Tales From The Clave

Vignettes by Cheryl Petterson

(Standard Year 2236 - 2241)


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Standard Year 2237

She wore clothing to fit her Racing handle, a tight vest and a swirling, multi-layered skirt. She was stoned nearly to the gills, and flying, heightening the sensation with her graceful, twirling dance. Excitement crackled through the air of the Clave, the music bright and expectant - the usual theme played when a new King was about to be crowned. Everyone else was standing around, waiting, but she couldn't keep still. She caught sight of Cajun sprawled on one of the couches, deep in his usual sapphire haze. He was now officially the King's Maker, and she knew he'd be surrounded by eager Groupies in no time. And while she was certain that would also be true of the new LeRoi, she fully intended to have him notice her. And the best way to achieve that was to present a bright, challenging picture of nonchalance. So instead of gathering with nearly everyone else at the doors that led to the hangar, she danced in the center of the room, letting the crystal and Rigellian carry her to the state of anticipation that she was sure would attract Kamikaze.

She didn't have to wait long. The voice of Castor, the former King, rang out, carrying easily through the crowd.

"Racers, Makers, Clavists!" he shouted. "I give you our new King... Kamikaze!"

The raucous cheer flowed in a wave from the door, sending her pulse rate soaring. She caught glimpses as she turned, Racers pounding Kamikaze on the back, Makers rushing past him to inspect Cajun's latest improvements, Groupies hanging on him, front and back. His rakishly handsome face was grinning, night and sunshine, the dark eyes full of life and fire. He accepted kisses and kissed back, groped with as much frequency as he himself was groped. He downed the drinks that were pushed at him, inhaling from numberless pipes, swallowing multi-colored pills like they were candy. She saw emerald and amber, crystal and kaleidoscope, even the newest creation of the Clave's Master Chemist, coral. Desire shuddered through her and she let her head fall back, radiating need and welcoming arousal.

It worked like a charm. She felt Kam's gaze on her, knew he was moving toward her through the crowd. She held her breath, waiting for his arms to grasp her waist, stopping her wild, whirling dance.

"Gypsy," he breathed, her name a whisper of sensual hunger.

"Your Majesty," she returned, and dropped into a playful curtsey.

"You have something for your king?" he murmured.

She glanced up at him, her full, pouting lips curving into a taunting smile.

"Everything," she answered, and basked in the dark glow of his eyes.


They started right there in the middle of the room. Kamikaze kissed her with a skill and passion that took her breath away. The chemical within her heightened her response, making her melt against him. The body beneath the flight suit he wore was lean and hungry, responding to her soft, slender curves with obvious desire. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers slid beneath her skirt, skimming along her flesh in a way that made her insides quiver. His head dropped to her breasts, mouthing her nipples through the material of her vest, undoing the lacing that held it closed with his teeth. She grasped the back of his neck, her eyes closing in erotic surrender. She felt someone kneeling at his feet, attempting to worm his/her way between them and was filled with intense superiority when his foot lashed out, kicking whoever-it-was away.

His head rose to her neck, his voice a sibilant murmur.

"It's too crowded here," he said. "Let's go Upstairs."

Upstairs. The word made her shiver. Every Clavist knew what went on Upstairs - the most decadent, wicked, licentious sexual excesses. And Kamikaze's reputation in that regard seemed to label the area as his own personal playground. But the knowledgeable caresses he gave her body and the crystal racing in her system erased the caution before it was fully formed. She met his dark gaze and whispered her agreement.

He smiled at her, kissing her again, giving her lower lip a playful nip. Then he grabbed her hand and wound his way through the crowd, pulling her behind him. More than a few people stopped him to give him his due - more kissing, more groping, more drinks and chemicals - but he never lost his focus. When they reached the staircase, he glanced back at her, grinning, and they raced up the stairs.

He passed the first two doors, kicking open the third with grand exuberance. Gypsy fell into his arms, barely noticing the décor - dark luxury, almost like a dungeon in velvet and damask. His kiss was harsh and thorough, then he pulled away, collapsing backward onto the large bed. His hand went immediately to his crotch, grasping with blatant eroticism.

"Dance for me, Gypsy," he told her.

She gave him a low bow, a nod to their shared Japanese heritage, and started to move before him.

She didn't have to be told that she was to shed her clothing as she danced: it was evident in the expectant fervor of his gaze. She licked her lips, her eyes closed to cat-like slits, watching his reaction as her fingers moved over and under her clothing, giving him teasing glimpses of her flesh as she gracefully, slowly lifted her skirt, removing layer after layer. She stopped before the final piece, turning to her halter. She finished the job he'd started, pulling the laces free of the material with lascivious ease. When the laces dropped to the floor, she let her hand cup her small breasts, teasing the nipples with her thumbs.

He groaned with heady approval and she giggled, shrugging the rest of the halter from her shoulders. She turned in circle after circle, releasing the final layer of her skirt as she did, so that it seemed to be unwinding around her. When that, too, was dropped to the floor, she did another deep bow, then arched backward, kicking one leg high into the air.

He was up off the bed, pulling her into a fierce embrace before she could right herself. His hands flowed over her like water, pressing and memorizing every inch of her naked skin. He growled, "Do me," in her ear, and she shuddered, sliding to her knees to open the fastenings of the suit. As she peeled the clothing from him, she let her lips move over his flesh, enjoying the salty taste, the warm bronze color, and darker brown nipples, the thatch of dark, silky hair below his navel. When his erection sprang from its confinement, hard and jutting, she moaned, her mouth immediately closing around him. His fingers entangled themselves in her hair, a sibilant "Yessss…" hissing from his lips. The chemicals within her seemed to join with those hitting his system, and shared need consumed them both.


The bindings were exotic and extensive - another bow to their shared heritage. Gypsy's arms were bound behind her back, almost a harness behind her, keeping her upright, hung from a hook in the ceiling. Ropes were wrapped tightly around her torso, above and below her breasts, with special twists across them, imprisoning her nipples. There were ropes at her waist, around her thighs and between her buttocks, going between her legs, pressing deeply against her labia. Her legs were splayed, her ankles tied to the bed frame to keep them apart. Her skin was slicked with sweat from the ferocious sexual assault she had shared with Kamikaze before he had begun his artful bondage. Trepidation pounded within her, but it was inextricably entwined with arousal and desperate need. Kamikaze wasn't a gentle lover, but he was skilled almost beyond compare - and he hadn't left more than a few bruises - mostly from the strength of his grip on her flesh - and shallow teeth-marks. And she hadn't protested, the pleasure he sent coursing through her more than enough to make up for any transitory discomfort.

Her breath came in gasps as he finished with the ropes, then stood before her, stroking his erection.

"Mmm, you look so good, Gypsy," he murmured in wickedly dulcet tones. "Good enough to eat."

She shuddered, every nerve ending tingling as he came close to her, rubbing his body against her and the ropes, slowly sliding down her body, his lips and tongue bathing her skin. When he reached his destination, she moaned, straining in her bonds, writhing under the touch of his mouth. Within moments, she was gasping and sighing, and soon breathless shrieks of hunger rasped from her lips. He started biting at the ropes and she cried out when his teeth caught her flesh, turning into helpless ecstasy when his tongue gentled the not-quite-injury. It went on for what seemed like forever as she reached orgasm after orgasm, the crystal feeding her urgency. When he finally stopped, standing up, grabbing her hips and impaling himself with one hard thrust, she screamed, her head falling back, tightening the ropes at her breasts. She lost count of the number of climaxes before she passed out from sheer sensory overload.


She woke to his soft kisses. The ropes were in a pile at the side of the bed. Kamikaze held her in his arms, his lips gentle at the back of her neck, his body warm behind her.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he murmured.

She felt an exhausted giggle building up in her throat. "Not in a bad way," she managed, and the laughter broke from her. He chuckled, nuzzling to her.

"Then you wouldn't say no to a repeat performance?"

She turned in his embrace. "Hai, Your Majesty," she answered demurely.

He smiled his night and sunshine smile and kissed her. "You were wonderful, Gypsy," he whispered. "Really, really wonderful."

"You were - majestic," she returned, and giggled again.

He shook his head, but there was pleasure in his eyes. She sighed, snuggling to his chest and was almost asleep again when she heard his voice, deep and low, almost inaudible.

"Hiro wa isa
Kokoro mo shirazu
Furusato wa
Hama zo mukashi no
Ka ni nioiberu."

No, the human heart
Is unknowable.
But in my birthplace
The flowers still smell
The same as always.

It was foolish, she knew, and dangerous, but it was then and there that Gypsy knew she was falling head over heels in love.


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