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Tossing a Cherry Down the Rabbit Hole

or

... And Suddenly They Started to Fornicate Furiously

The brass believed it was a golden opportunity.

In the interest of boosting morale and fostering goodwill between former enemies, the Terran Confederation had permitted a small number of the members of the Chakri Imperial Battle Fleet to visit and tour the capitol world of Earth.

It was to be a chance for the Terran military brass to meet several Chakri and exchange ideas on military cooperation, and also a chance for the Chakri to experience some of the rich culture and entertainment that Earth had to offer.

* * *

BehGrak and his squad-mates hadn't cared about the strategic implications. Shore leave in a foreign port, even if it was just for a few hours, was something they all enjoyed, and if it was a foreign port they'd never visited before, then so much the better.

A squad of eight Chakri had been wandering the streets of Los Angeles, taking in the exotic food, the strange liquor, and generally ignoring the advice of their superiors to "refrain from excess."

Some time around 2100h that evening, BehGrak had offered his warmest wishes for a continued night of flowing liquor, sumptuous food, and military police willing to turn a blind eye to raucousness.

He had drank far less than his comrades, eaten modestly, and had then turned up Sunset Boulevard, walking easily and slowly, taking in the sights.

He would have faced ridicule for venturing further afield for such a foolhardy reason, but he felt he had reason enough to go searching for an hour or so, if he had hopes of finding what he was looking for.

Terrestrial anthropomorphs were extremely rare - mostly the product of genetic experimentation in the preceding centuries. Mammalian hybrids had been the most popular, and so were the most widespread when the practice had been at its peak. Those few who had been granted citizen status, and those fewer still who had the kind of genetic stability to reproduce naturally, were likely to be found on Earth numbering only in the thousands.

Rarity tended to breed special curiosity. Some were athletes, some were dancers, some were fashion models, and others were actors and actresses.

BehGrak had memories of one T-Anth in particular.

His slow progress up Sunset had brought him to the general area he'd sought, but he was now unsure as to where he should search next.

He spotted a street vendor, selling cold drinks in the early summer heat, and made a casual saunter in that direction. With a slow motion, so the vendor would not mistake his movements, he pulled a small fold of Terran paper currency from his tunic and made to remove a small number of bills.

"Pardon me," BehGrak offered, in his best Standard English, "but would you have water?"

The elderly, stocky human, whose head and shoulders barely cleared the countertop of the vendor's booth, had become momentarily mute at the sight of BehGrak's tall, broad-shouldered, feline appearance. "Also," BehGrak expanded, "I seem to require directions."

"W-," the human started, "W-where exactly are you going?"

"I was looking," BehGrak explained, "for a film studio. I believe it is called ... 'Wonderland'?"

The human appeared to be lost for words again.

BehGrak felt that some kind of ploy was needed. He casually flipped a five-credit note toward himself. An absurdly inflated price for water, he wagered, but perhaps enough to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted. "Well, let us deal with thirst first, and then directions." He separated the note and slid it across the countertop toward the vendor.

The human stood still for a moment, and then collected up the note before busying himself with fetching a bottle of water from a cold enclosure. BehGrak accepted it with grace, and after twisting off the top, succeeded with difficulty in taking a sip with his lips pursed around the tiny neck of the bottle.

"Thank you," he indicated. "Now, might you know of the place I was searching for?"

The human seemed to have collected some of his wits. "Uh ... 'Wonderland?' It's three blocks that way," he advised, pointing in a direction that BehGrak would not have thought to turn.

"Excellent," he replied. "I thank you," he continued, bowing slightly in the human's semi-bewildered direction before he began a slow but easy pace that carried him past and away from the vendor's booth.

* * *

AL carefully adjusted the shoulder strap of her handbag as she walked up to the door of her automobile, and pressed the pads of her palm against the reader embedded in the door. There was a slight click! as the door's bolts retracted, and her car greeted her with the usual pleasant beep associated with its full activation.

She opened the door, neatly swung herself into the driver's-side seat, and ducked under her handbag's shoulder strap as she slung it onto the passenger's seat. As she made to fasten her seatbelt, however, the driver's console lit up with a series of ominous red symbols. As if to underscore the importance of these, the car's audio system began the soft but insistent droning of a warning alarm.

AL hung her head so that it barely touched the steering wheel, and growled to herself. "Fuck ..."

With growing frustration, she flung open the car's door and stepped out again.

In the fading light of the setting sun over the Pacific, she thought that the sun caught her car rather well. It was a limited-edition reproduction of the MINI Cooper, built by Daimler-Rockwell under license, and appeared on the outside to be a cherry-red, four-wheeled passenger automobile from the 21st century.

Under the hood, which she popped open in consternation, it was a marvel of 23rd-century physics and engineering. Significantly more lightweight than the original Cooper, this Powderkeg variant had a compact but powerful electric motor, leaving room for the usual surface vehicle accessories (climate control, occupant safety systems, etc.) as well as a battery system that could just about let her circumnavigate the globe.

All this equipment, she thought, and I can't get the fucking thing started! She began hunting around for whichever loose connector was causing her grief this evening.

She was dimly aware of a pedestrian making their way past her on the sidewalk, and thought no more of it as she checked connection after connection in the motor compartment.

It was when the sound of footfalls - and not human footfalls, she realized - had ceased, and had not faded into the distance, that she lifted her head from under the hood and looked around.

A short distance away, with a tawny-furred hand raised to rap at the door to Wonderland, was what looked like another T-Anth. It appeared to have been caught by surprise, however, and was staring not at the door, but instead at her.

She realized that she'd been bent over at the waist while neck-deep in her car's innards, and had probably been giving the world quite a show.

Wouldn't be the first time that I 'wow'ed the audience, she thought. She straightened, brushing her blonde hair back from her face. "We're closed for the evening," she explained.

The figure at the door to her film studio had apparently lost its presence of mind. It glanced to the door momentarily, swishing a large mane of dark brown fur in a tight arc, before turning back to her. He doesn't look like a T-Anth from around here,_she thought, deciding that it looked more male than anything else, _and in fact he looks more like ...

It dawned on her that with his feline appearance, large mane of brown fur, and quaint form of dress - a black cloak surmounting a grey tunic - that he wasn't a T-Anth at all. He was an alien.

'Alien' being relative, she thought. I'm not exactly from here either ...

She'd heard something about a group of Chakri being invited to tour some of the planet, but this was the first time she'd seen one in person. "Was there something I can help you with?" she offered, since he appeared to still be lost for a course of action, or for anything to say.

This seemed to shake him out of whatever daze he was in, and he lowered his hand from the door and turned toward her. "You - are you ... AL?"

Oh, great, she thought, another fan. She put on her best 'public relations' expression, tossed her hair slightly, and put her left hand on her hip for a pose. "That's right," she said, brightly. "Welcome to Hollywood."

The Chakri slightly shook itself, as if to re-seat its brain inside its skull, and recovered what AL took for poise. "I apologize for intruding," he said, beginning a slow, casual walk down from the front door to Wonderland and down to the sidewalk. "If you are AL, then this must be the place for which I have been searching."

Eloquent, she thought. Eloquent, but clueless about how an adult film studio would be closed by almost eight o'clock in the evening.

She turned halfway back toward her car's motor compartment. "You've come a long way to look for Wonderland if you've come from ... uh, 'Chakron' isn't it?"

As he drew to about two paces away and stopped, she relaxed slightly. "From Chakron, yes," he agreed. "I ought to have introduced myself earlier," he apologized. "My name is BehGrak."

"Big Rack?" she said, taking the chance at disarming some of his stiff formality with some humor. "I think that's supposed to be my line," she asserted brightly, with a slight bounce that made her breasts wobble a tad.

His gaze - pretty eyes, she thought - dipped slightly to her breasts but he made no sign of laughter. If anything, he looked confused.

"Sorry," she said, with a wave of her hand. "That was a joke," she explained, and stood up a fraction straighter as she extended her right hand. "I'm pleased to meet you, BehGrak. If you were able to recognize me, you must be a fan of my work."

Seen up-close, he was not quite as alien as she'd thought he would be. He was actually handsome, in a juvenile kind of way. The same fading sunlight that had caught her car - I still have to fix this thing, she thought - in such a flattering light was shining on his golden fur, picking out what she saw were healthy, sharp fangs, a well-groomed mane and beard, and glittering green eyes.

He retreated a half-pace and actually bowed - _where do these guys come from?, s_he thought - and reached out to take a gentle grip on her offered hand. "I am pleased to meet you as well," he indicated. He straightened, and spread his hands apologetically. "I ... I was merely looking for Wonderland itself, but I never imagined ..."

"Yeah," she replied, with the hint of a giggle. "Believe me - we arrange tours of the studio all the time, but for some reason I get all the attention when people realize I still work here."

"You have accomplished far more than the career of an actress," BehGrak interpolated. "You are also a director, a screenwriter, and an author of literature."

AL quirked an eyebrow at him - her left, incidentally, which framed the 'signature' eye of her face, being bordered in the same brown as the spots which decorated her pelt. "That's ... an extensive knowledge of my career," she hazarded. "Not creepy at all for someone I've just met."

He managed to look mortified. Before he could apologize, however, she giggled in earnest to cover the intervening silence and lightly shook her head so that her hair danced for a moment. "Relax," she assured him. "If you know as much about electronics as you do about the career of a retired adult movie actress, I'll be impressed." She gestured at the exposed machinery of her car's assorted systems. "This thing keeps refusing to start, but I can't pin down where the problem is."

If BehGrak had seemed a touch anxious on meeting her, he took on an air of impenetrable calm as he cast an appraising eye on the dozens of wires and cables that meandered their way from component to component in the car's motor compartment.

"Does the system have power?" he asked.

"'Boots up fine," she explained. "Plenty of error messages."

He issued a long, grumbling growl that she eventually took for deep, deep thought. He appeared to be tracing the wiring pathways with his eyes. "Can you describe them to me, if you please?"

"Uh, sure," she indicated, taking a few steps around the car and opening the driver's-side door again. She settled herself into the seat again, and fastened the seatbelt in order to trigger the suspect portion of the car's power-up procedures. "Let's see ... Low voltage warning for motor. Low voltage warning for passenger restraint system. Ditto the cabin heater. It's also showing ... fan disconnect, rear signal lamp disconnect ..." She fell silent, considering.

There was the minute creaking of her car's suspension system as a weight settled onto the front bumper. "The electrical connections are all strong?" he asked.

"I've re-tightened them every time this has happened," AL explained. "The problem seems to come and go, but there's no pattern to it."

"What happens," came BehGrak's voice again, from around the raised hood, "when I move this cable?"

The warning symbols on the driver's console flickered, and disappeared momentarily. After a moment, the green symbol for 'all systems nominal' appeared.

"Whoah," AL exclaimed. "What'd you do? Is there something loose?"

"Please permit me to show you," he advised. "However, please disconnect the power supply before you join me."

She reached down, under the steering column, and pulled the mechanical lever which acted as the vehicle's master 'Kill' switch, and noted how all of the vehicle's electrical functions ceased abruptly.

Grabbing her handbag, she quickly leaned across the cabin of her car to throw the mechanical backups to the normal electronic locks on the car's doors, first on the passenger's side, and then on her own, after first opening the door by a crack.

She joined BehGrak at the car's front, and noted how his hand rested on a bundle of cables which wound their way along the car's framework.

"I believe these wires are beginning to loosen," he indicated. "There are signs of deformation here," - he pointed to a spot on the bundle where the plastic sheathing was discolored - "and here as well." He gestured at the car's framework. "It is possible that the wires were not intended to absorb so much vibration or shock."

"Yeah," she agreed, thinking back to her long-standing habits of driving with a certain measure of reckless abandon over some of Los Angeles' less than perfectly-maintained streets. It was, after all, the perfect car for racing in tight quarters. "And the electrical problems?" she asked.

He gently lowered the hood so that it closed with a dull thunk! and the two of them were standing next to her ordinary-looking, albeit immobile, automobile.

He looked apologetic, and gestured in midair between them. "We call it a ... er, a 'bypass fault' in the circuit."

"A 'short?'" she offered.

"Yes," he agreed, inclining his head in a nod. "The interior insulation has likely cracked in a few places. Such a ... uh, short would be limited to a very minor fault, but enough to be mistaken for low voltage, or the disconnection of certain ... er, 'branches' of the network."

Hmm ... she thought. Handsome and_intelligent. She_ looked at her car, which was by now a more dull red, now that the sun had finally disappeared beneath the horizon, and shook her head slightly. "I know this vehicle about as well as I can," she said, "but even the dealership didn't figure on that."

She made a mental note to get the appropriate service manual, and then shelved that line of reasoning. "Well, BehGrak, I think you're in luck," she indicated, with a flick of her ears. "I need to get back inside my office to arrange a rental. Maybe you'd like a tour of the studio?"

* * *

BehGrak's heart soared at her words. In spite of himself, he felt the tips of his ears burning, and he imagined that his expression was one of childlike adoration. He quickly composed himself, and tried to keep his expression mildly pleasant and gracious. "I would like that very much," he agreed.

She pursed her lips into what might have been regarded as a smile, among humans, and gestured toward the door to the studio.

Walking in front of him, and seen from behind, BehGrak was reminded that AL was every bit as beautiful as he had imagined.

From the first time that he had caught a glimpse of some of the contraband and illegal productions that the adult film industry on Earth had produced involving T-Anths, he had been outwardly unimpressed but inwardly fascinated by the sight of diverse and exotic beings in sexual congress.

And, of course, while the industry had its buffoons and detractors, it also had its supporters and its stars. And, in the case of AL herself, the industry had been unanimously positive in their reviews of her film roles and her abilities - both as an actress, and as a sexual athlete.

It was possible that the scientists who'd developed AL's strain of feline T-Anth were secretly hoping for a form that was both capable and graceful - in which case, it could be said that they had exceeded all expectations. Not exceptionally tall, but slim and muscular, it was obvious that she bore the heritage of _very_efficient predators. BehGrak had learned something of the feline species native to Earth, and in addition to the usual Chakri incredulity at the uncanny resemblance between the Chakri form and that of Terran lions, he had to remark that the appearance of the leopard had its own form of beauty.

AL was covered in a pelt of fur not that dissimilar from his own - a base of a golden-tawny color that shone in the light. Unlike his, however, hers was liberally spotted with round patches of a dark brown. Also unlike his (coincidentally) feline form, she had a long tail in the same attractive fur pattern as the rest of her body, protruding from the back of the thin, black, skintight pants that covered her shapely legs from waist to ankle.

Her hair - nothing like a male Chakri's mane -- flowed in blonde and platinum-highlighted tresses from all over her scalp to the middle of her back. He knew intellectually that the long, flowing, silken hair of most humans was a desirable trait for female beauty - just as he knew intellectually that his Chakri standard of feminine beauty involved a short-furred scalp and shapely ears.

She held her palm to the studio's front-door reader, which obediently produced a muted _beep!_and released the door lock. She turned to him, flashing the violet eyes which were - according to some, and especially according to BehGrak - her most noteworthy feature, and gestured for him to enter.

As if to contrast the two facets of her personality - one, a competent, skilled, and intelligent sexual educator, and the other, a wild, uninhibited, energetic performer -- in the same manner as her fur pattern, her right eye was lidded in the base golden-tawny color of her pelt and accented corner-to-corner in a scar-shaped brown marking, whereas her left eye was lidded and framed by one of her dark-brown spots. She was regarding him with a mixture of interest and hospitality, he thought.

From the front, however, there was plenty else that about her that attracted his attention. Starting at her face and neck, and continuing down to the bare fur of her stomach, her fur was instead of golden-tawny a paler, creamy-white. The contrast with the black, skintight midriff top she was wearing was striking. Covered, but by no means obscured by her top, her ample breasts gently swung with the turning of her body to face him, and he tried in vain to keep his gaze level with her eyes.

He stepped through the studio's front door, feeling the click! of his toeclaws against the polished stone of the floor, and was presented with a lavishly-decorated reception area. The receptionist's desk, the guest chairs, the wall paneling - all were of exceptionally expensive hardwood, by Terran standards. The room had only two other doors, both of which had simple metal handles and palmreaders for access, but no windows.

Al dropped her handbag on the desk and made her way around to the opposite side of it, picking up a small tablet computer after hunting around amongst the contents BehGrak couldn't see.

He cleared his throat, anxious to keep their conversation going. "I had never imagined I would see the inside of this place," he mused, casting an almost awed gaze over the walls.

"Every studio has a front desk," she replied, with good humor. "It's the other parts that most people want to see." She was tapping at the screen of the tablet for a moment or two longer, and then set it lightly on the desk again. She closed her eyes for a moment, running a clawed hand through her hair.

"Look," she started, looking at him almost apologetically. "The rental will take a while to get dropped off here, at any rate." Her ears perked up by a fraction. "I'm actually lucky that I spent time doing paperwork after everybody else went home. Otherwise you and I wouldn't have bumped into each other." She gave a half-sigh. "But I would normally be home right now, and I'm starving." She gestured at the door furthest from the desk. "Did you want to grab a bite to eat?"

He very nearly caught his tongue in his teeth, how quickly he wished to reply. He covered it with the slightest of chuckles. "I would like that very much," he replied, inclining his head slightly in her direction. "I would hope that I am not inconveniencing you."

She shook her head human-fashion, tossing her blonde locks from side to side. "It's no inconvenience," she assured him. "We'll just have to speed our way through the first part of the tour." She walked briskly back to the studio's front door, stabbed at a control that threw the door's bolts with a clack! and then made her way to the door she'd earlier indicated. At her touch it opened, and he made to follow her before she could leave him behind in unfamiliar surroundings.

He emerged into a darkly-decorated room with many chairs surrounding a long, broad conference table. AL looked over her shoulder as she slowed her pace somewhat. "This is our conference room, where we hold meeting and sometimes invite members of the media."

BehGrak was only partly listening, because his keen eyes were focused on a series of long, regular gouges in the conference table's polished, lacquered surface.

"We've had that table forever," AL remarked, turning back toward him. "It's cherry, in case you were wondering."

"Conference Call Girl," he muttered to himself, reaching out with the pads of his fingers to follow the table's surface where it was marred.

AL was silent for a moment. When he thought to look up from the table, she was quietly measuring him with her eyes. "Wow," she said, lowering her gaze for a moment in mock innocence. "It's been years since Conference Call Girl. That was the first film I did where I was the star."

He imagined he looked slightly embarrassed. "It ... it was the first of your films that I saw," he offered.

She brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle. "Then you didn't see me at my best," she said, "at least not then." She put a hand on the table as well, as if she was trying to draw memories from the wood beneath her fingers.

"When I was cast as the star, I think that was the moment when I decided I wasn't acting to please the director anymore." She waggled her index finger in the direction of the gouges he'd been examining. "I wanted to show the audience that there was something totally enjoyable, totally satisfying in the idea of having sex on your boss' expensive table." She pursed her lips into a smile. "At least, that's how it was supposed to be for the guy who was playing the male business executive." She arched an eyebrow at him provocatively. "In reality, at the time, this table belonged to my bosses ... and I enjoyed scratching the hell out of it." She closed her eyes, as though she were remembering the moment and experiencing it anew.

BehGrak swallowed reflexively, from a mouth suddenly overly moist. He had no idea why, but this simple anecdote of hers had turned his mood from one of nervousness to one of uncomfortably swift arousal.

True, he had found her attractive from the very first time he'd seen one of her films. Also true, he had never imagined he would have the chance to see the very place where she had participated in the making of her films, much less the prospect of sharing a meal with her.

He had been intimidated by her from the very first moment he had seen her look up from where her vehicle was parked. Following her into the studio, he had felt far too awed and too nervous.

She opened her eyes from her reverie, and for a moment he was speechless at the sight of her violet eyes fixed on his with what he recognized as naked sexual hunger.

In a sudden flash of memory, he saw her as she had appeared in Eat or Be Eaten, poised over her partner's stomach, his phallus half-buried in her waiting, slick mouth, and with her glittering violet eyes eagerly regarding the camera with the kind of predatory lust that she was famous for.

His erection grew so swiftly that he felt the fabric of his loincloth strain painfully around aching flesh, and he bit off a growl of discomfort as he turned partway around so that she couldn't see the bulge at the front of his tunic.

He heard her give a smug chuckle, mostly to herself. "It was a hell of a movie," she summarized, with the swish! of the fabric of her pants as she also turned around, putting her hands behind her, flat on the table, as she leaned backward.

He grunted, an impolite noise given how he felt about being in her presence, but one which adequately showed his agreement with her statement. He imagined if he had tried to say something, it would have emerged from his throat under noticeable strain.

"My bosses took me aside afterward," she recalled, "and wanted to have a word with me about the cost of fixing the table." He was trying to appear interested in her recollections, but the way she was currently standing, her breasts were so upthrust and prominent that he felt a fresh twinge of pain from his loins. He tried to keep her face at the center of his vision.

"This was _after_the sales figures came in for the movie," she explained. She parted her lips in an exaggerated grin. "They said, 'Forget about the table, AL - all you have to do is show that kind of energy on-camera every time we shoot, and we'll make you so rich you can sharpen your claws on whatever hardwood you want.'"

She pushed herself off the edge of the table and made for the door at the opposite end of the room. "They weren't wrong, either," she continued, conversationally. "When they sold the studio to me a few years ago, I made sure they gave the table to me as a gift."

He took a deep, only partly calming breath, and started after her as fast as his condition would permit.

* * *

Al's stomach was intermittently growling as they passed through the studio's employee lounge and into the kitchen. As much as she wanted to be home, stripping down to her bare fur, and enjoying some time in the dry sauna adjoining her bath, she was actually enjoying the young Chakri's company and thought that he was one of the most attentive, considerate guests she'd had in her studio in a long while.

Doesn't hurt that he's good looking, either, she thought. If we were able to hire Chakri he'd probably be a good candidate on looks alone. She stole a glance back in his direction, and suppressed a smirk at the discomfort he was trying to conceal. That's not all he's trying to hide, she thought, although he's far from the first person I've invited in here to get a stiff one after meeting me.

His innocent manner was sort of endearing. He's so embarrassed, she thought, but who wouldn't be flustered at meeting a porn star? She made for the refrigerator in the corner. Good thing we never filmed any big movie titles in the lounge or the kitchen.

"I have a couple of steaks in here," she said, conversationally. "Did you want a beer?"

He was still walking in a slightly hunched-over posture, but kept his voice steady and even. "Ale? Yes ... yes, that would be excellent," he said. "Thank you."

"No problem," she said, grabbing a pair of metal cans from the door of the fridge which were cold to the touch and quickly grew sweaty in the warm air of the summer evening. She passed one to him, and then ducked back into the fridge for two sealed packages of fresh beef before she closed it up again.

"C'mon," she enthused, tossing her head lightly in the direction of the kitchen's patio door. "I'll show you the pool area."

The patio door was old-fashioned in the days of electronic biometric locks and composite materials. It was heavy, made of sealed, perfectly clear glass, and set in a frame which rolled easily on old but still smooth metal bearings. She gave it an easy shove which sent it rolling open, revealing the studio's back yard.

She made her way across the concrete deck surrounding the pool, over to where the studio's outdoor grille cooker was stationed, and set her beer down so that she could open the cooker's protective lid.

As she began to crack open the packages the steaks were in, preparing them and the grille for cooking, she cleared her throat before speaking again. "If you recognized the conference room," she explained, "then you've probably seen our pool and patio before, in some of our movies."

Before long, the grille was filling the air above with a shimmering heat haze, and the steaks had begun to produce a sizzling sound and the wonderful smell of searing beef. As she turned to see what BehGrak was up to, she was surprised to see where his attention was focused.

Most guests lucky enough to see the studio's backyard - it was a movie set like the others in the building - made some pleasant comments about the eight-foot cedar fence around the perimeter, the clarity of the water in the full-depth swimming pool, or the luxury of the eight-person heated whirlpool tub.

He seemed to be looking down at the grass.

"'Something wrong?" she asked, starting a slow walk that took her in his direction, albeit slowly.

He looked up in mild surprise, ducking his ears in some kind of embarrassment. "My apologies," he said. "I ... I must confess that I have been in your city for only a few hours, but I was growing weary of feeling stone beneath my feet." His gaze softened, and he looked down to where he was idly scuffing his footpads across the lush, green surface. "As a Chakri, I find the sensation of grass beneath my feet to be ... somewhat soothing."

Wow, she thought. He really is a pretty gentle guy, under all that muscle ... She blinked a few times, to clear certain images from what flashed before her eyes, and walked over to where he was standing. "Homesick?" she ventured.

"Mmh?" he hummed politely. "Oh ... yes, I suppose I do miss my home somewhat," he explained. "I believe I will be returning there with the morning, however."

She carefully cracked open her beer and raised the can to her lips, pouring the slightest trickle of the frothing liquid onto her cupped tongue and letting it slide backward into her mouth. She knew it was unladylike and probably impolite to tilt her head back so far, but as she frequently reminded herself, she was a retired porn star - seen at her best and at her most craven by just about everyone.

He made to imitate to her action of opening his can, but the flimsy aluminum pull tab resisted his efforts for only an eyeblink before it broke away from the can's body with a metallic tink!

He regarded the small silvery ornament hanging from the claw of his right index finger with surprise, at first, and then with disdain. Before she could offer to assist him, however, he rather deftly lowered his thumbclaw to the can's top and simply punched a hole through the spout, and then another on the opposite side, even through where the thin metal was at its strongest.

Politely, however, he merely lowered his thin, black lips to the edge of the can and lapped at the small pool of beer forming there.

"Actually," she said, "I didn't mean to be rude, but I ought to have asked you more about yourself as we went about the tour." She sipped at her beer. "I've never met a Chakri before."

He appeared to consider the question for a moment, sipping at his own beer and evaluating both his response and the taste. "I suppose that I have very little to tell," he explained. "I was born on Chakron, in the Imperial capitol of Chakraa. I had an upbringing no more or less privileged than any of my friends. I attended a public school, and while I was thought to be gifted in the arts and sciences, I was somewhat less able in mathematics."

She giggled a bit into her beer, and remarked, "Maybe that's why I decided to go into porn. I knew nobody would ask me about curves or points unless they meant the ones I was good at."

His eyes blinked in that slow, measured way that she'd come to recognize as meaning he was relaxed. "Well," he continued, "I knew that I would be working hard for most of my life, and that there would be opportunities in the Imperial Battle Fleet. So ..." He gestured at his tunic from his collar to waist.

She nodded. "I have friends in the Confederation Navy," she explained. "Although I wouldn't have known that you were in the military unless there had been rumors floating around." She waved at his chest. "I mean, I can't tell what type of soldier you are, or what rank."

"Ah," he exclaimed softly. "We always discard rank and seniority when we travel for leisure or entertainment." He offered his unfinished beer to her, and she took it with puzzlement, as he used one hand to throw his cloak back from his tunic. Her puzzlement lasted only until just after he reached up to his tunic collar and depressed a faintly-outlined patch for a few seconds.

At his collar, a pair of illuminated insignia appeared, followed by a series of rows of further iconography at his left breast, and several further insignia - badges, she decided - at his right breast.

"Impressive ..." she hazarded, handing his beer back to him. She noted that he seemed to take a nervous breath as her free hand ventured forward and hovered her fingertips near where his various awards and accolades were laid out on his chest. "What do they mean?"

"Impressive?" he asked. "No. In fact, they are somewhat unimpressive." He gestured with his free hand at his collar. "For all the years that I have been in the service of His Majesty," he explained, "I am still what you might refer to as a ... er, 'specialist.'

"And," he continued, gesturing at the rows of icons on the left side of his tunic, "as I was not involved in the previous wars, I have only been awarded decorations for either relief operations or -" he gestured to his tunic's right side " - having specializations in marksmanship or other skills."

"But you were selected to come here and have shore leave on Earth?" she asked.

He managed to look slightly embarrassed. "I have been deemed to be helpful in my role," he explained, "and I have managed to keep from being disciplined for most of my career."

"Lucky you," AL interpolated. "I have fans who are one infraction away from spending time in the brig." She motioned in the direction of the grille. "How do you like your steak?" she asked, starting a slow walk in that direction.

He appeared puzzled by the expression. "I ... I like steak very much," he indicated. "Your Terran beef has a very rich flavor."

She merely picked up a nearby pair of tongs and delicately turned each piece of meat, to the sound of juices sizzling as they hit the surface below. "I mean," she said, "how do you like it cooked?"

"Ah," he said, nodding his understanding. "Medium, if you please."

"One of the perks of owning a studio like this," she said, "is how this grille, the patio furniture, the pool, and everything else I can justify, becomes part of a movie set and gets written off on taxes." She idly prodded the meat with the end of the tongs a few times. "Actually, I'm surprised you know as much about the studio as you do. I figured that the Chakri liked some of our work, but I also remember that over half of our movies were censored in the Empire."

BehGrak snorted quietly. "Censored or not," he said, "it was difficult but not impossible to view all of your films." He gestured vaguely in midair. "I have heard that it is the same for the Terran military - that it is always possible to obtain materials for ..." He looked embarrassed again. "... er, 'relaxation,' one might say."

She tossed her hair playfully as she gave him a sidelong glance. "Honey, I'm a porn star," she said, casually. "If I wasn't comfortable with the idea of homesick soldiers masturbating with me on their minds, I wouldn't have lasted this long in the business."

He grunted something in the way of agreement, of a sudden not willing to look her directly in the eye. She smothered a grin, and turned her attention back to the steaks as they sizzled. "I think these ought to be just about done," she hazarded. She took two plates from the nearby stack which sat under a convenient table umbrella. "Does it matter if they're a little undercooked?"

He shook his head human-style, his mane shaking itself out and puffing slightly. "I am grateful merely for the chance to share this with you."

Had she not been trained as an actress, she might've blushed. She ducked her head in a kind of apologetic gesture. "Well, I'm glad that my car isn't running the risk of catching fire," she said, "and it's nice to have someone in the studio who appreciates it."

She touched the control which powered the grille down, deftly plucked the two steaks up and onto the plates she had prepared, and set the tongs back down.

Shit, she thought. "Damnit, I forgot to bring any silverware," she said. "I'll go back in and get some," she offered, with the spark of an idea in her eyes as she looked at him. "Unless, that is, you'd rather get your hands messy."

As she considered the shocked look on his face, she wondered if she'd said something wrong. He appeared to swallow in an empty throat, and he ducked his head in what she thought was apprehension. "If ... if you would like to," he said, quietly.

He looked so close to being genuinely upset that she put her beer down near the grille and tried to look bashful, her hands folded behind her waist. "Maybe you can explain what you mean," she asked, equally quietly. "It sounds like it's important to you."

He blinked a few times, and then reached over to the nearest plate and plucked his steak up in clawed fingers. "We have something of a tradition on Chakron," he explained. His eyes met hers for a moment, before he looked down again. "When a young Chakri thinks that a young Chakri woman is special to him," he explained, taking hold of the steak in both hands, "--he does what Chakri have done for centuries. He uses his strength to divide his meal into parts." He opened his mouth wide enough to expose his carnassial teeth, behind his impressive canines, and bit down sharply on the steak, sending a light spray of juices off to one side.

The tendons in his neck bunched visibly as he twisted his head to one side, and the tendons on the backs of his hands stood out as he pulled the remainder of the steak in the other direction. The meat fairly ripped across its middle and left him holding two pieces, one in his hands and the other in his teeth.

He delicately released the latter into the grip of his fingers momentarily, as he spoke around it. "He then offers the larger of the pieces to her," he concluded, extending his hand to her.

Despite being trained as an actress, she felt herself blushing faintly about her ears and nose, and she lowered her eyes momentarily. "It sounds like an interesting custom," she said. She accepted the piece of steak with pleasure. "So now what?"

He chuckled, seemingly cured of his earlier nervousness. "If you return the offering," he said, "that would be a sign that my interest was unwanted. If you accept the offering, that would be an acknowledgement of my good intentions."

She nodded, unable to say anything imaginative in response to this.

After a moment spent in a slightly uncomfortable silence, he continued. "The same tradition says that there is nothing significant of the gesture unless the Chakri woman offers part of her meal," he explained, matter-of-factly.

She pursed her lips into a sort of a smile. "Well," he said, softly, "I'm not the kind of woman to make commitments when I've just met someone." She plucked up her own steak, and began nibbling on the edge of it. "After all, didn't I say I was really hungry?"

After a moment, the two of them burst into relieved laughter, and she found the sight of him with his head thrown back, his mane shaking lightly with the guffaws from deep in his gut, and the way his gleaming white teeth flashed in what light remained from the western sky.

As they subsided from laughter into a pair of more sober, pleasant faces, they watched each other for a moment of silent, shared relief, and then AL gestured for him to go ahead, and not stand on ceremony. She and he both threw propriety to the wind, and simply enjoyed their meal.

She watched him carefully as he ate, and it wasn't lost on her how he had an abundance of strength in his neck and his jaws as he sheared and chewed his way through his meal.

The hallmark of a guy who would be good at oral,_she thought, unable to keep her thoughts solely on her steak. She thought for a moment. _Maybe we should re-evaluate whether we should try hiring Chakri again ... or set up a branch office across the border.

After a few minutes of silence in which they polished off the rest of their steaks and delicately licked the juices from their fingertips and their lips, BehGrak plucked a napkin from a nearby pile and mopped at his face for a moment, tugging at the tuft of beard below his chin. "I thank you," he said, after a moment. "It was delicious."

"Thank you," she said. "I'm not known for my cooking, after all." She took a napkin of her own and, having used less abandon in eating her steak, lightly mopped the juices from her lips and wiped her chin before throwing the napkin into the trash can near the grille. "Shall we continue?" she asked, gesturing toward the building again, to the door set in the middle of the building's face.

As they made their way inside, she gestured to the nearest of the doors in the building's center hallway. "This connects the two indoor movie sets - like the bedroom set, here -- with the dressing rooms and the rest of the building."

She opened the door to the bedroom set, and waited until he'd entered before following him in.

The set was a familiar sight to her, having been furnished and decorated and re-decorated in so many combinations and colors that it had always appeared - to the untutored eye, at any rate - to be a completely new bedroom for each shoot. There was a single window set into one wall, but being false it was merely a display screen on which could be played the appropriate background images. Better that, she thought, than an accidental view of some porn stars playing grabass around the pool while the real stars are trying to concentrate.

"We've filmed some of our best movies in here," she explained. "Mostly it's used for some of our soft-core, 'couples' movies, along with the usual 'barely legal teens,' 'boy-next-door,' and 'first timers' movies."

She walked over to where the bedroom's bed was positioned, a king-sized affair with the most basic of blankets and comforters on it, and sat down on the edge. "It's almost a cliché in the business, you know?" She shook her head, although with a pleasant expression. "People losing their virginity on a large bed. I have to tell you, the only reason the movie themes are like this is 'cos we have a much easier time setting up cameras around two people having sex in a huge bedroom versus ... say, the backseat of a car, a small broom closet, or in a dorm room on a single bed."

She pushed herself off the bed and stood, putting a hand to her chest for effect. "I know when I lost my virginity, it damn sure wasn't on a bed this size, and I'll bet it was the same for you." She parted her lips in a relaxed expression, not quite grinning at him, but looking pleasant nonetheless. "Am I right?" she quipped.

He'd been listening attentively to what she was saying, but at her latest question his expression seemed to drop along with his gaze, and he was silent for so long that she began to think that she'd offended him somehow.

At length, he cleared his throat with a minor, inoffensive cough, and spoke in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "I ... I have never lain with a female," he admitted.

She almost couldn't believe her ears. For a long, long second, she considered his emerald eyes, his tall stature, his broad shoulders, and his lean, toned musculature, and most especially his decorated uniform.

How in the hell has no woman thrown herself at this guy? she thought. Is he unlucky? Or is he really just too shy to let himself be vulnerable that way?

"Never?" she asked, as gently as she could.

He gave a slight nod, but wouldn't meet her eyes.

"That's nothing to feel awkward about," she assured him, walking slowly over to where he was standing, and reaching up to take him by the shoulders and look him in the eye. "Did you know that I was a virgin, once?"

He slowly raised his gaze, his emerald eyes meeting her violet ones.

"At some point," she said, and then chuckled as she continued, " - and it doesn't matter whether this was the first time I had sex, or the first time I had really meaningful sex ..." She slid her hands along his shoulders until she felt the thick, heavy fur of his mane. "... someone special to me took me by the hand and showed me how close two people can be, physically and emotionally." She slid her hands through his mane, hoping that he wouldn't flinch, and was relieved when he didn't move as she took him by the angle of each side of his jaw. "That will happen someday, for you, when you're ready."

She released him, and turned away, slowly. "C'mon," she said, brightly, looking over her shoulder at him. "Let me show you the classroom."

She made her way out of the bedroom set and back into the hallway, where she turned to the right and then made for the middle of the corridor where a trio of doors were clustered near each other. She gestured at the one on the right-hand wall, which led into the classroom, and waited for him to go inside.

"This actually doubles as a classroom," she explained, "when it's not being used as a movie set for classroom segments, or for 'naughty teacher' movies."

The set was what you might expect in a small classroom - a dozen desks facing an oversized display screen as well as a teacher's desk. In keeping with its purpose as a classroom for sexual health and education, the teacher's desk was adorned with a veritable arsenal of vibrators, dildos, cocksleeves, and other sexual paraphernalia.

"You are clever," he interposed, "to have more than one purpose for every room in this studio."

"Thanks," she said, another flash of her eyes lighting up her face. "I've tried to run this place responsibly and give something back to the community at large, along with all the smut that this place puts out."

She sat at the desk, looking in her element as she leaned partway back, and put her shapely legs up onto the desk. "You'd be surprised how fulfilling it can be to teach people who need a refresher on the particulars of sex." She idly spread apart a few papers in their pile on the desk. "But even when I'm teaching, I can still work in some fun."

She flipped through the first few papers in the pile until she came across one she pulled out and passed to him. "I have this contest that I do every semester in the advanced class - it's always pretty fun." She reached over and tapped at a few of the buttons on the screen of the computer nearby, after which the large screen at the head of the class lit up.

It was, she knew, a huge three-dimensional image of the female reproductive tract, from the innermost depths, up to the flesh of the waist just above the belly button, and down to the flesh of the thighs just above the knees. My body, she thought, as naked and hairless if I'd been shaved clean. But then, who else could I have asked to volunteer for the high-resolution imaging scan that took sixteen hours?

"Basically, I give the males in the classroom a blank diagram of the female reproductive tract, and get them to label everything they can." She handed the piece of paper to him, which he took with grace and studied, after first turning it right-side up.

"'Guy with the highest number of labels and no mistakes," she continued, "he is asked to volunteer to be the live male model for when I demonstrate how to recognize the signs of an impending male orgasm." She shrugged. "I have yet to have someone bow out when the prize is a reacharound from 'yours truly.'"

He glanced at her, a flicker of something crossing his eyes, before he turned his attention back to the paper in his hands, which he gently laid on the desk next to her. There was a sort of grim, intense, calculating quality to his gaze, and then began tracing with the tip of his foreclaw.

"Umbilicus ... " he started, at the top of the paper. "Mons pubis ... labia majora ... labia minora ..."-

She blinked. "Waitaminit," she interjected. "Did they make you study this in school?"

He shook his head. "It was something in which I gained an interest," he explained, "after I had seen some of your films." His expression changed to one that looked slightly embarrassed, before he resumed his examination of the paper. "It was one of the qualities that the Battle Fleet recruiters had noted in testing my abilities. I seem to have an excellent memory for detail."

His clawtip moved across the paper again. "Clitoris ... urethra ... anus ..." His clawtip shifted to another diagram on the same page. "Vaginal canal ... cervix ... uterus ... fallopian tube ... ovary ..."

"Wow," she remarked. "You're doing better than some of my best students." She thought for a moment. "What's the gestation term for a human?"

He turned his attention away from the paper on her desk, looking at her with a curious expression, but he then straightened and closed his eyes for a moment. "Approximately two-hundred, sixty-five days," he volunteered.

She swung her legs off the desk, and looked at him a little more intently. "Average length of the human penis?"

Another pause. "Fifteen centimeters." He parted his lips in an expression of levity. "Subject to variation," he added.

She nodded, and then stood up, gesturing at the screen nearby. "So you must know the four key erogenous zones of female anatomy, then?"

He took a moment to consider the image on the screen, but responded promptly. "The labia, the clitoris, the Grafenberg spot, and the vaginal fornices."

She blinked again. "I've been in this business a long time," she said, "and I don't think I've met anybody who could recall all four from memory who wasn't a doctor."

He seemed to brighten at the compliment, and she stepped over to where he was standing to playfully poke her finger at the middle of his chest. "You should be an instructor here, you know? It's probably something you'd enjoy, and I can almost guarantee I'd pay you better than your superiors."

She thought she could see him blushing, how faintly the tips of his ears appeared to redden. "I would regard it as a great honor," he replied, "although for such a thing I might have to wait several years. I still, of course, have obligations to the Fleet."

"I know all about the uniform," she said. "San Francisco isn't that far from here, after all." She jerked a thumb at the door in mock enthusiasm. "Speaking of uniforms," she indicated, "our next stop will be in the dressing rooms."

A short trip through the corridor again, and they emerged into a large room equipped with a number of stations, each comprehensively equipped with the best equipment available for everything from makeup and hair, to costume padding.

Beyond the business of makeup or hair, the rows and rows of costumes and uniforms which sat in the large, double-sided armoire at the center of the room would've been sufficient to outfit a hundred or more actors and actresses.

And sexily, she thought. A hundred actors and actresses, all in outfits designed to accentuate the figure and then be ripped off the wearer with a minimum of fuss.

"You probably saw me in at least a few of these," she said, running her fingers along the row of outfits as they hung from simple clothes hangers. "I can't even remember how many times I was in this one." She pulled free the exaggerated low-neckline, white-shirted, short-skirted private-girls'-school uniform, and draped it over her front in a show of style and proportions. "How do I look?"

He nodded appreciatively. "Very nice," he agreed. "I must admit, however, that there is no fascination on Chakron with such an outfit."

She canted her head slightly, making a show of batting her eyes at him. "No scantily-clad young females on Chakron?" she asked, with a dash of irony. "I'm appalled." She carefully replaced the outfit on the rack. "What would a young Chakri female on the brink of womanhood wear?"

He seemed to pause. "Well ..." he started. "It is an interesting question you pose," he explained, "as the simplest answer is, 'nothing at all.'"

"Oh?" she said, regarding him slyly. "Let me see ..." She began a rapid search through the many hangers on the rack before she came to a spare empty one, which she plucked up and gently tossed at him. "That looks like it would fit either of us," she remarked, giving him a wink. "So what else would I need to win a young man like yourself, if I was walking around on Chakron in nothing but my bare fur under the summer sun?"

His brow lifted in something like surprise. "Well ..." he began again. "Coin to pay the fine, I would imagine."

"Oh," she said, somewhat crestfallen. "Kind of a harsh way to keep the young people from fornicating, huh?"

"Mmh?" he mumbled, seemingly shaken out of a reverie. "Oh! Forgive me. I was thinking of something else."

"Like what?" she asked, regaining her good humor. "How I would manage wearing this yoga outfit on Chakron?" She began a slow walk toward the dressing room's far exit. "Well? Or poorly?"

He shook his head and chuckled faintly. "No," he explained, "nothing of the kind. Although I would suspect that far more Chakri males would recognize you on Chakron than might admit it, regardless of what you might be wearing."

"Aww," she teased, pushing open the door and leading them into a smaller room, lined with lockers and benches. "So I take it that there are places on Chakron where I can't be naked in broad daylight?"

"Yes," he confirmed.

" ... but that still doesn't answer my question," she continued, continuing through to a similar door opposite the first in the locker room, "about what I'd need to advertise my availability if I strolled into your hometown."

Another doorway later, and the two of them were standing inside of the studio's gymnasium. AL suspected, after hearing of his extensive knowledge of sexual anatomy, that he might even know what the word 'gymnasium' meant. Oddly, it was the one place in which almost none of the studio's employees, from receptionist to actors, ever went about their business without clothing.

"Impressive ..." Grak intoned, quietly, casting an appraising eye over the exercise equipment. "And this is also a set for filming?"

"Actually," AL explained, "we've never filmed in here." She patted a nearby machine - a sort of elliptical cardiovascular trainer - and gestured at the room in general. "Most of my employees prefer to have at least one room in the place where they can go without having to worry about a camera in their faces."

"Plus," she continued, crossing over to where a large, suspended heavy punching bag was hanging placidly, "it gives us a place to work on keeping a slim, toned figure, and to warm up before we have to go on-set." She gave the bag a slight push to gauge its weight. "And sometimes I need to have a place to go to work out my frustrations during tax time." She balled up a fist and gave the bag a halfhearted punch. "Now, you were trying to explain something?"

"Ah," he exclaimed softly. "The courtship rituals." He sat on the edge of a nearby weightlifting bench and began to explain, as she listened patiently.

"As young Chakri grow, they are encouraged to explore the territory around their homes, which have traditionally been on the grasslands of Chakron. Even in this age of cities, every place has a well-tended park in which young Chakri can mingle and meet."

"Important is the notion that all Chakri maintain their fitness by running, and both males and females do this. This becomes part of the courtship ritual as both genders reach adolescence - it is easy to determine the other Chakri who run in the parks and grasslands by the scents they leave behind."

"Makes sense," she said.

"There will come a time when a Chakri female will become receptive to ... er ..." Words failed him.

She gave him a sly expression and hit the punching bag with her balled fist in rapid one-two-three-four of steady, oscillating blows.

"Yes ..." he indicated. "That." He seemed to recover some of his poise. "On those occasions, she may decide to keep to herself, or she may decide to continue running among other Chakri. She will know, of course, which Chakri males in her community are fittest and which have their own mates."

"Tradition has it that if she wishes to entertain suitors, she will run after the sun has gone down, and in the cool of the night, she may test their endurance by whether they can keep pace with her, or not."

"If she does so while clothed," he explained, "then she is merely considering her options. If a single male is able to keep pace with her, and she wishes to entice him, she may run faster, or begin removing articles of clothing, which will be heavy with her scent. It will be his task to collect them, and then increase speed to resume the chase."

"If she begins to run with no clothing at all ..." His eyes glinted as he looked at her. "This is regarded as a sign that her needs are especially strong."

"No doubt," she mused. She moistened her lips slightly. "So ... what, does he just catch up with her and pounce on her?" she asked.

He looked momentarily horrified. "What?" he asked, and she had no answer for him except confusion, but he seemed to determine what she'd meant and shook his head for a moment at the absurdity of it all. "Oh," he exclaimed, "no, nothing of the sort."

He rose from his seat on the bench and indicated the length and breadth of his torso. "We males have a tendency toward heaviness as we grow," he explained, "while females tend toward fleetness. There is no way that a Chakri male could outpace a fit Chakri female."

"Not," he continued, "unless she wished it."

"Oho!" she exclaimed, with a slight giggle. "So there's something to be said for 'playing hard-to-get,' eh?"

His relatively unchanged expression told her that he wasn't aware of the idiom in English. To cover the silence, though, she patted the punching bag she was leaning against, and inclined her head in its direction. "You say you're inclined toward heaviness? Why not give this bag a hit or two?" She stood back partaway and braced herself against it. "I want to see how much extra muscle you're packing."

He hesitated for a moment, but then reached up to unfasten his cloak. As he did so, she got a better look of how broad-shouldered and muscular he was - and it was believable that he spent some of his spare time either running around on Chakron chasing girls, or punching a bag around a similar gymnasium of his own. His tunic, sleeveless though it was, fit quite well, she thought, giving him a professional and masculine appearance.

He bent his left knee slightly and eased his right foot back, raising his hands in a ready stance. "It might be advisable for you to stand clear," he suggested.

"Are you gonna hit this, or keep talking?" she goaded, bracing herself against the bag and tensing her muscles.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before he darted forward and hit the punching bag with a solid blow that not only sent it wobbling backward like it was made of rubber, but transferred enough momentum up her braced arms and knocked her off-balance to where she flew backward and landed on her rump.

As she collected her wits and looked up at him, she noticed two things: First, that he'd apparently hit the bag with an elbow, instead of a fist; and second, that he was frozen in place with an expression of comparative horror on his face.

She decided to pre-empt any offer of assistance in getting up from the floor, and quickly leaned back before flipping herself up onto crouched legs in the simple _kip-up_rising handspring of her youth's martial arts.

As she rose to her feet, his expression changed from horror to something more like surprise. She stepped back over to the punching bag, which was still faintly swinging, and steadied it again. "Hold this for me," she said, her voice low, but without menace.

He obediently gripped the bag and waited, as she took a deep breath, considered the bag's center of mass, and punched it with as much force as she could muster. He didn't lose his balance, but wasn't able to hold the bag as still as he'd expected.

"You have strength in your shoulders," he remarked, with newfound respect in his tone.

"The last guy who tried to cop a feel of my tits at a studio party," she recollected, shaking the shock out of her right wrist, "was lucky that all I broke was his thumb." She gripped the bag. "Hit it again," she instructed him.

He gathered himself into his ready stance again, and then braced himself as he delivered a simple, straightforward hip kick into the center of the bag. Ready for the force of his attack, however, she braced herself adequately and was barely moved.

"Good." She carefully rolled her shoulders a few times, in an attempt to loosen up her ligaments, and then crossed the room to where another punching bag was suspended - this one customized, as it was merely a medicine ball suspended from the ceiling by a length of elastic cord to approximately shoulder height. "Wanna pass this back and forth for a while?" she asked.

He bobbed his head enthusiastically, and reached up to his throat to unfasten the closure of his tunic, which he then opened at the front and shed carefully. She knew then how he'd been able to throw an elbow at the heavy bag with such force. Wow,_she thought, _pectorals and deltoids to put my human actors to shame. She lowered her eyes for a moment, unable to look at him for fear of staring too long, but this was no help, as with removing his tunic he had now exposed the curiously-knotted but otherwise plain white loincloth. "You uh ..." she started, unable to remain fully eloquent. "You take good care of yourself," she pointed out.

He turned his attention back to her, from putting his tunic carefully where he'd slung his cloak over the weight bench he'd been sitting on. "You are too kind," he said quietly, inclining his head toward her. He continued more conversationally. "My superiors believe that frequent exercise is still important in an age of technology."

"They're not wrong, y'know?" she replied. "I'd much rather fight a bunch of out-of-shape armchair warriors than a few of you guys." She stood opposite him, with the smaller bag between them, and gave it a preliminary punch that

sent it in his direction.

He returned it with enthusiasm, and in seconds they were both engrossed in walloping the hell out of the suspended medicine ball as they punched and kicked it back and forth. She was having as much fun as she'd had in years, able to cut loose and compete physically with someone in a way that wasn't sexual or professional, but still exhilarating and exciting all at once.

But it was also obvious, after a few minutes, that she was not going to be a match for him when it came to speed, strength, or endurance. After playing hard and competently for that long, and trying to match the effort he was putting into slamming that ball around the room was going to exhaust her, or cause her to sprain her wrist. She carefully blocked the next few passes with her forearms and slowed the ball to a halt.

She straightened, and ran clawed fingers through her hair as she panted hard, trying to catch her breath. She watched BehGrak as he stood there, devoid of his cloak and his tunic, erect and hardly having exerted himself at all. Still, his muscles stood out under his fur in the aftermath of his efforts, and naked except for his loincloth and the vaguely satisfied expression on his face, he was the very image of a young Adonis. If he were the child of a Greek maiden and Zeus, she thought¸where Zeus was having fun in the form of a lion instead of a swan.

She was aware of the stirring in her loins, by now a familiar sensation, but surprised that she was feeling it for someone she'd only just met. And yet ... not surprised, since she was feeling it for someone who was both interesting to her, and interested _in_her.

It wasn't pity she was feeling. Anybody could give anybody else a pity fuck. Rather, she was feeling like she could make a positive difference in his life, and share something with him that was special.

She shook out her hair, and stepped lightly over to where he was standing, and stood up on the tips of her toes to lay her palms gently on his chest. "I'm going to show you the next part of the studio - our showers," she said. She lowered her voice to its huskiest, most sultry tone. "I guarantee it's something you won't want to miss."

She tipped up her chin and gave him what she judged was the gentlest, most innocent of kisses, a bare peck on the thin, black lips just beneath his nose. And then she settled back, bounced lightly in a balletic about-face, and made the hip-swaying walk of her profession through the gymnasium's exit toward the showers.

As she reached the cool tile floor of the shower area and gave the water controls a playful punch with her knuckles, she heard the click! of claws against the floor behind her. She made to look over her shoulder with as sly an expression as she could muster.

BehGrak was just as nearly-naked as he'd been a moment ago, but the expression on his face had reverted to undisguised disbelief. His fur was bristling slightly with either anxiousness or worry, but it wasn't the most obvious thing about him that was erect, not by a long stretch.

Now that she'd gotten to see him in nothing but his loincloth, she got a good view of what he'd been packing away beneath his belt all this time, and it wasn't a disappointment, not at all. Straining against the fabric, his erection was obvious and insistent, and ... sizeable, she thought, just like the rest of him.

She quietly padded over to him and spoke to keep her voice over the rising sound of the water falling from the nearby showerheads. "You know," she said, conversationally, lightly running her claws against the skin just above his waistline, "if the two of us are going to shower, we're not going to need this -"

She snagged the top of his loincloth with her claws and gingerly tugged it forward and down, as she stretched up onto the tips of her toes again to press her lips against his.

For a moment, he was as unresponsive and as rigidly unmoving as a statue - a well-muscled, sculpted statue with (according to what she could feel with her deft fingers) a prick as stiff as a mattress spring - and then he parted his lips against hers to venture a slick and feverishly-hot tongue against hers.

As she kissed him, eyes closed and fingers gingerly groping him, she felt his arms encircle her shoulders and embrace her with less urgency than his heightened breathing. For all his supposed inexperience, his tongue probed and explored her lips and teeth with the kind of skill she'd associate with a veteran of the industry. She could still taste the salty juices from the steak he'd eaten, and between this and his natural flavor, 'delicious' was an apt description.

With a few more tugs at the waist of his loincloth, and the un-tucking of the end of a bit of fabric, she sent the small garment sliding its way to the floor, leaving him finally unclothed. When she gave Grak a playful nip on his lower lip and brought their kiss to a close, she was able to rest her forehead against his chest and thus gained an unobstructed view of his erection.

Wow, she thought. If only the ladies knew about this ... he'd be spending all his time trying to fend them off. He was far from the biggest that she'd seen, and still not the biggest that she'd had the pleasure of handling, but still impressive. Not the kind of cock she would associate with a prolonged virginity.

As she gave his tool the barest of caresses with the pads of her fingers, he hissed a sharp intake of breath and she felt the tips of his claws faintly pricking her skin through her fur.

"A bit sensitive, are we?" she asked, carefully replacing her hands on his stomach, feeling the tension there as he trembled with anticipation. At this rate, she thought, he'll last about two shakes and blow his load all over my stomach.

She artfully made a slow rotation until she was facing away from him, but still enfolded in his arms, and slid her own hands up and over his own until she was doubly embraced and able to rest her head against his right bicep. "Mmm ..." she murmured, unable to completely focus the moment on his experience instead of her own. "Would you be a dear and help me get this shirt off?"

His hands, which were now more or less resting directly above her breasts, felt as though they twitched before he carefully removed them and replaced them at her flanks, very tentatively curling his fingers under the hem of her shirt. She answered him by uncrossing her arms and sliding her hands up around his neck.

He seemed to get the hint, and gently peeled her shirt up and over her body until her arms, neck, head, and blonde tresses neatly popped free of the garment. She completed the latest movement of her dance by dropping her hands behind her head, and completing a slow rotation to show Grak his prize - her nearly naked front, clad in only a black athletic bra, and with her breasts accentuated as she crossed her forearms in the space above her head like some exotic dancer of old.

"Well done," she husked, in her lowest of voices, swaying faintly from left to right, with a slow, gyration of her hips which seemed to make his eyes bulge in their sockets. He was still holding her shirt, but as though he was unaware of the fabric which clung faintly to his claws. "You're in luck, though," she indicated, "since this opens in the front." She stalked a fraction closer to him, until her breasts were bobbing only a small distance away from his hands, which were idle but almost clasped in front of him as though in some measure of supplication. "Would you mind?" she asked, with a fractional hop that brought her assets to bouncing well within his reach.

He seemed unaware as her shirt slipped from his grasp and floated to the floor, before his hands made a slow and unsteady rise to the point just above the toned muscles of her abdomen. As he hesitated, she unfolded her arms and placed them around his neck, pressing her bosom against him in a way that made him draw an uneven breath, and made his hands tremble as he made to twist the clasp that held her bra closed.

At the moment her breasts were freed, and neatly fell to squeeze his hurried hands from either side, his breath caught in his throat. She pursed her lips into a smile, and leaned in to kiss his mouth again, as it hung open.

This seemed to ignite something in him, and as he came alive at the touch of her lips and the probing softness of her tongue, he slid the broad, muscled fingers of his hands up through her cleavage to grip her fiercely on either side of her face and almost crush her to him.

That's more like it! she thought, tightening her grip on his neck and reveling in the force of his kiss.

* * *

It was something which he would never have dreamed of experiencing - something from only the most secret and sinful fantasies in his most private of dreams. He was kissing Al, he was as naked as an infant, and AL was inviting him to undress her.

A muffled vocalization from AL brought him back to the moment, and it dawned on BehGrak that he was perhaps being too aggressive in his affection. As he relaxed his grip on her, she settled back down at the limit of her reach, and lightly hung from his neck. She was regarding him with a gentle expression, but she was breathing heavily, as though he'd been suffocating her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, forgetting his passion for the moment.

Her tongue flicked out and laved its way around her teeth, and she pursed her lips into a smile as her ears perked to their highest. "I'm fine," she said. She hauled herself a fraction higher and regarded him nose-to-nose. "It's been a while since my first time, you know," she said, conspiratorially, "but I remember being rougher on my first lover than that."

"I ..." he started to say, and swallowed in a suddenly dry throat. "I have no wish to hurt you," he said. "I..." Words failed him. How can I tell her that I want her so much that it hurts? How can I tell her that I am fighting the urge to pin her against the floor? He closed his eyes, ashamed that he was close to tears with frustration.

He felt her hand touch his face, and her voice at its lowest say, "Don't worry, Grak." She paused. "Do you trust me?"

He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze as firmly as he could. "Of course," he husked.

She lowered her hand from his face and trailed it down to his arm, gently tugging him in the direction of the showers. "This'll make you feel better," she said.

She maneuvered him until he was standing partway under one of the shower heads, with his back to the wall. The shower presented a stream of pleasantly hot water, wetting down his fur and meandering its way down his skin. The change in sensations took the barest edge off his arousal but did nothing to soothe the ache in his phallus.

AL stepped close to him, laying her clawtips gently on his chest, and ran them slowly down to his waist. "I'm gonna show you something, Grak," she said, "but I want to take my time at it." She tapped at his sternum. "Do me a favor and put your hands against the wall, mmm?"

My ...? He was certain he didn't understand, but he wasn't about to offend her. He leaned back partway, until the cool of the shower tiles could be felt under his palms, and the shower stream was coursing through his mane from the crown of his head.

As he watched, she turned her back to him, cast him a practiced gaze over her shoulder, and neatly unsnapped the clasp of her pants from over the base of her tail. She gave a slow swaying of her hips, lashed her tail to one side, and hooked her clawed thumbs through both the waist of her pants, and the thin material of her panties. With a shimmying motion that brought fresh blood to Grak's member, she eased the last of her garments over the curve of her rump and down to her thighs.

Though it was a sight he'd seen many times before, he could scarcely believe that he was seeing her female petals glistening before his eyes, and presented within arms reach.

His right hand twitched away from the wall involuntarily, but she saw what he was up to and gave him a sly expression as she let her remaining clothes fall to her ankles. "Patience, hun," she assured him. "You won't need hands for what I'm about to show you."

He felt his heart would leap out of his chest as she began a slow shift backward, culminating after an eternity of waiting as his prick came to rest in the crevice between her cheeks. She winked at him, turned her head aside, and kicked her clothing free of the growing puddle of water at their feet. Then, with a motion which proved she was just as flexible as when he'd first seen her many years before, she bent so that her hair fell mere centimeters from the floor, gripping her ankles in her hands and sliding her folds up his sac to the base of his shaft.

The sensation was so stimulating as to be painful, and he felt as though he would burst, so painful his erection became. AL began a slow bobbing motion with her pelvis that lightly stroked him as he felt his flesh sliding up and down with hers. She added a slight gyration to the movement, gently teasing his prick to the left, and then to the right, as her ass rose and fell.

He was panting heavily by this point, with his head thrown back as far as the wall behind him would allow, water streaming over his forehead and past his now-closed eyes. His hips were trembling and jerking as he fought to control himself, but every fiber of his body was demanding that he grab her by the waist and sink his erection into her womanhood - just as every cell of his brain was telling him to stay perfectly still.

"AL ..." he pleaded, hoarsely.

And then he felt one of her hands take hold of him, and start sliding forward and backward along his length, aided by the warm water coursing over his abdomen and down onto his maleness.

He let out only part of a cry before he bit down with clenched teeth and managed a strangled "Ngggh!" as he climaxed. Every muscle on his body tensed as his erection swelled and pulsed, filling his nervous system with a pleasure that he'd only dreamed was possible. Again, and again, he felt his testicles throb and lift as he spent himself in a series of shuddering jerks, moving as slightly as he could against Al's gentle grip.

When it was over, he let out his breath in the remains of a breathless gasp, and sagged against the wall, letting his head fall forward. It was difficult to even _feel_his legs, and he was unsure if he wouldn't merely sink to his knees as he fought to maintain his balance. With the temporary clearing of his brow and eyes, he spent untold moments catching his breath, and then opened his eyes.

He was unsure how to feel about the sight before him, especially when all he knew how to feel was spent, and almost exhausted with the effort of it.

Al's shapely, spotted back, as well as the soft, downy underside of the base of her tail, were liberally covered where the spurts of his emission had come to rest. She seemed unconcerned, however, and was watching him from just over her right shoulder with a satisfied expression on her face, as her right hand still grasped him in a difficult but firm reverse-grip.

She gave him a gentle squeeze, which set off a fresh convulsion of muscles at the base of his shaft and caused him to grit his teeth against another involuntary groan issuing from his throat. Through it all he saw a slow, miniscule jet of fluid from his cocktip, which barely made its way onto Al's delicate pucker.

"Mmm..." she remarked, finally releasing him when the last, pleasurable tremor had faded. "Better?"

He could do nothing except nod, with his breath still coming hard, and his tongue lolling partway out of his mouth. He imagined he looked far less than decorous at the moment. "Huh ..." he began. "Forgive me," he added, looking with growing concern at the mess on her back. "I ..."

Even as he searched for words to explain his embarrassment, she straightened and turned around to face him, stretching up on the tips of her toes to part her lips and force her tongue into his sputtering, incoherent maw.

It had the effect of stopping his protests.

It also, strangely enough, had the effect of slowing his racing heart, and calming his nerves. The water was cascading over the two of them, as they stood there and kissed each other.

When she finally withdrew, and gazed up at him with a fond expression on her face as she licked her lips. She was resting her palms flat on his chest, where she could undoubtedly feel his heart beating - slower than before, but still strongly.

"Good?" she asked, her damp hair now hanging partway across her face.

He nodded, unsure if he should trust his voice.

She reached up and touched his face, stroking the pad of her thumb across his cheek. "I'm glad you liked it," she said. "That was just the easy one, though." She patted his cheek in mock condescension. "I figured we should get that out of the way first thing." She reached behind him and to one side, plucking something from a recess in the wall and bringing it into view, revealing it to be a bottle of shampoo. "We're not done yet, though."

She turned again, using her hands to flip her hair firmly back over her shoulders and lifting her chin. "Before we go any further, though, maybe you can help me with my fur ... ?"

* * *

He did well ... for a male with no prior experience with females, at any rate.

His large, strong hands did well at working the shampoo into her hair, and into the fur of her back. She had no idea how much he'd shot onto her back, but he wasn't the first inexperienced male to do so, and she knew that the top-quality shampoo the studio stocked for just such an occasion was up to the task.

And he did well, now that he wasn't as anxious as a first-time stallion at stud. He ran his hands up and down her like he was truly enjoying himself - all over her body's curves, and truly from head to toe, under the pretense of working the shampoo into every strand of her fur.

She, on the other hand, stood as still and as hesitant as a first-time virgin being caressed by her lover - enjoying what was for her a familiar experience as though she truly was being touched for the first time, all over again. Grak had very, very sensual and gentle hands ...

As he finished stroking and tousling the last of the shampoo from where it had been rinsed down to her thighs, she turned back to face him, paused to give him another kiss, and reached down to take him by the hand. "Let's get dried off," she suggested, "and we can continue this somewhere else."

She led him to the edge of the shower area, where the studio had equipped the showers with a pair of drying booths. She gently steered him toward one, while she stepped into the other.

It took only a couple of minutes for the combination of intense heat and forced air to dry both her fur and his. She watched as he emerged from his booth, fur full of static that he was patting and brushing down with the palms of this hands. He was, clean and dried off, very handsome, although it was obvious that his mane would be a colossal undertaking to brush out. Gives him kind of a wild, feral appearance, she thought. And he looks like with the right motivation, he could fuck like an animal ...

As they stood together, in the space just inside of the shower area's doors, she took him by the hands, and after gazing up into his eyes - his young, slightly apprehensive, trusting eyes - she slid her hands up his arms and around his back, to hold him a moment. He warmed to her embrace, holding her close, and running a hand through her hair as her head was pressed up against his chest.

She knew what she wanted to do ... and yet she still felt like she should ask, so she gently cleared her throat and nuzzled her nose closer to him before speaking. "Do you want to come with me to the bedroom?" she asked.

For answer, he regarded her fondly for a moment, and then reached down to sweep her off her feet and into the cradle of his arms. She wasn't used to being handled that way, but at the same time, it was such a classically romantic gesture that she could only giggle slightly and smile up at him as he bore her effortlessly through the studio.

He didn't even pause at the threshold of the bedroom - undoubtedly because his social conventions were different - but carried her to the foot of the bed before setting her down on the edge of it.

As she began a slow crawl backward on her elbows and heels, she watched him with half-lidded eyes and a calm expression on her face. "Not quite as tense now, are we?"

He shook his head slightly, his mane very nearly rustling with its volume, and leaned so that his knees sank quietly into the bottom of the bed. "I do not feel as hurried as before," he agreed. He began a slow movement to pursue her up the bed, on his hands and knees.

"Mmm ..." she rumbled at him, propping her head up on a pillow as she reached the head of the bed. "Well, is there something that you'd be willing to do for me, before we go any further?"

"Of course," he assured her, as his head came level with her waist, her watching him past her bosom.

"Good ..." she husked, reaching down and winding her fingers through his mane until she had him firmly by the ears. "Let's see if your mouth can match all of the talk you've been giving me this evening ..." she mused, tugging his ears downward until his nose was buried in the short fur of her stomach.

He seemed to get the hint, and began calmly grooming the fur there, unhurried and methodical, as she felt the tingling flush of arousal start warming her skin and flooding her from the tips of her ears down to the spot below her folds.

She closed her eyes, immersing herself in the sensations which flowed from his touch, as she released her hold on his ears and slid her palms up to cup her breasts. She didn't need to conjure any images in her mind's eye, though, as Grak's touch was arousing enough by itself. Her breath began to quicken, and she both squirmed and stretched as he shifted on the bed and slid his own palms up her stomach and back down again, to rest on her inner thighs.

And as she began to feel herself becoming aroused purely by virtue of the other things he was doing to her, he shifted the tuft of beard under his chin from her belly button down ... and down ... until it had barely cleared the bottom of her mound .. and then it began to tickle its way down to the bottom of her petals as his tongue first touched her clitoral hood.

Mmmyes ... she mused to herself. He's a natural, all right ... His tongue, only slightly rough like her own, described tentative and exploratory strokes over, around, and beneath her clitoris. He was taking his time, delving into the pool of her nectar at her opening, and sweeping the slickness of her own lubrication over her nub so that he could tongue it more aggressively, which he carefully did.

As practiced as she was at the art of patience, she wasn't made of stone, either. Before long she was panting with heat of her body, and teasing her nipples between her first and second fingers as she kneaded her breasts, and as she slowly undulated her mound against his nose.

"Ohmygod ... you've been holding out on me," she muttered, half to herself.

He rumbled something that sounded like a chuckle into her sex, which only heightened the arousal from her womanhood and brought her another fraction toward frenzy.

"Oooh!" she moaned, quietly. "S - Stop for a second."

He took his damned time, sliding his tongue from her opening and up past her clit to rest back inside his mouth, and then regarded her with uncertain eyes from over her mound.

She twisted partway, not quite out of his grasp, but just far enough to reach the bedside table, where she skillfully slid open the drawer to what looked like a hardwood jewelry box, and then removed a small foil packet containing a synthetic condom.

"Get up here," she instructed, her tone pleasant, but with enough urgency to put a stop to any argument.

In a return to the kind of frenzy she'd expect of a male about to lose his virginity, she barely got a look at him - erection fully recovered and bobbing in front of the ribbed surface of his abdominal muscles - before his muzzle parted around hers and smothered what she was about to say in a mixture of hot breath, his saliva, and her juices.

"Mmmphh ..." she remarked, as his palms hit the bedclothes on either side of her ribs, and as his knees made a gentle slap against the bottom of her thighs. She'd been about to ask him to put the condom on, but on a quick reflection as their tongues were tripping lightly over and around each other, she figured that perhaps she might take on her role as a professional and leave the youthful enthusiasm to him.

Ok ... she thought, fingers working blindly but deftly in the space beneath his stomach. Tear open the foil packet ... opening large enough to get the condom out without snagging it ... which way does the material roll? ... other way, so I'm holding it backward ... squeeze the air out of the tip ... tight against the tip ... He sucked in a hissing breath as her questing fingers found his length and slipped the condom onto and over the tip of his penis. And roll ... and roll ... and ... bingo!

She gave his girth a light squeeze with her thumb and forefinger as she pointed him downward, using her other hand now against his waist to urge him closer to her. He sagged downward, resting the tip of his erection against her clitoris and his length in the valley between her folds. He gave her a look which lay squarely between yearning and anxiety, and licked his lips almost convulsively. "AL ..." he began.

"Shhhhh ..." she whispered, putting her muzzle next to his ear. "I want this, just as much as you do." She closed her eyes again, savoring the sensation as he retreated and she re-aligned him with her opening, and replacing that hand on the middle of his back as he sank in by a fraction of a centimeter.

He shifted his knees around for only a moment, however, before she heard what was music to her ears - the whispered, groaning sound of relief and further longing he made as he slid half his length into her. She'd been waiting so long for the sensation as well, all she could muster was a quiet, exclamatory "Oh ..." as she rose to meet him, sliding both her hands down to his waist and then to the small of his back, just above his shapely ass.

She pulled.

He obliged.

By now she was so slick that he slid in without much effort at all, and she felt the delicious sensation of his body bottoming out in hers - his pelvis bumping into hers and giving her clit a very sensual blow as the soft fur on his sac gave a muted slap against her asshole.

For his part, she didn't have much in the way of feedback from him, except that as his length nudged her cervix aside, he stopped at the depth of his thrust and just lay there, supporting himself on knees and wrists, but trembling slightly and letting out his breath in a slow, almost silent moan.

She let out her most satisfied purring sound, and clenched her hands, extruding her claws by the barest fraction and bringing him back to the reality of the moment. "Mmm ..." she whispered into his ear. "Good?" she asked.

He had no response for her, except that he slowly sank down to his forearms, and slid his hands behind her back, so that they were enfolded in a mutual embrace. She felt him ease some of his weight onto her, which she didn't mind at all. Even with the faintly throbbing arousal she was feeling, and the urgency to get him moving again, she savored this kind of closeness and intimacy when it happened.

She gathered herself internally and flexed her muscles, giving his prick a squeeze. This elicited a grunt from him, and his grip on her tightened somewhat. She let out a faint, "Ahhh ..." into his ear as she carefully lifted her pelvis to press against him, as she gripped him by the ass. "If you've been waiting for this for so long, Grak," she husked, her voice at its most sultry, "maybe you should give it to me ..."

A little unsteadily, he began easing himself out of her, with the same low moan of exclamation he'd made a moment ago. As he surged forward again, arching his back with the force of his desire, she pulled on his hips and buttocks and thrust her pelvis up to meet him.

He muttered something of a few short syllables in his mother tongue, and arched his neck as he plunged into her depths, filling her with his rampant tool and sliding past all of the sensitive parts of her womanhood, which tingled in reception of all he had to give.

He began to pick up speed, as he became acquainted with the new sensations in his loins, although she was surprised to feel him keeping a steady, unhurried pace. It was evident, though, that he was enjoying himself, as his breathing was punctuated with groans and sighs while he worked himself back and forth in her passage.

And it wasn't like it was one-sided - he was hitting all of the right places as she rose to meet him at each thrust, and his enthusiasm was having the right effect on her. She was growing quite excited, although she knew that there was no way he'd outlast her in the race to orgasm. He's good, and he's taking his time, she thought, but he'll probably be done in under a minute. Besides, I'm sure I can encourage him a little ...

Another squeeze with her pelvic floor and the gentle prick of her claws into his ass, and he thrust hard into her, slowing slightly. She shifted one hand to his ribs and idly raked her claws through his fur there as well, eliciting another groan from him. Seizing the opportunity, she brought that arm up to the middle of his back and pressed his chest down against hers. "Fuck, Grak," she muttered, arching her back, "I think I'm gonna hire you to be my private porn star ..."

The combination of flattery and extra stimulation seemed to push him over the edge. He lowered his forehead to her shoulder, gave an uncertain groan, and began a rapid acceleration to where he was pounding against her hammer-and-tongs with all his strength. She bit back a squeal of glee and bucked against him enthusiastically, waiting for the precise moment ...

... and as he gave a final cry which sounded like he was in the most pleasant agony possible, and finally thrust deeply into her, she hauled on him and drew him in as far as she could manage, raising her knees and crossing her ankles behind his back to hold him close.

In and amongst the sensation of him shuddering against her, she could feel the pulse of his climax and the tightening of his scrotum, and after a long moment he finally sagged and let his knees slip further down the bed, collapsing against her with all his weight.

He wasn't too heavy, though. Just the right weight, she thought, nuzzling against his ear with her nose and quietly stroking a hand against his back. His panting breath slowed for a moment, before it was interrupted by the sound of him swallowing in a dry mouth.

"Forgive me," he said, sounding concerned. "You ... you did not -"

"Shhh ..." she replied, tightening the grip her legs had around his waist. "Don't worry about it, Grak. You did fine." She shifted a little bit, to better support his weight. "That kind of thing takes practice," she assured him. As she shifted a little further, she dropped her right hand to her side and gently insinuated it between her waist and Grak's abdomen, eventually managing to tease her clitoral hood back with her middle finger and to start working at maintaining her level of arousal.

After a moment, he lifted his head and took a second or two to refocus his eyes on hers. He looked so adorably disheveled and exhausted that she could do nothing except lean in and affectionately rub her nose against his. "I didn't expect that you'd last very long, you know," she explained, "but that's not to say you won't get another chance, and pretty soon, I'll bet."

He began to gather his arms and legs under him again, taking some of the pressure off her torso, and propping himself up so that he was able to look at her with more awe than before. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Mmm ..." she hummed. "You say you've never done this before, but I think you're a natural," she said, with a sly, half-lidded look in her eyes. She stroked her clit more aggressively, making her sex twitch around him. "How do you feel?" she asked.

He drew in a breath slowly, and let it out in as much of an expression of awe as his gaze. "Different," he began. "I ... I would not have thought that it could feel so ... so pleasant ... so satisfying." As he relaxed, she felt him soften a bit, not so much withdrawing from her as merely shrinking. She paused in her gentle stroking of her clit to close her thumb and forefinger around the base of his condom.

"We might want to have you grab hold of that," she remarked, helpfully. "I don't doubt that you'll be ready to go again in a minute or two, but we'll have a mess to deal with if that falls off."

He obediently, although reluctantly, bent his body upright, away from her welcoming bosom, and craned his neck to look down at himself as he gripped the base of the condom and withdrew himself from her.

Her body could almost be heard to sigh in protest as he slid from her.

She rubbed her fingertips down past her nub to where her lips, still slick with her arousal, were still faintly throbbing with the battering they'd received, and hoped that he'd recover quickly. If not, she thought, with a lecherous flash of her violet eyes, I'll be happy to blow him for an hour or two.

He'd deftly slid the condom off, knotted it around itself, and flung it handily into the bedside wastebasket. She could see, over her still-erect nipples and the forearm crossing her stomach, that he was still semi-erect and quite possibly regaining some of his earlier potency.

Giving her clit a final gentle touch, she twisted partway over onto her side, so she was able to reach the bedside table again, and retrieved a second condom. She gave him a predatory look, licking her lips and polishing her fangs with her tongue, and sat up partway to reach forward until she had his hardening prick in her grasp again. He seemed to stifle a hiss at the touch on his maleness, not protesting at her touch, but only calming down when she slipped the doubly-lubricated membrane over his tender flesh.

"If you were worried about making me come," she said, once again in the lowest, most sultry tone of her voice, "I have good news for you."

He balanced himself uncertainly on his knees as he watched her swing her lithe body around. As she tossed her head to flip her hair over her shoulders and came to rest on her hands and knees, she turned her head to look at him again. She trained her violet eyes to regard him invitingly from beyond her rump as she crawled backward, eventually forcing him to dismount the bed entirely as she knelt on one knee only, bracing her other foot on the floor itself.

"I think," she continued, "you'll last much longer now." She winked at him. "Think you can handle it?"

He curved the corners of his mouth into what passed for a confident human-style smile, as he laid his hands on her waist.

"What do I appear to be?" he queried. "A virgin?"