Monday, September 22, 2014



by Steven Novak

When Garlock grabs Sally, your muscles stiffen. Instinctively, your tentacles slither forward.

Garlock’s grip on her neck tightens. “No! Don’t you dare take another step! Not yet! Not until I’ve said what needs to be said!”

You stop moving. There’s no choice. Sally is dangling from his tentacle, limbs flailing, fingers scraping at the slimy appendage coiled around her neck. Garlock has the advantage.

 The corners of his lips curl upward, all fifteen eyes narrow. “You’re a worthless flick of sniz, Rachorin! Gallivanting from system to system, spreading the appendages of unsuspecting, innocent, foolish females! Filling them with your seed and leaving them to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives! You’re a menace! A cancer! A blight on the good name of our species!”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about Garl…”

“No!” His tentacle pulls tighter around Sally’s neck. Her eyes bulge. She tries to scream, but she can hardly breathe. “This is not up for debate! You’re a fizzleburn! A calavot! A hidden grizzleglorp! A gleepeldeegleep of the highest order!”

Well, you certainly can’t argue any of that.

“It ends today Rachorin! I’m going kill you! I’m going to remove your organs and paint the hull of my ship with your blood! I’m going to smear your insides across the stars! Use your tentacles as a belt! Fashion your flesh into a vest and wear that pretty face of your as a hat!”

Garlock pulls sally close to his face, extends his tongue and licks her from neck to hair, coating her face in slime and smearing her tears. “Before I do any of that, I’m going to flay this tiresome girl! You will watch as the insides spill from her body and the life drains from her eyes! Her suffering shall be your suffering! She will die in the name of Scarletz Smigglezforth! And Rayden of planet Uropa! Misty Marcos of the Hightower Circle! And Princess Adelle! And Sanelle! The lovely Sanelle! My beautiful Sanelle!”



You remember Sanelle. How could you forget Sanelle? The things she did with those tentacles? The way she talked you into trying some backdoor games for the first time in your life? Until you met Sanelle you’d always assumed that particular hole was for removing stuff from your body.

You’d never been so wrong.

Sanelle was a half-pint stick of dynamite. Sanelle was a wildcat.

Garlock slimes forward, tentacles coiled, jittering. “Yes, that’s right! Now you see! Now you understand! Sanelle was my daughter! My beautiful little girl! A delicate flower! So innocent! So sweet! And you ruined her! Soiled her soul! Erased the proper young lady I raised and replaced her with nothing more than a harlot! You took advantage of her! Filled her womb with your little bastards!”

The statement is so absurd you almost chuckle. You didn’t take advantage of Sanelle. If anything she took advantage of you. Only one of you ended up with Galorian candles melting in your rectum while tied to the hood of your Malcordian Speeder, and it sure as hell wasn’t her.

Sanelle was a freak.

Garlock’s limbs continue to smear their way across the sand as he moves forward. Suddenly he’s screaming, spitting names you vaguely remember, sexual exploits you’d long forgotten, and the stolen virtue of his pervert daughter. At some point during his rant he stops paying attention to Sally. It’s a rookie mistake. His emotions have the better of him and Sally’s not as frail as she seems. She’s half your species, half-tough, and half a fighter. She’s a hard-nosed broad and she has more than the usual feminine weapons hidden beneath her dress.

You watch as a slimy appendage appears from just beneath the hem of her gown, then another. When a third tentacle emerges, it’s holding a shotgun. You’re not exactly sure where she was hiding that thing.

You aren’t sure you want to know.

The barrel of the weapon immediately goes to Garlock’s head. She pulls the trigger. Flesh and slime spray from the flashpoint, encased in a puff of smoke and spitting blood. Garlock yelps, headon fire, half his face opened up, three eyeballs airborne, two more swaying in the breeze. He topples sideways, knocks over a horse and smashes through the front door of Missy May’s Whore Emporium.

Sally’s hands go to her neck, bright red, struggling to catch her breath. She looks in your direction, tosses you the shotgun, nods, and growls, “Go git that bastard.”

You’re liking her more and more every day.

By the time you enter the Emporium, the place is a mess, floor sticky with slime and spattered with blood, half-naked humans hiding under tables and running into walls, penis’ flopping and boobs bouncing. The body of a portly, gray-haired cowboy flies past your head and through the window behind you. Garlock emerges from behind the bar, dripping blood, half his face missing, two more humans dangling from his tentacles.

“You’ve ruined everything Rachorin! Ruined it all!”

One of Missy May’s finest whores slams into your chest. She’s not the biggest girl, but she’s thrown with such force that she knocks you backward and into the wall. You can hear her spine snap.

Garlock is swinging wildly, throwing, and smashing, and screaming, aiming to anything. Aiming for everything. He shatters a mirror, reduces a section of the bar to splinters. “You bastard! Why her? Why did it have to be her?”

The enraged bounty hunter tosses a second cowboy your way. You reach for his boots, try your best to snag him with your tentacles, but he slips past, slams into a tabel and cracks his skull.

You have to move.

Suddenly you’re charging, sliming your way across the room, dodging bottles, and chairs, and human beings, firing rounds in Garlcok’s direction. The side of the bounty hunter opens wide. One of his tentacles explodes. Another tears free from his body and shoots across the room. A bottle hits you in the face. Broken glass tears open your arm. The airborne body of a particularly beefy whore momentarily knocks the wind out of you. Through it all you never stop shooting, reloading and shooting again. By the time you reach Garlock you’re out of ammo and the muzzle of your weapon is smoking. His body is a mess of shredded flesh and slime, peppered with shrapnel, wounds gushing, insides sprayed across the bar.

The mound of mauled meat that was once his face jerks. Sticky lips quiver. “Y-y-ou…”

You can barely hear him, voice so soft, words garbled and running together. “Y-yo-ou…go-gonn-gonna…ki…”

His face explodes.

A few feet behind you, Sally grins, pistol still smoking in her hand. “What exactly did you do to his daughter, Doc?”

God damn she’s sexy.

You wipe bits of Garlock’s brain from your face and smile back. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She lowers her gun, moves alongside you, wraps her arms and tentacles around your waist. “Yeah…I think I would.”

Two of her tentacles head south, managing to find an orifice that hasn’t been used since Sanelle and worming their way inside. Her head moves to yours, lips to your ear. “I think I’d like that very much.”



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