The Breeding Prize - Aya Morningstar Page 0,18

the date. I’m preparing a list of questions myself.”

She laughs, which makes me uneasy. Human females certainly love to laugh, even when nothing funny has happened at all.

“Sorry,” she says. “Maybe, just, um, don’t write your questions down—”

“I memorized them. Word-for-word.”

“Okay, maybe be a bit more...loose with them?”

“I don’t want you to think I’m unprepared.”

“A date is meant to be a bit more spontaneous and relaxed. We’re supposed to have fun.”

“It will be quite fun for me to learn about you, Annabelle. Detailed questions further that goal.”

“Okay,” she says. “As long as it’s fun for you.”

I get the feeling she isn’t interested in preparing questions for me, which has me worried that she’s not especially interested in me as a mate. I have many questions for her, burning questions, and I’m excited at the chance to be on a “date” setting, which as far as I understand it means she is required to answer all of my questions.

“Do you have an idea of where we should go?” she says, sitting on the bed and kicking her shoes off.

“You should synthesize some new clothes, little human. You’ve been through a lot in that outfit.”

“Synthesize?”

I point to the synthesizer. “This can make anything you need.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Anything?”

“Try it.”

“Do I…”

“Just tell it what you want.”

She shuffles her bare feet across the carpet. I watch her feet as she moves. I never thought feet could be an erotic part of a woman, but her feet as so tiny and fragile, and they connect directly to her legs, which are most certainly arousing by any definition of the word.

Annabelle stands at the synthesizer, which looks a lot like a refrigerator on Earth, except it’s full of a contained nanoswarm rather than spoiling food.

“Gucci handbag,” she says.

“You’d like a bag?” it asks.

“Yes,” Annabelle says. “A Gucci one.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that word,” it says.

“It won’t be familiar with very Earth-specific items.”

“You said anything.”

“Be logical, human.”

She rolls her eyes at me, which I’m beginning to suspect signals some form of exasperation or annoyance. Still, I rate that there is around a 20% chance that it means she’s turned on by the way I order her around.

“Okay, synthesizer,” she says, “give me a...an icecream cone.”

“Explain ice cream,” it says.

She explains in tedious detail what an ice cream is, but when she’s finished the synthesizer opens a door and presents a strange looking treat.

“Make two of them,” she says.

It shuts the door, hums for a few seconds, and opens again. There are two now.

“You’ve never had ice cream, Raiska?”

I shake my head. “I had Japanese food once. Butchered animals cooked on a hot metal surface and smothered in a sauce the color of blood from a stomach wound.”

“Raiska, if you describe food like that, it’s never going to sound good. Now, do you want some iced excretions from an Earth bovine?”

“What?”

“Ice cream.”

She holds the treat up to me. It’s on some kind of cone with a lattice shape. I take hold of the ice cream and bring the pointy end of the cone to my mouth. I bite off the tip.

Suddenly, the cream drops off and lands on my foot. I turn the thing back over in time to save some of it.

Annabelle laughs again. “God, you are such a goof, Raiska.”

“What is a goof?”

“A goof is a guy who eats an ice cream cone upside down.”

She grabs a towel from the counter, goes down onto her knees, and wipes off my boot.

My cock stiffens seeing her on her knees in front of me. It’s a very submissive pose, and it makes my mind race with images of things she could be doing to me while on her knees. I take a big bite out of the cream to try to take my mind off the thoughts of her lips wrapped tightly around my Valittu cock.

The cream is too cold, and it hurts my teeth.

She’s standing back up already, and she sighs at me. “Raiska, you don’t bite it, you lick it. Watch.”

Her lips and tongue soon become the only thing I see. She holds the iced cream up to her mouth, opens her mouth, and sticks her tongue out. She runs her tongue along the cream. It presses against the top of the cone, and her tongue shapes the cream, smoothing it as it moves. When she’s done, she pulls her tongue back in and swallows. There’s a white piece of it on her lip, and it begins melting from the heat of her skin. She sticks her tongue