I wake to Fau cradling me with all eight of his warm, downy limbs. Arms Three and Four are coiled around each breast. Number Seven rests between my legs, tucked gently inside the folds of my labia.
He is closer to every part of me than anyone has ever been.
When I stir, he does, too; the serpentine arm at my vulva glides along my wetness clasping me from stern to clitoris because he knows that’s what I want. Again. He lets one of his suction cups latch onto my right nipple, pulsing and my left breast craves the same.
LOCATION: Gardisa, an earth-like planet in the NGC 5461 H II region of the Pinwheel Galaxy
REFUGEE LOG: 2401F894-23-7894
I am a survivor of the latest intergalactic war, first-generation Homo sapiens here on planet Gardisa. Our hosts are the Gardis octos, eight limbed beings with indecipherable faces and technology beyond anything we have ever imagined. Under orders from Col. Leonardo, I am writing this log to be included in the official historical record of our species.
My generation of human beings will be the last. In the future, intelligent life in this galaxy will be neither human nor gardocto, it will be a hybrid of both. The Gard scientists have determined this is the only way for our lifeforms to coexist, and their ethics prevent them from turning us away.
Curled on my side in our bed, I ride Fau’s supple arm, the one flicking my clit with its berry-sized suction cups. He’s smiling. I can’t see any part of him except his limbs, but when his brain presses my skin–now at the small of my back–his sentiments pour into me. He knows my vagina cries to be filled and he savors making me wait. Survival is fun, he says without words. Then he latches onto my swollen left nipple and bends another tentacle around my pelvis like a tightening belt.
He turns me face down, playfully yanking me up to my knees and arms, exposing my naked ass to the newly installed cameras in our quarters.
The Grand Council considered artificial insemination, but an ethos emerged in support of promoting connection and pleasure. If these values could not be cultivated between species, it was asked, what good is existence?
All individuals–humans and gardoctos–are required by the Grand Council to sire or bear at least one interspecies offspring. Homogenous sexual activity of any kind has been banned. Masturbation has been banned. Birth control and sleeping alone have been banned. Those unable to procreate are euthanized. Resources are too scarce for anything else.
Fau knows I do not want a baby. Yet for the first three months, I could not resist any ounce of him. Each night we fucked with ardent glee: all of his limbs bearing down on my mine, spreading and pounding me at the core, Gard semen flooding my womb as dictated. Then each morning, I endured his Number Eight arm as it secretly tunneled–gently as possible–through my cervix to lick away any chance of conception.
Always afterwards, he soothed me by pressing Earthen thoughts of fragrant soil and sunlit streams into my mind. Yellow freesia and red dahlias avalanched on those mornings, spilling from his brain to mine: gifts. We’ll make a home for you here, he would say. And I loved him then.
But three barren months drew the attention of the Grand Council. We have been placed under investigation for Evading Impregnation. Yesterday the militia installed cameras over our bed and ordered that I report to the High Vestibule for daily medical examinations.
Now my Fau circles the tip of Arm Number Five at the rim of my anus and a warning siren briefly sounds. There is no use in pretending we have a choice. I grab the head of Number Seven from my belly and push it towards my cunt. Its length slithers backwards along my inner labia until the round end poises at my vagina’s mouth. His brain rests again on my lower back, apologizing for the seeds he is about to plant. He says, I don’t know how to stop this, love. And I think of yellow freesia, hoping he can see my thoughts.
Number Seven hardens and slowly bores in. My vaginal walls stretch and cling, wanting to swallow more of him than ever before. Number Three leaves my breast and finds my clitoris, its small suction cup feeds rhythmically, pulling me closer and closer to orgasm. Seven hammers now and all the other arms squeeze me: back to belly, breasts to collarbone, sucking, sucking, plunging, plunging. It is happening. I’m coming. Fau’s coming, too. Our every muscle liquifies and we lap each other up.
Hudocto (human-gardocto) gestation ranges from 6 to 23 months depending on the size of the father. Usually the duration can be predicted ultrasonically once the fetus develops its neural tube. I am experiencing a healthy pregnancy so far. My husband and I plan to name our child Freesia.
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