XENOFESTATION 2-04
~ORBITAL DECAY~

Paragonas Vaunt

SAMPLE

Centero III

The Chimes of Doom flower was not a particularly cunning organism, but then it didn't need to be when it could rely on the foolishness of its prey.

The foolishness of its prey and the law of gravity.

Once the victim was within reach, once it had been scooped up and fed into the flower, once it had been squeezed along one of the stems into the waiting fluid-filled bell, gravity and the shape of the chamber did the rest.

Vonica was inverted, her body trapped in a position that pushed her legs high and wide, although - since she was upside-down - she wondered whether perhaps low and wide would have been a better description. Whatever her own perspective, Vonica reflected, the key point from the perspective of the flower was that the opening of her cunt was upturned towards the top of the bell.

So all the flower had to do was extend its implantation tube, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it reaching her. Gravity had made Vonica fall into the right position in the bell, and gravity now let the weighted cone at the end of the plant's implantation tube sink slowly through the thick fluid that enveloped her, a fluid that blurred her vision as she watched the pointed end drift inexorably closer.

Owl-eyed, she watched as it grazed the inner curve of her buttock, slid onward.

The tip of the cone skated over her mound, caught for a moment at the cleft there, and she shuddered at the sudden unyielding hardness of it. The flexible tube paying out behind it started to bend and coil as it slackened, more weight coming to bear on its narrow tip, and then with the inevitability of millennia-evolved purpose it parted her inner labia and dropped into the vestibule of her cunt on a surge of the bell's sticky fluid. It was a dense thing, the cone, a solid slippery mass, too smooth and too slender and too heavy for her to deny its entrance, and the tip eased into her under its own weight, half a finger's length, just the very tip of it.

That was how it always started, with just the tip.

And how many over-enthusiastic suitors on how many thousands of worlds had made that false promise to their reluctant paramours?

Just the tip, baby. No more than that. Just let the tip rest there for a bit. Feel it. Feel it touch you there.

But soon enough a little more. A little more now maybe.

The victim would squeeze down on the intruding cone, thinking they could hold it back. And they could, for a while. They could hold tight with just the tip inside. Only the tip.

But the slender pointed cone was heavy, so heavy and slick, coated with slime and smooth with it, and eventually the prey would calm, would relax a little, and with just a moment's inattention the cone would sink a fraction deeper inside them.

The prey would startle then, clench down, holding tight, maybe even squeeze the cone back out a little way, if they were strong enough. But the cone was shaped so that it magnified the effort needed to keep it out, and the poor creature would soon tire, and they would start to lose ground, bit by tiny bit. They would squeeze the cone nearly all the way out once more, maybe even back to where it started, whining with the effort. Trying to bargain with the cone, perhaps, with the plant itself. Allowing the tip now, conceding it that, but no more. No more. Please, no more.

But where the cone had been once it could go again, a little further the second time. And inevitably there was only one way it was all going to end up.

All the way up.

So heavy, so pointed, so smooth, so slick, that by the time it was too thick to bear it was too deep to stop, and besides it was only in increments, tiny little steps, tiny little eases and stretches, each one following the one before, each one stealing a little more, gaining a little more. Eventually even somebody of Vonica's prodigious muscle tone would tire and no longer be able to hold it back.

But Vonica didn't want to hold it back.

She wanted it in.

All the way in.

The tube shifted, twitching the burrowing tip of the cone, and it slid deeper into Vonica's cunt.

Oh fuck...

That wasn't Vonica's own reaction, though it might easily have been. It was Livvy, much less familiar with alien sex, much less experienced, feeling the strange sensation of her own implantation tube sliding into her own open sex.

The cone inside Vonica's cunt stirred again, digging, worming itself within the muscular resistance of her channel, its flaring shape stretching her wider as it went deeper, making her clench instinctively and then, each time her muscles relaxed, overcome by the heavy weight pressing them, it would dig a little deeper still, just little increments, tiny plunges, deeper and deeper until finally it was bedded all the way inside her cunt, all the way there and no more, the whole cone-shaped head and a length of rugose tube besides, so deep that the very tip was butted hard up against her cervix.

It was securely in her.

If she'd been the sole occupant of one of the Chimes of Doom's reproduction chambers, the only victim it caught, here would have been where Vonica stayed, for as long as it took to snare a second. Held tight, upside-down, in this fluid-filled sac, fed and watered and pinned by the cunt, kept alive and safe until she was needed.

Vonica would quite happily have stayed as long as it took. The lumpy implantation tube was in continual motion inside her, as every movement of the bell, every sway in the slight breeze that made her prison dip and rock, every twitch of her own body sending tremors through the walls around her, all of them were amplified into an endless squirming ripple that travelled up and down the length of her channel with a cunt-slicked, bump-ridged grind.

She moaned into the fluid that filled her lungs, wondering how many times she'd be able to come this way, deciding, as the implantation tube continued to shift lumpily inside her, fixing, settling into place, that it would probably be quite a lot.

However, they'd made sure the plant had two ready victims - Vonica and Livvy - though of course Livvy was nobody's victim, not even when she was pinned upside-down in a fluid-filled breeding chamber. So Vonica knew she would need to concentrate if she was going to extract a few jollies from the Chimes of Doom along with its gametes.

Before time ran out.

It was always a matter of careful timing, as both Livvy and Vonica would agree from their own professional perspectives, but on this occasion it wasn't to do with working out where your target would be when your flechette round intersected with their path, or the precise moment to insert a finger into your partner's back passage to get them over the line. It wasn't so much about bringing things together at the right moment, but about separating them.

It was about carefully choosing the right time to part company.

That time was fast approaching.