Seraphim Space Girls Vol. 07

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Author's Note: Please don't take this series too seriously, it is intended to be light-hearted and stupid, not offensive.

Thank you for reading.

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Merkhail was more than surprised to see the biggest spaceport in Hera Major empty. The concourse he walked through was designed to be brimming with people. But right now he felt more like a dwarf in a castle. One side of the long concourse was nothing but crystal clear glass window overlooking the planet's green landscape. If Merkhail squinted, he could see Saint Mayberry Church being rebuilt far into the distance. The sun was just a sliver of orange on the horizon, its last rays of light painted the inside of the spaceport a healthy golden hue. Completing the picture was a lone janitor in the corner washing the tile floors -- the only other person around.

The young lieutenant lifted one of his hands and watched his glove turn yellow in the sunlight. When he first arrived on the Sarapatra, he was counting the days until he could leave. But somewhere between getting angry with Reynami, being annoyed with Ania and finding a friend in princess Leanne, he began counting the days he was with them instead. He had requested a transfer to an earth bound detachment a week after meeting the Seraphim Space Girls. What was he thinking?

In his left hand hung a heavy suitcase filled with his things. A few odds and ends had been tucked into the folds of his massive greatcoat as well. He flipped his cap over his head and strode on. There was no reason to be spooked by an empty spaceport. Hera Major was so tranquil no one ever wanted to leave.

Merkhail hated goodbyes, and there sure were a lot of them in the military. Friends were transferred, families were re-deployed and comrades were killed. It was better to just leave quietly when circumstances went beyond your control, and the bombshell Agent Francine had dropped on him called for just that.

His boots thumped across the spaceport floor.

"Goodbye's aren't all that bad," came a young lady's voice.

Merkhail stopped in his tracks. He'd recognize that soft, well-spoken tone anywhere, it belong to Princess Leanne.

She was ten steps behind him, leaning her back against a concourse pillar. Her long blonde hair shined even more in the setting sun. Her slender hourglass figure was wrapped in her skin-tight Seraphim uniform. Judging by some of the red scrapes on her snowy white thighs she had just shaven her legs. And farther up her legs, the fabric of her leotard sank into her plushy labia creating a very obvious camel toe. Merkhail sighed. He should have known she'd follow him here.

"Leanne," Merkhail started, "I'm flattered, really, but I told you Earth is re-deploying me." He shrugged to emphasize his helplessness, "Nothing I can do, I don't want you girls getting all mushy other this."

Leanne's face was well made up. She wore soft red lipstick and the most subtle shades of eyeliner and blush. It made her look a lot older.

She leaned her head back and frowned, "You thought I came here to cry over you? Pfft. Don't flatter yourself."

Wow, thought Merkhail, those were some rather sharp words coming from a moé-blob like her. "No." Merkhail said, correcting her.

Rather sentinel-like, Princess Leanne didn't move an inch. The setting sun shined through the window blinds, creating a bar of darkness on her head. It moved slowly down, covering her eyes in shadow.

She tepidly sighed, "I'm disappointed in you. We were a team. You may have thought the girls and I were a bunch of poorly trained bimbos with more boobs than brains, but we all thought you were a cold, distant tyrant."

"Is there a point to this story?" asked Merkhail sternly.

"I just told you. We were a team."

Merkhail rubbed his face with his free hand. He turned around to walk away but turned back around after a few steps, "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. I applied for this transfer my first week with you guys and just forgot about it."

"Is it what you want?" Leanne asked.

She was way too sharp today. There was nothing Merkhail could do but speak the truth, "Yes. It's what I want."

A few tense moments passed.

"So what about you?" the young Lieutenant asked.

The elven princess shrugged, "One more month of service and I can go home again. To my husband."

"Great. Great..."

More tense moments. Merkhail couldn't take much more of this; there was nothing more either of them could say. He took a few steps backwards. Then turned on his heel and walked away. Leanne watched until he was out of sight.

#

Three days later.

Merkhail was standing on the observation deck of the Lilim, the latest Parker Class cruiser in Earth's flotilla. This was the first time he had been onboard one, they were brand new, hot out of the moon-based ship yards.

A pair of heels clicked up behind him. They came to a gradual, hesitant stop. "You don't remember me do you?" Agent Francine asked.

The young Lieutenant craned his head. Francine was wearing a female dress uniform which consisted of a white sport coat and short black tie that stopped just above her breasts. A tight blue dress skirt ran over her hips, stopping five inches below the knees. A golden rope cord circled under her left armpit and her hat was tucked under the right. She almost looked normal wearing it. Truth be told, Merkhail didn't remember her at all, and quite frankly he believed he'd remember seeing a half-breed as unique as her. Francine's bony talon-hands claws cracked and contorted and placed an inhaler in her mouth. She took two puffs.

"When did we meet?" Merkhail asked.

"Bale II? The worker uprising?"

Merkhail slapped himself in the head. How could he forget that day?! It was when Earth ordered him off the front lines and to the Sarapatra. His tongue pressed into the side of his cheek. The more he thought about it, the more he began to remember.

"Wait, uh...you were the woman I found in the street, weren't you?." Merkhail intoned.

A jubilant Francine smiled ear to ear, displaying the hundreds of tiny sharp teeth that lined her mouth, "I knew you would remember me!"

There was the sound of water hitting the floor. A thin trickle of yellow waste poured from her bladder and out between Francine's legs. She bashfully closed her legs up and blocked the yellow puddle from view.

"How were you even able to enlist?" asked Merkhail. "You're a half-breed -- and I'm not trying to sound prejudice here, I'm just saying. And, ah, it doesn't look like you have very good control over the human parts of your body."

The strange girl pulled out a thick handkerchief and dropped it onto the pool of urine. "Uh... I swear that doesn't happen often. Sometimes I lose control of my lungs, sometimes I lose control of my bladder... But its, uh, manageable. Most of the time."

Merkhail chewed his tongue and cursed the politically correct comrades of his who let her enlist. He understood the need to be inclusive and avuncular to all the diversity in the universe but Francine would be one hell of a flight risk in battle.

"I joined the military to look after you." Francine said, like a student looking up to her teacher. "I owe you that much, sir."

The Lieutenant took a seat and pursed his lips, uncomfortable with all the praise he was getting. "You flew all these light-years... Just to thank me for one hug?"

The look on Francine's face was human enough to read. The answer was yes. Merkhail mentally slapped his own mouth and tried to see things from her perspective. Half breeds were very rare. And the fact that female soldiers were sterilized before battle advertised they weren't wanted by the universe. It was a good bet Francine had lived a hard life from conception to now. Perhaps Merkhail's heat-of-the-moment affection helped her in ways he'd never understand.

He patted the empty bench beside him and smiled, "Come on. Want to talk for a bit?"

#

Margaret waited patiently inside the Sarapatra's cargo bay, arms crossed and fingers drumming on her shoulder. It was no accident that she was in space rather than in church, Merkhail was gone and the Seraphim Girls were depressed. Someone had to keep them in line and being the experienced former leader of the Mayberry Nuns, Margaret volunteered.

Trouble arose shortly after the ship left Hera Major. The Sarapatra struck an asteroid and lost some of its cargo to the infinity of space. It was not an uncommon kind of accident but Margaret pleaded with the Lord she worshiped to explain why they had to lose cargo bound for the Red Bone Star System. That heaven-forsaken corner of space was where the orks bivouacked. And they were NOT the most understanding of species.

Reynami insisted that everything would be okay and formulated a plan. She, Princess Leanne and Ania personally delivered what was left of the Morkus Clan's cargo. The strategy was to explain what had happened and apologize for it personally -- and issue a big fat insurance check for the damages. Margaret cursed herself for allowing Reynami to implement such a crappy plan.

A strong wind blew through the cargo bay making Margaret's long green hair flap about like a flag in a hurricane. The transport ship the girls had flown into ork territory had returned. It was banged, busted and bleeding smoke from every corner. Lewd and crude graffiti was painted all over the ship. If Margaret was a gambling woman she would have guessed the orks did not accept their apology.

Ania was the first to emerge from the ship. Her tiny, quiet self was covered in gooey, smelly white fluids. Ork cum no doubt, its sour stench and copious presence offended Margaret's nostrils.

Irritated and violated, Ania wiped all the splooge off her angry face and walked past Margaret. "Don't ask. Just don't ask." she said, anticipating Margaret's question.

Reynami was next. She came off the ship hobbling like a newborn learning to walk.

"Argh! Want to know how big an ork's dick is?" she asked. She bent over at the waist and advertised the gaping pink hole that was her pussy. It was stretched so wide you could see up to her uterus. "THAT big! It's like doing a tree!"

"Reynami! I don't need the visuals! What the heck happened?!"

"They didn't like our apology, that's what happened!" Reynami explained. She reached down and spread her anus open. About a pint of cum poured out of her rectum, it hit the floor and steamed like hot water. "Not only were they pissed, they wasted no time letting know how we could re-pay them."

Usually it was Reynami who handled getting screwed by aliens the best but right now she looked downright pissed about it. "You okay?" Margaret asked her.

"I'll...live." she responded insipidly.

Leanne emerged from the transport ship. She, like the other unfortunate Seraphim Space Girls, was bathed in globs of baby batter; it dripped off her bangs and down her inflated tits. She had a thousand mile stare stuck on her face, like she hadn't quite come to terms with the ordeal yet.

"I think they H'd Leanne one too many times." said Reynami.

Leanne opened her mouth to talk. Cum dripped down her lips. "That's -- puh, puh, because orks hate elves." Her eyes wandered down to her crotch, her vagina was twice its normal size. "I think they broke it."

Margaret was ready to scream. She wanted to say it was their own fault for having such a stupid plan but now wasn't the time. She sighed, "Alright, alright. Hit the showers and meet me in sick bay."

Nobody moved. The girls all took a seat where they stood.

"...What's the matter?" Margaret asked. Reynami grunted, "What's the matter? Look at us! We're not Seraphim Soldiers, we're cum dumps!"

Leanne wiped some tears away, "We're a disgrace."

"Failures..." said Ania.

Margaret groped for words of encouragement. The Saint Mayberry nuns were always proud and motivated so Margaret wasn't used to giving pep talks. But in all honesty she wasn't sure how much effect a pep talk would have. She clenched her teeth and tried to think of the perfect solution. There was only one, and everyone knew it was.

#

Margaret retired to her guest quarters on the Sarapatra and let out a sigh she had been holding in for hours. Just before Merkhail left, he had asked her to look after the girls for a while. He said that since she was the commander of the Mayberry Nuns with years of leadership experience under her belt, she would be the best one to keep an eye on things until they got a new CO. Like that would magically make what he did better.

The former nun stripped her clothing and fluffed her dark green hair. She pulled up the waistband of her lacey black panties and bent over the desk in the corner of her room. There was a computer for her to use at her pleasure, she accessed the ship's computer. Merkhail had given her the passcodes to the military's internet space so that she could contact him via electronic correspondence if there was an emergency.

While crafting a communique, Margaret swung her pert ass back and forth through the air and shook her hips in circles. It caused the thin fabric of her delicate silk undergarment to sink between her pouting camel toe. It didn't bother her in the least; panties were the only thing she allowed past her un-explored love lips.

She finished her letter and read it back out loud, "Merkhail, it's Margaret, we need to talk. We've known each other for years now, I wouldn't be sending you this if we didn't have so much history. Remember when we first met? I was an Alter-girl and you were still a cadet. You said you couldn't wait to leave Earth and go wherever the military sent you. And remember when you first saw Saint Mayberry church? You were ready to go celibate and join the nunnery that same day."

"You're probably wondering if I'm making some kind of point. I am. Come on Merkhail, you don't want to go back to Earth. You hated Earth; you did everything you could to leave. Come back to us. We miss you already."

Click. Send.

#

It was taking way, way too long to reach Earth. So Merkhail decided to find out why. It was night time according to the Lilim's clock and he used the quiet to sneak out of his quarters and into one of the ships' computer rooms. Most vessels had them scattered all over the place to help crewman perform tasks that regular old tablet computers couldn't handle.

He got lucky; the one closest to his room was empty. He kept the lights off and logged on.

"System Ready. Articulate request." chirped the computer's robotic, feminine voice.

"I was hoping to put a finger on our exact location. Bring up a Mark IV map with all known planets 300 light-years from here." said Merkhail.

A few seconds of calculation.

"This ship's computer does not support the Mark IV mapping system. Permission to generate Mark III?"

What? If this was the new Parker Class like Francine had told him, it would most certainly have the latest navigation programs installed. Merkhail rephrased the command. Whenever he dealt with super computers like this it seemed like the computer would mishear his instruction one third of the time.

Same result. The Lilim didn't have access to any of the Mark IV's capabilities. So he tried something new. All military vessels had serial numbers that began with either SA or SB. "Please bring up this ship's serial number."

"Commissioned officer clearance required. Please state name and rank."

"Denisuk, Merkhail, Second Lieutenant."

"Computing... Name and voice signature confirmed. This ships serial number reads: KR55398-62J15Q-76."

Merkhail jumped back from the computer and put a hand on his side arm. This wasn't a military cruiser at all! The hell was going on?

He briskly left the computer room after erasing all traces of his activity.

#

There were so-called sailors scattered all about the ship wearing uniforms that had to be fake. Merkhail kept a close eye on them as he meandered through the Lilim's hallways, noticing how unorganized they were. There was absolutely nothing on this ship that was military, so why did Francine lie?

He stopped and shook his long black hair from side to side, so what if Francine lied? What was she going to do? Pee on him?

"Hey!" The young lieutenant called. A pair of fake sailors moving munitions stopped down the hallway and faced him in unison. "I know you guys aren't servicemen, so... Requesting permission to find out what the hell is going on."

The two fake sailors carefully set down their cargo and glanced at each other, no doubt silently debating how to handle this sudden turn of events. They may not have been soldiers but their reaction was certainly befitting of soldiers. They drew laser pistols from their belts.

"Whoa! Whoa!" Merkhail called, "How'd we get to guns?"

Both confederates took aim at him.

Merkhail drew his own laser pistol with his left hand while simultaneously lowering the power setting to "I" with his left thumb. He fired at one of the men, scoring a hit on his stomach. The laser bolt was so weak all it did was knock the man down.

His second opponent would react in seconds. Merkhail drew his heavy metal shell gun with his right hand, crossed it over his left arm and fired. The heavy metal bullet crashed into the man's foot, shattering flesh and toe-bone, creating a small geyser of blood.

Every intercom speaker in every corner of the ship began to ring out in alarm. Most civilian space cruisers -- the Sarapatra included -- had a security system installed that sounded an alarm whenever laser-fire was detected within the ship. Considering one tiny hole was all it took to suck the air out of a ship, strict no-fire rules had to be enforced no matter what kind of vessel it was.

The sound of rapid footfalls closed in on Merkhail from all sides. He bolted for safer grounds.

"If I ever get back to the Sarapatra," he said out loud wheelie running, "I need to find a way to rig that alarm so it goes off whenever Leanne, Ania or Reynami get raped by space aliens."

He shot past the ladies locker room. He skidded to a brisk stop, his boots made long rubber tracks in the floor. "The women's locker room?" he asked himself in disbelief, "At this rate, my autobiography is going to read like a manga comic. Sorry ladies."

#

The locker rooms were empty; you could hear a pin drop. Merkhail could smell the tangy aroma of metal and he could see the bright stars beyond the small windows. Locking the door behind him, Merkhail put faith in his unorthodox choice in hiding spots and tried to think of a plan.

There was the sound of water. Merkhail drew both of his guns and stalked towards the only shower stall in use. Tepid steam billowed up and over the stall walls. There was a pair of print panties lying on the floor, light blue with a white waist band and little kitty cats all over the fabric.

Valuing his own safety over the girl's privacy, Merkhail quickly opened the stall and aimed his pistols.

No one was there; the shower water was falling onto tile floor and nothing else.

"Tee-hee..."

Merkhail looked up. Francine was hanging from the ceiling naked, her messy hair and modest breasts dangled down. She was smiling, showing off all her tiny sharp teeth.

"You saw my panties! You think they're cute?" she suddenly asked.

The half-breed's tongue shot out from her mouth like a frog's tongue before Merkhail could turn and run away. It coiled around his neck like a snake. The sensation was beyond disgusting, her slimy, rubbery tongue flesh gripped him tighter and tighter. Her tongue was lined with sharp little spines. They remained soft, but he suspected they could stiffen up and pierce his skin at any moment.

Above him, Francine maintained a creepy smile. She tightened her grip on his neck, chocking off his air with alarming efficiency. His vision began to blur and the oxygen left his brain. His muscles relaxed to the point that he couldn't stand anymore. He hit the wet shower floor and felt his face get pummeled with hot shower water. There, he slowly passed out. Geez, if she wanted him to compliment her panties he would have gladly done so. #