Free The Artifact of Foex by James L. Wolf

They held all
sorts of items, the bulkiest of which were clean towels. He was
vaguely reminded of the tools table at the dig site in that
everything necessary was at hand, carefully prepared and
organized.
    Knife squirted a generous dollop into his
hand. Chet held his breath until he realized that oil-based
anything won’t hurt the Flame. Then he frowned. What about spit? Or
semen? Or whatever fluid women had?
    He glanced at Journey. “Won’t he be burned
by, um, bodily fluids?”
    “Hardly.” She grinned up at him. Her hand
rested outside her panties, to his relief. “We wouldn’t be very
well designed if that happened. No, by Pelin’s grace, we can
interact with bodily fluids without burning.”
    “But that... makes very little sense, when
you think about it.”
    “Pelin is a
goddess
. She doesn’t
have to bow to the laws of nature nearly as often as you and
I.”
    Fenimore waited patiently on his back, legs
upright and spread. The timeout was apparently in full effect.
Knife massaged the thick liquid into Fenimore’s ass without further
comment.
    Feeling like an anthropologist in the field,
Chet whispered to Journey, “Won’t Knife need some, too?” Or was it
now assumed by everyone that Knife was going to, er, penetrate
Fenimore? Was the ritual mating fight over?
    Journey rolled her eyes, as if she wished
he’d just let her watch the live show, but she said, “As I’ve
mentioned before, Pelin is thoughtful in many ways.
Our
asses never require lubrication, or even stretching in advance,
since we’re fully capable of shaping ourselves to match whatever
comes our way.”
    “Oh.” Chet hunched, feeling vulnerable.
    Journey smiled up at him, her expression more
hungry than friendly, her body turned his way. Chet felt himself
straighten automatically at her attention. It was funny how she
seemed no less feminine with a bald head. Really, one got used to
that feature quickly. Especially because Journey was otherwise
physically breathtaking. The smell in the van now filled him
completely, making him feel heady with longing. With, with
lust
.
    “You’ll have to forgive me," Journey murmured
as she reached over and touched Chet, stroking her fingers up his
arms. “I feel the need to take something for myself here.”
    Chet mewled as she pulled him onto the other
side of the hefty bed. Luckily, Knife and Fenimore were standing up
as they did their—business. Journey stripped Chet with a
thoroughness and efficiency usually reserved for the armed forces.
She brushed his cock with her hand and he gasped, trying not to
come.
    Journey frowned. “I think I’d best be on top.
We don’t want you spent too soon, do we? You are not to move
without permission, and that means no thrusting up into me. Do you
understand?”
    He nodded frantically. She pulled off her
panties—her cunt was hairless, too—and mounted him as if she were
riding a ceros with one critical difference. Chet gasped as she
reached down and slipped him inside her. Oh, she was wet, and warm,
and tight, and... and perfect.
So
perfect. Chet began
moving instinctively, and she slapped his chest, a playful swat
rather than a real blow.
    “I said hold
still,
boy. You are
inside me, and I’m in charge here. Do you copy?”
    “Y-yes, ma’am,” he whispered, then put a hand
over his mouth, regretting the rude slip. Journey was not a ma’am,
she was Flame. But Journey didn’t withdraw. Indeed, she barely
seemed to have heard him at all.
    Chet couldn’t believe his luck. He was inside
her, warm and wet as a tropical ocean. Journey rocked above him,
breathing in time with each scintillating movement. She threw back
her head and moaned. He wished he could touch her breasts, still
enclosed by the satin bra; they were the central focus of his
world. Chet bit his lip, hands outstretched without touching.
    Journey seemed to have noticed, for she
reached back and unclasped the bra, tossing it away apparently
without a second thought. “There you go.