“Query. Woman.”
“Man reproductive system plus woman reproductive system leads to offspring,” Max said. “How is this my life now? I feel like I’m trapped in a spaceship with a three year old... oooha.” Max’s voice rose to a squeal as Rick’s tentacle caused a stomach cramp so severe that Max’s stomach rippled and contracted. “Fuck. Shit. Fucking shit.” Max writhed in pain. “Oh Lord. Too much. Too much.”
“Within tolerance health,” Rick said calmly, but tentacles began to massage Max’s stomach. Those little tentacles on the underside of the big tentacle all worked together to press at the offending muscles until the cramp eased. Unfortunately, Rick seemed to feel that Max’s cock was part of his stomach and involved in the whole cramping problem. A tentacle wrapped around Max’s dick, teasing him with tiny finger tentacles. When Rick squeezed gently, Max bucked up into him. And wasn’t that embarrassing. Max would have stopped if his body hadn’t hijacked all higher brain function.
He thrust into Rick’s grip, and the friction against his cock combined with the stretch in his ass generated fireworks. Max’s whole body went stiff and then jerked twice before he came all over himself and Rick. Creamy flecks landed everywhere... Max’s stomach, Rick’s tentacles, the table. Max collapsed back and gasped. Option one, he was having a heart attack. Option two, it had been too damn long since his last orgasm. Option three, when shoving things up the ass for fun and pleasure, tentacles worked better than dicks. Max was leaning toward three, although two was also true, and one was a distinct possibility.
Rick’s tentacle was now painfully large, but he was slowly pulling his tentacles back. No more of the hard tugging or undulating, just a slow, steady withdrawal. So the guy did know how to be careful.
“Query. Health. Human.”
“Oh, I’m fucking great,” Max said. “Thank you for asking. You’re much more polite than the typical tentacle monster, although honestly I don’t have experience with the non-fictional kind.” Max knew Rick couldn’t understand more than a word or two of that, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about much right now. Rick had reduced Max’s thoughts to “tentacles good.”
“Query. Health.” Rick moved closer so his misshapen head floated over Max.
Max blinked up at his alien employer. “Answer. Health great. Good. Awesome. Fabulous.”
Two tentacles curled up close to the head of Max’s cock while the last of the tentacle inside Max slipped free. “Query.” Rick blasted the air, but he touched a milky white drop.
“Answer. Cum. Semen. Sperm. Reproductive fluids. Dick juice. Pearls. I had a boyfriend who called it that last one, and honestly, I don’t get it. It’s not a solid, and if my semen were made out of pearls, I’m pretty sure it would hurt. Maybe he was trying to tell me he was interested in sounding, but if so, he was way too subtle about it.” That had been Max’s second real boyfriend, and the first one he’d been willing to touch when the lights were on. Sure, his family and friends were supportive, but Max had still been a little weirded out about touching another guy where someone might see, even if the someone in question was Max.
He assumed heteros were equally weird, given the sort of shit they talked about on daytime television, like that one woman who was in danger of a divorce because she wouldn’t let her husband see her without makeup. Max wasn’t that bad. Hell, he didn’t even own makeup. At least he hadn’t since that brief goth phase his sophomore year.
“Query. Health,” Rick said.
Max levered himself up and sat on the edge of the table. He was pretty sure he was worrying the boss. “Query. Offspring,” Max said. A little change of subject sounded like a good idea.
“Offspring. Health. Proficient.” With that, Rick swiveled on his leg and undulated his way out of the examination room.
“You didn’t even buy me flowers,” Max complained softly. Honestly, though, he was grateful that he wasn’t losing the job because his gut bacteria was toxic. Losing this job would suck. Accidentally killing alien children would suck worse.
Chapter Five
With a sigh, Max crackedhis back and stood. He was pretty sure the “chair” Rick had found him was an alien torture device. The sloping top and awkward height didn’t lend themselves to working on the translation matrix for long periods of time. And like all the “rooms” in the ship, there was barely space for him to stand and take two steps. At least this room was larger than his sleeping quarters. The single-sized fold out bed filled every inch, and he had to lift it to access the washing or toilet. If it weren’t for the fact that every surface had stiff padding, he’d feel like he was on a submarine.
And the computer didn’t make his life easier. Either the computer thought Max was a brain damaged four-year old or the system was set up to maximize frustration. After identifying twenty different colors as “blue,” Max never wanted to see the color again. And he couldn’t figure out how the system chose topics. One hour he would be identifying colors, and the next looking at pictures of impossibly complex machines as the computer highlighted certain parts for translations.
