Turn Left for Stars: A SciFi Alien RomCom (Vandalar Concubines Book 3) Read online

  Turn Left for Stars

  V. K. Ludwig

  Ink Heart Publishing

  Contents

  If you want to see what’s underneath the apron…

  1. Adrin

  2. Izzy

  3. Adrin

  4. Izzy

  5. Adrin

  6. Izzy

  7. Adrin

  8. Izzy

  9. Izzy

  10. Adrin

  11. Izzy

  12. Izzy

  13. Adrin

  14. Izzy

  15. Adrin

  16. Izzy

  17. Izzy

  18. Adrin

  19. Izzy

  She's too much risk to be alive, but too precious to be killed.

  Also by V. K. Ludwig

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  Copyright © 2020 by V. K. Ludwig

  www.vkludwig.com

  Publisher: Ink Heart Publishing

  Cover Art: Sylvia Frost

  Editing: Tami Stark

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, locations, or any other element is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  Warning: This book contains explicit sexual content.

  If you want to see what’s underneath the apron…

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  One

  Adrin

  “Every female mammal on Earth has a clitoris.” Professor Smith points at the massive model of a human vulva sitting at the center of the lecture hall. “This very complex organ contains more than eight-thousand nerve-endings, along with synapses to another ten. Its sole purpose is one of perceiving pleasure.”

  Mumbles resonate the tiered rows of chairs, all taken by one of the other seventy-nine scholars as per the Dean’s order. Most of them don’t bother opening their holograms to take notes. But then again: most of them aren’t about to fail the finals.

  “At least Earth evolution put a button on their females,” I rasp quietly, my voice still hoarse from yesterday’s mating growl practice.

  Odrin flicks his finger over the clitoris on the synthetic model sitting on his desk. “I don’t know, brother. Guess I could live with this little nub right here, but no tail? Do humans dock them at birth, or—”

  “From what I’ve read, evolution got rid of it at some point. They just… don’t have one.”

  Which is creepy as vek, though, in all fairness, Vandalheim isn’t exactly known as a melting pot of different species. Guess that’s about to change, considering the council started an intergalactic tolerance campaign that allows women to settle in Sunhaven. Rumor has it they’ll even be allowed to have saikhs.

  Not sure how I feel about that.

  Odrin curls up a disgusted lip. “What do they have there instead?”

  “No idea. Skin?” I shrug. “Look up holograms of a human buttocks on the datawiz.”

  “Vek no! That’s… perverted. I don’t even understand why the Dean decided to make Earth Women 101 mandatory instead of an elective course. There’s no way I’ll ever touch a woman. I don’t want to study their weird extra organs either.”

  Neither do I, but I flunked my assessments on a few other courses. Okay, more than a few. About half of them, actually. There’s no way they’ll let me graduate if I fail this course too.

  So… clitoris.

  I straighten in my chair and lift my hand. “Excuse me, Professor, but why is the organ hidden underneath skin if it’s so important for pleasure?”

  The Earth woman glances at me through thick glasses, her gray hair braided back tightly, revealing the bump of a language chip above her temple. “Adrin, what you see here is only a small part of the clitoris. More than three-quarters are internal. But let’s take a closer look, shall we?”

  It takes her entire hand to cover the skin the organ hides underneath, which she jerks back. “The human clitoris consists of several parts. Here, we have the clitoral hood, or female foreskin.”

  I note that on my hologram, mumbling, “Foreskin.”

  So far so good.

  She taps the little bud. “Retracting the foreskin, we expose the clitoral glans, also called tip, which connects to the shaft.”

  Another scribble. “Tip. Shaft”

  “Please be aware that the manual retraction of the foreskin is not necessary during intercourse,” Professor Smith says. “Arousal will cause the erectile tissue to swell. As the shaft and tip of the clitoris engorge, the hood might naturally allow for more exposure.”

  My toes curl.

  Wait a hot minute.

  I lean into Odrin. “Did she just say erectile tissue?”

  But Odrin doesn’t answer.

  In fact, he doesn’t even move, his features chiseled into a display of pure shock. Which serves as an answer in itself. All around us, a good seventy scholars wear similar faces.

  I swing my hand up. “Um, Professor Smith?”

  “Yes, Adrin?”

  “Did you, um… did you just say erectile tissue?” And is there a chance she also said shaft earlier? “Why would a female need erectile tissue?”

  “Why for her clitoral erection, of course.”

  My brain rattles, no matter how much I don’t want to put those puzzle pieces together. Human females have a tip, a shaft, foreskin, and erections? So, what she’s saying is that human females… have a penis?

  I shudder.

  Ewww.

  As if the Prof picked up on the tension permeating the lecture room, she folds her hands, and clears her throat. “The structure of the clitoris has many similarities to a male penis, but it is not—”

  “Feel free to fail me because I’m dropping out.” Odrin jumps up from his chair, hands raised in immediate surrender. “It’s one thing this species doesn’t have a tail, but I draw the line at mini cock. No judgment. Just not into it.”

  “Please, gentlemen,” Prof Smith says, raising her arms higher above her head with each male escaping toward the glass double doors. “It is not a penis.”

  Too late.

  One by one, the lecture hall empties, and my feet itch to do the same. I’ve always considered myself open-minded, but learning how to jerk off a dick that isn’t mine? That’s pushing it.

  It’s clearly not an issue for Lucan and Silas, who sit next to each other in row two, twirling their fingers around the clitoris of the synthetic models in front of them.

  No surprise there.

  Professor Smith eventually sighs, pale cheeks blotchy red, and rakes her gaze over us three remaining scholars. “Well, there are benefits to small class sizes, aren’t there? I’m glad you decided to stay.”

  As if I have a choice.

  Passing this class is my only chance to graduate, and even that might not cut it. What I need is to pass Earth Women 101 as best of class to guarantee my graduation. With only three scholars left, how hard can it be?

  With a clap, Prof Smith turns her attention back to the model. “Let’s get started on clitoral stimulation to get rid of this awful tension. Dean san Tergush spared no expense when he ordered your interactive models. Let me demons
trate.”

  She slips her hand into a mirroring glove and conjures up a holographic vulva, her movements on the model perfectly animated on the hologram. “My course will teach you close to two-hundred ways to please a human female. Today, we start with the twelve ways of circling the clitoris.”

  Deep breath.

  I can do this.

  “Circling female penis.” I jot it into my notes and stare at it. It stares right back at me. Nope. Psychological manipulation is key, so I cross out penis and write down clitoris instead. “Twelve ways.”

  Prof Smith places her index finger on the model and starts demonstrating as she speaks. “We differentiate between large circles, small circles, interrupted circles, and stationary circles, which increase the intensity of the touch respectively. Let’s start with large circles, which avoids direct contact with the clitoris, and concentrates on the larger area around it instead.”

  Okay, I have to ignore the way the hairs on my arms stand at attention. There’s no way I’ll ever find a female unless I graduate as a saikh. And I will graduate, damnit, even if it means I have to stimulate a female penis. Clitoris!

  I take another deep breath.

  Index finger on the hood.

  Big circle. And again.

  The small feedback transmitter located just above the model lights up in green, indicating that I’m doing this right. Complex organ my ass. I’m going to master the shit out of every single nerve ending this thing has.

  “Very good,” Prof Smith says. “Now, as expected, you’re all using rather firm pressure, which is one way of doing it. There is also medium pressure, and gentle gliding. Combine those three pressure applications with the four circles, and you have twelve options of circling. Please ease into gliding, which is only the hint of a touch, and enjoyed by over ninety percent of women.”

  “We keep large circles?”

  “Yes, Adrin. Only large circles for today.”

  I scale back on the pressure.

  Red light.

  Scale back some more.

  Orange light.

  Real soft.

  Huh. Still orange.

  “Gentler, Adrin,” the Professor calls out and I jump in my seat, anxiety stiffening my fingers which now poke into the foreskin. “I said less pressure, Adrin, not… now you’re right on top of the clitoris. Big circles. Not stationary.”

  By the gods.

  So difficult…

  Sweat dampens my forehead. “Like this?”

  “Now you have big circles again, but my control board here says you’re back to heavy pressure. Remember: over eight-thousand nerve endings.”

  “I am very gentle,” I mumble, eyes locked on the angry-red feedback light. “Perhaps my vulva is broken?”

  With a huff, the old female steps off the raised platform, one leg carrying a slight limp as she approaches me. “These are brand-new models, and I tested them all before class started. Let me give you another exercise which might help you develop a softer touch.”

  Her ungloved index finger swipes from left thigh toward clitoris, dodges it in an upward curve, then swipes to the right thigh. “With this move, you only hint at going toward the clitoris before avoiding it entirely.”

  “That pleases women?”

  “Over seventy percent of them. This movement requires your entire arm to move, taking the strength out of your touch. Try it. Left to right above. Right to left below.”

  My heart pounds inside my chest.

  Can’t mess this up.

  Need to excel at pleasing Earth females.

  I place my finger back on the model.

  Then I stall, sweat dribbling down my spine.

  How was it again? Left to right? Right to left? Does it matter? Where do I start? Top? Bottom? Why is it getting so hot in here? Vek… I’m already messing this up.

  The moment I drag my finger over the fake skin, Professor Smith sucks in a sharp breath. “Gentle!”

  I immediately jerk back. “Why is this so complicated?”

  “Eight-thousand nerve endings.” As if her repeating it is of any help. “The clitoris of a woman is a highly complex organ. You will have to work on controlling the strength of your touch, Adrin, or you might not pass this class.”

  Nausea licks the back of my throat.

  Not pass? What the vek?

  I just started and I’m already failing?

  My eyes snap up to hers. “I can’t flunk this class. If I do, I might not graduate. Can I… take one of those models to my room? To practice?”

  “Nice try.” She leans with her backside against the desk beside me, arms crossing in front of her chest. “Dean Tergush made it clear scholars aren’t allowed to borrow models with a fully functional vaginal canal.”

  Courtesy of that incident with Okesh, the infamous scholar who made sure the saikhmenti needed to replace an entire storage room of models…

  “We’ll find your talent, Adrin.” She pats my back. “Next time, I will have you practice cunnilingus.”

  “Cunni what?”

  “You will lick the clitoris.”

  Ah, great.

  Three solar cycles of studies to entice a female, and I’ll learn how to lick a dick. That sure wasn’t in the pamphlet when I enrolled.

  Prof Smith claps her hands and slips out of my row. “Alright, let’s wrap it up for today.”

  I deactivate my hologram, leave the lecture room, and grab a hydration sphere from the dispenser on my way to the gym. The moment I bite on the sphere, bursting it with a pop, half of it spills down my gray shirt. Fantastic. This day can’t get any worse.

  Why did Earth evolution take their tails away, giving females such a confusing organ instead? That thing needs a manual with step-by-step instructions, followed by a page on troubleshooting.

  Odrin swipes his finger over the wet spot on my shirt and grins. “I can see you did well. Made the tiny cock come all over you.”

  My spine snaps tight.

  Can they do that? Ugh…

  “Shut up!” I slap his hand away. “It’s just water you idiot. How about you spare me your dumb jokes and tell me how I can pass as top of class if I did it all wrong on the first day.”

  “You just need more practice.”

  As if I don’t know that. “How am I supposed to practice? There’s no way they’ll give me a model, and it’s not like we’ve got a plethora of Earth females at the saikhmenti to guide me.”

  His grin pulls into something sly. “Perhaps Prof Smith will let you do your homework on her, and—”

  “What is wrong with you? That woman is at least… what? Eighty?” Also, scholars aren’t allowed any contact below waist during their three solar cycles of training, or they’ll be suspended. “Maybe I should clear my room right now. I’ll fail my finals. We both know it.”

  “Your own damn fault. Nobody asked you to go to the fight pits and break your leg, missing a bunch of training during recovery.” Odrin takes his shirt off, flings it onto the bench, and pats my shoulder. “Look, why don’t you ask that Earth woman who keeps staring at our cocks? She’s sitting right over there.”

  I don’t even have to glance over my shoulder.

  Of course he’s referring to Izzy, the young woman who shows up at the saikhmenti at least three times a week. Usually during what we call ketuni, where all scholars practice penetration angles in formation.

  A beautiful creature who, even with her short, grayish-blue hair, and small curves can’t hide her feminine features. It’s written across her soft skin, elegant cheekbones, and slender legs. Never talked to her but, her drooling over swinging penises aside, she seems nice.

  “And how am I going to do that?” I ask Odrin. “Hey, I’m Adrin, can I circle your…” Penis. “Clitoris?”

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “Even if she agrees, which I highly doubt, the Dean will kick me out of the saikhmenti if he finds out.”

  “Brother,” he says, and he means it because he is my actual broth
er. Twin brother, to be precise. “You’re screwed either way, so who cares?”

  My shoulders slouch. He’s right. What does it matter if I flunk the finals, or get kicked out before that because if someone finds out I’m exchanging sexual acts with an actual female?

  No, not exchanging.

  Only giving. Not taking.

  “Alright,” I groan. “I’ll ask her.”

  But I sure as vek won’t lick her penis.

  Two

  Izzy

  Yay! Penetration angle practice.

  What saikhs call ketuni, I lovingly refer to as cock swinging. It’s like a lovechild between gray-sweatpants-season, an Army ranger drill formation, and a Las Vegas performance of the Chippendales.

  I climb up the bleachers and sit down beside Neyja. “Did I miss anything?”

  “They only just gathered,” she says, her black hair braided into the shape of a crown between onyx horns, woven with gray strands. “How was the first night at your new estate?”

  Lonely. “Okay, I guess.”

  Neyja is what the saikhs call a sheri’ma. Pretty sure they have a deeply spiritual translation for it, but I call her Miss Quality Control. Scholars at least two decades younger than the female demonstrate their skills on her, hoping she’ll slap her approval stamp on their cute asses.

  Kinky aliens…

  “Sooo…” Light beams from my wrist com form a hologram of notes I started three weeks ago. “Let’s continue where we left off last week. Which one of them is Joshia?”

  “The male with the two-toned horns. All the way to the left.” She points at a tall Vandalar standing proud in formation. “A generous lover, particularly talented with his tongue. Poor domestic skills, however. In fact, he caused a fire at the culinary wing only a few moon cycles ago.”