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.
Chapter Four
Niva
The Fellamana judges handing me my winner’s trophy stare at me like I’ve asked for a moon. They look at my finger as I point to Graven and then back at me and shake their heads in panic.
“No, Niva. He’s human. You can’t—”
“He’s my prize. I claim him,” I declare in Fellamana loud enough for everyone in the stadium to hear. It became so clear to me when I realized all the other acts of the games had humans in them, how odd it was that of my seven, I had only Fellamana.
It had to be obvious to the audience as well—the humans and the Fellamana.
The judges look toward the council members sitting in the stands as though for help, and the council members sit stunned and staring at me.
What I’d forgotten, what I’d allowed them to let me forget, is that even though the council has the power to bring strikes against me if they ever deem me dangerous, I actually outrank them in every other way. They answer to me. I may be young and less than a month into my Exstare, but as the sole possessor of the power on this planet, I am the goddess, the supreme being, the divine made manifest, according to the beliefs of our people.
My wishes are to be obeyed.
I turn to the stagehands, the ones who’ve been orchestrating the event tonight. I point to Graven once more. “Please bring him up to the stage.” They hesitate, but as I stare at them with authority, they do as I say.
Graven’s expression is severe, and his already tangled aura becomes a mess of anxiety. I worry for a moment he’ll refuse, that he’ll put up a fight. He’s so large, no one could possibly move him anywhere he didn’t want to go.
But he appears unable to disobey my request. He lets them lead him up the stairs, and he comes to the edge of the stage. He pauses there and comes no closer. We all wait to see what he’ll do.
The hush in the audience, at least from the Fellamana, has also to do with what they see.
Graven’s aura looks painful. It’s hard to see it and not feel his pain. His emotions, if healthy, would visibly flow freely all around him in waves of orange and red—fear and desire. But instead, there are small flickers of orange and red; it’s clear fear and desire are what he would like to experience, but they don’t flow freely. They stop and start in fits and spurts, as though his aura is broken. As though his heart is broken. As though he’s forgotten how to have feelings purely, uninhibited. As though he is blocked by numbness—depression.