I would recommend that you first read “The Same Ol’ (Sci-Fi) Story” the first Herc Manly Adventure, but here is a brief intro for those who haven’t:

Herc Manly (named for Hercules Poirot, a famous demi-God detective of massive strength, who lived in ancient time on a planet named Mt.Olympus, ) is a former SpacNav Transport Officer, who is now a private intergalactic bulk-haul operator, willing to do daring, gasp ... perhaps even shady transports, if the price is right. His contractFem, Pussy, is a XoXoDackian fem, who has humo form, but is lavender colored, with a double vagina, and pseudo-breasts that can be used in a variety of kinky sexual practices. Herc returned home early after a long-haul, and discovered Pussy in a compromising position. Herc was about to declare their contract null and void, only to discover that Pussy truly loved only him, not to mention had compiled a file that the authorities would love to have, that would have put Herc away for at least 20 years. He and Pussy found a way to get past her indiscretion, and Pussy, to avoid being left alone at home for months at a time, trained and passed her exams to become Herc’s executive officer. Now they travel together from one end of the galaxy to the other, never apart, well, almost never apart...

This is a story of one of those times, when Herc and Pussy found themselves parted!

The Diplo Mission on Grubvolk

Even I, Herc Manly, was having a hard time believing the importance of the mission that took me to planet Grubvolk. It was a diplo mission for SpacNav of plusHigh sensitivity and delicato nature. I had personally been requested by the planet’s bigBoss, in this case the femRuler, (what the ancients used to call a ‘Queens’), to assist her as she laid out the future of her people. I was in the hangaroundRoom of the big royalAbode of Grubvolk sitting, waiting around for my cue, to finally come face-to-face with the Queens.

At long last, the doors opened to the Queens’s personal space, and I walked, manfully — need I say it — proud to be back in my old SpacNav uniform, into the room. There, from the dark as my eyes adjusted to the lower light level, came the voice, distorted thru the transSpeakBox, of the Queens.

“Ohhhhhh, manly Herc Manly. At last, you are finally in my contactPresence. Ohhhhhh, Herc, I pine, I long for your beautifullest elbowses, your prominent kknneeses, your protrubing mouthpart between your standing/walking/running parts. I am completely supine and flacid in the presence of your many handsomest angles of body. But especially, I yearn for your always firm breeding knob that protrudes above your mouthpiece!”

About that time, my eyes had adjusted to the low light, to the point that I was able to see the Queen of the Grubvolk. Then I, Herc Manly, survivor of pirates, scourge of scavengers, offender of bureaucrats, known throughout the galaxy for my exploits of daring-do, along with my XO (short for execOfficer, number two boss, you get the idea, ) Pussy, well...

I sort of fainted. Fainted dead away.

It started several weeks before...

I had just returned from the S’Port where I had taken my small moonrunner out for a spin. I kept looking at that old coffee can, containing the freeze dried remains of my former XO, Thsam. I was hoping to quietly dump the thing, but every time I would get ready to eject it into space, there was a SpacCop waiting to trap the unwary speedster (“Hey, mac, where’s the Sol flare? You were exceeding the posted limit in this intraplanetary zone by 10X!”) or even worse, the litterer dumping his overfull wasteDisp tanks. I sure as heck didn’t want to be pulled into court for littering a coffee can full of old XO remains!

So, it was in a less than happy mood that I returned to my abodeunit in the upscale citypod where I lived with my contractfem and XO, Pussy. Pussy and I (the story is told of our earlier contract difficulties in “The Same ‘Ol (Sci-Fi) Story”, ) had returned from a long-haul transport, and we were taking about a solStandard month off, to rest and recoup, before taking another job from the transport zaibatsu.

I wandered towards the foodPrep area, and grabbed a brueski from the intsocool. I continued towards the stereoVid room, tearing off the top of the container, and pouring that blessed first swig of the elixir of life down the hatch. Curious, it seemed early for Pussy to be home, but I could hear the sound from our wall-to-wall stereoVid. I walked into the room.

Sitting there watching the local Whasgoingon was my former commander; brute, beast, blight of the SpacNav, Admiral LimbDirk, known to all of his crews (when out of his hearing range, ) as Admiral LimpDick. He turned and looked at me and smiled, showing his oversized canine fangs, which left with the impression of the legendary oceanshark preparing to take a bite, and said,

“Nice stereoVid setup, Herc. The sort of thing that SpacNav officers can’t afford, but you goldbricking, lazy loafer, trans Spacers can buy — after conning the SpacNav into training you and paying for your galacticLicense!”

As you can imagine, LimbDirk was a SpacNav lifer, who more or less carried a grudge against anyone who didn’t think that the highest calling in the known Universe was to serve for life in the SpacNav, like him. And even better, you should be serving under his command.

I turned, in moment of extreme common sense and fear, and tried to egress the joint by the quickest escape pod I could find, but Limbdirk had anticipated my joy at seeing him once again. I found myself in the grasp of two of his SpacNav goons. From the stripes on their sleeves, a couple of lifer Master Chiefs — my bad luck. I was more or less certain that my feet were still running, but when you have been lifted off the floor, moving feet don’t seem to work. The last thing I remembered for a long time, was the prick of the narconeedle into my neck, operated by the prick holding me up by my left shoulder.

When I awoke, even in my befuddled state, I could tell that I was already in deep space. I expected to be in a cell in the brig of a SpacNav Cruiser, but I seemed to be in an officer’s quarters, much like that I had occupied while in my last years of servitude in the SpacNav. I reached up to where the illumination device should be, and there it was. I turned it on and looked around. Yup — I was in the spacious quarters of a midling officer: about 2 meters long, a meter wide, and about one-and-a-half meters tall. In other words, about half the size of a jail cell allotted to a petty criminal.

I was naked and cold, since I had only been covered with the standard SpacNav ultra-lightweight blanket, so I got out of the bunk, and lifted the ultra-thin, ultra-light pad that the SpacNav jokingly calls a ‘mattress’, and opened the drawer underneath. To my great surprise and suspicions, it was filled with SpacNav clothing and uniforms, in my exact sizes. It seemed to me that either 1.) they had been expecting me to be at least of couple of days before I actually arrived, or 2.) I had been drugged out of my mind for longer than I thought.

Looking at the contents of the drawer wasn’t helping me, so instead I pulled out a pair of the overalls and felt slippers that SpacNav crews wore during their time in space, put them on, and opened the door between my cubical and the main passage of the ship. I wasn’t especially surprised that the door was unlocked — where can you go to escape from a spacer? But I wasn’t pleased to find two SpacNav Petty officers guarding my temporary abode. As I stepped out, one of them spoke.

“Get your ass up to da bridge, da Cap’n wonts to haf a word wid ya.”

I turned an looked at him, one eyebrow raised, waiting.

“uh, um, Mr. Manly, sir.” finally came out of his mouth.

I nodded, then, and turned towards the bridge. I knew the SpacNav, and if you let a P.O. get away with it, they would all be walking all over you.

When I arrived at the bridge, I politely requested permission to enter, which was granted. I approached the Captain’s chair. I didn’t know the Captain, but in the SpacNav service ‘politeese’ covers many sins.

“Mr. Manly,” the Captain intoned in his basso voice, “Admiral Limbdirk has prepared a vidChip for you to give you your instructions.” He handed me the small chip. “You may use my private viewing room to watch it. I understand that it will self-destruct.”

I groaned hearing that — no one has ever gotten good news from a self-destructing mission brief.

The Captain continued, initially reading from a small plastoCard.

“You have been recalled to duty with full rank and pay (based on your grade upon leaving the SpacNav, under section 4B of your original enlistment contract, ) and you will be treated as an officer on this ship.” He continued, “But, you have no official duties, other than preparing yourself for the task that you have been assigned.” He finally smiled at me, albeit an ironic sort of barring of his teeth, “So enjoy your on-board vacation. But don’t bother the ship’s entertainment planner, because we don’t have one!” He laughed at his own little joke.

I left the bridge to find the Captain’s viewing room to discover what particularly dangerous/disgusting and very likely suicidal mission Limpdick was sending me on.

MEANWHILE, Back at the ranch...

Pussy entered the abodeUnit that she shared with her beloved contractMale, Herc Manly, late in the afternoon of the day that Herc disappeared. Pussy had been out shopping to restock the necessaries for the solStandard month that she and Herc were planning on spending on terrafirma.

She mentally reviewed her list: an extra large container of lube (for Herc to use when pleasuring her in her ass, ) a two-month supply of KeepEmUp pills (the way she like to do Herc, her stock might last a month, maybe only three weeks, ) some InstoEnergy pills (Herc, that poor dear, sometimes was completely exhausted after sexing Pussy for the sixth or seventh time — he needed the additional energy to make it a full night.)

Pussy purred in contentment. Ever since she and Herc had their slight contract dispute (when she had sex with a couple of Herc’s former crewmates over a two-week period, ) she took an especial delight in insuring that Herc was completely sexually satiated. In fact, satiated wasn’t exactly the word; exhausted to a point where he could hardly crawl out of bed was more like it. But, Pussy was not going to take a chance of Herc using any of the 14 ‘free passes’ to have sex with other beings that she had acquiesced to as part of their agreement to remedy their contract, after her faux pas. With her mouth, her two vaginas, and her welcoming anus, Pussy could out-fuck any humo male, and she kept Herc happy.

After putting her purchases where they would be handy when the need arose, Pussy went to the foodPrep area, and began to think of dinner. But it began to nag at her — why wasn’t Herc home?

She thought of calling him, only to see his portaCaller commUnit lying on the floor in the hallway leading to the abodeUnit’s back ingress/egress hatch. She turned and went into stereoVid room, and things didn’t look right. Herc’s chair was tipped over on its back, and one of the small side tables had been knocked over. And there was an unpleasant oder in the room. Pussy sniffed, and sniffed again. Yes, the rotten smell of authority and bureaucracy — it smelled of SpacNav locker room!

Since the time when Herc had caught her having sex on the securityVid system in the abodeUnit, Pussy had learned all about it — how to access it, how to use it, how to turn it off (not that SHE had any need, ) and how to see if it had been doctored. So when she checked the system at hiSpeed for the day and nothing showed up, she was actually convinced that something HAD occurred. Pussy immediately went to the hidden/redundant storage device that she had installed (and forgot to mention to Herc, ) and punched in the 124-bit encryption code that allowed her to restore the real memory.

She went thru the GigaTera vidMemChip at hiSpeed, watching Herc as he got out of bed, did his daily exercises, took a shower (Pussy still loved looking at his cute little buns. Her pseudo-titties got hard and conical just thinking about them.) He made breakfast, and finally went out to take his moonrunner out for a little off-planet spin. He had told her that he needed to clean up a few things in the ‘runner. She was wondering if he was trying to avoid paying wasteDisp fees by dumping his tanks in space? God help him if the local law catches him, she thought.

But just then, the securityVid caught her attention. Some goon in a SpacNav uniform was entering their abodeUnit. And he seemed to have a key! Pussy slowed to 2X speed and watched while the lout (a Master Chief PO, if the uniform was actually his, ) looked all around the unit, and then spoke into his commUnit. A minute later, some guy with a lot of scrambled eggs on his hat sauntered into the unit, along with another goon. What, Pussy wondered, was going on here!

The ‘big shot’, as she thought of him, sat down in Herc’s favorite chair in the stereoVid room, and the goons retreated out of sight. They weren’t grabbing anything, they just seemed to be waiting for something or someone, and Pussy thought that she knew who.

When she saw Herc entering the abodeUnit, she slowed the play to 1X and watched the entire mannapping as it happened. She heard the Admiral giving Herc an earful, and watched in horror as the two goons grabbed her love, her life, her contractMale, and narconeedled him! Then they hauled his unconscious bod to an awaiting vehicle, hovering outside their door. In the meantime, Mr. Scrambled Eggs hat was searching around for the security system to blank out his visit, not knowing that there was a secret backup system. The goons came in and finally gave Pussy her first important clue, when they turn and said,

“Admiral Limbdirk, Manly is on his way to the S’Port.”

Limbdirk responded with an evil grin, “Good. He’ll be in space before he comes to, and by then it will be too late. We’ll accomplish our mission, and we won’t even be risking a ‘real’ SpacNav officer!” He laughed a wicked laugh, and then pushed the combination of controls that would shut down the security system long enough for him to leave, while leaving no vid of what had just happened. Or so he thought.

Back on the Spacer with Herc...

In the SpacerCaptain’s vidRoom, I sat down in front of the stereoVid and slipped the vidChip into the vidPort on the front of the console.

A 3D-holoimage of Admiral ‘Limpdick’ swiftly appeared in front of me. Just as at his abodeUnit, I had to fight the impulse to get out of the room at the sight of the plague of the SpacNav. Limbdirk’s vaguely sharklike eyes seemed to look directly at me, and he started his briefing.

“Glad you could make it, Manly — not that you had any choice about the matter,” Limbdirk said with an evil laugh.

“By now, even a lazy, goldbricking, SpacNav reservist like yourself will have figured out that you have been recalled to temporary active duty (under the notorious ‘section 4B’). HA! So for the next two months or until your mission is complete, your ass is mine.”

“You may be wondering what kind of mission this is that we needed you, Herc Manly, where we couldn’t just pick up some other washed up, firejuiced bum to do the job. We certainly have thousands of space transports drivers who are as good or better than your sorry ass.”

I recoiled a bit — this was getting insulting, I’m a pretty good transport pilot. Of course, by Limbdirk standards, this tirade was almost complimentary.

“Anyway, now to the crux of the mission,” Limbdirk continued.

“You are being sent on a diplo mission to the planet Grubvolk. As you might know, the GalaxLeague has a trading treaty with Grubvolk. What you probably don’t know is that Grubvolk is the source of goldenSweet, the preferred sweetener in the known universe, and a critical component of Cestowiski, that most desired of firejuices. That means that there are a lot of rich, powerful, and rather tipsy VIPs around who want to make damn sure that the supply keeps coming.”

“According to Article 677.2B .1Z of the treaty, although there is no regular humo presence allowed on Grubfolk, every ten years the SpacNav must send a humo officer to attend the coronation of the new planetary bigBoss, a femCreature that they call a ‘Queens’. Every 10 years, a new Queens is placed on the throne of Grubfolk, and the old Queens retires. After the coronation, the SpacNav representative meets with the Queens, and fulfills a ceremonial service. After you have completed this mission, the SpacNav will have no further requirements of you, and you will be returned to inactive status.”

“As for why the SpacNav selected you, and only you for a diplo mission, for which you are obviously completely inappropriate? The answer is: SpacNav didn’t select you, it seems the new Queens somehow saw a vid of your ugly mug, and decided that you and only you could represent the SpacNav on Grubfolk.”

“Consequently, you will be attending the new Queens’s coronation, and after the ceremony,” Limbdirk paused for effect, “you will breed with her!” Admiral Limbdirk looked up in Herc’s direction, with a leer that made his face look especially evil, which, given his normal visage, was really saying something.

“See — this mission should be a real pleasure for you, Herc Manly. Hopefully something you can really fuck up!” Limbdirk went into paroxysms of laughter at his little joke. Slowly his laughter slowed, and he caught his breath.

“Enjoy!” were his final words, before breaking again into his evil sounding laugh!

As the vidChip finished, smoke and a nasty smell, like the excretaWaste of a canineQuadraped, came from the stereoVid, as the chip self-destructed.

“Yup,” I thought, as the smell reminded me, “up to your neck in doggie doo-doo again!”

Back home again ... with an anguished Pussy!

Pussy knew that to help Herc escape the evil clutches of Admiral Limpdick of the SpacNav, she was going to need some excellent intel/info: where was Herc, why had the SpacNav grabbed him, and what was going to happen to him. After a solStandard minute or two, Pussy had concluded that there was no source of intel/info that could possible be any better than ol’ Limpdick himself. She smiled a smile that had struck fear into more than one space pirate. XO Pussy, terror of the space lanes was on the move. No man, Limpdick included, had the right to deprive her of Herc’s many charms, and she was not going to let Herc build up enough sexual energy to even think of another femCreature!

Pussy went back into the sleepieRoom that she and Herc shared (a tear came to her eye, remembering all of the sex they shared in this room, ) and she rummaged around for a minute in her personal storage space. Sexy clothes, multiple pairs of shoes, various sexual toys and aids went flying, until she found a small, nondescript black case. She hummed and smiled as she placed it on the AeroLiftsU mattress.

Pussy put on a black outfit of a material so clingy and revealing that the use of it in women’s clothing was outlawed on most planets. It looked as if it had been painted on, and one could see all of the minute details of Pussy’s pseudo-breasts, the contours of every muscle, and the shape and folds of her two vaginas. But, then she added black gloves of a similar material, as well as a black hood, with holes for her eyes and nose.

She didn’t forget, as she left the room, to pick up the case from the mattress containing her tools. Her torture tools. A girl has to be prepared for anything these days.

Before Pussy left the abode, she pick up the comUnit and made a couple of cellcontacts, and then she was on her way into the night.

Earlier in the afternoon Pussy had checked up on Limbdirk’s locus, a fact that was considered plusHigh topSecret sensitivity, so she used ‘Wooble’ on the GalaxNet to do a search. That revealed that Limbdirk’s current abode was adjacent to the commercial S’Port where Pussy and Herc parked their own space transport. She had also downloaded a 3D-Holo image of the SpacNav facility. By that evening, Pussy could nav the area even if it were pitch dark.

When Pussy pulled up in her duoCyc (a sleek, black, racing model, ) she parked in the commercial side of the S’Port, and flitting from shadow to shadow, approached the Ingress gates to the SpacNav S’Port.

There were normally four SpacNav enlisted suckers guarding the gates, but as Pussy crept up, there was no one to be seen. She quietly approached the back of the small GuardStation and looked in the viewing port. Sure enough, all four guards were there, as well as two of Pussy’s XoXoDack friends who she had contacted earlier. They agreed to help Pussy out by distracting the humo guards. Both of the XoXoDack fems were lying on couches, being DP’ed one humo guard cock in each vagina, and all completely occupied. Not often that a poor SpacNav enlistee had a shot at a XoXoDack fem — and as they say, once you’ve had XoXoDack, you’ll never go back!

Pussy, taking advantage of the fact that the guards at that moment wouldn’t have noticed an invasion of spacer pirates, was through the ingress/egress gate in a second.

She stuck to the shadows until she found Admiral Limbdirk’s flagship — which, it turned out, had the same basic layout as a space tranporter. Pussy knew every inch of the ship. Using her magHoldOns, she climbed up the side of the ship, until she was next to the hatch that led to the foodPrep area. What Pussy was betting on was, that like every other Emeril that she knew of, that Limbdirk’s Emeril would leave the hatch ajar when in S’Port to allow the smells and heat of the galley out, and some fresh O2 in. And she was correct.

No one was in the galley in the middle of the night, and soon Pussy was in the EnviroDucting of the spacer, making her way through the labyrinth until she was just outside of Limbdirk’s quarters. She silently removed the grill over the duct and looked out. Sure enough, there was one of Limpdick’s Master Chiefs standing guard, trying to prevent any of the enlisted spacers from removing Limbdirk from the land of the living.

Pussy felt no qualms about it when she took her small airpowered NarcoNeedle gun and sent the goon into sleepy land for the night. She thought that he was one of the two who had helped Limpdick mannap her Herc!

Quick and silent as a feline, Pussy was in the passageway, and through the door into Limbdirk’s quarters. As her feline-like eyes adjusted to the dark, she could see Limbdirk’s figure lying on the bunk on an ultra-thin, ultra-light mattress pad, under the standard SpacNav ultra-lightweight blanket. You could tell he was a SpacNav lifer — he was in a deep sleep, completely content.

A quick step took Pussy over to Limbdirk’s bunk, and a spray of easySleep in his face made sure that he wouldn’t awaken until Pussy wanted him awake. She turned on the lights in his quarters. Pussy glanced out the hatch, and seeing no one, pulled the unconscious Master Chief into Limbdirk’s quarters. Soon she had the Chief tied, blindfolded and gagged on the floor. She slipped off the concealing hood from her head.

Limbdirk, she first stripped of his SpacNav issued sleepwear (‘In the name of the Greater Being,’ she thought,’ where do they get ‘jammies with their rank imprinted on them?’), then tied him, spread eagle to the bunk. Pussy didn’t blindfold him, although she did put a piece of tape over his mouth. A quick spray of easyWake in his face would bring him around in less than thirty standard seconds. She looked at her watch. After the thirty seconds had passed, Pussy walked over to Limbdirk’s recumbent figure, and licked him up the side of his face, in a manner similar to that of a lioness tasting her prey, prior to taking the first bite.