The second volume of the Wired Hard series came out in 1997 and included stories from writers who went on to become Circlet stalwarts such as M. Christian, Eric Del Carlo, and David Laurents.
Today’s excerpt is from “The Hetarai Turncoat” by Karl-Rene Moore. Fun fact: surprisingly few Circlet stories feature sex with aliens. This is one of the exceptions to that rule:
Dieter’s body gleamed with a steaming mixture of sweat and sauna condensation as he emerged, balls bouncing low in his scrotum against the taut, defined adductor muscles in his thighs, surmounted by his semi-erect fock … which immediately began to salute me when Dieter noticed me standing near the sauna door, bottle of spiced oil in one hand, and his favorite carved jade cock ring in the other.
Pausing in the doorway, so that the steam rose off his powerful shoulders and bulging, smoothly rounded pectoralis majors, and briefly screened his blunt, yet archly refined features, so that only his icy blue-grey eyes shone through clearly … and there was a certain look in those glacial orbs that warned: The usual won’t be enough tonight, Gustav. Not enough at all …
But he said nothing as he picked up his rough-napped towel, and held it out for me to in turn drape it around his well-muscled back, and cannon ball hard behind, before he padded over to the massage table.
Once I’d given him a perfunctory rub-down with the already damp towel, I helped my employer-cum-lover-cum-whoremaster up onto the padded leather-topped table, and began to briskly rub the dollops of clove-almond scented oil over and around his still-tense trapezius muscles close to his thick, muscle-coiled neck, letting my fingertips move up toward the bottom of his hairline, where the damp brown-black ringlets rested against his deeply tanned flesh. Unable to untense his shoulders and upper back, I swiftly moved my circular-rubbing hands down toward his tapering waist, then down along his narrow hips, until I’d reached the twin-globes of his buttocks, which rose above the smooth, oil-stained tan leather table like chiseled spheres of some burnt umber-tone marble, with the slight natural creases of his skin-folds forming darker veins of color.
Caressing and kneading that firm, rounded flesh, I gently worked my way down toward his rectum, then inserted two well-lubricated index and middle fingers deep within him, feeling the ringed tightness give way to a more relaxed, all-enveloping sensation as Dieter parted his ass wider, while finally relaxing under my slippery ministrations … and when I made contact with his deep-buried prostate, he arched his pelvis up toward me, rising to his knees with his final, moaning orgasm. Beneath him, the padded tabletop was splattered with a free-form pool of semen from his still jerking fock, and as I used the soggy towel to wipe it off, Dieter ran his own hands (still hot and moist from the sauna, yet just ridged enough at the tips of the fingers to feel like the teasing ridges of a tight rectum) down and around my own buttocks, until they found my shaved-smooth scrotum and stiffening fock, which he encircled with one fingers-curled hand while murmuring in my ever-attentive ear, “Would you be interested in doing me a very … unique favor?”
As I dropped the cum-soaked towel to the polished tile floor, I mentally began cataloging all the previous “favors” I’d done for Dieter since we’d arrived at this ambassador’s mansion on the planet he and I dubbed “Balloon-land,” in honor of the deflated balloon-like expanses of flesh carried on the vaguely humanoid bones of our “hosts” (trying to pronounce the place’s real name was less than impossible, even for a former linguistics professor like Dieter). The favors were many and varied.
There was that orgy he’d held for the embassy staff upon our arrival here, and all those hours I spent fellating him, his office staff, their secretaries, and even some of the embassy guards, before they in turn brought out their “welcome to the planet” gift of a Berkley Horse, complete with matching whips and studded straps, which of course had to be demonstrated for Dieter’s amusement;
Or the time he’d tied me down on this same massage table, before trying out some of the interactive, semi-sentient sex toys which were found on one of the supposedly “dead” planets in a neighboring galaxy … the ones that felt far too much like living female parts to be tolerated without first being secured to the table.
And of course, there was his edict that I keep my entire body save for my head completely smooth and bare, so that I’d resemble the twenty-year old (relative!) innocent he’d initially hired as his personal massage-therapist … and not the debauched thirty-year old I’d eventually become under his most stringent, yet adoring tutelage.
Idly wondering what sort of favors he’d initially pulled in back on Earth to even be granted this ambassador’s post (and especially whether or not he’d been top or bottom man while doing the begging), I stroked the underside of his still semi-erect fock (how Dieter loves it when I use the old Swedish dialect for penis … claims it sounds hornier, more “direct”) until it once again stood at turgid attention, and then splashed it lightly with more of the oil, before gliding on his cock ring like a groom slipping on his bride’s wedding band, then, as I began to kneel down before him, until the top of my head was level with his lower abdomen, I looked up at him and asked guilelessly, “How ‘unique’ … as in, uncommon, or kinky?”
Reaching down to stroke, then tug on my head of flaxen-straight white-blonde hair, Dieter gently thrust his fock past my waiting lips, before answering in a bemused, slightly perplexed tone, “A little of both, perhaps … you’ve heard the word ‘hetairai,’ have you not?”
All I could do was nod clumsily as I took the whole of his blood-engorged shaft into my mouth, and massaged it with my tongue, but apparently Dieter understood me, for he went on (his voice increasingly punctuated by soft grunts of pleasure):
“Good … I thought one form of prostitute would recognize the old Greek term … albeit the one for female whores, but a hole’s a hole, no? Did … did you realize that in those ancient times, such hetairai were considered to be far more suitable companionship for the male populace than their wives or common concubines? They were far better educated, more worldly … and made excellent spies. One of them, a mistress of Alexander the Great, eventually became a queen of Egypt … not a bad outcome for a spy and political informer, hummm?”
The tip of his fock was touching the back of my soft palate by now, and the base of his carved white-jade cock ring brushed my lips with each thrust as I gently nodded under his tight-pressing hands; and even though he must have been as carried away by the rush of my encircling, probing tongue as I was by the feeling of having him so deep, so alive, within my hungering lips and enveloping mouth, still Dieter managed to keep on talking, as if the words were a poison deep within him he had to release:
“Back on Earth, our well-fleshed hosts are causing … quite a stir, of sorts. They’ve been most … secretive about their biology, their social structure … so much so that … oh God, yes, that’s it … the conservatives who have temporarily co-opted our country’s government are having a crisis … they’ve questions about the moral integrity of the inhabitants … whether or not they’d be ‘ethical’ long-term interplanetary trade partners.”
Dieter began to sink backwards against the massage table, eventually supporting himself from behind with his hands, the fingers digging deep into the pliant surface of the table, as he half-moaned, half whispered:
“Big questions … about their morality … whether or not they can or should be trusted … so secretive … about … about … virtually everything … but … at ho-home, biggest question centers around … sex. Yes, Gustav, like that, yes … government … always worried about … whether or not they might be coveting us … or might eventually use us somehow … ohhh, suck harder, harder … bite it, just enough to … yes … yes, yesyesyes ….”
Hot pulsing runnels of sperm poured down the back of my throat, and as Dieter’s balls jerked hard against the sides of my chin, just below the smooth carved harness of the cock ring, his thighs tensed and released as his fock became softer, more pliant, in my mouth … and as I swallowed, and gently withdrew my lips from his now flaccid organ, he released his grip on the table long enough to place his hands on my shoulders, as he continued in hushed, spent tones, “But one of the other ambassadors just told me that our hosts have expressed a great deal of interest in experiencing our kind of sex—”
“With humans?” I asked, while still massaging his down-covered balls with my still-oiled fingertips, making circular motions on each taut oval of hidden flesh; reaching down to cover my somewhat smaller hands with his larger, dark-tanned ones, he bent down and whispered, with a slightly secretive hint of something left unsaid lurking behind his words, “With male humans … who don’t mind a bit of … shall I say, experimentation?”
White I seldom left the ambassador’s mansion, I had seen the occasional Balloon-man in the … more than ample flesh, and while some of the embassy staff were openly repelled by them, I myself was more than a bit intrigued ….
They were perhaps five-foot six or so at the very most, ostensibly humanoid in basic, skeletal shape (much like a whale can be said to be vaguely mammal-like under all that blubber and protective skin); a head, two sets of upper and lower limbs, held together by a vertical torso … but aside from that, they looked more like deflated Sumo wrestlers gone to flab—excessive, Shar Pei-like folding, drooping flab—than the romanticized notion of an alien, despite the similar lack of body hair common to most BEM’s of pre-contact “sightings.”
Even their faces lacked true definition; eyes were visible under overhanging folds and droopings of flesh, and their mouths were similarly easily-guessed-about openings lower on their faces … but what almost instinctively appealed to me was the way light played on their multi-hued flesh, how it made the ultra-fine downy pelt-like “hair” gleam with an almost oleographic sheen of semi-translucent reds and umbers and ultramarines and even a trace of purplish magenta—which matched the underlying shades and ombre gradations of their pendulous flesh. I even found their slightly domed, slightly bulbous yet deeply wrinkled heads sensuously appealing ….
As the remembered images of our planetary hosts flitted through my mind, Dieter—still holding my hands in his—helped me to my feet, saying, “My contact says they’re most eager to experience the … vice of the Greeks, shall we say, although I can’t for the life of me figure out how … but they do seem to have a bias against one human feature—” he lifted my right hand to the side of my head, and massaged my scalp through my slightly parted fingers “—apparently they don’t like the feel of hair. Too harsh for their tender hides, I suppose.”
Already too excited by the prospect of actually being allowed to touch, caress and nuzzle that oddly pendent, sensually abundant alien bodily covering, I told myself, It’ll grow back in time, before coyly reminding Dieter, “It’s about time for my weekly shave anyhow, isn’t it? …”
* * * *
A traditionalist in more than just his taste for the tried and well-tested sex toys and aides, Dieter was strictly a straight razor and cup-lather man … so while I obediently allowed him to first scissor off my mostly two-inch long flaxen-pale locks while lying on the massage table with my head hanging slightly off the top edge, he filled me in on the main objective behind my “mission of sexual plenipotentiary favors” between each gentle tug, lift and snap of my thick Swedish tresses:
“You’re to work your way into their good graces by granting them any and every sexual request, no matter how odd it might seem … try and make yourself so indispensable to them that they’ll allow you to move freely within their quarters. Try asking questions, teasingly at first, then get serious once they can’t get enough of you, and won’t get more unless they answer some questions. The conservatives back home want to know if they believe in ‘traditional values,’ the old drill about home, family not screwing the underage, things like that. Whether or not they’re ‘hopelessly’ gay—their choice of words, not mine, my pet—isn’t a major concern. The higher-ups in government are more concerned with their honesty, their basic morals … there, now you’re ready for the sauna,” he finished, as he clipped off the last remaining long tuft of hair from my scalp.
While I got up off the table, he picked up his cup and shaving brush, and the honed steel straight razor he used on me weekly, and without waiting for me to follow him, carried the barbering implements into the still-steamy sauna. Once we were both in there, he waited long enough for my body to be coated with a glistening sheen of sweat, before daubing dollops of lather on my chest, and the patch of flesh above my balls, then slathered the warm, bubbly foam over my barely stubbled flesh in a thin, even layer … and while he scraped away the hair-flecked foam with even, firm strokes of the gleaming silvery razor, I half-closed my eyes, and gave in to the sensual tug and release of the blade against my sweating, taut flesh, feeling that slight giddy twist of pleasure/pain/fear as the stiff blade worked slowly but carefully around the rounded deep curve of each testicle, the handle occasionally rubbing against my flaccid-but-slowly-rising fock.
And this time, once Dieter had denuded my flesh to his satisfaction (doing an open-palmed check of my skin’s softness before moving on to the next spot), he used his fingers to scoop up a couple of dollops of froth onto my bristled scalp, then rubbed the lather onto my head, massaging the slightly sweet-scented soap into my skin, before pausing to hone the razor on the strop he left in the sauna.
Positioning himself behind me on the bench, he started with a long, gliding stroke down the middle of my head, baring the center of my scalp in a sensuous smooth motion, then continued to remove the stubble with similar long, arcing strokes, alternating sides, until he delicately removed the last of the hair from the remaining patch of unshorn flesh above and around each ear … and once he was finished, he reached around to grab hold of my fock with one hand, while lifting my now heat-dropped balls with the other, and simultaneously massaged my fock and testes even as he edged his own stiffening fock close to my waiting rectum. And as he inserted his organ into my warmth-relaxed behind, I leaned back against him, so that he could nibble and tug on my exposed ear-lobes with his hard-edged teeth and pursing lips.
When I came, he rubbed the creamy cum on my throbbing balls and lower belly, while murmuring in my ear, “I don’t know how long they’ll want you to stay … however long it’ll be will be too long for me ….”
And I only felt a bit guilty when I realized that however long I might be allowed to stay with our “hosts” wouldn’t be nearly long enough to sate all my questioning desires.
The next morning, before I left in the company of one of the Balloon-men, Dieter gave me a thorough massage, even swallowing when I came (something he’d never done for me before), and as I was led away—smoothly naked per our “host’s” request—for the ride to their nearest high-ranking official’s dwelling, I almost imagined that Dieter’s eyes were glittering more than usual, this time with a liquid fire … but my “host” beckoned, with graceful flapping motions of a close-fingered hand, and all I could do was give Dieter a brief nod of the head and wave of my own hand, before padding down the well-warmed corridors of the ambassador’s mansion, and outside to the waiting vehicle (a pneumatic-tired jeep-like thing, with gauze-fine draperies where the windows should have been), amid a chorus of farewells from the remaining embassy staff.
After all, our “hosts” couldn’t know just how close Dieter and I really were …
Besides having an atmosphere that was virtually identical to the mixture of elements back on Earth (oh, I’d heard Dieter say that there was a molecule’s worth of difference with either the oxygen or the hydrogen, nothing human lungs couldn’t adapt to), the Balloon-man planet had an agreeably warm, temperate climate, with minimal humidity, and a mean temperature of eighty-some degrees during the day … which meant a lot when I was not only naked, but fully denuded. My sexually curious “host” (they mentioned a name, but it was just as unpronounceable as the name of the planet … although they could handle our language with an albeit slushy ease of pronunciation) demanded that I be brought to his chamber upon arrival, so that I had little chance to see much of their native style of living (all I noticed was wide, nearly bare expanses dotted with low-slung, minimal furniture of smoothly functional design), despite Dieter’s instructions to report back on that, too.
The room into which I was ushered was low-slung, vast, and lit with a diffuse yet intense light which beautifully illuminated the oleographic swirls of colors on my latest “master’s” ample, yet not overtly obese-looking body … and for his part, he seemed equally delighted with my appearance, for once the aide (or worker, or whatever) who had escorted me into this chamber departed, my “master” gracefully slid-oozed off his low-to-the-polished-ground settee, and flowed across the floor toward me, in an undulating ripple of ever-shifting color and light-illuminated texture, until we were roughly eye to skin-obscured eye … and he tentatively raised one fleshy paw-like hand, which he then slowly, gently, sensuously, glided just above my body’s contours, not quite touching me, but generating enough cast-off heat to nonetheless subtly warm the flesh beneath that massive fleshy appendage.
And when that appraising hand came close to my fully bare, proudly exposed fock and scrotum, the warmth I felt was unlike any previous body-to-body contact I’d ever enjoyed, with any other male … even Dieter’s uncharacteristically tender ministrations that morning on the massage table (the rhythmic ebb and flow of his oiled, massive hands on my own pliant flesh) couldn’t compare with this. So … when my “host” finally made contact with my not turgid fock, enveloping the stiff organ with a velvety-yet-silky-slick radiant warmth, I felt my lower abdomen and pelvis jerk reflexively, convulsively … and I came before I was even aware that the orgasm had passed through me, in shining, creamy-pale ropes of blood-hot yang essence … which formed free-form swirls of sharply contrasting near-whiteness against the convoluted, deeply fissured, softly roiling flesh of my partner…
The five-volume, 44-story bundle will only be available for this sale price for a couple more weeks. Grab it before it’s gone!