Email: Wolfpek
This story contains graphic scenes of M/M nonconsensual sex, and rape. The author in NO WAY condones these activities. If this content offends you, or you are under 18, you have no business reading it. If you are interested in this subject matter I hope you will enjoy it. Wolfpek
Gorm pushed his way through the anonymous crowds thronging the seedy sub space way station. Like all visitors, he made these necessary visits as brief as possible.
This station floated literally and figuratively outside any law. The most dangerous riff raff in the universe traded here. Conversations were brief, and friendships could be lethal. He sipped his drink in a shady corner of the darkened bar, and peered though he twilight haze at his furtive compatriots Suddenly, all murmuring ceased, the saloon doors swung wide, and the raw energy of a powerful newcomer parted the murky shadows like a a ray of white light.
Gorm had heard tales of the legendary Captain "Mal" Rawlins, but had never before had the privilege to lay eyes upon the square jawed rouge who swaggered cooly across the bar. Hungry eyes followed his echoing footsteps across the silent room with a heated mixture of envy, fear, and lust. Gorm's eyes too, drank in the soft straight hair falling boyishly over his stern brow, the ancient leather jacket, all but destroyed by years of fighting, and rough life. Massive hands hooked casually in to the holster which hung low, so very low over those lean hips, accentuating the inviting curve of that rock solid ass poured into faded uniform trousers, so tight the hugged every ripple and sinew flowing down into mud caked boots, Gorm stared, riveted on those meaty round curves and licked his lips. He must have him. This space cowboy was an impossible dream for even his wealthiest collectors. Unlike the primitive barbarian warriors who were his usual prey, and dangerous enough to snare. This cocksure anti-hero was a highly skilled space raider, was as crafty and space-smart as Gorm himself, and as quick to draw with all of the same high tech weaponry this sector could provide. Nearby, some over ambitious punk, fueled on liquid courage knocked kicked over a bar stool, and tried to outdraw the veteran laser slinger. Gorm didn't even see Rawlins move, just the incapacitated body of a fool twitching on the dirty floor, as the cock stud calmly leaned his elbows back on the sticky bar, arching that luscious ass straight toward gorms loving gaze and nodded to the barkeep for a brew. No, he would never get the drop on this hunk. He was too fast, too strong, and too smart.
The trap must be devious and fail safe The galactic gunslinger turned his attention to a pretty barmaid. This might buy some time.
This would be his greatest conquest, and have him he would, maybe even sample that fine ass before presenting it to the highest bidder. Gorm, drained his glass, wiped his drooling mouth, threw coin on the table and glided silently from the saloon and toward Rawlin's ship
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