Elenya, Lothess 06, 01028
“Don’t you ever get bored?” Shera asked, leaning over the double bunk and down at her Ssphynx roommate.
Chatenni didn’t even look up from his sketchpad. “Not really.”
“Well, I am,” she growled.
“‘Well, I do,’” Chatenni corrected her, giving her a glance and a smile. “I have plenty to do before we reach Ritacha. Have you reviewed all the mission data yet?”
She grinned back at him. “All so far. We’re going to arrive first thanks to Pera being close. You know, we don’t even have much cold-weather equipment except the jeep tent and some spare clothing.”
“I know. The second ship arrives two weeks later. And there’s a rumor going around that Vatare’ is going to be there in a couple of months.” He looked back down at his sketchpad critically, examining the details with one eye closed. “Not sure that looks right.”
“Can I see?” Shera asked.
Chatenni tilted the pad up. “Pretty. Ritachan?”
“Mm-hmm,” Chatenni replied.
“Are you sure Ritachans have breasts?” she asked. Despite her occasional attempts at playing the EHBBVWNGR (Empty-headed, bubble-breasted vixen with no gag reflex), Shera had an eye for the little details. Or in the case of his drawing, the prominent details that others tended to filter out.
“Gah. I don’t know. Nix?”
“You are fortunate, Chatenni, in that the Ritans do have prominent mammae on their thoral chest. However, Shera, it is ‘Ritan.’“
She stuck her tongue out at the ceiling, then rolled over onto her back. “I’m still bored!”
“Then go find something to do,” Chatenni offered helpfully. “You could help Saren fix dinner.”
Shera sighed. “Yeah, I guess.” The vixen rolled her legs over the side of the bed and jumped down. “Anyways, I’m going out. There’s gotta be something to do on this tub.” She leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Have fun, onniisan.” The door closed behind her.
Chatenni gave his own sigh in response to the door’s electric whisper as it shut. In truth, he had fiddled with this drawing long enough. It looked right but he couldn’t yet bring himself to start another. He had based it primarily on the look Nix had affected over the past two weeks, adding what he hoped were feminine details here and there. Apparently he had reached a look approximating reality because Nix hadn’t corrected him yet.
He dropped the pad onto the desk beside his bed and rolled over onto his side. He wanted to do something, just as Shera had said, but he couldn’t figure out what. He sometimes wondered if Yuma and Nive didn’t have it right, preferring as they did to make most of the trip in statis. He thought of that as a waste of time, since they weren’t protecting a limited lifespan and couldn’t learn while they were frozen. Still, they didn’t get bored on the longer legs like this.
He rolled out of bed himself, getting onto all fours, grabbing the post that supported Shera’s bed, and stretching out violently, yawning as he did. Chatenni found himself thinking of the Ritan he had just drawn, wondering what it would feel like to hold her in his arms, to feel her body underneath his own. The only other ‘taurs in the crew were Enleili and Nix, and both of them were as male as he, and he wasn’t interested.
He pulled a terrycloth ‘taur robe over his form, one that draped over his lower half like a kilt or centaur’s blanket, but fitted his torso and head more like a hominid. While some taurids disdained clothing for their domen half, Chatenni had always found it a convenient way to hide his frequent turgid state, especially around pretty girls.
He itched. He felt tense and uncomfortable. And worse, he felt horny. The naked drawing of a female Ritan hadn’t helped.
He decided on a shower.
He grabbed his kit and walked down the hallway to the communal bathroom that the entire crew shared. For all the room on board the Tor Minorr, the personal areas always felt cramped to him. And it wasn’t just that he was a ‘taur– the communal bathroom told him that creature comforts on board weren’t regarded as highly as they were on some other vessels.
Then again, the one main bathroom they did have rivaled those of other ships he had been in. Large enough for a (small) centaur orgy, with padded floors, multidirectional spouts in the proportionate shower stalls, even bidet spigots and blowers in the ‘taur toilet stall. To Chatenni, that was luxury.
He stepped into the shower and ran his hand over the control panel. It lit up as the central showerhead came to life, spraying down hot needles of water. He ran his fingers through the stream and decided it was enough. Touching another button on the panel, the other streams came to life. In seconds he was breathing deep the steam and taking pleasure from the water that coursed under his pelt and warmed his body.
“The only trouble with showers,” he muttered to the walls, “is that you can’t stay in them forever.” He took his time scrubbing the soap through his fur. As he washed, he wondered, as he often did, why none of his fellow students appealed to him. It was simple: they just didn’t. Maybe the AI’s planned it that way as a way of encouraging students to keep their minds on their studies. That didn’t seem very likely to Chatenni. AIs were very rarely interested in the love affairs of mere organics.
He lay on the floor and curled into a ball to reach his hindlegs and his sheath. Still, he reflected that the lack of interesting (or interested, the disinterest seeming to run both ways) partners did leave him feeling lonely, and horny, at times. This seemed to be one of those times, he noted as the warmth flooded his sheath and his cock grew solid under the touch of his washing.
Unbidden, but not unwelcome, images of the femRitan he had just drawn floated to the top of his brain. He wondered what she would really look like, moving, how she would smell, what her voice would sound like. He imagined those arms reaching for him, touching him, encircling him. Her guss, those delicate sensory organs that floated about a Ritan’s head, hovered near his face, feeling and learning. He imagined the sensation of being probed as a tickle against his whiskers.
His hands encircled his cock, stroking its length. Like most Ssphynx, he was a little embarrassed about how bipeds made a big deal over the size of it. He had been grateful to hear of the Han, who were similarly built if the reports he had were accurate. The texture of his hands, roughened through weeks of working in the soft soil of Pera, rippled over the length of his organ. He sighed and relaxed against the cushioned floor of the shower, allowing the water to stream over him as he masturbated.
In his fantasy the Ritan girl kissed him, nuzzled him. Her guss floated about his body as he stood, watching her. He wanted to know how she moved. He imagined her fur rippling, like his did when it grew too long.
His hands played over his cock, sliding back and forth. The warmth of the shower made it easy for him to imagine the warmth of her body against his own.
He dreamed of her mouth against his neck as she slipped downwards. He followed her down and the two of them curled into a circle, her mouth exploring his groin, his nose picking up the scent of her cunny for the first time. He knew he had no practical experience in what she would smell like, but he could dream. He dreamed of her cunt. He wanted to know.
His hand streaked faster over his cock. He could feel it getting harder, or was that also his imagination again? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he wanted to come, and he wanted to hold off until he had imagined her underneath him.
His fantasy complied as she rolled. He heard her voice for the first time. “Fuck me,” was all she said. He complied eagerly, pouncing on her as a true feline should, especially on one who looked so canine. But his fantasy was about pleasure, not prey. He wanted to hear her moaning his name as he had her. He wanted to feel her body shuddering underneath him as his cock slid in and out of her cunt, her warm and willing body. He could dream of her softly gasping as they made love in his imagination.
His hand worked faster on his shaft. His groin already tightened as he stroked his hard cock; he didn’t have much time left.
His dream-self’s hands encircled her waist and seized her breasts, holding them in a strong, even tight, grip. She whispered his name. He fucked her in a powerful staccato rhythm, giving his all as his climax washed over him.
It made keeping track of his fantasy impossible.
When he recovered, he rose and washed the come off his hands. He finished the rest of his usual bathing habit. As he dried himself off he offered a little wish to the universe through which the ship now sped that it not take too long for him to find out just how accurate his fantasies were.