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.”


Friday, September 19, 2014



by Christine Butler

You sigh and look around at the people you have been living with for the past few Earth years. Even the ones that knew what you were accepted you, and for that you're grateful. Seeing Sally in Garlock's grasp is what tipped the scales though. There's no way you can leave her to that fate.

"Fine. I'll come with you, but you need to let Sally, and all these people, free." You tip your head back to indicate the humans you're now trying to protect. It is your deepest hope that your sacrifice will not be in vein.

Garlock laughs at you, spewing shit in streaming hot sprays as he does. "You think this is a negotiation? You think I'm here to leave anyone behind? You are being spared only to help with the brood you stuck the Queen's niece with. I've been ordered to bring back any of our kind, hybrids included. The rest..." Garlock motioned to indicate the humans lingering about on the fringes. "They've all seen too much. There won't be anything left of them in the end. You might get off easy though."

"Damn," you mumble under your breath. You know now that it's time to fight or die. You notice that Garlock's men now have the place completely surrounded and you don't stand a chance in hell of getting these people out of here unscathed. Sally's passed out, or maybe dead, and still in Garlock's grasp. It's time to just hang your hat and forget about the wasteland that is Earth. Maybe one day you will be able to come back and find out what happened to your... friends.

You hold your tentacles outward in a sign of submission, and hang your head low, utterly defeated. This is not the way you envisioned things going. Garlock whips out one of his enlarged main tentacles, and wraps it around you, so that you have been both immobilized and covered in a thick layer of the shitty mucus he produces. Your nasal openings burn with the fetid stench, as you are transported to the ship that will take you to your home world and the royal palace of your kind.

You awaken, after being put to sleep for the ride home, to find that Garlock's shit stench no longer permeates the air around you. Instead, you smell the fresh aroma of moon powdered tentacles. "I smell babies." The words leave your mouth before you can even take in your surroundings.

"Indeed you do." The Queen is looking down on you with a smug expression. "You thought you could have your way with my niece and not have to pay the price?" She throws her head back and cackles, which has more of a gargle sound to it, as the mucus membranes in her throat rattle about with the gesture. "Have you ever wondered where King Randalth or King Blagrath got off to?" she questions you.

Now that she mentions it, you had wondered why the hell there had been so many kings in your short life. There were always jokes that the Queen going through the birthing process of her younglings was the death of each of them, but everyone joked about that. It didn't make things true.

The gargle-cackle came again as the Queen continued. "Royal babies cannot survive without a proper feeding. We've managed to keep them sated for now, but they need their daddy to feed them."

You back away from the Queen until you come up against the back wall of the room. "No." You shake your head, and your tentacles start waving around erratically as the fear gets the better of you. "That can't be..."

"Oh, but it is." The queen says as she turns to leave the room. Before she goes, she pushes a button on the wall that releases a gas into the room. It makes you feel a little woozy, like your tentacles weigh you down and are too heavy for you to move again. "What... is...." Your words sound, to your own ears, as if they are being played in slow motion. The Queen is gone, but you swear you can still hear her cackle-gargle echoing in her wake. Then four panels in the wall slide open, and through them come your brood, and they look starved. You hope it's affection they're starving for, but when the first one bites down on your heavy tentacle, you know. All the stories were true. Royals feed on the flesh of their fathers. A scream escapes you, and then another, as your spawn tear into your flesh with their razor sharp teeth.

In all your dreams of glory and adventure, you never once thought it would end like this. You have been eaten to death by your own spawn.

Tuesday, September 9, 2014



by Annie Evett

Garlock’s face oozes as he smirk. “Got me self a perdy one here.” Another tentacle slithered over Sally’s struggling body.

“Now what do yer look like under all them undergarments; and I ain’t talking about your clothes.”

“Leave her out of this Garlock. It’s got nothing to do with her or…” as you sweep your arm across the scene, “ Any of these humans.  Let’s settle our differences Intergalactic style. Mano to Mano.”

”Intergalactic style?” Garlock roars with laughter. “Mano to Mano? You dumb shit. You are in the wrong century to be using that lingo.” A tentacle tightens across Sally’s chest as another strokes her ringlets. She continues to struggle but you see her human form is beginning to fail. Garlock lifts her up and brings her closer to his enormous face. A rough tongue extends from his grotesque mouth and, dripping with green saliva, delicately touches her brow. She attempts to squirm away, but her thrashing weakens.

“Hmm hybrid, My favourite type of relief. Just what I need after I kill you Rachorin.”

Sally’s face begins to drain of colour.

“You’re killing her. Stop! I’m the one you are after.”

Garlcok’s tentacles relax a little.

“Got a soft spot for this one? Just like the Queens little niece huh? I could kill you with most of my tentacle tied behind my back, while I’m holding this youngun and still not raise an ooze. Do yourself a favour Rachorin, come peacefully and I won’t destroy all the humans; but I get to keep my toys.”

His tongue flickers across Sally’s lips. She appears to have gone limp. You suppose she has passed out as you register her oxygen intake and heartbeats as being normal. You notice her eyelids fluttering. She is still conscious.

What was she up to?

You have not time to ponder the mind of a woman, hybrid or not. A steaming shot of shit screams past you as you twist elegantly out of the way. The load smashes its way through the General Store window. Garlock growls at you.

“Enough chit chat and playing. Tick Tock, Times a wasting. Are yer man enough to stand there and take what’s coming to yer? Please start a fight, the Queen will be pissed I killed you, but I’ll sure enjoy it.”

Garlock tests a tentacle up Sally’s nostril. You cringe as it slithers further into her nose and exits from the other. She doesn’t move a muscle.

“Hmm. I’ll play with this one later.”

His tentacles release Sally onto the dusty street. Petticoats and frills flutter in the slight breeze. One of the townsfolk coughs and a chair scrapes across the flooring behind you. A projectile of shit streams out from one of Garlock’s tentacles, knocking over the man who attempted to stand up. One of your hidden eyes registers that it was the preacher. Smothered in steaming shit, you see he is still clutching his bible and had attempted to raise the cross which normally hung around his neck.

Stupid move. However, your respect for the man of religion has just doubled. He wriggles and splutters, but no-one dares to move from their positions to assist him, for fear of the same treatment.

The stench of the shit laying around the main street and Garlock’s mountainous body odour reaches new heights. You'd better get this done. Your eyes twitch, hoping your crew are in place and remember the drill. You pull at your human skin and begin to peel it away to reveal your true form. Sudden intakes of breath and prayers are whispered behind you as the townsfolk see you for the first time. Your glossy skin ripples. What you don’t make up with size, you are more than adequate in pure unrestrained muscle, sexual energy; and you certainly haven’t had any complaints from your partners. You admire one of your own tentacles and think briefly about the Queens niece.

Garlock lifts a thick tentacle holding a laser-powered sonic blaster. You get distracted as you gawk at the new technology and design. Stroking it tenderly with a smaller tentacle, Garlock sneers.

“The Queen gave it to me special. Made me turn it to stun, so’s I can bring yer back to her and she will deal with you. He he he. If it were me, I’d let you kill me. You’re not gunna last long when the Queen gets a hold of you.”

He flicks a switch and a blue light streams through the circuitry of the inside of the gun, giving Garlock an eerie glow. He taps at it playfully.

“Awww. Seems the stun option don’t work. Oh, and I lied about the townfolk here. You’re all gunna die.”

From the side, Sally screams with a raw energy so guttural, so passionate, even Garlock stops for a second. But that was all she needs. A stiletto knife she had secreted in her undergarments swiftly comes to hand, and is flung across the dusty space, finding its target in one of his 20 eyes. Puss and green ooze bust frothing from the wound. Garlock clutches it and let off the blaster, slicing the hotel’s roof and setting fire to the stable.

Town folk, once paralysed with fear, now find their feet and scatter, knocking chairs and tables across the street. Sally rips at her dress and pulls at her skin. She begins to transform. You are secretly impressed and find her even more attractive in her hybrid Malarian form.

Oh shit. Really? Not now.

You pulse one of your tentacles in the hope she notices your bulging…..Malarianhood; instantly forgetting the environment you have placed yourself in.

No wonder Malarian males don’t die of old age.

Sally storms toward Garlock ducking and weaving his attempts to capture her in his tentacles. Her smaller, more nimble hybrid form has taken on all the positive factors of each species.

She is poetry in motion. Your tongue swells with desire.

Garlock’s blaster fires indiscriminately, resulting in more fires and larger holes within the buildings of the town.

Your pulses are raised and you position your body in an alluring way towards Sally. Somewhere in your brain, you remember you are supposed to be doing something; but when the attraction procedure starts, your species can’t stop until mating has occurred.

You thrust one of your lower tentacles toward her in a manner no other Malarian female has been able to resist.

A burning sensation cuts into your feverish mind. You block it and begin the traditional Malarian mating whistle. Sally turns to stare at you. You see her mouth beginning to open and you grin, knowing you have her full attention and lust. The last thing you see is a succession of laser bolts streaming from Garlock’s blaster as she fails to wrench it from his grasp.

Monday, September 1, 2014



by Mandy Ward

It doesn’t take you long to realise that the Sheriff is right. “Damn.” You grumble as you take the bridge back up and return the saloon to an approximation of normal. “You sure you want me to do this? It could kill as many as it could save.”

The sheriff chuckles. “If’n you’re right about this Garlock, then that’s more than he’d leave alive.”

Taking a deep breath you look at Sally. “I want you to go to the mine. Talk to my second in command, Veezlbez. Tell him that he was right all along and that we’re going to need to take Garlock down.”

She nods reluctantly. “You want me to go now?”

You return the nod, trying very hard to ignore the flashing light under the bar. “Tell him to step on it.”

She smiles and runs out of the door.

You wonder if she’ll return with Veezlbez and the rest of the crew or high tail it out of town and save her own skin. Obscurely, you hope that it’s the latter.

“What’d we need to do doc?” the sheriff asks, trying not to move his shoulder.

You sigh and slither over. “Let me look at that.”

He nods and looks away as you bring one of your smaller tentacles toward the wound. A quick jab and wriggle later, you’ve extracted the bullet. Using your inbuilt anaesthetic, antiseptic glue, you clean and close the hole.

The sheriff looks at it. “See. You’n the Doc still. I dint feel a thing.”

Shrugging you move back behind the bar. “Go round up the men folk. Tell the women and children to hide in the storm cellars. If this works, they’ll be okay to come up in a day or two. If not, then they’d best be able for a long stay.”

The sheriff looks worried. “How long a stay?”

About a hundred years. You think and decide to lie. “Food and water for a month at least.”

“How long have they got to prepare?” he moves towards the door.
You glance down at the display next to the flashing light. “Between four and ten hours. It all depends on if he decides to land his ship or beam down.”

The sheriff goes white and runs out of the door.

Three hours later, you’ve set everything up in the saloon. All the computational work is done and all you need now are the extras. You decide to don Doc’s skin one last time, just to make life easier.

The saloon door swings open. Veezlbez and the rest of the crew slip inside, looking green around the gills. Wonder of wonders, they’ve managed creditable human costumes. And no Sally.

“Where’d you want us, Boss?” Veezlbez asks.

“You come and sit at the bar, Vee. Security, dot yourselves around the perimeter and the rest of you pick a seat anywhere.” You watch with relief as they jump into action and settle themselves.”

“You want to do what we discussed on the way into this pokey planet, Boss?” Vee asks, toying with the glass of Malrovian Whisky you pour him.

“As close as I can.” You pour yourself a shot and toss it back. The alcohol makes Vee’s face blur and double for a second. “Whoowee, that hit the spot.”

The Sheriff wanders in, the men of the town following him and looking around nervously. You direct them to sit anywhere that is left and then check the display under the counter. “He’s come to a halt in orbit, Vee. He’ll be beaming down. You ready for this?”

Your second in command nods and swallows the whisky. “Now or never, Boss.”

You stand up on the Bar. “Gentlemen, we are about to have a visitor to this fair planet. You may have heard rumours of what I look like under this costume,” you pull at the skin you’re wearing, making it gape for a second around the eyes. “But this fella is three times as bad.”

The crowd mumble amongst themselves.

“All I want you human folks to do is be scenery. Sit, drink, chat. It’sall you need to do. My crew will do all the dangerous stuff.” You feel the tentacles at the back of your neck buzz. He’s here. “Just ignore the bloke and let me deal with it.”

The humans seem relieved that they don’t have to do anything dangerous or scary. You send one of your crew round with a tray of glasses and the weakest whisky you possess. Can’t have one of them getting brave-drunk and squaring off with Garlock.

A voice rumbles in from the street. “Rachorin. Come out here and face me.”
You step up to the doors, Vee selecting security team members to back you up. “Garlock, nice to smell you again.”

Outisde in the street, wearing a long tan duster and a black ten gallon Stetson, is the largest Golgothan you have ever seen. His skin oozes and flows as he moves in your direction and he leaves a trail of shit behind deep enough to mire a mule.

“Get out here, Rachorin.” The creature sounds irritated. “You’ve moved from star system to star system for the last four hundred cycles. Haven’t you got tired of running yet?”

“Not a bit.” You reply. Behind your back you give the signal for your crew to surround the faecal intruder. “I’m far younger than you and a lot speedier. What was your best oozing time? Forty microns?”

“Enough. Come quietly and I’ll let this miserable planet survive the blast from my engines.” All twenty of Garlock’s piss coloured eyes take in the surroundings. “If you don’t, then I reckon the Earth is about to become toasted Veedlebaz.”

Shrugging, you step out onto the veranda. “I’m not coming with you. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Sleeping with the Queen’s niece is nothing? Shit man, you got some nerve.” Garlock roars with laughter. “You’re a father four times over.”

“You should know, you are the shit after all.” You agree, checking where everyone is with a couple of handy hidden eyes. Four times over? I knew my sperm was strong but that many? You shudder, your costume rippling over your body.

Your crew have worked themselves around to safe positions around the foul smelling pile of excrement. Garlock spots most of them and one long rope of shit flings out and captures a figure.

Your Heart sinks all the way into your feet. Sally.

Thursday, August 28, 2014



by James McShane

The sheriff nurses his wound and throws you a look that suggests you’re off his Christmas card list for the foreseeable future. You shrug. You weren’t the type for Ho-Ho-Ho anyway. You have an important decision to make, though, and with Garlock on his way, you don’t have much time to think things through.

“As far as I can tell, sheriff,” you say, “you have two choices.”

“And what are they, pray tell?”

“You can stay here and die; or leave and possibly live.” You shrug. “Your call.”

The sheriff  hightails it out the saloon door. You then begin the process of dismantling the saloon’s interior and turning it back into your ship, by simply tapping the bottom of a beer tap with a serving spoon. This act opens a drawer beneath the counter, revealing a big red button that reads: Disengage Saloon Interior. Simple really. Once you press that, it’s all systems go.

The entire procedure takes about three minutes. Then another button gets pressed, the one labelled Lift Off, and within a moment, you are in the air and on your way to the mine. If the sheriff and everyone else got clear, good for them. If not, you’re not going to lose any sleep.

You look to the floor and see that Sally is out for the count. The activities of the last hour or so must have taken its toll on the young female. You wonder what you’re going to do about her, but eventually decide to leave her for later. It’s now time to remove all dead weight from the ground – and do it quickly. While Sally didn’t give you an exact schedule, you assume that Garlock won’t waste any time in getting here.

You make it to the mine quick enough. You manoeuvre the ship so as you’re above the entry point and you aim the ship’s guns there. You set phasers to kill.

“So long, suckers,” you chortle.

And then it all goes pear-shaped.

Not only has Sally woken up and is now pointing her own phaser at you (you should have taken the time to check her underclothes – women of all species have been known to hide anything in their pantaloons), but there is a rumble coming from the inside the mine.

“Open a radio channel,” Sally says. “You might be interested in what you hear next.”
Seeing that you don’t have much of a choice, you tap yet another button and a screen appears in front of you. A shimmering image appears, but it doesn’t take you long to realise that it’s Nee-Lin, the leader of the slave group down at the mine.

“Rachorin,” the former slave says. “I see you’ve come back to rescue us.” The sarcasm drips fiercely from his lips. “But you needn’t bother. We’ve worked out our own escape plan.” With that, the rumbling down below becomes more intense, and within minutes, the mine’s exterior falls away and you finally understand that while you were ministering the town’s inhabitants, your slaves have been building their own ship, using – be damned – the very material you sent them to mine.

Talk about taking your eye off the ball.

Or your eyes off the balls.

“Are you coming, Lestine?” Nee-Lin calls Sally by her given name.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says. She gives you a quick peck on the top of your head. “We could’ve been good together,” she whispers. “But no, you always had your own agenda.” Then it’s her turn to shimmer, as Nee-Lin teleports Sally/Lestine back to the mine that is now an escape ship.

Your number is up. You look at the screen for the final time as a group of missiles head your way. If you had a god, you’d pray to it. But you don’t, so you don’t.

Time to die.