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Old December 20 2012, 07:37 PM   #87
Rear Admiral
Re: UT: Refugee Crisis/Dark Territory-"Stealing Fire"

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The Burning Claw

Mavaar pushed him against the wall, her body pressing against Ramlo. In the distance he heard a terrible rumbling, but thoughts of what was going on beyond this ship, outside this room, were secondary. With one hand she stroked her inviting cleavage. With the other, she caressed the Arkenite’s bald head. “Pity that Gedrik didn’t implant neural servos in you.” She purred, her breath warm and soft on his ear. Even her smell was intoxicating. “Perhaps there are…other ways to compel you to continue working on the device.” The woman pressed her body against him, her breathing becoming husky. Her hands cradled the back of his head and she pushed him towards her open, moist lips.

“Boarding party to the cargo bay,” Nadeen’s voice squawked through the room’s intercom. “The Erickson is ours for the taking!”

“Erickson,” Ramlo muttered, the name of his ship, the memories of his colleagues breaking through his haze. “They are in danger.” He tried to break free of the woman, but her grip was too strong. His green eyes water as a heavy musk exuded from the woman’s pores. What little scientific mind he had left made him realize that Mavaar was using pheromones to cloud his mind, to weaken his resistance.

“The only thing you can do to save them is finish learning about this device,” Mavaar whispered. “This can be the leverage you need to purchase the life of your friends.” She kissed him forcefully, setting his mind and body on fire. It took all he had to pull away from her. He gasped hungrily for air and Mavaar laughed.

“You have admirable restraint,” she conceded. “But no one, save the most asexual being, can resist me for long.”

“Pheromones,” he said, “You’re using pheromones against me.”

She cocked her head to the side, a quizzical look giving way to one of appreciation. “You continue to impress me Arkenite,” Mavaar replied. “During my time among the Orions I learned a lot about their irresistible ‘slave’ women. Their beauty was obvious, but that isn’t what bent so many of their purported masters into lapdogs. Orion women secrete a pheromone that affects the metabolisms of males of many species, turning them into obedient stooges. One of the Orion women ‘donated’ a gland that I had surgically implanted.” The Nuvian smiled with satisfaction.

“So even your charms are fake,” Ramlo surmised. The woman frowned and the air grew heavy with her scent.

“We’ll just see how well you can resist this time,” she said, her mouth opening again, her ripe lips beckoning. Ramlo’s knees began to buckle. His lips puckered, wanting to join with Mavaar’s. Unbidden, his arms embraced her, and she gasped in delight at his roughness. Mavaar closed her eyes, preparing to sink him with her kiss. Ramlo, not wanting to see the oncoming doom, closed his eyes as well.

In the darkness of his mind, a towering figure formed: Shashlik. The Kaylar was dressed in gleaming ancestral blue armor and flowing golden robes, her arm-length tattoo resplendent. Her eyes shone like stars as he gazed upon her. She looked down at him, through him. Her lips parted and he waited eagerly to hear what she would tell him from beyond. “Just head butt the whore already!” The fearsome Kaylar bellowed.

When Ramlo’s eyes blinked open, Mavaar’s lips were just brushing against his. He reared back and before the woman noticed, lunged his head at her. The heavy cranium that supported his three-lobed brain cracked into the woman’s head. Even her own ridged forehead provided little protection.

She woman screamed as she fell backward. One hand automatically reached for the bloody indention on her forehead. Her face painted dark red from the seeping blood, Mavaar glared at him, her succulent lips now becoming a violent slash. “I’m going to take that reconstructive surgery cost out of your hide.”

As if hearing a voice in his ear, Ramlo bent low, trying his best to remember the combat moves Shash taught him. To the raging Nuvian, he simply replied, “Bring it tramp.”
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