Chapter Three

Graven

The Sex Games—I hear about them, and I can’t not go. Especially not once I learn Niva is the star exhibition. Or whatever they call it. I have no idea how “Sex Games” work.

They begin after sundown, and all the Fellamana nearby begin to file toward an arena in the center square. It’s an enormous structure made of the same clear glass as everything manufactured in this alien civilization. The stadium seating fits at least a thousand, and at the spotlighted center is a stage, which is basically made of what looks like a ginormous bed.

I move with the crowd, bumping into no one. It’s an art form to be as large as I am and move with stealth. It involves making no waves and moving with the people around me. There are plenty of humans, those in the rebellion, who’ve come to spectate. We’re not such an anomaly to the Fellamana anymore, since humans have been here over a month now.

I don’t speak to any of the humans, though; I don’t dare. They might find out who I really am, how I don’t belong among the rebellion, how I’m a traitorous bastard. If they knew who my father was, they would shoot me on sight. And I don’t mean shoot to stun. Shoot to kill.

A few human women pass me on one side, happy, gleefully chatting with the Fellamana, obviously looking forward to the Sex Games. These games will be my first, but I’ve overheard some of the rebels saying they enjoyed the last ones a few weeks ago when they went. I guess they happen once a month or so.

I’m glad they’re happy. They were miserable in the Ten Systems oppressive military regime, forced to hide their gender behind masks and voice scramblers. I’d never seen any of their faces until I landed here, and they’ve never seen mine, luckily.

I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not part of the rebellion. I escaped my father’s Ten Systems ship when it landed here. He attacked their rebellion with the intent of killing them all.

I wanted no part of it. I snuck off his ship, hid in the forest, and stayed behind, relieved to escape him. He took off because he hated being on this sex planet so much, he retreated before he managed to crush their rebellion. I’ve since been passing myself off as a silent, biddable member of the rebellion he failed to destroy. There are a thousand of them, and they still wear the same Ten Systems military uniforms as I have on, so it’s been shockingly easy to blend in among them, despite my size.

But even though I left my father’s ship, it doesn’t mean I’d be accepted as part of the rebellion. If they knew I was Captain Dargule’s son, given his reputation as an infamous torturer and sociopathic lunatic, it wouldn’t matter to whom I declared allegiance. I’d be dead just because of the DNA I carry.

I overhear the rebels near me as we walk in, though I don’t look at them, and I say nothing.

“Remember our Assura won the last Sex Games,” a human woman brags to a Fellamana female. “You’re still sore because a human beat out all the Fellamana for the prize.”

The Fellamana laughs and responds in her singsong accent, “That was one time. It won’t happen again.”

“Are any humans participating tonight?”

“Not sure,” she shrugs. “All I know is, it’s Niva’s first games since she came into her Exstare, and the pressure on her to win is very fierce.”

I have no idea how one makes a contest out of sex or how one goes about “winning,” but I’m about to find out. Anything to get to watch Niva again. She will win, no matter what the competition. I’m certain. Who could watch her make love and not see her for the most beautiful creature who ever lived? I don’t know.

I can’t believe I gave her my real name.

I never should’ve done that. If the human rebels heard my name, Graven, they’d know who I was instantly.

The women talk on and don’t look twice at me. They wouldn’t recognize me, since in the Ten Systems military, we never removed our helmets, and though I was the first experiment gone wrong, there are many others who’ve been genetically engineered to be almost as large as I am. So far, no one has questioned me, and I mean to keep it that way.

I hope Niva doesn’t tell anyone my name. My life is in her hands.

Maybe that’s a good thing.

Maybe it would be good if she told the humans who I was. I’ve thought about turning myself in a few times. Niva revealing my identity would make the decision for me. The universe would be better off if I, the spawn of the evilest captain in all the Ten Systems, were at least locked up, if not dead.

An announcer’s voice calls through a sound system of some sort, speaking in Fellamana. I don’t understand a word of it, but the audience rushes to their seats, their voices quiet. I find a free space by the front railing and stand, loitering, not wanting to take a seat but not wanting to take up too much space, either.

A trio of two Fellamana, a male and female, and one human woman, take the stage. They’re dressed in the most erotic clothing I could ever imagine, if you call it clothing at all. It covers everything except their sexual parts, breasts, vaginas, and cocks accentuated and exposed by the garments.

They begin their sexual scene—and it’s a staged scene, obviously planned, with sex toys and positions acted out in a kind of erotic sex dance. The judges’ score tally is kept off to the side, counting the number of orgasms had by each person, and at the end, an artistic score is given as well. This appears to be how the competition is rated and judged.

Three more scenes play out of various pairings of humans and Fellamana, each one more interesting than the previous one, but every time they appear, I hold my breath, praying it’s Niva’s turn. But it’s not. Each time, I’m disappointed.

I should’ve known she’d be kept for last.

Before she even appears, the announcer speaks her name, and the crowd goes wild with screaming cheers. She’s the highlight of everyone’s evening, and I have this strange sense of pride in my chest. She should be. Everyone should see her for the divine being she is, walking among us mere mortals.

She walks onto the stage to grand applause, and waves with a broad smile to the crowd. She looks thrilled, like she’s basking in the glory of it and has been waiting for this her whole life. She looks like she belongs there.

As though on cue, to everyone’s pleasure, she lights up, giving off a glow from within that brightens the entire stadium, and a collective sigh of pleasure ripples through the crowd. Niva’s light fills the enormous space, and the entire arena seems to warm or calm or…something. It’s more than just light she gives off. It’s something ethereally beautiful that I can almost feel, not just something I see.

Not that I can feel much on my skin, though.

She turns in a circle, and her gaze is so penetrating, it’s as though she’s looking into the eyes of every person her light touches. Her light exposes everyone to view. Including me.

I expect her gaze to pass me by, like everyone’s always does, but it doesn’t. She pauses, inclines her head, and smiles.

She recognizes me.

I look behind me a moment, sure it can’t be me she’s staring at, but when I turn back around, she winks at me. And there’s no doubt. It was for me. Her eyes sparkle with a kind of compassionate glee, as though she’s envisioning something happy that involves me.

Which makes zero sense. There’s nothing happy about me. There never has been, but as she watches me, I can’t help doing something strange and very uncomfortable.

I smile.

It’s not a big one, not a toothy one. But my mouth bends upward in a foreign work of cheek muscles. I would smile all day if it meant I got to stare into her eyes like this. If it meant she’d keep looking at me, warming me from the inside.

But the announcer speaks again, and Niva’s attention is called to the group of seven Fellamana who join her on the stage. It’s then my gaze detaches from her face to notice what she’s wearing, or not wearing.

She’s in a catsuit of white lace in an elaborate pattern that, over her iridescent blue skin, looks like she’s covered in cerulean flowers. It would be almost innocent looking if there weren’t strategic holes curving over the apex of her thighs, the lush globes of her ass, and the round full breasts that would overflow even my enormous hands. A pair of lace flowers cover the crowns of her tits with her nipples peeking out like dark blue pollen points in the center.

Her hair is a riot of dark curls overflowing in waves down her back. It’s a dark mane that looks like dozens of hands have wrung through it in ecstasy. Perhaps they already have.

Their scene is given the sign to begin, and the crowd goes quiet. The spectators make little noise, seeming to relish the sounds of the sex happening in front of them as much as the sights.

Niva is very vocal: she calls to her lovers by name, orders them into positions, and they all obey her with submissive faces, as if she rules them. And she does. She makes them come again and again, fucking them with her hands and mouth and a slick wet cunt that glistens for everyone to see like she’s full of the most delectable nectar.

I’m salivating and hard, watching her legs spread open, beckoning another lover between her thighs. I wouldn’t be able to feel her touch, but my taste buds work just fine.

I would be able to taste her.

Her scene goes on for I don’t know how long. I realize all the players on stage are Fellamana. It’s the first scene in the games without any humans in it, and I remember what the man said when he told me to leave her alone. She really isn’t allowed to be with humans.

It seems unfair and strange that she, the greatest among them, should have restrictions and not be allowed to sample their aliens. Perhaps that’s just it. She’s special, and they refuse to share her with the invaders of their planet. No matter how hospitable they are to humans, they have a limit.

One by one, her lovers tap out, announcing hulda, when they can’t come any more. Still she goes. Her orgasm count is in the double digits, and she puts them all to shame.

When the last of them, a male who tried valiantly to match her stamina and failed, admits defeat, she shakes her head as if disappointed. Then raises her arms in triumph.

The crowd roars with excitement and pleasure at the whole display.

The announcers proclaim her the winner, and the judges come forward with her surprise, her trophy. She puts out her hands, refusing their prize.

She turns and points at me.