Metamorphoses Ch. 04

"Whore, Bitch -- down!" commanded Mr Lecoq. "Whore" batted her eyelashes and giggled stupidly as she sat on the floor and gazed adoringly up at her husband. "Bitch", in contrast, pouted, sticking both tongue and middle finger out at the man, before sitting at his feet and proceeding to suck her thumb.

Surreptitiously, Gaia rolled her eyes at Melia, who turned her back in disgust, pretending to sterilise some medical equipment on a trolley by the wall.

"You gave me two cocks, remember?" said Mr Lecoq, an unmistakeably accusatory tone in his voice, as he pulled down his trousers to remind her.

"I do remember," replied Gaia, maintaining her customer service expression as best as she could, as the blonde bimbos licked their botoxed lips at the sight of Mr Lecoq's members while kneeling in a practiced attitude of genital veneration. The man's two erections were, even Melia would have admitted, most impressive. Positioned one above the other, but sharing a single massive pair of testicles which dangled below, they gleamed and throbbed with lust. The lower cock was clearly the standard nine-inch model, huge and roughly hewn; the upper was a touch slenderer, obviously a bespoke model designed specifically for its intended purpose -- which Mr Lecoq was apparently intent on demonstrating.

"'Ere, let me show you," grunted Mr Lecoq, before looking down at his fawning wives. "Whore, arse up, now!"

"Oh yes, Hubby-Bubby, totally fuck your Whore with both your dicks," squeaked the first Mrs Lecoq, as she knelt on all fours, pressed her head sideways onto the floor, and pulled back her very short skirt to reveal a tight round bottom. "Whore totally loves being DPed, Hubby-Bubby!" she giggled, as she spread her buttocks to reveal a dripping shaven pussy and a gently winking anus. Placing one foot on the side of her painted face, Mr Lecoq lunged, his two penises simultaneously penetrating his wife with a noisy double squelch, before beginning to fuck both her holes with ostentatious abandon. "Oh, Hubby-Bubby's cocks feel so good," the girl continued to squeal. "Hubby likes fucking his dumb blond fuckwife so fucking hard!" The second Mrs Lecoq held the first wife's buttocks wide with her hands, drooling with worshipful desire at the two squelching pounding cocks.

Mr Lecoq paused his fucking. "See the problem, Doctor?" he blurted, in an accusatory tone.

"Er... no...?" replied Gaia. "Sorry, what is the problem?"

"Bitch wants to suck my cocks -- and she can't, because they're both fucking Whore! What's she supposed to do?!"

Gaia bit her lip. "Um... could you perhaps take one cock out -- maybe the one in her arse, and she could suck that? She might appreciate the flavour...?"

"Nah, Whore needs DPing, like, all the fuckin' time. Don't ya, Whore?"

The first Mrs Lecoq nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, Doctor, Whore totally needs two cocks in her, like, all the fucking time. Otherwise Whore can't cum!" she giggled. "And Bitch can't live without Hubby-Bubby's cock in her mouth -- can you, Bitch?"

The other girl pouted. "Yeah, 'coz Bitch is an oral fuckslut, she is. Bitch's throat is totally made for Hubby's cock!" she drooled, as saliva dribbled down her chin and into the crack of the other woman's buttocks.

"Whore and Bitch both worship Hubby-Bubby's cocks, they do," chorused the two women in unison. "Bitch and Whore can't live without Hubby-Bubby's cocks!" Mr Lecoq beamed, gesturing towards Dr Gaia with a "told you so" look on his face.

"And," the second wife continued, "Bitch totally needs a cock too, so Bitch can help Hubby-Bubby fuck Whore airtight."

"Um... could you not get someone else in?" asked Gaia, a pained expression on her face. "That would be the normal method, wouldn't it?" Melia had by now abandoned all pretence of professionalism, and was standing in the corner face-palming as she listened to the conversation.

"Someone else?" Mr Lecoq sounded outraged, even as he resumed energetically fucking both his first wife's orifices. "But it'sme they want! They fuckin' worship me! Don't ya, fucksluts?!"

Both women squealed their approval. "Yes, Doctor, Hubby-Bubby is our Master! Whore and Bitch only want Hubby-Bubby's cocks -- no one else's!"

"And," continued the first wife, "Whore totally wants Hubby to titfuck her, so Hubby can, like, spurt all his hot cum in Whore's pretty face. If Hubby gets three cocks, that means Whore will need... will need..." -- the first Mrs Lecoq frowned in puzzlement at her painted fingers, as if trying to work out a very complicated sum -- "... so many tits!"

"Uh... but where will you put them?" asked Gaia in bewilderment, as Melia snorted with barely-concealed derision.

But the medical professionals' reservations were clearly having little effect upon their clients, as Mr Lecoq picked up the pace of his DPing, sweat began to pour down his brow, and the first Mrs Lecoq's huge tits swayed and jiggled beneath her in time with her double-fucking. "'Ere it is, then, filthy fuckwives: take this!" The man pulled both his cocks out of his wife's orifices and began rapidly pumping them with his hands. The larger cock exploded first, thick heavy ropes of cum exploding out of the glans, criss-crossing over the first Mrs Lecoq's buttocks, dribbling down the crack of her arse, and forming a viscous pool at the pucker of her anus. "Oh yes, Hubby-Bubby, totally own your little Whore with your cum: Whore loves that so much!" she squealed, as her husband's cock-snot dribbled down off her arsehole onto her fucked-out cunt-lips, where it beaded and dangled tantalisingly.

The upper cock came next, a series of sharp well-aimed spurts splattering the second Mrs Lecoq's face. Her pout disappeared in an instant, as with glee she began slurping at the still spasming anal-scented dick, licking and sucking till her lips and chin were coated with hot cum. Simultaneously she inserted her middle finger into the other wife's arse-crack, scooping up the thicker gloopier cream from the larger cock and smearing it over her face. "Oh yeah, yummy fucking cum cocktail for pretty little Bitch!" she squealed. "Thank you, Hubby-Bubby!"

The first wife turned round, her tongue extended and drooling with desire -- inviting the second to dribble a long thick beaded rope of cum mixture into her open mouth. They kissed lustfully, squealing and giggling with pleasure as they slurped cream off each other's faces and pawed each other's huge breasts, before turning their attention to Mr Lecoq's members, which they sucked in alternation, until all his cum had been drained and joyfully swallowed.

"See, Doctor?" affirmed Mr Lecoq. "They worship me!"

"Oh yes!" chorused the women. "And Hubby-Bubby's fucksluts want more Hubby-Bubby cocks!"

Gaia sighed. "You know you won't be able to get this on the NHS, don't you, Mister and Missuses Lecoq? NICE has set a limit of two cocks per person, and three tits."

Mr Lecoq laughed. "I've got plenty o' dosh, Doctor, don't ya worry. You'll be well paid."

Melia turned towards the wall and pretended to vomit.

~

It was time to rehearse Act Three. The highwayman hero Dick Johnson, played by Duncan the Scots tenor, had been captured by the miners, and was about to be lynched -- but, this being a Henke production, rather than the traditional gallows, they had strapped him into an electric chair and placed an executioner's mask over his head. Thus muffled, he did his best to sing:

Ch'ella mi creda libero e lontano, sopra una nuova via di redenzione...

"May she think me far away and free, on a new path of redemption," thought Daphne, as she sat again at the back of the auditorium, determined this time not to miss her entrance. She remembered the gut-wrenching tussle with her conscience, then hastily pulling on her going-away outfit, following Gaia out the tradesmen's exit behind the kitchens, through the bin yard, across the service lane, and into a small fir copse where, to her amazement, there stood a large red telephone booth. The tears coursing down her face mixing with the remains of croquembouche -- now both salt and sweet on her lips -- she had paused a second to take in the distant sounds of revelry coming from the marquee -- all her friends and relations rejoicing at the union which, unbeknownst to them, would now be aborted before it had barely had a chance to draw breath.

Aspetterà ch'io torni, e passeranno i giorni --

"She will wait for my return, but the days will pass... the days will pass," Daphne muttered, as Duncan poured his heart out, accompanied by big bold G-flat major parallel chords from Vlod's piano, and she remembered the tussle which had taken place amid the dry earth and pine needles in front of the phone box: "Just let me go back and explain to Lucy!" she had pleaded.

"There isn't time!" Gaia had insisted, desperately trying to drag her in. "We mustn't be seen."

Eeeeeeed io non tornerò-- "Aaaaaand I will not return!" sang the tenor, his rich bell-like voice soaring a perfect fifth to linger on a high B-flat -- a note which, despite electric chair and mask, filled the hall with an exquisite blend of heroism, repentance and love. And, Daphne remembered, she too had lingered on the threshold of the phone box, her heart torn with such anguish as she had never known, all the while whimpering with the pain of seeing all her dreams, her greatest joys, torn away from her yet again.

And then -- "DAPHNE!" had come the voice she always rejoiced to hear, calling to her through the trees. "Daphne, where the fuck are you?!"

"Luce! Oh God, Lucy, I am so sorry, please forgive me!" Daphne had called through her tears, even as she had followed Gaia into the phone box. "I love you, my darling! But I have to go..."

But then Lucy had appeared, charging through the trees, barefoot, wet and naked in her haste. Through the bedroom window she had caught a glimpse of red metallic paint through the fir trees and realised what must be happening. She had come clattering down the stairs, screaming with rage at Daphne's would-be abductor. And Daphne had collapsed, half in and half out of the phone box, howling into the dark dry earth: "Oh God, I'm sorry, Luce. I love you. I don't want to leave you. But I'm doing this to save you, my love. Please forgive me: I'm doing this because I love you..."

Minnie, della mia vita mio solo fior... sang the muffled Dick Johnson -- "Minnie, the only flower in my life... who loved me so much..." Daphne recognised her cue, as just at that moment, in through the rear door of the auditorium trudged Ned the stage manager, wheeling a gleaming midnight crimson Harley Davidson Freewheeler.

"Bloody hell, Henke, what wrong with a horse, like the script says?" muttered Daphne, before leaping on, engaging the clutch, and turning the throttle. The roar of the engine drowned out all sound from the stage: soloists, chorus, and -- despite his most strenuous efforts at the keyboard -- poor Vlod. War-shrieking wildly in E major, Daphne rode her motorbike at full throttle up the centre aisle towards the stage, scattering cast, crew and director, as she rode to the rescue of the hapless Dick Johnson.

Henke was delighted. Forgetting that his fly was still undone and there was semen still dripping down his trousers, he stood applauding enthusiastically, a great goofy director's grin shining out from behind his goatee.

~

The last rays of twenty-third century late-evening summer twilight streamed sideways in through the office window, as Gaia and Melia sat, each nursing a small glass of blue Vrdmlian wine. In the distance, a few small airships scudded quietly across the horizon.

"OK, are you ready?" Melia asked.

"Oh yes, my dear. Yes..." sighed the doctor.

"You don't sound so sure," replied the alien.

"Oh... no -- it's just -- well, I hope this works."

"They've agreed, though, haven't they?" asked Melia, taking a sip of blue wine.

"Oh yes, we talked it all through. Daphne wanted to get past press night for this "Funicula" thing, or whatever it's called. But now it's set in stone, and planned to the last detail."

"Well then, happy days are here again, no?"

"I hope so, Melia. I can't stand any more cases like 'Hubby-Bubby' and his blasted fuckwives. Two cunts, three arseholes, six tits and four cocks between them -- and they still dared to say the girl's wasn't big enough! I ask you..."

"Human society needs a re-set."

"The world needs a re-set," agreed Gaia, before pausing and pondering. "You know, what you said was so true: knowledge does not necessarily bring wisdom with it. When I was younger I, like Lucy, naïvely thought it would. But clearly we humans need to draw our wisdom from deeper sources. I hope we learn... someday."

"Hey, you've done well, Gaia. Be satisfied. Soon you can go back to what you always wanted to do when you first became a doctor, which was to help people be healthy happy fuckers."

"Well... maybe..." replied Gaia cautiously.

"Meaning?" Melia raised an eyebrow.

"I think... I might be retiring soon," said Gaia.

"No?! You're joking, right?"

"Um... no," replied the doctor. "I... I'm tired, Melia. I've lost that love for this work that I used to have. And it's not just all this dickgirl stuff. I... I guess I'm just getting older, and sex is just not quite as fascinating for me as it once was..." She chuckled self-deprecatingly.

"Well..." Melia made a slightly apologetic expression. "When was the last time?"

"What, for me?" replied Gaia in mock astonishment.

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," smiled the alien.

"Oh God... ages!" smirked the doctor. "These days I don't do, I just watch, take notes and analyse..."

"Well, let's correct that, shall we?" Melia started to get up.

"What? No, no, Melia, you and I are the best of colleagues, and the best of friends: we have been for years. We should not mix work with pleasure..." A brief glimmer of doubt revealed itself on the doctor's face, before she added, cheekily: "Should we...?" Melia laughed in recognition.

"Just shut your eyes, Doctor Gaia, and let me help you," replied Melia, setting down her wine glass. "You deserve some joy, some catharsis."

"Oh God," muttered Gaia, but did as she was told.

"Cock or no cock?" Melia grinned, as she sat on the floor in front of her boss.

"Oh, God, no cock, please, dear. I've seen enough of those to last me a lifetime. Just something gentle and... feminine, if that's OK... -- oh!" Gaia gasped, as she felt Melia's head softly disappearing under her long skirt, and her warm breath on her legs.

Melia, even in "feminine" mode, was a consummate artist, thought Gaia to herself, as she felt the alien's unseen face burrow into her warm fragrant space. Melia's lips were soft and moist, and they kissed tenderly up and down Gaia's inner thighs, making curved and curling journeys back and forth, before gradually following the moisture and the scent to their sweet source. "Oh," moaned Gaia, as she felt those soft alien lips -- now, surely, beginning to turn blue, she thought to herself -- begin to nibble at her outer flaps, and the extra-terrestrial's tongue start to lick and probe at the soft space between.

"Oh, it's been so long!" moaned Gaia, as she felt her slit begin to flare, felt her inner moisture begin to leak, for the first time in... "God, how long has it been?" she voiced aloud, as Melia giggled and smiled, still unseen beneath the doctor's skirt.

Melia's tongue -- by now blue indeed, though neither of them could see it -- was making long sweeping journeys up and down her boss's dark fleshy lips, teasing them open to reveal the glistening pink flesh within. As Gaia's cunt flowered, so did her fragrance fill the space beneath her skirt, drawing Melia in, until her long blue tongue nuzzled and scooped deeper and deeper, drawing out string upon string of viscous sweet nectar. "Oh, human cunt is so tasty!" came the muffled voice from beneath Gaia's skirt.

Gaia laughed, and it was a multi-faceted laugh -- firstly, a jocular reaction to Melia's inter-species observation; then, relief that, at last, the whole Daphne crisis might be drawing to a close; then, the joy of anticipation of her retirement from this crazy job; and finally, though perhaps she didn't quite recognise it yet, a laugh of devotion, of endearment, of adoration for this beautiful, slender, ageless extra-terrestrial who had been her constant companion for so many years and who was now buried between her thighs. It was precisely that adoration which turned Gaia's chortle into a laugh not just of pleasure and relief, but of self-giving, of ecstasy, of meaning. "Oh God, Melia, I have so much to say to you!" cried Gaia, as her ecstasy grew towards its peak.

"Later, later, my dear," grinned Melia as she clamped her mouth about Gaia's dark brown vulva, her delicate nose buried in her dark damp fragrant bush, her azure lips nibbling at her swollen russet clit, her long blueberry tongue slurping deep into her pink cunt-hole.

When Gaia's orgasm came, it did so not just as a temporary screech of pleasure, but as a profound heartfelt cry -- cathartic yes, but also kenotic, as if it was the culminative expression of a whole life devoted to sex but never really discovering what it meant; it was, the thought passed though Gaia's mind, as if this was her first glimpse, through a glass darkly, of something deeper, more lasting, more eternal than she had ever experienced before.

Melia of course knew, almost better than Gaia, what Gaia was thinking, for her ears -- as you know, dear reader -- were not just receptors of sound, but communicators of meaning and feeling and purpose such as humans could never imagine. And so when her head emerged from beneath the skirt, lips and tongue bright blue and cunt-glistening, ears twisting and thrashing with desire, Gaia felt that she understood both herself and her beloved colleague better than ever before. Her lips trembled, her chest pounded, and she knew what they must do. She pulled Melia upwards, and their lips and hearts met.

~

It was opening night. Lucy sat alone in a box of her own, as the drama unfolded on stage. It did not matter to her that this lovely sentimental drama about miners, bandits and bar-girls had been transformed into an incoherent pottage of nuclear holocausts, summary executions, torture, infanticide, abortion, incest, orgies... oh, and, for good measure, T-34 tanks charging back and forth across the stage at each scene change. For she had come to hear Daphne sing: her beloved futa wife who, it seemed, could make the theatre -- nay, the world -- resonate with the sound of angels. Daphne began Minnie's last long soliloquy, a sinuous hemiola-laden G-major monologue which wound its way into the heart as only Puccini could, its interpolated flattened mediant ninths subconsciously melting the hearts of the audience no less than the characters on stage. Lucy recognised her cue. Slipping out of her seat, she let herself quietly out of her box, crept to the end of the corridor, punched a code into a control panel next to a "Fire Exit Only" sign, and admitted herself backstage. Tiptoeing past lighting controllers and surtitle operators, she made her way quietly down several flights of stairs to the stage door, where, nodding to the security guard -- who appeared more interested in stroking off to his copy ofEscort magazine than anything else -- she stood to watch the finale of the drama unfold on the backstage closed-circuit television.

Of course, Henke had done his best to ruin this part of the opera no less than any other. Instead of Minnie and Johnson riding blissfully off into the sunset on horseback, there appeared on stage a mocked-up Tupolev 95, the roar of whose engines threatened to comprehensively drown out both singers and orchestra. The audience, knowing a dud production when they saw one, jeered and booed and hissed, as they had all evening, but Daphne continued to sing with blissful impassivity: as Lucy knew, when her wife sang, her soul was elsewhere, exploring the eternal truth to which she had devoted her life -- of which her voice was just an echo, a shadow, a narrow door.