Close Encounters of the Lewd Kind

The cold steel gave her goose bumps as she sat in her cage, naked and shivering. Normally, she lived in style with her handler and the rest of the girls on her handler's deep space cruiser, but every time he sent one of his girls in to see a client he insisted they be caged. He said it was "humbling," that clients didn't want to see their escorts arrive in more style than the clients themselves could provide. She usually didn't mind, but she had never been kept waiting this long and the cage was freezing! Plus, she hated to have her wrists shackled and chained every time she was bought for a night. Her handler said it turned clients on and gave them a sense of power, but she found it degrading. She reached out her hands, groping for the bars in the dark and shivering. Her cage had been covered as soon as they reached the palace and she had been left in the blackness ever since, only aware of sounds and movement. They had moved her frequently the first hour or so, but for the last few hours she hadn't heard a soul and hadn't been moved an inch. Every time she shivered, her pussy contracted and made her aware of the Tightener.

It was a new piece of technology that was inserted in the vagina as far back as it would go and it released a chemical that continually contracted the vaginal muscles. Her handler insisted she wear it from now on, that way her pussy would always be tight and he could charge more for her. The Tightener wasn't painful, but she wasn't used to it yet. She wasn't sure she wanted to be so tight that it might be painful getting used to a client. Not that it mattered what she wanted. This gig better be worth it, she thought to herself, tired of waiting and ready to head back to the cruiser already so she could tell the other girls about the mysterious new client and sink into a hot bath.

Her name was Celestria, translated to Evening Moon in English. Her given name had been forgotten long ago, and the other girls just called her Moon. Her handler called her Tits or Melons. She had never learned his name, for all the girls he managed were told to call him Master at all times. In reality, he was just a lower-level employee for the Bombshell Comets Escort Service, Inc., a company run by a billionaire that the girls would never meet in person. Master was assigned a ship, ten girls, and a salary to troll this region of the galaxy soliciting business. He had friends in high places and low places throughout the region, and his girls were kept very busy turning tricks for everyone from drug-dealing insectoids to Paladian royalty. She hadn't been to her birth planet in twelve years, and hadn't seen Earth in two. Not that she cared. Neither of those planets had been any more of a home than the one she was on now.

She had been born on the small planet Mystalica, the daughter of a low-class barmaid and a no-class drifter. She was given up to government care immediately, and only survived in her nation's foster system until she was six, at which point she stowed away on a huge merchant carrier bound for Earth. Earth was an intergalactic superpower with two hundred times the population of her tiny planet, and it was the trading center of the Larger Galactic Planetary Nation. The American Interstellar Union had controlled the planet for millennia, and stories of the success and happiness to be found under Earth's banner abounded among the downtrodden of Mystalica. She was sure Earth would become the home she never had, the home of her dreams.

That, of course, was not the case. Not even close to the case, actually. The ship docked in New Berlin, the European financial hub of 90 million people. Once there, she was just another urchin in the crowd: begging for scraps, bouncing from charity to charity, and living on the street. She made few friends and barely survived, owing most of her progress to an elderly priest that always fed her when she was at her lowest lows. He first found her almost starved to death in a filthy dumpster, scrambling to catch roaches for protein. That priest brought her to the church, saved her life, taught her English, and educated her—teaching her how to live and survive on Earth. He never knew where she came from and never asked, choosing to focus on her present and future rather than her past. He was the only parental guide she ever had.

For some reason, she was always thankful the people of Mystalica so resembled humans from Earth. No one stared at her or even noticed her in a crowd, and the more patriotic humans were better inclined to give charity to other humans than aliens. In fact, she didn't see much of a difference between the two peoples at all until she hit puberty. Her breasts filled out, her hips flared, her legs grew longer, and her body quickly readied itself for reproduction. Mystalican women mature quickly, and are considered full adults at age fifteen. Thus, by the time Moon was nearing twelve years old, she was developing in ways that most Earth girls her age wouldn't see for another year or more. That's when things started to fall from bad to worse.

A year later, when she was somewhere around thirteen, the old priest died. Thanks to his teachings she had made a place for herself among New Amsterdam's homeless, and she felt that she owed him much more than her life. His was the only funeral she had ever been to, and she had bawled. All the guests stared at her to no end, such a spectacle did she make. She wailed and cried until her voice gave out and her eyes dried up, sitting there in her old salvaged clothes and knotted hair. She stuck out like a sore thumb among the aging, respectable crowd of mourners, but she didn't care. Even if she had, she still couldn't have stopped crying. No matter what, the man in the back would have noticed her.

He was a truly lecherous character, one of the old priest's failed attempts at philanthropy. Like Moon, the priest had taught him and fathered him, but once he became of age, the priest could do no more for him. He was quickly arrested for drug trafficking and soliciting prostitutes, as well as pimping, and spent most of his young adulthood in prison with criminals from countless different nations and planets. Once there, his condition deteriorated. Earth's prisons had stopped being humane with the first influx of alien prisoners, and one had to do all he could just to survive. He had done unspeakable things to creatures that would give most thirteen year old girls nightmares for weeks. He only attended the old man's funeral out of some lingering sense of respect for the only person that ever cared for him. Had Moon not caught his eye, he would have ducked in and out in a few minutes and been back on the street, drugs in hand, off to his next crime. One look at her, however, and his drugs were forgotten.

Within minutes he had decided she was indeed Mystalican. To the untrained eye, she would've looked like any other homeless waif, but he knew the signs. Before he went to prison the second time for human trafficking he had spent time with a wealthy handler dealing solely in Mystalican women. Once in prison, he learned even more about them. Scant few men knew the actual name of the planet from which these girls were gathered, so small is the population of Mystalica, but almost all men who had ever been close to a red-light business knew of the girls themselves. To the public, they were known only as Angels, for reasons evident to the man as he looked at Moon where she weeped in her pew.

Even at thirteen he could tell she was no Earth female. For starters, her skin was perfect. She had been crying for hours and her face was neither red nor puffy. She didn't have a blemish to be seen, and though it was winter he could see she was tanned from all the way across the church. The other signs were there as well: her figure was already curving; her legs were long and lithe, even tucked underneath the bench like they were; her hair, though tangled, held a gloss no homeless girl ever attained; and her breasts were that of a fully developed woman, not those of a snot-nosed little girl. He couldn't be sure, given her hand-me-down sweater, but he guessed them to be at least a high C-cup already. The processors at the trafficking office would make sure his assumptions were correct, but he knew they were. Smiling, he slithered out of the church and waited outside. He waited for hours as the guests left, and was sure she was the very last living soul to leave the church when she finally crossed the threshold. Despite the wait, he had a warm smile as he slinked up to her and put his arm around her shoulder. Grinning the whole time, he explained how the late priest was one of his best friends and he could tell she was a friend too and would she like to sit in the warmth of his car and talk about the old guy? She couldn't say no.

She grimaced as she sat in her cage, remembering him. An hour after she climbed into his vehicle he was parked outside the warehouse that served as the local processing center for every being unlucky enough to be captured and spirited away for profit. A leering doctor with groping hands and dirty nails drugged her, then untied her and undressed her. He was a pervert but no pedophile, and merely affirmed the church stalker's claim that she was indeed an Angel.

Strangely, for all the signs, there's only one sure fire way to positively I.D. a Mystalican woman, aside from DNA testing. It is an extra reproductive hole, situated right above the vagina, taking the place of the clitoris at the apex of the labia. Though it is larger than the clitoris, the pussy lips still join above it. Thus, Mystalican women have slightly longer vaginas with larger labias, encompassing two holes instead of one. In immature Mystalican girls, it is impenetrable, but as they age it loosens and becomes functional. The tunnel angles slightly downward and ends in a thick bundle of nerves just before it intersects the vaginal pathway.

A long penis inserted in the vagina can press upward on the bundle of nerves in the smaller hole, but the best stimulation comes from penetrating the actual hole and bumping that bundle directly. It is a hole functioning solely for the pleasure of lovemaking. Its walls secrete a concentrated lubricant that warms the male organ, and no matter how many times the hole is penetrated, it never loosens thanks to the extra thick muscles surrounding it, ensuring that the penetrator always feels it at its tightest. Countless sex toys have emulated it, but none even come close to the real thing. In Mystalican it is called the "maxiavula", in English the "superior vaginal orifice", and in the vernacular it is known only as the "honey hole." The presence of the maxiavula is one hundred percent conclusive proof that a girl is a genuine Angel. That is what the stalker knew the doctor would find, and indeed the doctor did. Two days later Moon was sold to the Bombshell Comets buying agent for a huge profit. She was drugged into such a stupor she never even knew she had left Earth. By the time she woke up on the Bombshell Comet recruit ship she was light-years away and officially the property of the Bombshell Comets Escort Service, Inc. They were glad to pay for her: Angels are extremely rare to find, rarer to get in the escort business, and rarer still to arrive as virgins.

She spent her fourteenth and fifteenth birthdays developing on her assigned Master's ship. He had the largest region to cover in the whole reach of the BCE Agency, so his superiors knew she would get the most use and the most publicity working there. Those first two years she was a cabin assistant to the other girls, waiting on them hand and foot while they taught her the art of forced escortship. Moon was surprised to find that the girls lived in lavish excess. For being technically property, they were treated like queens when they weren't working. They were the best of the best at the BCES, and they knew it. By the time Moon turned sixteen, she had accepted her position and was eager for some of the fortune they enjoyed. At sixteen, she got so horny in her cabin that she masturbated herself to her first orgasm. This was no surprise. Any time the escorts did not have clients they were expected to pleasure themselves often. Several of them would gather in the common areas of the ship and mutually masturbate, and those that didn't went to their rooms and used the variety of dildos and simulators available to them. Of course, Moon being an Angel, her orgasm was much stronger than any the other girls would ever have. As a result of that mind-blowing experience, she became willing and ready that night. The next day, she began taking clients from whatever planet was rich enough to pay for her. There was no looking back.

She was lucky that the person to take her virginity was the ruler of a province on a distant planet, one populated by a dwarfish humanoid race. His status meant he was clean and his stature meant that his penis was small by human standards, so he didn't hurt her or stretch her terribly. Seldom would being clean and having a regular cock occur in the same client: Many of her Master's best customers made their money from illegal activity or stole it, and they were rarely concerned with hygiene. There were also thousands of species in the galactic region with genitals that would make most, if not all, human men look shriveled. Since that first one, she had fucked many of them and had few regrets. That was the great thing about being an Angel, she discovered. She truly loved sex and the male reproductive organ, whether it was a bud, penis, tentacle, probe, or any other number of members.

Therefore, when this client called, Master knew she was the perfect choice. After hearing that Moon was an Angel, the client readily agreed and forwarded his deposit for her services on the spot. Moon had no choice in the matter. The client himself was new to the Bombshell Comets service, and Moon did not have even a basic knowledge of his species. The more she talked about him with the other girls, all older and more experienced than she, the more mysterious he seemed. She was only eighteen and had a long career ahead of her, so she relied upon the testimony of her fellow escorts, but they fell short in this instance. Only the oldest, an alien woman named Chalise, knew anything about the species in general. The two women bathed together and talked about it, the elder eager to fuel the imagination of her younger peer.

Though Chalise was only thirty-five or so by Earth years, she had peddled her wares far longer and more distant than Moon had. She washed her three heavy breasts, smiling and telling all she knew as Moon cleaned her back. All Moon could say for sure beforehand was that the client was a lord for the nearest planet, the leader of a private and reclusive species. No Earth ships had even been allowed on the planet before, and very few of the native species emigrated, so not much was known about them. Chalise abounded in rumor, however, and had heard every theory possible surrounding this planet.

She said the name of the species in their own tongue wasn't known, but they were commonly known as Dragons, though she didn't know why. Some said they were green, others that they were red, so no one knew for sure, but everyone agreed that it was a bald species. They were a proud people, and their men tended to be strong and tall. Chalise hesitated here, before continuing. Though the information so far had been brief, even more so was the intelligence regarding their reproduction. All the tips she had garnered from other escorts across the universe boiled down to one brief sentence: They are not small in that area, and be prepared for multiple penetrations and one hell of an orgasm. That was it for info on the new client.

A few days later, as Moon shivered in her cage awaiting his arrival, she knew no more than she had before in that bathtub. She was deep in the inner rooms of a foreign palace, inhabited by a species no one knew about, ready to fornicate in who knows what way, and more than a little scared. She gently reached down and ran a finger between the lips of her twat, smooth and closed around her holes. She whimpered as the digit passed over her vagina and pressed against the rim of her honey hole. At any other time, she would have immediately began to become aroused, thanks partially to her Mystalican libido and partially to the libido pill all the girls were made to take daily. On this day, even that failed to warm her, however, and she went back to clutching the bars, unable to masturbate in her anticipation.

When the cloth was finally removed from her cage, she stared around her in wonder, squinting against the sudden light. Once her eyes adjusted, she could see she was in a luxurious room, high ceilinged with stone floors and intricately carved columns along the walls. A heavily-clothed servant stood beside her cage; cover in hand, ready to open the door when necessary. She couldn't see anything through the clothing wrapped around him except for a pair of bright yellow eyes, glaring out from light green skin. So, they're green after all! She thought, smiling grimly. Rich tapestries hung from the ceiling, woven with words she couldn't read. There were cushions around the room as well, but the only thing in the middle of the room, the only piece of real furniture, was a strange sort of bed. It was almost waist high, with slender legs, and it wasn't overly large. Moon would have decided it was a table if it were not thickly padded on top. Her intuition told her she might be spending some time on that bed, and she appraised it carefully, finally finding it satisfactory. On the other end of the large room, opposite from her cage, was a curtained door, the only other entrance to the room aside from the one she had been placed in front of. The curtains were thick and heavy, and she had just started to look at them closely when they rustled. Moon's breath caught in her throat and she stared intently, nervous and excited as her client finally walked into the room.

Her mouth fell slack and her eyes pored over him as he strode toward her across the cavernous hall. He was surprisingly humanoid, but obviously not a human. His arms, legs, and musculature were identical. He had the same number of limbs, the same number of facial features, and his head was in the right spot. There the similarities ended. His skin, as she expected, was a light green in color, and covered in small scales from his neck to his ankles. He was tall and lean, showing some impressive muscle tone, and his torso was long and sported an extra pair of abs, which flexed nicely as he walked. His hands, feet, and face were also long, ending in slender digits and a pointed chin. Moon couldn't see a strand of hair on his body, she supposed because of the scales. In sharp contrast to the servant at her side, the client was scantily clad, to say the least, but whether that was his normal attire or just due to her purpose she didn't know. All he wore was a loose loincloth that wrapped around his hips and hung between his legs. She studied that loincloth closely as he walked, but it revealed no extra bulge or movement. She was glad he had the muscular appearance of a healthy human male, but she still had no clue how he had sex! By the time he stopped in front of her she had finished her examination and found herself to be actually physically attracted to him! She smiled up at him happily as he glared at her with those yellow eyes.

With a wave of his slender hand the servant opened Moon's cage and quickly exited the room without a sound, leaving the naked Angel with her buyer. As she stood, relieved to be out of that god-awful hunk of metal, she stretched and smiled, trying to work circulation back into her legs. His eyes now roamed her body, taking in her shimmering black hair and silver eyes, her slender neck leading down to a massive pair of DD size tits. Even he, on this closed planet, had heard tales of the Mystalican breasts, and he smiled slightly as he observed them for the first time. Dark pink nipples jutted out proudly from the mountains of flesh, little nubs of pleasure that emerged from large, equally dark areolas. They were surprisingly perky for such large tits, and they bobbed and swayed continuously as she moved and breathed. Goose bumps rose on her skin again as she felt his eyes drive into her and inspect her like a piece of property.