Mourning the loss of her husband, Cressida Troy is on her way to Earth. Her mission; to meet the Queen of England and cement relations between the Lunarians and humans to present a united front in the approaching war with the Martians. For Cressida, the mission has a much deeper and personal meaning. Being human, as well as the Lunarian Empress, Cressida is plagued by doubt and guilt and seeks redemption for what is seen by many as the betrayal of her species. Matters are complicated when she is kidnapped by the pernicious witch, Lady Neva, who is hell-bent on revenge against Queen Victoria. Armed with unlimited magical power, Lady Neva is planning to usurp the crown and rule both Earth and space.
Meanwhile Jacob McLeary, Cressida’s former fiancé, is under the watchful and lascivious eye of Lavinia Branscombe, a Lunarian agent. Knowledge of the dark secret at the heart of the Lunarian society fuels Jacob’s loathing of the aliens, but with so much at stake, can love overcome the barrier of hate? Will Cressida find redemption?
Like a child’s toy, the cradle of humanity filled the bridge windows with brilliant colour: blue, green, and brown, flecked with white, a gemstone set against the black velvet of space. If only people could know how insignificant this world was in the scheme of things, floating silently in the incomprehensible emptiness.
Pointless philosophising distracted me for only a moment. My heart trembled with anticipation. I was nearly home.
The Lunarian crew, in their natural form, goblin like, winged with leathery skin and large bright eyes, ignored my presence, as they should. Though they were experienced, with hundreds of trips behind them, piloting a spacecraft was not something to be taken lightly, especially with me on board creating the expectation that everything should be executed perfectly.
I would have put them at ease, but that would have been churlish of me, I realised. They wanted to impress me, and lowering expectations would have been like a slap in the face, a sign of patronising condescension on my part. Not an endearing action no matter how well intended.
I turned my thoughts back to the sparkling globe before us, and the people who awaited me. I’d read how the ancients believed that the souls of the dead fled their bodies and ascended to the moon, a way station before reincarnation, or their ultimate disposition in paradise or the underworld. Little did they contemplate that souls from that grey desert of a world would descend upon the Earth and conquer it.
I had to be careful how I approached not just the Queen, and her parliament, but most importantly the bureaucracy which ruled from the shadows and exerted more power than she could ever hope to wield. I hoped they understood we humans were a conquered species. Of course, behind the mask of cheerful bonhomie and expressions of respect as they delivered begrudging cooperation, there would be fear and hatred. From that febrile soup simple misunderstandings could bubble up and poison the nascent relationship.
The politicians had wanted a state visit to impress everyone with the importance of our relationship, and to thank me for using our power to save them from their European enemies. Though our reasons differed, I agreed with Her Majesty that ostentatious displays of pomp and ceremony were unnecessary. She wanted to maintain her image of the Warrior Queen and didn’t want to share the adoration of the crowds as the saviour of the Empire. She feared the loss of face if I was seen as an equal.
I wanted none of that either, feeling as disloyal as I did for my part in what was fundamentally the takeover of her empire. I requested a low-key, quiet visit. A gentle introduction back into human society. One in which I would not feel such a fraud. With Her Majesty’s relieved endorsement, my desire had carried the day.
The other vexed issue was the taking of her son the Prince of Wales by Lady Neva. I had to placate and convince her that we were doing everything we could to return him to her. Though she detested the Prince -- after all he had been intimately involved in several assassination attempts, and she had come so close to strangling him with her own hands -- he was her son.
Randolf, my bodyguard and general factotum on this mission, floated at my side. “My lady,” he said softly into my ear. “Amanda has prepared a meal.”
“Thank you, Randolf.” I had skipped breakfast, and as always, my body servant had correctly anticipated my needs. I was indeed feeling hungry.
Randolf was a handsome, powerfully built, athletic man. His bright azure eyes reminded me so much of Jacob’s. My body stirred, my nipples hardened, and my quim throbbed. He and his female counterpart, the stunningly beautiful Amanda, had pleasured me delightfully and often since we had left the moon, and I had gratefully surrendered myself to them. That train of thought pushed the need for food aside. I wanted to be pleasured again.
I took Randolf’s proffered hand, and we glided to the access chute that led “down” to the passenger quarters. His body heat pulsed through his tunic and through my gown to warm my flesh. He wore no pants, and his stiff cock swayed enticingly as he propelled himself before me. Amanda was awaiting us, naked and undeniably aroused, the nipples of her ample breasts pink and erect. I gave her an encouraging smile to confirm my thoughts were of a similar nature.
Being firm, she countermanded my desire with the advice that I needed sustenance. She offered a full English breakfast: steaming scrambled eggs, kippers, ham, bacon, and sausages, kidneys, mushrooms, and fried tomatoes. A feast for a multitude. With a petulant pout, I took a dainty bite of each and finished with a cup of tea and a slice of toast. I’d maintained a salacious gaze which lingered on her almond-shaped eyes and gave rise to a pink flush to her cheeks. When I’d finished, I gracefully dabbed my mouth with a napkin and took Randolf’s cock in hand.
“Keep the food warm, and join us,” I told Amanda. “I may eat some more later. My current appetite, though, is for the diverting pleasures of unbridled fornication.”
Making love when one has no weight, once the initial challenges are overcome, is a sublime enterprise, more like an ethereal ballet of the most intimate kind. Holding your partner in a close embrace, limbs entwined, his cock held snugly by one’s tight sheath, so that you become as one, spinning, rotating, pirouetting like a ballerina celebrating a mind-shattering climax.
Aussie Mikala Ash used to be a mild-mannered training & development consultant by day, and a wild sci-fi and paranormal adventure writer by night. Now she is a brazen full-time writer and nature photographer who is concentrating on having among other things, “… bags, and bags of fun!”
