The bar was dimly lit, where whispers held more weight than shouts and secrets danced in the shadows. Red, a burly Gertan with a thick white beard, nursed his drink at a table in the far corner. This was his bar. His eyes scanned the room, a mix of bounty hunters, gamblers, and space outlaws, looking for their next score or escape. He was bored waiting for someone, or something, to catch his eye. The smoky haze filled the air with a scent that was a strange mix of burnt oxygen and sweat from beings of different worlds.

A young Simirian woman appeared in the doorway unsure whether to enter or not. Her hair was the color of strawberries and cream and she had the tail of a cat. Red’s gaze took in her innocence and fear that screamed ‘new to the city’. She was half-human, half-Simirian, and had stumbled into his dive without a collar around her neck. Simirians were the only race in the known universe with two sets of identical genitals and were highly sought after by whore-masters.

Red’s eyes narrowed as he took a long drag from a flickering stick of Harbo dung, assessing her from afar. The girl was ripe fruit, ready to be picked, plucked, and snogged in both of her crack holes. He pushed himself out of his chair and stood, the leather sheaf covering his boomstick swished side to side as he did so.

Daisy’s heart raced as the albino ape-man approached, shoving other patrons out of the way as his boots thumped against the wooden floorboards like a drumbeat of doom. The Gertan stopped in front of her. The musky smell of his fully hairy body and the hint of something wild in his yellow eyes made her stomach flip.

“What’s a pretty Simirian like you doing wandering around without a collar on?” Red’s voice was a gruff growl that made Daisy’s knees wobble. Men like him came from the far corners of the Ger galaxy. She had heard rumors of their sexual prowess and endowment, but never thought she would be face-to-face with a live Gertan. She gulped down her fear and her tail submissively squirmed between her bum cheeks.

“Looking for a new home,” she whispered, her eyes cast downward. Now that she reached the age of snogging, her father would sell her to a whore-master. Like he did with her older sisters. She escaped the family’s dung farm on the outskirts of New Sax and after fighting off countless aliens arrived her. Daisy had been raised to believe her extra genitals were a blessing, something to cherish and take advantage of. But her human father lied, he used her Simirian mother as a breeder, making her pop out babies every six months. Only the girls were allowed to live. When ripe, he sold his daughters to slavers for exorbitant sums. Daisy was sure her older sisters were being used in the most depraved ways.

Red smirked, his canine teeth shining through the darkness like the edges of a knife. “I own this bar and might be able to use your ... talents,” he said, his eyes lingering on her shivering pink body. “But first, you gotta prove to me that you’re worth the trouble.” He grabbed her wrist and dragged her through the bar, the crowd quickly parted afraid to make Red mad. Their eyes filled with pity for the Simirian girl, there were alpha Gertan’s and then there was Red.

The patrons of the bar were a tapestry of the galaxy’s most unsavory characters. A Betelgeusian with tentacles instead of limbs played a sad tune on a xylophone made of bone. The music was haunting, and the way he caressed each key suggested a history filled with pain and loss. A group of scaly Skaraxians huddled in the corner, their vibrant blue scales glowing in the low light, their claws clicking against their cards as they played a high-stakes game of Galactic Poker. They had the look of mercenaries with their cold, dead eyes and the stink of violence hung around them like a cloak.

At the bar, a Rigellian bartender poured drinks with mechanical precision, his six arms moving in a mesmerizing dance. His exoskeleton reflected the light, casting a rainbow of colors across the room, hinting at the wealth of his intergalactic travels. A pair of Gamma twins, known for their ability to read minds, whispered sweet nothings into the ears of patrons, their eyes gleaming with mischief and greed as they listened to secrets and hidden treasure. The air was thick with the scent of various alien species, a mix of pheromones and bodily odors that could be intoxicating or repulsive, depending on the species.

In the corner, a group of hulking Brontos, their skin a deep blue-green, laughed boisterously, slapping their thick hands on the table with every punchline. Their deep chuckles reverberated through the room, an intimidating sound. They were known for their brute strength and even greater appetites. Nearby, a slender Nymphoid with her hair made of living vines sat alone, sipping a neon-green cocktail. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for someone to ensnare with her seductive gaze and the promise of a night of heavenly pleasure.

Red led Daisy Bell through the crowded alien bar, his grip firm but not painful. His office was a stark contrast to the chaos outside. It was a small room, but it was clean and orderly. The walls were adorned with trophies from his various hunts: the head of a rogue cyborg, the pelt of a rare space beast, and the gleaming metal insignia of a stolen spaceship’s engine part. There was a large, comfortable chair behind a heavy wooden desk and a smaller chair in front of it. He pushed her into the smaller chair and sat in his with a heavy thud. Red rubbed his white beard, this was his first time seeing a half-human half-Simirian without a stun collar around her neck and he wasn’t about to let her slip through his fingers to one the rouge slavers drinking in his bar.

“Alright,” he began, his voice softer than the thunderous boom from his earlier approach. “I want to know everything about you. Why are you free? How did you get here? What are you called?” His yellow eyes bore into hers, daring her to lie to him.

Daisy took a deep breath, her heart hammering in her chest. “My name is Daisy Bell,” she started, her voice trembling. “I was born on a dung farm in New Sax territory. My father is human, and my mother ... is Simirian.” She paused, her eyes glazed over with a hint of painful memories. “I’m the third daughter out of twelve. My father had plans to sell me to the whore-masters, but I didn’t want that life,” she whispered. “So, I ran away.”

“Have you been claimed?”

“My father took one of my crack holes, the other is still intact,” Daisy replied. Her voice was small, but the pride in her words was clear. It was a common practice for a Simirian girl’s father to test one of their daughter’s crack holes to determine how tight she was. “He made me bleed.”

Red’s eyes narrowed at the mention that she still had one pure crack hole, his mind racing with the implications. He knew that a virgin half-Simirian was a prize beyond measure. But why was she here, in his bar, instead of being pampered by a high-class whore-master? He leaned back in his chair, stroking his white hairy chin thoughtfully. He could sell her or keep her for himself. The latter option was more tempting, but the former could bring him a fortune and he could get off this despicable planet.

“Take off your cloak and underthings,” he ordered, his voice firm but not unkind. Daisy’s cheeks flushed a deep shade of red that matched the strawberry in her hair as she complied with his command. She untied the knot at her neck and let the cloak fall to the floor, revealing simple, threadbare wrappings that clung to her body. She looked up at Red, her eyes silently pleading for compassion.

With trembling hands, Daisy unwrapped herself, exposing her lithe pink form to the cool air of the office. Her breasts were small but pert, her nipples a pale pink that stood out against her fur. Her stomach was flat, with just a hint of the muscles she had developed from a life of hard work. Her legs, toned and shapely, led down to her bare feet. Her long matching tail brushed against the floor from side to side in nervous tension. The scent of her crack holes filled the room, a delicate bouquet of pheromones meant to arouse a male. Simirian women were the aphrodisiacs of the galaxy, and Daisy Bell was a walking, talking, living, breathing embodiment of that fact.

As she stood there, naked and vulnerable, Red came around to examine her. A peculiar change began to take place in Red’s crotch. His hairy boomstick, which had been lying dormant under the leather satchel, began to twitch and pulse with a life of its own. It grew, stretching out from its sheath like a serpent uncoiling from a warm rock. Daisy’s eyes widened as she took in the sight. The only boomstick she had seen was her father’s and he paled in comparison. Red’s smile grew broader as he pulled aside his leather cover and watched her reaction, he reached down to stroke the growing appendage. It was a rare trait among Gertan males to be an albino, a sign of high virility and potency.

Red’s boomstick grew thicker and longer, as it came alive absorbing the essence the girl emitted. Daisy could see the veins bulge and throb as it reached its full length, a clear indicator of his desire. It was covered in fine white hair, matching the pelt of its owner. At the tip a glistening drop of orange puss emerged. Like an animal sniffing the air, it twitched and searched for the source of the female scent. Daisy’s untouched crack hole let out another puff of fragrant pheromones. Red stepped closer to her, his phallus let out a soft whine in anticipation of the feast to come. “Kneel and let my boomstick smell your aura,” he ordered.

Daisy knees hit the floor with a soft thud. She felt the warmth of his phallus brush against her cheek as it sniffed her face. The hairs tickled and she fought the urge to giggle. This was her chance to escape a life of slavery, but it meant giving herself to this beast of a man. As Red’s boomstick hovered over her face, she felt the heat radiating from it and smelled the musky ape scent of his arousal. The tip leaked puss all over her face, and she had to bite her lip to keep from recoiling.

“Open your mouth,” Red instructed, his voice thick with lust. Daisy obeyed, his boomstick grazed the soft skin of her lip, the hairs brushing her tongue. It felt weird, and she wasn’t sure how to react. She had heard stories of krugging, of men who liked to use a woman’s mouth, but she had never been taught the art. That was left for whore-masters. She tentatively flicked her tongue against the slit, and the boomstick jolted in response. A low growl of pleasure rumbled from Red’s chest, and his boomstick erupted with a series of puss, coating her tongue with its sticky essence.

To her surprise, Daisy liked the taste. It was sweet and fruity. It filled her mouth, and she found herself craving more. She took him in deeper, her tongue swirling around his glans, savoring the flavor of his alien essence. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked with all her might, like a Zorba cat at its mother’s teat.

Red’s boomstick groaned in pleasure, and his grip on her hair tightened. “Hold still, my little half-breed,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. Daisy didn’t know a Gertan’s boomstick could act without a man’s control, but she was quickly learning. The hairy boomstick shapeshifted until it was the perfect size for her mouth, allowing it to go deeper without gagging her. The feeling of it stretching her throat made her panic. She didn’t like being krugged.