Rescue From Planet Pleasure

by Mario Acevedo

  Carmen had more than talk in mind, and my kundalini noir cringed as we approached the starting line for interspecies hide-the-salami.

  The three of us continued through the den and to the back patio where we halted by the table. Carmen’s sex toy lay on the paving stones, the business end tucked inside a beach blanket, the long handle sticking out. If Moots noticed, she made no comment.

  “What you’ve done for us is appreciated,” Carmen said to Moots.

  “I execute my duties in accordance to my responsibilities, not to please you.”

  With an attitude that gruff, getting Moots to drop her guard—and her “pants”—was going to take buckets of emotional bullshit.

  Carmen smiled at her. “That doesn’t change what I just said.”

  “Meh.” Moots shrugged. “Is that why you asked me out here?”

  “Tell us how we can help you succeed. Even if Fastid grabs the credit, I want you to know—”

  “Help me succeed?” Moots interrupted. “It’s not like you have a choice, is it? Besides, success here depends on the effect you have on our men. And that, so far, has been one big zip.”

  We stayed quiet, me glancing at Carmen and Moots, Carmen glancing at Moots and me, Moots staring into whatever with her blank alabaster eyes. Outwardly, I was as calm as the mirror-like waters of the pond. Inside, I roiled with dread.

  I have to screw Moots!

  I wondered about the mechanics of boning her. Did the Nancharm copulate standing up? How was I supposed to get in the saddle? Did Moots even have a saddle? She was ten feet tall. Plus she had six vaginas. Suppose I did find them, how was I to choose? Eenie, meeny, miney, mo?

  And once I did the deed, how was that going to coincide with Blossom arriving right on time with a space ship?

  The questions made my stomach churn. Any other chance to slap skin, my lust would stew in a pressure cooker of anticipation. Now, getting excited about Moots was like trying to light a match underwater. I was one soggy noodle.

  Carmen broke the meditative spell by walking to the grassy rise overlooking the pond. She stripped out of her t-shirt, unbuttoned the jeans and wiggled out of them. Naked, she took running steps to build up speed—the choice parts of her jiggled invitingly—and dove into the water.

  Moots glided to the edge of the pond. Carmen broke the surface in a swirl of bubbles and swam parallel to the shore. Her body stretched and twisted beneath the undulating water.

  I noticed how Moots studied Carmen. “What are you looking at?”

  “In my youth, I was a champion swimmer.” Moots sounded wistful. But wistful for swimming, her youth, or for Carmen?

  “Felix,” Carmen yelled. “Jump in.”

  With me joining her for a skinny dip, our raw bodies would tell Moots to expect a sex show. Fine by me as long as my partner was Carmen, but I knew this was the kick-off for our bizarro ménage à trois.

  I peeled off my shirt and pants and trotted toward the water. Moots glanced once and then fixed her stare back on Carmen. Good choice, I’d rather look at her as well.

  I dove in. The pond swallowed me with a cool, pleasant embrace. As a vampire, I don’t need to breathe and can stay underwater almost indefinitely, but we do suffer from shrinkage.

  Carmen scissored her legs and I paddled toward her. When I was about to grab her, she sank beneath the surface and swam away. I chased after her, and her playing hard-to-get pumped my juices. This was no accident. Carmen was getting me in the mood. We rubbed our slick bodies against one another and frolicked like horny otters.

  Moots followed our antics. She could’ve gone back inside, but she didn’t. Despite her inscrutable face, I sensed a melancholia radiating from her, as real as her bright yellow and red colors. If I was to guess, I’d say that Moots wanted to join us.

  Carmen waded to the shallow end and climbed the steps toward the patio. Water sheeted down her sleek, muscular back and round, perfect ass. She scooped a towel from the patio table and patted herself dry. I followed her lead and stood beside her.

  Moots glided close and towered over us. She held still and stared at Carmen.

  “I have something for you,” Carmen said.

  Moots didn’t react.

  Carmen pushed a chair against her and climbed on it. Even so, she had to look up at Moots.

  Something gelled between them as if the pheromones circulating in their bodies congealed into a solid invisible mass. Carmen stood on tiptoe and reached for Moot’s translator-cap.

  Moots seized her hand.

  “Trust me,” Carmen said.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty

  Moots slowly let go of Carmen’s fingers. Carmen eased the translator-cap off Moots’ head and placed the cap on the patio table. She again stood on tiptoe and faced Moots. She raised her right hand, spread her fingers, and slowly, carefully—as if handling a precious treasure—slid her fingers into Moots’ tendrils.

  Moots began to quiver.

  Carmen whispered, “Aside from their genitalia, this is their most sensitive erogenous zone.”

  “Why did you take off the translator-cap?” I whispered back.

  Carmen stared at Moots. “Words will only get in the way.”

  Moots’ arms undulated like reeds in water. I stared into her blank, white eyes and wanted to believe that I saw a blossoming of emotions. Anticipation. Desire. Vulnerability.

  Moots’ lower-middle carapace, the yellow one, the one about even with my chest, expanded in girth, then it split along vertical seams. Each segment tilted downward like flower petals, revealing a trunk of lime-green flesh.

  And there it was.

  Her vagina.

  Or should I say, her six vaginas? A row of vertical slits, each maybe three inches tall and three inches apart. They opened and closed like gills.

  “Now what?” I thought about the mating habits of the praying mantis, especially when after copulation the female bites the head off the male.

  Moots raised one arm and beckoned me.

  Carmen made room on the chair. “It’s show time.”

  “What about the toy?”

  “That’s for later.”

  I guess that made me the hors d’oeuvres. I tried to move but my legs wouldn’t budge.

  “Quit stalling.” Carmen scolded. “You’re about to make history. Don’t be a pussy. Man up before we lose the moment.”

  “Cut me slack, okay. I’m still trying to find the moment.” I climbed on the chair.

  Her eyes cut to my flaccid junk and she frowned in disapproval. “Geez Felix, show a little enthusiasm.”

  “I’m not feeling the love.”

  “You will now.” Carmen slid a hand from Moots’ tendrils to draw me close. She pressed her mouth against the side of my neck. I closed my eyes as her fangs stabbed my throat. Her sex enzymes flooded through me, an electric pulse exploding from the bite and zapping down my spine and straight to my groin. My kundalini noir rang like it had been kicked by a horse. Waves of glorious heat channeled to my crotch, and I got so hard I could’ve hammered nails into concrete.

  Carmen withdrew and cooed, “Much better.”

  My head swam in a delicious stew of super-charged endorphins. The narcotic buzz filled my mind with all kinds of pleasurable images, episodes of sexual bliss. I locked on one. With Carmen. Back in South Carolina before she was kidnapped. A fast-n-furious lunchtime quickie in the parlor of a mortuary.

  Something warm and leathery snaked up my leg. I pushed aside the creepy realization it was Moots and forced myself to try and enjoy the touch. Her fingers fondled my parts, gripped the shaft and began a steady stroking motion. Maybe this was all Moots wanted to do: give me an alien hand job.

  Carmen pressed on my shoulders, forcing me toward Moots’ battery of cooters.

  So laying pipe was still the plan. I wasn’t sure about the mechanics. Was I supposed to wrap my legs around Moots and ride her? Or lean against her cylindrical torso like I was screwing an oil drum?

  Carmen
kissed the back of my neck and worked her way down my spine. Moots guided me toward her orifice of choice until labia puckered around the end of my crank.

  My inner wingman hollered, Eject! Eject!

  But we were too committed to turn back so I squelched his microphone. Carmen pushed against my buttocks, sliding me into Moots like an artillery shell loading into a breech. I plunged into a moist and heated envelope. Nancharm men might have only been three inches long but I managed to sink all the way in. Her flesh was warm against my belly like I was leaning across an oven.

  Moots’ vagina tightened around me with a firm and pleasant grip. She had extraordinary kegel muscles and started an expert massage. With six penises, the Nancharm men must have six times this fun. I couldn’t believe they had so fucked up their DNA that they’d given up such a pussy ride. And if this thrill ride wasn’t enough, Carmen crouched behind me for some appreciated teabag action.

  Usually I like to draw out the ceremonies, but I decided that slam, bam, thank you ma’am would do. I was certain the Nancharm erection committee was watching, but this was my limited engagement performance. I relaxed into the sensation and let myself get milked to release. My nerves compressed around my groin, and my hips tightened as I plunged through orgasm.

  I shuddered in ecstasy. A tingling followed the delicious climax, my mind cleared and I opened my eyes. The world slowly came into focus. I was staring at the center of Moots’ red torso. This close it looked like the hood of a car.

  “Whoa there, Hercules,” Carmen exclaimed. “You’re not supposed to drown Moots. Where the hell have you been keeping all that?”

  “It’s been a while.”

  Moots’ hand slithered across her “crotch” and wiped the mess. In a classy move, she flicked gobs of spunk from her fingers.

  I hopped off the chair and stumbled over the grass, weary and quite spent. A gigantic EWWWW! plowed through me. I could bathe in hot Clorox and not feel clean, but for now the best I could do was pat myself dry with a towel. Carmen had gone back to stroking Moots’ tendrils. “She took care of you, now we take care of her.” She gestured to the sex toy by the table.

  I was hoping to bail but apparently an intergalactic gigolo’s work is never done. I withdrew the toy from between the folds of its towel. A bottle of lube rolled free.

  Carmen asked me to trade places. She cautioned me to be very gentle with Moots’ tendrils. They floated around my fingers and felt like strands of spongy yarn.

  Carmen slathered lube on the six vibrators of the sex toy. She aligned the vibrators with Moots’ slits and slowly worked them in. She flicked the battery switch, and the end of sex toy vibrated with an aggressive hum.

  Moots tentacled her arms around my torso.

  Carmen adjusted the angle of the sex toy. It was a truly bizarre sight. Naked Carmen—her muscles tensing, her boobs and butt wiggling to-and-fro, her eyebrows pinched in concentration—as she pumped the toy into Moots’ vaginas. Green froth bubbled around the vibrators.

  Moots squeezed me.

  Carmen quickened the tempo.

  Moots squeezed tighter.

  Carmen brushed a lock of hair from her forehead and kept pistoning the sex toy. Green foam spurted from Moots and onto Carmen’s hands and forearms. “I’m getting her close. Keep playing with her tendrils.”

  Moots’ arms coiled vice-tight around me. If Carmen didn’t finish her soon, Moots was going to break my ribs. Her tendrils puffed straight in a silent Nancharm scream. She looked like a black dandelion. Her arms clenched and then eased the pressure.

  Carmen slowed her stroking and shut off the power. She withdrew the sex toy and the vibrators slurped free.

  Moots’ tendrils relaxed and her arms uncoiled. Carmen dropped the sex toy and asked me to again switch places. She placed the translator-cap on Moots and stroked her face.

  Moots huffed gently like she was trying to find her breath. “Sorry about the mess.” Her fingers traced across Carmen’s face. “I’m a bit of a squirter.”

  Carmen kissed Moots’ cheek. “That’s okay. So am I.”

  The exchange was loaded with blissful tenderness and I felt like an intruder. “Uh … h …” I stammered, not sure of my part in this post-coital snuggle.

  Carmen didn’t look at me when she said, “Clean up as best you can.”

  So now I had been demoted to jizz mopper. I used a towel to blot the green foam from Moots’ “crotch.” Her carapace petals folded shut, and I backed away.

  Carmen and Moots hugged. Carmen said, “If you don’t mind, we need time alone.”

  Fair enough. I started for my clothes when Moots snapped her fingers and pointed to the sex toy, the bottle of lube, and the stained towels. I collected everything and headed across the patio for the back door. Just as I touched the doorknob, Carmen called me.

  I faced her.

  She winked. “Good job. Thanks.”

  I entered the den, acknowledging that despite my misgivings I had pressed ahead like a trooper. In fact, I felt a little proud after performing like a mighty, mighty man even though Moots and her kung-fu grip vagina had done the work. Jolie and the chalices stood in a semi-circle and stared.

  I expected applause. I knew I was unclothed but that wasn’t why they were gawking. I hitched my shoulders. What?

  Juanita shook her head. “Now you’ve done it.”

  “And quite well,” I replied. “Let any of the Nancharm men try and match me.”

  “That’s exactly the problem.” She pointed to a wall panel that glowed with this message: Specimen 92712 is scheduled for therapeutic intervention.

  “Therapeutic intervention, what the hell is that?”

  “Electronic implants. What the Nancharm put in Toby.”

  “And who is Specimen 92712?”

  The chalices looked away. Jolie’s eyes canted into sad angles. “You.”

  ***

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Carmen and I sat at the dining room table. Moots was beside us, but I wasn’t sure if she was relaxing or standing because the sections of her carapace had telescoped into one another. Even so, she loomed above us.

  Like Carmen, I was sipping coffee—laced with Cassie’s blood. The caffeine and hemoglobin washed through me and scrubbed away most of the lingering heebie-jeebies of doing the nasty with Moots and my fear of being reengineered into a sexual cyborg.

  But doubts remained, as in, what had happened to Blossom? I had done my part, where was she?

  I’d thought that after our ménage a trois, Moots would get clingy with either Carmen or me, maybe us both. After all, according to Carmen, it had been awhile since our Nancharm minder had gotten her rocks off. But while Moots remained her usual stoic self, the way she stayed close made me suspect she was waiting to segue into something. What exactly? Who knew? Not even Carmen with her intuitive juju had any luck reading that porcelain-like face of hers.

  Moots suddenly extended her carapace and rose to full height. Her tendrils fluffed and she faced the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen.

  The door stretched open. Dr. Fastid entered, leading a mob of Nancharm on a small fleet of hover scooters. They halted and floated off their rides. He clapped his leathery hands as his translator-cap boomed, “Bravo. Brav-OH!”

  Their tendrils puffed in silent, animated conversation. His crew looked at each other, back at Fastid, then each other, and began to clap half-heartedly.

  “Most wonderful progress,” Fastid gushed. “Let me offer my personal congratulations, specimen 92712.” Fastid slid to my side. “You sir, are the hero of the day. The hero of the day.”

  He draped one hand around my arm and winched me to my feet. An odd device that looked like a toilet plunger resting on the bell part disconnected from a hover scooter and zipped our way. The device halted and the tip flashed a soft orange color.

  Fastid’s crew formed a semicircle around us and faced the device. Moots started to join us when Fastid held up his hand to tell her to not bother. She re
treated against the table. Carmen stroked her arm.

  He wrapped his fingers around my neck and aimed my head at the device. His minions crowded against us and held still for a group selfie. The device’s tip flashed and dazzled my eyes. The minions relaxed, then crowded once more for another group photo. The device flashed again.

  Fastid scooted from me. I was left blinking the spots from my vision. He perched his clenched fists on his hips and leaned left and right. “Finally, some progress. You sir, deserve a commendation. I know I do.”

  “Commendation for what?”

  “For this.” He snapped his fingers. The toilet plunger device beamed a hologram into the middle of the room. Charts and odd writing scrolled across the image.

  I studied the hologram, then glanced at Carmen. She shrugged. I turned back to Fastid. “What am I looking at?”

  He huffed in exasperation. “Let me dumb it down for you.” He snapped his fingers. The image refreshed. The figures were different but still indecipherable.

  I tried to grasp a little understanding, but the effort made me tilt my head like a confused dog. “Uhhh … I’m not good at math.”

  “This is not math!” Fastid exclaimed. “This is middle-grade biology. No wonder Earth is such a backwards planet.” He faced his coterie and puffed his tendrils. The Nancharm began to shake and wave their arms. I worried what was going on until he guffawed out his translator-cap. Then the others joined in. Even Moots. The pompous bastard probably mocked us. How many humans does it take to screw in a luminescent triode emitter?

  “I wasn’t too good at biology either,” I said. “You’ll have to enlighten me.”

  “Not good at biology?” Fastid replied. “Why 92712, you’re a natural.”

  Again, I exchanged bemused looks with Carmen.

  Fastid waved his hand through the hologram. “We’re talking major progress.”

  “Progress?” I asked.

  “Tumescence!”

  “You mean wood?”

  He scratched his head and commenced a tendril exchange with Moots. “Ah,” he said, “a hard-on. Not yet. But we’re closer than ever.” He pointed to one of the charts. “This is you.” He pointed to an adjacent chart. “This is the Nancharm subject we hooked up to replicate your effort. Previously, our best results were minor undulations in the levels of Type Z1 lutropin and Type Beta-3 androgen. Mostly attributable to statistical variation. But because of you …” Fastid snapped his fingers. The hologram changed to show what appeared to be a row of six prunes protruding from a Nancharm belly. They quivered and became swollen, but only enough to smooth a few of the wrinkles. I chuckled when I realized it was Nancharm man junk.