Worlds of BBW Erotic Romance - Box Set (15 page)

He was doing it on purpose! He slammed straight into two of the flying Enpathians, sending them spinning down through the air. And then, he was dropping, the nose of the scout bike pointed sharply down… Heading towards
her.

Closer, closer… And then, she felt his powerful hands grab her legs, pull her in tight.

“I gofffryuu!” came a male voice, badly muffled.

She looked down and realized what had happened. Gearon had grabbed her legs, and now she was half-standing, half-sitting on his shoulders—with her jeans-clad crotch shoved into his face.

He got a grip on her waist and pulled her down further, so that her thighs were securely resting on his shoulders.

He tilted his head back to look up at her, grinning widely. “I told you to keep your splendid bottom on the seat,” he said.

She realized that her belly was now directly in front of his face, blocking his view. “You can’t see to drive!” she exclaimed.

Just then, the bike shuddered and dropped a few yards suddenly. Heather found herself grabbing onto Gearon’s hair for support.

“Sorry,” she said.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few sparks dancing on the “handlebars” of the bike. Gearon jerked his hands away momentarily, as if shocked.

“We don’t have much farther to go,” he said. “Which is very well, because I don’t think this scout bike has much longer to fly.”

He reached down and grabbed something that was attached to the side of the bike. It looked something like a small, silver, cordless hairdryer. He handed it to her.

“There are still a number of Enpathians following us,” he said. “Just point at them and press the trigger button… I think you have similar Earth weapons, yes?”

I think I had one of these in college
, she thought. It was a Conair Professional, Model number something—something…

But this was clearly some kind of energy gun… And he wanted
her
to get rid of their pursuers?

The weapon did look simple enough. There was some sort of gun-sight on the top, made up of an array of glowing filaments which was almost invisible until she looked through it head-on. The trigger itself was a sort of rubbery nub.

One of the other Enpathian “mermaid” flyers was gaining on them… Heading straight for them, right in Heather’s sights. She saw the Enpathian raise her arm, palm outstretched—

OH NO!,
she thought.  I’m not going through that psychic attack crap again!

In a panic, she depressed the trigger of the gun. A bright beam of blue-white energy shot from the mouth of the hairdryer-shaped weapon. 

Her shot went wild and high, not coming anywhere near the Enpathian.

DROP THE WEAPON,
commanded a loud female voice in her head.

Heather gritted her teeth and fought it.

No way bitch, fighting you, got to do this NOW…

She took a second to aim, carefully lining up all of the little glowing circles of the gun-sights before firing, hoping she’d done it right…

The blue-white bolt launched from Heather’s gun… And impacted the Enpathian right in her faceplate, exploding her helmet.

Heather looked away. From the corner of her eye, she saw that her vanquished foe was spinning down towards the ground, out of control. 

That left only one “mermaid” pursuer… And that last Enpathian was now slowing down, hanging back.

“Got her!” She exclaimed. “There’s only one left now… They’re slowing down?”

“They’re pulling back, possibly waiting for reinforcements, yes?” he said. “You’ve done very well, prettiness. Ahh… But I’ll need to see properly soon, though. Come, let us get you twisted around correctly.”

He reached up, grabbed her waist…

“Loosen your lovely thighs a bit,” he instructed.

She did as he asked, a bit frightened to be lifted while flying so high in the air… But she was in his incredibly strong hands, and he turned her around effortlessly so that she was sitting on his shoulders, facing forwards now. Finally, he could see to steer the bike.

It was still an awkward position for her, though not quite as awkward as it had been facing backwards. Somewhere in the process, her panties had gotten caught up in a nasty wedgie. Trying her best to grip Gearon’s shoulders, she really didn’t want to chance reaching down to “adjust” herself.

Next time I’m blasting
aliens in the face with a hairdryer
, she thought,
I’m definitely wearing a thong.
Never mind that she didn’t own any… If she survived this she’d
buy
some, just in case.

There was a flickering at the edge of her vision. She realized that it was the iridescent wings of the bike, sputtering and dimming as if they were losing power.

Ahead of them, on a hillside, was a jumbled cluster of small, long structures. As the started to descend towards it, she thought it looked awfully familiar… She’d spent a good part of her childhood in a place very much like it, anyway.

“It’s a trailer park,” she said.

“My ship is there,” Gearon said. “Disguised, yes? Though I don’t know if the hiding of it really matters, now.”

The bike suddenly dropped about ten feet, and Heather squealed, clenching her thighs around Gearon’s head. For his part, he didn’t complain… When she relaxed her legs and looked down at his face, he appeared grim-set and determined.

He took the bike into a steep descent towards a landing in the trailer park, flattening out its angle at the last moment…

The bike skidded across the rusted-out body of an old abandoned car in a shower of sparks. Touching the ground, it plowed across the grass, digging up sod and mud—

Before finally coming to rest after heavily denting the side of a tool shed, which served to brake its slide with a jarring BUMP.

Heather let out a deep breath—she hadn’t realized she’d been holding it for a few moments, paralyzed by fear and adrenalin. She was surprised, and relieved, to discover that somehow she still remained perched on Gearon’s shoulders.

Her Mekron Lord got off the bike, holding her legs, still carrying her on his shoulders like a child. He headed towards a nearby trailer, bearing her along.

The trailer he approached was rusty, stained, neglected, with faded NASCAR banners and rows of old beer cans displayed in the windows. He led her towards the battered door of the thing.

“Umm… Disguise?” she asked.

“Indeed, prettiness, you astutely have guessed,” he told her.

Gearon reached up, grabbed her waist, and gently set her down on her feet.

She shook her head to clear it, looked around again… and noticed something odd.

“I came into the atmosphere keeping close to an Enpathian freighter, and I dropped my ship down here before they could see me,” Gearon explained. “I shielded my ship from scans, yes? And adopted this visual disguise.”

Heather laughed. “Oh, it’s very believable. I’m surprised the guy next door hasn’t gotten really confused, though.”

Gearon raised one sexy blue eyebrow. “Why?” he asked.

She waved her arm to her right. On the next lot over, next to a battered Dodge Durango, was an IDENTICAL trailer. Same make, model, dents, rust spots, flags and beer cans…
everything.
It was obviously this trailer that Gearon’s “disguise” had been lifted from.

“The ship’s disguise sensors choose automatically based on the locale, yes?” he explained. “I thought the flags and such were ritual markings of your people… But it does look
too
identical, I think? Ah, well. No use now.”

He reached towards the door of the trailer, and his fingers danced as if on a keypad… Except the pad itself wasn’t visible.

Hidden by the “disguise,” she guessed…

Beams of purple and red light emanated from somewhere beyond the door, running up and down over Gearon’s bulky, tall body, scanning his form…

And then the door opened, sliding aside with hiss in a very un-trailer-like manner.

He led her into a small, cream-colored chamber, with what looked like storage units with beige covers on the walls.

“Just the airlock, lovely… Come,” he said, leading her through.

The far wall of this little chamber was… ODD. Wet, shimmering like a soap bubble, but pink-tan and translucent… and she could faintly she the shadows of another room beyond.

Getting closer to this wall, she was startled to see what looked like tiny veins and capillaries running through it… As if a thin layer of living tissue had been stretched from wall to wall.

“It’s an organic biofilter membrane,” Gearon explained. “Don’t worry… Just step through. You will barely feel it, I assure you.”

Gearon stepped forward, and the “membrane” just kind of…
slurped…
over him, with a wet sound, until she could see his silhouette on the other side, waving for her to come on through.

Taking a deep breath, she followed.

The sensation was moist and clingy for a moment, like having bubblegum pop in your face. And yet, once she was through, she did feel… Cleaner, somehow. Especially on the exposed skin of her face which tingled delightfully.

Does this thing exfoliate?,
she wondered. A one-second facial could put a lot of spas out of business…

Looking around, she realized that she was now in the main control chamber of the ship.

It was long inside, and high—taller than the outer trailer “disguise” would have indicated, with a vaulted ceiling of some mirrored metal. The floor under her feet was soft and yielding, like a silken, foamed-backed carpet--which nonetheless maintained perfect traction. There was some kind of long couch running along the side wall, and two pilot-type seats set at opposite ends of the chamber looked wide and plush and inviting. The whole place had an inviting, faint cinnamon-vanilla scent; it reminded her of Gearon’s own subtle smell.

“It’s not what I imagined,” she told Gearon. “I always though a spacecraft was supposed to be… well… sterile. This looks like a room from some home décor magazine.”

She didn’t have much time to admire the handsome interior of the craft, however. Gearon waved her towards one of the “pilot seats” at one end of the chamber; maybe it was the rear of the ship, she wasn’t quite sure… She headed towards the seat he had indicated, but paused, looking back to see him throwing his trenchcoat off onto the floor.

She got an all-too-brief glimpse of his bare back: the powerful, broad shoulders, and all those lines and dimples marking the muscles bulging under the skin like the parts of a well-oiled machined…

And his butt…
WHOA.
The glutes seemed to strain at the denim of his jeans, and she wanted to squeeze that big, firm ass right there.

Priorities, Heather!
she berated herself.

Then, he slid into the chair. He took his place at the control panel set in front of the seat, studded with nubs and whorls that might be some kind of buttons, or dials, the whole thing decorated in an imposing pattern of red and black runes.

He ran his finger along the gentle S-curve of one upraised marking, and a cylindrical shaft began to rise from the center of the panel, stretching up from the surface of it as if it was being molded in real time, extruded from the material of the panel itself.

She was slightly amused—and slightly disturbed—to notice that this shaft, probably some kind of control stick, resembled nothing so much as a rather thick, red-and-black phallus.

She must have been staring too long, because as Gearon took a grip on the control stick, he looked back and once again waved her towards the other seat in the rear.

“Please, prettiness,” he said. “Go and sit with haste, now. Just refrain from touching anything, yes? Most certainly not the panel in front of your seat.”

She sprinted over to the other “pilot seat” and plopped her ample behind down into it. The seat, like everything else in the craft, was exceedingly comfortable: instantly molding itself to the contours of her body, while at the same time offering gentle support.

The panel he’d warned her about was directly in front of her, against the far wall. It reminded her very much of the one at Gearon’s station, with similar nubs and whorls. However, the color scheme here was a distinctly feminine pink and lavender. In the center of the panel—where the control “shaft” had emerged on Gearon’s version—there were only the imprints of two hands with fingers outstretched. These “hand prints” were about half an inch deep, made by—or for—hands bigger than her own.

She’d expected some kind of deep rumbling, the roaring of engines or something dramatic like that. But there was just a slight thrumming vibration and a sensation like ascending in a slow elevator…

“Are we taking off?” she asked Gearon.

“Yes, lovely,” he told her. “We have inertial compensation on this ship, so you won’t feel much. But to see things, here…”

He must have flicked some switch because, suddenly, the walls of the chamber became transparent. Or at least they
seemed
transparent… She wasn’t sure if she was looking through the actual hull of the ship, or if these were projections, like some giant wrap-around hyper-HD video screen.