The Mission

 

By Rob Nagle, edited by Brantley

 

Chapter 5

 

 

His loving eyes traced along the contours of her back as she prepared herself for their evening out. James so admired how enhancement had made Bidu’s muscles fuller, and harder looking. He remembered how he’d ached for her before, and now that she was strong like him, he ached for her all the more.

Bidu donned the top she planned to wear to dinner. His view obscured, the Velorian male sighed, and then his eyes flashed.

“James!” Bidu whined in exasperation.

She turned to him, a hand having taken over the task of modesty from the strap which had been burned away.

“I didn’t bring that many clothes with me,” she strove to point out to her transgressing mate.

From where he sat observing her in the corner of their bedroom, Colonel Kim’Vallara smiled.

“Good,” he said. “That’ll save my heat vision.”

The woman looked upon her man. There were times—so many times—when she didn’t not know whether to cuss ‘im, or to kiss ‘im.

She opted for neither that particular time. She stripped off her damaged top, and began searching through her bag for another.

“Why don’t you just go naled?” her husband wondered idly. “Most of the Velorian women do anyway.”

“I am not a Velorian,” Bidu stated, turning to him with another top in hand. “I am Novo Recifean.” She pulled the top on, and straightened it. It was sheer, pretty and hugged her nicely. “And even though I’m on vacation, I am still a representative of my world, and culture.”

She finished this statement by drawing back her shoulders, and thrusting out her chest—which caused both of her enhanced nipples to pierce through the light material of the top she’d just put on.

“Oh, shit,” she sighed, relaxing her proud carriage just a tad too late.

“Now do you see the advantages of going bare?” her loving husband droned.

Bidu fixed her eyes on him.

“You are the only one who has the privilege to see me,” she told him.

To a man from a race where public nudity was the norm, this logic was obscure. But he was learning.

“I love you,” he bequeathed to her with all his Velorian heart.

He was learning.

 

* * *

The two Supremis glided through the air in their Protector’s uniforms. The sun still shone beyond the mountains. Shell’y, and Cass’andra, were on an early evening mission to the Forest of Chestnut Eyes to search out Binkleyan refugees who’d escaped the Aurean occupation. They’d been thoroughly trained in Binkleyan first aid in the event they encountered people with injuries, and carried a small cache of emergency medical supplies. Along with this, they bore a letter, signed by Chancellor Jolie, assuring those who read it that the occupation was over, and that it was safe to return to the cities.

The forest was still some distance off. Neither of the Protectors were in a hurry, so they passed the time in conversation.

“Doesn’t the Colonel seem a bit stiff to you?” Shell’y asked her sister Protector.

“Honey,” Cass’andra rejoined, “every man is stiff to me.”

Shell’y looked askance at her gorgeous flying companion.

“I don’t mean in - that way,” she sought to clarify.

“Well,” Cass wondered, joking aside, “in what way do you mean?”

“I mean—like—formal . . . since he got married.”

“Yeah . . . ,” Cass acknowledged thoughtfully. “I kinda miss the way he’d cupped my breasts in greeting,” she went on to reminisce. “He’s got good hands, y’know.”

Shell’y smiled of her own, remembering the colonel’s touch.

“That’s not the only thing he’s got that’s good,” she said.

“Now how would you know about something like that?” Cass’andra asked.

“I went to the sun earlier this week - “

“I noticed,” said Cass, admiring how Shell’y’s figure stretched the emblem on her uniform. “It looks good on you.”

“Thanks,” Shell’y bid her through a warming blush.

Such a compliment from another Velorian was one thing, from another Protector was another and from a Protector of Cass’andra’s high standing - it was to be prized.

“You wear energy well, Shell’ydee,” Cass’andra further granted her, herself feeling a warming glow as she spoke.

“Oh, Cass’ee,” said a pleasantly helpless Shell’y, “you’re sweet.”

“So anyway,” Cass said to return to their topic, “about colonel Jim.”

“Anyway,” said Shell’y to resume, “I was going to the sun for an energy boost earlier this week, and he asked if he could come along.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“To the sun?”

“Umhm.”

“What would he want to do that for?” Cass gave herself to wonder. “He sure didn’t look like he needed it.”

“He didn’t,” Shell’y affirmed with a knowing, sidelong glance to her companion. “Believe me.”

“Sooooo,” an intrigued Cass’andra offered to prompt Shell’y along with her tale.

“Well,” Shell’y continued, “you don’t easily say ‘no’ to the colonel, so I flew him to the sun. I was going to leave him where I thought he’d be safe, and do some leisurely subsurface diving, but he kept insisting that I let him move closer. He assured me that he’d be all right, so I told him I’d be quick. Not wanting to leave him for very long, I dove straight down to get as much O(rgone) as I could as fast as I could. Let me tell you; having so many orgasms in such a short span of time definitely does a number on your perspective. So, anyway, when I got back to the colonel, I still couldn’t focus very well, but when I saw him, that got my attention fully erect.”

“That’s one way to put it!” Cass laughed with a grin. “So,” she then wondered with pointed curiosity, “whatever had become of our dear Colonel Jim?”

“Let’s just say that I have never seen a man like that,” Shell’y answered.

“Well,” Cass’andra sought to qualify with teasing sobriety, “you are rather young, Shell.”

“I’m the same age as you,” Shell’y countered.

And inexperienced,” Cass teased further.

“I lost count of my lovers long ago,” Shell’y countered again.

“There are men,” Cass’andra took care to inform her Velorian sister, “and there are -- Velorian men.”

“And the colonel is one—hunk—of Velorian man,” Shell’y added coyly, “especially after the sun got through with him.”

This got Cass to wondering - as well a Velorian Protector might.

“And what did you do with this . . . hunk?” she inquired.

“Well,” Shell’y replied most dutifully, “being a Protector, I . . . protected . . . him.”

“Did you!” Cass’andra fairly squealed with peaked interest.

“Of course,” Shell’y forthrightly affirmed. “What sort of Protector do you think I am?”

“Oh, a good Protector,” Cass readily granted.

“Surely,” Shell’y agreed.

“A very good Protector,” Cass’andra granted further.

“I am,” Shell’y further agreed. “A Protector who would never shirk her . . . duty.”

“So, you - protected . . . him,” Cass stated to inquire.

“I most certainly did,” a very proud Shell’y acknowledged.

“And what was it like?” Cass wondered.

To this, Shell’y closed her eyes, and sighed.

“Like floating through space!” she softly exclaimed.

Cass’andra gave her a droll look.

“You were floating through space anyway,” she pointed out.

“Well, there’s floating,” Shell’y qualified, “and then there’s . . . floating.”

“And you, and the colonel were . . . ?”

“Floating through space!” Shell’y elaborately rhapsodized.

“Argh!” Cass’andra growled with frustration. “Will you give me a simple answer!”

Shell’y dutifully gave her irked companion her undivided attention.

“Did you, or didn’t you?”

“With the colonel?”

Cass’andra sighed heavily. Shell’y smiled, and drifted close enough to put a comforting arm around her.

“No, we didn’t,” she finally admitted.

Cass looked her way – relieved, grateful.

“Thank you,” she said with affected strain.

They flew along together. The forest was getting closer.

“Bidu is one lucky girl,” said Shell’y.

Cass heard a certain wistfulness in Shell’y’s tone. It made her wonder.

How lucky?”

“Let’s not start that again.”

Cass’andra laughed, and rolled over onto her back, resting the box of supplies she carried on her tummy.

“You have been liberated from the Aureans!” she cried up to the clouds with mock effect. “You are free!”

Her delivery made Shell’y laugh.

“That’s bound to reassure any Binkleyan that the Aureans have been overthrown!” she rejoined.

“Eah!” Cass groused. “It’s the script—done it a thousand times.”

“Eight hundred, and thirty-six actually,” Shell’y clarified.

“Stickler,” Cass’andra chided. “It’s gotten old. It’s boring!”

“Not to the Binkleyans who hear it,” Shell’y pointed out. “You have to consider they’re hearing it for the first time.”

“Yeah, I know,” Cass acknowledged, though grudgingly. “It’s just hard to keep something like that—fresh after doing it as many times as we have.”

“Well,” said Shell’y, “it’s what’s expected of us, and the looks on their faces when we tell them does make it all worthwhile.”

“I’m not discounting that,” Cass readily conceded. “I just wonder if there’s a way we can spice up the way we tell them, y’know - make it more . . . exciting.”

“’Exciting’ that is, to us, you mean?” Shell’y inquired.

“It sure as Aurean beats yawning our way through it,” said Cass, “which both of us are doing,” she further noted.

“Okay, well,” Shell’y offered, “what’ve you got in mind?”

* * *

“Hide,” a Binkleyan man quietly urged his family. “Someone’s coming.”

The man, and his family, had narrowly escaped the Aurean attack more than three years before.

“But dad,” said the man’s son, pointing to the two forms which had appeared in the sky overhead, “they’re flying.”

They’d lived in the thick of Chestnut Eyes Forest ever since.

“They’re Velorians, dear,” the man’s wife noticed, “and their uniforms – they’re Protectors!”

And they had survived on little more than fear.

“We don’t know what their business is!” the man insisted. “Now go into the cave, and keep out of sight.”

He looked up at the descending forms as the others withdrew.

“Let me talk to them.”

The man stood bravely alone as the two flying blonde Protectors light upon the ground some distance from him. They were so beautiful in their official uniforms. They inspired the best of hopes, and the fondest of dreams. Still, the man was cautious as the Protectors strode toward him, one of them carrying a box of some kind. He stood his ground as they stopped a few paces from him. He could tell by their demeanor that this was an important visit.

“We have liberated you from the malevolent clutches of fucking assholes!” the Protector carrying the box proclaimed.

Was it true, the man wondered? Could any of what he’d just heard possibly be true? Was it over? Really—finally over? Was there to be no more pain, no more sorrow? Was the abuse, the cruelty, the suffering finally to be over? In spite of all that he had known—all that he had seen, the man allowed himself to greet the news with subdued joy. He could scarcely believe his good fortune.

“You’ve killed my in-laws,” he stated to the women expectantly.

Both Protectors stared at the man, then, as one, both of them blinked.

“No,” Cass’andra quietly answered.

“Some of them?” the man inquired, still expectant.

The Protector’s proud, official bearing diminished somewhat at this point.

“No,” said Shell’y quietly.

The man looked furtively from one Protector to the other.

“One, at least,” he said.

“ . . . no . . . “

“We were referring to the Aureans,” Cass’andra sought to clarify. “Y’know, the ones who took over your planet, subjugated your people and slaughtered you by the millions.”

The man seemed to require a moment to assimilate the information Cass had provided him. Once the proper mental perspective had been accomplished, however, he nodded with realization.

“Oh,” he acknowledged, albeit without discernible interest, “those fucking assholes.”

“Yes,” Shell’y confirmed with a disapproving glare in the direction of the great, new term’s inventor, “those - fucking assholes.”

“Well,” the man irritably exclaimed, “it would have helped if you’d specified just what fucking assholes you were talking about!”

“I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to excuse us,” Shell’y offered with elaborate sincerity. “We’re from off planet, ya see, and . . . we didn’t know there were so many varieties on Binkley’s World.”

Cass’andra administered a disciplinary pinch to Shell’y’s bum, which made her wince nicely. Shell’y abruptly backslapped Cass’s hand away. They accomplished this exchange while maintaining their official regard of the man.

“Daddy?” called a small voice.

Both Protectors, and the man, looked to see a child standing by the mouth of the cave, one of her little arms in a makeshift sling.

The sight of injured put Cass in motion. She flew to the girl, settling to her knees in front of her.

“Hi there,” she greeted her brightly, opening her box of medical supplies.

The girl studied the Protector.

“Are you an angel?” she asked.

Cass’andra looked on the girl as she calibrated a diagnostic tool.

“You might say that,” she replied.

Still with the man, Shell’y admired Cass’s mind for duty. She withdrew the Chancellor’s letter from the inside of her uniform’s sleeve.

“This should help clarify the reason why we’re here,” she said to the man, offering the letter to him.

He took the letter, opened it and read.

“Is it all right?” the man’s wife called to him from just inside the cave.

She’d been keeping a close watch on Cass as she’d attended her child. The man walked back to his family, Shell’y at his side.

“The occupation is over,” he reported to his wife. “These girls are here to help.”

“Is it true?” the woman wondered with subdued joy. “Can any of what I’ve just heard possibly be true? Is it over? Really—finally over? Is there to be no more pain, no more sorrow? Is the abuse, the cruelty, the suffering finally to be over?”

The man sighed quietly to himself, then looked away.

“Well,” he muttered, “some of it, at any rate.”

“A transport will pick you up in the morning,” Shell’y told the couple. “You’ll be housed in Emerald City until arrangements can be made to take you to your home province.”

“There we are!” Cassandra happily announced to the girl.

She’d applied a poultice over the child’s infected wound, and given her something to relieve her pain.

“Thank you,” said the girl to Cass as she watched the pretty blonde woman stow the things that had made her feel better.

Cass stopped what she was doing, and barely stopped her tears as she looked on the girl.

“We have some food,” the woman offered the Protectors. “It isn’t much, but you’re welcome to it.”

Shell’y, and Cassandra, shared a look of beautifully pained significance. No; it hadn’t gotten boring, and yes; it was worthwhile. Very worthwhile.

 

* * *

James Kim’Vallara had hardly begun entering the access code to his quarters when he felt his wife’s arms encircle him from behind. He felt the firm contours of her body as she pulled herself into him. He heard her sigh, then felt the merest brush of her lips against the back of his shoulder.

“Oh, damn!” he muttered, hastily pressing the ‘cancel’ button on the wall mounted security pad by his door.

“Is something wrong?” Bidu asked him.

James turned to gather his woman under his loving arm.

“You made me forget where I was,” he told her.

She smiled up at him.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

He looked on her.

“I’m not,” he said.

Their lips met, and they spoke the silent words that only lovers share. Long, lingering moments of quiet interplay transpired between them, and they told of how they felt for one another.

Skietra, I’ve missed you!” James whispered at their parting.

Bidu smiled up at him.

“If you can ever get your door open,” she said, “you won’t have to miss me anymore.”

James eyed the security pad by his door. He felt oddly intimidated by the device.

“Hmm,” he grumbled.

He regarded his wife.

“Best two out of three?” he offered.

Bidu considered her husband’s proposal briefly, then made her decision.

“I’ll give you—one—more chance to get it right,” she decreed. “Failing that, I’ll rape you right here in the hall.”

His eyebrows raised at the same time as his posture rose.

“I thought you Novo Recifeans weren’t into public displays of affection, let alone—“

He was stopped from speaking any further when his breath was cut short from Bidu’s strong hand tightly gripping the underside of his crotch.

“Open that door before I make you an Operatic soprano,” she instructed him in a low tone that carried threat.

In an instant, the door stood wide.

“The food was wonderful,” Bidu commented of their evening once they were both safely inside James’ apartment, “but the speakers gave me indigestion.”

She turned to her husband.

“Are all Binkleyan official dinners that boring?” she asked.

“Mm, not always,” said Kim Vallara.

The couple eyed one another.

“Sometimes they’re even worse,” he added.

Pained by the thought, Bidu closed her eyes, sighed, then turned away.

The couple attended to their separate business for a time, then Bidu made a point of presenting herself to her husband. She was having such pretty difficulty managing the fasteners along the front of her top.

“Would you undo me?” she asked him, hoping that she sounded sufficiently helpless.

James looked on her. For the life of him, he’d never seen such beauty.

There was a flash from his eyes, which targeted the topmost button, reducing it to a trail of melted plastic.

Bidu looked down at her ruined button, and sighed. She was about to chastise him, but his heat had warmed her in a way she liked. She considered that she’d never much cared for the outfit she had on anyway, and, besides, she wanted more.

The look she gave James was all he needed. One by one, the remaining buttons fell away as drops, and smoking vapor. Once the final button had been dispatched, Bidu turned, and struggled prettily with the zipper on her skirt.

“I’m having trouble,” she pleaded, “would you . . . ?”

How could he fail to assist such a beautiful woman in such dire need? James’ eyes traced along the length of the zipper, his heat vision scrupulously destroying every link. When that was done, he went beyond the call of duty, and took out the entire seam of the skirt the zipper was connected to.

Bidu caught the material just in time before it fell away from her. A panty elasticed hip, and one of her long, powerful thighs showed through. She turned to her gallant gentleman, and held the skirt demurely to herself, watching him . . . daring him.

It took but a moment’s concentration from James, and the entire skirt burst into flame. Bidu removed it from herself lest her ruined top be further ruined. She held the skirt up to him so he could see it - and so he could not see her - and let it slowly burn away in her hands. When there was nothing but the beltline left, she dropped her hands to her sides.

James lost his breath to behold the twin pillars of his woman’s body in all their naked glory. Still in her heels, Bidu’s legs looked immensely powerful yet undeniably feminine. He couldn’t resist - he could not hold back. He would have her—more of her!

Bidu’s hand reached her crotch a nanosecond ahead of her husband’s heat beams—effectively blocking him, and thwarting his intent. The beams played on the back of her hand—she so wanted to remove it! -- but

“You intend to make me suffer, don’t you?” James told her as his eyes went out.

Abruptly, Bidu snapped the beltline of her skirt against the side of her leg like it was a whip. A resounding ‘SNAP!’ resulted, and then James saw the fingers of her cupping hand slowly disappear between her thighs.

A low, cruel laugh issued from her, her fingers expertly caressing her.

“Watching me masturbate would make you suffer?” she asked.

With a roar, James unleashed the full fury of his heat vision on her. Instantly, Bidu’s form was rendered in a blaze of red, then white, bits of charred fabric exploding from her outline. Without let-up James blasted her with every erg he had for long, long moments. The heat he poured into her was so intense that the flame resistant furnishings in the room had begun to blacken, and the paint on the walls had started to crack, and peal before he released her. When he released her . . . he released her . . . and then he was afraid.

“Bidu!” he cried. “Skietra, I’m sorry!”

He hastened to the glowing white form, his own clothing being quickly reduced to smoke, and ash. He wrapped his arms around the glow of white. He was so afraid.

“Bidu!”

At length, his woman laughed - happily - girlishly, and she took him into her glowing arms, sharing his heat with him.

“You’re all right?” James wondered anxiously.

“Of course I am, James,” she assured. “Do you really think that you could hurt me?”

She kissed him, stroked him. He held her - carefully.

“Well, I . . . “

He really wasn’t sure.

Bidu just laughed at his hesitation.

“Oh, I do so love to make you lose it!” she sighed.

“What!?” he demanded.

Her glow was fading, yet his was not.

“You ready to lose it some more?” she asked him squarely.

“You!” James gasped. “You minx, you!”

The sound of his disciplining hand against her rear could be heard for a mile around.

“Ooo,” Bidu cooed, wriggling her pelvis against his, “now that’s a gesture of affection I could warm up to.”

“You know I don’t like being fooled like that,” James scolded her.

“Which is exactly why I fool you like that,” Bidu replied.

She pressed her superheated body against him, urging him to respond.

“It makes you so aggressive,” she breathed into his ear, moving her body as she knew he liked, “and firm.”

He couldn’t be angry, nor could he resist.

“You are a minx!’ he softly swore into her hair, “And I do so love you!”

He held her as only he could. They exchanged silent vows of affirmation. The groan of metal under tremendous stress was heard.

“We haven’t melted that jock strap yet?” Bidu wondered, parting from him just enough.

“It is Vendorian,” James noted.

“Still,” said Bidu, “I’m disappointed in us.”

“What about you?” he asked. “What’s this stuff on your breasts?”

Both of them noted the heavy, grey, fibrous residue that clung to each of her breasts.

“Mm, oh that?” she mumbled. “It’s high tempered insulation.”

“Insulation?” James wondered. “Why?”

They separated, but both of them knew it would not be for long. Bidu had regained her natural coloring, but still had a beautiful glow. Her crotch was coated with residue as well.

“It’s one of the disadvantages of enhancement I’ve found,” she explained. “I uh . . . get, uh . . . warm - quite easily now.”

The Velorian man frowned.

“The sun on Erin’dor isn’t that warm,” he recalled.

The look she gave him immediately made him feel like the clueless dolt he was being.

“Oh . . . ,” he then sought to correct himself, “not—that—kind of warm.”

“No,” his loving wife assured him with care, tracing a fingernail along her tummy, “not . . . that kind.”

“You knew enhancement would make you, uhm . . . warm,” said James.

“Yes,” Bidu acknowledged, “but not . . . that warm.”

The Velorian man’s eyebrows rose.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she affirmed. “It wasn’t so bad at first, but it’s gotten progressively more . . . intense - over the years.”

“I guess some things do improve with age,” James ventured.

The woman smiled at him, and purred.

“Recently, I found that I was damaging my clothing at awkward moments,” she went on to explain, “so I special ordered some underwear that would, uh . . . contain me.”

Her fingers had come to toy with the insulation over her groin.

“Really?”

Another groan of metal was heard.

“Umhm.”

Her fingers struggled prettily.

“May I help you with that?” James offered gallantly.

Her look implored him.

“Would you, please.”

Once freed of her impediments, Bidu was able to express her warmth, and James partook of her.

“We haven’t burst that jock strap yet?” she wondered irritably.

“Well, it is Ven-

She expressed her warmth more fully. Within moments, the metal finally surrendered to a far superior force.

“There now,” Bidu murmured in the flush of triumph, “that wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

James smiled on her.

“You have no idea how hard.”

Bidu smiled at him.

“Really?”

“Umhm.”

Her smile widened. Bidu thrilled to suspect that he knew something that she did not.

“Are you keeping something from me?” she asked.

“Not for long,” he told her.

He invited her to kiss. She welcomed him. They pulled their bodies together, and vented their months of loneliness on each other. James lowered himself to attend a breast. Bidu gasped with delight at the first, hesitant brush of his lips on her. Her nipple responded eagerly to the experienced swirl, and lash, of his tongue—its proud jut inviting him to play rougher, bite harder, suck deeper. Bidu held his head against her breast, her strong nails lightly raking the skin at the base of his skull. She arched her back, urging him to take more - give more.

James came up to her, and their mouths attacked one another with a ferocity that might’ve threatened their teeth. Their bodies so ached for one another—their passion burning at an altogether new intensity! Pleasure they’d never known coursed through them in waves. Bidu felt him rising between her thighs. She would open herself - just for him! Her experienced hand sought him . . . to guide him . . . sought him!

What the fuck?

And found more than she remembered.

A lot more.

Bidu broke off their kiss as her hand explored James’ growing might. He was enormous . . . huge. He’d always been the largest man she’d ever known, but now he was even larger somehow. Much larger. Her hand could scarcely encircle half his girth. She marveled at how thick, and solid he was - and still becoming.

“Where’d you get this?” she wondered of him as though it were an accusation.

“I had one of the Protectors take me to the sun in preparation for your arrival,” James related.

Bidu took this in.

“You can stop growing any time, y’know,” she told him.

“Just as soon as you stop inspiring me,” James replied.

Her hand could barely grip him—her strong fingers completely failing to even dimple the surface beneath the drum-taut skin. She lowered her eyes . . . beheld him.

“Incredible,” escaped her as an awestruck murmur.

“Mmmm . . . ,” James coyly hedged, pleased with his wife’s reaction to . . . him, “it’s not really - ‘in’ yet, so it’s still just merely - ‘credible’.”

Her eyebrows rose as she regarded him.

“You’re not coming anywhere’s near me with that thing,” she teased. “I mean, I may be enhanced, but this is ridiculous.”

Her eyes lowered again . . .

“The lords!” she softly declared. “You are gorgeous!”

Bidu tried to recover her breath, and calm her racing heart. Of its own, her hand clutched, and caressed his massive heat - her emotions veering wildly between all too human dread, and bold, Velorian daring.

“Bidu,” her loving husband urged her, “look at me.”

“I am!” she answered.

“Look into my eyes.”

She showed her face to him.

“Don’t be afraid,” he sought to reassure her.

“With a club like that, that’s easy for you to say!”

James laughed, but not at her expense. Thoughts she’d never before dared to dream of were rushing through Bidu’s mind. Crazy thoughts—insane thoughts! She knew they were impossible, and yet they were so delicious! She released her hold on him so she could get a grip.

“Bidu, you have to believe,” James told her.

“Oh, I believe alright,” she replied.

She physically removed herself from him.

“I believe I am not going to get skewered like a shish-kabob!”

He approached her.

“Bidu!”

“Don’t touch me!”

“I’m practically two feet away—“

“You’re still touching—get that thing away from—“

Bidu made to thrust his rigid monstrosity aside, but she was at the point were even so casual a touch brought about an existential watershed of sharply focused meaning to her life.

“Ah!” she cried. “As I live I want you!”

She fell to her knees to ravenously lick, and bite, and suck. All that she desired was to show that she could please this man - this man of men - her man! She wanted to throw herself on him - die in the effort - go down in the history of saints as having tried!

“Bidu . . . please,” James fervently begged his frenzied wife, “you’re going to make me . . . “

“Cum in my face, James,” Bidu told him in the throes of her fevered ministrations. “Drown me—kill me! I don’t care . . . I just . . . anything!”

Cum he did, and she fell on his cock, eagerly swallowing every drop, yet he remained as hard as Vendorian steel.

James sought to slow her down, but the woman was completely beyond reason—beyond hope! Bidu stood up, and bodily threw him onto the bed, then she leapt on him like a tigress.

She was everywhere on him at once. He could barely endure the thrill of her astounding body moving on his—the way she moved—how she moved! Her pelvis worked along his length, his hardness pressed against her burning pussy! There was no way to appease her—she was mad with lust. Near the end of his wits, James did the only thing that was left to do. He took the sex-crazed beast that she’d become by the hips, and forcefully impaled her on his tip.

Bidu howled from the sudden shock of his invasion. Never, ever had he felt so BIG in her! In an instant she felt herself being stretched and stretched and stretched. . . to the limit . . . beyond! . . . her searing passion . . . reduced to whimpering sighs.

“Bidu....” James said to her, high up on his perch as she was. “”Are you all right?”

Bidu emitted a plaintive moan that seemed to have no end. Slowly, then, she raised her face to him. Of its own, her hair parted to reveal stars in her eyes. Her hands tentatively explored their union as her senses returned. She lost her breath all over again when she felt the girth of his mass protruding from her.

“Oh . . . my . . . lords . . . !” was all that she could say—whispered in a tone of muted shock.

“I missed you so much, I wanted to be all that I could be for you.”

Bidu looked deep into his loving eyes.

"It's just the tip."

"Just stop when you've had enough..."

The words struck Bidu like a slap in the face. “Stop” when she’d had “enough?” Just who did he think she was, anyway? Was she not a woman? An enhanced woman? Was she not desirable enough to compel everything that a man was capable of? And was she not capable of delivering on the promises her enhancement perfected body made? Was she not—

“I’ll let you know when I’ve had ‘e-nough’,” she told him right back.

And so she set to work. Bidu put all of her weight on him in her first determined effort to take him in. James watched in amazement as his s length and girth began to disappear into her.

Bidu put her full concentration to her task. It was a milestone when her knees touched the bed, but she still had so far to go! She hooked her heels into the sides of the bed, and bore down on him for all she was worth. She grunted, and spewed, gripping his shaft with her claws to pull him in. She labored, and sweated, straining every enhanced muscle in her body to accommodate him.

Bidu’s vaginal tract changed course as all the tissues involved relaxed. James watched wide-eyed as his one, and only mate, once more, began to sink on him. Both of them marveled at the sight as more and more of him entered her. And the feel of what was happening—physical, and emotional. They joined hands, and shared sensations neither of them had ever felt.

They were almost there—just a little more. Their pubic joins touched at just the moment James could feel the beating of his lover’s heart.

They were together as they’d never been. Bidu settled herself on him with a comfort that she knew was right.

Their hands clutched tighter. Bidu pressed against his hands, offering James the opportunity to play wrestle with her. She felt him, every bit of him.

“Is that all you got?” she asked.

James guffawed so hard at this that he kiegled her body against his with a very loud smack. This was okay with Bidu—it let her pin his hands to the bed while she used the leverage to rake her diamond hard nipples against his chest.

“I was going to ask if you were all right,” said James, noting how she looked at him, and how she felt against him. “But I guess I don’t need to.”

Bidu stilled her movement. She looked at him.

“Oh yes,” she told him, “you do need to.”

She squirmed her pelvis—flexed her tummy . . . just for him.

“You seem fine to me,” he told her back.

Their entangled fingers toyed with one another.

“Do I?” she asked.

Their union was not enough.

“I’m going to die if I can’t hold you,” he said.

“Then that makes two of us,” she said, setting him free, “because I’m going to die if you don’t hold me.”

For a long time, they simply lay together enjoying one another’s company for the first time in so many months. They quietly thrilled at the lazy petting, and nuzzling they indulged in. Occasionally, one would threaten aggression, but it was only for show just so they could melt all over again at the other’s gentle touch, and kiss. They were resting for the moment both of them knew would come.

“Can all Velorian men do that?” Bidu wondered.

“Do what?” James wondered back.

“Turn themselves into giant redwoods,” Bidu clarified, stroking his length along her tummy.

“Mmm - some....”

Then his look became different as he took her hands in his, and held her close.

“But they can achieve union only with the one who I also truly special,” he assured her. “Velorian women were created to mate with Gods, you know. “They were made to be very.... accommodating. And your enhancements have made you - on God, Bidu!”

Bidu took in the sum of his intention, and it made her feel very special indeed.

“You wanna fuck?” she suggested.

“I thought we were,” James responded.

Their fingers toyed.

“Well,” she said, still suggesting, “I mean . . . y’know . . . “

She felt him stir inside her.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she offered.

Their hands clutched tighter.

“You’d better,” he told her.

Bidu adjusted her position on him. Throughout her enhanced depth, James filled her with comfort, and with challenge. They felt him leave her as she pressed herself up on her knees. High up on her knees, as high as she could get, there was still enough of him inside her to tax a normal human female. They fixed their gaze on one another, their grip on one another tightened even more and Bidu began to lower.

The sensation of his gradual reentry was altogether different—so intense! -- for both of them! They shuddered, and writhed—Bidu struggling to control her descent as James steadily rose in her. The sensation from a single stoke had both of them suffering with anticipation, and fighting hard against imminent release. Their final joining was a mutual triumph of restraint that left them dizzy, and breathless. Upon recovering, Bidu smiled on him, and then she expelled a mournful laugh.

“It’s going to take forever to ride this log,” she observed.

From where he lay, James smiled in a relaxed, and knowing way as he caressed her hip.

“This is me,” she realized in breathless amazement of her own capability. “It’s mine.”

She was becoming excited. James could tell. He gently took her hands in his.

“Easy, Bi,” he urged her. “Let’s go slow.”

With practice, Bidu discovered this newest aspect of her enhancement. She learned quickly that she could fasten on James’ engorgement anywhere along her depth—ascending, or descending. She also found that she could make her cervix flutter—and make James beg to her delight. They played, and kissed for a time, then rested for a time.

“So, what do you think?” James wondered of this woman of all women.

Bidu looked on him, then kissed him slow, and full, and deep. When they parted, she was feeling so powerful!

“I think school is over.”

The Velorian male smiled with a private knowing.

“As you wish,” he said.

Like a bolt of lightning, James plunged into her! Bidu gasped from shock. She tried to stop him—catch him—stop him, but he was moving so fast! He throbbed, and pulsated in her at dazzling speed, stripping away all of her sense of control. He wanted her limp, and mindless—helpless against his power! He was going to drag a kicking, screaming orgasm from her that would blow her brains out. He was going to show her just what Velorian sex was all about. He was a monster, unstoppable, a juggernaut of pure Velorian erotic will! -- and then he couldn’t move any more.

What the fuck?

James looked to see Bidu calmly glaring down at him from the imposing height of her beautifully erect posture. She was wringing wet as she sat on him with her hands lightly perched on her iliacs. Her breasts seemed to float on cushions of air.

To his surprise, she wasn’t appearing mindless.

“You bastard!” she spat.

And so began his end. Bidu summoned every megaton of her enhancement power to wreck her vengeance on him. She compelled her sheath on him, gaining in experience, and control with every undulation she imposed. If sex was what he wanted, then that’s exactly what he was going to get! She was going to show him just who he was fucking with. She’d blow his marbles like they’d never been blown! She’d have him on life-support before she was through with him. She would make him scream for mercy, and then scream for more! She’d -

What the fuck?

She looked down on James. He was rancid with the sweat of effort. The sheets were wet beneath him. Greedily, she breathed in the odor of his vapors. She could see him—his steely resolve beyond his placid features.

He moved in her again. Against her will he moved! Her man . . . was doing this . . . to her. Her gorgeous, glorious man!

It seemed like hours before they finally came down - hours spent, by turns, fucking like the demigods they were, or lying together quietly, savoring their contact; an outside observer would have thought they were doing nothing when in fact they were doing everything.

But at long last it was time for other things.

“Bidu,” he said. “We have to talk about important matters. Very important matters. Matters that go beyond Binkley’s World. Matters that affect the course of the war, the fate of Velor itself.”

 

* * *

It was a thing unheard of—a phenomenon so unique unto itself, and so profound in meaning that its advent took by storm. It affected all, and spared none. It defied every limit there was to logic, reason and common sense. There was nothing to compare it to anywhere in the catalogue of recorded fact. It was far beyond the reach of fiction. So singular, and extraordinary was it that all who came to hear of it were struck numb with shock. Most simply refused to accept it. Many openly wept.

It happened in the marketplace of Binkley’s World’s vast, open-air mall. Women gasped. Men fainted. Mothers hastened to cover the impressionable eyes of young children. None who bore witness to it could believe what they were seeing: Velorian Protectors shopping for—of all things - clothes.

And yet, there they were. Gloriously nude, blonde Protectors deliberately covering their heavenly bodies.

“Have they no shame!” one woman exclaimed in disgust.

By then, all of the Protectors of Binkley’s World had read what had come to be known as, “The Can’dy Article,” that expounded on the topic of a woman’s concealing her most alluring attribute to attract a man’s attention. The article had deeply affected all of them, because, for a race of women accustomed to a sexual diet of ‘whenever—wherever—with whomever’, they were now placed in the hitherto unknown position of competing with each other for the attention of one man. A single messenger was being sent to serve them all, and they were more than fifty.

“It’s a scandal!” one mortally offended man cried out as he saw a Protector covering herself. “A scandal, I say!”

None of the lonely Protectors wanted to be second in line for their messenger’s sorely needed attention, let alone fiftieth. So they began to look for ways to stand out among their equally gorgeous, Velorian sisters, and so they began to look for ways of concealing their most alluring attribute, so they could attract the attention of the one man to be given to them.

“Is there no justice!” a shocked observer lamented upon seeing a Protector’s body concealed.

Several of the Protectors tried to hide their identities by wearing dark glasses as they shopped for clothes. They fooled no one, though, because they were still blonde, perfect and otherwise nude.

Seeing Protectors trying on clothes, sturdy men would go completely limp. More than once a distraught man would rush up to a concealed Protector to scream in her face: “For God’s sake woman, uncover yourself!”

And more than once, an underexposed Protector would turn red in the face, burst into tears, then quickly fly off in haste.

Discretion forbids a complete telling of this - one of the saddest of all chapters in Velorian lore, though there is a document that chronicles the daunting challenge these exceptional Protectors faced. As it would be repetitive to relate all their separate stories, the author will limit himself to the perils of Char’lene.

Upon her successful passage through Attribute Concealment Training, Char set out to discover her most alluring attribute, and then find ways of concealing that attribute.

To begin her quest, Char’lene thought it best to seek the counsel of her Velorian compatriots as to what her most alluring attribute was. Who better to judge Velorian beauty after all, she figured, than another Velorian? She took to approaching the Velorian civilians—one on one—so that she might ask them: “What—is my most alluring attribute?”

All the Velorians she encountered, however, when confronted by Char’s maternity engine perfected body, could do no less than fall to fervent worship of her with their hands, their mouths, their . . .

Well, nice as they were to compliment her with their attention, and nice as the attention was, Char’lene knew that she was on a mission, and that she had to stay focused.

“That’s not. . . answering my . . . question,” she sighed through the combined heat of passionately shared kisses.

Not getting the information she required from her fellow Velorians, Char’lene decided to try asking the Aureans. The Betas merely turned away from her in disdain. The Primes weren’t much more helpful.

“There’s nothing the least bit alluring about you, you Velorian shit!” they generally declared.

“Okay fine,” Char’lene granted, “but is there one thing about me that’s—like, y’know—uglier than the rest?”

“You’re all shit!”

In quick succession, she’d gone from one extreme to the other, so Char decided to see if she could find a “middle” course to her sojourn. She asked the average Binkleyan man on the street.

“Excuse me, sir, could I ask you a question?” she asked an average looking Binkleyan man on a street. “It won’t take a minute.”

The average Binkleyan man on the street, at once, gave the gorgeous, naked, blonde Protector who’d presented her gorgeous, naked, blonde self before him his undivided, if slightly stupefied, attention.

“I’m trying to locate my most alluring attribute,” Char’lene duly informed the man, “so, what I’d like to know is; what part of my body gives you the strongest, and most immediate erection—I mean, reaction?”

“Uhhh . . . “

“Okay, wul - maybe I should be more specific. I’m looking for a certain part of my body. One that . . . y’know like - stands out.”

“ . . . uhhh . . . “

“Can you choose one feature of my body that is more alluring than the rest?”

“ . . . uhhh . . . “

“Any part at all.”

“ . . . uhhh . . . “

“Okay, wul . . . what if I covered myself . . . like this. Would it make you want me more?”

“ . . . uhhh . . . “

“Okay, wul - let’s try uncovered, and covered. Maybe that’ll help you decide. Now, would you want sex with me more if I was like this . . . or like this?”

“ . . . uhhh . . . “

“Like this . . . or like this?”

“ . . . uhhh . . . “

“That’s not answering my question.”

It only took so many average men for Char to discover that their reaction to her was quickly establishing an average.

“What is it with you men?” she impatiently fumed at one. “I’m trying to find out something important here—I mean, it’s not like it’s any great big state secret, or anything like that, but it’s pretty doggone important to me . . . y’know - personally, and all you do is stand there with a glazed stare, drooling.”

At that point, she noted the man’s glazed stare.

“Hel-looo!” she hailed, snapping her fingers before the man’s eyes several times to get his attention.

The gesture succeeded in wresting the man’s attention from her, and directing his attention to her.

“What does it take to get a straight response from you?” Char’lene wished to know.

The man looked down to regard himself, then looked back up to Char’lene.

“How much straighter do you want it?” he asked.

At length, after having straightened out a number of average Binkleyan men on the street—and coming away none the wiser for it—Char’lene resorted to going to Binkley’s World’s crowded marketplace to search for attribute concealments.

“Hi,” Char greeted an old merchant who was attending his stand.

“Ah, good day to you, Madame Protector,” the merchant greeted her back.

“And a good day to you, sir,” Char’lene replied most amiably, and most hopefully, then it occurred to her to wonder, “how could you tell that I’m a Protector?”

“I think it’s rather obvious, ma’am,” the merchant replied.

“Wul,” Char’lene wondered further, “I’m not wearing my uniform.”

The old merchant merely smiled.

“Oh, yeah,” Char then realized, “ I’m not wearing . . . yeah, right . . . okay.”

“And what can I do for you this fine day, ma’am?” the merchant inquired of the Protector.

“Well,” Char’lene began, “I’m in the market for an article of concealment.”

The merchant blinked.

“’Concealment’,” he reiterated in the manner of a prompt.

“Something that . . . conceals,” Char’lene attempted to explain, “y’know like - covers up.”

“’Covers . . . up’,” the merchant reiterated.

“Yes,” said Char’lene, “something that covers a part of me - like . . . conceals.”

“Conceals . . . “

“A part of me . . . “

“Like covers . . . “

“My body . . . “

“You mean clothes - “

“That’s it!”

“Clothes!”

“Yes!”

“You want clothes!”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Ah!” cried the merchant, happy for their shared epiphany, “I must confess, ma’am, you did have me confused there for a moment! It is, after all, so unusual for a Velorian - and a Protector, no less - to be interested in clothes.”

“Yeah,” Char’lene agreed, smiling her brightest, “I know it’s kinda out of the ordinary.”

Recovered from their moment of enlightenment, the merchant then frowned to wonder.

“Well,” he said, “now I am genuinely confused.”

Char’lene frowned.

“Is something wrong?”

“Why would a Velorian Protector be interested in clothes?”

“Wul, this is for a special occasion,” said Char, thinking of the messenger who was about to arrive, “I mean, a—really special occasion.”

“Oh, I see,” said the merchant, “and you would like to look - special for this occasion.”

Char’lene smiled at their affinity.

“Yes,” she affirmed.

“So, you are looking for a item of adornment.”

“Concealment actually.”

“Oh, but there are items which can do both.”

“Really?”

“Most assuredly, ma’am.”

“Gee . . . “

“And they can serve to make a woman - such as yourself - most alluring.”

The word ‘alluring’ had a special place for Char.

“Which brings me to the point of my business,” she said.

“Yes?” the merchant inquired.

“I would like to . . . clothe, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“I would like to clothe my most alluring attribute.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes.”

“And what is your most alluring attribute?”

Char’lene frowned.

“I don’t know.”

The old man’s eyes widened at this. Char’lene looked at him from beneath her lowered brow - sadly . . . hopefully.

“Can you help me?” she hesitantly asked in a small voice.

The merchant’s eyes glazed over for a moment, then he shook himself awake again.

“I can certainly try,” he offered.

Char’lene beamed. She presented herself to him in offering.

“Can you,” she asked him carefully, “pick out,” it was, indeed, important, “my most alluring attribute?”

The merchant frowned as he scrupulously studied Char’lene’s immaculately perfect, feminine form. He made a show of supporting an elbow in the crook of an arm, then supporting his heavily stubbled chin in the grasp of his upraised hand.

“Hmmm . . . ,” he exhaled thoughtfully.

Char’lene bit her lip nervously.

“Well . . . ,” the merchant intoned thoughtfully.

Char’lene’s eyes widened expectantly. The old man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled wryly, and he wagged an accusing finger at the Protector.

“Ahhh,” he said, his gravely voice full of elfin mischief, “you’ve been to our sun, haven’t you . . . “

Abashed, Char’lene was at a sudden loss for what to do with her hands. She looked down at the ground, and lightly traced a toe in the dirt.

“Yeah . . . ,” she shyly admitted.

“Well, your breasts are—outstanding, to say the very least.”

“Umhm . . . ,” Char agreed demurely.

“Their remarkable fullness, size, and shape - their placement high up near your collar bones—the way your taut, prominent nipples look up toward the sky as they do.”

“Umhm . . . ,” Char’lene agreed - though somewhat less demurely.

“They are,” the merchant went on to say, “some of the most gorgeous breasts I’ve ever seen.”

Char’lene’s glowering countenance locked on to him.

“Wha’d’ya mean, ‘some’?” she aggressively wished to know.

“You have most alluring tits,” the merchant hastily corrected himself.

Alluring . . .

“Then I should clothe them,” Char’lene chattered anxiously, “I mean cover them—uh, conceal them.”

“Well now,” the merchant hedged, “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, Madame Protector.”

Char’lene frowned.

“Then what are you saying?” she asked.

“Let us first take into consideration your other attributes before making a final decision,” the merchant clarified.

That made sense to Char’lene.

“Okay,” she agreed amiably, resting her hands on her hips.

“Uhm . . . .” the merchant struggled briefly, then, “I’m sorry. Where were we?”

Char’lene righted her carriage, and squared her broad, feminine shoulders.

“My breasts,” she prompted with confidence.

“Ah, yes,” said the merchant, remembering, “but we’ve covered those.”

Char’lene frowned.

“No, we haven’t,” she said.

The merchant frowned.

“Yes, we have,” he said.

Char’lene’s frown persisted.

“Do you see my breasts covered?” she asked.

“No,” the merchant said, smiling, “I meant to say that we have covered them in the assessment of your attributes.”

“Oh,” said Char’lene, smiling, “sorry.”

The merchant, once again, adopted his thoughtful pose as he scrutinized Char’lene’s nude, Supremis body.

“Your . . . center,” his gravely voice intoned at length.

“You mean my belly button?” Char’lene inquired.

“No, I meant,” the merchant clarified, “your . . . intimate - center.”

“Oh, you mean my pussy.”

“Yes.”

The merchant paused to clear his throat.

“It’s most alluring, to be sure,” he surmised.

Char’lene’s cheeks burned red as she lightly stroked herself.

“Yeah . . . ,” her soft voice intoned shyly, “it’s . . . where I live . . . “

“And certainly the place countless men have called home.”

“What?”

“I meant to say, would like to call home.”

“Well, if you mean every guy wants to fuck me, then, yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“I would, indeed.”

“Should I clothe it?”

“What?”

“My pussy.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that - “

“Until . . . we’ve finished with the . . . assessment.”

“Quite.”

And so, the assessment proceeded with painstaking care as the old Binkleyan merchant strove to select Char’lene’s most alluring attribute. His aged, experienced eyes surveyed—critically—the sum of her, taking in to the visual full her tummy, her legs, her buttocks, her back, her shoulders, her arms, her hands and her feet. At length, alas, he could not decide.

“Your body,” he concluded, “is, by far, more than enough to make any man drool.”

“Tell me about it,” Char’lene groused, chafing at the unsatisfactory results of her recent experience.

“Except,” the merchant then said.

“Yes?” Char’lene asked expectantly.

“Your face!”

“My face?”

“Yes!” the merchant stated. “I’d completely overlooked your face!”

“However could that have happened?” Char’lene genuinely wondered.

“I’m not sure myself,” said the merchant, “but, now that I look at it, your face is, very definitely, your most alluring attribute.”

“Then we have to cover it,” Char stated with finality.

“Impossible!” the merchant ejaculated. “It’s unheard of for a woman to clothe her face.”

“Then all the more reason,” Char’lene reasoned. “Since it’s never done, then I would be the only Protector to clothe her face, and it would make me stand out, wouldn’t it?”

“To be sure,” the merchant readily agreed, “in a crowd.”

“Then we have to clothe it,” Char concluded fervently. “We simply must!

“But there is no clothing for a woman’s face,” the old merchant maintained.

Char’lene became frantic.

“There’s got to be something!” she insisted. “There must be a way!”

She was upon the man, her strong hands clutching his shirt.

“Please!”

It took a good moment for the frightened Binkleyan to realize that the super powered femme who’d suddenly confronted him so physically had no intention of harming him. She was desperate actually, and begging for his assistance. His business oriented mind searched for a way to help the poor woman—and to get her to release him.

“There . . . ,” he uttered softly, considering their close proximity, “might be a way.”

Char’lene’s hands opened. Her touch became exceedingly gentle.

“Yes?” she asked, her eyes, her being - her very life fastened on him.

The merchant tactfully side stepped away from between the Protector, and the display against which she’d had him pinned. His mind set upon an idea as he shuffled toward the rear of his booth.

“I think I might have just the item you’re looking for,” he said.

Brimming with hope, the blonde goddess rose into the air, and floated after him. His back was to her as he rummaged through a stock of less than optimal goods, carelessly tossing items aside that were unrelated to his search. Char’lene was confident that he was getting what she wanted - needed. She had such faith in him. She knew that he would help her! Save her! Make all things better so she would live happily ever after!

“Ah,” she heard him say, “here we are.”

The merchant finished rummaging, and turned slowly back to Char’lene. She saw that he was holding something. It was an object, brown in color, flat and rectangular in shape. Not only had she never seen such an item, she had no context in her experience by which to glean even the merest concept of its purpose. She observed the almost reverential way by which the old man cradled the object in his two hands as though it were of exceeding delicacy, and presenting it to her as though it were of inestimable value.

“What is it?” Char’lene asked, her eyes wide with wonder.

“This, Madame Protector,” the old merchant announced in a manner of regal formality, “is a brown paper bag.”

Both of Char’lene’s yellow eyebrows pricked. She recalled the term, having heard it spoken in Oon’ah’s office some days before. She recalled the occasion: ‘He said I couldn’t fuck my way out of a paper bag!’ Car’ol had related tearfully.

“Do you know what this is for?” the merchant inquired of Char’lene.

Char’s attention snapped back to the here, and now. She frowned, and shifted her shoulders as she studied the bag.

“Of course I do,” she stated, though she wondered, How would you fuck your way out of that? “You, uh,” she then went on, “ . . . you make love out of it.”

Both of the merchant’s bushy eyebrows pricked.

“Mmm,” his gravely voice intoned.

“Quickly,” Char’lene added with an air of knowledgeable authority.

“Indeed,” the merchant commented, though he wondered, How would you fuck your way out of this? He then reasoned, Ah well, I’m not Velorian . . . thank goodness.

“That is,” the old merchant conceded with a certain hesitation, “but one of this item’s many useful functions.”

Being unexpectedly informed that a paper bag had a purpose - several purposes perhaps - that were, apparently, unrelated to sex relegated Char’lene to a uncomfortable state of mental confusion.

“Really?” she conceded with a certain hesitation.

“For sure,” the merchant went on to elaborate. “For instance; it can change shape.”

Char’lene’s eyes widened of their own without her wanting.

“Really?”

The old Binkleyan merchant’s eyes began to gleam. He smiled.

“You should, maybe, stand back for this,” he solicitously advised.

The Velorian Protector planted her hands firmly on her hips as she squared her beautiful, solid shoulders.

Her chin lifted.

“A paper bag can’t hurt me,” she announced. I hope, she thought.

“As you wish, Madame Protector,” the merchant deferred, though with a conspicuous note of warning to his tone.

The old Binkleyan took a step back from Char’lene. He pulled the cuffs of his sleeves up his forearms, then took a moment to work his shoulders loose. Suddenly, without warning, with the bag in hand, there was an abrupt wave of his arm, and a sharp flick of his wrist. There was a loud snap. Something changed in the air. Char’lene physically darted back as her hands flew to her mouth and she cried out in surprise. The merchant stood before her, the brown paper bag in hand.

Char’lene stared, wide-eyed, at the sight. In vein did she try to hide the fact that she was slightly breathless from the shock. The paper bag had, altogether, changed its shape. It had suddenly grown in volume to possess two expanded sides.

“How did you do that?” she whispered tremulously through her upraised fingers.

The old man’s eyes sparkled.

“By virtue of this item’s . . . magical - properties,” he informed her.

Char’lene lowered her hands as she frowned.

“There is no such thing as ‘magic’ as you say,” she asserted, though, unspoken, she considered that, ‘The technology of a significantly advanced civilization would seem like magic to a less developed culture’.

She wondered briefly on the people who might have made this paper bag . . . and their technology.

I wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark galaxy.

“You seem to be well versed as to the functions of this item, sir,” Char’lene said to the merchant a bit grandly - not wanting to seem unsophisticated, “but please tell me; how might it conceal my most alluring attribute?”

The old Binkleyan’s bushy eyebrows rose.

“I will show you, ma’am,” he assured.

The merchant put the bag aside, then, with a ruled stick, went about taking measurements of Char’lene’s face, and head. After that, he took up a set of sheers, and, using the measurements that he’d noted as a guide, proceeded to cut two openings in one surface of the bag. Char’lene watched every nuance of the man’s activity with rapt attention - loath to miss a single detail. Indeed, she wanted to know every secret of this mysterious bag as it might afford her preferential status with the Protector’s ‘communal’ messenger.

After the merchant had cut an arc into the edge of the paper bag’s two sides, he put the sheers away, then led Char’lene to a mirror, and had her face it.

“You might want to close your eyes for this, ma’am,” he advised.

Her proud breasts high, her nipples thrust to the wind, Char’lene, again, bravely deferred the old man’s warning.

“A paper bag can’t hurt me,” she quietly declared to him with the unstinting confidence that was the hallmark of the Velorian Protector’s renown, but, as she turned her stern visage to the mirror once more, Char’lene silently prayed, Skietra, be with me!

The man ceremoniously raised the bag over Char’lene’s head, then began to slowly lower it. It was as though he was in the solemn act of crowning a monarch. Char’lene watched the bottom edge of the bag as it first concealed the hair on the top of her head, then her forehead.

It’s working! she thought ecstatically. It’s concealing me - my most . . . alluring . . . attribute!

Then her eyes.

Okay, I think this is a little too much concealment, she considered, I mean, how am I supposed to see?

Patiently, Char’lene watched the inside of the bag pass along her sight-line. Suddenly she saw the two holes the merchant had cut in the front of the bag. When she felt the bag come to settle on her shoulders, the holes were directly in front of her, and she could see again.

Wow! How about that!

“I think, as you can plainly see, madame,” she heard the man say to her, “the bag clearly adorns - even as it conceals.”

And right he was - so right he was! Char’lene could see that the bag completely concealed her face, giving her naked beauty an unmistakable aura of irresistible mystery.

“Look!’ the voice of a man cried out. “Over there!”

“Where?” a woman’s voice replied.

“There!” said the man. “In old Shyster’s stand!”

“Oh, my goodness!” said another voice.

“For heavens!” said another.

Char’lene wondered what the commotion was about.

“What a sight!”

“Have you ever!”

“Not in all my days!”

“Who is she?”

“Who?”

“Yes, who indeed?”

“Who is that . . . really gorgeous Velorian with the brown paper bag over her head?”

Char’lene turned to face the front of the old man’s stand. She saw that a sizable crowd had gathered. All of them were looking at her.

“You see, madame Protector,” said the old man quietly at her elbow, “already you have attracted much attention.”

And all I’ve done is to conceal my most alluring attribute! thought Char’lene.

She was nearly breathless with excitement.

“Who is that Velorian in the paper bag?” one in the crowd expressed for the crowd.

“Yes!” exclaimed another. “Who on Binkley’s World is she?”

“Gawd, what tits!” exclaimed a third.

Char’lene couldn’t bear the suspense any longer. She removed the bag from her head, and beamed the crowd her very best, brightest, most glorious, devastating and groin wrenchingly captivating smile.

The crowd stared at her.

Char’lene was expecting all of them, men and women alike, to fall worshiping at her feet.

The crowd continued staring at her.

She hoped the interior of the old man’s stand could accommodate them all.

The crowd still continued to stare at her.

Any minute now.

“Oh,” someone in the crowd then expressed for the crowd in a manner of no account, “it’s just Char’lene.”

Just . . . , she thought.

As a body, everyone in the crowd relaxed.

. . . Char’ . . .

And they began to disperse.

I’ve lost my mysterious allure, Char’lene thought, watching after the people as they departed to go about their business, that this . . . bag . . . at once bestowed on me.

The impact of such meaning struck deep, leaving the Velorian Protector feeling slightly dazed.

“Magical,” the old man’s gravely voice intoned - he was still at her elbow, “properties . . . “

At once, Char’lene made up her mind. There was no denying the evidence. She was filled with resolve. She would not be swayed!

She looked at the merchant, clutching the bag to her heart.

“How much?”

“Hm, well, Madame Protector,” the old merchant hedged, “I have to say that, in all my many years in the trading business, this is the only brown paper bag I’ve come across. It is a very rare item. So rare, in fact, that there’s scarcely any market for it. None at all, in fact.”

“Then I guess it must be really expensive, huh?” Char’lene surmised.

“Mmmmmm - eeeaaaahhhh . . . “

“Or perhaps it’s worth nothing at all,” she further surmised through narrowed eyes, “since, as you say, there is no market for it.”

“That’s purely due to the matter of scarcity, ma’am,” the merchant hastened to clarify. “You saw for yourself how well the bag works,” he reminded her. “Mark my words,” he proclaimed grandly, his enthusiasm intensifying, “your wearing this adornment could start a fashion - a craze - a MANIA . . . and you, Madame Protector—“

“The name’s ‘Char’lene’.”

“Charmed. You, ma’am, would be the first!”

 

 

Chapter 6