So, I have been
The current prompt is to tell a story where the characters lie to one another. The previous prompt I missed was to choose a setting from a short list provided by Chuck (I opted for Lunar Brothel), and the first prompt I missed was to title a story The Fire Of The Gods.
So here are all those prompts wrapped up into one big, wet, pink burrito of sex, astronauts, aliens, and ET-STDs.
Enjoy.
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“The Fire Of The Gods”
by Marc Nocerino
Stella watched
the astronaut enter her room with unabashed desire. He was wearing his Flight
Blues, and the cut of a man in uniform always got her a little itchy in the
nethers. Of course, they had been itching before he walked in, but that was an
occupational hazard she’d come to terms with long ago.
“Well
hello, handsome,” Stella purred. She sat on the edge of a large bed and rubbed
her hands along one outstretched calf. When she licked her lips, her tongue
felt dry.
Corporal
Martin Rush, Goldie to his friends,
eyed the prostitute hungrily; but there was more than simple lust in the way he
looked at Stella. He’d been one of her regulars going on three years now. She
was the only prostitute he used, and the only woman he’d slept with in those
three years. He genuinely cared for her.
“You’re
as beautiful as ever, Stella.” It was their customary greeting, and it had the
familiarity of ritual. He unbuttoned his crisply pressed shirt as he made his
way toward the bed. Stella leapt to her feet, graceful as a Martian scarabynx. Her
sheer teddy hung just low enough to leave next-to-nothing to the imagination.
Goldie reached out and encircled
her waist in his strong hands, his wedding ring snagging in the soft fabric of
her negligee. She winced and intercepted his hands, removing them.
“How are the wife and kids?” It was
a low blow, and Stella felt ashamed the second it left her lips. Goldie pulled
his head back and they locked eyes. His pain showed clearly in his, but hers
were dully blank.
“Oh you know,” he said, feigning
nonchalance, “same as ever. How are your other Johns?” He was both pained and satisfied to see that
his words seemed to hurt her just as much as hers had hurt him.
“You know I don’t see anyone but
you,” she lied. It came easy. Another occupational hazard, she supposed.
#
Eneshkil crouched through the
airlock and into Madame Lolax’s brothel, straightening to his full height of
nearly nine feet once he cleared the doorway. He strutted through the foyer like
he owned the place, his long black curls slapping against his broad grey back
with each stride.
“Lolax! I desire your best human!
Bring Stella to me!” When he spoke, his voice was honey and gravel and trumpets,
as were all the Anunnaki’s.
Bea Lolax grimaced. Eneshkil was
one of her better customers, but with that new STD making the rounds, she
couldn’t be too careful. The Fire Of The
Gods, as it had been ironically dubbed, was native to the Anunnuaki but
also harmless to them; some kind of breeding or mating display she’d heard, but
details were scarce. It was fatal to humans, however, and she’d lost two of her
girls to it already. She was not about to lose her highest earner.
“Eneshkil!” she beamed, hiding her
contempt for the unnaturally tall creature. “I’ll be happy to let you buy a
little time with Stella, but first you need to drop that kilt and let me take a
look at what you’ve got going on down there.” The Fire Of The Gods was all but
invisible in an infected human, starting with subtle personality shifts and low
fever, and culminating rapidly into febrile convulsions and death. By the time
your unmentionables started itching you had maybe twelve hours, if you were
lucky.
It was much
easier to spot on the Annunaki.
Eneshkil
grinned down at the woman. “You’re a wily one, madame Lolax. I’ll tell you what,”
he boomed in the closest his kind could come to a conspiratorial whisper, “I
will pay you three hour’s rate for thirty minutes of Stella’s time.” As his
kilt hit the floor, Bea wasn’t surprised to see the tell-tale cluster of rainbow
luminescent bumps all along the two shafts of Eneshkil’s penises. Fire Of The
Gods, undeniably. Still, six times the standard rate…
“Cover
those things up with a couple of condoms, and I’ll let you have her for twenty
minutes. Deal?”
“Of
course,” Eneshkil lied. Lying to humans came easily to the Anunnaki. It had
since pre-Babylonian times.
#
After Goldie
came, he left.
Usually he would stay and talk, or
sometimes just cuddle, but today was different. It wasn’t just the hurtful
words they had exchanged before getting down to business; Stella seemed by
turns distracted and uncomfortable throughout their lovemaking. And yes, Goldie
really did consider it lovemaking.
His wife and son were home on Earth
but Goldie didn’t visit much. They had bought the whole “The Anunnaki are your
Gods, and we have returned to our Children” sham hook, line, and sinker that those
tall grey fuckers were selling. Most humans seemed hard-wired to believe them. It
was almost a worldwide cult back home, and his Annabelle and Tobias were knee-deep
in the revival.
But Goldie knew better. He worked
with them on a regular basis. They weren’t Gods, they were just horny aliens
who wanted to fuck our women.
The com-link crackled to life and
he saw his family.
“Hi honey,” Annabelle said with a sad
smile. “We miss you!”
“I miss you too,” Goldie lied.
#
“Baby!” Stella cried and leapt into
Eneshkil’s muscular arms, feet dangling off the ground. Her smile cracked her
dry lips. She shivered, and Eneshkil knew that she was infected.
“Does Lolax know you’re here?” Stella
was surprised to see him at the brothel; their relationship had been a carefully kept secret.
Eneshkil just smiled at his precious
little harlot. He had grown fond of their trysts, and would miss her body when
his spore ran its full course. It would be worth it, though. He laid her down
in the bed tenderly.
“Rest, little one. I’ll see you
tomorrow,” he lied as Stella fell into a deathly slumber.
Eneshkil knew this was
necessary for Stella's transformation into an Anunnaki -- but now he'd need to find himself
a new woman.
~END~
