Julie and the Demons Pt. 03

Before long her uterus is filled to stretching with a bath of little round eggs in a mass of nourishing grey goo. Her reproductive system will not participate in their growth, but her secret warmth and private juices will add seasoning. Her belly bulges, pressing into the mud the small alien creature beneath her, who nevertheless continues to shoot his sticky tongue at her raging clitty and pull it back in agonizing tugs. This is the little alien creature's service to his King, by keeping the girl's captive hips rocking as the massive alien creature plugs her from behind. The King himself squats motionless, eyes closed, contemplating the union of male and female bodies while his mind floats in bliss amid the stars.

A small alien stands in front of Julie. If a Webby can glare, this one does. Rising to her full height, the delicate thing lets go a wicked webby smack across Julie's face. After staring fixedly into Julie's eyes, the little alien creature hops away.

"Haw, one of my favorite wives. I forget which one. She knows what kind of treatment you're getting."

The surrounding Webbys cannot contain themselves, squirming over one another's slimy bodies to get to this smooth and oh-so-muddy warm-blooded Earth alien. It doesn't matter that the King is totally owning her alien ass from behind, they want to touch her, all they need is one or two lavish rubs of their corkscrew thingies over any part of her soft flesh, an arm, her hair, a breast. Several blush in embarrassment as in their fervor they accidentally penetrate an orifice belonging to one of their fellows. But these gaffes are passed off as part of the frenzied mating ritual, an acceptable risk of the best fuck party in generations, and one which will hopefully rescue their race from extinction.

Dimly they all remember that's what this is about, but in the moment they are too jacked up on Julie's interstellar pheromones to care. Off. What they want is to get Off.

Finally the King decides he is done. By slow degrees he unscrews himself from Julie's egg-packed belly, and slides down her well-fertilized rear end.

The few Webbys still conscious dig her legs and arms from the mud, drag her senseless body to the pond, and give her a gentle cleansing bath, carefully avoiding any sexual touches. For the next five days this one shall be inviolate, so spoke the King, and will be kept near the royal boudoir with her friends as they produce the next generation. Then it will be back to holes in the ground for them, maybe someplace imaginative, fornicated upon by the King among the assembled multitudes while he packs their female parts yet again with His Holy Spunk, for the preservation of the race.

Julie is at the moment too spent to think of another round, although she will muse on these times wistfully in later years.

In the darkness no one notices the faint drifting white flecks that fill the air with exotic perfume, how leaves and bodies are coated with a sparkly gossamer from trillions of tiny fertilized seeds.

The Flowers, drunk on human fear and sexual excess, are cumming too.

The ensuing days pass slowly for the three women. They are well fed, allowed to be together and to talk in private, although caged. Nice enough as padded kennels go, but they are given no clothing, no privacy, locked in a shady but central location where the alien multitudes can view them. They lie together through the superheated afternoons, stroking drops of perspiration from their growing, round bellies.

The Linguist has abandoned them. Julie has stopped calling her former mentor. There are likewise no visits from the King. He has other things to do, or maybe these pregnant concubines don't stack up on his Royal Agenda.

The three women agree however, that the intimate communication they'd each received while mated with the Royal Rascal was loving, transcendent, and hilarious all at once. Although each makes a grimace when asked, all three secretly look forward to another Royal Screwing, public or not. Each believes that somewhere in the depths of space, the pleasure-waves from their hours of continuous orgasm beneath The King still radiate, and will travel onward to the farthest edges of the universe until the End of Time, for such was the depth and truth of their sexual awakening. After all, how many times does a girl meet a guy who's wise, and smart, and sexxxxxy, no matter that he's ugly as a stump? These thoughts keep them wet in certain hard-to-reach places. They give up trying to conceal the fact.

Another night days later comes the appointed time. Drums again throb amid the dark woods, although the rhythm tonight is calm and soothing. Through massed crowds of quiet respectful Webbys the three Earth females are led to the pool, skin ignited by flickering orange firelight as they waddle in the rear-leaning pose that balances large pregnant bellies. A platform stands in the pool, low to the water's surface.

Stepping into the cool water, the three women, after a refreshing swim, clamber to their places on the platform. Facing the shore with dripping hair the three are commanded to squat above openings in the platform made for them, similar to a three-hole outdoor biffy. Julie places her feet on either side of the hole beneath her, with difficulty lowers her rear end in a deep squat. Her stretched buttocks kiss the cool surface, and she is thankful for the handholds. It is humiliating to squat naked facing this lewd crowd! Her knees are forced wide to make room for the enormous curve of her exercise-ball tummy. Julie's breasts have stopped leaking, but her front looks like three large dough-globes softly pressed together.

The peering faces are so close! Julie wonders if she'll be able to do it, and sends the King a fervent request for a private birthing.

No reply from the King, who has not yet arrived, as signified by a large vacant space in the Webby throng directly before them on the muddy beach. The three women wait, knees apart in their deep squat, dangling their hairless privates above the water. Julie feels pain in her abdomen, looks right and left to Zody and Jayelin and sees strain in their faces as they squat, holding on tight.

A hushed commotion at the edge of the beach, and the King makes his way to his place, squatting upright a few steps from them. Julie notices with surprise that his corkscrew is unfurled and pointing directly at her.

"You rascal," she thinks.

"Ah yes," comes the basso reply, strictly inside her head. "Seeing you in that position makes me think of our next round. I think I'd like you face up for that. Never done it before."

Julie sees this as a compliment, sorta-maybe, although the idea of lying face up beneath the slimy giant is a bit off-putting, she gets a little shiver imagining her legs wrapped around his skinny hips while that twisty thing of his performs an incandescent Mambo in her horny twat.

**Jeez, Julie, you have really crossed over! You took courses on that at the Federation Academy, remember?**

A low chuckle in her head.

"Hey fatso, no snooping."

"Hah. Learn to keep your thoughts private, sweet lips."

"Hmph."

This repartee is cut off by the arrival of a major cramp in Julie's midsection. Matching grunts from her two companions.

"Now girls, I want to see a really deep squat here," says the King to all three at once. "Get those pussies right down in the water."

The women struggle to comply. Julie lets out a screech of pain as something enters her vagina from above, executes a slithery roll down her love-hole, and with the softest ploosh, exits her feminine opening into the pool. Peering past her distended belly, Julie sees a round gray egg, tangerine size, waft away on hidden currents. Zody and Jayelin are close behind, in a duet of painful grunts they push out their own first Webby offspring.

"Good one you guys," from the King. "Encore, encore." The massed slimy bodies jostle into the shallows for a view, scant feet from the squatted Earth women.

The second one is easier, Julie pushes out a slightly larger orb that floats away after the first.

"How many of these are there?"

"I am hoping for a couple hundred from you doll."

"Yikes! No way."

"I know you've got it in you."

"You know I had it in me alright," Julie scoffs. The memory of that sweet time warms her.

The drums grow louder, and the drinking-bulbs come out, passed alien creature to alien creature through the assembled multitudes. Julie drops another, and another, then a string of smaller ones that is kind of like pooping diarrhea. Embarrassed, she looks down, but everything had come out of the correct orifice.

"Nice," the King remarks.

Zody and Jayelin are laughing at some shared joke.

"Which came first, the chicken or the egg?"

"The one that lit the ciggy first."

"Why did the alien cross the road?"

"Chickens weren't invented yet."

"Put a bun in it you guys," Julie says, before her world is enveloped in searing agony.

Something blunt and large is trying to split her open. She writhes in pain, half-standing, then lowers herself. A moment of relief as something large oozes into the upper reaches of her vagina.

Julie throws back her head in pain, waiting it out. Looking up through dark treetops at a black starry night, she sees the single thing she has most feared in all her months of captivity. Slowly rising into the sky, the white disk of a Federation Starship grows smaller with altitude. Her Samsara. With one actinic blue flash, the ship accelerates to quantum speed and disappears forever. Julie screams in anguish. Her desolate sound is heard by all as another birth cry.

Julie looks at her companions. They are bearing down, each oomphing out another round grey blob. They had not witnessed the final act of their abandonment.

Julie begins to weep, but gravity and the pressure of another egg arriving in her stretched egg-chute overwhelm her consciousness, and with painful cramps she expels the thing, along with another tearful yell of pain. Only thing is, her yell comes out like the sound a large chicken would make on the nest.

"Cluck!" Julie says. She is furious at this added humiliation, and makes a private vow. She will not let on what she has seen, but she will fucking well get even. With someone. Or some thing. Julie curses.

"Cluck cluck," is what it sounds like.

The Webbys on the beach break up in laughter, looking at Julie's drooling twat, which now gapes wide thanks to the many grapefruit-size eggs that have already gorped out of it. Zody and Jayelin erupt in giggles as the crowded bodies on the beach fall all over one another laughing. High-fives and drinking bulbs. Julie tries again.

"Cluck cluck!"

This kills everyone even more. Zody and Jayelin are laughing so hard they scarcely notice a stream of golf-ball sized gray blobs jetted from their vaginas into the water.

"Cluck!" Jayelin says.

"Cluck, Cluck." Zody echoes.

Both women assume concerned expressions.

Julie in her mind tries to reason with the King, forming her most cogent protest against this indignity in a few well-chosen words.

"Cluck-a-ta-cluck, cluck-cluck-cluck, cluck-cluck, cluck, cluck," Julie says.

"Don't cluck with me bitch, this is serious. Chickens can be for dinner too."

Julie recoils at the mental image of her body, legs folded in a roasting pan, gutted and headless, prodded by a large fork.

"Cluck! Cluck! Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!"

"Okay, I'll turn it off," the King says, "so long as you get my point."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Cluck you, bozo."

And so it goes into the night as the women deposit egg after alien egg into the water. Julie's time however is filled with dark despair. She goes through her chores mechanically, uncaring of the pain, no longer distracting herself with thoughts of royal fornication with the King, but purely on revenge. Sweet, lovely revenge.

Hours later, the Webbys lie drunk on the beach and the King has departed. The women droop exhausted over their holes, bellies nearly back to normal size, waiting for any stragglers to emerge. One by one, the Webbys arise and stumble away. It is dawn.

Three Webbys come and woozily lead the women to the beach. The place is deserted. Julie stops cold at the sight of three pairs of neat holes in the mud.

It is starting all over!

"Zody, Jay, do you remember Disaster Drill 61?"

"Which one is that?" Jayelin asks, trying to stop her woozy escort from pawing her boobs. Now that they aren't officially pregnant, it's game on with these freaks.

"Disaster Drill 61 is... RUN!" Julie shouts, shoving her attendant hard against Jayelin's guard and taking off toward daylight between trees. The Webbys hop clumsily after, but...

"Miss Knox? Julie Knox?"

There's this annoying intercom voice calling her name. Amid a shattering fall of mental images and half-memories, Julie tries to remember who she is.

CHAPTER SEVEN -- MAROONED IN SPACE

Blinking her eyes, Julie Knox awakes to a voice on the intercom.

"Miss Knox? Julie Arlene Knox?"

Julie sits comfortably in a form-hugging Expedition Chair, in the hushed Audition Suites of RKX General Entertainment, Inc. Her head hurts. The private expedition room is dimly lit, a panel of tiny indicator lights flickers near the door. She's wearing a blue sheath skirt and crisp white blouse, medium-length sandy hair in a ponytail. Her Ann Taylor shoes wait neatly together beside the chair.

"Yes." Julie replies.

"I'm sorry Miss Knox. We've had some issues with our equipment. I will come in now."

"Fine." Julie reaches up and removes the Expedition Cap. Holding the graceful metal tracery in tapered fingers, she wonders at the technology capable of recording the many experiential channels of a human mind. Her head full of images, the spider-shaped cap in her fingers reminds her of her purpose here. A reality show audition.

The door swings back, a young woman enters. A Bluetooth jack clipped to her ear, she touches the glowing tablet on her wrist. Julie puts on her shoes and stands. She is eager to know the results of her audition for the reality TV program, but doesn't know if this is someone she can ask. And jeez, does she have to pee!

"We all done?" Julie's smile is bright and professional.

The other woman returns her smile. "Yes we are."

"When will we be hearing?"

"Mr. Alex wants to speak with you now. He is on twenty-one. Take the main elevator."

"Thank you kindly." Julie leaves the Expedition Cubicles ahead of her guide. At the exit of the cubicle bay, Julie sees a young man she'd noticed earlier, inside a glass booth. She taps the glass and the man, a boy really, jumps up to crack the door.

"I was told I could have my recording as soon as I left."

"Ah. Hmm. Yes." The young man doesn't seem to know which way to look. "Tekken is at lunch. The whole Demon team went. But sure, hang on." He pushes buttons on a panel, and returns with a small flash drive, emblazoned with the label. Marooned in Space - Reality Beyond Your Wildest Dreams. He hands the recording to Julie with a pimply smile.

"Thank you," she whispers, and leaves.

In the corridor there is the familiar sign. Women. Julie pushes in.

In the privacy of a stall, she lifts her skirt and sits. She retrieves the flash drive, running her eyes over the label. Marooned in Space, the 2037 season's runaway reality show.

Something nags at her. Glancing at her phone-tab, she sees with surprise that it's nearly four in the afternoon.

"What the bleep? My effing call was at nine!"

What was supposed to be a thirty-minute tryout had lasted nearly seven hours. Designed to determine if applicants had both the spontaneous acting ability and ease with the equipment, the tryout was scheduled for thirty minutes.

Equipment problems? Her mind is a crowded mass of overlapping memories. Lizard-bats! Monstrous telepathic orchids! Julie laughs. What will these bozos think of next? She feels a faint endorphin high, as though she'd run ten miles.

From her purse, she pulls out a three-page document with the RKX General Entertainment logo at the top. Their standard damage waiver, with a blank line for her signature of acceptance. She folds the pages out of sight. No way is she handing that over, not yet. Something is not quite right.

Even if she doesn't get the part, Julie muses, it was a good opening. Listening to the happy tinkle below her, Julie's mind experiences a sudden lurch, a blast of memories that seem new, but which connect to times in the past. Flying lizards. Gigantic flowers. Alsatians the size of horses. With horns? Julie puts her face in her hands.

**What. Is. This. Shit. In. My. Head.**

But she must hurry. Mr. Alex wants to see her. At the mirror, Julie tugs her silk blouse into place, leans forward to examine the tiny crow's feet at the corners of her eyes.

Damn.

She's pleased. Julie looks good for forty-one, but has always wished her boobs were bigger. Maybe they are bigger today. Hmmm. She gives her reflection a brave smile as she hurries out.

On the twenty-first, the topmost floor of the high-style office complex, Julie gives her name to the receptionist, a dewy-lipped "10" who would look at home on any red carpet. The young woman allows a smile that does not involve her eyes in any way.

"He is waiting for you now. Please go on in."

A dapper older man sits behind an enormous desk, looking out the bank of high windows at the smog-yellowed Los Angeles skyline. Julie approaches his desk quietly, seeing he is on a call. He gives her a half smile and indicates a chair. Julie parks nervously on the edge of the seat, but forces herself to sit back and relax. She takes a deep breath.

Presently Mr. Alex gets off his call and rises with a smile to shake her hand. He turns his attention to a swoopy-styled heads-up display floating above his desk.

"Looks like you had a helluva trial... great numbers. But why can't I view your scene?"

Mr. Alex pokes at a few switches, frowns. "I see your scores but... hmmm. Did those bozos record you?"

Mr. Alex talks to the air. "Freddi, get me that lead software geek up here, stat!"

A professional voice through the intercom. "The Demon team is at lunch, sir. I can send someone up when they return."

"Alright. Hey, says here Ms. Knox's session lasted nearly seven hours. Is this another software glitch?"

"The guys were running some experimental patches last night. Two slept over."

"Cripes those guys are from the outer planets," the man in the sharp suit grins at Julie.

"Computers. Think they'll ever catch on? Anyway," Mr. Alex continues, "while we're waiting we can go over your vitals." He reads aloud, half to himself, while peering at his display. "Stock theatre, two summers Outward Bound, base jumping, barrel racing, ah, you like horses, fencing, skydiving, paragliding." He smiles at her. "You like being in the air."

Julie nods. "And in control."

"I see that. Seven years at a top law firm, paralegal. Good fitness level. I think you should expect a callback. By the way, do we have your damage waiver?"

Julie hesitates, but only a split second. "Your girl in the Expedition Suite must have it."

"Ah. Not protocol. I'll send down for it. I'll have to hold this interview until your recordings come up. Can we get together on facetime sometime tomorrow?"

Julie stands. "Fine by me."

On the broad promenade in front of the imposing RKX General building, Julie opens her phone. Several messages from work. Damn! She'd promised to be in before noon, now it's close to 5 PM. Did she fall asleep, or was there some massive fuckup with that audition? Her mind keeps sending up strange images. Was sex supposed to be part of the audition? Her bottom-bud sends a sudden twinge of pain.

A young woman brushes past her, covering her face. At the curb, she dabs with a tissue and hails a cab. Julie approaches. Nice figure, medium-length dark hair.