cannot comprehend. I clear my throat and greet them, informing them that I have come for Doris.
Her door slides open, and she is there before me, wearing a long, flowing orange dress that complements her red hair and surrounds her with the colors of the most brilliant sunset. I walk toward her, the desire rising instantly in my blood. I am struck with the intense need to grab her and press her luscious body against mine. But instead, I greet her politely and ask her if she is ready to go.
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she says, her eyes twinkling. Her face is flushed. I can smell the scent of her sex on the air. I offer her my arm, and she bids her friends farewell.
Back at the landing pad, I open the door of the vehicle for her, and she climbs inside. My mind churns so violently with conflicting emotions and their corresponding thoughts that I barely remember the flight home.
We are greeted by my housekeeper, who has prepared a welcome meal for my bride. I have no stomach for food. All I want is her. To sink my thick, throbbing rod into the damp, hot cave between her milky white thighs. As we sit at the table, with the meal spread out on dishes between us, I try to calm my frantic thoughts.
I’ve worn loose trousers again in hopes that I might hide the insistent need of the awakened beast within me. But sitting across from her, with my manhood hidden under the table, I cannot hold back the arousal any longer.
Her dress is cut low, revealing the soft rise of her breasts. They jiggle as she speaks and laughs and eats. I can barely tear my eyes from them, but I use every ounce of discipline I learned in the Martian Marines to look straight into her eyes.
The protocol we have learned for years to be worthy of this opportunity to bring new Martians into the world required that we treat our Earth guests with the utmost dignity. I have already failed this, having watched my bride pleasure herself twice now. So I have vowed to come clean about this. How I will do it, I do not know. All I know is that it must be done.
Her face flushes, and she drinks several glasses of ice water, but our conversation progresses pleasantly. We continue our discussion of the history of Mars, the various subcultures and its art, literature, and style of dress. We discuss various technologies and their historical origins on Earth. She is particularly interested in our textiles, and I find out that she is something of a clothing designer, although her greatest love is knowledge.
The more I learn about her, the more I am sure that we are a perfect pair. And it isn’t just the fire in her eyes or her luscious curves. Her thirst for knowledge can only be equaled by my thirst for adventure. And I want us to share all of this to the very depths of our hearts and minds. But the nagging need of my sex makes it difficult to concentrate bonding on an intellectual level. I know that soon I will have to relieve myself one way or another.
This intense need to mate is making it difficult to get to know my bride in a way that will make this pairing possible, according to the ethical limitations we have set up for ourselves in the first place. I discussed this issue with several scientists last night. Unfortunately, their conclusion was that the rush of desire cannot be mitigated. It is a necessary component of the subtle genetic shifts that must happen for optimal breeding to occur.
After we have finished our meal, I suggest a tour of the house. She agrees enthusiastically. As we stand from the table, I will myself to go soft. My phallus only half obeys my commands. And I am glad of my clothing choice. I don’t want her to know that her presence does this to me. I can’t imagine what she would think of it.
I show her around the first floor of my estate: the study, the library, and the ballroom. We walk out on the veranda where various outdoor seating areas are placed, overlooking the landscape of the gardens and the sea. We take an outdoor staircase to the second-story veranda, where we slip into my suite of rooms.
Bringing her into my personal space sends a new wave of