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LENGTH: Mid Novel, Borderline Full
SENSUALITY: Carnal

Cover art (c) Eliza Black 2006
ISBN 1-58608-322-8
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Double your pleasure double your fun is Alea’s private motto.

While her friends indulge in flirting with the available men, Alea has her own private brand of scrutinizing--in pairs. I’ll take that one ... with ... that one. Single men just don’t turn her on.

Emphasis on single.
Not in the unmarried sense of the word, but as in solo--one man, by himself--alone. Men only arouse her in the plural form.

But fear preserves Alea’s chastity. Not fear of the pain, or a broken heart, or some misguided notion that it should be saved for marriage. It’s the fear of what she would become, what she might not be able to control, once she surrendered.

Oh, Alea wants what most girls want, the white picket fence, children to care for, the love and adoration of two ravishing men.

Two ravishing men?

But marrying two men, well, that’s against the law. Besides, what two men on Earth would agree to such a thing?

On Earth indeed.

Alea is about to get her wish….

Rating: Contains explicit sex, graphic language, and adult situations such as multiple sex partners.

THE TRIGON RITUALS

By

Angelia Whiting

© copyright February 2005, Angelia Whiting
Cover Art by Eliza Black, © copyright February 2005
ISBN 1-58608-322-8
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Prologue

CalyTron Galaxy: Cosmic date: 252 Epochs

Tren ot Dmor sat cross legged, on a large, plush cushion, cradled within the serenity of the temple walls. His eyes were closed, his arms were bent, his fingers and thumbs formed the delta, held mere inches from his face. It was the position of prayer, more than symbolic in nature. It summoned the flows of cosmic energies to inspire wisdom, seek tranquility and harmony, and to move into alternate states of consciousness. Revered as the locus to spiritual awakening, the delta was part of all sacred rituals, but the one that Tren desired the most was the Triconjugal ceremony, the first mating between the Trigon males and their virgin female mate.

More than two sun phases had passed since being summoned to the Trigon, but it was a time that Tren remembered well. Rjant ot Pel’r, his Trigon brethren, was young when they first made contact. He was only seventeen phases of age back then and ten phases Tren’s junior. At first, Tren worried that Rjant would lack the maturity significant to the Trigon mating. Most warriors his age still had a taste for escapade and craved variety in the carnal flesh. Tren was anxious to claim their female. He had thought of little else since being called forth. It could have taken many phases before Rjant was ready, and Tren was loath to wait.

Tren was pleasantly surprised however, when he learned that Rjant was a noted paragon in battle, leaving his home on Terta Minor, taking up the fight with the fiercest band of warriors known to the CalyTron galaxy, when he was just fourteen. Rjant was a mighty and respected leader among his regiment and demonstrated integrity well beyond his phase age. He had proven his worth as a warrior, working his way through the ranks to become Chief Loyal, second in command, of his fleet. In Tren’s mind, it was a perfect match. Tren himself was High Chief, elected to the position by the Mahatma Tribunal. He’d earned the position by merit of his warrior skills, accelerated academic performance and leadership qualities. Tren was the first Commander, leader of the sentry forces from the planet of Tertia. Rjant would fit nicely as next in rank. Not only was he a mighty warrior, he was born on the sister planet in the Third Ward. Rjant was a full-blooded Tertani male, raised within his own culture. His position would be well accepted by the populace on Tren’s planet, and their new She’mana should be much pleased to be joined with warriors of such high status.

Presently, Rjant was in the Fourth Ward leading his sentries to impede the advancement of the Krellian radicals who were planning an assault on the planet of Dormoth. One of the allegiant planets on the perimeter, it was still untouched by the devastating disease that was driving the galaxy’s inhabitants into extinction. Though Tren agreed that Dormoth needed the protection, he had grown impatient for Rjant’s military sect to gain control and develop the perimeter patrols the planet desperately needed.

That dawning had finally arrived.

Tren received word from Rjant’s superior that they were overtaking the Krellian radicals. A new Chief Loyal for the First Ward was trained, and the patrols were being established. Rjant was soon to be released from his duties and would return to the Third Ward to take his place.

At last.

They could now claim their woman and bring her home.

Their mate.

Tren's loins ached to be between her thighs and only her thighs. No woman had ever been able to completely satiate his lust, no matter how often he pounded her flesh. His sex urgently needed their chosen female. Only then would he truly feel complete. Such was the nature of the Trigon males, loyal to their She’mana until death. Once mated, they were stripped of desire for any female, save their mate. And it had long been said that the life force shared during Triconjugal mating brought satisfaction like no other. No one had to tell Tren this. The looks of contentment that seemed to always grace the faces of the mated triples in his acquaintance, told him all he needed to know.

His balls tightened just thinking about it.

Rapt in his meditative trance, Tren thanked the Mahatma Divinities for their blessings. He recited the mantra and beckoned the mystics to bring Rjant safely home. In a mighty gathering of power he channeled his benediction across the galaxy to reach his Trigon brethren. Rjant was thick within the throes of combat, and too far away to communicate with, but Tren could sense the violence and death that surrounded him. It was the same dreadful tumult that he, himself, had witnessed and fought against, on more occasions than he cared to recall.

Tren stiffened.

Rjant was struggling, but not against a warrior. It was a female that taunted him. Rjant’s shudder reached clear to Tren’s bones. He could almost smell it--Megberry, a potent aphrodisiac that not only induced a frenzied lust in any female that ingested it, but caused her to release an excessive amount of pheromones that drove any nearby male into sexual insanity.

And this particular female was drenched with it.

The fruit was used as a combat tactic by the Krellians and their radical supporters, to gain advantage over their foes. It took great might to resist these heavily drugged females who were turned loose on the battlefield. Even the strongest of warriors were known to throw down their weapons to viciously rut on the woman, only to meet their deaths when the radicals quietly crept up and slaughtered them.

Fight it, brethren.

A battle cry pounded inside Tren’s head and he could feel Rjant’s strength building. A vision of Rjant’s talon arc slicing through the woman formed in his brain.

Rjant had killed her, and Tren could feel his brethren’s agony at being forced do so. Tren’s heart also saddened at the loss. Collateral misfortune was often a bitter consequence of war. Alas, she would have died anyway, being torn asunder by the warriors who lusted on her body, and if that didn’t kill her, the drug eventually would have. This was by far a more dignified way to die.

Drawing his thoughts away from Rjant, Tren deepened his reverie. He stretched his mind toward their outer galaxy female, to a planet discovered three sun phases back--her home world, tucked into the far-reaches of the universe, innocent to the tragedy of his dying galaxy and unaware of the catastrophe of the epochs-long war.

They had prior knowledge of her planet and its location, because of the previous Trigon males who embarked on the arduous task of charting the intergalactic route to the distant star system. The planet was in unexplored hinterlands well beyond the Wards, well outside of the CalyTron galaxy. The existence of her planet was a well guarded secret known by only a privileged few. It was imperative to keep it safely hidden from the grips of the radicals who would wreak havoc on it if its presence was revealed.

Now that the stars had been properly mapped, it would take only four sept-dawnings to reach it, a lunar cycle--one month. Originally it had taken three lunar cycles to find the planet, but it seemed well worth the effort. The Trigon males returned home with their woman, a beautiful, feisty female who gave them exhilarating pleasure during the Triconjugal hunt. Tren did not partake in the ceremony, reserved only for mated males, but he’d heard that the Tina Karen eluded her Sh’em for three dawnings before they finally captured her and won her heart. Tren hoped the Tina Alea would prove to be just as spirited.

The vibration resounded along Tren’s fingertips. His breathing moved rhythmically with his heart. He released his physical being to the ebb and flow of transcendental consciousness. His pulse beat hard and steady as the essence of their future She’mana hummed through him, but without Rjant he could not reach her thoughts. The first time he and Rjant yoked in transdelta meditation, they’d located her. Several times afterward, while Rjant was in reprieve from battle, they’d entered her mind as sleep images. The next time Rjant returned, he and Tren would finally be able to fully engage her. The link would be weak, given the vast star systems that separated them, but nonetheless, she would feel their presence, and it would grow stronger as they neared her world. They could complete the Edification, the priming of the Tina--virgin female--to receive her Trigon mates.

Tren looked forward to the Edification, a period during which the triad became acquainted before the marriage took place. It was a necessary ritual, particularly with otherworld females whose experience and knowledge of the Tertani customs was limited. It was not unusual for the female to become hysterical with two overpowering warriors intent on ravaging her untouched body. The ritual served to accustom her to her mates’ touch, and to decrease her apprehension of the upcoming Triconjugal ceremony--to prepare her for her first sexual breaching. During the Edification, the Trigon males, Sh’em as they were called, would become familiar with their Tina’s body, come to understand what pleasures she enjoyed, and how she responded to their fondling. Bringing climax to the female was highly encouraged. Kissing, licking, stroking and suggested acts of copulation were allowed, but actual penetration and nudity was not.

Tren released a controlled breath as he allowed his body to return to full awareness. He tensed as he rubbed his crotch. His cock had swelled to an agonizingly rock hardness with the thought of actually touching their female. Grabbing the rhyton at his side, he took a long, hard swallow of grata, a favored brew of many Tertani dwellers. Tren stood, ignoring his arousal, and stretched his muscles, shaking out the stiffness from sitting motionless during his long meditation. He pulled on his boots and approached a rack along one of the temple’s walls, lifting his baldric and buckling it into place.

"Commander."

The voice behind Tren startled him. With quick reflex he yanked his talon arc from the sheath at his back, and spun around, ready to strike. The figure in the temple’s doorway took one wary step back. "Sir?"

Tren relaxed and sheathed his weapon. It was only his steward. "Forgive me Gorsch. I’m not yet fully dispelled of my trance."

"Of course, sir."

"Why do you seek me here?"

Gorsch slithered through the door. Tren watched his steward as he walked, his eyes following the strange lateral curvatures that Gorsch’s body formed. With long, slender bodies that snapped from side to side in an S-pattern as they moved, the inhabitants of Junpar were odd looking creatures, but they were a gentle breed and they made excellent servants.

Forming the delta with his hands, Gorsch nodded. "I beg your pardon for the interruption, but three Tertian warships are docking. I thought it best you be informed."

"Yes, good man. Thank you." Tren nodded as he brushed passed the Junparian and out into the open air. He straddled his hover cycle and revved the engine. Within a quarter dial he arrived at the depot. Tocol, one of his top-ranking warriors, was helping the healthteks disembark the wounded.

"All ranks!" Tocol shouted when he spied Tren approaching the platform. Several hundred sentries fell into position. Tocol stood rigid, presenting the delta salute as Tren came to stand before him. Tren returned the gesture and then scanned the squadrons. They looked weary, but otherwise, well.

"How many dead, Chief?"

"Twenty-two, Commander."

Twenty-two. Tren closed his eyes to absorb the information. Twenty-two mighty warriors gone. And for what? A mass of radicals who could not think beyond their madness.

Tren opened his eyes and refocused his attention on his Chief-at-Arms. Tocol was charged with maintaining discipline aboard ship and on the battlefield. In addition to his field duties, he was also senior ranking officer aboard one of the warships that just arrived. He was one of Tren’s most trustworthy and capable warriors despite the fact he was Krellian. Not that Tocol cared much to be reminded of his ancestral bloodline. He had never been to the planet of Krell and kept no desire to be linked to his origins. Tocol was raised on Tertia, in one of the several villages established two epochs past to give refuge to fleeing Krellian citizens--those who escaped from the grips of that wretched virus.

Brits Scorn.

There was no cure. And no one fully comprehended the impact of the disease when it was discovered, but by the time it was recognized, it had spread to epidemic proportions. Of the fifty-two inhabited planets in the galaxy only twenty-two remained untainted. The Krellians controlled six of the tainted planets and sought to conquer more. Patrols guarded the rest of the infected planets under Allegiance control, not only to keep the radicals out, but to prevent the inhabitants from leaving and further spreading the disease. Persistent scanning of the inhabitants had been ordered by the ISDS--the Intergalactic System for Disease and Sickness Control, in the hopes of eradicating the disease before it completely consumed those planets and the rest of the CalyTron galaxy.

It began on Krell, a distant planet in the First Ward, about three hundred phases back. A patriarchal society ruled by a king, they were known for their ferocious battle skills, but the Krellians were not typically prone to unprovoked violence. All of that changed when Jonhi, the king’s son, became enamored by Windi Britny, enchantress queen from the planet of Geminus. The queen wanted no part of Jonhi and persistently rejected his affections. Jonhi, angry and humiliated, snatched her away to a secluded outpost. He raped her, thinking that by dictate of his planet’s laws, the taking of a female’s maidenhead legally gave him rights to her.

He was fatally mistaken.

In her fury over being violated, Windi Britny cast a fog around Geminus, and put her people to sleep. She cursed all Krellians and gave decree for their doom, throwing down her wrath with tainted spores let loose in the Krellian atmosphere. In a slip of mercy, or perhaps she had some other mysterious intent, she allowed Jonhi to warn his people and some escaped. And before she died of hemorrhage from her own virginal blood, Windi Britny cast her faerie seed into the cosmos, promising that in the future, a redeemer would be their salvation. More than three epochs later, the redeemer had not come and Brits Scorn was running her wicked course.

No one ever knew what became of Jonhi.

"Have you more to report, Chief?"

"Sir, the perimeter around Dormoth is in the process of being secured, but we will have to order re-testing for all inhabitants. The radicals were able to transport to the surface."

"Damnation," Tren mumbled. Not another planet.

"We don’t believe the radicals were there long enough to infect anyone, Commander, but they did steal away with forty-two women."

Tren raked his fingers through his hair. More women taken. More fertile wombs for the radicals to breed upon. Will this madness never cease?

Madness. Brits Scorn was an unforgiving disease. Infected males typically lived to their life’s full expectancy while the disease slowly ate away at their minds, making them violently aggressive, but no less intelligent. It was not unusual to see one of these males frothing at the mouth when in a full-blown fit of excitement. Adult females, when infected did not become aggressive, but many died within three to five phases, usually after a sudden attack of seizures that assaulted them until their hearts succumbed to exhaustion. Other females became carriers and could pass the disease to any male they bedded. The unborn babes of tainted women were prone to a hodgepodge of anomalies while developing within the womb, and were examined carefully at birth. Offspring who were fully infected with Brits Scorn typically died within the first phase of life. Others were merely carriers and grew to adulthood, but they were isolated from society, forced by the ISDS to live on Puratan, a system of secured colonies, where polluted souls were banished. Those who were free of the virus were seized and placed in communes to be raised. Of these, female babes were sterile, but their male counterparts were not.

On Krell, fewer and fewer fertile females were being born and this put them in a dire situation, one that threatened to drive them to extinction. For this reason, they looked toward other planetary establishments to save them. Thus, in their madness, they began their reign of war, spreading Brits Scorn throughout the galaxy, instead of turning to the Galactic Allegiance for help.

Tren inhaled deeply. His next question was a difficult one to ask, but he needed to know. "How many warriors were tainted, Chief?"

"Only twelve this time, Commander."

Tren’s nostrils flared and he fought to control his anger. He wanted to believe that each and every one of his sentrymen was strong of will, but it was not to be. "Where are they now?"

"Sent to Puratan, sir."

"Have their families been notified?" Shifting his gaze beyond Tocol, Tren focused on the hatchway of a docked warship. Larimon, one of his sentries, was emerging from the ship. He was grasping the upper arm of a very shapely female.

Tocol looked over his shoulder to see where Tren’s attention had gone. Larimon approached and stood in front of Tren, releasing the woman to acknowledge his Commander with the delta. Then he began to shuffle from side to side.

Tren’s eyes shifted from Larimon to the woman and back to Larimon again. The sentry’s nervous behavior told him something was amiss. Again his attention re-focused on the female. Her eyes were turquoise, the same as Tren’s but slightly deeper in color. She was a Tertani, revealed by the characteristic rim of gold that circled her irises. There was a worried expression on her pale but beautiful face.

Tocol spoke first. "Sir, we had to make port at the Venuvian outpost."

"For what reason?"

"This female was there." Tocol gulped, apprehensive of how Tren would react to the truth.

"This rescue couldn’t wait?"

Rescuing fugitives and providing sanctuary was not uncommon within the Allegiance, but there was something suspicious about this particular situation. Tren’s Chief-at-Arms had disobeyed the direct order to come straight home.

"We insisted he go there." A warrior that Tren recognized, but did not know well, approached. Tucking his helmet under his arm, he came to stand behind the woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. His chin lifted and he looked as though he was ready to do battle as opposed to recovering from it. He did not offer the delta and Tren crooked an eyebrow at the sentry’s defiance.

"Since when do you follow the orders of your subordinates?" Tren turned his head toward Tocol, his stare lagging on the warrior before snapping to meet Tocol’s eyes.

"He had no choice, Commander." The second warrior interceded on Tocol’s behalf.

Tren became impatient. He rolled his shoulders but could not contain his irritation. "Speak your name, warrior, before you speak to me!"

His voice grew deep and loud. The woman shrank behind Larimon. She looked frightened. Tren relaxed a bit, taking pity on her. Tertani women did not frighten easily. What had happened to this one to make her so timid?

"Bjead, of Tertia Minor, sir." The sentry finally bowed and offered Tren the delta. The gesture was not returned by Tren. "Who is this woman, and why is she here?"

"We wish to mate with her," Larimon said.

Tren did not miss the look that passed between Bjead and Larimon. They were communicating, touching each other’s minds--linked. Tren was suddenly aware of what was happening. They had been summoned to the Trigon and this female was their Tina.

Tren folded his arms across his chest. Being summoned was a sacred occurrence. He would never interfere with the mystic event. "And this is a problem, why?"

Taking a deep breath, Tocol readied himself for the explosion he was certain was about to occur. "The Venuvian outpost is tainted."

"What!" Tren’s well-controlled temper blew apart. Several nearby sentries stopped what they were doing and looked over, but returned to their tasks immediately as though pretending not to hear. "You took my sentrymen to a tainted post! I suppose next you’re going to tell me that this is where those twelve men were polluted!"

Tren took one long, angry stride toward Tocol. His Chief-at-Arms stood tall, but his eyes averted downward, giving Tren his answer.

"Damnation, Tocol! How could you risk my men?" Tren grabbed the woman’s arm and pulled her from behind Larimon. Both warriors growled at Tren’s rough handling of their future She’mana. Tren ignored them. They would not dare strike their superior officer or he would put them to death.

"Has she been scanned?"

"Yes, Commander. We all have. She is a Tina, sir, and I assure you, she is not infected." Larimon reached out and attempted to pull his Tina free of Tren’s grasp.

Tren’s arm shot up and he stopped the sentry with a firm hand to his chest. Was this woman really a virgin? How could she be, living on a tainted outpost with infected males?

Releasing the female, he swung about. He stalked three paces before stopping abruptly and drawing in a deep breath. Tren hailed the Mahatma divinities, forming the delta with his hands, and bridled his anger.

He understood.

Once the Trigon males located their mate, they were nearly unstoppable to claim her. Being denied her would have driven them to an insane urgency--as insane as he was feeling for being denied his own woman.

Tren turned back to his sentrymen. They eyed him warily. The female’s face paled further and she looked as though she was about to faint.

Sacred damnation! Tertani females were stronger than that. He would like to kill whoever had broken her spirit.

With his composure regained, Tren drew up his chest and walked back to the group, exuding the controlled command expected by a warrior in his position. He halted in front of his Chief-at-Arms. "You defied an order, Tocol."

Tocol opened his mouth to speak, but Tren held up a hand to hush him.

"You understood when you did this, that you would be punished."

It was not a question.

Tocol nodded.

"Report to the gridmaster for a full dial of zapping."

"Yes, sir." Tocol gulped and strode away, feeling fortunate that he would not have to endure the voltaic shocks for a longer period. His Commander was being more than lenient. He would suffer no more than a bad headache for a dawning or two, and maybe vomit a few times.

Tren watched Tocol disappear from the platform and then turned toward the female. "Come to me, Tina."

Bjead and Larimon moved together, placing the female behind them, standing shoulder to shoulder to protect her.

Rolling his eyes, Tren blew out a gust of air. What did they think he was going to do to her, string her up by her lovely toes? "Separate yourselves. I’m not going to harm her."

When they didn’t move, Tren bellowed. "That’s an order, sentries!"

They parted immediately.

Tren’s eyes fell upon the Tertani woman. He crooked a finger, beckoning her toward him. She took on wary step forward and began to tremble. Cupping his hand under her chin, Tren lifted her face upward.

"What’s your name?" Tren softened his voice to ease her fear.

"Bligh, sir." Her whisper was barely audible.

"How did you escape with your virginity intact?"

"My mother hid me while she serviced the men to feed me, sir."

"Your mother hid you? For how long?"

"Most of my life, sir."

Tren released her chin. "Most of your… but where?" He could not disguise his surprise.

"In the sub-compartment of our dwelling."

Tren shook his head. It was no wonder the girl was so frail-minded. By nature, Tertani women needed to roam free. Though most had become civilized and somewhat settled over the epochs there was still an innate wildness in their blood. Caging one would be more than enough to fracture her spirit.

"Is your mother polluted?"

Bligh nodded.

Tren swallowed his disgust. All of the galaxy’s inhabitants who knew they were infected with Brits Scorn were, by law of the Allegiance, required to report to the ISDS for placement in the Puratan colonies. Her mother had acted irresponsibly and that, he could not tolerate. How many men had she infected? She was a criminal and would be put to death for it.

"Where is she now?"

"Commander, if I may." Larimon stepped beside Bligh. "Her mother surrendered herself to us when she realized that we were her daughter’s Sh’em. We turned her over to the ISDS."

"What about your fathers?" Tren asked Bligh.

There was no mistaking the fire that instantly lit in her eyes. If Bligh were a male, Tren might be a bit frightened.

"I hate them. They infected my mother and threw her aside. She raised me alone. If I ever find them, I will kill them."

Humph. Perhaps remnants of wild, female Tertian blood remained in her after all.

"And you are barren because of it?"

"Yes!" she hissed. "And for that I will torture them first!"

Admiring her pluck, Tren couldn’t help but smile Yes, she was a true-natured Tertani woman. Though it burned him that this Trigon would produce no children because of Brits Scorn, he could nearly admire Larimon and Bjead for still having desire for her. Tren could not honestly admit to the same, should his Tina turn out to be sterile.

No. His woman would bear children. Otherwise, there would be no reason for the Divinities to send him and Rjant to the outer galaxy to claim her as a mate.

"Take your Tina and go home." Tren heaved a heavy breath as he turned to make his leave. A discernable sigh of relief was expelled from the three of them in unison.

"Bjead, Larimon." Tren turned back.

"Yes, sir!" The two sentries snapped to attention.

"Your Triconjugal ceremony will not take place until after mine. I would be pleased to be one of your Prowlers."

"Yes, it would be an honor, sir," Bjead responded and Larimon nodded his agreement.