Jumbo Blueberry Popsicle

It's probably obvious that I wasn't feeling the most inspired when I created a title for this story.

This is going to be the second of the two Rakheem/Reoti stories I'll be posting. Depending on how well they're received, there may be more later, but for now this is the extent of it.

I don't have a whole lot to say about this story except that it's one of the gentler pieces I've done, which is a little ironic given the cast and context.

I'm not finding anything that I feel serves as a particularly good snippet, but anyone following these stories already knows what they're in for with these two.


As a brief aside, I do want to make note of a 'feature' I've added to the blog. On the right-hand side you'll find an email address (puts.hair.on.your.chest@gmail.com) that you can direct any and all blog-related questions to, including questions about the characters themselves. Questions directed to the characters will be answered by the characters, with independent posts written in the first person perspective of whoever the question was asked to.

So if you find yourself wondering something about one of these stories, feel free to drop me a line.



And now, your scheduled programming:

            With the heavy crumple of soiled cloth, Reoti’s baggy, grease-stained top met her bedroom floor. Her jaw gaped shamelessly as a yawn bellowed past her full lips. Her neck, back, and shoulders rolled back in the practiced motion of someone made physically fit by means of cake, alcohol, and enough grueling hard work to make up for both. Twisting and pulling, she contorted in ways that her scaled companion, Rakheem, had tactfully declared bore some semblance to an insect dying in slow motion.

She counted three pops and just two snaps. She paused for a moment, frowning; this was unacceptable. Her head lolled to the side until her tension piqued in a loud crunch. With a satisfied grunt, she reached for the button on her once-khaki cargo pants. Tired fingers brushed against the material beneath, feeling the fine fabric of her classiest set of undergarments--black lace, hemmed to reveal just enough to be titillating while still managing to be frustratingly opaque.

            From the bed just beyond, Rakheem watched with a weary smile. His only article of clothing was an expensive, custom-tailored suit—most of the time, he wore nothing at all. He didn’t need to. With his body covered in scale and his dangly bits tucked safely away, clothing was little more than an encumbrance. And really, no one seemed to notice or care. His black scale, adorned with rippling patterns of iridescent blue, seemed to strike those fleshier, self-conscious species as some kind of permanent coat or armor.

            Either that or they were just too scared to complain. Standing at least three heads taller than the tallest human male on board, and weighing over twice as much, Rakheem was a lot of lizard. And his reputation for mauling hostile creatures with his bare hands was of little comfort to anyone who found him intimidating. He was, in a very real way, the ship’s resident beast, and he was entirely comfortable with the role.

Reoti, on the other hand, was much the opposite. The ship’s male-to-female ratio was already skewed to start with, though it was far from being a complete sausage fest. But a good portion of the women on board were about as gruff and pretty as the men they worked with—and understandably so. Salvage work was not exactly the most pleasant career in the known universe, and it was by the sheer miraculous wisdom of their captain, Mesa, that so many of the core crew members were pleasant, anyway.

But Reoti was different. Though she’d never told Rakheem how, exactly, she’d wound up on this ship, she’d been there throughout all of puberty and the decade following—from the ages of about twenty to her mid-thirties, respectively. And so, watching her undress had always held a subtle appeal for him beyond any carnal interest. It was, in a way, a return to nature.

Not that black lace bothered him. Not at all. The real shame was that it hadn’t had the chance to meet her gorgeous black dress. As it so often did, work had interrupted their plans for the day. And instead of an evening of high-class restaurants and ballroom dance, they had spent the last eight hours tearing through the salvaged, half-scorched remains of some unfortunate sod’s cargo ship.

            Reoti approached the bed with the slightest hint of a stumble, her spade-tipped tail exaggerating her whole-bodied droop. Crawling onto the mattress, she wiggled her way over to the oversized reptile and collapsed. This was such a let down. It’d been months since they’d been to a port with anything even resembling a ballroom, and at this rate, they weren’t going to get the chance to visit port for anything classier than buying batteries.

            A large, black-scaled hand tugged gently at her side, rolling her closer and then pulling her back to his stomach. His lower arm slid beneath her head, smooth scale and the soft flesh beneath forming a big, lizardy pillow; his upper arm draped over her side and stomach. Burying his head in a pillow, he took a deep, heavy breath and allowed himself to melt into the mattress. It was time for sleep.

            Wiggling her body into his, Reoti lazily positioned herself for maximum cozy. Achieving it, she closed her eyes, just as ready for a good night’s rest. But as soon as her mind began to settle, it fell back to disappointment. She had so been looking forward to this. She’d only worn her dress a small handful of times, and every time she did was a wonderful reminder that she was something more than a hired gun. That she could be, above all, a woman. And that the lumbering Godzilla-monster she had snuggled into was, at his core, a gentleman.

            Idle fingertips found his broad hand, over her stomach. His scale was so smooth, so alien, but over the months they had acquired a comforting familiarity. They were strength, protection, and perhaps above all, a deep and unspoken understanding. Opening her eyes just a bit, she glanced down at that hand, his massive fingers resting just above the fine garment he’d picked for her.

It was another reminder, really. The night had more or less planned itself out in her head. They would have visited the most prestigious, pretentious restaurant they could find. Her order was going to be perhaps the second or third most expensive thing on the menu, and it was going to be the most delicious food she’d taste until the next time she wore that dress. The dance after dinner would have been slow and peaceful—a muted intimacy that was rarely given the chance to surface. And the night that followed would have been, in a word, exhilarating. She had worn these for a reason.

Rakheem opened a single, tired eye. He had been closing in on sleep, but something had so gently coaxed him back to consciousness that he found himself wondering if he’d awoken at all. Soon, however, the soft tingle of her fingertips caressing his skin sent the slightest shiver up his arm. He couldn’t help but smile, just a bit, even as that shiver eased its way into his groin. It wasn’t the first time he’d found her playing with his texture, not by far. And while her touch did tend to stir his body, he was content to drift back towards sleep. She’d done much worse before.

 Reoti sighed quietly, giving herself the gentlest of admonishments. Focusing on what might have been would bring her nowhere. And, really, with as long as they’d been away from port, there remained a decent shot at heading out later. And if not, it was still not the end of the entire world. Fine restaurants were hardly exclusive to this planet. And while a proper ballroom was harder to find, it wasn’t as if they couldn’t head beyond port and into the city.

Her fingers wrapped gently around his large wrist. Really, had she not spent all evening thinking about what she’d rather be doing, she’d probably have fallen asleep already. But at this point, she had managed to work herself into a fluster. Playing with his body in any capacity was never a great idea if she wanted to avoid her own hormones, but his hands, especially, roused her interest. They made her feel so small, so tender, like a fragile toy in his powerful grasp. She knew what they were capable of. The things he could, but would never, do to her. And she had seen them take lives, crush flesh and bone as if they were ripe fruit, in the name of her protection. His clawed fingertips reminded her that he was a massive, powerful, and foreign creature, and the object of his fiercest loyalty was her.

Her thighs shifted just a bit, her frustrations voiced only by the softest grunt. She was so tired, but sleep was just not coming. She couldn’t help but wonder, though. One set of fingers left his hand. Traveling upwards, they found his hulking frame above hers, fingertips seeking the fleshy spines of his neck. Most of the time, they were soft and lay flat against his neck and jaw. But with arousal, be it from the thrill of battle or the scent of her body, the skin below them flushed and stiffened, flaring those harmless spines in some millennia-old display of excitement.

Now, they were neither flat nor firm. It took a moment, but she soon realized that her touch on his hand had been a tease, however slight. It was a strange thought, that she could arouse such a creature with such a slight touch to his fingers, but it left her with a small smile. Weary fingers played with his spines, stroking them and caressing them, as if they were the thick locks of a beard.

Rakheem opened an eye again, drawn once more from the edge of his dreams. The other eye soon followed, blinking as a familiar tingle began at his neck and settled between his thighs. She had, in a few short moments, swollen his length to the point of discomfort. His body was, as was natural, urging him to free his thick shaft from its internal confines, allowing it the freedom to finish gorging with blood. But he knew full well that if that happened, and he didn’t use it, he would not sleep for most of the night.

Reoti watched the massive hand upon her stomach move away. Slowly, cautiously, as though she may still be sleeping, a clawed finger pulled the bottom of her panties free from her groin. Carefully, the back of a claw drew across her folds. She knew this was a test. The spines along his jaw had given him away. He wanted to know two things: if she was interested, and if so, if she was ready. Her reply was the subtle push of her thighs against his hand, the soft sound of her breath filling her lungs.

His long tongue flickered through the air, tasting her body, now lain open to him by the simplest of motions. The surge of pure, raw desire that followed narrowed his options to one. Thick and blue, his curved shaft eased out from his body, slick and moist and ready for her body. As his eleven inches fell free, his broad fingers wrapped around it, guiding it forward. His lungs fell still as his cool flesh met her hot, wet lips, spreading them, filling her to her present limit with just over half of what he had to offer.

Warm desire flushed through her body in an instant. She felt so full, so hot, yet so far away from all of this, as if she had finally found rest and had fallen into a blissful dream. As her quiet gasp left her lips, her thighs pulled forward with a twist of one hip, dragging his flesh firm against hers. And then, careful and easy, she pressed her body back into his. Already, she wanted more, but she knew that would come. At least being so tired, so relaxed, meant her body could take his with greater ease. Soon enough, his hips would be flush with hers, his body and hers so intertwined.

As Reoti’s fingers draped up and over his neck, Rakheem let his hand trail up her stomach. Careful fingers pulled her bra up and over her full, heavy breasts, letting them fall free, only to cup them. He smiled a bit, amidst the heat of her motion, as he was faced with the eternal dilemma. His hand was too large for one breast, but her breasts together were too large for one hand. As usual, he settled for rolling his grip between them, savoring the feel of her warm, soft flesh against his palm.

Already she could feel her body giving way. It was as if all of her fears, all of her frustrations had melted away, leaving little else but her body and his. And hers was relaxing, spreading, taking more and more of his thick length. Plunging back, she felt another inch of his body fill her, and then another. Perhaps too eager, she pressed her body over his, filling herself until she struck pain. God, he was so thick. And she knew he had another two inches left, which were only thicker still. It was a strange feeling, letting herself go like this. It was if he was ruining her, making her his toy, shaping her body for his use and his use alone. It felt so dirty and so intimate all at once, the most carnal collision of lust and affection.

Rakheem let his eyes fall shut, surrendering himself to both comfort and sensation. He could not help but savor this. There were ways that women could move their bodies, ways they could bend and twist against their partner’s length, that had never ceased to amaze him. Reoti had mastered all of them. And as she ground against his thick shaft, though he could not keep from thrusting back, he was careful not to overcome her motions. His hand drifted higher still, until the back of a claw stroked gently along her neck, then her cheek, and finally coming to rest on her lips.

Her free hand found his. Her fingers, tiny in comparison, brought his to her lips. Fingertips were nipped, nibbled, and sucked, her teeth and lips working around his heavy claws. And as she gave one final push, and her thighs finally met his, the hand around his neck tightened in an iron grip. It hurt again, just a bit, but the pleasure and satisfaction of having taken him in his entirety, of having filled herself with his mammoth length, far outweighed any pain. Her neck craned back, bringing his fingers with as her body fell still. And for what seemed like the longest time, she lay there against him, savoring this sensation. It had taken them months of rutting to reach this point, where their bodies could finally join. And it had taken them months more of fear to finally allow themselves to revel in it.

Rakheem, too, lay still. His entire length burned with desire, but at the same time, he was all too content to simply be here, inside of her, enveloped by her hot, wet depths. His tongue flickered down, against the tip of her long ear, tasting her skin as she tasted his. When he finally felt her move, it was only to push herself firmer against him, grinding against the base of his shaft. It felt sublime, unlike anything else sex had to offer, and he couldn’t help but press back, pressing his body as far and deep as it could possibly go.  

Finally, able to stand it no more, Reoti pulled herself forward, easing herself along the entire length of his shaft. She reveled in the motion, in the sensation of his curved rod pressing against every part of her, dragging along her most sensitive places. And as she filled herself entirely once more, she knew she couldn’t last much longer. Up and down she moved again, her pace picking up only slightly. As much as she could, she milked this slow, steady motion for all it was worth, relishing every inch and what it had to offer.

As her body fell into pattern, so did his. He pulled away as she pushed, pushed as she pulled, grinding his shaft against her mound at the height of every motion. His eyes fluttered open, finding hers, and he watched as her breath grew heavier. He could feel it in her body, sense it in every inch of her being. She was drawing ever closer, and with her, so was he.

She could practically taste it. It was teasing her now, hovering on the edge of her consciousness, intangible and inescapable all at the same time. Closer and closer she fell, until the one thing left on her mind was the climax she so desired. Her hips jerked forward only to yank back, the first hint of desperation as she clung to that carnal need. Back and forth, her movements growing sharp and erratic, yet so far from the usual haste of their sex that even this felt full with purpose.

And when she finally grasped it, finally felt that heat swell and swell until it burst, she broke the warm silence that had filled the night. Soft, raspy, and involuntary, the tiniest, drawn-out curse left her throat. A simple, “Ffffucckk,” and then nothing, her teeth finding her lip as spasms rocked her body. Everything from her fingertips to the ends of her toes shook softly, wave after wave of ragged pleasure surging through her veins. Her body ground hard against his, pressing herself against him until she was as full as she could possibly be.

That tiny, graphic gasp was the final push. As her body clenched around his, Rakheem, too, felt his groin begin to tighten. His hips, having been so patient, pressed forward of their own accord, jerking back and forth against her tight, hot body. His free arm, which had been so still beneath her all this time, found the edge of the bed, clenching down. It was all he could do not to punch holes in her mattress as the sweetest, most torturous heat burst through his body. His shoulders shook as his thick seed poured into her body, more and more with each and every spasm. He could feel it, even smell it, as it mixed with her own juices and drizzled out of her, her body so full that it could hold no more.

And then, all at once, all was still. Only the sound of heavy breath spoke through the darkness, the lungs of each partner whispering satisfaction to the other. His hand fell away from her lips. Hers left his neck. Hips met in the slightest, weakest of motions, drawing the very most from their climax. But neither dared to shift or squirm, to break the spell of comfort that had washed over them. And before long, sleep took them both.