Michaela (52 page)

Mutterings in the background told Michaela a crowd gathered. Feyom stared at her, as if Michaela had suddenly sprouted a second head on her shoulders.

Michaela continued. “If, however, I catch you slutting around my clan again, I will forget that men don’t hit women. I will bash your face until you never cheat on your own clan again, because no one will want to look at you anymore, much less screw you.”

Furious humiliation sparked in Feyom’s eyes. She glanced at the now silent onlookers. She backed away a step from Michaela. “You nasty little Earther. How dare you come to my planet and talk like that to me, you – you
freak
!”

Michaela shrugged. “What I am is beside the point. It’s what you are that all these fine people should know.” She glanced around at the shocked faces surrounding them. “They may look at you and see the pretty face and perfect womanly body. But on Earth we have a saying: pretty is as pretty does. What you do, my dear Matara Feyom, makes you one fucking ugly bitch.”

With that, Michaela turned around. She didn’t miss the admiring looks aimed at her ... at her, Michael-Michaela Blake. Not Feyom.

The men before her parted to let her pass, bowing in respect as she went on her way. Michaela entered the confectioner’s shop with her head held high and a huge grin stretching her face.

* * * *

Michaela was glad her in-laws weren’t easily affronted. After all, her clanning ceremony gown, the one she’d bought in a high-spirited lark on Plasius, left nothing to the imagination. It consisted of a silver metal collar from which a halter hung to cover her breasts. Cover and cling; the shape of Michaela’s areolas was blatant against the aqua-colored fabric. Tiny chains connected it to the excuse for a skirt, which was no more than a long, slender strip of cloth in the front only. It too clung. She may as well have been naked.

Yet there were no looks of horror when she stepped into the temple at Master Imold’s side. The celebrants’ eyes only widened at her entrance. Most sat up straight from where they lounged on seating cushions and couches. Then they all stood. The men bowed low, delighted smiles lighting their dark faces. The women giggled and nudged their clanmates with playful warnings to behave. The Nobek fathers of Michaela’s clanmates winked and flashed approving smiles at their sons. Emperor Bevau made a show of frantically fanning himself, earning a shove from a laughing Jessica. Clajak pretended he was about to faint. Israla, having come all the way from Plasius to attend the ceremony, squealed and applauded like a little girl.

Assured of her guests’ positive response, Michaela took in the temple’s ceremonial room. The decorators had gone above and beyond Michaela’s hopes, especially under Imold’s direction. She would have to tell Korkla to double the donation to the temple. The plush rugs that had been placed within the temple’s celebration room were deep green with white and coral embellishments. Matching coral throws had been draped over the cream-colored cushions and couches. More coral drapes hung from the ceilings and walls, with a tent made of silken curtains at the front of the room. It looked like the seascape outside at sunset.

It was within the tent that Michaela’s clan waited for her. They wore identical gold trimmed white tunics and pants, made much as grooms wore in the Middle East. The one difference was that Raxstad’s shirt was sleeveless. Michaela loved looking at those massively muscled arms too much to have them covered.

The three men stared as she approached them on Imold’s arm. Her ‘dress’ had exactly the effect she’d hoped for. Her clan gaped open-mouthed, their eyes wide and round. Grins began to creep in, and even the knee-length tunics couldn’t hide their aroused appreciation. Michaela had to fight to keep from giggling. It could be that they would go straight from the ceremony to the honeymoon phase of the ceremony.

As she entered the tent, the scent of the men’s arousal walloped her. Mission most definitely accomplished.

Imold took his place before them as Michaela, Korkla, Govi, and Raxstad gathered together. Michaela stood in front of the clan, with her lifemates on either side and behind her. They stood very close, the warmth of their bodies transmitting to her nearly naked flesh. She heard a soft groan from Korkla, who stood directly behind her. There was no back to the halter top and skirt; just the metal collar and a few straps to hold the scanty fronts in place.

Imold looked pleased as he began the ceremony. “We gather to celebrate and officially announce the joining of Matara Michaela Blake, daughter of Anadil Mahaz al-Wadhi and Richard Michael Blake, to Clan Korkla, consisting of Dramok Korkla, Nobek Raxstad, and Imdiko Govi. We are delighted to be a part of the coming together of these people as they begin their life’s journey together.”

“I’ll be delighted to come together right after I rip those tiny scraps of cloth off you,” Raxstad whispered.

“Nobek,” Korkla warned, but he traced a finger up and down Michaela’s spine, making her shiver.

Imold continued on as if he hadn’t heard the exchange, but there was a hint of laughter in his tone. “Matara Michaela, do you affirm yourself to be a member of Clan Korkla?”

“I do,” she said, the first bubble of laughter sneaking out as Govi’s hand cupped one cheek of her exposed ass.

The priest bit his lips together for an instant before continuing. “Again, do you affirm yourself to be a member of Clan Korkla?”

“I do.” Michaela squirmed. Raxstad’s hand rubbed up and down the front of her thigh.

Imold asked the question one more time. Michaela had decided to go with a tradition of her mother’s ancestors’ weddings, during which the betrothed confirmed their vows three times. She once again answered, “I do.”

“You’re killing me with this repetition,” Raxstad muttered. “Why can’t we just say this once and fuck?”

Instead of reprimanding him this time, Korkla snickered. His hand snaked around Michaela’s waist and crept inside her bodice. Govi had turned to face her instead of Imold. His hands were all over her.

Imold began to ask each man three times if he accepted Michaela as his clanmate, starting with Korkla. The priest talked faster and faster, because Michaela’s gown was coming off. She laughed helplessly as the men began mauling her in earnest, none of them caring about the loud mirth of their guests.

By the time Imold got Korkla and Govi to verify their happiness with having Michaela as a lifelong mate, her dress was gone. When Raxstad was asked for his vow, it was impossible to tell exactly what he said around his mouthful of Michaela’s breast.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Imold said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Can you say it twice more?”

“Mmmrphhoo, mmmrphhoo,” came the garbled reply.

“Wonderful,” choked Imold between laughter. “Then in the presence of these witnesses, I declare Michaela Blake to be Matara to Clan Korkla. May you be blessed with a long, happy life together.”

As her clanmates picked her up and carried her to the nearby cushions, Michaela caught a glimpse of the rest of the hall. Fully half of the guests were also erotically entangled, including the Imperial Clan of Jessica, Clajak, Bevau, and Egilka. The other half were laughing, drinking, and fondling their way into being similarly entertained.

Food stations were being set up on the perimeter, but few were interested in them at the moment. The sensuous celebration was in full swing, and Michaela could not have been happier.

Govi paused in kissing her pussy long enough to say, “My love, only you could turn a clanning into an orgy.”

“Just don’t look over your shoulder, my Imdiko,” Michaela giggled. “Your parents are celebrating too.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll go where I can’t hope to see them.” With that, he resumed mouthing her cunt.

Michaela groaned under the assault that included Korkla sucking and stroking her cock and Raxstad still feasting at her breasts. She glanced over at Imold, who stood at the front of the tent and laughed to see his temple the site of carnal pleasures.

With the last ragged bits of her ability to speak, Michaela called, “I told you to invite your clan.”

“I did, and here they are.” Imold grinned at the two big men entering the curtained area. “Hello my Dramok, my Nobek. How did you like the ceremony?”

The pair answered by dragging the priest to the pillows on the opposite side from Michaela’s group and pulling his robes off.

Hearing the moans and cries of elation from everywhere fed Michaela’s ardor. She writhed beneath the men fulfilling her body’s pleas for pleasure.

Among the pooled ends of the curtains and the pillows, Raxstad found a sash meant to tie the draperies back. Instead, he bound Michaela’s wrists. Wrapping the trailing end around one meaty paw, he stretched her arms over her head, making her reddened breasts point brazenly at the ceiling. He looked her over with pride.

“Look at her, my clan,” he said. “So beautiful. So proud.”

Korkla raised his head to look her over. After a moment, Govi did too. Their smiles warmed Michaela from head to toe. They loved her. They really did.

Korkla pulled his handheld out from beneath his tunic. “Now is a good time for this,” he said. “Play the song from the Coming of Age Festival.”

Music emitted from the portable computer. Michaela blinked. It was indeed the tune she and Jessica had danced to for their clans on Plasius. But why was Korkla playing it now?

Her clan drew back, coming to their feet and standing in a circle around her splayed body. They looked down at her nakedness, eagerness on their expressions.

“You’re not the only one with surprises for our clanning ceremony. Rise and dance for us, slave girl,” Korkla said. “Dance for your masters or be punished.”

Michaela drew in a sharp breath. Her Dramok had issued a command with the voice of authority. It was no request. He expected her to obey.

She remembered the dance, how it was supposed to be a struggle against might that she could not win against. Daring the men to exert their will, to take her no matter the obstacles. It had excited her clan on Plasius, overcoming their fears of frightening her away. Was that why they wanted to see her do it again? Now that the inhibitions had ceased to exist, did they want to fully enjoy the dance knowing she was theirs for now and ever?

Michaela rose to her feet, graceful despite the ties around her wrists. She faced them, her dark and dangerous masters, the men she must serve without hesitation.

But the music was angry, a call to resist. They had won her. Now they had to fight one last time to keep her.

She twirled, feeling freer than she ever had when dancing before. There was no skirt, no extra weight to drag at her. She was bare to all, with no way to hide what she was ... and no need to do so either. She was free.

Free to be what she was. Free to be who she was.

Michaela whirled quickly towards the space between Korkla and Govi. Her Dramok reached out and grasped her, pulling her close to his body so that she felt the silky fabric of his clothing against her and the heat that it could not contain. For a moment his lips closed on hers.

She wrenched away, and he let her go. Michaela next danced towards Govi, sliding her hips slowly around, practiced muscles undulating in provocation. Then as the music’s tempo increased, she feinted to one side, as if seeking escape.

He slid that way, blocking her. The Imdiko’s arm circled her waist, yanking her so that her back was to his front. He ground his erections against her bottom, promising ultimate possession. Then he released her and pushed her towards Raxstad.

Govi was careful, and Michaela only pretended to stumble in the Nobek’s direction. She looked up at her biggest clanmate.

Raxstad was like a mountain of muscle, his dark face curled in a smile both welcoming and cruel. He showed her his fangs.

Michaela’s already erect cock gave a jerk to see him so dangerous. The sight of the behemoth Nobek, ready and willing to ravish her, was as exciting as it was nerve-provoking.

Her hands splayed against the silk covering his chest, and she shoved in an attempt to escape. Raxstad’s hand closed around her cock and she froze. He drew her close.

“Pretty little slave boy,” he growled in her ear. “How you will yell when I shove my cock in your lovely ass.”

Michaela moaned, “Please be kind, Master.”

He laughed and released her cock before pushing her back into the center of their circle.

For the next few moments while the music played, Michaela danced and tried to escape them. She made real effort, knowing that the men would thwart her. They did with eager hands, playful threats, and the occasional smarting swat on her rear. They closed in ever tighter to her gyrating body, until at last she had nowhere to go.

Every which way she turned, Michaela was met with a wall of Kalquorian male. The tunics had come off as they had played with her, baring defined chests, bulging shoulders, and rippling abs.

Three sets of purple eyes looked down on her. Raxstad again held her bound wrists, pulling her arms over her head so that Michaela stretched tall. Hands ravished her all over; tweaking her nipples, squeezing and slapping her breasts, rubbing up and down her cock, caressing her scrotum, tracing her pussy’s folds, teasing her anus. She twisted and squirmed as if trying to avoid their touches.