Alzabreah's Garden Read online

  Alzabreah’s Garden

  Gary Starta

  Dedication:

  For Awesome Jo (Goddess) Connor!

  Table Of Contents

  -Bliss-

  -Creation-

  -Defiance-

  -Secrets-

  -Predisposition-

  -Shadows-

  -Betrayal-

  -Prophecy-

  -Promised Land-

  About the Author

  -Bliss-

  The tall lush grass of the tropical island surrounded the two lovers in a green canopy as their bodies rhythmically rose and fell to carnivorous pleasures. The lime-colored birds with the long beaks and red tipped wings flew overhead, sole witnesses to their illegal liaison.

  If this were another week, Mavra and Thorpleen would have had the complete blessing of the high priestess to engage in all sorts of carnal delights. But on this day, the female known as Mavra was only permitted to have relations with the man drone named Doldross. Mavra did not care much for the schedule imposed by the island's founder. If she were a mainlander she could bond and permanently unite with any man she saw fit – anytime she wanted.

  Alzabreah promised Mavra and her female followers that their island home would free them from the chains of society. Mavra cursed the high priestess for her hypocrisy. Yet right now she was far too busy caressing Thorpleen’s back as he kissed her breasts, working his way down her toned body towards her pleasure zone. His tongue flicked along her body, teasing her as to when he would come to his final destination. She squirmed with anticipation while he licked her stomach, biting down on her lower lip to keep from screaming.

  She replayed a scene from a moment ago where she had taken Thorpleen’s rock hard organ into her mouth. She too had teased her lover, keeping him waiting for the ultimate pleasure. Her tongue had lightly danced along the soft shaft of his penis, she remembered him groaning as if would give his life to feel her lips take even just the slightest tip of his pulsating head into her mouth. She playfully purred, enjoying him getting longer and harder, his blood coursing through his entire body, warming his temperature to match the scorching heat of the midday sun. His fingers dug into the sand as he lay there, waiting for her next move. She watched him while she continued to lick his cone. She thoroughly enjoyed her domination, listening to his tiny whimpers. This enjoyment unleashed a floodgate inside of her; wet with anticipation she could no longer resist the wait either. She took him into her mouth as deep as she could take him, training her eyes on his, while soft sucking sounds continued to heighten his arousal. He finally turned his full attention to her, locking in on her gaze.

  The look told her this wasn’t just about sex - at least that’s what Mavra wanted to believe – but she was well versed by Alzabreah - the drones were designed for little more than intercourse. Still, Mavra found it hard to believe their makeup would not allow them to experience love. She thought about what it would be like to permanently link with Thorpleen, physically, mentally and spiritually as her head bobbed up and down, taking him and releasing his manhood countless times. When she felt his pulse beat the hardest, she relaxed and pulled him on top of her. He began working on her breasts, slowly extending the sweetest agony she had ever felt, working downward, and when he finally found her, she gasped. She had Thorpleen where she wanted him.

  Mavra often enjoyed oral stimulation much more than penetration, but Mavra could not tell Thorpleen this. They did not discuss technique. Mavra only used her body language to tell her love slave what she wanted. And more often than not, he knew what she wanted. It stood to reason. He had been engineered after all.

  When he began massaging her hips with his strong hands, she almost climaxed right then and there, but she fought to hang on while his tongue resumed its soft rhythmic dance to a silent island song. Thorpleen continued performing cunnilingus for the next half hour, an effortless task for a drone because they were all equipped with long tongues, capable of protruding a minimum of five inches from their lips. He pulled back when Mavra’s body shuddered uncontrollably. He muttered as if something were wrong. “No,” Mavra purred, her breathy tone now rang inside his ears. She guided him back on top of her and he plunged all the way into her with the first thrust. “Don’t you dare stop!”

  Her wish was his command. He, too, desired relief. He had nearly come when she took him in her mouth nearly an hour earlier. A dull ache accompanied the excruciating promise of releasing his load. He wanted Mavra to complete the fellatio, but he would not dare ask for it, love slaves must keep such wanton desires to themselves. But in time, he, too, would enjoy the reward of his hard labor.

  His chiseled chest and bulging biceps mesmerized Mavra as he worked on top of her, lunging, back and forth, back and forth, rocking and riding her, and sometimes swaying a little to one side, managing to caress yet another sensitive spot inside Mavra. She wanted to scream – I love you, I love you Thorpleen!

  But this was one desire she would not get to fulfill, it was forbidden to fall in love with a drone. So Mavra resorted to biting her lip, watching the gorgeous olive skinned man glide over her, his lips pursed, his huge brown eyes focused on her breasts. Mavra knew Thorpleen loved that part of her the best. It didn’t need vocalization. Thorpleen was a slave, but he was still a man, and he had urges.

  As Mavra continued to watch this luscious man fight to get deeper inside, her fingertips danced along her breasts in rhythm to a chirping bird. Thorpleen only grew harder. She spread herself wider and wider, giving herself fully to him, her legs now dangled about his shoulders. And then she came and came again until her vision blurred, forcing her eyelids shut. But even without sight, she saw him on top of her, rocking and gyrating. She wondered why he alone, of all the love slaves she had copulated with, always managed to take her to the highest plateau of ecstasy.

  When he finally pulled out of her, perhaps to initiate another position, she took the cue gladly, scrabbling off her back and onto her knees, elevating her ass towards him, engulfing his erection like an orbiting planet, letting gravity pull him back inside her.

  “Please, please give me more!”

  “You don’t have to say please my master. I am here to serve your needs.”

  Mavra could not find any words to respond. He had found her again immediately, resuming his rocking and gyrating island dance. Giving his body to his master, Mavra’s head swam with delight, literally throbbing as he grunted and groaned his way in and out of her in what seemed like a thousand sensuous strokes. Mavra had no choice but to voice her adulation with short, high pitched squeals.

  In response to her siren-like cries, Thorpeen continued to rock Mavra as hard as he had taken her moments ago. Alzabreah had engineered the drones to respond to the frequency of a woman’s cries of pleasure giving Thorpleen no other choice but to continue drumming his organ into her, watching her buttocks quiver and shake with delight. He would serve her like a goddess.

  Unfathomable. Mavra’s mind could not process his staying power. It was perfection. A small portion of her brain not flooded with endorphins could only marvel at Alzabreah’s engineering. He could stay hard for days.

  “Please, please!” She screamed for more although the sensations were almost too much to bear.

  Each thrust penetrated her as hard as the last, accompanied by a soft slapping sound. Her mind’s eye could envision his rock hard stomach smacking into her peach shaped buttocks.

  Finally his rhythmic thrusting slowed, he groaned and he gasped, grasping her waist for purchase, until he erupted as if a volcano. His release only further tickled her fancy. She finally caved onto her stomach and he fell on to her backside burying his face in her sweat soaked hair. When they finally caught their breath, they spooned together. He lay behind
her, already hard again. His manhood pressed against the small of her back, letting Mavra know she could have all the orgasms she wanted this afternoon.

  Mavra would never have to worry about fulfillment, nor would she have to worry about becoming impregnated by Thorpleen. He and all the other male drones were genetically engineered to be nothing more than love slaves. But that was a problem because Mavra wanted Thorpleen - and Mavra wanted love.

  Male drones were responsible for pleasing their female mates on a rotating schedule. No form of natural procreation was desired or allowed on the island. Alzabreah's followers consisted of a dozen organically born women from the mainland, which had been colonized by the Olvidians. While the Olvidians spent most of their time cultivating soil, building houses, and making babies - Alzabreah worked diligently. She and her colleague Doctor Quan had spent nearly two decades manipulating reproductive gene sequencing in hopes to eliminate the need for the organic birthing process. Her dream came to fruition several years ago when the first man drone was created solely from a few skin cells. Alzabreah contributed a cell, mixing them with a protein solution that induced fertilization without the need for sperm or an egg. The solution would replicate another complete set of chromosomes – separate from Alzabreah’s. The breakthrough procedure would mean only one biological cell would be necessary to create life. Since Olvidians enjoy a longer life span - some Olvidians have lived to be over 200 years old - Alzabreah’s cell would not deteriorate during cell replication like most adults. This allowed Alzabreah to bypass the need for actual embryonic cells, ensuring no potential life form would be harmed from the procedure she dubbed ‘Fractal Eugenic Dynamics.’ The embryonic like stem cell containing Alzabreah’s unique genetic coding, united with an artificial semen like substance, would now replicate. Dr. Quan had no problem tweaking chromosomes here and there, manipulating genetic coding to perfect the ultimate drone via kinetics, employing enzymes to act as epigenetic switches -taking certain genetic traits offline – such as the manufacture of certain brain chemicals responsible for inducing feelings of love in Olvidians. These epigenetic switches also turned on other genes – endowing drone men with great physical strength for labor and endurance for lovemaking. The epigenetic switching process was all regulated by a fractal-sequencing pattern embedded in a shifting gene known as a transposen. Quan rerouted neural pathways in the drone’s genetic coding using the transposen gene to instruct every cell of its specific function, employing a fractal algorithm in the drone’s very makeup, specifically limiting brain capacity to keep him docile, yet keeping chemicals responsible for trust, flowing freely to keep him loyal. Physical and mental traits now encoded in a pre-implantation embryonic like hybrid cell would essentially ensure the construction of a tailor made being, thanks to the aid of an artificial incubator which mimicked an Olvidian uterus. Here mitosis would take place, ensuring drones would be born with altered skin pigmentation for example, so they could tolerate sun. Most importantly Quan altered the sex of each hybrid embryonic contribution, so each and every drone born in this manner would be male. The plan to birth offspring in this highly secretive and morally provocative manner was never revealed to Alzabreah’s congregation until they reached the island. They had believed they were leaving the mainland for a sabbatical, but Alzabreah’s plans would finally be revealed to them once a force field was erected to prevent passage to and from the island.

  The first male Olvidian born outside a natural womb, came into being just weeks later. He carried with him the dubious distinction of having his entire destiny mapped out for him in genetic code, making him the perfect love slave. Because of this, Mavra’s next question bewildered her drone companion.

  “How do you feel about me, Thorpleen?” She played with an errant strand of auburn hair hanging just above her breasts. Thorpleen’s eyes locked onto it, helpless to respond with any other reaction than lust. Mavra didn’t care how much Thorpleen lusted after her. She knew the drones were engineered for this. But Mavra never quite believed Alzabreah when the high priestess declared the drones incapable of love. She sat up, forcing Thorpleen to remove his eyes from his nipples. When their eyes locked onto each other’s, Mavra raised her right hand to caress his cheek. “Come now, my sweet, tell me how you feel when you gaze into my eyes.”

  “I feel comfortable with you, master.”

  “I want you to call me Mavra.”

  “The high priestess does not.”

  “She’s not here right now.” She paused to laugh, it bellowed out of her like a hiccup. “In case you haven’t noticed…”

  “She has eyes…Mavra.”

  “I chose this spot for a reason. There are no cams here to record us.”

  She leaned into him, playfully ticking his chest. “Now…tell me! I know even drones can be ticklish.”

  He laughed and grasped her hand gently. He put her middle finger into his mouth and sucked on it.

  “That won’t work!” Mavra feigned to be upset. Now empty your mouth and speak.

  “I like…I mean…I think I like you. But I do not fully understand this emotion – if indeed I possess it.’’

  Mavra nodded. “I’ll accept your answer…for now. She resumed tickling his chest until he spoke again.

  “Mavra, please tell me again how I came into being.”

  -Creation-

  Alzabreah manipulated the unborn drone's genome with the aid of transposens – a shifting type of gene that helped the geneticist rearrange coding so any one desired trait could become dominant over another. Drones were therefore designed to possess an insatiable sexual appetite to appease the lust of the female Olvidians (Alzabreah knew she could never filter out this nasty compulsion) and a docile nature to comply with their owner's requirements. These needs generally consisted of physical labor. Alzabreah wanted her followers to believe manual labor was beneath them. She also wanted her female compatriots to be free to pursue academic endeavors. But to her chagrin, many of her fellow Olvidians devoted an inordinate amount of time to love making. For this reason, the self-declared high priestess mandated that the slaves serve each of the females on a rotating schedule so no female would become too enamored with any one drone. However, the needs of passion sometimes outweigh sense and logic. This was the case with Mavra. She wanted her physical love to belong exclusively to Thorpleen. And more dangerously, her sexual passion was becoming blurred with unexplained emotional longings the mainlanders referred to as life partnering.

  “Why do you risk your ranking in the New Order to be with me today?” Thorpleen asked Mavra while getting dressed. “I believe Doldruss is quite capable of satisfying your longings.”

  “I cannot easily explain why you are most pleasing to me,” Mavra began. “However, I have no fear of the high priestess like you do.”

  “I would not label my concern as fear. I believe obedience is a better word.”

  Mavra nodded politely at Thorpleen indicating she was not offended by her drone's observation. “You may speak freely,” she said.

  “My comprehension of the Olvidian language seems to be quite limited and sometimes I wish to become better read as you are. Do all Olvidian males share this communication problem?”

  Mavra hesitated before answering. She realized she could not lie to this drone after spending a moment lost in his gaze.

  “If they do, it is not due to genetic pre-sequencing. Only you and your fellow drones have been shaped and molded like clay to become what the New Order wants – or should I say – what Alzabreah wants.” Mavra tried to stop herself from spilling her concerns about the future of the New Order but failed miserably. As she continued to speak to Thorpleen, a dark tone accompanied her. “I can tell you the one thing that concerns me. I fear the direction we are taking. I recently became aware of circumstances which may one day lead to our demise.”

  Despite the trepidation in Mavra's voice, Thorpleen's facial expression betrayed little concern. It was as if his master had just been commenting on the island's pleasant we
ather pattern. Thorpleen did not attempt to ask what Mavra was alluding to. What's more, he was not even the slightest bit angry that Alzabreah purposely designed him to be inferior. And after hearing her try to explain what transposens were, he lost interest, plucking a blade of grass out of the ground, using it to tickle Mavra’s shoulders. Her pouting lips seemed to grow in size, expressing dismay. She wanted to converse with Thorpleen as an equal. Yet here he was playing with her like a young boy. In reality, he was, grown in a cloning tank in a conservatory like some kind of plant. Mavra prayed that time would allow Thorpleen’s mind to develop. She told herself he would find love in her eyes with a little maturity. She didn’t enjoy lying to herself like this. She had left the island to free herself from what she could only perceive as a very unfulfilling future. Most Olvidians cared less for technical development and educational pursuits, opting to work off the land, taking women for the express purpose of producing babies and spending their remaining days performing mundane tasks. Mavra looked upon this life with disdain. Her parents in turn looked upon her with disappointment. She had listened to Alzabreah’s promises, attending several rallies, wanting to believe each and every word the soon-to-be high priestess uttered – not because she was gullible, but because she had to. She had to find a way to escape the repetitious loop of life her parents had fallen into because if she didn’t she would become them, taking a husband more for comfort and survival rather than passion. Now that she had that passion, sitting right before her, Mavra felt betrayed. What good was finding the man of your dreams, falling head over heels in love with him, only to discover he could not love you back. What sick kind of trick had Alzabreah played on her, a devoted disciple, who willingly traded all of her creature comforts and material possessions to relocate to the island?

  She could hear a running conversation in her head. She recalled a dream in which she had confronted Alzabreah, battling her in a contest of logic.