few others before you decide. It's not often I get to show off to someone I actually respect."

She disappeared into the closet once more. Again the sounds of shifting body parts and a pained grunt filtered in through the room.

The shy creature that shuffled quietly out of her closet looked nothing like the boisterous bimbo from before. For one thing she was tall, taller than Corani was normally. She was waif-thin, petite with modest breasts. Her ears were large, pivoting cones, like radar dishes set atop the brown fur of her head.

She slinked out of the closet with a hesitant, almost timid posture, holding one arm behind her back with the other as if she didn't know where she was. Her brown hair was long, a mess of thick bangs that covered her eyes whenever she tilted her chin downwards to hide it from Deckard's gaze.

The reedy little thing let out a nervous murmur, shifting this way and that in her heels as she tried and failed to hide the mess of freckles on her face. Her thin tail twirled I'm worried circles on the ground as she wilted under the gunslinger's gaze.

"Hi." She said, in a voice so quiet Deckard had to strain to hear her. "I'm Corani."

"Goddess." Deckard said, astounded and aroused in equal measure. His old friend was a master performer.

Corani smiled, flashing a glimpse of her multihued eyes from beneath her heavy bangs. "You'd be surprised how many Loupian men love this: the timid, submissive little Catian, ready to do whatever her master says. It's a far cry from their own women, let me tell you."

"The weak, silent type." Deckard joked. Corani stifled a giggle.

"Let me try a few more." She purred. "I'm spoiling you with options."

She disappeared again into her closet. Deckard wondered how personal the transformation itself was for her. In a strange way, she seemed more concerned about it than her casual nudity.

Another pained gasp, and Corani emerged once more, striding into view with the swift, sure footsteps of an aggressor.

She was much different from before: thicker and stockier where her other form had been tall and gangly. In place of a large bust or fat rear, most of her soft tissue was concentrated in her muscles. The definition was so distinct she almost struck the ludicrous image of a Catian bodybuilder.

An Amazon in the flesh, this Corani was diminutive, but spunky, planting her hands on her hips and flashing her fangs at him. Her hair was a fiery red mess of curls, kept close on her scalp in an almost boyish shortness. Her firm breasts and pert buttock exemplified her fit, assertive stature.

"I call this one the Bitch." She said, her voice boisterous and confident. "Some clients want me to be the one to jump their bones. Others want me to crack the whip." She threw her hand out, pointing at the bed as if she were an Empress giving a dread command. "On the bed, worm! Let's see if I can make you scream."

Deckard hesitated, unsure if Corani was serious or not. She let out a hearty laugh.

"...Was that a hint of a submissive streak I detected in you just now, Deckard? I never took you for the type." She tapped a long finger to her chin, tilting her head in playful consideration. "Hmm... or maybe not. It's always so hard to tell the first time, isn't it?"

"You're having too much fun with this, Corani." Deckard said. The impromptu strip tease had left him painfully erect. Corani's hungry eyes were drawn to his trousers like a shark to a feeding frenzy.

"One more and I'll let you choose, I promise." She said in a teasing tone. "I've been working on this one for a while, now."

The "Bitch" strode confidently back into the closet, her red tail swirling seductively behind her. This time however, Corani did not immediately emerge. There was a long, drawn out sigh of discomfort, followed by the sound of shuffling.

This final creature that exited Corani's closet was like night and day to the others. Her hair was the first thing Deckard noticed: thin strands of pale silver, like crystallized moonlight on her head. She poked her head out from the closet, smiling at him while fluttering her long eyelashes.

"Welcome home, beloved." She breathed, her voice a husky whisper. "I've been waiting for you."

The silver-haired angel stepped out into the open with soft doleful steps. Deckard was struck by how perfect, how careful she carried herself. She moved with an almost Elflike grace in her footsteps.