I called the cunt. She said she'd asked around and the woman had been there. She'd been unpopular with clients and went off to work as a cleaner. Gloria knew the place and could take me.
I asked her to have dinner. I wanted to push her face in after I made her suck about fifty dicks, but any bitch who'd done ten Orgulhians could handle a regiment of men. I decided to push her face in after I'd used her to find the ugly bitch.
She must've sensed something. She mumbled about needing to work. I didn't need to meet with her, but I did need to kill the slut. She'd insulted me and she knew it. I said I'd pay her boss for a week's leavings and give her a week's five-star fee. She agreed.
I picked her up at the shithole she worked and paid right away. I didn't want to hang around five minutes. I hustled her flabby ass out of there and took her to a restaurant that was supposed to be the best in the city. I smiled graciously while I sat there wanting to push that sexy hooked nose into her face until her brains ran out like rivers of gray and white shit.
"I don't need for you to take me," I said. "Just tell me where she is."
"I don't take you, you don't get in," she replied, momentarily suspending the piece of meat impaled on a fork in front of her face. "It's a kind of commune for women, mostly cleaners. Rejects."
"How can that be? Cleaners are hatched to pattern, like everyone on the planet."
"You ever see a woman from Orgulho?"
"Of course not. Earth's no domestic planet. Strictly pleasure packets and hunting expeditions."
"That's right. And downgraded to third rate now, too."
We sat eying each other across the table.
She asked, "You know any human who's been to Orgulho?"
"No. Of course not."
"Well, way I heard it there ain't no Orgulhian women. Don't exist. Don't need women here either. All hatched. Don't need no fucking men either."
I knew all that. Maybe there weren't any women on Orgulho. Hell, maybe there wasn't even a fucking Orgulho. But there sure as hell were Orgulhians and they ran this planet as they saw fit. For their pleasure. And they didn't countenance sex with anything but females.
"You," she said, "are from a rare spawn. Not many of your type. Too dangerous."
"How do you know that?"
"I been around a bit. You gotta be working for someone up there pretty damned high."
She would never guess. Special emissary to the Orgulhian North American Continental Regent for the Emperor was about as high as you could get for a human. And she didn't know how rare, either. Designed in one of the small, special batches controlled at the highest level. Slow orgasm and bitch control built in, overriding my better judgment every time. Merciless, efficient, brutal, single-minded. Control, control, control.
"So what's all this got to do with this woman not making it where the genes says she makes it?" Feeling testy but controlling the anger. Fucking four-orgasm whore'd feel it when I unleashed it on that nose. The vision of her face in my crotch, that perfect nose above my dick, with my sperm in her mouth and then reaching down and shoving the whole fucking thing into her face, brain and sperm pushing out those flaring nostrils, made my dick so hard I had to adjust myself on my chair.
"You described her. You know. She ain't hatched. She's not from blueprint. She's wild."
She'd guessed. That made me want to kill her right there because she was dangerous.
"Nonsense," I said. "No wild humans left and you know it. All sterile at birth. Been that way since the Orgulhians took control. Coded right in."
She smirked and I felt vulnerable.
This whole thing was damned dangerous, just as the Regent himself had told me. Made it all the better I'd said, and he knew it anyway. Coded in, the danger thing. I needed it. Like the other things I needed. But still, this was not his continent I was hunting on. And for what might be a myth, he'd said. All the better, I'd said.
I watched her chew the piece of red meat and imagined her with the Orgulhians. Last night she'd said she remembered the first time one of them had fucked her ass, dwelling inside her for an hour or more as he swelled with excruciating slowness. She said it reminded her of the story of the man in the tub, with the water raised a few degrees an hour, and how do you know when to scream?
My Orgulhian retainer had given me that serene smile they all have and sprayed the mist behind his ears, like they all do, before dismissing me, saying with a final word, "Just be careful of traps. There is a new offensive in the game. I don't want you coming back like this," holding up the atomizer and gently misting his forehead.
She chewed slowly, the bone of some dead, barely cooked animal in her hand.
The Orgulhian pseudopod pumped slowly and steadily all the time, a life of its own as its owner lay there in a trance, and she said she'd filled to bursting, well lubricated by the hot fluid, slick and viscous with a texture like mucous, seeping out her anus. Even so she was so full that when he finished erupting in slow motion for maybe ten minutes with the green slimy snot gushing out as he gradually deflated inside, her legs and ass covered with the stuff, his thing still communing with her but dying to a whisper at the end, she felt empty and cried for it to come again.
I thought of her man in the tub and it made me think of how a frog in a pot brought slowly to a boil will stay put until it cooked.
Chewing, chewing, in my face chewing. "Masticate!" I shouted at her. She regurgitated chunks of food onto the table.
