Next day was the day. “Make or break,” he murmured. She offered him sex, but he declined with regret. “Have to get you out of here efficiently,” he explained. “Can’t risk any delay.”
He wheeled her out and across the base to the checkout point. He gave his ID. “Got to take her to the spaceport,” he said. “Private officer order, you know.” Medusa inhaled and let her knees spread slightly, on his cue. Officers did have special privileges, and woe betide the enlisted man who messed with them, regardless of regulations. They did not pause to question why a whore was being let out instead of in, perhaps because of those evocative breasts and legs. Medusa was truly a sight to behold, by no coincidence.
Just like that, they were through. All the things that could have gone wrong had not, thanks to the distraction of the ongoing evacuation. Lots of people were going to the spaceport.
He wheeled her off the main trail onto a winding forest path. No one was using it today, so it was private. He stopped in a rocky glade. “I guess this is goodbye, Medusa,” he said. “I love you. I hope you think of me occasionally. I know I’ll be thinking of you, back on Earth. I’ll do my best to get HETA to support your cause.”
Medusa got out of the chair, and removed her clothing. She would have no need of it hereafter. She stood braced against the chair. “Mmmm,” she said, presenting her luscious bare body.
“Medusa, don’t wait,” he said. “Someone could come at any time. Get away, disappear, and never look back. I’ll go on to the spaceport and board for Earth. Someone else will use the second ticket. So—”
She cut him off by stepping into him. She kissed him ardently, holding him close. Then her hand snaked down to find his fly. In a moment she had hold of his rapidly stiffening member. She intended to have sex.
“But you need to rejoin your people,” he protested.
She drew her face back. “Mmmm.” This time there was a different tone.
The boulder behind her opened three eyes. A treetrunk beyond it opened another triad. So did a nearby bush. Even a mossy patch on the ground did.
“Your people!” he exclaimed, amazed. “They’re here! Emulating plants and rocks along the way. I had no idea!” There were surely others along the path, who would warn them of the approach of any other humans. They had privacy of a sort. But why?
She loosened his belt and drew down his trousers. In a moment he was naked below the waist. She removed his shirt. Soon he was completely bare, with an urgently standing erection. She meant to have sex while her kind was watching.
“Oh—so they know how to do it,” he said, catching on. “So they too can emulate human women, and be with men. So that when the colonists come, your people will be able to hide among them, undiscovered.”
“Mmmm,” she agreed. She got down before him and put her face to his groin. She took the tip of his rigid member into her mouth.
“But you don’t have the—” he protested, afraid for the moment that she might grind his member off.
She took him in the rest of the way. There was no grinder; it felt just like another vagina. She had rearranged that aspect of her anatomy too, at least for this occasion. She massaged him, and in moments the urgency rose and his orgasm was upon him.
Just before the climax, she removed her mouth and let him spurt into the air. That was the first time she had teased him like that.
But she wasn’t finished. Now she brought him down on an eyeless patch of moss and hugged and kissed him, making him respond. She put his hands on her breasts and buttocks, then had him lick her vulva, turning him on. She was going to make him perform again, for the eyes of her people, so they could know the whole route. From foreplay through finish, from penetration through ejaculation. That bothered him on one level, but she was so ardent that he couldn’t help but respond.
She was doing this so her kind would know exactly how to handle a human man sexually, yes. But once she had done so, what further need would she have for him? Would her folk release him, knowing what he did about their potentials? He had never been sure of her feelings, but had been prepared to let her go, having done his best for her. Now he had to wonder: would she let him go?
She evoked his full erection, and turned her back, guiding it to her anus. He pushed in, but was not able to climax yet; it was too soon, and he was too uncertain of her motive. In a moment she drew off him, whether satisfied or disappointed he could not tell. She changed position and put her breasts to his face, letting him fondle them and kiss the nipples. She was still charging him up, playing him for the second orgasm. It was working despite his misgivings. If he had to die, this was the way he wanted to do it, in a minor orgy of fulfillment with this goddess of ecstasy. Then she embraced him full-length, putting his member to her vagina but not inside it, teasingly. She had him lie on his back, and straddled him, setting the tip of his member at her cleft, taking it in a little, then out, then in a bit deeper. Oh, the others were getting their triple eyes full, seeing every detail of the staged penetration. But now at last he was working up to his orgasm.
She felt it, being marvelously sensitive to his condition. She lay on her back and had him mount her from above. He thrust deeply into her, repeatedly, as she wrapped her arms and legs about him. He climaxed, figuratively spewing his guts out of him and into her. She kissed him while taking it all in, every last spurt.
At last he faded, sexually exhausted. The watchers had seen it all. What was next? All the eyes were closed, and there was no indication of anything other than nature. They were so good at hiding that he hardly believed he had ever seen the eyes. They must have been closely observing the passing humans all along, and never giving themselves away. Until they had shown him.
Medusa disengaged. She wiped herself up and put on her clothing, while he donned his. So this was not the end, yet.
She got back into the wheelchair. “But you don’t need this,” he said. “In your natural form, whatever it is, you don’t need any human artifacts.”
“Mmmm,” she said, putting her hands to the wheels and starting to move forward.
He quickly took hold of the handles in back and began pushing her along. “But Medusa, where do you want to go?” he asked, bemused. “This is the way to the spaceport.”
“Mmmm.”
Could it be? That not only were they freeing him, in the manner he had sought to free her, but that she was coming with him? To Earth?
“You want to make the case to HETA!” he exclaimed. “Demonstrating the truth of my statement. That you are sapient!”
“Mmmm,” she agreed as they came in sight of the spaceport.
This was almost too good to be true. “But what of me? Of us? You would have to live with me, to hide effectively on Earth. Because there’s so much more there that you’ve never seen. It’s like the commissary, only the size of a planet.” He remembered how much she had liked the commissary. “It would take years before you could even hope to live independently, even if you don’t want to return to your home. I’d have to fake the ID and marry you, to give us cover.”
“Mmmm.”
“And you know I would want sex and more sex, all the time. Because you’re simply the best sexual partner I could ever dream of. In fact the best woman I could ever get to romance. I love you! I’d be telling you that all the time, between sexual efforts. Could you stand that?”
She reached up behind her with one hand, caught his head, and drew his face down to hers. She kissed him. He felt the passion. He knew she didn’t have to show it, because he was already emotionally captive and she knew it. Did she really mean it?
“You actually like it?” he asked, pleasantly astonished. “The sex?”
“Mmmm.” And it sounded like “That, too.”
Note: When I placed “Serial” with Excessica, I learned more about that publisher. They made their money by pushing donated material. So I gave them “Juliet”, then contributed to two of their provocative erotic anthologies. “Medusa” was one of them, sex with an alie
n creature, as I warned in the Caution, written in December 2009. I never saw the anthology for which it was destined, Divine Matches, and remain curious what other stories it contained.
Caution: graphic degrading abnormal sex
13. Rat Bait
“This is ridiculous, Lita,” Solita exclaimed. “Your bed at night is just about the safest place you can be.”
The child was adamant. “But there’s a horny monster, mommy! It will come closer tonight; I know it. It grabs my knees and pulls my legs apart and licks me. It’s going to do something awful to me.”
Solita blanched inwardly. This sounded like a memory of sexual abuse, but that was impossible; she was close to her seven-year-old daughter and made sure she was never exposed to anything like that. Her husband was serving overseas, but she knew absolutely that he would never be guilty of any such thing; he was a completely moral man. So it must be some scary tale told by a classmate in school that had caught Lita’s imagination and terrified her. Solita hoped that “horny” meant that it had a horn, like a rhino.
This was their second day in this newly rented house, and the price had been cheaper because of rumors that it was haunted. Solita had no truck with such notions, of course. Yet now a thin thread of doubt was creeping in. Could there really be a haunt?
This needed to be dealt with promptly and firmly. “Lita, I have watched you as you sleep. Nothing has touched you.”
“But it has, mommy! You just can’t see it.”
Definitely imagination, maybe. “I’ll prove it. Tonight I’ll sleep in that bed and you can sit up in the chair until you are satisfied that there is nothing to fear. Okay?”
“Okay!” the child agreed gladly.
They changed places. Lita sat in the chair beside the bed, and Solita lay on the bed and drew the sheet up over her. She closed her eyes as for sleep. She was sure this would not take long.
But she was more tired than she realized, and in moments was asleep. Then something grabbed her left ankle.
Her eyes snapped open. There was Lita sitting in the chair, watching. There was Solita’s body under the sheet. Nothing was grabbing her ankle. Nothing visible.
Another hand caught her right ankle. It was big and coarse-fingered, with hard calluses on the palm. Yet still nothing was visible. What was going on?
The two hands clamped down hard, compressing her flesh. “Ow!” she exclaimed. But no sound came out.
Solita tried to sit up, to sweep away the sheet and discover what the hell was happening with her feet. But her body did not move. She was paralyzed. Now she realized that her eyes weren’t really open, either; she was seeing what she expected to see. She was in some kind of dream-frozen state, the kind that prevented people from thrashing around when dreaming. She could not move or speak.
The hands exerted brutal force, wedging her legs apart. She tried to resist, but the hands had more leverage than she did, and her legs inevitably parted.
“No!” she cried, soundlessly. She was helpless to stop it, or even to protest.
Now she understood what her daughter had tried to tell her. A lustful monster was attacking her, and it intended to do something awful. It was indeed horny in the physical and sexual sense. Lita did not understand that aspect, but Solita did: it was out for rape.
She fought with all her might, focusing on her legs, willing them to close. And they did! She was discovering how to resist the monster! It was psychic rather than physical, and she had to oppose it on its own turf, or suffer psychic rape.
The problem with rape was only partly the physical penetration. Things entered a woman’s vagina all the time, ranging from her own fingers as she washed to the instrument of an examining gynecologist. To the hard penis of a man, which was fine if it belonged to a husband or boyfriend and was welcome. It became rape when it was unwelcome. The damage was generally psychological rather than physical. Her personal space was being violated, her will overridden.
That was what was threatening here. A psychic monster was determined to have psychic sex with her against her will. Therefore it was rape. But she somehow knew that if she could just hold on long enough, keeping her legs psychically as well as physically closed, she could prevent it.
She was succeeding. She was keeping herself closed to intrusion. The hands were straining at her ankles but not making headway. She was winning!
Then the bottom of the bed fell out. Her legs dropped down into a hole. She flung out her arms and caught the sides of the bed, hanging on, preventing herself from falling all the way in. She knew that this was figurative rather than literal, that her physical body was still lying serenely horizontal, showing no sign of motion. But her psychic body was in deadly danger, and that was the one she had to protect.
The gross hands yanked on her ankles, hauling her downward. She clung tight, aware that this was a new aspect of the struggle. If she fell all the way into the hole, she would be ravished by the invisible demon and hopelessly sullied. It might not show on her physical body, but psychically she would know she had been raped, exactly as if she had been physically abused. She had to hang on!
Now the hands resumed hauling her legs apart. In this position she lacked the leverage to keep them closed. Slowly they separated, and something blocked them apart. It felt like a gross apelike head. The hands were now free to move on up.
She couldn’t put her own hands down to stop them, because she couldn’t let go of her desperate grip on the sides of the bed beyond the hole. She had to suffer the handling.
And handling it was. The fingers moved up inside her legs, past the knees, and on to her thighs. They stroked and squeezed, evidently appreciating her unwilling flesh. She tried to lift her legs clear, but immediately the hands gripped her knees, holding them down, and she lacked the strength to get free. All she could do was stay where she was, refusing to be drawn down into the hole.
The head turned its gross face to her left knee. A hot slimy tongue licked it, and around her leg. It felt like oral sex—with her knee. She tried again to yank it free, but could not. Disgusted, she gave up the effort and let the monster slurp, fouling her leg with his saliva.
Now the hands slid up to her crotch. Fingers hooked into her panties and dragged them down, and she couldn’t stop it. They cleared her hips and thighs and came down to her knees. They could not go farther, because the head blocked the way. That was some small relief.
She heard a munching sound, and realized that the monster must be eating her panties. So much for relief!
The hands moved up again. This time they found her bared bottom and stroked her buttocks. They squeezed, savoring the flesh. Solita knew herself to be a well-proportioned woman, having kept herself in shape, but she had never intended to be appreciated in quite this manner, and she was disgusted. But she couldn’t even try to stop it unless she let go of the bed, and she did not dare do that. So she remained vulnerable to the lecherous interest of the monster.
The hands slid around to her vulva and drew the lips of it apart. It seemed she was being examined. The eyes of the head must be peering into her open cleft. Then a horny finger poked into her vagina. It was as big and hard as a normal man’s phallus. She tried to clench her vaginal muscles to bar it, but could not. It shoved up into her until the full length of it was embedded. She felt horribly distended. It moved about, pushing against the internal walls. The thing was having finger sex with her!
If the monster thought that was a turn-on for her, he was mistaken. She was utterly turned off. Or maybe that was the point: to degrade her until she simply had to try to use her hands to resist.
That was not the worst of it. Now the head moved up, its bovine-sized tongue licking at her thighs, crawling onward like a giant slug. It reached her open cleft and slobbered greedily across it, coating it with thick gooey spit. It tickled her clitoris. Such an action by a man she loved could have evoked her orgasm, but as it was, it made her want to retch. And still she could not act to stop it.
The hands mo
ved up farther, sliding across her belly and back. Where were they going?
She found out all too soon. They came to her breasts and lasciviously fondled them, lifting, squeezing, pulling. “No!” she wanted to cry, but could not make a sound.
It got worse. The head moved up until the demon face was at her chest. The tongue licked her breasts all over, thoroughly coating them. Almost, she let go of the bed and grabbed the horrid thing to haul it away from her. Her breasts were special in ways her genitalia were not. But she knew that was what the monster wanted. He was trying to tease her into doing exactly that, so she would fall into the hole and become his complete captive. She still had to endure the disgusting process.
The mouth focused on her left nipple. The demon closed on it and sucked, hard. Soon it felt as if half her breast was inside that orifice, and still he sucked as if trying to swallow her whole mammary. Again, done by a lover, this could have worked her up toward a climax, but as it was, the effect was opposite. She felt like vomiting, but refused to give the thing the satisfaction of making her so obviously sick.
Finally the face withdrew. Was it leaving at last? No such luck. It returned to her vulva, and the tongue ran into her vagina, pressing it open, forcing its slimy mass on in.
Again it shoved, as the finger had, ramming into her helpless aperture. Now she felt really distended, as though her belly was bowing outward from the incredible mass of the thing inside her. So it wasn’t actually physical; it still felt like a flesh-pulping rape. She had never had sex like this, and wished she could somehow cut off the obscene tongue and spit it out of her body. But it was having its sickening will of her.
At last it withdrew, sliding slowly out like a spent penis, letting her stretched vagina contract back to an approximation of normalcy. Was the nightmare finally over?