Taken to Lemora by Elizabeth Stephens

6

Essmira

“It was so, so lovely on her that three other Asgid came in later that solar and asked for dresses of the same cut. Can you believe that?”

“Of course I can believe that…”

I speak straight over him. It’s already been nine solars here and I feel the female that I was before already unraveling into spools of knotted threads at my feet. Not totally undone, but unbecoming. And it feels ohring fantastic.

“And that was only the second solar I was working in the shop. I know I told Bebette, Tana and Reyna that I’d come see their villages, but I haven’t the time. I haven’t even had occasion to fit your new pants yet. And you still insist on wearing the old ones,” I mutter, taking pains not to hide my irritation.

“Sometimes the big pants are…good,” he says lamely, though he doesn’t sound like he means it. He’s grumbling again, looking everywhere but at me directly.

I frown. “You’re acting strange. Is something wrong?”

“Would you stop asking me that. Just…finish the pants, you insufferable wench!”

I grin. He knows that I like when he teases me. He teases everyone for whom he has affection, which, in his hall is everyone. I snort. “You’re an insufferable brute, yourself. I don’t think you were even listening to my story.”

“What! Of course I’m listening,” he stammers. “You’ve been busy and I don’t like it. It’s been nine solars and I’ve only seen you five of them.”

“I’ve seen you more than any other single being,” I say, but it feels wrong to say it, even if it is true. Because the truth I wished I was courageous enough to voice is that I’ve missed him, too.

I’d like to ask him if he’d house me, but I’m too worried about offending Merquin or shaming him if he does not wish to have me. It sounds like he does, but…I don’t know for sure.

He’s a clan chief, my inner Igmora whispers, he’s at the height of his virility. He’ll be wanting to settle down with a good, strong, Lemoran female soon. And if he does that, what will I do in his keep but wallow in self pity?

Raingar grunts, “But you’ve spent quality time with Gorman — perhaps even more than you’ve spent with me — as you’ve fitted his new robes. They look irritatingly spectacular on him. His fins have been bristling nonstop with all the compliments he’s gotten from other Hypha.”

I smile, overwhelmed by the praise. And almost even more overwhelmed by the implication in Raingar’s strained words. But I’m too afraid to ask him if he’s jealous. “I’d be happy to fit you for new robes, too.”

“Insufferable female,” he grunts. “Just finish the pants, first.”

I laughsnort in the same breath and sink down onto my knees at his feet.

“Ah! What are you doing?”

I look up the length of his impressively tall body and force an easy smile, even as heat suffuses my face. “I need to get to your ankles and I can’t do that while standing.”

He gawks at me and rubs his chest with one hand, while his other reaches up to touch his horns.

“After this, I’d like to help you oil your horns. I’ve noticed that they’re molting more rapidly now than when I first arrived and I’m sure they must pain you.”

Raingar jolts, face flashing, eyes rounding, both hands flying to cover the tops of his horns, which are white, like I’ve seen some, but not all, Lemoran horns to be. I don’t know the difference between white or grey horns and haven’t thought to ask. I almost do so now, but Raingar’s too busy blubbering.

“YOU WANT TO TOUCH MY HORNS!” I wince, heat of a different kind sparking across my skin. I glance around behind me and, sure enough, as soon as I poke my head around the throne, I see countless eyes staring in our direction. Most are smiling. The rest are rolling their eyes.

“Raingar, please…” I whisper. “I don’t want them to think we’re doing anything improprietous. Especially when one of those females might be your future mate.”

It isn’t the first time I’ve said something like this, and it isn’t the first time he’s let my comment go completely ignored. It isn’t the first time I’ve been stupid enough to get my feelings hurt as I know they’ll always be hurt. He doesn’t know me. He has no reason to lay claim to me. I’m just a stranger, a charity case, he saved from a couple of monsters.

“Essmira,” he says.

“Yeffa?”

He reaches down and touches the top of my head, stroking his fingers through my curls. He shudders and shakes his head, closes his eyes, and grunts, “Ohr what they think.”

I smile, but my heart isn’t in it, so I get back to work.

We’re in his great hall again, standing beside the most unassuming throne I’ve ever seen. Nothing at all like the massive glass thrones Igmora and Tyto had set up in their overlook room — the room that overlooked all of the cells where their progeny were held.

I know that there were two others in the time that I stayed there, but I never saw, spoke to, or met them. I still love them, feel kindred to them, and hope they’re okay, though.

But here and now in Lemora, Raingar’s throne is just a block of stone covered in a threadbare piece of hide. We’re standing kind of…behind it? It’s an awkward place, at the far end of the hall away from the doors.

There’s a large window high in the ceiling covering half of the wall. There was a stretch of material covering it before but, given how bright and sunny it is this solar, it’s been rolled up. Sunlight beams in, all soft and pink. It bathes his form and turns the tantu fabric in my hands from grey to a more pearlescent silver.

“Ouch!” He says as I stick him with a pin near his right hip.

“Don’t be a baby,” I tease, rising up onto my knees and pulling out the pin. I gently rub the area. He freezes, but I don’t pay that any attention. It certainly isn’t the first time he’s frozen up around me.

“You know, this would be a lot easier if you didn’t insist on wearing these oversized pants underneath while I’m trying to size you correctly. My measurements are going to be totally off.”

“Well, I don’t want everyone in my stinking village to see me naked!”

That makes me freeze. “You…aren’t wearing anything underneath your trousers?”

“What the ohr would I be wearing under my trousers! What are you wearing underneath your trousers?”

I blush and stand up to my full height. He’s wearing thick sandals and, besides that, towers over me anyway. I glance out from behind the lumpy stone throne and see that the hall is littered with creatures, most still staring, though at least it’s not all of them anymore.

They’ve formed little groups and, in each group, are working on something different. A few clusters of Lemoran are working on filling up the Eshmiri dome lamps while a mixed group of Rekkaru, Lemoran and Hypha seem to be haggling over large sheets of paper.

I clear my throat. “I wear undergarments, as do some of the Hypha and Asgid I’ve been working with. I wasn’t aware that this is something foreign to Lemoran, though…”

“What kinds of undergarments?”

Raingar’s eyes are focused on my face, causing the tingling to return. “They support my breasts and between my legs they stop me from leaking anything on my thighs.” I squeak that last part.

He raises both brows until they almost reach his horn line. “What are you leaking? Like pee?”

A loud, violent snort shoots out of my nose and I hiccup instead of laughing. “Why is your first assumption always that I’ve urinated myself?” I laugh and snort and chuckle again, but I don’t cover it. My hand flinches toward my mouth, but I…just don’t.

Raingar’s mouth twists up on the right side. His teeth gleam white in his pretty mouth. Pretty? Did I just call any part of this blocky male pretty? The thought makes my smile stretch.

“So what do you leak then, if not urine?” He asks with complete seriousness.

I bite my lip and shift uncomfortably from foot-to-foot as I ignore my inner Igmora whispering at me that the male does not need to know these things. For whatever reason, I want Raingar to know everything. “Every solar there is a little liquid. And if I’m having my monthly, then it’s blood. I can place a small cup inside of my body to catch most of the blood, but the undergarments help catch anything that I might leak out. There’s also pleasure liquid. If I’m aroused, the undergarments are helpful in capturing it.” My cheeks burn. “But that doesn’t happen often.”

Only if Igmora and Tyto force me to wear pleasure beads in my panties. Their vibrations stimulate me. They were very competent in teaching me how to stimulate myself because the lubricant, they said, could help increase the males’ pleasure, as could the tightening of my inside walls when I orgasm.

“You leak…when you feel pleasure?” His chest inflates, like a balloon. He seems to be holding his breath. There’s a fresh scent that rolls off of his skin that surprises and alarms me. It smells like dew on moss at solarbreak — a smell very new to me, but that I’ve smelled every solar for the past nine, since I got here. Lemora. He smells like Lemora.

“To…uhm…” I scramble for an elegance that’s suddenly elusive. “It…uh…lubricates the entrance for the male. At least, this is what I was taught. I’m sure you must have personal experiences to support this unless Lemoran females are…constructed differently.”

“How should I know?” He balks, throwing his arms out to the sides. He shuffles a half step back and six of the pins I’d been using to keep the tantu fabric up fly free. The synthetic fibers fold down his legs and slump lamely onto the floor, revealing the monstrosity of a garment that he’s got on underneath.

“I’ve never been with a female. How could you think that?” He scowls at me, offended. “On Lemora we only mate with our mates. That’s why it’s called mate. Don’t tell me you’ve been forced to mate with males that aren’t your mate…” His furious expression devolves quickly to shock. He clasps a heavy hand over his mouth and whispers between his fingers, “Stars, Essmira. Have you?”

My jaw hangs open. His words go in direct contrast to what Igmora and Tyto have taught me about males. Males use females. Males do not need to respect females. Female bodies are built for male pleasure and that, alone. But this male is telling me he’s never even touched a female because they haven’t been his mate?

Two simultaneous sensations hit me, though neither are expected or appreciated.

The first, a surge of possessiveness to be that first female to show him pleasure. I know I could show him a pleasure that would make his mind and all three of his Lemoran hearts explode. I’ve been training my whole life for it. For this. For him.

The second, a deep, brutal wave of sorrow that I might never get that chance. Because he’s not meant for me, the Igmora in my head says. He’s meant for a strong female who can bear him strong Lemoran kits in a way that I can’t.

“Essmira?” He says my name. I like the way it sounds in his accent. Like a wave. I’ve always liked it. But right now, I wince away from it. “Essmira, it’s alright if you have. I know that Igmora and Tyto didn’t treat you…”

“Oh. Nob. Nob, that’s the one thing they did make sure of. I haven’t been with any males.” I almost tell him that though I haven’t been with any males, I am highly proficient in all sexual acts and would be able to offer him the greatest pleasure of his lifetime — way better than any other female on this stupid rock — but I don’t want to pressure him or deny his future mate that right.

I also don’t want to humiliate myself by suggesting that I could be his mate. Haven’t I already suggested it enough? I thought my intentions towards him had been plain. Maybe they weren’t plain enough. Maybe…when I oil his horns…I can try to spark something…Ohr! What am I talking about?

“I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“Nob. I’m not upset.” I roll my shoulders back and smile, but I struggle to meet his gaze. So I drop it again to his pants.

Collecting the small pins from the stone floor, where the pins and the stone almost blend together, I jump up and say with forced brightness, “If you don’t mind, I can’t work on your pants with the other pants underneath. We’ll need to remove them, undergarments or not. Is there somewhere more private we can conduct the fitting?” I try to sound professional, like taking off his pants doesn’t affect me at all.

He stutters, hesitating, searching for words and repeating every sentence I’ve said and each question, too while I try to roll my jealousy and disappointment into acceptance.

There’s no point in crying over something I can’t change, or wanting something that isn’t possible.

Igmora believed heavily in Fates and that ours are all already written by the universe because nothing is new, because everything has happened in infinite universes born before and because everything will happen in infinite universes to come. Again and again, the cycle repeats itself. He will always be clan chief. And I will always be pleasurer.

“Raingar,” I say, trying to sound assured in a way I don’t feel. “Which will it be? Bare-assed in your great hall or someplace more private?”

Raingar gawks. He stays gawking for a long while, but I don’t break his gaze as he searches mine. Finally, his shoulders slump forward and he rubs the space between his eyes.

“Follow me,” he grumbles as he trudges out from behind the throne and off to the wide hall that branches left.

Curtains separate the left and right corridors from the great hall. They’re large breezeways, too, and this left one is quiet. It leads to several smaller rooms that I know make up his private quarters. A place I haven’t been and won’t be permitted.

Painted a deep, almost brown-blood-colored red and studded with heavy metal bolts, the closed doors at the end of the hall taunt me just a little, because before we reach them, we stop short.

He opens a door on the right to reveal a bedroom, likely guest quarters. They’re plenty spacious, though only one wall has a window. He rolls up the flap covering it to let in even more light than the skylight overhead does.

A bed large enough for two Lemoran sits against the right wall. It has a wooden base and four posters, a pearly white cloth draped between them. I wonder if Raingar has even been in this room before, because he starts at the sight of the bed, like he’s surprised to see it there, and quickly turns away from it. Crossing to the far side of the room, he pushes two chairs aside and stands between them directly in front of the window. He holds out his arms.

“You really mean for me to take off my trousers?”

“Yeffa.”

He gives me a penetrating look. “And it won’t be weird? I can’t ensure that my cock will behave itself. Like I said, I’m not used to pretty females touching me without trousers on.”

“It might be a little uncomfortable, but I promise I’ll be professional. It won’t be any different than if you were a random male coming into the shop.”

“Have you touched other males at the shop without their trousers on!” He shouts at me.

I frown, not liking his tone one bit. “They wore undergarments, but yeffa, I fitted an Asgid male and two Hypha males, Gorman being one of them.”

Raingar looks positively possessed. His gaze flits to the door and he takes a threatening step towards it.

“Raingar,” I say, voice cracking just a little. “I know you purchased me as a pleasure female, but I was serious when I said that I only wish to pleasure one male…”

“Yeffa.” His glare turns to me and it’s both frigid and frightening. “I also remember that you said you know nothing of mates.” He grabs a decorative book from the nearby table and throws it onto the floor.

I jump. He closes his eyes. Then his hands move down to the single cord that holds up his pants, shoved through some rather crude-looking belt loops, and he pulls one end. The cord flies free and his pants immediately slip down over his rear. I glance at the floor and don’t make a sound, catching just a glimpse of that behind that is every bit as muscular as I imagined, but that just means I hear everything. Every little flutter of fabric. Every little movement of his large sandaled feet on the stone floor, and then his bare feet when he removes them.

I hear as he turns. I know that he’s watching me and I know that it’s the female’s responsibility to smooth things over to create a frictionless experience for the male, but I struggle to move, affected by the thought of him bare before me, like…he might be mine to take if only I were the right female or bold enough to ruin him for the female who will come after.

I hate her with a suddenness that borders on insanity.

And his clear jealousy at the thought that I’ve handled other males without their trousers on doesn’t help. Though I’m disappointed he could think so little of me, that I’d be abusing my position in the shop with Lyla and Timor to pleasure other males. Is that what I am to him? A shameless wanton with no self respect? I’ll have to prove to him just how professional I can be, then. Even if he is the one male I do want.

I take a deep breath.

“Well!” He shouts.

I react with a jerk, letting the fabric fall inelegantly from my hands. I gather it quickly and make my way over to him without speaking.

Kneeling on the ground beneath him, I try not to touch him as I pin the fabric around his legs. Well, I try not to touch him too much, but his skin really is a fascinating substance. Not at all like sandpaper, and not even like rock, really. It’s clearly skin, so tough and leathery. Yeffa, more like leather than rock. Like rock that’s been denuded over years and heated from within. Like a planet with a molten core sealed in stone. Like Lemora. Yeffa. He’s built like his mother planet.

“What?”

“Your skin is an incredible texture,” I say evenly, trying to keep my voice flat.

It doesn’t help, because a shiver shoots up his leg, the one I’ve got my hands on. I look up and meet his eyes. He seems mountains high from where I’m kneeling in a simple shift dress I cut quickly from spare fabric. The rest of the fabric I used to construct a dress for an Asgid female. Though I could have thought of a thousand other uses for the gorgeous material, Lyla insisted I keep the spare cloth. She said it would otherwise go to waste, though I’m fairly confident that the gift was simply another in a long list of kindnesses I’ve experienced since arriving on this planet.

Nob, before that. Since meeting my first Lemoran.

Him.

“Have you seen your skin? And you think mine is incredible?” He balks and shakes his head. “You have no idea what the red…” He chokes, but there’s no mistaking the path his gaze travels across my neck to the wide, boat collar of my shift.

He makes a louder choking sound when he realizes he’s been caught and looks straight ahead. Rubbing one hand over his face, he touches his horns and winces. It’s become so perfunctory to see, it’s starting to bother me.

“After I finish with your pants, I will apply soothing oil to your horns. I can see that they pain you.”

“You don’t have horns. What do you know of how they pain me?”

I frown, confused as to why I feel offended. Did he mean to offend me? Or maybe his words are used to create further distance between us. I’m touching his bare legs and now I’m suggesting to touch his horns… I’m not being as professional as I promised and I feel acute guilt because of it.

“I’m sorry,” I say, though I don’t know why. He doesn’t say anything, either, so I just finish pinning the fabric to him in silence.

The laces will go up the sides, so there’s no reason for me to dawdle along his front…but I still peek. How could I not?

I’ve been introduced to hundreds of holographic representations of male genitalia — from Oroshi tentacles to Oosa orbs to Walrey stems to Niahhorru plated cocks to the glowing and ridged penises of the Voraxians — and I know how to stimulate all of them. His Lemoran anatomy is nothing new to me…but he’s almost fully erect now and his erection is the first one I’ve seen in real life. And, despite how rude he’s been, I can’t deny that his penis is stunning. And the spurs…

“You don’t need to hold so still. You can relax,” I say, only because I realize how stiff I am myself. Stiff and warm. Even though the material of my shift is breezy and thin, I’ve got goosebumps and the cold stone below my bare feet isn’t helping at all.

“I am relaxed,” he says through clenched teeth.

I don’t bother asking him again, but look away from the mass of his penis, which he’s somehow maneuvered down to follow the line of his left leg, though it looks painfully squished in the little of it that I saw in the gaping fabric around his waist. Lemoran males have four stones in their sack. Four. I want to taste all of them.

“There. What do you think?” I dust off my hands and go to the standing mirror beside the bed. I drag it over until it stands in front of Raingar and I watch him watch himself in it.

I try to focus on him. Just on his face and chest. Not on the painful-looking erection digging into the fabric of his pants, nor on the four stones I imagine hanging heavy beneath it, and definitely, definitely not on the dual spurs that I know are there, but only enlarge to fill the female’s front and tighter, rear hole when the male is lodged deep inside of her. When he’s emptying…

I swallow hard.

Raingar’s face scrunches up. His mouth twists. He rubs his eyes. “Is that…is that my butt?”

I snort and press my fingertips to my lips, “Yeffa, clan chief Raingar. That is your behind.”

“Why does it look so…hard?”

I laugh louder this time, though it does nothing to soften the pressure in my gut. “You have a very muscular behind, my lord.”

“Your…your?! Pagh! Stop that.”

I grin, flex both hands and clasp my fingers tightly behind my back. Provoking him is fun. Too much fun. “So Raingar, do you likethe design?”

“Of course I like it. But I look like a male.”

“Did you wish to appear as a female? I can certainly make that happen for you…”

“Nob! Ohr…nob.” But his stone facade cracks. He grins and it’s a precious sighting. “I don’t wish to look like a female. I’m just not sure I like how provocative these pants are. It’s not like I’m trying to attract…” He pauses and it’s a profound sort of pause, one that fills me with questions. “Do you like the design of the pants?” He says, spearing me with his gaze and the weight of the silence that follows.

“Of course. I designed them.”

“Nob. I mean, do you like the way I look? In the pants. Not generally. Just in the pants.”

We stare at one another. I dare to smile. “Yeffa.” That’s all I say. I’m too apprehensive to say anything else. It feels like we’re dangling on a ledge but only one of us will fall. It will be me. He is clan chief. I was designed to take a beating.

“You do?”

“Yeffa. They accentuate your slim hips, your tight rear and your powerful thighs — all physical characteristics sure to attract your desired mate. Do you…do you have a mate in mind?” Ohr! Shrov! Xok! I curse in every language I can think of. Why did I say that?

“What? What! Nob! I don’t…you don’t…that’s preposterous!” He storms towards the door and then walks through it, leaving me standing there alone.

I don’t know why I feel so confused and flustered though. As if…there is something more to his words. Something that is mine.

I stand there uncertainly for another few moments, long enough for me to worry that Raingar might not be coming back. I’ve just taken my first step toward the door though when Raingar bursts back into the room in a flurry of heat and fury.

He’s breathing hard, his limbs nearly trembling, and one of his horns…it looks like more grey has flaked off in the last moments. I’m staring at it, but he doesn’t touch it. He just holds his arms out to his sides and glances at the heavy leather seat beneath the window.

“There,” he says.

“My Lord?” I say reflexively.

He growls, “There. That’s where you will oil my horns for me.”

An electric glow illuminates my belly. I try to quash it down, but it’s difficult and all my efforts just cause it to spiral lower. I nod. “I promise I will be professional.”

His heat crashes into my front. His finger slides under my chin. He tips my face up, up, up, so that I’ve got nowhere to look but at him. Straight into his eyes. I’m sucked in by the black and blue and purple and grey and orange and yellow and pink and sizzling green.

His mouth suddenly moves closer, closer, closer and I hold my breath, imagining for one fatal moment that he might be about to kiss me. He brushes his lips over mine so softly and quickly it’s almost like it didn’t happen. That featherweight touch is there and then gone before I’m even able to react to it. I whimper slightly, belly clenching dramatically as I mourn the loss.

“Whatever you like, Essmira,” he whispers against my cheek. “Just know, you don’t have to be.”