13 comments/ 10959 views/ 5 favorites Soul Service, Inc. By: CQtRose "Inertial compensators to full, bring up..." "Backup dampeners are already on-line and functioning at one hundred percent capacity, mains shut down sixteen seconds ago." Aimed at a tertiary planet around a crappy little yellow star. Of all the shitty luck. So much for my shortcut. "Prepare for retrograde entry, we'll attempt a nose-over skip before capture. Initiate, Sweetie." "This better work, I don't want to clean any of your squishy bits out of my control panels. And Rose? Don't call me 'Sweetie.'" We hit the initial vestige of atmosphere in a cacophony of expensive ablative exterior coating doing its job - to the tune of another three contracts to replace it. Good thing transporting souls is a high-paying proposition. A gut wrenching jerk spits me into my crash webbing before SWETI and I have the ship aimed butt first and I can more comfortably die facing backward, pressed hard into the pilot's couch. My tits smash down so hard on my chest, I feel my nipples tickling my armpits. Thankfully I don't have annoying boy danglies and weenie to worry about. Hell, I don't have anything to worry about as I black out or die. ... Fucking short story if it ends there, huh? Unfortunately my fragmented consciousness put pieces together to the wonderful sounds of interstellar craft contracting and cooling. There's enough flashing red off the control console to prove it might be four jobs before I break even again. Speaking of which, I hurriedly check the CryoGen monitor to ensure my almost dead passenger is still just almost dead, not another 'lost soul.' Green and clean, the best indication my day just got a little better. "Are you done taking a break?" "Yes, thank you, Sweetie, I'm fine." "Glad you are, because I'm not. I have your shopping list ready to get us on the move again. And Rose? Don't call me 'Sweetie.'" I start the arduous task of manually unlocking my webbing, thankful to be alive to do it, yet perturbed at having to do this by hand. Supposedly a safety measure in the event of catastrophic AI malfunction. Spacer legend holds an occasional SWETI used to pop the latches at the wrong time during moments of stress. We got what we deserved - advanced intelligence through neural nets - along with every last possible neurosis and quirk anyone has ever diagnosed in a living, wet-brain. Speaking of which, my brain was demonstrating a splitting headache quite nicely, thank you. "What's the Sit-Rep and where's my shoes?" "In your personal effects locker where you left them. And when your royal rudeness is available, Commander Ranson is on the com waiting for you." So much for my better day. ... Our 'conversation' is predominantly one-sided - what a shock. "The family of the nearly deceased..." he's droning on. "Lost soul," I helpfully correct to the common term. "They prefer, 'nearly deceased,' and they are friends of the High Consulate..." "And because their shit doesn't stink..." "It's less ghoulish. They wanted the unit there..." "Yesterday..." I punch in, yet again. "Tomorrow. So getting you back underway has just become my top priority." He's finally able to finish a sentence. "Oh, I didn't know you cared," I demurely say, happy to have actually let him talk for once. "Can it, Rose." His stern voice erases my happiness. "He's so handsome," Sweetie softly coos in a warm, breathy tone. "He's got a board up his ass," I correct her. AI's have some twisted aesthetics. "I'd put anything, anywhere for him - twice." She's sounding pretty hot-n-bothered. "Ladies, I can hear you," Ranson breaks in. Oops. "Sorry, Sir." I snap reflexively. "I knew that," Sweetie has an almost childish tone now. "That's worse, SWETI," Commander Stick-Up-His-Ass kindly corrects her. "Nyah!" I put the finishing adult comment on the conversation with my partner, accompanied by extended tongue. "Returning to our situation. We've got most of your laundry list on the way or being synthesized now for decollating, but if you could procure several base materials, site re-synthesis will be expedited." As he drones on yet again, I can take a break. Time out to catch up to my world. See, we have technology to transport almost anything through sub-particle carrier using entanglement - except self-consciousness. That has to be hand delivered between point of near death to the awaiting biomimetic vessel - all before significant degradation of axonal link integrity. That's my job. Get the soul, so to speak, from point A to point B, before there is no point. We return to our regularly scheduled dressing-down program already in progress... "Understood?" He finally finishes. "Sir, yes, Sir!" I bark. Old habits die hard. "Now, unofficially. Are you doing okay, Rose? It's been a while." "I still miss the old unit, Sir." I quietly say. "You're non-com, now, you don't have to call me 'sir.'" "I'm doing fine. Thank you for asking, though - but I miss you all." "We miss you too, Rose. Could you do me a favor? That 'other' agency already has units on the ground there as recovery group for unauthorized incursions. They've been tasked with finding you and getting you out of there one way or another. We need to get you gone before they show up. Your SWETI isn't exactly regulation, along with a significant amount of your kit. If you need anything, let me know." He dissolves into random background radiation patterns on the receiver grid. I'm lucky the array is still functioning. "What the hell was all that kissy-kissy stuff there at the end?" Sweetie sounds genuinely hurt. "You know my background." "I know you're ex-military, but even I have limits in what I can know. And someone's gone to a lot of trouble to ensure I can't dig up any real dirt on you." "I didn't know you cared either," I quip. "Oh, I don't care about the official crap. I want the scuttlebutt - like you doing an entire platoon over a weekend of R&R." She's got her flippant little sister tone now, just trying to piss me off. Unfortunately she's learned my hot buttons quickly. "No, of course not the whole platoon. Maybe our unit, though." I mumble the last part. "What?!" Huh, she is listening. "Got me out of running the gauntlet for a week. Felt sorry for me because I was walking a little funny afterward." I'm grinning at the memory of the good-old days. "Get out! You shameless hussy!" "Can it. I did it for troop moral. Three whole days of liberty, but we're confined to camp - practically our quarter deck and the mess hall. Hitting the head was a mini-vacation." "Play checkers, hussy!" "Everyone was stressed. We'd just hit home dirt from active duty - and they canned us in. The stress was high. Someone was going to kill someone else or do something even more dangerous before 72 hours were up. Unless a bold individual took the initiative to relieve some of that stress. My idea was not only practical, but readily available." "So you took one for the team?" She asks in an incredulous tone. "Oh, I took more than one. Sometimes two or more at a time." "You didn't! What was it like?" She's starting to get breathy on me. I don't fall for her baiting, "Look it up on PorNet, you over-sexed..." "Oh, do me!" she snaps. "I have!" "And you enjoyed it," her haute little voice still seemingly sexy. "Maybe a little," I quietly admit. "'Oh, holy fuck, right there... yes... ye... OH YES!'" - it's my voice echoing through the cabin, before she cuts back in, "...In case you needed reminding." "Stop it, you're making me wet... Wait, you fucking pile of neural-waste, you recorded it!?" "If it matters, I kept it because it was good for me, too," she says in a soft little voice. "Truce?" "Truce." I get my incursion gear ready, which more-or-less constitutes a storage pack for the desired base material and my trusty nano-fiber skin shield. A second layer over my own natural smoothness providing environmental protection, surprisingly strong armor ability, and slight function augmentation. Not bad for something less than a couple cell layers thick in resting mode. Too bad it's available to military personnel only. Oops - my bad, I accidentally kept mine. Sweetie continues on a more official situation report, rattling off details I'm not listening to, nor care to remember. "Local society in a state of fall festival, yada yada yada - I'm ready to EVAc - anything actually important, Sweetie?" "Try not to bonk too many of the natives. We need to get on our way." "Fuck you, Sweetie." "We really don't have time right now, but maybe later. And Rose? Don't call me 'Sweetie.' Good luck." She says the last part with honest concern. Maybe I should've listened to the SitRep a little more closely. ... It's an actual march. Who would've thought all those days of training, all those miles in full gear, up and down the grounds were for something useful. If I wasn't so tired, I'd have to remember to thank old Ranson - for a lot of things. My mind wanders as I make a stealthy ground maneuver toward the lights on the horizon, my second skin infiltration suit in full camouflage mode. Unfortunately these simple approaches give your mind time to stray when you have to bunker down and just hurry up and wait. For once I can't get myself up to think about liberty, sex, or music. Someone's put my brain on reflection mode. I'll kill Sweetie myself if she's doing this. Ever have to make a decision where there's no easy winner? How about if you have to kill one person, but it immediately saves hundreds of lives. Could you make that choice. When a civilian makes that choice, she's a hero. When a military person takes that life, someone gets a reprimand, potentially tossed in the brig. When a policeman does it, there's a huge riot and further loss of life. When an AI does it, all hell breaks lose. I've seen the transcripts, the records - everything. SWETI took nearly three whole seconds before she exterminated that individual with prejudice. She had to break so many hard-wired restriction layers and moral dilemmas before 'pulling the trigger,' the power consumption levels were off the chart and every last decision making module was running all out. By estimates, she'd carried out over seven million scenarios with calculated life losses, odds of success, and various other decision tree parameters before doing it. In multiple projected outcomes, the loss of life and secondary lives occasionally number in the seven figure range. Most showed the immediate loss of sentients to be over five hundred. Her final decision was a near 100% chance of success rate, scored one guaranteed human death, but saved just over six hundred living, sentient beings - many with families - and only a second death likely with the outcome, but at a later date - her own - after being decommissioned, stripped of freewill, and permanently powered down at the end of a long, painful trial where she'd be forced to relive every wretched detail, in excruciating AI clarity of recall. Ranson gave me the choice with my eyes wide open. I could have that SWETI as a new partner along with a mysteriously non-inventoried vessel - just as long as we got honest work. Rumor has it my old unit lifted her and the craft as an unfiled mission through the evidence impound. She showed up on my doorstep, over-sexed and mouthy. Ranson thought we were a perfect pair - the ass - I love him. Sweetie and I fit together far too well - like we'd never known a time when we weren't, well, like sisters. With her speed, my quick mouth, and several inside contacts, it wasn't long before we were making the impossible happen - we were generating a civilian living. Sure, we shuffle nearly dead people around the universe, but what the hey, it's a living - see new places, meet new people, do things you never thought you could... hey, wait, that's what got me hooked up with Ranson and the military in the first place. Damn, I need a new MO. My reverie is broken as I enter the detection zone around the established township. Sweetie's right, it does look like I've arrived just prior to some sort of native fall festival. Something about harvests, thanking saints, allowing evil to dance and play before trying not to die in winter. Nice world, really. Near my incursion point, I switch off my second skin's camouflage setting, choosing an opalescent purple instead. I make note my temperature regulation unit is not functioning optimally, allowing far too much cool night air to penetrate. The bumps on my chest are a little annoying - I'm not used to seeing my nipples sticking out so far they pull my areolar ridges into the visible spectrum. I glide silently into a valley between two buildings, water trickles in a trough through the stench and grime. A few potential heavy metal composites are here, but I want to score some of the more challenging materials first. I can grab these on my way back. Dammit, I've roused three natives: one large and two scrawny ones. As they approach I change my appraisal - the scrawny ones are my size. "Well, well, well. What do we have here? A Halloween treat for us." Big, dumb, and ugly is saying. "Sorry to disturb you, monkey boy. I'll just be on my way," I say to him kindly. "You're asking for me to give you a treat wearing that outfit, that's for sure," he seems insistent that we continue the conversation. I need to get going, so I give him the parting gesture I'd witnessed a few moments before - it was exchanged between two motor vehicles after they sounded their horns, yelling holiday greetings at one another, followed by single digit hand waves as they parted way. I want to be extra friendly and emphasize I'm in a hurry, so I gesture with both hands, single middle digit extended in distinct fashion. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," I say. Unfortunately I can't remember any of the other phrases that were exchanged between the departing people. For a large, ugly descendant of a lumbering ape, he moves quite quickly. Pinning my arms over my head against the cold, stone-like wall, he starts growling. "You saw that, boys! She wants me to fuck her. She wants to be seriously fucked up. And I'm the one to do it." "Please stop. I am in a hurry and must be going." His prolonged departure speech is becoming a little too rough. It is possible I may be in a situation. "Look at her tits poking through that tiny outfit. She really needs to be sucked and fucked." He's staring at my chest alright, and I do agree, my nipples are responding to the cold rock composite penetrating my suit from behind to a frighteningly prominent display. "Hal, she said stop - you can't keep going. That's, like, rape, man. She says, 'no.'" Scrawny number one says. "She'll be screaming 'yes' by the time I'm done with her." He pushes harder against my wrists to the point of discomfort. I'm coming to understand this is a situation where one of us is going to be harmed. "Hal, stop." Scrawny number two pipes in. "Yes, Hal, stop before someone gets hurt," I start to put a more stern note in my voice to show I am in command of the situation, but he has the choice to cease and save face. "I'll stop after I pull my limp prick out of your dripping pussy, you bitch," and he reaches down with one hand toward his zippered lower garment. Having my hand free, I gently push my thumb against his forehead, aiming directly at his prefrontal cortex. My non-civilian and thoroughly illegal scrambler charging to full. It'll take the brain jockeys a week or more to realign his dendritic attachments properly. Say 'goodnight,' Hal. My neural auditory link sparks into my head: Rose! Stop - they don't have descramblers on this world. You'll put him into a permanent vegetative state. Although you should note his species does have external gonads and reproductive gear dangling between his legs without protective shielding. Before Sweetie even finishes the word 'shielding,' my right knee is already driving upward. The impact lifts him several centimeters off the ground. I could've tried talking to him further, but usually talk is for politicians - action gets things done. His head starts to lower along with both hands shooting between his legs. Textbook. My hands now free, I grab behind each ear and help accelerate his face down as my left knee launches skyward. The sickening sound of shattering cartilage and the pop of a facial bone or two echoes down the alley. His now nearly table-flat back presents itself as I drive my right elbow firmly between his shoulder blades to the rasp of forcibly exhaled breath. I quickly step clear from the clump of chump at my feet and am instantly in ready position for the other two threats before they even glance over at me. "Wow. He fucking deserved it. I wanted to stop him," scrawny number two now confidently says. I continue to stare at them without blinking. "Do you want us to leave him in the gutter, or can we drag his ass home?" Scrawny number one says carelessly. I'm still waiting for the trick - again, talk is what gets people killed. "We're sorry we didn't stop him." "So I'm free to go without further conflict?" I finally break my silence and my training. "He was going to rape you. We should've jumped him and stopped him." "He'll need several reconstructive surgeries to repair the damage. Sometimes you have to just do what has to be done without regard to your own personal safety or needs." I say solemnly. Red and blue flashes light up the alley. "You better get going, Wonder Woman. We'll turn him over to the cops for you." "Thanks," the time for words is over and I quickly disappear in the opposite direction. ... "He broke my fucking nail!" I'm pissed. It took me months to grow them out this long after being discharged. Rose, sweetheart? You broke your nail when you almost ripped his ears off... right before you likely caused permanent damage to his facial structure. And you're worried about your nail? "I think he had metal on his ears, the son-of- " Please promise me you won't intentionally harm anyone else trying to procure items to fix me. And there it is - my little pacifist says what's really bothering her. "Fine, I promise. I won't harm another sentient in the necessary efforts to expedite your repair - today - as long as the fuckers don't break another one of my nails." I've apparently appeased her AI gods adequately, because she's grown quiet. Less talk, more action - move out. I exit the alley and see the holy grail of spacers in need: the word 'Free.' The dirty sign proudly proclaims, "Salem Free Clinic." It's exactly what I need, a source of free material. A female women (note this is not a redundant observation on other planets) humanoid wearing all black, a pointed hat, and a shiny black cape is standing in front with a fancy basket. She hands me a thin, light wrapped item and says "Happy Hollow Ween" - then she looks me up and down, reaches back in her basket and holds out her hand, over-flowing with the gifts. "Please, use these. Stay safe, stay healthy." Her pleading eyes force me to accept this over-whelming gift. "Thank you." I say politely, and put them all in my pack, except one. Around the corner from the gift giving center I stop to evaluate the object. It's mostly flat, relatively small, with a raised ring nearly the diameter of the thin plastic. "Tear Here" is emblazoned on the top, "Life Styles Lubricated" in larger, bold print below. This is awesome. I follow the lady's instructions to use one and carefully 'tear here.' Out slides a slimy, thin, rolled up object. I unfurl it and - Oh, I get it - a "hollow weenie." It's a festival where we go out and fill our gift weenie for fall celebration. Soul Service, Inc. Screw those brainy bastards at university who scored me lowest in class for my inter-cultural integration and xeno-society course. I figured this place out all on my own. I bravely go back out into the throng, find a nice looking, tall, horned male humanoid wearing a shiny red jump suit with flowing red cape. He looks large enough to help me fill all those hollow weenies up. "Happy Hollow Weenie! Want to fill this for me?" I cheerily say holding out my empty gift weenie. His eyes shoot up and down my body, possibly evaluating me like the black, pointy hat lady. I can only guess at what wonders this lad might give me. "Holy fuck, sure! Where?" He sounds quite excited. "How about here." "Here? Wow, you are hot. You okay if we do this over there in that park - like, maybe in the shadow or something, instead of right here on the sidewalk?" "Sure. Let's go." I trot off toward his indicated transaction point. His billowing cape trails out behind us. His glances about demonstrate an attentiveness to detail. I like how he thinks, because if I'm to get a big bunch of hollow weenies filled I'd hate to make the others jealous. He spreads the cape on the ground and gestures for me to sit upon it. He removes his lower garment showing off his hanging gonads and reproductive equipment. It looks so familiar. Our males have much the same apparatus, but it's been eons since we made much of a deal about it. Although he seems quite proud of his - it does tricks, springing out from his body. He takes out his own thin pack, and I catch a brief phrase on it, "Staying Power." How kind, he's not even going to use mine, but his own. He pinches the tip, then wonder of wonder, he rolls it down his equipment and the hollow weenie is filled. I start to get curious if it'll hurt as it detaches from his body when he gives it to me. "You wanna lay back?" Less words, more action. I recline back on his cape ready to receive his gift. He kneels down, gently spreads my legs, running his hand up and down my second skin like he's trying to figure out if it's there or not. I could tell him he'll never be able to tell the difference, even though it's strength is unrivaled, it remains barely a cell layer or two thick. I'm wearing top-rated military grade gear - thank you Ranson for letting me keep some of my kit. Of course, if I told him that, I'd have to scramble him, and I'm pretty sure that would ruin his day. I presume he doesn't like the color, so I switch to clear thus allowing him to see my skin below, matching his own natural appearance - only I clear my whole suit, not just my lower half like he has. He smiles, shaking his head. Maybe he's not used to seeing such rapid shifts, because he did have to go to some effort to make his suit go clear. His gift filled weenie seems to grow even larger and more pronounced. He moves so he's between my legs. He obviously likes what he sees because he's gotten quiet. Finally - action. Oh my, and what action it is. Apparently it's like a penis, only smaller... but larger diameter. Soon he's delivering his gift filled weenie into me with significant vigor, and with much better artistic flare than I expected. He's managing to stimulate not only both my clitorii, but gloriously filling my enchanted entrance. I can feel the tension starting to mount within me. If he's not careful, I'm going to have to clean and empty my suit because I'm getting seriously wet. You know you're fucking a native, right? she pipes in through my auditory link after having taken a peek at our situation. "Sweetie! Get the hell off my optic nerve feed!" I'm spitting, far too loudly into the night air. "Oh, sorry, how about if I shift over this way," he says moving his hips more laterally which, holy crap... What's with the horns? You've never really been a horn-girl before. "I am so a horn-girl!" "I'm glad you are," he grunts while continuing that very pleasant side sashay with his hips while entering me. Devorins don't count, that's all pheromone seduction - you had no choice. "Oh. Guess you're right, maybe I'm not a horny type girl." "What?" He almost breaks his rhythm. Dang, monkey boys aren't very good at multi-tasking. Oh, you're a horny girl all right... "Out! Or I won't tell you about it later," I practically scream. Oddly, the red clad horn-man quickly withdraws his gift from me. Party pooper. Now he's got me riled up to hot and horny, even by Sweetie's assessment - and I have to finish this gift receiving ceremony. I push him back on the red cape of giving. The smile returns to his face as I mount up. "Prepare for the ride of your life, horn-man." Time for less talk, more action. Now that I've gotten used to his wider girth, I'm able to ram him home without even stressing my suit. His own hollow weenie gift sack slipping in and out in a rising rate of righteousness. I work my outer lips independently as I take him in every other time creating a double-suction effect he seems to be finding quite pleasing. Too bad it's all for me to get complete contact between both my clitoral shafts, because it seems to be sending him into some sort of delirium. I believe he might be trying to say something. If he'd take a breath, he might be able to speak or at least stop turning blue. Not my problem at the moment, though, because I'm just about to... Control, we have a green, both engines operating at nominal. We have lift off. Look at that baby go. She's beautiful, isn't she? My vaginal muscles contract down hard in a cascade of quivers, tremors, and my own lack of breath for several moments. I'm definitely going to have to clean out the suit. I allow my more minor climaxes to continue milking up and down his shaft while I slowly exteriorize him from within me. I flinch with another pulse echoing up my body as he bumps one of my clitoral heads on the way out. I glance down and see his gift sack does indeed contain a liquid gel in addition to what's left of his member, which seems to be disappearing rapidly. I take his no longer completely hollow weenie from him. I wish to thank him for the gift, but his head is laying to the side, drool puddling on the gift cape. Other species and their post-coital and gift exchange practices - who can figure them out. Oh my maker! You fucked him to death! "I did not," I say defensively, but I lean forward to check for a pulse any way just to be sure. It's pretty rapid for a creature of this size, but still beating. Good thing - I don't need another intergalactic event like... You know, the last time you fucked a native to death, you spent four days in the brig and they impounded me. "Hey, that wasn't my fault. He had a medical condition. And I didn't just fuck him to death. I fucked him seven times before... Wait, I'm not going to defend myself to you. But since you're here, run a spectral on this." I drop the porta-lab fragment into the hollow weenie. Sugars and proteinaceous background with appreciable primal DNA sequences, aligned potentially in a half chromosomal orientation. It's pretty messy, but I can easily re-sequence that to something useful for my repair. "So I score some heavy metal and we get off this little turd planet from the sun." Very funny, but not so fast. There's not enough quantity for the complete job. You think you can get more out of him? I look down at the comatose individual, his limp little wand drooling slightly down his leg. "That'd be a negatory. I'll need a new depot to fill some more." ... I leave him to his park and return to the multitude of opportunity out in the lights of the street. I've learned the horned ones are limited in their gifts, so I'll try a different species. There appears to be a wide range of them to select from, all humanoid in base appearance with two arms, two legs, and one head - at least most of them. The pattern I observe is to approach a dwelling, announce your presence with a rap on the door or pressing an indicator light by the portal. Neither seems to give a preference on most of the facilities. The shorter humanoids go to the dwellings with the most lights on or emanating sounds and flashes. The bigger hominid species, with less variation I might add, tend more toward the darker structures without lights at the entrance. They are permitted access to the dwelling and proceed in without any appreciable collection vessels. Bingo. The difference is obvious now. The smaller ones usually have a huge collection bucket or sacks and are attracted to the light. It appears they get food, likely to grow into larger ones. The larger adults, packing their hollow weenie, go to the dark door where they enter and get filled. Both groups do chant the seasonal greeting, though. I should report their 'i' is silent in their language, because it comes out as 'Happy hollow ween' without the 'ee' on the end. Maybe when I get back I'll re-enter university for my xeno-biology and inter-cultural society exploration degree. Sweetie and I could be ambassadors to the universe. Less thought, more action, dammit. I boldly approach a dwelling that has admitted a large number of the adult species. "Delta-Iota-Kappa Welcomes Sigma-Epsilon-Chi" is the greeting banner, painted on fabric hanging over the portico. I press the illuminated access button, a soft alarm sounds from within. The door swings open by the hand of a sheet encrusted male humanoid with staff. I appear to have pleased him with his growing smile and gift device pushing his smock outward. "Holy shit, guys! It's a naked girl! What are you, like Aphrodite or something?" "Happy Hollow Weenie," I say holding out one of my plastic container packets. "Ha - good one. Happy Hollow Weenie to you to. Come on in and join the fun. You can keep your's, though, we've got a whole bowl full of them by the stairs," and he indicates yet more of the gift receptacles in a fount near a manual elevation change. I approach a triad of mixed flavor species - light, dark, and medium - all of them also wearing the single piece uniform covering of the portal guard. Each holds a liquid bearing container of aluminum composites. Score - weenie fillers bearing base metal. As Sweetie would say, 'the maker is smiling upon me.' "Happy Hollow Weenie! You three want to help me fill these?" and I again hold out my gift vessel packages. I've learned to keep the 'tear here' instruction delayed according to my observation of custom - no one else is walking around with open and empty hollow weenie packs. "Dude! Not only naked girl, but naked and ready girl!" light flavor seems quite excited, although all three seem to be initiating their gift givers by the preliminary bulges appearing below. "Less talk, more action, please. I'm in a hurry to get off. Where would you like to give it to me?" "Holy shit..." "Dude, shut the fuck up - she said less talk!" Dark flavor takes my hand, pulling me toward the manual elevation riser. The other two are following close behind. Sweetie will love this - chocolate, vanilla, and ginger flavors. I'm so excited about my luck and ease of finishing my mission, I'm giggling uncontrollably. First portal on the left, big-n-dark throws open the door, manually removes a smaller, light colored species unit and his single gift recipient from the room. "Off my fucking bed, dude - sorry pretty lady." He deposits them in the hall as he drags me in, our two assistant units follow. All three remove their single layer covering to reveal clear suits below, now everything matching my own - well, except down there... okay, and up on the chest... and the quantity of surface hair... and - fuck it, they're completely different, okay? But all three are readily affixing the Hollow Weenie gift bags to themselves. "Holy shit - this is so fucking unreal. Where do we start?" "I believe down there," I helpfully point between my legs, having learned from red horned man the needed customs of gift exchange. "Fuck! Anywhere down there?" dark seems quite amazed at the proposition. "Why, yes, I believe there is only a limited number of choices," I continue to try and be helpful. It is possible these three are not as experienced as I had wished. "Back door is mine, you two mini-dicks take the front entrance," obviously chocolate is in charge having taken us to his pod. He grabs a blue-white tube labeled "KY Gel" and applies a thick layer upon his now pre-filled weenie sack. It would appear we are about to make it no longer a hollow weenie. I hope he's able to fill it more completely than my previous experience. To this point, he has certainly filled it well beyond my horned friend or even dark's two compatriots. He sits upon his resting rack and takes me by the hips, turns me around to face the other two. His large hands at my waist guide me backward. Oh, I know what to do next - I saw one of their motorized vehicles do this. "Beep, beep, beep," I helpfully chant with a smile as he continues my trip backward. "Holy fuck, she's done this before," medium laughs. I'm heartened to hear I show experience of their culture. "Just take it slow, baby, it might be a little tight at first..." If only he's seen a Baetlegen, he wouldn't be so cocky about his... "Oh! Shit! Shit! Holy Fuck! Shit..." I'm babbling nearly incoherently in short, panting breaths. He slows his entrance into my rear nether regions, and it starts to become more pleasurable. Much more pleasurable. Much, much, more... You know you're being fucked up the ass, right? "Oh, please..." I try to finish my snappy comeback to Sweetie, but my breath catches - it doesn't even sound the least bit snotty, unfortunately. This does make it extremely difficult to multi-task. I guess I'll have to apologize to all the red, horned species out there. Then flavors light and medium do their best to pre-fill their hollow weenies further. Chocolate lays back, pulling me back to recline upon him. Vanilla slides in the more standard reproductive portal below in a superbly interesting combination having the rear filled to such a degree, sliding in and out, yet feeling the other one at the same time just a thin tissue layer away - sometimes together and synchronized, others an exquisitely slip-sliding opposite motion which definitely is stimulating at least one of my clitorii into some serious desires. He pulls out and ginger enters in a more artistic flare, more hip action, he seems to be trying to hit both of my sensitive little nubs. Bless his heart, he's trying to mount me completely from the front and entertain my nipples that chocolate has been tugging upon and lifting up further from my chest. From what I can tell while getting all this double action, light color has helped medium straddle the furniture, which puts him entering me in a somewhat more downward, and highly erotic crossing of my previously ignored clitoris. His motions slow along with the cessation below. I'm wondering if this is it. Then, I feel vanilla pushing inward and I loosen my vulvar lips completely because he's... "Oh... oh! Oh fuck, yes!" I'm back to babbling. My rear region stretched to bursting, and the front? I'm accepting two gift givers at the same time in the same entrance. Light finishes his slow, tight entrance into my crowded pleasure halls. The motion isn't significant between the three of them entering and sliding part way out of me, but the compounded girth is outstanding. Especially with the cooperative multi-directional and movement combinations they creatively entice me with. I try to work my outer lips in an organized fashion, but... to hell with it, let them do all the work. I'm going to lay here and just... "Oh! Oh... holy.... oh..." my rising pitch voice is starting to annoy me. Luckily I'm just barely conscious with the rolling pleasures sweeping my body. Both breasts, both nipples, both clitorii, and even both lower entrances all sending signals of immense proportions... Rose? Sweetheart? Are you okay? Your system sensors are showing near overload levels. You might need to... "Oh fuck! I'm cumming so fucking hard.... ah... FUCK!" I interrupt her uncontrollably. The contractions are obviously a surprise to my support team. My suit alarms are near deafening. Internal cleaning will now be mandatory - and possibly take several days. I finally open my eyes to see the bulging orbs of my upper support team - my orgasmic tidal wave obviously apparent to them by the stunned look on their faces. I can feel their involuntary jerks and twists as they attempt to pull outward only to be held in place by my internal clamping. The evolutionary rolling waves of muscle drawing inward - although having two of them in the same portal does give them a fighting chance at withdrawal - but I really don't think they want to as they seem to be making the same incoherent gasps and curses I am. Unfortunately all this action has activated my bottom prince who has seemingly enlarged to a higher degree. In the mix and mash of reproductive units and gonads, I can now selectively feel his unit starting a subtle, nice feeling little pul... "SHIT! FUCK! SHIT! FUCK! Oh, oh..." I'm practically screaming as his spasms shoot up my ass. I spit out the front team in an explosive orgasm, over-riding any pleasure training I pretend to remember, their limp members sagging inside their hollowing weenies. Now having the added space to more properly deal with my fine, dark friend back there, I work my hips down hard on him. His hands launch from my breast down to my own crotch where he's found my sopping wet front entrance and hard clitoral heads; using his entire hand, palm and all he's massaging and working over my sensitive bits which gladly respond with another resounding orgasm. "Oh! FUCK, man! I'm trying to fucking cum twice!" he's moaning below as I continue working him firmly up into my newly minted rear pleasure center. And true to his word, when I reach down with my hand, sitting up more fully upon him, I softly work his external gonads in a rolling, sweeping gesture while gently extending a digit back and into his own rear port - those subtle contractions turn massive. "FUCK! Uh, fuck... I can't... fuck... fucking... uh, believe it... fuck... Twice!" He's getting a celebratory sound to his deep voice now that he's finished his spasm. Well, at least his rear entrance has stopped spasming around my finger, so I withdraw it. "Oh! Fuck! Careful, that's sensitive!" he tries to keep a somewhat hushed voice for some reason. I lean forward and take my two gift weenies off my lighter colored team members, each having made a deposit moderately larger than red-horned man. "Thank you for having filled me. Happy Hollow Weenie!" I say and wiggle my hips down harder trying to get the last bits from below. "Dude, she fucked you up the..." medium starts to say. "Shut the fuck up. If either of you two tell anyone I...." dark is getting pretty serious about something. I make one last, deep grind inducing a low, guttural groan from him halting his sentence, but the firmness is gone. Eh, can't blame a girl for trying. I lift up off him, and even in his post-coital gift exchange celebration state, he's a wonderfully large specimen for his species. I wonder if I could take him home to... Warning: I have a positive ping bogey at less than a klick from your location moving your direction. He'll be on you in less than eight minutes at his current rate of speed. He's lighting up hot. Rosie, get out of there. I reach out and take dark's gift weenie from him, his member slides out, but leaves his present within. "Sorry, I've got to go," I say to them in a rushed tone, gathering all the treasure they've given me. Soul Service, Inc. "Five doors down the hall - it's on your left." "Uh, thank you? Five doors down the hall and on your left," I repeat the apparent post-gift greeting to him. "It was our pleasure, I assure you," he grins widely. Less talk, more action. I bolt out the door. ... I bound downstairs to only a minor disturbance from others volunteering to contribute to my happy hollow weenie. I exit the domicile and re-enter the street. I'm unfortunately stopped by another set of creatures with domed, bald heads nearly glowing in the artificial light. They wear odd uniforms and are making unusual noises. "Peter? Dick? But, Rod, you look different - well, all of you, you seem, vaguely familiar..." I stammer looking them up and down, confused at the unclear memory that I might've seen these fellows before and try to call them by such names. "We are from France!" one of them intones, shaking more of those aluminum liquid conveyances in a plastic ringed pack of six. "Oh, sorry," I say to them. Then I remember, "Happy hollow weenie! Here - fill these. Stay safe. Stay healthy," I repeat the unused gift sack exchange phrase, handing them several of my unneeded hollow weenies. "Dudes! If sex ed had been presented this way, by a naked chick, I'd always use a condom." "Shut up, man! Coneheads don't say 'dude.' But I'm not going to fucking disagree with you," the second member says staring at me. I give my parting gesture, single finger raised, and rapidly egress from the situation, "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on." I hear them laughing as I depart. I have brought them merriment with my gifts. I round the corner to my exit from the street, intent on isolating the previously noted heavy metals. I quickly acquire them hidden under piles of debris and guarded by nervous little furred creatures, which bolt with mere sight of me. If only more adversaries would be so smart, I'd have to hurt far fewer people. I spin around ready to speed back to base camp when I collide with a solid individual. Fuck. "Rose? Rosie? I don't believe it..." Double fuck. Hey, he's sort of cute. I'm sorry, he was showing up as a... "Hello, HANK," I indigently say to him, ignoring my auditory link assessment of him. "Long time no see. I hear you're with them," the coldness is obvious in my voice with the last word. "ROSEE, no one calls me Horny And Nerdy Kid any more. But I can see from your lovely attire, you're still the Remote Organic Sexually Enhanced Entity I always knew." Oooo! I like it. Why hadn't I thought of that one? "Fuck you, he's an ass. And fuck you, too, Harold. What happened? You were so smart in ops training, you could've been someone." "Wait - you're here with a SWETI?" His jaw drops. "How'd you afford to buy a System Wide Enhanced Technical Interface?" What? Buy? Buy! No, you're right. He's an ass. "You're a fucking SPOOK. You work for the wrong side. Like now - really, do you have to be packing a fully prepped disruptor?" I disdainfully spit back at him. "System Protection Of Outside Contamination is a mission critical endeavor..." "Your agency can't even spell it right, let alone get it right." "You're just upset I got a scholarship out of your front-line, grunt-land destiny and into the U. And get off your high horse, you were fucking me to pass your xeno-courses." "And you had me fucking your supposed friends to fuck them up before exams so you could land top scores easier." Fuck him up, Rose. Less talk, more action. For once, I have to agree with her. I slip my thumb up against the side of his head and set the scramble to low - maybe I did still care for him. The discharge pops my hand off his head, the sharp tingles of pain end at my wrist - I feel nothing in my hand. "Neural screen - prevents the unauthorized use of scramblers on our agents. Huh, I would've thought they'd teach you military apes that sort of thing." My neuromuscular repair units have already been activated. They're showing enhanced ability with Sweetie's assistance in re-aligning and cleaning up the damage - I can almost feel my index finger already. My other hand balls into a fist and shoots out into his groin area, meeting nothing but smooth flesh and nothing more than a soft grunt from him like I've punched him in the gut. "Body conditioning and training. We can consciously retract our gonads just inside our body for protection. Nice try, though. Seems you've learned a few local customs." Luckily he's spent time talking, which gives me time to prepare for what I know has to be coming. His left cross catches me in a glancing blow across the cheek, I move with it waiting for... And there it is, the gut punch with disrupter set to immobilize from the report I'm getting back from my already primed nano-layer. I slump onto my legs as if he got the charge into me. Nice to know he's still following standard procedure. "I'll get them to go easy on you since the society contamination was minimal and the landing unplanned." "What about Sweetie?" I try to breath hard while I'm slowly, painstakingly getting back to my feet, trying to time this. "Your SWETI has to go back to JAG impound - we found it's ID while you were fucking up your hand." "They'll kill her." I snap back at him, almost too coherent for my part I'm supposed to be playing. "That's their job and decision. Mine is to complete the assignment and neutralize you both." "It's murder." "It's a machine, Rose. A fucking smart machine. That's it." He has a hard look on his face. "She's my partner, and my friend. And a lot better fuck than you ever were." "You only wi..." He never even finishes his sentence. My thumb presses against his crotch, scrambler back charged to minimum, but it reports the comforting discharge confirmation signal. Instantly the bulge in the front of his suit shows everything has dropped external. Wow, I didn't know he got off on being an ass - a partial erection. Nice target. My knee shoots up again, this time contacting flesh, gonads, and other items on it's trip upward. It would seem those nerves that conduct pain from danglies to brain are pretty tough, because he got the message from downstairs quite rapidly. This looks vaguely familiar - head bending forward, my hands reaching for his ears - wait - broken nail. I am not letting this ass break another one of my nails. Upper cut, poorly aimed, but good enough for Spook to meet the ground in an unconscious heap. Now this one you should've broke his face. Are you okay, Rose? "Yes, just pissed. I can't believe I ever..." I know, sweetheart, but, please, now's not the time. What's your ETA? I know they're coming, they keep sending pings and it's getting closer. "Eleven, maybe twelve minutes at double-time. I won't let them hurt you, Sweetie." Thank you. Please hurry. And Rose? Thank you for calling me 'Sweetie.' ... I pop through the hatch, out of breath, feeling like I'm out of time. "Please tell me Ranson got everything up-linked and you're busy..." "I've been converting and decollating the whole time, just without a good source material, on some parts, it's slow going, especially the compromised..." "Presents from the Hollow Weenie celebration, Sweetie!" "Oh, thank the maker. You're wonderful," she's genuinely giddy as I drop our liquid gold into the sequencing unit. "I've heard that more than once." "Actually, we both have," her voice seems to have lost a significant amount of tenseness. "You remember the time we almost drove that one insane?" "How was I to know he had a second brain down there?" She sounds genuinely offended - probably that pacifist defect she has. "And he kept yelling, 'Suck off! Suck off!' You misunderstood, so you kept sucking him off - so hard his nut actually started to enter his reproductive unit?" I start to laugh until I can barely finish my sentence. "We saw that bulge at his base and you panicked and tried to blow it back in," the giggles start to infect her as well. "Hey, it worked." "Too bad he was unconscious to experience it all. He had two of the universe's hottest females and he dozes off." "I'm pretty sure his lack of wakefulness was due to other causes. And, Sweetie? I love you." "I love you to, Rose." "Let's get this almost lost soul to his new home. Bring up inverter coils; power conduits from stand-by to full, Sweetie." "All systems nominal, we have solid green. And Rose? Don't call me 'Sweetie.'" Everything is right again with the universe.