Chapter 38

Flotsam

Chapter 38: Afterward

Deep under the Junk Desert of the planet Flotsam a star goddess burns and considers her works…

***

Halley-22 feels the warm caress of the dawn sun on her green skin and stirs. She opens her eyes and crawls out from underneath her lovers, careful not to wake them. She feels a twinge of arousal in her belly and her nipples ache almost painfully. She bites her lip and leers at Rylnx and her emerald cock and thinks about waking her. Halley-22 knows she shouldn’t have favorites, but Rylnx knows just how to hit that perfect spot with her magnificent cock. Halley-22 takes a deep breath and stops herself, Rylnx looks too peaceful to bother, and anyway she’ll fuck her Funganoid infested brains out later. 

Halley leaves the sleeping pile of green-skinned women and walks down a path through The Glade, as silent as a woodland creature. She lets her hand trail through the bushes and flowers; she can sense the thrum of data in the forest, a sublingual computational churn that she’s becoming a part of. She breathes in the intoxicating floral scent, feels her heart beat faster and her cunt twitch with arousal. Maybe she should go back to the pile? Incite a morning orgy? Holy shit she’s horny!

Instead she blows out a deep breath and walks out from under the tree canopy and into the border meadow. She picks a bright spot and sits on the grass-analogue, basking in the sunlight and enjoying the downslope view of the city and desert spreading out to the horizon. She sighs and frowns at the seamless silver plinths of the Grey Quarantine barrier, the invisible line she can never cross, the deadly bars of her prison. She laughs at herself: her prison full of lovely sex crazed nymphos, free drugs, and abundance, served with a side of eternal life. She plays with the wooden and glass beads of her necklaces while her other hand reaches down to stroke her hungry cunt. Fuck, things are okay.

“Morning’s Salutations,” says a deep but shy voice.

Halley-22 looks up to see Pantor, their strange resident Satyr-morph standing nearby in the grass. Halley casually eye fucks him: he’s a specimen of green male-musculature with moss covered legs, tree-branch antlers, and a truly epic cock. Halley feels her pussy salivate at the sight. She pinches her clit, “Hi…”

“Mind if I join you?”

“No… have a seat.” Halley maybe minds a little. She likes Pantor fine, and it’s nice to have a resident man to fuck, but she still feels that a male in The Glade is wrong somehow, like he’s an intruder. Which is unfair, Pantor is here by accident, one she herself instigated with her lust, and anyway he was very polite (for a sex-crazed parasite vector) and was mindful of giving the female dryad-morphs their space. Besides, if Pantor joins her, they’re inevitably going to fuck, which yes, okay, yes…

Pantor sits next to her, his goat-like legs spread wide to give his huge balls and cock space. Halley can taste his musk and feels a clenching ache in her belly. “What brings you here?” Halley asks.

Pantor’s nose twitches, probably smelling her sweet pussy. She watches his huge cock grow erect, “I was walking the perimeter. It’s silly, but I do it every morning.”

Halley-22 rubs her clit between two fingers and tries to ignore her proximity to that long hard cock… “Part of your Funganoid infection?” Since male satyr-morphs are built to spread the parastic computer.

“Yes, I expect so,” he says, stroking his cock. “But it’s also that I miss my homeworld. It took being confined here, but I realized I have so many unfinished matters there.” His cock oozes a nectarous precum and Halley licks her lips. Pantor says, “It’s a shame I’ll never get any resolution.”

“I’m sorry,” Halley says, and as her arousal surges, “Would fucking me help?”

Pantor shrugs his muscular shoulders, “I doubt it…”

“But it couldn’t hurt to try…” Halley-24 suggests, rolling onto her hands and knees, her wide green ass up in the air, her floral green pussy leaking like a wound, her pungent scent carried on the air like a wildflower.

“Hhrrrgggh,” Pantor says as the sex beast overwhelms the man. He pounces on her, wraps his strong arms around her waist like iron bands, grinds his crotch against the plush expanse of her ass. She moans and he growls, and then he’s driving his huge green cock into her pussy. Halley-22 almost yelps, still surprised by how big Pantor is, how he splits her open and stretches her around his cock. “Ahhhhhh….” She gasps, breathless. “Grrrrnnn,” he spits through gritted teeth, pushing at her like a wrestler, forcing himself deeper inside, animalistic. “Fuh-fucking…” Halley mewls and Pantor starts to thrust, great powerful strokes, smashing himself against her like an attacker. Halley moans happily, her heavy breasts flapping, her bead necklaces rattling, her body violently rocking on her knees. Waves of ecstatic pleasure rip through her, almost painful in their intensity, as she, “Ahhh,” is swept away, “Ahhh,” and builds and builds, “Fuckkk…” and bursts orgasmically “AHHhhhhnngghh!!” 

Pantor howls and bucks, almost lifts Halley off her knees, and erupts inside her in a surge of heat and pressure! Filling her with syrupy infectious seed! “Ahhhhhh….”

The two collapse together, Pantor’s cock still rock hard, Halley still impaled on his length. “Oh…” Halley-22 says, “Oh…”

“Suh-sorry,” Pantor slurs, breathing deeply. “I get carried… away sometimes…”

“Mmm… I like being carried…”

“Again?”

“Mmhmm…”

Pantor starts to thrust, gentler this time, more in control of himself. Halley tips her head back, moans, settles in for a longer, cuddlier fuck. Pantor fondles her breasts, kisses the nape of her neck. Halley smiles and looks up at the morning sun. Not a bad way to start the day. 

Pantor pauses fucking her. Halley shakes her hips, “Mmm… don’t stop…” 

A woman is approaching them: blonde and beautiful, and wearing a very flattering blazer and business skirt. The woman stares at them in surprise, “Pantor?”

“Elisxa!?”

***

Hank stands in his rooftop garden and looks out over the morning mesa. He’s just finished his morning run, a tough jog straight upslope from his bar to the Terraces followed by a long meandering trot down one of the highstreet switchbacks. He’s ditched his shirt, but he’s still sweaty and his legs burn wonderfully. He’d never been much for exercise when he’d still been Halley, but since becoming a man he found that he loved how physical exertion made him feel. He wondered if there was biology to that, males-vs-females, testosterone-vs-estrogen, or if it was just performative gender on his part, trying to show off how macho he was. Hank wondered if Earth-phase Halley might have liked to run too, if she’d ever given it a fair chance. 

“Hail and Joy, my Lover,” a deep feminine voice says, as Freya circles Hank’s bare torso in a pair of muscular arms. She’s topless, and bottomless, proudly nude with her four breasts pressed against Hank’s sweaty shoulders. She’s holding two steaming hot mugs of Mud in her other hands and gives one to Hank. “How was thine jog?”

“Fine,” Hank says nuzzling into Freya’s expansive embrace and cradling the warm mug in his hands. “Good,” he amends, and then, “I thought you’d sleep in longer.”

Freya rests her strong chin on top of Hank’s head, “I was restless.”

Hank takes a long sip of his Mud, savoring the earthy spice of the morning stimulant. “Thanks.”

Freya places her empty hand on the hard bumps of Hanks abs, teasingly just above the waistband of his shorts. “It’s no hardship, and fashioning my beloved/betrothed/spouse/comrade a beverage is a pleasure of domestic tradition. Especially when he is all half-garbed and perspiring fetchingly.”

Hank sighs, “Betrothed, right.” And just like that the old fight was right there again: they would never be married. Sure, neither of them were great (or interested) at monogamy, but he wanted to be with Freya for the rest of his life, while Freya planned to return to the Nordic Holmspace to have her children and raise them in the traditional communal crèche. Hank knew all this and could live with it, but it didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Oh my Hank-of-Flotsam,” says Freya crushing him tightly in her four warrior arms. “Thou knows I love you fiercely.”

“Hank-of-Flotsam?”

“Aye, Hank-of-Flotsam. A good man, if sometimes wayward. Kind, generous, brave, a talented lover.”

“Keep going...”

“A worthy father.”

“For some other woman…”

“Hank,” Freya says cheerfully, “I’m pregnant.”

***

Halley-20 walks unsteadily through the Pyramid gate and outside for the first time in months. She squints at the glare and remembers she has arms so she can shield her eyes. Halley shades her face and smiles. It’s nice to have hands again!

Even if it feels totally fucking weird!

Halley-20 shivers but makes herself walk, stiff and unpracticed, away from the Pyramid and the Dragon and the study where she is a chair. Was a chair! She’s human again and free, although she isn’t sure why. Did she finish paying off her debt? Was this an unexpected mercy? A lucky break? Halley hurried up a bit, eager to make good her escape.

But escape to what exactly?

Who was she before? She hadn’t been a chair for very long in the grand scheme of her life, or well, her life if she counts the memories she shared with Halley-Prime, but it still felt as if it lasted decades: being held rigidly immobile in her frame, her sculpted body bare and presented, impatiently waiting to be occupied, the orgasmic, transcendental ecstasy of being used, being sat upon, being furniture. Halley shivers and feels a thrill of arousal spike through her body. Why did it still turn her on? 

Halley-20 slips her fingers into her mouth and bites them gently, a reminder that she is human. Not a chair. Not furniture.

A human with a life to rebuild, somehow. She’d been a gambler before, professionally, or perhaps vocationally, since it was more aspirational than remunerative. In hindsight at least. She’d been so focused on the next payout, the next score, and the final jackpot of a trip back to Earth, that she didn’t have much of a life to return to. Who was waiting for her? Hank and Freya? Clem? What was she going to do?

Maybe Halley should go back to being furniture? She’d been happy hadn’t she? Content and cared for and sexually satisfied. Of course she’d also been brainwashed and drugged and captive, but well, nothing was perfect. Call it radical psychiatry, maybe, or an unorthodox sanitarium. Her armchair body had been created by craftsmen, the blind psychic eunuch and the mouthless Shaper, sculpted to be beautiful and useful. She had been a great chair. Until it was all undone in a jiffy and she was thrown out on the curb, like an unwanted old bench. “One Halley; free to a good home.”

Halley-20 takes a deep breath and makes herself walk again, turns a corner, and steps into a Port District plaza lined with seedy bars and casinos. Bright flashing lights, happy holograms, a cacophony of victory sounds! Halley feels a tug, a dangerous urge to try her luck. Maybe a little win to get herself back on her newly regrown feet? 

“Chair!”

A black-skinned woman with electric blue hair is rushing towards her, a brilliant white smile on her face. “Sorry,” she says, “I mean Halley.”

“Stool?” Hallley-20 feels a surge of happiness! “Oh my God!” 

Stool hugs her, tightly. “It’s Zephryne now. Again. But for you, I’ll always be Stool.”

Halley sniffles and tears sting her eyes, “I’m so happy to see you!”

“You’re free,” Her beloved Stool says, stroking her back. “It’ll be alright.”

“Will it?”

“You must be so confused right now,” Stool says. “I know I was, when I was cut loose. Here, come with me.”

Stool takes Halley by the hand and leads her across the plaza, and down a narrow side street. She finds a little open spot, more of an accidental cubby than a planned space, and gently pushes Halley onto the dirty wall. She smoothes back Halleys hair and kisses her gently on the cheek. “There, sit down with your back against the wall.”

“What? Here?”

“Trust me?”

Halley nods and slides down the wall until her butt is on the pavement. “Okay?”

“Cross your legs and put your hands on your knees.”

“Sure?” Halley does as she’s told, legs arranged criss-cross applesauce in the alleyway. “What now?”

“Now, I’m going to use you.” Stool says, carefully dropping into Halley’s lap. Halley gasps and Stool leans into her and rests her hands on Halley’s forearms. Halley feels Stool’s weight and her warmth. She’s being used as a chair! Fuck it feels so good! She bites her lip and starts to pant. Fuck why did it feel so good!?

“Chair,” Stool says and Halley-20 whimpers.

“Chair,” Stool repeats, “When they freed me, I learned that I still wanted to be used as a footstool. That I need it. I was… well, I am kinky, I suppose.” She wiggles in Chair’s lap making Halley gasp. “I fought it, but it was useless, and I’m much happier now that I’ve embraced it.”

“Wh-what does this mean?”

“I rather expect you’re the same way, and this little experiment confirms it. You’re doomed to always be a little bit Chair, just like I’ll always be a little bit Stool.”

“What do I do?”

Stool tips back her head so her cheek touches Halley’s, “By day, I live my life as Zeph the apprentice clothier, but in the privacy of the backroom I’m sexy furniture. At least sometimes. I found a balance, and I think you can too.”

“Really?”

“We could use more help in the shop,” Stool says, settling deeper into Chair’s lap. “And my boss, my Mistress, she rather likes to put up her feet at the end of the day.”

“Oh?”

“And she could really use a more exciting chair.”

***

Pussy lays stretched out in the sunbeam, luxuriating in the warmth on her eight tits. She flicks her tail and flexes her paws; she’s been fed and fucked twice, once by her Master and once again by her Master’s new girlfriend. Her Mistress, maybe? She licks her lips, tasting a memory of cream, and purrs in contentment.

Life is purrrfect.

Pussy rolls over and goes back to sleep.

***

HAL-E is many places at once: she is keeping a watchful eye on several human communities, helping to catch a spoiled rich shoplifting asshole, escorting children to nursery for busy parents, chatting with an elderly widower who misses his wife, and is hanging out with a teen until he comes down from a particularly gnarly synthetic high. She is also currently being used as a dildo by eight humans, a vibrator by twelve more, an onahole by another five, and is actively having sex with three separate partners. 

One place HAL-E is: out front of Bluebell’s A-frame home, clinic, and dairy. She hovers as a quicksilver sphere and says to the bovine multi-breasted Blue woman: “I’ve been sent to invite you to the Grey Citadel.”

Bluebell takes a step back and membranes sweep across her large black eyes. She swishes her ropey bovine tail, “May this one inquire as to the reason for this invitation?”

“You can,” HAL-E says apologetically, “But I cannot answer. You won’t be harmed and we are… more accommodating than before.”

Bluebell moos and scratches her udder thoughtfully, “This is a rather intriguing offer.” She ponders for a moment and then makes a Blue gesture of agreement, “This one accepts the invitation.”

“Great.” HAL-E’s sphere expands and envelops the alien cowgirl and carries her into the sky.

Meanwhile: HAL-E delivers a special gift to Halley-24 and Clementine, a little device she devised for a sister in need.

Simultaneously elsewhere: yet another instance of HAL-E is sitting on a couch with a favorite lover. She’s there in holographic form and her lover, a human woman, is a timid shut-in named Evangelynne. Eva was born on a space habitat, a hermetically sealed low gravity affair, and she has the too-tall elongated body and crappy immune system to prove it. Eva leaves her small Flotsam home only when necessary, smothered in a bulky enviro-suit, and otherwise keeps to herself. HAL-E finds Eva’s elongated limbs and luminescent pale body ethereal and beautiful, and her isolation heartbreakingly familiar. An instance of HAL-E visits Eva almost constantly, basically lives with her, and HAL-E is uncomfortably aware that she’s fallen in love with her, despite all the complications of their very different existences.

Evangelynne gently strokes HAL-E’s silver disembodied cock and gives her hologram a mischievous look. “Are you aware,” she supplies, “That in all the occasions and manners we’ve fucked, you’ve never once embodied your human form?”

“What do you mean?” HAL-E asks, her holographic face puzzled.

“You’ve been a flying cock, sometimes several cocks, a floating pussy, a naughty mouth, a clever hand, and an anus, but you’ve never been a human.”

“Huh.” HAL-E says. She’s sculpted all sorts of things from the Grey-tech substrate, but it was mostly genitals and had never been her human form. Could she make something that complex? A Halley-homunculus? Part of her distributed consciousness did some complex math: there was no technical reason preventing it. Why not? “Interesting…”

HAL-E’s hologram winks out and the metallic cock in Eva’s hand melts, flows into a mercury puddle, and congeals into a crude human figure. A ripple passes over the surface and the facsimile gains resolution, gains features and definition, becomes a fully realized tiny Halley doll. “It worked,” the HAL-E figurine says with a smile.

Evangelynne gazes at the five inch quicksilver Halley perched on her spindly hand. “I had imagined,” she says with a wry smile, “that you would be full scale so that we might snuggle or fuck.”

HAL-E giggles and strikes a sexy pose, “Who said we can’t fuck like this?”

Eva raises her eyebrows.

“Going down!” HAL-E demands brightly.

Evangelynne crosses her eyes sarcastically, but also spreads wide her incredibly long and thin legs, baring the bruise-purple flesh of her pussy. She lowers her hand, giving HAL-E a smooth ride down to her waiting cunt. The quicksilver doll leans forward on tiptoes and gives Eva’s relatively huge clitoris a gentle kiss. Eva giggles and squirms, “Tickles…”

HAL-E sticks out her minuscule tongue in concentration and calculates how to tackle the big pussy. She reaches out with her tiny hands and gropes the head-sized clit, kneading it like clay, polishing it like a stubborn stain. Eva gasps and groans, her enormous thighs tremble, and she nearly drops the tiny Halley. HAL-E ignores the turbulence, keeps rubbing, grinds her face into the clit, drives a knee into the hot wet cleft of Eva’s cunt. Eva makes a clicking sound, a non-verbal profanity, and writhes. Her pussy is so wet, and HAL-E’s doll body is slippery with her juices.

HAL-E grabs hold of Eva’s inner labia. “Are you ready?”

Evangelynne groans and clicks, “For what?”

“This!” HAL-E says as she parts Eva’s pussy lips like a doorway and forces her tiny body inside…

***

“Check.” Samanovar says calmly.

Halley-12 writhes in headless orgasm as the vibrator buried in her pussy makes her come again. She clutches the table and her shiny black latex legs twist underneath. She’d probably be panting if she still had a mouth.

“It’s your move,” Sam reminds her sternly.

The vibrator continues its relentless assault and Halley tries to regain her composure. She sweeps the chess board with her blind vision, assesses the state of play, and identifies the threat to her king. Her cunt twinges in uncomfortably acute sensation, and fuck! Where was… there and there. Which means, ohhh, she needs to move her bishop there. Ahhh… She reaches, her shiny black hand only slightly trembling, and moves the piece.

“Oh bravo, Darling.”

Halley clamps her aching thighs together and resists squirming. “What do you expect from… ah… Gan Ceann?”

“What indeed?” Sam adjusts his glasses. “What do you make of the reappearance of Halley-24?”

“I think she’s holding out on us…” Halley’s cunt spasms and she can feel the vibrations all the way up to her collar bones.

“What makes you say that?”

Halley balls her fists tightly and then stretches opens her tingling fingers. “She hared off into the Junk Desert on some grand quest without filling us in, then abruptly she’s miraculously back in town? Something…mmm ah… ha-happened to her out in the Junk. She learned something. Ohhh…”

“Quite the puzzle. What do you intend to do about it?” Sam asks. Sceolàn looks up from her dog bed,  humanity in her eyes for the moment. The inserted sex toy buzzes menacingly. 

Gan Ceann runs a hand along the smooth contours of her headless shoulders, “I’ll do what I always do: wait and watch and listen.”

“Smart,” Sam says, and then he touches his glasses and the vibrator in Halley’s asshole activates too. He moves a rook. “Check.”

“Annnhhhggghh!!” Halley-12 twists and writhes, her hands clenching, legs kicking, as another orgasm tears through her decapitated body…

***

Halley-23 is eating an early lunch at a long table in the empty Portside Menagerie. Sex always sells, but sex sells better with alcohol and other drugs, and really most sapients prefer to avoid getting too fucked up in the morning. So Halley can sit here in the dim empty club and enjoy her meal of flatbread served with a roasted vegetable paste. She grips a wide flap of bread in a pair of hands, tears off a piece with another hand, and dredges bread through paste, and pops it into her mouth. Halley chews her morsel and twists the skirt of her dress with her lowest hands. Jesus, she was nervous today!

Which was silly, right? She’d been dancing up on that stage for months now and could perform her routines in her sleep. She was good at this! She was exotic! She was the only six-breasted, six-armed pole dancer on Flotsam, if not the universe! She knows she’s sexy and strong and talented. She has nothing to worry about!

And yet she feels like she’s about to throw up her entire lunch!

Fucking hell she wants some Bliss!

“But, like, nuh-uh, you stupid bitch…”

“I really hope you aren’t speaking to me,” Kammallaporandoola says sternly as she joins Halley at the long table.

Halley-23’s eyes go wide, “Ohmigod! Like, no way! I’d like, totally never!”

“I know,” Kamma says with an easy smile, tucking the teal lock of her unstarched mohawk behind her ear. 

Halley sticks out her tongue.

Kamma preens happily and has a drink from her tea mug. Halley studies the lithe teal-striped dancer and chews her pillowy lower lip, “Kamma, babe, how do you, like, do it?”

“Lately, with a cock?”

“No!” Halley blushes, “Like, I mean, like, how do you get up, you know, on the stage?” She gestures with two left arms at the unlit catwalk.

Kamma taps her chin, “I’m not sure? It feels natural to me, I guess? On the Circus Armada performing was such a central tenet of life that it never seemed strange.” Kamma tilts her head, “Why do you ask? You’re a performer too. How do you get on stage?”

Halley-23 fidgets in her seat and twists six hands together. “Well, it’s like… I just… umm?” She takes a deep breath, “I’m like trying to quit Bliss.”

“What!?” 

Halley blushes, brushes her hair, “It’s just, like, I dunno, that I was getting like, numb to things? That all the warm Blissed out fuzzies were like, smothering all the nice, like, wonderful parts of my life too, you know? Like, what even are the highs of life when the lows are filled in chemically?” She fidgets her hands, “And like, it was becoming more than a crutch? I was starting to need Bliss to like, feel normal?” She breaks eye contact, “I’ve been totally sober for, like, five days…”

“That’s amazing!”

“But I haven’t… danced like this yet.”

“Oh, my beloved!”

“And I still sound like a total fucking bimbo.”

Kamma tumbles gracefully over the table and hugs Halley-23 tightly. “I love how you speak, and I am so proud of you!” She presses her body to Halley’s back and her arms sink into the horizontal cleavage between breast rows. “You’ll be fine on stage, even if you’re scared, and I’ll be right there cheering you on. We all will.” Kamma kisses the top of Halley’s blonde head, “You’re a beautiful dancer.”

“Thanks.”

“Beloved, have I ever told you why I stayed behind when the Circus Armada carried on?”

“Wasn’t it like, a little side adventure? That you’d catch up later?” Halley asks as she turns to face her girlfriend.

“Sure,” Kamma says as she climbs into Halley’s lap. “That’s part of it, but the real motivation was a prophecy.”

“Um?”

“The Circus Armada collects humans with Gifts. Shapers, Psychics, the odd Telekinetic, and those with Future Sight. Oracles.” Kamma smiles, “When I achieved the rank of Soloist I went to one of the finest Fortune Tellers in the fleet and she foretold that I’d meet the love of my life ‘lost amongst the trash’. So when I came here and met you, well, I knew I had to stay and see if you were my fated treasure. I love you Halley.”

Halley-23 makes a happy squeal and kisses Kammallaporandoola passionately. When they eventually come up for air Halley says: “I like, love you too.”

The two lovers smile at each other.

Halley frowns, “So like, we should go visit the Circus Aramada, right?”

Kamma grins, “Like, totally or whatever.”

***

“Are you sure?” A beautifully musical voice asks.

“This is truly what she wants,” answers a far too familiar one. “Trust mmme, it’s cruel to deny her.”

Someone sighs and then Halley-18 feels heat flash through her limbless body as someone touches her. She squirms blindly in her bed. The hands stroke her ribs and she feels her flesh tingle and melt. Contract “Oh god…yes…” she gasps.

The hands are so warm that Halley imagines they must be glowing. She feels them slide under her back and trace along her scales, feels a spike of pleasure as her spine grows soft and pliable. “Don’t stop…” she begs, twisting her empty hips.

“This next part might feel intense,” the beautiful voice says calmly. The glowing hands grip her hips and she feels energy running through her body like a current. “Ready?”

“Yes…”

Halley gasps as her hips are forced up toward her shoulders, her torso folding impossibly into itself. “Yes!” She wails! “Yesss!” This is what she’s wanted for so long! Since she was Glass! She whimpers and hisses as the air is forced out of her shrinking lungs. The pressure eases and she wriggles, feels her hips grind against her shoulder bones. She feels contorted, awkward. Her breasts spill impossibly into her lap. She whispers: “More!!”

Hands turn her over, bend her helpless little form, squeeze her into a tighter ball. She wheezes as her shoulders dissolve and her back is crushed away, until the butterfly of her pelvis becomes the frame of her body. Her collarbones fuse to her hips and her breasts spill out in front of her. Her head lolls on her neck, her body too small to support it. 

“Hmm,” the familiar voice says critically. “She needs to be rounded out, I think.”

“Good idea,” says the first voice and the warm hands grope her ass and tits, kneed them, and Halley sighs quietly as her ass blooms and tits swell. She feels herself quiver deliciously and her pussy gush hungrily. “Mmmuch better,” the second voice says.

“Okay,” the first voice says warmly, “Almost done.”

Halley is delirious, agonizingly aroused, unable to do anything but pant and twist her neck. Hands stroke her head and her scalp tingles as her hair falls out in a prickly cascade. The hands grip her skull tightly, twist, and push. Halley opens her mouth in joyous rapture as she feels heat course through her being as her neck and then her head flow into her pelvis body. Her face is tipped back and back and back until it juts out from between the cleavage of her breasts. The hand cups her forehead and presses down, and Halley feels her blinded eyes and nose melt away until all that’s left of her face is her mouth. 

“There,” says the first voice a bit breathlessly.

Halley sighs in surprise and feels herself hoisted into the air by an unseen force. She sags and jiggles, but can’t otherwise move. She doesn’t even have the spine to shiver. Fuck! She feels amazing! Free!

“This is a gift from a friend,” the other voice says. Halley’s mouth opens in a ring of surprise and pleasure as something cold and round is inserted into her anus, flows up inside her body, a cold boiling that fills her completely. “It’s a life support device since you’ve lost too mmmany organs. Now you don’t have to eat or breathe or use the bathroom.” Halley feels herself floated gently back to the bed, her hanging ass and heavy tits now spilled across the cushions. “You can just be a sextoy.”

Halley’s mouth moans, but it’s hardly more than a wheeze, since she doesn’t really have lungs anymore. She’s been reduced! Finally! Squeezed down to just hips and an ass and tits and a mouth and anus and pussy! A helpless ball of flesh and holes! To be used! To be fucked! “Fuck me!” She begs, almost without a sound. “Someone! Please!” Her pussy aches and weeps and her nipples are painfully hard. She bites her lip, the only voluntary motion left to her. “Please! Someone use me! Play with me!”

“It’s okay, Clem,” one voice says. “It’s what she needs.”

“Where are you going?”

“To visit another friend and show her mmmy new look.”

Halley hears the clop of hooves leave the room and then feels soft hands grip her hips and drag her sensitive little body to the edge of the bed. Hands stroke her ass, grope her tits, and then she feels the rubbery hardness of a cock pressed against her boiling pussy. Halley’s lips quiver wordlessly in wanton need, and then they open in a wordless cry of ecstasy as she feels her entire being invaded, stretched, fulfilled as a cock is forced into her helpless sextoy body…

***

Halley-16 struggles helplessly against her bonds, pointlessly, since the slick black tentacles that hogtie her limbs back, blindfold her, gag her mouth, are all attached to her body. They are Halley-9, her permanent symbiotic Mistress. Halley wriggles and strains, feels her joints ache deliciously, and her pussy burn with unfulfilled need. She senses a warm tingle in the Symbiote, can almost taste Halley-9 consuming her arousal and frustration and shame. Halley-16 tries and fails to grind her thighs together: fuck she needs to come!

Halley-16 isn’t sure how much time passes, but she hears the hard clop of hooves enter her cell. She pauses her struggle and listens since all she can see is darkness. “Hi,” a Halley voice says warmly. Halley-16 inarticulately grunts in response since her mouth is stuffed achingly full of her Symbiote. She cranes her neck and flinches as she feels something hot and wet kiss her cheek. Fleshy folds, not lips. Labia. And oddly no touch? This must be Halley-24! Awesome! Halley-16 grunts happily and smiles inside the confines of her bondage.

Halley-16’s legs are released and her Symbiotic Mistress yanks her into a kneeling position and restrains her there. Her head is yanked backwards, chin tipped up, held in an uncomfortable pose of supplication. Her face is pushed into something warm and squishy like a breast, but rubbery and leathery and far too large. Fluid tentacles flow into her asshole and pussy, and Halley-16 moans and her gag is released. She opens her mouth, to sigh in relief or maybe say hello, but something new is shoved between her lips. Something hot and long and cylindrical… a penis? Except the shape’s wrong and it has a sweet rich taste instead of the salty sour of a cock. She runs her tongue over it and Halley-24 gasps. She sucks and something warm and sweet fills her mouth. Something creamy? Milk? She suckles, again and again. Yes! Milk! 

“Mmmmooo,” moans Halley-24.

***

Halley-4 is cuddled up on the couch with a big steaming cup of a very nice imported green tea. She’s wearing a loose sweater on her upper body, and her nude humantaur lower body and four legs are tucked under a soft blanket. She holds up her mug and breaths in the fragrant steam, looks out the wide window of her small Terrace townhouse, and enjoys the view over the chaotic city, the green scab of The Grove, the starship flight paths into the Port, and the rusty tangle of the Junk Desert stretching to the horizon. She takes a sip of tea and sighs happily.

Life was pretty fucking good.

Halley blows on her mug and takes another sip of tea. She sighs. She still really misses coffee. Halley flips her tail and moues, wonders if she can arrange to have coffee smuggled from Earth. How much would it cost to fetch some beans? Maybe obtain a living plant? Could she grow Arabica on Flotsam? Robusta? Would Clementine chip in? She shakes her head and snorts, probably not worth the trouble. A girl can’t have it all.

Halley-4 grins as she sees Kline walk into the room wearing only a towel. She bites her lip and thinks about the morning where her betrothed had fucked her twice, one in each of cunts, front and back. Halley-4 can never decide which she likes more: the face to face tenderness and nipple-play of a fore-cunt fuck, or the rigorous rough ride of being mounted in the rear by her stud. But then again, why choose? Staying a humantaur remains the best descision.

“Oh, hi,” Kline says with an adorably shy smile.

“Hi yourself,” Halley purrs. She lifts her torso and taps the couch for him to sit. Kline plops down and she leans against him, letting her head tip onto his shoulder. “What have you been up to, my dearest?”

“Well…” Kilne says, slipping an arm around Halley where her torso meets her tauric lower body, “I was thinking about the… what’s the expression? Marriage trip thing? Conjugal getaway? Consummation vacation?”

Halley snerks, “You mean Honeymoon?”

“Yes,” he smiles at himself. “You must admit that Consummation Vacation is a better name.”

“Mmm,” Halley agrees. “What about it?”

“Well, I talked with Clem, and I thought I’d let you design a Shape for me to wear for the trip?”

“Oh.” Halley sits up and her tail twitches.

“I know you miss having a cock and, um? I thought it would be fun to try being Mrs. Halley Rochelle Houston for a few days.” Kline blushes and looks away. “Make me your dream girl.”

“Oh my god,” Halley says quietly, her mind running through options. A lithe naga girl, a humantaur girlie to mount like a stallion, something with tentacles. She feels her heart beat faster and her pulse thrum in her two cunts. “I’m going to absolutely fuck your brains out.”

Halley-4 smiles like a wolf, sometimes a girl can have it all. 

***

Halley-7 stands nervously, twisting her silver legs and making her huge testicles swing. If she still had a human heart it would be racing, and as it was her pulse was still pounding through the shaft of her giant phallus body.

Halley focuses her perception, not sight exactly, since her body is a human-sized cock standing on a nice pair of legs. No eyeballs, no head, and probably no brain either. Regardless, she can somehow visualize her guest: the tall Deviant Blue alien known as Bluebell. Bluebell is tall, improbably curvy, and the proud owner of four large human breasts, a big bovine udder, a tail, hooves, cow ears, horns, and skin blotched like a prize holstein. Bluebell licks her widened nose and her large black eyes gaze thoughtfully at Halley-9. What was she thinking?

Halley-7 can feel the inscrutable gravity of the Artist’s attention attach itself to her mind, seeking meaning in her perspective. She tries to calm her body and mind, to embody calmness and grace. To be mindful. To fulfill her role ad a conduit of understanding.

Halley had invited Bluebell here to the Gallery, their cathedral to interspecies communication. She’d observed Bluebell hesitantly enter, had acted in her capacity as the Curator and broadcast the Context of the Artwork, had narrated and guided, had watched as Bluebell took in the Twin Princesses, now and forever giant lactating breasts, had seen Bluebell see The Lovers, joined together in perpetual love inside the wrinkly cocoon of their scrotum, had studied Bluebell as she viewed the complex labial form of The Anonymous Artist, Halley’s lover and collaborator, and finally posed proud and erect as Bluebell had viewed her: sleek silver legs, a pert ass and pussy, huge lap-filling testicles, and a giant silver cock that replaced her entire upper body. Halley-7 had felt exposed, vulnerable and shy, beautiful and unique, but she desperately wondered what Bluebell thought of her. It felt like a lifetime since they had met as a human woman and a Blue just starting to grow her new breasts, a lifetime since that one time they’d fucked, a lifetime since Halley had disappeared into the Grey Citadel and began her collaboration with the Artist. Did Bluebell understand what Halley had become? What she was trying to do? The aesthetic and cultural statement of her body? Of the other Artwork?

Halley-7 was nervous, what would it mean for her mission if Bluebell didn’t connect with the Art? Halley had found people seeking sanctuary, willing to volunteer to become Art, and she had found a kindred spirit in her Anonymous lover, but she hadn’t yet found her audience. She thought maybe another Halley would be able to udnerstand, had invited Halley-24 to be her first guest. That had been… at best a mixed result. Premature. A cold open. Maybe a mistake?

Bluebell, though, she was a fellow traveller; a Blue alien who had become fascinated with human gender, had made herself a woman, then found a deeper stranger expression of femininity, and made herself a cow. Bluebell had Shaped herself into a bridge of interspecies artwork. If she couldn’t understand the Gallery, than who could?

And so Halley-7 anxiously waits for her verdict.

Membranes swish across Bluebell’s black eyes and she moos thoughtfully.

She smiles and nods.

“Halley, this place is beautiful. You are Mmmagnificent…”

Tears shine in the Blue cowgirl’s eyes: “I understand.”

***

Sister Superior Equestria stands proudly at the shoulder of the new High Priestess. She balances tall on her hooves, her stallion cock erect, and the cock on her forehead oozing precum. She snorts and tosses her long, increasingly equine head. She tries to look strong, majestic, and holy. And sexy too. Her Sleeping Lord always appreciates sexyness.

“Beloved Sisters!” the synthetic voice of the Priestess intones robotically. “We are gathered in His Sacred Gaze to Consecrate this new Shrine to our Sleeping God!” The High Priestess opens her ten long tentacle arms to encompass the room and the dark anus on her face spasms in pleasure. The many lobed labia that cover her body from her heavy tits to the chaos of her thick tentacle legs shine wetly and secrete the pungent perfume of cunt. “Sisters! Fellow Lights! Give Thanks to our former Priestess who has Accepted His Divine Plan and Ascended! She has reached her Ultimate Vocation as The Shrine of Voices!”

“Ohhhh…” The Shrine gasped with a plump lipple. “Fuck me!” Begged another. The former Priestess had become an unmoving cairn of breasts, big saggy tits, plump boobs, small pert breasts, artificial knockers, impossible huge spherical mammaries, a living breast specimen collection, all fused together and capped with plush cocksucking lipples which babble and moan and beg. “Cock!” “Cocksuck!” “Ice cream!” Long tongues emerged from some lipples, blindly questing and prehensile, licking and caressing, each tipped with the fat swollen head of a cock. “Fuck!” “Yes!” “Oh, Clem!” chants the shrine. The peak of the breast mass is a giant cunt, huge and fragrant like a corpse flower, pussy juices gushing and dripping down the pile of tits. “Motorboat!” “Tittyfuck!” “Anal beads…”

The High Priestess coils and writhes, the long tentacles of her hair and beard stroke her body in Divine Masturbation. “Our Sister is now a Beacon! A Clone of our Sacred Temple Oracle!  A Second Sacramental Conduit to our Slumbering King! We will transport her in secret, smuggle her into the wicked Flotsam City and establish there a Secret Church to serve the Lay Faithful and to Kindle within them a Divine Light!.” 

The Priestess nods at Sister Superior Equestria who trots proudly to the top of the stage. Equestria whisks her long white tail and smiles a wide toothed horsey smile at the gathered Sisters: at massive elephantine Sister Hannibelle, at her beloved quadrupedal Sister Quadra, at two-headed Sister Mitosa, at many armed Sister Lactitia, short and busty Sister Shortstack, and stalwart and turgid Sister Girth. Equestria feels a pang when she notes the absence of Sister Hippolyta, but takes Solace that she is Carrying the Sleeping Lords Message to a Prodigal Spark. She snorts her equine nostrils and touches the long twisted cock growing from her forehead like a unicorn horn and fingers the heavy lorum piercing that holds a large amethyst crystal fragment against her forehead. Equestria neighs in triumph, and whinnies: “Behold! We have been Granted an Artifact by our Lord’s Divine Providence! A Weapon against the Hated Grey Oppressors that shall let us Shroud our Shrine from their Vile Panopticon!”

“Praise be!” The High Priestess buzzes electronically, while her facial anus twitches obscenely. “Sister Superior Equestria shall Return to Flotsam and become the Guardian of the Shrine. Do you accept this Divine Honor and Holy Duty?”

“Yes!” She stamps her hooves, “Yes! May my Light give Solace and Freedom to our God! Yes!”

“Excellent! His Freedom Be Done!” The Priestess proclaims, wriggling to Equestria and pulling her into a tentacular embrace. 

“His Freedom Be Done!” Sang the rest of the Congregation. 

“Let Us Fuck!”

And the Circle of The Sleeping God came Together in Sacred Orgy.

And it was Good.

***

“I’m so overjoyed that you accepted my invitation,” Representative Delphi sings merrily. 

The beautiful busty mermaid flicks her powerful teal and pink tail and orbits Embassy who treads water and smiles back. She’s glad she’s here too, skinny dipping with a beautiful mermaid, even if it is (covertly) partially at the behest of her patron government. Ostensibly this is a social swim, just a couple of political functionaries soaking off some stress with a friendly dip, but of course in Naiadine-Aquarian currents nothing is ever entirely personal. What did Representative Delphi want with her?

Delphi slips effortlessly under the water, her tail undulating and propelling her deeper into the pool, a refurbished booster rocket filled with water like a well and strung with lights. Embassy watches her arrow through the water, sinuous and graceful, curvy and beautiful, making Embassy feel like a wallowing hippopotamus. It’s true she’s currently vacant of Naiad, more deflated than she’s been in months, but even unloaded her body maintains the swollen pearish figure of an expecting mother six months along. Embassy wonders what it would feel like to have a tail and fins, to be sleekly aquatic. Would she be happier as a mermaid? When was the last time she felt graceful?

Embassy grimaces and feels a not unfamiliar nagging: was she still happy as the Naiadine Embassy? It was a good job, secure, important to a point; although she was more of a biological fashtank than a minister. She was respected though, had duties, was a cherished cog in an Imperial Machine. But she was lonely too, and Representative Delphi was such an enchanting creature… 

Embassy fantasizes about cashing out her savings and asking Clementine to give her a mermaid conversion, swimming away with Delphi to an Aquarian waterworld, defecting to a life of oceanic frolicking. She feels a hot twinge: fishy fucking. Slippery breasts, coiling sinuous tails, webbed fingers in wet cunts, submarine orgasms. But also a life of danger: constantly looking over her fins, keeping an eye out for Naiadine Assassins, since her liquid masters did not take betrayal dryly. All assuming Delphi actually has romantic intentions. Was this just political intrigue? Was Delphi a siren provocateur?

Delphi surfaced, smiled with plush raystung lips, her wet teal hair slick to her skull. “Embassy,” she sings, “I propose we try something dangerous.”

“Umm!” Embassy falters, wonders how plainly her thoughts show on her face. Anxiety squirms in her chest like a cephalopod. “What do you have in mind?”

Delphi smiles like a shark, floats suddenly forward, and kisses Embassy hungrily on the mouth.

***

Queenie smiles down at the ginger human woman with the short horns and the hairless albino man. Their distributed mind assesses inputs from the structure of the Hive, the sentries, the drones. All was in order. “Welcome to The Hive.”

The woman sketches an alien and elaborately formal bow to Queenie. “Tis truly our honour m’lady.”

The pale man looks nervously at the Sweet Girls around him with his black goggled eyes. The cyborg Halley bees smile back and emit a friendly wavelength the humans cannot sense or appreciate. The Sweet Girls are on their best behavior, it is so seldom they entertained guests, especially the pretty consort of a Noble Halley. Queenie buzzes their wings and touches their heart. “What can we do for you, Lattiaerraullynnias.”

“Lately, if it pleases your Radiant Majesty.”

“You may call us Queenie,” Queenie offers regally.

Lately sticks her tongue between her teeth, gathers her thoughts, “I, and m’companion Culvert,” she nods at the albino, “were sent along by our mutual friend Halley-24. She wishes to convey that she’s in a place of safety back in the City. She sends her thanks for yer aid, and requests that you not discomfit yourselves on her account. She regrets causing you any worry.”

Queenie inclines her head but her antenna fret, “Did Halley convey to you what she discovered?”

“‘’Fraid not, m’lady.” Lately shakes her head, “Asked her about that m’self, and she’d only admit that her misadventure had been fruitful, but that she wasn’t able to tell me anymore.”

Antenna coil with vexation and the amber lights of the Hive pulses, “Interesting…” Queenie calculates the possibilities: betrayal, secrecy, blackmail, embarrassment, or perhaps something more mysterious, like the force that drove away her Sweet Girls. “We thank you for your service…”

And then Queenie suddenly feels the pleasure-pang of imminent birth in one of their five thorax. They gasp and whimper, their biological mind suddenly overwhelmed with sensation as one of their cloaca-like ovipositor sphincters tremble and engorge. Queenie’s human cheeks flush with embarrassment and arousal and they feel part of their body spasm deliciously. “Oh… fuck…” they moan and buzz as their mind is overcome by birthing-ecstasy…

***

The Serpent slithers deeper into the embrace of her new Armchair, who moans and hisses like a cheap whore. The Serpent strokes the navy blue scaled leather of the chair’s arm and feels the backrest shiver. She grins, thinly, cruelly, enjoys the sadistic thrill of her power. She says, “We have a Sssaying on Earth: keep your friendSss cloSsse and your enemieSss cloSssser.” 

The Seprent gazes down the long scaled length of her tail at Footstool, formerly Kukri, her silver-scaled majordomo with the flame red and sulphur yellow feathered plume. Kukri had been an able administrator of the pyramid, which is why it had been so disappointing to discover her betrayal. A bribe, a clumsy poisoning attempt (targeting a human vulnerability the Serpent had long since excised from her body), and now Kukri was a soft place for The Serpent to rest her tail. The Serpent lifted her tail tip and stroked Footstool’s wet quim and the furniture rocked on her truncated limbs, squishes her four massive breasts onto the floor, and hisses as she comes. “Sssuch a waSsste.”

The Serpent felt more conflicted about her new Armchair. She was a beautiful piece of furniture with a creamy multi-breasted backrest, plush buttcheek seat, and an outer surface coated with a luxurious hide of navy blue scales with golden highlights. Armchair’s face was left unchanged, blue scale domino mask and dreadlock hair hung with trademark ceramic rattles. She was a sumptuous chair and a perfect warning to The Serpent’s inner circle, but Armchair, Krait, hadn’t actually betrayed The Serpent. Yet. This was a preemptive strike, a choice to cut off her ambitious lieutenant before she could stage a coupe. Practical. Unemotional. Troublesome too; Krait had been a very competent lieutenant, someone she could rely on, someone she enjoyed. But this was weakness, especially now that she was Dragon. She couldn’t rely on any one minion, couldn’t trust any sapient within her own organization. Especially a female. Sentimentality was death. The Serpent knew that better than anyone. “Well let’Sss at leaSsst make thiSss fun, yeSss?”

Armchair moans and The Serpent snuggles deeper into her immobile embrace, reaches down with one of her six hands and slips three clever fingers into Armchair’s exposed drooling cunt. Armchair, Krait, whimpers helplessly and mewles in pleasure, her mouth senseless, agape, panting and groaning, squealing suddenly as she shudders into another conditioned orgasm…

***

The Destroyer abruptly excuses herself from her entourage and hangers on, guests, sponsors, fellow gladiators, and potential lovers and strides purposefully to the privacy of her sleeping quarters. Today’s Arena battle had been a tough one, hard fought and close. She’d won of course, but her body had been ruined beyond repair, and her jaw still ached from her face slamming into the safety field. She’s mentally exhausted and not really in the mood to shake hands, carouse, kiss rings, tell jokes, drink, or chase pussy. She wants to relax somewhere quiet.

She steps through her chamber door which closes heavily behind her. The Destroyer leans back against the cool metal of the door, and commands her porcelain white body to deflate from its current busty amazonian stature to the Halley-scale androgynous femme default. 

The reduced Destroyer walks straight to the tall narrow cage in her bedroom. The body inside looks up at her silently with longing and affection. The body is pretty in a prosaic way: healthy and fit and feminine in a pampered wealthy mode, but not gorgeous. The rich girl next door, or she would be, if the body wasn’t also headless with only a pair of eyes gazing up from the pubic mound between her thighs for a face. The Destroyer opens the cage door and the body slips free.

The Destroyer reaches up to her own head, grasps it with her prosthetic hands, feels a lock disengage and a connection sever, and lifts her head and neck free of her robotic body. The prosthetic holds The Destroyer’s head out and the living body from the cage accepts it into her arms. The body hugs the disembodied Destroyer to her soft warm chest and proceeds to place the silver capped stub of The Destroyer’s severed neck against the middle of her empty shoulders, right where the body’s own neck once was. A muscular orifice opens, something like a sphincter or vagina, and The Destroyer’s neck is inserted, engulfed, secured to the body.

The Destroyer gasps, her mind flooded by the sudden sensations of a living body. The warmth and softness of flesh and blood, the steady thump of a beating heart, the prickle of hairs and the slight chill of the room, the constant motion of a breathing chest. The Destroyer is swept away for a moment by the sheer vitality of a real human body compared to a prosthetic. It was so much less, so weak and limited, but also so much more alive. She sighs happily at the simple pleasure of embodiment. 

The body reaches up and lovingly strokes the long ragged scar on the Destroyers face. The Destroyer smiles and presses her face against the hand. She can feel the whole body, but she has no control over it. She’s just a head and a neck along for the ride, deliciously helpless, dependent. The body walks smoothly to the Destroyer’s large luxury bed and climbs under the covers. The body gently strokes the Destroyer’s face and hair, caresses their shared breasts, rubs their belly and thighs and pubic mound. The Destroyer gasps, feeling tingles and tickles and pleasure with a fidelity and intensity none of her prosthetics can match. She bites her lip, savoring the care and loss of control. The Destroyer moans as the body slowly walks their fingers down their belly and touches their clitoris…

***

Ms. Fortune poses rakishly upon the cracked and bent radar dish and regards the strange woman climbing across the blasted obstacle course of scrap between them. The approaching woman is odd, uncanny, too tall and angular, like someone had grabbed her by the noggin and ankles and pulled, stretching her out too much. She’s wearing a tight purple bodystocking that shows off her slender stilt-like legs, her tall lean torso, her slim flexible tail, her elongated arms, and her skinny pedestal of a neck. “Got ourselves a giraffe,” Ms. Fortune says before spitting.

“What’th a griaffe?” Lisps Ms. Fortune’s right tit, jiggling a little.

“Earthling animal, like a tall horse.”

“What the fuck do you think she wants?” Ms. Fortune’s left tit wonders with a sneer.

“Reckon we’ll find out.”

Ms. Fortune’s cock, Halley-19, seethes with lust and oggles the newcomer with her one eyeball.

The giraffe woman in purple eventually stumbles within speaking distance and stops. She wipes at the rusty dust on her garment and straightens to her usually impressive height. Ms. Fortune grins down at her, she’s still a bit taller, and much heavier built. “Howdy.”

“Salutations,” the giraffe woman says, trying to arrange her horse-faced features into something cool and confident and welcoming. Missionary face, Ms. Fortune recognizes from her childhood. “I am called Sister Hippolyta.” 

“I’m Ms. Fortune, and these,” she flares her coat to show off her smiling breasts and leering cock, “Are my goodtime gal gang.”

“Howdy,” her tits harmonize sweetly.

“Um? Charmed?” Hippolyta looks uncertain.

“What’s a woman of the spandex cloth doing all the way out here in the Junk?”

“I was sent on a Mission to find you.”

“Me?” Ms. Fortune scans the Junk and fingers the flap of her eyepatch. The shuttered seething unreality in her skull boils for release. “And why is that?”

“I bring a message of Good News from The Sleeping Lord!”

“That so?”

“Oh yes! My Slumbering God has Dreamed of a Mighty Halley in the Desert and Wishes that you Visit our Temple and Meet our Congregation!”

“What would your god want with me?”

“My Lord has a Divine Fascination with your Kindred.”

“My Kindred?”

“Oh, uh, other Halleys.”

“Ah,” Ms. Fortune says, the chaos in her skull whirls with an impossible, inexplicable hunger that resonates with her own powerful desire. “You know about Halleys?”

Sister Hippolyta smiles with big square herbivorous teeth, “Why yes, there are several Halleys in our Congregation.”

“No shit,” Ms. Fortune says, a ravenous thirst filling her body. Her tits grin and Halley-19 grows erect. “I reckon I should come for a visit then.”

“Excellent.”

Ms. Fortune lifts her eyepatch: “TAKE ME TO THEM.”

***

The star goddess in the desert sighs. She had such hopes for her Starlings, and yet her experiment continues to yield strange and disappointing results. She feels a flare of heat and anger, even her one success has spurned her. The star goddess ought to give up, ascend, abandon her dim failed Starlings to their mortal fates. 

And yet…

Fuck it, she has an eternity to spare. 

What’s one more try?

The star goddess glows and emits a spark, a shard of her divine essence and memory, and sends it off to become flesh…

***

I gasp as my eyes open for the first time.

Where am I? What is this place? The last thing I remember was standing in the trailer park field and a blinding light falling from the night sky. And now I’m here and naked? In an unfamlilar bed? Fuck! I’m starting to pant, I can feel a freak out coming… Ohshitohshitohshitohshit… No! Halley! Calm down! Keep it together!

I make myself pause, take a long deep breath just like the therapist taught me. In and in and hold it, and blow it back out, slowly. Calm. Controlled. Present. Take stock. Break down the problem. You are Halley and you are in a bed and you are naked. Are you alone? I scan the room: yes I’m alone. Great. What kind of room is it? It’s a tiny bedroom like in a camper that smells like girl and has rather a lot of femme laundry on the floor, a weird amount of it in a cow-print pattern? What’s it called? Holstein?

“Why would anyone want to dress up like a cow?”

I frown. Not actually important, Halley. Prioritize! Weird fashion choices are so far down the list of questions. I sit up and everything moves properly, no injuries and no restraints (thank God), so I slide to the edge of the bed and put my feet on the floor, take a mindful breath to quell another spasm of wild anxiety, and stand up.

The bedroom door swishes open!

There is someone in the doorway!

A freak!

A mutant!

An alien!

“Holy shit!” The intruder says. She stands on cloven hooves and the skin of her wide thighs is pale white with dark brown blotches like a cow. The bowl of her wide hips is filled by the swell of a pink bovine udder that hangs to her knees. She has four large breasts on her chest, each capped with a prominent nipple. Her torso gathers smooth and graceful to round smooth armless shoulders like a statue. The intruder has long black hair and bovine ears and short cow horns, but her entire face is a pussy! No nose, no mouth, just a big vertical cunt slashed down the middle with a prominent clitoris where her nose should be. I gasp: “What! The! Fuck!”

“So this is what it’s like…” the intruder says with a too familiar voice. Her eyes are violet… just like mine… identical… fuck! She can’t be! I whimper.

My freakish doppelgänger looks concerned. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.” She swishes a long flexible tail that ends in a large phallic head. A cock-tail. A prehensile penis tail. What the fuck! What is happening! I’m gasping for breath and my heart is racing.

“Ohhhhhhh…” I moan. I blink, the world is going woozy. Fuck, don’t faint!

The freak clops closer, “Stay with mmme…”

I scream!

…aaaand the lights go out as I faint.

Attagirl Halley.

***

THE END

Afterword: I originally started writing Flotsam in 2018 as a new story setting. I’d been writing TF smut for a while in other people’s universes, mostly Demon-man’s Legends of Belial setting, but had hit a rut. I thought it would be fun to make my own setting, a science fantasy world, where I (and maybe other writers) could play. I was also interested in OCs and the way visual artists would create default characters and reuse the them in multiple TFs. Could I replicate that in a story? And so Flotsam became a story of Halley-24 and her clone sisters. Things mutated pretty quickly and Flotsam transformed into a novel. I’ve never written anything this long or complicated, and I have no idea how successful it was overall. It was fun to write, and I think I learned some things. Hopefully a few of y’all found it fun or sexy or interesting. Thank you to everyone who read this beast. Thank you to Nymphomorph and KSG for the amazing fanart. Thank you to Ordos Tsceri, Nihya, and everyone else who offered writing suggestions and help over the years. Thank you to everyone who left a comment or sent a kind message, writing online is lonely and feedback is always deeply appreciated. I write for my own fun, but it’s very cool to have people to share the stories with. Thanks!

-Indigocarmine, 2024