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Mass Effect. Erotic journey	By : Kirill_Blackjackoff Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 253 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect, nor the characters from it.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Characters: Commander John Shepard, Sha’ira
Location: Citadel, the Consort’s private chambers

"I will offer you a story. I will tell you who you are… and who you will become. I see sorrow in your eyes — a sorrow that begs to be wept out. A tale of loss. Of pain. But pain is your strength. It drives you forward. It’s what kept you alive when everything else fell around you. You survived. Alone. And you will continue to survive. I speak not of what you will be, Shepard — but of who you are now. And in that, lies the foundation of your greatness. Remember these words, when doubt finds you again, Commander."
Billions across the galaxy would have paid millions of credits just to stand where he now stood — this close to Sha’ira. And still, Shepard wasn’t sure who — or what — she truly was. A prophetess? A philosopher? Or perhaps nothing more than a high-class prostitute whose skills had elevated her to a fame so refined that appointments were booked years in advance? If he was being honest with himself, Shepard didn’t quite believe any of those definitions. And more than that — standing here, face to face with the Consort — he felt nothing. No awe, no seduction, no mysticism.
Was she beautiful? Without question.
Her azure skin seemed to draw in the soft ambient light, warming the chamber with its gentle hue. Her makeup, flawlessly applied, highlighted the elegant shape of her features, framing her sapphire eyes — made even deeper by the subtle charcoal lining of her lashes. The gown she wore, in white and rose-pink hues, clung to her figure with practiced grace, cinched just above the swell of her modest breasts and dipping low enough at the back to reveal the perfect curve of her lower body — not unlike the scandalous dress Emily Wong had worn for that "exclusive interview."
But Sha’ira’s allure was not in her physical beauty. It was in how she carried herself. Her voice. Her manner of speech. The way she moved — turning slightly toward him, adopting the most natural, yet inviting posture — every gesture was so effortless, so disarmingly elegant, that even if he tried, Shepard couldn’t look away.
And yet, despite all of that, he didn’t see her as anything extraordinary. No more than another civilian he’d assisted. Another life spared by his actions. One who had chosen to "reward" him not with credits or favors, but with an abstract parable dressed up as prophecy — a speech full of poetic flair and cryptic beauty, yet devoid of any true meaning.
Her words about "history" and "future greatness," though artful, rang hollow. He already knew his story. He’d lived it. And the insight she offered felt like nothing more than mysticism wrapped in silk. He couldn’t even hide his disappointment. When he finally replied, his voice came out thin, mechanical:
"...Uh. Thanks."
His gratitude came out so unconvincing that even a five-year-old could have spotted the lie. Let alone someone who had spent her entire life conversing with thousands of individuals from countless species.
And yet, instead of showing offense or confusion, Sha’ira simply smiled — that charming, white-toothed smile — and let out a quiet, polite chuckle, as if gently apologizing that her reward had turned out to be so useless. Then, locking eyes with the Commander, as if she were peering into the depths of his soul and reading every hidden desire, she said:
“Close your eyes and relax, Commander.”
Despite the fact that Shepard hadn’t had a single moment of rest since the mission on Feros, he met the asari’s suggestion with mild skepticism. But before a single word left his lips, Sha’ira gently placed her index finger over his mouth and softly whispered:
"Trust me, Shepard… What you need most right now is a few hours of true rest."
Her delicate hand rose to the edge of his armor, tapping lightly on the left shoulder plate with polished nails — just enough pressure to feel real, intimate.
"Take it off. Don’t worry — this is the safest room in this entire section of the Citadel. Whatever happens here, no one outside this room will ever know."
Shepard didn’t doubt her words. Sha’ira had a reputation to protect — one built not only on beauty or mystery, but on discretion. If anything that happened behind these doors ever became public, it would damage the very foundation of her power. And so, ensuring her private chambers were completely secure? That made perfect sense. Shepard wouldn’t have been surprised to learn the entire room was a self-contained bunker. She could certainly afford it.
And yet, it was the way she said it — calm, composed, with just a trace of intimacy — that pushed him to agree. The Normandy was docked again for routine resupply, Adams and Tali working through minor repairs, the crew granted another day of rest. Shepard had planned, like everyone else, to spend it chasing a brief illusion of normalcy, maybe lose himself in the monotony of the Presidium. Instead, fate had dragged him into a minor crisis — a task wrapped in secrecy at the personal request of the Consort herself.
He barely remembered the details — and preferred not to. They hadn’t been all that interesting.
But the reward... that was a different matter entirely.
A few vague words hadn’t impressed him. He’d hoped for something more tangible. Something... physical. And if Sha’ira truly understood the desires of those who came to her, then she had to know exactly what he wanted. In this moment, there was only one thing on Shepard’s mind.
Call him crude. Call him a brute in uniform. But to him, the Consort had little else to offer. Galactic politics didn’t interest him. Cryptic visions of greatness meant nothing. But getting his hands on the ass that had haunted the fantasies of half the galaxy? Yes. That would do just fine as compensation for his trouble.
So, without another word, he began to undress.
Sha’ira, with the grace of nobility, turned away — not out of modesty, but out of politeness. She moved toward a strange structure in the corner of the room. At first glance, it resembled a high-end beauty recliner, some decadent modern innovation of fashion culture. But with a single wave of her hand, it shifted — its sleek surface rising and reshaping into a massage table. The lights dimmed gently. Music began to drift from unseen speakers, soft and ethereal. It sounded like nymphs playing harps on the shores of some alien sea.
For just a moment, Shepard froze. The melody touched a part of him untouched by war — too gentle, too peaceful. He gave his head a small shake, then resumed disrobing.
Piece by piece, the armor came off, until only a fitted navy-blue undershirt and matching pants clung to his frame. Another moment, and those too were gone — all except for the standard-issue briefs. He stood there, bare save for that last layer, and as Sha’ira turned back from the table, her eyes glided across his form.
Did she smile just then? Or was it a trick of the light? A flicker of amusement in her expression — fleeting, suggestive, gone in a heartbeat?
"Please, Commander," she said at last, her voice velvet-smooth, gesturing toward the table with one graceful hand.
"A massage?" he asked, raising a brow. He wasn’t about to complain — there were far worse ways to unwind — but still, he felt oddly self-conscious. He was used to being naked with a woman, not in front of one.
Well. That would change soon enough.
"You carry a strong spirit, Commander. Unbreakable. But even the strongest form must rest, or the future may seem impossible to carry. Allow me to give your body the ease it has earned."
So many grand words, Shepard thought with a faint snort. But he made his way over and climbed up onto the table, flopping onto the warm surface stomach-first.
"No, Commander," came her soft correction. "The massage will be from the other side of your body."
He could’ve sworn on every Earth god — not that he believed in any — that her tone carried something distinctly not befitting a woman of her station.
He rolled over onto his back, settled against the surface, and closed his eyes. The music was still playing, wrapping around him like silk, warm and slow and dreamlike.
"Relax, Commander," she whispered. "And trust me..."
Sha'ira's voice was so gentle, so tender, that Shepard couldn’t help but smile — it all felt slightly unreal, and yet somehow, damn it was pleasant. He wanted to keep playing along with the little game the asari had laid out for him, stretch it out as long as possible… if only to enjoy his well-earned reward all the more when the moment finally came.
For a moment, nothing happened.
And then… hands. Fingers.
They seemed to be everywhere.
Until that very second, the Commander hadn’t even realized how tense his body had been. But now, as Sha'ira’s fingers began their skilled work, he had to fight back a moan of pleasure. It felt so good to feel her delicate feminine touch sliding over his skin — gliding over the taut, armor-hardened muscles beneath. Fingers trained — no, mastered — in the art of pleasure.
Gently scratching his skin with her soft nails, Sha'ira’s hands roamed across the upper half of his body, starting at his neck and slowly, seductively drifting downward. Chest, arms, the defined grooves of his abs… Shepard stopped breathing altogether when the caress halted, just shy of his groin.
And yes, goddamn it — he was hard.
It wasn’t even her touch that did it — not entirely. It was the anticipation of what she might do next. What he might do to this undeniably beautiful alien.
Just imagining how the Consort’s experience must far outstrip Shiala’s from Feros — the same Shiala who’d already given him a night of unforgettable wonders — made his cock strain against the thin fabric of his briefs. Shepard could feel the pressure, the sheer tightness as his arousal surged, and he’d give anything for his sweet little tormentor to finally free his aching shaft from its cloth prison.
But no — she was taking her time.
The fingers were replaced by lips. So effortlessly, so naturally that Shepard didn’t even notice the shift until her warm breath scorched across his ear.
"You’re filled with energy, Commander," she whispered. "You must relax. You need to release all these thoughts and feelings consuming you..."
Something wet touched his chest, and it took Shepard a moment to realize it was massage oil. The scent was unfamiliar to his war-worn senses — exotic, alien — yet it somehow evoked images of paradise islands on Earth, places he’d never seen.
The Consort’s graceful hands began their teasing, hypnotic dance across his skin. The oil warmed him instantly, made every touch feel like silk and heat. Shepard, eyes still closed, let his mind wander, imagining the pleasure she must be feeling having him under her complete control.
He was even tempted — strongly tempted — to reach up and grab that perfect ass of hers, tight and barely hidden beneath that thin ceremonial dress. But at the last second, he stopped himself. No. Let her play her game. He’d enjoy it more that way.
Her hands caressed him for at least five minutes — slow, thorough strokes across his oiled torso, working his rigid muscles like putty under her fingers — until, suddenly, with what felt like accidental grace, she slipped his briefs down and off.
Shepard’s cock sprang free immediately, like a serpent jolted awake. He was fully erect, and no longer able to hide it.
Even Sha'ira, who had seen more than most beings across the galaxy — who had pleasured hundreds, if not thousands — let out a soft gasp of surprise.
“Oh... You’re quite the specimen of your species, Commander,” she said in that musical tone of hers.
And in the next breath, her oiled, delicate hand wrapped firmly around the thick length of his shaft.
Shepard opened his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows, gaze drifting down his own body. In the soft, ambient light of her chamber, Sha’ira looked more divine than ever — one hand elegantly gripping his cock through the sheen of oil, her expression calm, sensual, confident.
Their eyes met. She didn’t look away.
And with that same unbroken gaze, the Consort placed her other hand around the base of his shaft, tightening both grips and slowly, methodically, began to stroke him.
Up and down.
Slow at first… then faster.
Shepard couldn’t hold back the groan that tore from his chest. His head fell back against the table with a dull thump as he exhaled:
"...You asari bitch..."
The moment the words left his lips, the motion stopped.
He cursed at the sudden loss of contact — but when he opened his eyes, he saw something far more arresting.
Sha’ira’s dress — that elegant, high-class symbol of Citadel prestige — slipped from her body and pooled silently on the floor...
The nude body of the galaxy’s most famous beauty was exactly as he imagined — tantalizing, but with a strange, almost innocent charm. Her smooth blue skin shimmered softly in the light, nipples perky on a modest but elegant chest, her navel a neat dip above the slick, slightly parted lips of her wet little slit. The moment Sha’ira slipped out of the dress, she leapt onto the Captain’s body — but caught his hands just as they moved to grab her.
“Not yet…” Her voice cracked, trembling in a way that betrayed something deeply primal. Shepard didn’t register it right away, but the asari was hot — soaked, in fact. He only realized how badly she was aching when the damp petals of her pussy brushed the oiled head of his cock — and both of them groaned, loudly, as the barest touch sparked electric pleasure.
He nearly lost his mind right then and there. And when her pussy lips wrapped once again around the tip of his cock, teasing just the head, that was it. He couldn’t wait another second.
Shepard wrenched his hands free from her half-hearted grip, seized her ass firmly — and slammed her down onto his cock in one rough, greedy thrust. Almost twelve inches of hard, angry man-meat slammed into the asari’s tight little cunt with a loud, juicy squelch, and she screamed — loud enough to deafen a krogan. It wasn’t pain, no — the scream burst out with such pure, feral ecstasy that Shepard had to grit his teeth not to spill right then inside her.
Her nails dug into his chest — sharp, manicured, snapping as they clawed down his skin. But the pain brought him back, reminded him where he was: on the Citadel, buried to the hilt inside the most infamous woman in Council space.
“By the Goddess! He’s… huge... AH!”
Sha’ira was still impaled on him, sitting fully down on that thick shaft, trembling with each breath, clearly afraid to move — as if pulling off would rob her of that full, stretching pressure she craved so badly. But Shepard was in control now. Wrapping an arm around her smooth back, he pulled her close, drinking in the scent of her skin and the heat of her breath, and slowly leaned back — withdrawing almost all the way out.
Her walls clung to him desperately, slick and tight, resisting the retreat. The second she whimpered in protest, he slammed back inside.
Her next cry wasn’t just loud — it was decadent. Pure, elite whoredom, ripped from her cultured throat and echoing off the walls. The room shook with each thrust as Shepard pounded her without mercy, his hips slapping against the Consort’s ass, the slap of his balls punctuating every hard, punishing drive into her dripping cunt.
It went on like that — five minutes of raw, unchecked fucking — until he felt the way her walls suddenly tightened around the base of his shaft. Her moans ceased, breath catching in her throat. She clung to him like a lifeline, fingers digging into his scalp, nails raking his buzzcut as her whole body trembled.
She was about to cum.
Shepard felt it in the way she seized up, in how her cunt pulsed around him. He doubled down, picked up speed — fast, brutal thrusts now — and seconds later, a hot, broken moan tore from her lips. She ripped herself off his cock, fingers flying to her clit, rubbing frantically as her whole body convulsed.
“GhhAAaaaHHhh…!”
Juice poured from her slit in a messy gush, splattering his chest and soaking the table beneath her. Her head rolled back, eyes fluttering shut in euphoric disbelief as waves of orgasm rolled through her shuddering form. After nearly ten seconds of mind-melting pleasure, her strength gave out, and she collapsed onto him, gasping, her breasts pressed against his chest, nipples stiff and rubbing.
But his cock… still hard. Still slick with her wetness. Still aching. She felt it, too. Her hand slipped behind her back, fingers brushing his shaft.
“So… fucking hard…”
Her voice was half-whisper, half-moan. Her fingers — still slick with oil — began sliding up and down, stroking his length slowly, with adoration. She shifted her hips, dragging his cock between her cheeks, letting it tease the valley of her perfect blue ass — letting the head bump against her tight little asshole. Shepard groaned, low and deep.
The asari straightened up, pushing her ass harder against him, grinding slowly, teasing. He leaned up and took her breasts into his mouth — smooth, perfect, glossy with oil. They tasted like fruit. Exotic and unfamiliar, but sweet, ripe, divine. He licked, suckled, tongue flicking over each nipple while she panted, shivering from his touch.
The play with her exotic nipples continued for a good two minutes — long enough for Shepard to realize one thing with total clarity: He had to fuck this famous slut in the ass.
He didn’t announce it. Not yet. Let her keep thinking she was running the show. Instead, he simply asked her — almost politely — to stand and lean forward over the massage table, her charming little blue ass pointed straight at an Alliance soldier who was done waiting.
“Mmm… say it again,” she purred, not moving.
“What?”
“Tell me again. Order me. Command me,” she said, voice dripping with contemptuous heat. “I’m sick of all the pompous little cowards who treat me like a queen…”
She never finished the sentence.
His hand shot to her throat — hard. He squeezed, cutting off her air, her eyes going wide. With one rough shove, he threw her off him and down to the floor. She landed with a cough, gasping for air, but not resisting — not even slightly.
“Looks like the little whore finally figured out what she really is,” Shepard said coldly, staring down at her sprawled figure on the floor.
He stood over her, towering. And it was clear now — she wanted this. Wanted to be treated like filth. Like the dirty little thing she’d been pretending not to be for years. Without a word, she crawled to his feet, licking them like a trained bitch, her soft blue tongue trailing over his toes. Her hair fell into her mouth, but she ignored it, licking, kissing, moaning softly.
She clung to his leg like a child clinging to her father, then looked up at him, wide-eyed. Shepard cupped her cheek. Her expression — pure, unfiltered adoration. Her lips — glistening, smeared with pink gloss — closed around his fingers. She sucked them hungrily, lovingly, cleaning each one like it was coated in candy.
Drops of massage oil dripped from his cock onto her scalp, running down her head-tentacles. She looked up, saw it — and lunged. Her lips wrapped around the tip of his cock like a starving predator finding prey. She buried her face in his groin, licking his balls with wild, desperate fervor.
“Uhhhhh—fuck…”
Her nails danced along his thighs, teasing the hair on his legs while her tongue bathed every inch of his sack. She licked up his shaft, wet and hungry, until she reached the head again — and this time, she kissed it like it was sacred.
Her tongue slid down the full length of his shaft, then back up with a hungry lick — before she attacked the head of his cock with fierce, messy enthusiasm. The tiny slit at the tip was already leaking precum, mixing with the warm slickness of the massage oil coating his cock. Sha’ira lapped it all up, licking and smearing it with her tongue like it was the most exquisite thing she’d ever tasted.
She even let out soft, filthy little slurps — shluurp… mmmnnnhh… — like a whore savoring candy.
Struggling to take it all in, she wrapped her delicate lips around the bulbous head and began tracing it with her tongue, swirling in slow, circular motions, while both hands massaged his balls — rolling and caressing them with practiced, gentle fingers like she’d done it a thousand times before.
He could barely think. The pleasure was too intense. One hand tangled in her head-tentacles, gripping tight. He thrust forward — hard. His cock forced its way down her throat.
“NNgghhhk…!”
Her throat took him. Inch by inch, deeper, deeper, her eyes watering, but never looking away. She watched him — stared at him — as his cock disappeared into her gullet. When he reached halfway, she blinked slowly, then kept going.
Then, he pulled out — just enough — and slapped her.
CRACK.
Her spit flew across her tits, cheek flushing red.
“Cheap little whore,” he growled.
Gripping Sha’ira by the throat, Shepard yanked the asari to her feet, spun her around, and bent her over the massage table, his palm landing with a deliberate squeeze on her right ass cheek. She let out a startled gasp — but it quickly gave way to a long, needy moan, the kind of sound only a thoroughly aroused bitch could make when treated exactly the way she secretly craved.
Forcing her to arch her back, Shepard got the full view of her backside — and what he saw made his cock twitch in anticipation. The tight, delicate little ring of her anus was so small, so perfect, it almost looked untouched. Virgin, even. Like no cock or finger had ever dared breach that sacred little star. But Shepard wasn’t fooled. No way a galaxy-famous companion like Sha’ira hadn’t had her ass plundered before. Still… it was a fucking sight.
He reached for the bottle of massage oil still resting near the table, popped the cap, and poured nearly the entire contents over her backside — drenching her flawless blue cheeks and the tiny, twitching entrance between them. The oil spread thickly across her skin, glistening under the ambient light, until her ass looked more like a sculpture than flesh — a wet, gleaming work of perverse art.
And then… it was time to test his theory.
Without a word, Shepard jammed his index and middle fingers deep into her tight asshole, rough and unceremonious. And instead of a cry of pain, or some indignant complaint, he was rewarded with yet another deep, sultry moan that rolled off her lips like silk soaked in heat. Her hips twitched against his hand. She didn’t flinch. She loved it.
He wasn’t waiting another damn second.
Lining up his cock — slick with her spit and the last remnants of oil — he pressed the swollen head to her backdoor. Her tight ring gave only slight resistance. Then…
“Unnhhhh…!”
With a wet, audible pop, he pushed inside.
Sha’ira gripped the table’s edges, bracing herself, but to his surprise — and satisfaction — she didn’t just take it. She pushed back. Like a bitch in heat. Like a slut desperate to feel every inch.

Half his cock vanished inside her ass in one go. The rest followed easily, her slick, taut hole swallowing him like it had been waiting for him her entire life. He grabbed her right cheek again, squeezing hard, and began to thrust deeper — slowly but with deliberate force, driving his cock deeper into that blue, oiled, and sinfully tight ass.
Sha’ira’s breathing turned heavy and ragged, each exhale blending into trembling gasps. Her whole body shuddered beneath him, thighs shaking as pleasure overtook her. Between her legs, her soaked cunt dripped freely, her slick pooling on the floor beneath her, mixing with trails of oil.
“Captain… deeper… I want all of it…”
Her voice was hoarse, ragged, but begging. And he gave it to her — all of it.
Shepard began switching between her holes, alternating between the dripping tightness of her cunt and the slick, sinful clench of her ass, plunging into one, then the other, riding her harder and faster with every thrust. It was too good. He couldn’t hold back much longer. She was working her hips like a pro — like the whore she was — grinding back against him, matching his rhythm with filthy enthusiasm.
Grabbing both cheeks of her ass, he let out a low growl, slapped the left one sharply — smack — and leaned in close to her ear.
“You dirty fucking bitch…”
With that, he slammed back into her ass, burying his cock almost to the base.
“OHHH… GODDESS…!”
She screamed again — but this time it was no act. Her whole body convulsed as an orgasm ripped through her, muscles tensing, her hands clawing at the table as she started to ride him herself, slamming her ass back onto his cock with manic energy. She reached up and grabbed her own tits, squeezing them hard, eyes rolling back as another climax surged through her trembling frame.
She came hard, and this time her legs gave out. She slipped from his cock with a wet pop, fell to the floor on her knees, wrapped her legs tight around her dripping pussy — and let out a long, guttural moan that shivered through the air like a stormfront of pleasure.
And just like that, Shepard’s cock brushed her lips.
“Get to work, whore,” he ordered.
She obeyed instantly, without a single flicker of resistance.
He didn’t go gentle — didn’t give her a chance to warm up. Just grabbed a fistful of those smooth head-tentacles and shoved himself right back into her throat. Just like before. Sha’ira’s eyes widened slightly as his thick cock forced its way down her esophagus — but she didn’t pull away.

She looked up at him worshipfully.
And that was all Shepard needed.
He fucked her throat the way he’d just fucked her ass — deep, relentless, claiming her completely. His balls slapped her chin. Her throat spasmed around him. And still she took it — like she’d been made for it.
He groaned — low, guttural, primal — and came.
Hot, thick ropes of cum shot down her throat. She choked once, tried to pull back, but he held her tight. She swallowed instinctively, milking him with her throat, her hands braced on his thighs as he poured everything inside her. When the pressure grew too much, some of it leaked from her lips — a white trickle dripping to the floor.
Ten seconds passed — a long, slow drain of orgasm.
Finally, he pulled out, slapped her face twice with his slick tip, and smirked.
“Now that’s what I call relaxation, my dear Consort. Think I might start dropping by more often.”
Sha’ira coughed, breathless, her limbs shaky as she tried to rise. Her legs gave out. She settled for sitting back on the massage table, legs dangling, her body smeared with oil, saliva, and thick streaks of cum across her breasts and thighs.
“I’m afraid the next available appointment is several months out, Captain.”
Her voice — unbelievably — had returned to that calm, commanding tone from their first meeting. Elegant. Composed. As if she hadn’t just been ruined in every hole.
“In any case, I must ask you to leave. I have other meetings to prepare for.”

On my Patreon page, you can find the complete book “Mass Effect: An Erotic Journey” with pictures and animation: patreon.com/posts/complete-book-138106610
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Mass Effect. Erotic journey