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He'd thought he was going to have a harder time walking than he did, after what the machine had put him through.

Certainly, there had been soreness, the skunk thought to himself, idly rubbing his backside as he walked down another long, empty metallic corridor of whichever superstructure he was in. After the intensity of the movement of its alternately paced piston-like protrusions had felt like it was going to split him in half, he'd been surprised to have been able to stand at all. He hadn't been able to do so right away, reeling as much from the pleasure they'd inflicted on him as from the pervasiveness of their probing. But he hadn't seen blood on them on their way out, so he figured that they mustn't have caused him any permanent damage, if any. They'd seen to that.

He wasn't certain of how much control he could've gained back by this point, supposing he'd wanted to, however unlikely that may have been. The alien creature had talked, even though he hadn't expected it to, but it was still early in his journey then, and it had been right when it had told the skunk that he wanted what was happening. The machine had technically spoken to him, although the plant hadn't, but while they'd both moved with a purpose all of their own, Wastrel didn't know whether either of them would've been able to understand him if he'd been the one to speak to them. So far letting things happen the way they were happening around him had been rewarding enough even when he hadn't fully understood everything that had been going on, he had to admit.

Surely he'd have to see the rabbit again at least once more, by the end of it, to receive some form of compensation for the services he was providing by taking these unusual risks for the entertainment of others? (Hopefully also to receive something else...) He wondered whether or not his contract had included some kind of safeword that he should've been paying closer attention to when he'd first signed it, without which his protests would now be seen as part of his acting, but it was too late for that by then. He hoped that he'd been performing up to expectations until then, in any case. One thing had had figured out by then was that the bunny was definitely making no ordinary porn flick, he was sure about that. He'd been warned that he may have had to be away from home for a long period of time - but for how long?

These were the questions that were going through his mind when he heard the sound.

At first, it was so quiet and far off that he wasn't sure of whether he was really hearing it or only imagining that he heard it. It just kept happening, though, and the more it happened, the louder it got, so the louder it got, the more Wastrel was forced to recognize that it was happening for real after all. It was a fast, repetitive thumping sound from above, his furred ears twitched as they informed him, echoing as though against something hollow in the corridor's ceiling.

And... Was there something else? Or was that just an impression that he was getting because of repercussions that were being caused by the first sound? The first sound was beginning to sound familiar, although he couldn't place it just yet, but he thought he remembered having heard it without the second sound before, maybe even recently at that. Yes, there was something else! The closer and louder it became, the more he wondered how he could've questioned whether he'd heard it or not.

Now what in the seven hells could it possibly be, he wondered? After some of what he'd already seen in this place, Wastrel no longer had any idea of what he should've been expecting by that point. He wouldn't have been able to predict any of what had happened to him in the filming facility until then. He wasn't going to have to wonder for long, though.

Far ahead in front of him, just barely within his field of vision, he saw a metal plate fall from the ceiling, making a clanging noise which resonated across the long metallic corridor as it struck the floor beneath it. Before he could take a step closer to it to investigate what could've caused it to fall, his question was answered as the dark, chitinous creature, who'd had his turn with the skunk after the rabbit and before the plant had, dropped down from what he understood must have been the air vent after it. He landed right on top of the fallen metal plate in a runner's crouch, his sharp-tipped tail half-coiling around him as part of the same motion. Looking up at the skunk from his crouch, he pushed against the ground, propelling himself into a leap forward with both of his clawed feet and hands.

The leap resolved into a fervent run in the skunk's direction on all four, tail flailing wildly as it trailed behind him. At first, Wastrel assumed that it was him that the creature must have been after, both because of how the two of them had interacted before, and because no other explanation readily presented itself as to why he would have been in such a hurry to get from where he was to where he was headed. The skunk was uncertain as to which would have been the best reaction for him to have to being placed in such a predicament as this.

He'd certainly had no complaints about how things had gone when he'd been with the creature the previous time, but how could he be sure that he had the same intentions toward the skunk now that he'd had back then? What if this time was to be different somehow? He knew nothing of aliens and their ways, he thought as he eyed the bobbing spines on the black elbows, heels and back warily.

What did the beings that they shared their bodies with mean to them? How different could it be from the meanings that beings ascribed to this kind of sharing on Earth, when even on Earth there was already so much variance in the meanings that beings ascribed to things like this? Wastrel really had no way of knowing, but then, you could never fully know the intentions of anyone who approached you in any context, he tried to tell himself, and there could always be an element of risk to it regardless of what that context could be. So rather than react with fear, as he initially had the first time, he decided to stay standing right where he was, and to wait to see what would happen to him when the creature would get to him this time.

Something seemed awry, though, he couldn't help but think...

The first time, the extraterrestrial being had taken his time with him, calm with the confidence of seeming to know that things would go his way in time. Now, after things had in fact happened just like this once, and after the skunk had given no indication that he wouldn't want things to happen just as they had then once more, there he was again, frantically running toward him as though he were afraid that the skunk would attempt to get away from him this time. What could possibly have happened in the interim to prompt this radical turnaround in his approach?

It was true that they'd been in a closed room the first time around, whereas they were in a longer corridor in which escape would've been ostensibly easier this time. There still seemed to have been something more to it than that, though. The vent plate may have fallen far enough from the skunk, but the creature ran extremely fast, especially on all four, so Wastrel only had a very short time in which to figure out what was going on and to decide what to do about it before any decision as to it on his part would become purely academic. It was only when the alien got close enough to him that he could distinguish the red of his eyes that he was finally able to make that call.

The creature was afraid.

There could be no mistaking it by that point: he'd noticed that the skunk was where he was in the corridor with him, no question about it, but there was no predatory glint that could be detected in his eye. He was not running toward something, but running away from something. The alien was a predator that, it turned out, as it was often the case in nature, the skunk supposed, had now been put in the much less enviable role of striving to avoid becoming another predator's prey himself. There was always a bigger fish in the pond, as every nature documentary that he'd ever watched had taught him well.

This begged the question: what sort of entity could have been proportionately scary enough to have scared such a creature, enough for the alien to have been running from it at such alarming alacrity, at that? And if such an entity existed, and was just around the corner, was standing in one place waiting for it to show up really the best course of action for Wastrel to have been undertaking at the time? Or wouldn't it have been a much better idea for him to have been taking a cue from the creature and to have been running as fast as he could in the opposite direction than the one it would be coming from himself from the start?

A chill went down his spine, that unmistakable tingling at the base of his tail.

Yes, the thought flashed into his mind when he first saw what it looked like, it would've been a significantly better idea for him to have done so as soon as he'd been able to. While he regretted that there was no going back in time for him to be able to start doing so earlier, this was the last thought he allowed himself before what little was left of the indecision paralysis which had kept him locked in place in the face of danger melted away like a snowball in hell. With it, he'd turned tail, and let his legs do his thinking for him instead, fur standing on end.

He'd seen a tentacle.

Not a slow, green, creeping vine as he'd seen growing from the hive-minded plant earlier, but a smooth, slick, purplish appendage that looked like nothing he'd ever seen anywhere else on land or beneath the waves. It had erupted from the wall violently, pushing its way right through the solid metallic surface as though it had offered it no resistance whatsoever. It was grasping at the panting alien with a determination which seemed every bit as out of this world as it did, reaching for him as though its life, for it was clearly alive, depended on it. While it had seemed to have been primarily after the creature rather than him, there was no indication that it would've been very choosy between whoever it would find on its way.

It had brought friends.

Either that, or it was part of an entity so big that all of the tentacles which were sprouting from the walls, floor and ceiling behind them could belong to the same one somehow. That possibility was too frightening for Wastrel to have even wanted to consider, but it had come to him unbidden anyway. He didn't know what they would've wanted to do with him if they'd caught him, and he didn't want to stick around long enough to find out.

In his mad dash, he could hear the alien's harried footsteps reverberating in the metal corridor around them increasingly closer to him, letting him know that what little distance remained between the two of them was steadily decreasing. More violent sounds of metal breaking crashed against his eardrums as more and more tentacles followed the first one's intrusion. Each of them seemed to have a limited range, but their points of entry were never random, always in the most recent spot in which the creature had been before it had gotten out of the way at the last split second. There seemed to be no end to them, inching their way ever closer, showing no sign of wearying, as the two runners were inevitably bound to.

They weren't going to be able to run forever.

His limbic system flooding with adrenalin, the skunk, hearing a fluctuation in the direction that the sound behind him was coming from, against his better judgment, tried to sneak a peek behind him over his shoulder without slowing down. He gasped when he saw that the alien was now trying to elide the entity's attempts at capturing him by using the claws on his hands and feet to continue running on all four along the right wall. Just as Wastrel brought his eyes back to where he was going he noticed a tentacle swooping down at his legs to try to scoop him up, narrowly flipping over it to avoid being tripped by it.

Before he even had time to tell himself that it may have been a bad idea not to have been looking where he was going, he'd already been unable to resist taking another, quicker look above. Since the tentacles had triangulated the creature's position and had adjusted their expectations as to where he'd be, he was now using his gravity-defying abilities to scuttle upside-down right on the ceiling, at least one of his limbs always connected to it keeping him from falling. The skunk pulled his glance back down to the ground just a split-second too late that time and the second tentacle that went for his legs did trip him, so he rolled to his feet and sprang back up into a sprint before it could finish the job of wrapping itself around them.

His heart racing, his curiosity got the better of him one last time, and he saw that the tentacles had caught on to the alien's ceiling run and the creature had continued his corkscrew evasion all the way to the left wall. This time a tentacle did manage to wrap itself around Wastrel's ankle. Since it pulled one of his feet back while his other foot was still racing forward his legs were stretched apart as he fell down in a split. He span on his hands, the circular motion twisting him out of its grip and back on his feet, but he could tell that he'd lost time having had to do so that he wasn't going to be able to get back.

Before he could turn around again to confirm that the creature had in fact finished coming back down to run on the floor behind him, he heard it shriek the unearthly shriek of its kind. One of the emerging tentacles had finally got the best of it and pulled it in through the wall right along with it. The skunk shivered at the thought of it, but what could he do but to keep on running himself, if he didn't want to be caught by them in the exact same way? There was no more reason to look back, no one else who was left for him to look back on then, but as fast as he ran, was it really anything but a matter of time by that point?

The tentacles wised up, and two of them went for both of his ankles that time. Wastrel tried to leap away from them as they reached for him, but both of them had learned to predict his movements by then, and were just in time to catch him. He fell back face down, first held up by his hands on the ground, adjusting his grip for as long as he could as he was pulled along before he lost it and could only scratch in vain at the smooth metal floor as his belly was dragged across it.

His muscles overloaded with lactic acid, he made a last desperate attempt to bend his torso forward, stretching in an attempt to punch or claw at the tentacles which were wrapped around his ankles so that he could force them to release their grip. He was so focused on them that he didn't see the tentacle coming out of the wall to his right, just behind him, stopping his motion by wrapping itself around his torso from the side. Lifting him up in the air, the others around his ankles letting go of them, it wasted no more time pursuing its prey than it already had, and yanked him through the wall.

Everything went dark.

***

When he came to, he had no idea where he was, no idea of what could've happened to him while he was out. He tried to move, and realized that he was only able to move his neck. While the rest of his body was sore, it wasn't in any kind of pain which would've prevented him from moving any of it under ordinary circumstances. He was growing to understand that he wasn't anywhere near even remotely ordinary circumstances, not by a long shot.

The reason for which he couldn't move was that he was strapped to a ceiling. Across his shoulders, ankles, wrists, hips and tail, the same kind of rubbery tentacles which had pursued the alien and him held him up against it facing down, unable to free himself. The first sight which greeted his eyes when sight returned to them was the upside-down image of the creature's crotch, which he remembered with some vividness. Seeing that its own hips, ankles, and tail were pinned down where he could see them, it wasn't difficult for Wastrel to put together that the alien's wrists and shoulders must've also been kept in place just as his own were, and that it must've also been staring his own crotch right in the face, stuck on the ground beneath him in a reversed mirror image of his own situation.

It looked like they weren't going to be going anywhere anytime soon. Since he could at least move his neck, he decided to take a look around himself to get a better idea of which kind of setting they were being kept tied up in. Even after everything he'd already seen, and even though his perceptual field of the whole of it was somewhat limited, what he did see of it blew him away.

There weren't just tentacles *on* all of the walls, floor and ceiling everywhere around them. There were, but saying just that doesn't fully do the situation justice. No, it looked more as though the walls, floor and ceiling were made *from* tentacles. On any given surface, there was less space between one tentacle and the next than the space which a single tentacle by itself occupied, a myriad of them wriggling and writhing as far as the eye could see. The only exception to it that he noticed were two circular windows on each side which revealed what surrounded them.

Space...

Were they on a spaceship? Or were they inside of some colossal, spacefaring lifeform? Could the answer have existed somewhere beyond either of those answers on its own?

Paying closer attention still, Wastrel noticed a few slighter tendrils jutting out from between some of the tentacles, reaching for finer bony protrusions between them that he couldn't identify, as though they required adjustments. A few of the tendrils didn't reach for anything, but ended in eyeballs the size of a person's fist, going around monitoring whatever it was that was going on around them. The handful of cartilaginous stalagmites he soon managed to distinguish between the mess of tentacles, he hadn't initially been able to parse from the motion of the rest of them because they also moved, albeit less noticeably: they would become incrementally smaller, then slightly larger in turn, as though breath or pulsating blood moved them. Ichor dripped from the ceiling into puddles of steaming acid, and a chitinous segmented tail ending in a sharp set of pincers in a corner completed the scene.

Were they on a spaceship which was, itself, somehow alive?

What power could've achieved such a seamless fusion of organic life and technology, in a manner that could've found a way of subsisting on its own over time in such inhospitable settings as outer space, at that? Was it some kind of carefully concealed science experiment which had somehow gotten horribly out of hand? Or were these entities which had existed as part of their own intergalactic ecosystem unbeknownst to mankind since time immemorial?

More importantly, what did they do with the beings they captured?

It looked like he was about to find out: he saw that one of the tendrils, wrapped around a strange cylindrical device that he couldn't identify, was slowly bringing it to the creature's nether regions right in front of the skunk's face. It had just enough room to maneuver between the two of them for whatever it meant to do - the two of them were strapped in rather close to each other. There was an opening one of the ends of the cylinder, and just as he saw the tendril bringing it over the alien's manhood, he felt what he could only assume to have been a similar device being brought by another tendril to cover his own shaft.

Rather than seeing what was happening to him on a screen near him as the machine had enabled him to do earlier, Wastrel was now seeing what happened to him as it was being replicated on the creature which was tied up under him instead. The cylinder looked almost like a penis enlarger, he couldn't help but think. The alien clearly hadn't needed one, though, and while he didn't want to brag about his own proportions, it seemed unlikely to the skunk that he would've been hired for the role for which he'd been hired if he'd required significant modifications in that area. After all, the rabbit could've simply hired another actor with a larger cock for the same amount of money, and hadn't seen fit to do so.

The next thought that popped into his head was that it looked a bit like some of the fleshlights that he'd heard about other guys having sometimes used to pleasure themselves when they were on their own. Something didn't quite fit with that explanation either, though. While he was relieved that having had the device over him would've turned out to have been painless, and wasn't entirely unpleasant, it wasn't going up and down on his length in the way that a device would've been used if the point of it had been to steadily increase his level of arousal.

So what could its purpose possibly have been, then?

His eyes widened as, with a strange whirring sound, he saw lines appear in the device that gave him an impression of how its different pieces had been put together and differently colored lights turn on in different spots on it. A brief series of high-pitched clicks and beeps soon joined the whirring, which sounded to him like nothing as much as what a printer would've sounded like. Then, just as quickly and mysteriously as they'd appeared, he saw the tendril carefully remove the device from around the creature's member, while he also felt that the other device was being removed by another tendril from around his own.

Wastrel's blood ran cold when he saw a pinkish, lamprey-like appendage approaching the alien's perineum, as he could tell by then that there was very probably another one just like it nearing him. It had so many rows of teeth that, if something like that had wrapped itself around them the way the device had done, both of their dicks were going to look like they'd spent a week in an iron maiden. He thought - as distant of a priority as that would've been - that it would've been very difficult for him to have finished starring in the movie with his poor junk fresh out of an acupuncture session like that. There wasn't much he could do about it by then but to shake his head, grit his teeth, and brace himself for the worst.

Yet the pain never came.

Instead, what he did see was the lamprey-thing attaching itself to the creature's backside, between its balls and the base of its tail. The skunk jumped as he felt a cold ring latching on to the underside of his own pelvis. So it was a different part of their bodies that they lamprey-things were after, after all, he reflected.

He felt a thin, unimaginably flexible tongue unleashed within its maw, caressing his pucker unlike any other rim job on the receiving end of which he'd ever found himself. Hearing the alien's raspy cries, seeing its toes curl, it was obvious to the skunk that it was also enjoying the treatment that it was receiving. He soon joined it in its involuntary vocalizations when the lamprey-thing's tongue probed its way into his entrance, wiggling around in there and tickling his prostate with the same enthusiasm with which it had previously been licking his opening itself.

For the first time, as pre started leaking from his tip, he wondered just how badly he really did want to escape from this.

Just as he was beginning to accept its presence there, it withdrew, and he was barely able to prevent himself from expressing his disappointment that it would've done so. Before he had time to lament its absence for long, though, he saw another tendril on its way to replace the first one, nearing the creature's behind. It was wrapped around a smaller, clear cylinder, this one with the end rounded off and with a slit set into it which he could see the tendril stopping and resting on the alien's quivering blue backdoor for a moment. As Wastrel felt light pressure being applied to his own rear at the same time, he knew that he was about to experience just what he was about to see.

The device slowly worked its way past his ring at the same pace as he saw paralleled in his fellow captive's. He could tell that the licking had made it a lot easier for something to be able to go in down there. Once what he could only think of referring to as the devices' 'glans' had finished making it all the way into them, the tendrils adjusted themselves around the cylinders so that they could have a better grip on them, and squeezed.

The skunk couldn't repress shivers of excitement from rippling through his body as he felt it injecting a long, warm squirt of lube deep inside his most secret places, while seeing some of it dripping out of the alien's butt below him around the cylinder which also filled it. Then, just like that, they were pulled out, and his regret at its removal was just a little bit harder to hide than the previous time had been. But he hadn't had to wait long then, and he soon saw that his anticipation that he wouldn't have to wait for a long time this time either turned out to have been justified.

For a moment his previous apprehension returned. What the tendril he could see was then bringing near the creature's taint looked like nothing as much as a small cluster of differently sized eggs laid by something that had never seen the light of day, and worried thoughts began fluttering around in his mind. Had the entity gotten them all loosened up like this just so it could stuff its progeny up their ass, only so it could fight its way out of there later as part of some twisted heretofore unknown life cycle? Wastrel hoped to his many gods it hadn't.

Before he could make up his mind about it, he could already see and feel the tendrils pushing their prize in, perhaps not as far as they could go, but further in than the clear cylinder had reached. At least the clutch wasn't bigger than a person's fist, he thought, and the tendril itself was slightly larger than the lamprey-thing's tongue had been, but not by much. It was only when the tendril in front of him began to slowly exit the alien's backside, almost immediately followed by the one in his own, that he understood the purpose of what was taking place.

The tendrils, wrapped around the end of a string connecting the 'eggs' to each other, were pulling the smallest ones out of them first, followed by the next-to-smallest ones, and then by the third, which it was becoming less accurate to refer to as small compared to the first two at all. They were beads, not eggs - or if they were eggs, they were eggs that were being made to function *as* beads, not being put in with the intention of being left in there. The skunk remembered that he'd seen toys like these before, without having ever really grasped what was supposed to be fun about them, as opposed to some of the other options that could be made available to people such as him.

There was nothing that could match learning things like things from experience, Wastrel thought with increasing delight each time his pucker was stretched a little more than the previous time. It was as if he was somehow being successively exited by guy after larger guy, each of them sated after having blown his load inside him, without ever being re-entered by anyone in between. It was with a plaintive whine that he greeted the departure of the last, largest egg-bead from their nether regions.

When he saw the next tendril bring something to the creature's entrance which seemed covered in barbs, he cringed. He'd often thought, in his nature documentary days, that female felines had been dealt an especially unfortunate hand by the Fates, and he'd never looked forward to having to go through what they had to go through, but it looked as though he was going to anyway. Visions of his rectum in the same condition in which he'd pictured his little friend when the lamprey-thing had first approached them began to form in his mind, and he tightened it involuntarily.

Just as he was telling himself that he should at least try to relax, since being tighter would only make it more difficult for it to go in, he saw and felt them start being pushed in, gently to account for their ridges at first, but further in than the bead-eggs had gone. His expectations were once again broken by finding out that perhaps female felines were not so bad off, at least not if what the two captives were going through was any indication of what it could be like for them. When the tendril, having stopped pushing in, pulled back most but not all of the way out before pushing back in and repeated the movement a few times, the words 'ridged for her pleasure' finally made sense to him, and would remain carved in his mind for a while. They were no figure of speech.

Noticing the pre leaking from alien's blue manhood under him, the skunk's own pre would've been intermittently dripping in the creature's maw under his crotch by then, it occurred to him. As the tendrils pulled the ridged apparatuses out of the two actors from different worlds, Wastrel found that, as much as he'd enjoyed them, his initial reaction wasn't regret that they were leaving this time. Instead, he was already looking forward to seeing and feeling what the bioship held in store for its passengers next. Yet somehow, what he did see the next tendril bring to the alien's behind did succeed at reawakening the fear which had receded to the back of his mind by that point.

It was a knot.

Of all the outlandish things that he'd just experienced, he knew it would've seemed odd to some of the people he'd known that this would've been the one that would've still seemed intimidating to him. Knots were fairly of-this-world, not out-of-it. Whenever he'd seen them sold as toys, though, he'd always wondered about their practicality.

How did you even move it in our out of there without hurting yourself, he'd asked himself? It was one thing if a wolf shoved his own normal-sized shaft between your cheeks first, *then* the base of it enlarged inside you when he was about to get off, since there was at least kind of a sequential, step-by-step logic to that process. But since the whole point of the knot had originally been to keep the receiving partner 'locked-in' preventing the pull-out in the first place, how well could it be expected to overcome just the resistance that it relied on to 'work'?

Where had all this caution been when he'd signed his contract, he wondered?

When he saw a tendril start pushing one such device into the creature below him and felt the tip of what he knew was another just like it begin to enter him, he started to panic. He began thinking that this would be it, that whether the ship meant him harm by it or not, that this would be where it would finally overestimate his capacity. This would be the first occasion on which his body would be caused permanent damage since the film's production had begun, he was sure of it.

Was the entity simply curious as to whether it would fit or not? Would it be discouraged and give up if it found that it didn't make its way in easily, or would it stubbornly persist regardless of how difficult its task may have proven to be? Wastrel had no way of knowing, and, again, he had no means of communicating with it, that he knew of. His mind raced at the speed of light for a moment.

Why did people go to horror movies, he asked himself?

Every time he'd tried watching one, it had always seemed like a good idea at the time, and he'd always been horrified and ended up regretting his decision to have watched it by the end of it (when he'd reached the end). That was the whole reason why he'd chosen to star in a porn film rather than in a horror movie in the first place. So what was it about fear that made people seek, and even find, pleasure in it?

He could see that the knotted toy being pushed into the xenomorph's rump in front of him was already at the point where the knot was just going to start going in - he was running out of time.

At first he screamed, and reflexively shook his head sideways when the tendril tried to push it in, and it refused to make it through. The pressure paused, possibly only waiting for his muscles to untighten. He saw that the alien's legs would've been thrashing considerably more if the tentacles hadn't been pinning down its hips and ankles. The skunk noticed that some of the eyeballs on stalks around them seemed to have been looking right in his direction, whatever that could've meant.

Could they have been camera-eyes, still prioritizing the production in this nightmarish wonderscape - or could their glare have meant something else, and if so, what?

When he saw the knot finish its way into the creature, saw how hard it was getting as the sphere settled into its tailhole, heard its uninhibited sigh of satisfaction, and smelled how much pre was dripping from its blue penis which was just barely out of lick's reach, Wastrel began to reconsider some of his previous assumptions about knots. So far, since he'd started filming the movie, every time he'd been confronted with something that many people would've been afraid of, things had turned out well enough for him in the end. It was that spot, at the base of the spine - that was where pleasure and fear converged, he decided. Maybe he'd been asking himself the wrong question.

Why did people watch science-fiction movies?

To be taken beyond their usual limits.

It could've been only because he'd allowed himself to relax into it, but the knot slipped in just then. The fullness of it pressing up against the skunk's prostate felt so good that he was almost overwhelmed. It may not have worked if he hadn't been loosened up throughout the series of experiments he'd just gone through, but it had been worth every bit of it. He wished the alien had been just an inch closer - his hips were all strapped up, so he couldn't move them, but he could feel the warmth of its breath on his tip...

The euphoric rush of having gone past the threshold of his fear was almost the best part of it. He couldn't move any of his body, yet somehow he felt invincible. While the knots kept them on a plateau straining toward release, they were still too big to be able to move in or out of them. At the end of the day, the motion of the ocean still had a crucial role to play.

As he saw a tendril slowly pull the knot out of the creature under his face, Wastrel could feel that he was also having a harder time than it was letting it out of him. As he started wondering how he was going to be able to loosen up enough to allow the synthetic baculum to exit him, he burst out laughing as he felt unseen tendrils start tickling his feet mercilessly. Before he'd even noticed what'd happened, the knot was already past his ring on its way back out of him. That was when the technorganic ship decided that it had given enough face time to the toys it could apparently manufacture at will for then.

The next things to gingerly enter them were two pseudopods that came out of the hull of ship itself. They were easy enough to accommodate after the knots, but that was for the best. It felt like the entity was very pent up from having watched them the whole time, and had been becoming desperate for an opportunity to do something about it.

They were slick and smooth, vaguely pulsating as their nerve endings were stimulated during each thrust. A low, whirring growl, sounding halfway between beast and machine, resonated throughout the atmosphere. Parts of the walls went from purple to a lighter shade of mauve while others turned a darker shade of violet as blood drained to and away from different parts of the bioship. The pseudopods moved in and out of both them more and more insistently until an electronic roar shook the very walls around them, the whole ship trembling as the pseudopods within them distended to their utmost again and again.

When they pulled out, the skunk saw that the withdrawing pseudopod below him had left a trail of ink darkening the alien's blue rear, and could only deduce that the same substance had just been discharged in his own. That may have been going to be hard to wash out, he wasn't sure, but it wasn't the worst thing that could've happened to him that day. He'd certainly never look at a bottle of ink the same way again, he was sure of that much.

They still hadn't gotten off. He whimpered.

This was when the ship rewarded their patience with its latest creations, which put the first device it had held around their cocks in new light. He saw a tendril bring a toy to the creature's nether regions that he recognized from having seen between his own legs for all of his life. Wastrel also recognized the feeling of the one that filled him from when the alien had pinned him down a few scenes before all too well. The entity had scanned them, and had used the time during which it had played with them to engineer two surprisingly lifelike versions of their lengths, possibly to be marketed back on some extraterrestrial homeworld as 'The Xeno' and 'The Mephit' for all he knew, batteries sold separately.

It was as though they were both seeing themselves screwing each other at the same time somehow. Even though such a thing shouldn't have been possible, this was close as they could possibly get to it, as close as their mouths were to each other's members without quite having reached them either. The prostate stimulation from everything they'd experienced during that scene had been steadily building for its entirety. As the skunk heard the buzzing indicating that the entity had turned on their personalized toys' vibrating functions, this proved just that extra step beyond how much they could still have held back from, and the creature squirmed across its threshold under him.

He'd already tasted the alien's pre during their previous encounter, but this time, while he couldn't quite wrap his mouth around it, as he heard it groan, he received every spurt of the geyser that was expelled by the blue urethra up in his mouth, as if it were hitting a target above it. He moaned as his tailhole contracted around the delightful replica as tightly as it possibly could, wanting to keep it inside no matter what as it kept ramming deeper into him. Without needing any direct stimulation on his shaft either, Wastrel ejaculated right into the creature's mouth beneath him, hearing it greedily gulp down every last squirt of his semen while he was still swallowing the xenomorph's seed himself.

He'd just finished having a threesome with an alien and homosexual spaceship.

What growing boy hadn't dreamed of this?