Mass Effect: The Hunt for Saren

John was still trying to work his erect penis back into his pants when Sha’ira’s acolyte came in. He almost zipped off his manhood. She didn’t even blink--as if such sights were normal in her line of work. ‘This probably is normal,’ John thought bitterly as he left with his pistol and outer layers of clothing in tow.







So occupied with finishing dressing himself while walking, Shepard didn’t even notice a distant form on the other side of the Presidium watching:







“What did Shepard say he was doing, again?” Ashley Williams asked Aiden Alenko.







“Getting some work done, looking for leads on Saren,” Alenko murmured as he sipped an exotic and overpriced beverage.







“Right...”







* * * * *







John had meant to be more patient with the Turian general. He’d been deeply in love for a fickle, teasing, unbelievably sexy and still frustrating woman, and John could empathize all too well. But John had no time for sympathy; he finally resorted to disdainful insults in order to motivate the Turian, but it worked regardless.







With the Consort’s problem addressed, John almost forgot the ultimate purpose of his meeting. With a start, he asked the general:







“What do you know of a Turian named Saren?”







The General’s eyes darkened as he replied:







“He’s got a lot of plots going down, at least one with a cute little Quarian information dealer in the lower levels tomorrow night.”







“Anything else?” John asked as his informant began to leave.







“Yeah,” he murmured as he walked away, “he leaves quite the trail of corpses...”







* * * * *







John was slightly ashamed by his next course of action, but only slightly. With a day before he could act on his new information, he had nothing left to do but cash in his favor for Consort Sha’ira. The acolyte at the entrance silently waved him in as he approached, visibly annoyed at his rude, anxious demeanor.







“Screw you,” John thought as he endured her glare in passing. “I got blue-balled once, I won’t be getting blue-balled again.”







Upon reaching the consort’s chambers, John felt his indignation and frustration from before begin to flicker. Something about the place had worn away the edges of his anger and rounded it out with a subtle feeling of satisfaction. Perhaps it was the soothing austerity of the interior aesthetic, or maybe the softening affect of the several half-dressed acolytes he’d passed, or maybe it was the tacit respect illustrated by the way they let him pass through their number, that gave him such a pleasant feeling of authority. Whatever it was, John liked it.







“Shepard,” Sha’ira said in her silken voice from within her chambers. “Come in.”







John stepped into Sha’ira’s bedchambers and found she’d changed into a new gown. This one was a much more formal number, featuring a deep red scale pattern throughout that reached from the floor to a high-collared neckline. Virtually no skin was showing beneath the Asari’s jawline. It was at this point that John realized his own anticipation had begun to work through his body: he was expecting her to be more ‘comfortable’.







“Consort,” John said evenly, as though addressing a superior officer. “I saw to the Turian.”







“Yes, I know,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for that. It would seem you are the protector of my reputation, as I’d hoped you would be.”







“Yes, well,” John resisted the urge to demand physical gratification. “I would not want to disappoint.”







“No, you would never disappoint, Commander Shepard,” Sha’ira said, gracefully giggling without making John feel awkward--well not too awkward anyway. “I was wondering if you could talk to an Elcor diplomat our Turian acquaintance has been talking to. He is quite--umpf!”







The Consort’s words were cut off as John roughly embraced her and held his lips against hers. Decorum aside, John had been desperate for sex before he met Sha’ira the first time: now, he was driven mad by her teasing. Without conscious thought, his hands quickly discerned a seam down the back of Sha’ira’s gown. He searched for some sort of zipper mechanism--hands fumbling over her back as his tongue plunged the depths of her mouth. Unable to find a way to undo the dress, he grabbed the collar at the back of her neck and tugged it asunder.







The fabric tore down to her shoulders and caused Sha’ira to jump in sudden surprise. Apparently, the violence of John’s passion startled even her. Intoxicated by the sight of her skin, John slathered his tongue down her neck, along her collar bone, and ended in a love-bite on her shoulder. He did this to the other side of her neck as well before once again grasping her shredded dress and, giving it one more mighty tear, stripped what was left of her clothes away from her shuddering blue form. Startled at being suddenly made the object in this tryst, Sha’ira placed a coy finger in the middle of John’s chest and gently shook her head.







“Patience, John,” she said seductively as she tried to take a step back from the aroused human even as he furiously stripped away his own clothes. She tried to continue to back away, but John caught her by the wrist even as he dropped his shirt to the floor.







“I am not a subtle man, Consort,” John reminded her as he undid his pants with his free hand.







“This is most indecorous, Shepard,” she complained just a little, continuing to struggle halfheartedly. “I am the Consort; I am an oracle; I must be wooed with decorum, I don’t just fuck like some whore!”







John, far from listening to the Consort’s chastisement, tripped as his pants fell round his ankles and fell to his knees. He recovered quickly, but Sha’ira--who was tugging against his stubborn grip--fell roughly as she was suddenly let go. She landed squarely on her butt, presenting the soft indigo pocket of flesh between her legs. Blushing slightly, Sha’ira tried to back up, crab-crawling away from John, but he was on her in a moment.







Wedging his pelvis in the gap between her knees, John let his hard penis probe wildly at the inside of her thighs. He was hardly concerned with foreplay at this point, and soon his head was plunging into the tight darkness of her vagina. John grunted in total arousal as he felt the gentle suction of a tight pussy around his fat cock, her moistness surrounding him. He plunged just a little too far and too deep too soon: he felt Sha’ira curl forward in a shock over how quickly he was progressing into her. Rather than fight or retaliate, however, the Asari bent forward so that she was able to suck on John’s neck, actually biting him harder than any woman he’d ever penetrated before. The biting was just on the pleasurable side of being painful, so that it felt wonderful at the same time as he wondered whether or not he wanted her to stop. If he could think(which he couldn’t at that point), he would’ve realized that the Consort was mimicking the same effect he was having as he forcefully probed into her: a nice pleasure that was just a little painful.







It took a little while, but Sha’ira’s well-used pussy soon opened wide to John, the cunt’s moist lips sponging against the base of his rod as he continued to thrust back and forth. Soon, the even motion of him plunging into her synchronized with their breathing, as Sha’ira began to succumb to John’s brutish overtures. She bit his shoulder--hard--as he rocked into her further and harder than ever before, and she breathed heavily into his ear as his cock yielded a halting torrent of sperm into her fleshy chasm. Softly thrusting as he finished cumming, John gazed into Sha’ira’s deep eyes.







It was then that John really surprised Sha’ira.







He stayed.







* * * * *







Stiffly leaving the Consort’s an hour and a half later, John stood admiring the presidium in a new way. Having just been told, in the kindest possible way, that she would not be able to see him again for some time, John was given a final blow job and sent on his way. As he marveled at the clean artificial environment that stretched into a massive loop bridging his right and left, he was truly amazed at the wonderfully bizarre culture that had grown up in the Citadel.







“Conflicts, strictly regulated, policies obeyed to the letter,” John muttered to himself. “Every room spotless, every person well-behaved. And casual sex abounds. Amazing.”







“What’d you say Commander?” Ashley Williams interrupted his reverie, coming out of nowhere.







“Amazing,” he said clearing his throat and turning to hide the deep marks on his neck. “I think I got us a lead on Saren’s whereabouts.”







* * * * *







After picking up a stray Quarian with the evidence damning Saren as the destructor of Eden Prime, John found himself once again in a Council hearing. This time, however, John found it notably more difficult to ignore the inherently sexual cut of the Asari Matriarch’s formal gown. He was also distracted as he wondered how old the Consort was: he might have just had sex with someone older than Armstrong! Such base thoughts, however, were thrust from his mind when the Salarian delegate asked a record breaking question:







“Commander John Shepard, do you accept our offer to join the ranks of the Council’s Spectres?”







John swallowed his lust, his mind sobered quickly.







“I do.”







“This isn’t a time for glory, or for raising one species’ reputation above another's,” the Turian added. “This is about the security of Citadel Space. You have hundreds of billions of people who look to you for security and inspiration.”







“I won’t let them down, councilor,” John said stoically.







“You’ll be going into wild space,” the Asari chimed in. “You’re looking for a man every bit as capable as you are, with unknown forces at his command. We won’t be able to help you out past the Verge, but as far as our power, influence, and intelligence extends, you have the authority of this Council.”







“And you have my ship,” Captain Anderson spoke up, from behind him. “It’s the fastest, stealthiest ship we have, and it’s exactly what you need if you’re going to succeed.”







“I’ll bring him in, Matriarch,” John nodded, accepting Anderson’s offer.







“It’s not that simple, Shepard,” the Asari continued. She gestured, and the recording used as evidence against Saren replayed. The recording consisted of Saren speaking to a woman about the successful raid on Eden Prime and something about a key. “That woman is wizened Matriarch Benezia. I knew her well, and if she is aiding Saren, your caution must be exponential.”







“Any suggestions, Matriarch Fari’ah?” John asked. “I’m not an expert on Asari tactics.”







“Benezia had a daughter, a starry-eyed scientist obsessed with the Protheans who left behind all this,” she said, holding out her arms to encompass the entire Citadel. “Her name is Liara. Either she is caught up in her mother’s treachery, or she is an innocent in grave danger. Either way, you may want to rendezvous with her and see what she knows, what doors she opens.”







“Thank you, Fari’ah,” John said solemnly, not noticing the bemused looks of Captain Anderson and the other two councilors who took exception to the fact that he referred to her alone by name. “I won’t be back empty-handed. I’ll bring Saren back.”







As he left the sacred chamber where history had just been made, John indulged a guilty thought: ‘I wonder if the Consort will work out her schedule for a Spectre?’