Welcome to Nockatunga Station

Patel and Zhu were deep in a card game. Suematsu was about to get himself picked up by some big blonde spacer dude of another ship. God knows where Kateneff and O’Reilly had gone, but Zima wasn’t going to hang around here by herself and fend off pickup attempts she wasn’t interested in. Without a word, she slipped through the crowd and out the hatch into the corridor.

Inside the Cricketers, the noise’d been deafening. In the corridor, still busy but less noise. A lot less. Zima relaxed, just wandered. Good to have some space, somewhere off ship that she didn’t know like the back of her hand. Something to eat? Something different from ship food. Quick check on her comp. One level up and a short walk and she’d found a food center. Small, just a bay with half a dozen stands but it was busy and Jesus it smelled good.

A tray. Peri-peri chicken, a couple of samosa’s, jasmine rice, salad. Sitting by herself, Zima ate slowly, enjoying herself, enjoying the textures and the flavors. Beat the heck out of nutrient packs and shipboard meals, ready to eat. She ate and watched the display on the wall. Sports mostly. Cricket? Seemed like some game being played down gravity on the planet itself. Seemed a big thing on Nockatunga. Some sort of weird football game as well but it wasn’t sports that interested Zima.

Massage. That’s what she wanted. A good massage.

Wong and her men? Zima felt a little jealous but Wong’s upbringing, it’d been a lot different from hers. Women on Nouveau Beijing, they had a real different approach to sex, they were expected to be good at it and they were taught how to be. Nobody expected a Nouveau Beijing girl to be a virgin. Do what she was told yes, but she was expected to know what she was doing when she was told to do it. Not like back home. Sex back home was something that happened after marriage and nobody ever talked about it. Somehow, it just happened.

“Lie back, close your eyes and think of Jerusalem,” she’d heard her Mom advise her older sister after she’d gotten married. She’d heard a lot more too, including her own marriage arrangements and hadn’t that been an unpleasant surprise when she found out the family was planning to marry her off to the Rector. The old guy’d already been through three wives and he was sixty. Zima had no intention of being the fourth.

She’d headed off-planet instead and that had taken some doing. A bus to the shuttle port. A job on Station as a cleaner and that’d taken every credit she had to bribe the HR clerk doing the assignments. Thank god she was the older sister of a friend and she sympathized with Zima. Single girls weren’t allowed off planet. Not by themselves but with the HR clerk’s help, she’d managed. On station, determined to run out system before the Guardians caught up with her, she’d been lucky. The spacer that’d gotten her onto his ship had been First on an old freighter, he’d signed her on as crew. Made sure she got papers, training.

She’d gotten what she wanted. Out.

He’d gotten what he wanted. In.

In for three long years. Zima still thought it’d been a fair trade even though she hadn’t enjoyed it that much. She wasn’t exactly a virgin now, he’d seen to that. But he’d been fair, he’d gotten her papers, gotten her trained, she hadn’t been used and discarded and she’d seen that happen more than once over the last couple of years. He’d even helped her when she wanted to move on, given her a reference when she put in her papers for Hellraiser.

Hellraiser was a good ship. Good captain, good crew but despite the change, her upbringing still hung over her. She’d tried sex a few times on her own account but she’d never really enjoyed it, not that much, even though she wanted to. It’d be fun to do what Wong and Bhatti and the others did, just find a man and go with him and have a good time. Enjoy herself without that guilt. Maybe next stop she’d ask Wong for some advice. She’d offered in the past.

But right now, here and now, she wasn’t ready for that. A massage. That was what she wanted. A good one, the sort of personal massage that would give her what she wanted. Her comp flagged a few with good reviews nearby. One that was all five stars close by. A little twinge of excitement thrilled through her as she stood, walked slowly towards that listed address. It didn’t take long to find. Down corridor a couple of hundred meters and there it was.

“You do massages?” Zima asked, peering in through the hatch. There was some kind of padded couch there, no massage table.

The alien looked up from its workstation. It’s facial expression, if you could call that a face with those huge crystalline multi-faceted eyes, somehow conveyed a warm smile, a smile so warm and friendly that Zima found herself stepping through the hatch and into the compartment without any hesitation.

“Yezzzzz, mazzzagezzzz izzz what I do, come inzzzide? Do you wizzzzhhhh a mazzzzage?”

“You know how to massage humans?” Zima breathed in, a warm summer scent that relaxed her, had her thinking of her childhood, playing innocently in the long grass with her brothers and sisters and friends, rolling in the newcut hay, swimming naked with the other girls in the river at mid-summer. Some kind of incense? She breathed in again, smiling.

“Yezzzzz, yezzzz, humanzzzz, I am good at humanzzzzz,” the alien hummed. That humming voice had a pleasant undertone, a warm caring and a good humor that carried even through the translator. “You may call me Buzzzzzz, my ratezzzz are on the board,” it said, gesturing with one hand.

It had six hands, Zima noted without surprise. Three pairs of arms, three pairs of hands, two short legs, a long bulky abdomen almost trailing the floor between those two legs and joined by a narrow waist to a solid thorax. A large head. Were those vestigial wings? Jesus, she’d never seen one like this before. Huge, multi-faceted eyes, body and head covered in silky-fine golden hair.

The rates? Reasonable. Very reasonable. Not low, but not overpriced either.

“Sexual release?” she asked. Not blushing the way she would’ve with another human. “Human female?”

“Guaranteed,” Buzz hummed. “I am very zzzzzkilled.” Could a giant bee smile? Zima had that impression.

“Your name izzzzz?” it asked.

“Zima,” Zima said.

“Come through, Zzzzima. No zzzzzatizzzfaction, no need to pay,” it added.

“That’s fair,” Zima said, surprised. Feeling good about this now. She felt a lot more comfortable getting release from an alien like Buzz. Human massage parlors, some of them could do that for her, some not. Her experiences had been hit and miss. Mostly miss. She’d learnt to fake it just fine for men, but faking it for men wasn’t the same as actually getting there herself.

“Come through, come through,” Buzz gestured. Zima followed it through the hatch. That scent she’d inhaled before grew stronger, flooded her senses, as intoxicating as spring flowers in the sun after a summer shower, drawing her on, eager now. Eager and excited.

“Take your clothezzzz off and lie down on the mazzzzage table pleazzze.” Closer to him, she could hear his buzzing as well as the voice from the translator unit. That buzz somehow reverberated through her in a way that the translated words did not. Reverberated. Resonated. That buzz was masculine, firm with being commanding. Zima found herself responding automatically, peeling off her linen shirt, stepping out of the new silk trousers she’d picked up on Guilin a few stops ago.

“Remove underwear too, pleazzzze,” Buzz hummed.

A moment’s hesitation. She’d always been reticent about stripping naked, part of her upbringing on New Jerusalem. Now? Buzz was alien. There was no need for her to worry about any interest on his part. Zima shrugged her bra off. Another moment’s hesitation before she peeled off her panties and lay face down on the padded massage table.

Naked.

“Ahhhhhh,” Buzz hummed warmly. Two hands traced her shoulders, her back, ran all the way down to her lower back, exploring. “You are very fit for human. In very good condition.”

“Mmmmm,” Zima sighed, relaxing. God, he was good. Three pairs of hands? Bliss. Warmth of summer in her face, padded table beneath, hands working her shoulders, her neck, her back, her butt and her legs, fingers digging deep, painfully deep, loosening tightness, working away at the kinks, the stress, loosening her where she’d had no idea she was taut and strained and stressed.

“Izzzzz that good,” Buzz hummed. “Izzzz that good, Zzzzima.”

“Oh god, yes,” Zima sighed, surprised that her legs were spreading themselves as two of his hands worked delicately at the muscles of her inner thighs. “Oh god, yes.”

Yes!

Buzz’s fingers teased across the backs of her thighs, two more of his hands gently massaged her butt, the other two worked down her spine, worked up, worked down, leaving her shivering with the pleasure of his touch. He really was good and when his fingers brushed her labia, as gentle and as light as feathers, sudden awareness of how wet with excitement she already was flooded her, had her hands clutching at the padded surface of the massage table.

“Oh god, yes,” she breathed, hips lifting a little, legs parting eagerly for his touch as they’d never parted eagerly for any human touch.

“Touch yourzzzelf there, Zzzzzima,” Buzz hummed. “Feel your own wetnezzzzz, you are zzzzo wet.”

Zima did, sliding one hand beneath herself, touching herself between her legs, feeling her own seeping wetness, feeling Buzz’s long fingers under hers as she brushed herself lightly, feeling her own swollen clitoris. Buzz’s fingertips brushed her clitoris too, rocketing pleasure caused her heart to pound, her hips to push upwards and she wanted more.

“This is what it’s like?” She gasped for breath, almost moaning with her excitement and her need, wondering his this was how Wong felt when she was with men. Zima had never felt like this with a man, never, but if she had, she knew she’d go back for more of this willingly, eagerly. As eagerly as Wong did.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes… yes…” as Buzz’s fingers teased her to a slippery, swollen, open excitement that wanted more. Begged for more. Pleaded for more. Pleaded for her body to be taken and made use of. Pleaded for more as she’d never pleaded to a man. Although if a man had walked through the door, she knew in that moment that she’d be willing to try with him.

But there was no man. There was only Buzz. “Ohhhhh,” she begged now. “Please, Buzz …. Please.” Begged as she’d never begged a man.

“Patienzzzze, Zzzzima,” Buzz hummed. “Patienzzzzze.”

But Zima had no patience, not now. Only excitement, only need, only desire, only longing for a pleasure such as she’d never before experienced but now that she had, she found irresistible. Something wet poured onto her back, wet, oily, slippery, deliciously scented. Buzz’s hands moved over her now with satiny enjoyment. Massage oil, Zima thought, body tensing now with the sheer pleasure of his hands sliding over her skin, smooth sliding strokes that brought not relaxation but tingling excitement, heated desire.

Buzz wasn’t talking but as he massaged her, he was vocalizing, a humming song that rose and fell around her, resonated within her, filling her with the music of summer, of flowers blooming in the sun, grass growing under summer rain, fruits trees blooming and growing, eager shoots searching and reaching for the sky, pollen released and shared, growth under golden sunlight, the sprinkling warmth of a summer shower.

Pollen released, bee’s drinking deeply of nectar, collecting that pollen, transferring it from flower to flower, cross-pollinating as they drank nectar to take back to the hive. To feed the workers, feed the Hive Queen, fertilize the Hive Queen’s eggs, incubate those eggs and hatch them. Buzz’s hum fed a deep desire within Zima, awakened a desire to give herself, to be taken, possessed, a desire to service a male, to receive his seed, to give life.

A desire as old as woman was old.

Buzz’s hands gently turned her, moved her to lie on her back, massaged that slippery massage oil across her shoulders, her chest, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs and now Zima could see he was using a jar half filled with a translucent green jelly that he scooped out and layered across her skin, his hands sliding on her, gliding on her, caressing her, finding her swollen nipples and the only thing better than two hands on her breasts and nipples turned out to be four hands while two more caressed her belly and her thighs, now circling, now digging deep, now teasing her labia so that her hips juddered upwards with her need.

“Please,” she begged, increasingly desperate for the release she now longed for. “Please.”

“Patienzzze, Zzzzzima,” Buzz seemed to smile, humming of summer and of fecundity and of desire and of service. “Patienzzzzze.”

But his hands did nothing to assist her in regaining any patience. Rather, his caresses increased her need, her desire, her impatience for that release she now craved. That humming seemed to increase in power, if not in volume, resonating within her body, feeding her desire and now two of his hands concentrated on her breasts, full and heavy and swollen, her nipples rubbery, aching. His fingers teasing, caressing, tugging, squeezing lightly so that Zima moaned as her back arched, as she offered Buzz her breasts as she had never offered them to a male of her own species.

His other four hands. Two of them were on her inner thighs, parting them, spreading her, massaging her muscles. The other two? One teased her sex, teased her labia. Teased her inner entrance delicately. The other reached out, scooped up a fingerful of that deliciously aromatic translucent green jelly held in that large jar, applied it delicately to her sex.

“Ooohhhhhh.” Shivering with pleasure, Zima moaned as the translucent green jelly coated her entrance, the cool gel accentuating the sensations she was experiencing, accentuating her desire, her excitement.

“Open yourzzzelf for me, Zzzzina,” Buzz hummed, that scent of summer wafting across her face as he hummed, and Zima obeyed.

Obeyed instantly. Both of her hands slid down over her belly, her fingertips found her labia, pressed, eased herself apart, exposing her entrance to Buzz’s huge multi-faceted orbs as she had never exposed herself to a human male. Two of his hands seized her legs, spread her wide, two caressed her breasts, one scooped a handful of that translucent jelly out and held it while one finger of his remaining hand scooped some up, eased that fingerload into her entrance where Zima held herself open. Where Zima was so wet and so open and so exposed.

Zima shuddered as she felt a finger work that jelly inside her.

Buzz’s finger eased inside her, eased out, applied more jelly, again and again, working a cupful of the green translucency inside her before his long slender finger sank deeply within her body, caressing her inner walls now, touching her were only her own species had ever touched her. Only males of her own species. Never an alien but to Zima, Buzz’s touch within her was beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Touching her deeper with than she had ever been touched before with that long long finger.

Wet? Zima was liquid inside and the jelly accentuated her liquid readiness. When Buzz eased a second finger into her, stretching her a little, Zima squealed and shuddered, hanging suspended in a molten bath of pure pleasure. When a finger of his other hand probed her anal entrance, Zima almost screamed. The jelly he inserted there somehow seemed to open her to the finger that penetrated her, open her wider and wider as he scooped more and more jelly and fed it into her anal channel, massaging it into her body just as his other fingers massaged her vaginal channel until her squeals and moans became screams.

“Jesus Jesus Jesus oh god oh god ohhhh ohh ohhh ohhhhhhhhhhh.” Zima could hear herself as that orgasmic explosion of pleasure went on and on and on and on. One wave of golden sensation after another flooding her from the tips of her toes to her fingertips as she arched upwards on the massage table, only her shoulders and her feet touching the padding, her body a bow, an arch, seeking more and more of the pleasure that pervaded her senses.

Buzz’s hands, all six of them, massaged her everywhere, digging deep here, massaging lightly there, teasing another orgasmic wave from her clitoris, probing and exploring inside her. Scents of warm honey and dried grass washed over her, filled her lungs so that she wanted nothing more than to bury her face in the silk of Buzz’s fine hair and inhale deeply. It looked down at her, those huge multi-faceted eyes reflecting her face a thousand times but somehow they seemed warm, warm and caring. Sunlight and green grass and butterflies on a summer breeze under a cloudless blue sky as his fingers drove her out of her mind with unadulterated excitement.

That was all Zima could think of as her hips juddered upwards, as her orgasmic climax overwhelmed her senses, as that humming buzz resonated through her body. It was a long long time before she could even think, and when she did, it was to eye Buzz in awe.

“Oh god,” Zima sighed. “I think I’m in love.” She looked at Buzz and giggled. “I’m in love with a giant alien bee or something. Can we do that again?”

Buzz’s laugh was a gentle buzzzzzzzz conveying humor, laughter, amusement, even love. “Of courzzzze,” he hummed and if a giant alien bee could’ve smiled, Zima swore that’s what he was doing. “Zzztandard Ratezzzz of courzzzzze.”

“Of course,” Zima smiled. Worth every credit. Jesus. Again, please.

Zima, she was smiling all the way back to Hellraiser. She was still smiling when she woke up after a solid off-shift’s sleep. She smiled every evening as she went off-shift, knowing that soon she would be walking towards Buzz’s compartment for her nightly massage. Soon Buzz would be massaging her to that release she desired and longed for and anticipated and welcomed. She didn’t even mind waiting while her finished with whatever client he was working with when she arrived.

None of Buzz’s clients minded waiting for Buzz.

“Halloween Night the evening before we ship out, First,” the Captain said over coffee with three days to go. “Seems to be a popular thing here, any idea what it’s all about?”

“Some sort of old Terran tradition,” First shrugged. “No idea really, Keagan said you gotta dress up in costumes, scarier the better apparently. Seems weird to me, but Nockatunga’s big on these things.”

“Guess you’ve got plans then?” the Captain asked.

First shrugged. “Keagan asked me, told her I’d check in and let her know. You mind if I take the night off myself? Keagan’s got this party she wants me to come too with her.”

“Don’t get too serious, First,” the Captain said.

“No worries, mate,” First grinned. “But hey, we’ll be coming back through here, want to keep her sweet, she’s a good one ‘n she’ll be as mad as a cut snake if I don’t front up.”

“Jesus, First,” the Captain groaned, “you’re starting to sound like a Nockatungan.”

“I am? That’s just dinky-di, mate.”

The Captain laughed. “You take that last night off, First. I’ll take the ship.” He shrugged. “Usually do, and things ’re looking good. I’ll take a quiet night and con us out.” He was pleased with way things were looking good for the next leg.

Really good. Full holds for the run to Tuataupere, a full passenger list, those premium cryo-boxes already onboard and paid for. Ritchies had gotten them a four hundred percent markup on that container of bourbon and they’d picked up a couple of containers of Nockatungan Bundaberg Rum that’d sell well in Apia for sure. Maybe even sell in Tuataupere if the bids were good.

“I’m thinking everyone can take the shift off, we’ll be done loading and I hear there’s going to be some good Halloween Parties. I’ll look after the ship.”