Spaceport: The Cannis Affair by Mikala Ash

Spaceport: The Cannis Affair
by Mikala Ash

Cover art by Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-239-5
Genre(s): Futuristic, Action/Adventure, Sci-Fi
Theme(s): Ménage, Spaceport
Series: Spaceport Multi-Author
Length: Novella






http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1166







Blurb:


When Peri Barberossa, award-winning sex reporter for the sealed section of the immensely popular guide The Galactic Tourist, flees in order to avoid becoming the newest addition to General R’nok’s harem she encounters two military fighters in the intergalactic void. Peri watches in horror as the two duke it out with quantum torpedoes, and she rescues the unconscious pilots as their ships disintegrate.
What can a dedicated sex reporter do with two gorgeous hunks in her power? The fact that Laz and Rendido are sworn enemies bent on each other's destruction only adds spice to the heady mix, and Peri studies their sexual mores in an atmosphere brimming with tension... sexual and otherwise.



Excerpt:

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Naked and at ease in the feather soft bed, I was completely at one with the universe, when reality slapped me across the face.
At first I thought I simply misheard General R'nok's solemn commitment to have me locked up in his harem. He'd said something about customary law and me being his property for life. Experience has often shown me that post coital bliss can play havoc with one's perception, so I sought clarification. I propped myself up on trembling elbows, acutely aware of my erratically beating heart, the result of five gut-wrenching orgasms in ten minutes.
"What, darling?" I asked.
The general paused, balanced on one leg, the other tangled up inside the kilt of his kaleidoscopic uniform. "You are now mine."
"I'm sorry?"
He cast a steely Etile glance toward me, his dark eye ridges folding slightly. "Are you deaf?"
Uh-oh. His gruff manner was so different from the smooth wooing of last night. "No, I just didn't understand what you said."
"You have had both orifices filled by my flesh," he said.
"And you filled them so well," I purred, trying to recapture the moment, remembering his two cocks driving into my pussy and ass at the same time, but I should have known that when it comes to men, there's always a catch.
"When you give both holes to an Etile warrior you have given your soul," he said as if he were explaining to me the intricacies of a paperclip. "You belong to me now, my concubine. We are bound for life."
"I didn't realize that was the custom," I explained, attempting to keep my voice level, though inside I was in an acute state of panic.
"It is not a custom. It is the law."
"Oh."
"Wait here. My aide will show you to your cot in the harem."
Cot? Harem?
He turned away from me and stretched an arm out to grasp the bedpost while he untangled his foot. The thing that jumped into my field of vision, apart from the erratically bobbing dual phalluses, both cocks still erect despite our recent exertions, was the stainless steel codpiece which had given me so much amusement at the embassy ball.
I remembered how heavy it felt in my palm when I'd disrobed him prior to our session of athletic passion and as I contemplated a lifetime spent in his harem, instinct took over.
The codpiece made a satisfying clunk as it impacted the side of his head. I use the passive voice when I describe the assault on the general's high-ranking skull. It seemed like I'd been possessed and not in conscious control of my actions.
Had this been a consciously deliberate attack, I would have said the codpiece felt heavy and cold in my hand as I raised it shoulder high and, after taking careful aim and with all my might, swung at his right temple, feeling the skin split as I struck.
You'll note the difference between acting instinctually, out of fear, versus deliberately striking the most powerful man on the planet. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
In any case, the general grunted appropriately and toppled over onto the floor. I jumped off the bed, pulled on my evening gown, transparent silken web from the Spider House on Gaskolin IX, slipped into my pumps, the latest Jess Boscolon creations, and raced to the door to listen for any activity.
From what I remembered of last night, when the general had so smoothly extricated me from the boring embassy party and lustily thrown me onto his bed, his chambers were in the east wing of the sprawling palace and conveniently close to the spaceport.
I found my handbag, a snappy little sequined number from the exclusive Balinese Collection, and rummaged about until I found my diamond encrusted Joclyn communicator. I called Fyche, my ship's AI, and asked him to order a spaceport taxi to meet me outside the general's door in five minutes flat.
"Oh, and power up Jalapeño's converters," I added somewhat breathlessly. "We need to leave."
"Again?"
I didn't have time to respond to his petulant whine because behind me the general gave a long, burbling groan. That wouldn't do. I needed more time. I returned to his prostrate body and tied him up with the exquisitely fine deshlen bed sheets. The silky fabric, soiled by our sweat and his copious spending, was super strong and made a good binding. Once I had him secured I stuffed his mouth with my Gaskolin Haute Couture scarf and rolled him under the bed.
Then I fled the chamber, immediately tripping over a startled aide who was inconveniently sitting on the threshold. I stopped midstride to explain that the general was resting and didn't want to be disturbed. The aide nodded sleepily and resumed his position on the tiny stool. Had he been there all night listening to my moans of passion and screams of ecstasy? I suppressed the moment of embarrassment and calmly asked for directions to the palace's front gate.
A dull thud sounded from inside the room signifying the general had regained consciousness and was no doubt surprised to find himself under the bed with what I hoped was an enormous headache. The aide reacted, and to distract him, I expressed confusion at his surprisingly clear and succinct directions and asked him to show me out himself. A smile, a wink and a flash of my right boob did the trick.
I endured his roving hand for fifty-two floors during the elevator's lazy descent and was very grateful when I found the taxi waiting at the palace gate; Fung knows what Fyche had paid to have it there so quickly. I gave the aide a peck on the cheek and a quick rub of his erect and very impressive dual phalluses. He was rewarded with a messy ejaculation inside his dress kilt and I left him swooning against the granite pillars. That good deed, I hoped, would buy me another chunk of precious time.
Twenty minutes later, Fyche had us in orbit and we were away.





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