Title: Jaxxon's Twi'leks 15.5-- Lucky Villie
author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Main characters: Vilmarh Grahrk, Asante Vos
prompt: 011: red
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: interspecies, het
Summary: The two moderately evil minions of Jaxxon's Twi'leks, chapter 15, getting it on. She only thinks the Jedi are dead, by the way.
Notes: Okay, so I got over the Devaronian sex squick. And Villie likes his yum-yums. Personally, I think he was annoyed when Asante pretended not to know him in the below-mentioned source, but then he was distracted by his cousin Holmar. And then she tried to kill him--hence, no mourning. Que sera sera, and all that jizz.
Thanks due to Emila Wan and Mali Wane's 368 Days, for some Devaronian intimate anatomy details.
Here is a little known factoid I just invented: Devaronian males are not fertile with non-Devaronians but the females are. That's why they tend to stay home. Result? Kapp Dendo, who has a beard.
Spoilers for Dark Horse Comics: Twilight, by Ostrander and Duursema
As soon as they were in the ship, and NT closed the ramp behind them, Asante licked her lips and reached for his belt buckle. And he nearly dropped her, he set her down so fast.
Before she could pout, he said, "No, no, Asante girl. Villie got things in his pockets he not want you to know about." His grin was as big and needle-sharp as ever. "Take own clothes off, hokay?"
"It's a deal," she replied, with a devious twitch of her full, black-ringed lips. And she dropped her cloak into a dusty heap, standing up out of it like a full-blown dark lily. She'd give him a show.
They took off their utility belts in unison. Deliberately she waited with the clasp of hers, until his hands were ready to unsnap his. Somehow, he managed to grin even wider. "Good game. Let's play more." And he began to loosen his heavy spacer's gauntlets. So did she.
As she worked off the fingers of the long gloves, emblazoned with Guardian insignia up the cuffs, she looked at him invitingly with her violet eyes, from their setting in the wide green clan marking that ended halfway down her nose. Her mother's clan of course, for all her surname was Vos. Pooh. Her mother would never dare to screw a Devaronian. But then, her mother was a suburban mouse who would never even dare to leave Kiffu at all, much less lead the Guardians into a lucrative side venture, like this one on Ryloth.
With relief she felt the cool, conditioned air of the Inferno's interior on her fingers. It was part of the Kiffar mystique to dress as if touch-sensitive, even if most were not. And it kept her hands soft. She could hardly wait to run her fingers over that furnace-red hide, smelling of silver--
But Villie's hands, she noticed, were knobby and marred, aside from the daunting talons. That, then, was why the vain hulk had them constantly covered-- she should have suspected when he left them on so many times. His hands betrayed his age. No matter. She knew that the rest of him was in fine working order, including his horns-- but no, she would not think too hard about what she wanted from those horns. Not yet. She pulled her tunic over her head meanwhile, revealing the heavy-duty halter she wore beneath.
She saw Villie's eyes lingering lasciviously upon her armpits. No, she didn't depilate there; there were wooly curls of black for him to nuzzle. Bless those fuzzy Devaronian females, for making Villie and his fellow males loose in the galaxy appreciative of a woman's hairs. Surreptitiously she smelled herself before lowering her arms, masking it with a wiggle of her hips. Not too bad, considering all the exertion of killing those two Jedi in the cavern. They were spider-chow by now, she thought with pride. Her first Jedi kills...even if one had been a Vos. Too bad about that.
Villie had been busy with the side clasps of his leather half-armor, and now he lifted it off, revealing his sleeveless undertunic and lots of red flesh, that released a wave of scented heat. Some kind of sweet herbal mix that he affected. She didn't mind it. And now they were even again, so she began unfastening her long trousers, and toeing off her boots, with undulations of her generous hips.
But they were not as generous as her bosom, which she considered her best feature. She wanted to save the heavily wired halter, that protected her back from their weight, for last. She rested her gaze on Villie's crotch as he wiggled out of his own tight leather pants, avid for a first glimpse of what she knew they hid.
Yes, there it was in all its red, knobby glory, full and hard from the effect of her show. She could not help but lick her lips again, while he paused to lay hands on his boots, his chili red arms masking her view while he worked them off. "Be patient, yum-yum," he murmured slyly. And soon his lower limbs, all of them, were free.
"Enough play," he said, and caught her up, mashing their still clothed chests together. One of his hands was in her abundant fleecy hair again, and he jerked her head backward, baring her throat. She gasped as his long, pointed tongue snaked out from between his needle sharp teeth, so white in his red face, and licked there, lingering over her racing pulse. A moan escaped her, of mingling fear and lust. But he did not use his teeth, did not even scrape them over her skin. Not yet.
He seemed to appreciate the silky feel of her impatient fingers on his own hot skin, but she had no real goal in her touching, was merely flailing a bit, reveling in being devoured. And then, he made his wishes known. He swept her up onto a bench and twirled her around by her hair, so that she was facing away. A huge gnarled hand dug its talons into her taut abdomen, bending her.
"Show me, Asante," he said, his voice hissing with arousal. So she stayed on hands and knees, as he ran his hands all up her legs, rosy with dark fuzz like some firm fruit, with the juicy core that he knew where to find. Her toes curled reflexively, and her back arched up into his touch, like a feline, as she was stroked. She heard his amulets clinking far off. And his hands gripped her thighs, hard enough to bruise; she would have marks from his fingertips, where he spread her wide.
Hot breaths from that huge nose hit her backside, and again she felt his tongue, so long and wet, curling around the folds of her, tugging on the ring of hairs, as he tasted, as he plunged it deep in and shook his head, filling her as he drank up the flavor of her, and her moans got louder, coming with every breath now.
"You so ready for me, doll," he said, as he pulled his mouth away, and then she did feel his teeth, nibbling at the curves of her ass in the air, on their way up and out, and then like a hot piston she felt him insert himself, pausing to sweep in a wide circle to hit every hair she had down there with the tip of himself, then zeroing in on her moisture. Once again those talons dug into her belly, and she thrashed herself against the bench, against him, making animal noises of completion as his tip forced itself into her, one centimeter at a time.
And when her hot sex had engulfed the first row of knobs, Villie started to move himself. With every thrust he let out a grunt. With every thrust he went deeper. He knew he fit; he just had to work it into her-- like-- this-- and when the second and third row of knobs were engulfed by her hot wetness, he undid her halter. Down spilled her breasts, pulled by Inferno's gravity into his waiting hands. With every thrust they trembled. The sounds the female was making faded away into the background, as he reveled in the feel of those flesh-fruits, mashed them against her, pulled her up by them as if they were her handles, moving her whole body around his prick, letting cool air hit his dangling balls from the front, even as he raked his nails up her, from crotch to throat--
"Yah!" he yelled, and filled her with his black seed. The black of tarnished silver. He sat back on the bench and pushed her off of him, so that he could see it trickling out. So pretty, all that black on that pink flesh. He wiped himself with his shirt, licked at the trickle, grinned. So good.
Asante did not object when he put her in his bed. She smiled, reached up and stroked at his horns. He knew what she was thinking. It was a male's business to know. Sometimes this little Vos was just like one of the women on his own planet. Hm. Not so bossy. No, he'd never have to set foot there again, if he could just find yum-yums like her now and then. And the little Wookiee girls, before their fur got too long-- but only the orphan slaves. Otherwise too risky.
So he lay down for her, and let her crawl around on him, and position herself. She knew better than to kiss him, but he allowed her to lick his face a little on her way up. And he got in a few licks of his own on the hairy parts of her, as she slunk over him. Mmm.
In no time she had one knee folded in back of his head, and the foot of the other leg on his belly. He fluffed the hairs of her leg appreciatively as she settled herself.
First she put her moist self over the horn, and raised and lowered a few times. He rolled his eyes upwards to watch the bobbing of her breasts from below. Then, when his horn was thoroughly slicked with their mingled juices, she changed to the other opening. Ridge by ridge, she let it fill her. And from the other hole of herself the delicious liquid ran down, gray with their mingling, spilling down over Villie.
Nectar. Grahrk, you a lucky boy sometimes. He licked up fingers full from his forehead, while the yum-yum made her motions. Then he stuck one big knobby talon in there, and gave a certain tickle he knew about, and the yum-yum started thrashing. He tickled her foot, knowing she was driving the other horn against her belly now. Her crazy sounds started up, those Asante sounds that no other female made.
When she was panting and still, when her body let his finger loose, he pulled it out, and she gave another groan. He put that finger in his mouth too. Less Villie, more Asante.
The outside of Asante was swimming in sweat, now. She felt as limp as an old rag, and didn't want to move. Let Villie wear her for a hat, she didn't care. Soon enough he would get bored with this and either start gnawing on her leg or take them both to the fresher. It was the latter. He pulled his head away from her, rolled her under his arm, and strode in there, amulets clanking.
"Asante you always sweaty. It because you not furry enough," he remarked as he set her on her feet against the fresher wall. She watched, blinking, as he lathered his head and his pointy ears. Something about all that white foam against the red--- her hands crept to her breasts. With a basking smile, she lifted them, so that their undersides would get the benefit of the fresher spray.
"Villie tell you a Devaronian custom. Some guys get horns coated with gold, gold teeth, too. But it because they getting cracked horns. Make horns stronger, teeth stronger. Villie don't need help for his horns, eh girl?" He grinned toothily down, and she smiled up at him, her smooth round face with its forehead rectangle of green, from under that fleecy dark hair.
"No, Villie. They don't need help." And she offered him what was in her hands-- her breasts. The moisture beaded up on their full aureoles, the tips well used and contracting enticingly. From between her legs, darkness was still running down, as if the fur on her pudenda had begun melting. He knew what it really was-- him.
He took her waist in his two big red hands, as if he was plucking a flower. His big nose nestled between those breasts. She lifted her knees, he lifted her, and she sat down on him. All stretched open now. Time for some real fun. She took a moment to kiss his forehead, the silly, and rubbed the bases of his horns. Then they began.
At times like this, she almost forgot how ugly he was. But not quite. He would never be pretty. Strong, yes, masculine, yes, but not that. Not like Quinlan Vos. What a shame she'd had to kill him...But then Villie lifted her hips, slammed her downwards, and she forgot everything, even her name.
end
http://sw-fictorium.livejournal.com/66191.html
author: helgaleena
helgaleenas@yahoo.com
Main characters: Vilmarh Grahrk, Asante Vos
prompt: 011: red
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: interspecies, het
Summary: The two moderately evil minions of Jaxxon's Twi'leks, chapter 15, getting it on. She only thinks the Jedi are dead, by the way.
Notes: Okay, so I got over the Devaronian sex squick. And Villie likes his yum-yums. Personally, I think he was annoyed when Asante pretended not to know him in the below-mentioned source, but then he was distracted by his cousin Holmar. And then she tried to kill him--hence, no mourning. Que sera sera, and all that jizz.
Thanks due to Emila Wan and Mali Wane's 368 Days, for some Devaronian intimate anatomy details.
Here is a little known factoid I just invented: Devaronian males are not fertile with non-Devaronians but the females are. That's why they tend to stay home. Result? Kapp Dendo, who has a beard.
Spoilers for Dark Horse Comics: Twilight, by Ostrander and Duursema
As soon as they were in the ship, and NT closed the ramp behind them, Asante licked her lips and reached for his belt buckle. And he nearly dropped her, he set her down so fast.
Before she could pout, he said, "No, no, Asante girl. Villie got things in his pockets he not want you to know about." His grin was as big and needle-sharp as ever. "Take own clothes off, hokay?"
"It's a deal," she replied, with a devious twitch of her full, black-ringed lips. And she dropped her cloak into a dusty heap, standing up out of it like a full-blown dark lily. She'd give him a show.
They took off their utility belts in unison. Deliberately she waited with the clasp of hers, until his hands were ready to unsnap his. Somehow, he managed to grin even wider. "Good game. Let's play more." And he began to loosen his heavy spacer's gauntlets. So did she.
As she worked off the fingers of the long gloves, emblazoned with Guardian insignia up the cuffs, she looked at him invitingly with her violet eyes, from their setting in the wide green clan marking that ended halfway down her nose. Her mother's clan of course, for all her surname was Vos. Pooh. Her mother would never dare to screw a Devaronian. But then, her mother was a suburban mouse who would never even dare to leave Kiffu at all, much less lead the Guardians into a lucrative side venture, like this one on Ryloth.
With relief she felt the cool, conditioned air of the Inferno's interior on her fingers. It was part of the Kiffar mystique to dress as if touch-sensitive, even if most were not. And it kept her hands soft. She could hardly wait to run her fingers over that furnace-red hide, smelling of silver--
But Villie's hands, she noticed, were knobby and marred, aside from the daunting talons. That, then, was why the vain hulk had them constantly covered-- she should have suspected when he left them on so many times. His hands betrayed his age. No matter. She knew that the rest of him was in fine working order, including his horns-- but no, she would not think too hard about what she wanted from those horns. Not yet. She pulled her tunic over her head meanwhile, revealing the heavy-duty halter she wore beneath.
She saw Villie's eyes lingering lasciviously upon her armpits. No, she didn't depilate there; there were wooly curls of black for him to nuzzle. Bless those fuzzy Devaronian females, for making Villie and his fellow males loose in the galaxy appreciative of a woman's hairs. Surreptitiously she smelled herself before lowering her arms, masking it with a wiggle of her hips. Not too bad, considering all the exertion of killing those two Jedi in the cavern. They were spider-chow by now, she thought with pride. Her first Jedi kills...even if one had been a Vos. Too bad about that.
Villie had been busy with the side clasps of his leather half-armor, and now he lifted it off, revealing his sleeveless undertunic and lots of red flesh, that released a wave of scented heat. Some kind of sweet herbal mix that he affected. She didn't mind it. And now they were even again, so she began unfastening her long trousers, and toeing off her boots, with undulations of her generous hips.
But they were not as generous as her bosom, which she considered her best feature. She wanted to save the heavily wired halter, that protected her back from their weight, for last. She rested her gaze on Villie's crotch as he wiggled out of his own tight leather pants, avid for a first glimpse of what she knew they hid.
Yes, there it was in all its red, knobby glory, full and hard from the effect of her show. She could not help but lick her lips again, while he paused to lay hands on his boots, his chili red arms masking her view while he worked them off. "Be patient, yum-yum," he murmured slyly. And soon his lower limbs, all of them, were free.
"Enough play," he said, and caught her up, mashing their still clothed chests together. One of his hands was in her abundant fleecy hair again, and he jerked her head backward, baring her throat. She gasped as his long, pointed tongue snaked out from between his needle sharp teeth, so white in his red face, and licked there, lingering over her racing pulse. A moan escaped her, of mingling fear and lust. But he did not use his teeth, did not even scrape them over her skin. Not yet.
He seemed to appreciate the silky feel of her impatient fingers on his own hot skin, but she had no real goal in her touching, was merely flailing a bit, reveling in being devoured. And then, he made his wishes known. He swept her up onto a bench and twirled her around by her hair, so that she was facing away. A huge gnarled hand dug its talons into her taut abdomen, bending her.
"Show me, Asante," he said, his voice hissing with arousal. So she stayed on hands and knees, as he ran his hands all up her legs, rosy with dark fuzz like some firm fruit, with the juicy core that he knew where to find. Her toes curled reflexively, and her back arched up into his touch, like a feline, as she was stroked. She heard his amulets clinking far off. And his hands gripped her thighs, hard enough to bruise; she would have marks from his fingertips, where he spread her wide.
Hot breaths from that huge nose hit her backside, and again she felt his tongue, so long and wet, curling around the folds of her, tugging on the ring of hairs, as he tasted, as he plunged it deep in and shook his head, filling her as he drank up the flavor of her, and her moans got louder, coming with every breath now.
"You so ready for me, doll," he said, as he pulled his mouth away, and then she did feel his teeth, nibbling at the curves of her ass in the air, on their way up and out, and then like a hot piston she felt him insert himself, pausing to sweep in a wide circle to hit every hair she had down there with the tip of himself, then zeroing in on her moisture. Once again those talons dug into her belly, and she thrashed herself against the bench, against him, making animal noises of completion as his tip forced itself into her, one centimeter at a time.
And when her hot sex had engulfed the first row of knobs, Villie started to move himself. With every thrust he let out a grunt. With every thrust he went deeper. He knew he fit; he just had to work it into her-- like-- this-- and when the second and third row of knobs were engulfed by her hot wetness, he undid her halter. Down spilled her breasts, pulled by Inferno's gravity into his waiting hands. With every thrust they trembled. The sounds the female was making faded away into the background, as he reveled in the feel of those flesh-fruits, mashed them against her, pulled her up by them as if they were her handles, moving her whole body around his prick, letting cool air hit his dangling balls from the front, even as he raked his nails up her, from crotch to throat--
"Yah!" he yelled, and filled her with his black seed. The black of tarnished silver. He sat back on the bench and pushed her off of him, so that he could see it trickling out. So pretty, all that black on that pink flesh. He wiped himself with his shirt, licked at the trickle, grinned. So good.
Asante did not object when he put her in his bed. She smiled, reached up and stroked at his horns. He knew what she was thinking. It was a male's business to know. Sometimes this little Vos was just like one of the women on his own planet. Hm. Not so bossy. No, he'd never have to set foot there again, if he could just find yum-yums like her now and then. And the little Wookiee girls, before their fur got too long-- but only the orphan slaves. Otherwise too risky.
So he lay down for her, and let her crawl around on him, and position herself. She knew better than to kiss him, but he allowed her to lick his face a little on her way up. And he got in a few licks of his own on the hairy parts of her, as she slunk over him. Mmm.
In no time she had one knee folded in back of his head, and the foot of the other leg on his belly. He fluffed the hairs of her leg appreciatively as she settled herself.
First she put her moist self over the horn, and raised and lowered a few times. He rolled his eyes upwards to watch the bobbing of her breasts from below. Then, when his horn was thoroughly slicked with their mingled juices, she changed to the other opening. Ridge by ridge, she let it fill her. And from the other hole of herself the delicious liquid ran down, gray with their mingling, spilling down over Villie.
Nectar. Grahrk, you a lucky boy sometimes. He licked up fingers full from his forehead, while the yum-yum made her motions. Then he stuck one big knobby talon in there, and gave a certain tickle he knew about, and the yum-yum started thrashing. He tickled her foot, knowing she was driving the other horn against her belly now. Her crazy sounds started up, those Asante sounds that no other female made.
When she was panting and still, when her body let his finger loose, he pulled it out, and she gave another groan. He put that finger in his mouth too. Less Villie, more Asante.
The outside of Asante was swimming in sweat, now. She felt as limp as an old rag, and didn't want to move. Let Villie wear her for a hat, she didn't care. Soon enough he would get bored with this and either start gnawing on her leg or take them both to the fresher. It was the latter. He pulled his head away from her, rolled her under his arm, and strode in there, amulets clanking.
"Asante you always sweaty. It because you not furry enough," he remarked as he set her on her feet against the fresher wall. She watched, blinking, as he lathered his head and his pointy ears. Something about all that white foam against the red--- her hands crept to her breasts. With a basking smile, she lifted them, so that their undersides would get the benefit of the fresher spray.
"Villie tell you a Devaronian custom. Some guys get horns coated with gold, gold teeth, too. But it because they getting cracked horns. Make horns stronger, teeth stronger. Villie don't need help for his horns, eh girl?" He grinned toothily down, and she smiled up at him, her smooth round face with its forehead rectangle of green, from under that fleecy dark hair.
"No, Villie. They don't need help." And she offered him what was in her hands-- her breasts. The moisture beaded up on their full aureoles, the tips well used and contracting enticingly. From between her legs, darkness was still running down, as if the fur on her pudenda had begun melting. He knew what it really was-- him.
He took her waist in his two big red hands, as if he was plucking a flower. His big nose nestled between those breasts. She lifted her knees, he lifted her, and she sat down on him. All stretched open now. Time for some real fun. She took a moment to kiss his forehead, the silly, and rubbed the bases of his horns. Then they began.
At times like this, she almost forgot how ugly he was. But not quite. He would never be pretty. Strong, yes, masculine, yes, but not that. Not like Quinlan Vos. What a shame she'd had to kill him...But then Villie lifted her hips, slammed her downwards, and she forgot everything, even her name.
end
http://sw-fictorium.livejournal.com/66191.html
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