“Was it good for you, Gallus?”
The human woman, a beautiful redhead called Kendra, looks up at me with hopeful eyes. She uses her hand to hold my seed inside of her, but my seed is wasted.
There’s no denying that this one’s a beauty – but what does it matter if she’s not my Fated Mate?
I like her, though. When I’m frustrated, she’s one of my favorites. Her skin is creamy and pale. Red hair tumbles down around her curves, falling to her waist. Perhaps sexiest of all, she’s got a a fiery temper to her – a spark of defiance I appreciate in a woman.
She undeniably did her best – there are few women who can move their hips like Kendra – but I’m still unsatisfied. That’s not her fault, though – and I won’t humiliate Kendra with the truth.
“Yes,” I grunt.
She smiles proudly – clearly delighted with how quickly she’d milked my load from me.
Let her have her pride. I can’t give her anything else.
As she smiles, I wave Kendra out of the room. She giggles, rising from the sofa to leave. As she scurries, naked, from the room, her face is flushed with the exertion of my passion.
Yet, while my balls are empty, I’m still left with the same, gnawing disappointment as always. My sexual frustration I can temporarily relieve in the cunt of a writhing woman. The frustration I feel in my soul… my spirit… That’s not so easy to relieve.
It’s always the same emptiness – no matter how many women I empty myself inside.
There’s no true satisfaction from coupling with a woman who isn’t your Fated Mate. It does nothing more than take the edge off the boiling, constantly, never-ceasing urge to mate, and seed, and sire sons. Every Aurelian feels the same dissatisfaction when they fuck – except, of course, for those impossibly lucky few who have found what we all crave:
That one, unique human woman who is Bonded to them.
I flip the edge of my toga over my now-drained cock. I didn’t work up much of a sweat as I emptied myself into Kendra, and already my breathing has returned to normal. The coupling was quick, powerful… and meaningless.
I might as well have emptied myself into my hand, for all the satisfaction it brought. Sadly, there isn’t a single woman in my harem who can give me what I need.
I sigh, laying back on the huge couch and reaching for one of the sweet honey-fruits arranged in the bowl on the nearby table. They’re the native fruit of this planet, and as I bite down on the plump, yellow flesh the sweet flavors flood my mouth.
The lack of my Fated Mate notwithstanding, life is good.
Cyrus strides into the main lounge room. The blonde hair of my towering battle-brother falls down to his chin, and he wears that same grin as always – as if he always knows a secret the rest of us don’t. His aura, forever in my mind, is like that of a fox – quick and charmingly deceptive. Cyrus’s wits and brilliance are a Gods-send to our triad. He’s spotted inconsistencies in trade deals and negotiations that have saved us millions of credits over the centuries.
He snorts: “How was she?”
I force down the twinge of annoyance. I might be the leader of our triad – the natural leader, established instantly and permanently as soon as we forged our Bond – but Cyrus still always tries to get a rise from me.
“Adequate,” I grunt. “As always. What is the news from the doctor?”
We recently had a lead – breadcrumbs we hope might lead to the whereabouts of a painting from a prominent female artist who died two-hundred years ago. It’s said to be in the private collection of a local human physician. Humanity has many weaknesses, but there’s no denying that their childlike, chaotic species is the only one in the universe that can produce truly beautiful art.
“He has it,” Cyrus nods, “or, he claims he does. I do suspect it’s an original, though. I’ll go check it out later today.”
I run my hand through my short-cropped beard. The greed wells up inside of me. It’s my nature – and always has been. I dutifully pay my taxes to the Empire, and I’d never go Rogue, but it’s still not honor or status I thirst for, like most Aurelian warriors.
Instead, I thirst for beauty and gold – two things my race traditionally has little regard for.
Beauty is aesthetic – unappreciated by most of my kind.
Gold is a means to an end – and the great riches we acquire after our century of service to the Empire makes most Aurelians unappreciative of the hard work required to obtain more of it.
I look up at my battle-brother. “We’ll go together, as three. If it is an original Mali painting, we must acquire it.”
Cyrus snorts.
“When you see something you want, you can’t let it go, can you? That’s cost us in the deals we’ve made, you know. To covet something is to prescribe it value greater than it’s worth.”
“Aye,” I not. “Maybe it is – and maybe it has cost us – but it’s also made our private collection the envy of everyone we deal with.”
There’s no denying that. By the standards of this world, and many others, we have everything.
We possess health, wealth, and a huge harem of beautiful women – not to mention a home to enjoy them in big enough to fit a hundred of our kind.
Back when we were fighting –during our hundred years of service to the Aurelian Empire –we’d been coated in blood and bile; the warpaint we’d earned in clearing out Scorp nests and battling Toad insurgents.
Back then, we could never have imagined the riches and success we now enjoy; even with the promise of the wealth we’d receive upon finishing our century of service.
Now, we have everything – we’re rich even by the standards of other Aurelians.
We have everything – except, perhaps,
