Terry poked his head out of the big double doors leading out into the sales floor and rubber-necked about urgently.
Customers and staff sparsely populated the storefront. Weaving like so much slow traffic between the long rows of shelves and displays searching for bargain purchases. It was still early in the day so the store wasn't too busy. Just a few handfuls of retirees and stay-at-home mothers looking to capitalize on midweek catalog deals with under-motivated sales people dogging their steps half-heartedly.
Terry ran a hand through his tousled hair and adjusted the all too prominent bulge in his overtaxed pants. It was pushed obscenely down the right leg of his ruined slacks, halfway to his knee and clearly outlined against the straining khaki cloth.
This was absurd.
"Damn it all, get a hold of yourself man!"
Terry had done the best he could with the resources at hand. The zipper was busted after the aggressive debut of his massive new member and he had stapled closed the torn flap in his trousers in an ill conceived attempt to preserve his long lost modesty.
...and that was after he had strapped his ever-ready erection to his thigh with an excessive amount of packing tape.
That was going to be purest form of torture to remove later if his downstairs hypersensitivity was any indicator.
"C'mon... No, no, no, no..." He groaned, his colossal cock fighting heroically against its constraining restraints at the sight of a busty dark-haired housewife in a revealing summer dress pushing a pram past his hiding spot and turning down an aisle headed towards the kitchen appliances.
"What's wrong, Terry?"
Warm hands slid around his waist and the smell of sweet perfume filled his nostrils as Bernie pressed her athletic body against his back with a naughty giggle. Her hands roaming across his belly before migrating southward. His dick throbbed strongly in eager anticipation. Terry groaned when he felt a heavy spurt of pre-cum darken the pant-leg just above his knee.
Oh for fucks sake...
"Bernie, stop that." He hissed, stepping back into the storeroom and squirming free of her groping clutches. "You're not helping matters, you're making it worse."
"
Aaaaw~
I'm sorry, Terry." She teased with a playful pout. "Shall we kiss and make up? Or here's another idea; how about I give that giant horse-cock of yours a big smooch to make it feel better..."
She was crowding him again, her big beautiful eyes locked on the lewdly twitching mega-bulge in his poor slacks and smacking her chops like a lioness after the kill. Terry had to actively push her away to get a little room to breathe. He needed space to think and wrap his head around whatever the hell was going on here.
Or rather, what was going on
down there
.
"Bernie, think about what you are doing..." He tried to keep his tone reasonable and suppressed a groan when his hyperactive giga-cock thrummed again. "Sure we're friends but since when have you ever wanted to suck my dick?"
The question itself was a bit of a blow to the ol' male ego but Terry could weather it given the circumstances.
"
Uuum...
Well, at least since I first saw it just now but I feel like it should have been for a really long time." She mused, tapping a thoughtful finger on her chin before brightening up again. "How's about you whip that bad boy out again and we can see..."
"Bernie!"
"Don't
Bernie
me, Stud. I
want
it, I can smell that delicious warm spunk in your pants from here." She whined petulantly, edging forward as Terry kept his distance. "How much do you wanna bet that I can't suck that sweet splooge straight out through the fabric?"
"Are you hearing the words coming out of your own mouth right now?" Terry was afraid this was going to turn into another round of ground and pound with his incorrigible cock as the prize. "Something is wrong with both of us. We need to get out of here and find help."
________________
"...compound X244-1
SEE."
Grand Scrutineer Dhuussod repeated, drawing out the last syllable of the delegation code phonetically.
"No, Grand Scrutineer. I was instructed to administer compound X244-1 DEE."
Flunky Third Class Bhamme protested, doing the same.
By the endless storms of Beta Crateris III the junior crew member didn't understand why the Prime Smack--may they remain ever gelatinous--insisted on using such a confusing alphanumeric system for their many and varied experimental formulas.
"You were most certainly not."
High Psychophant Qwaizoo reprimanded sharply, his gills flaring in outrage. "Your orders were clear and simple, Flunky Third Class Bhamme. You will accept the repercussions of your own egregious shortcomings."
"What is compound x244-1d supposed to do anyway?" Bhamme asked churlishly. He hadn't wanted to go on that stupid mission in the first place and was feeling rather ill-used as a target for his two superiors ire.
"That is what we are about to discover, no matter our original designs." The Grand Scrutineer said, his lappets curling together in thoughtful repose. "The compound in question is a psychotomimetic extract from the Decalopoid species native to Omicron Cephei II."
Flunky Third Class Bhamme's cerebral bell rippled the putrid green hue of confusion.
"They are an aquatic species of Psychedelic Goliath Squids from the Cepheus constellation, Flunky." Qwaizoo explained with no small amount of exasperation.
Bhamme's twin eye-stalks just stared blankly back at him, with an astounding lack of any comprehension.
"Would you please join me by the command pool, High Psychophant?" Grand Scrutineer Dhuussod requested calmly before the two of them floated serenely back up the bridge together leaving the young Flunky to monitor the transmission bubble.
Once there Grand Scrutineer Dhuussod took a deep whiff of the soothing helium vapors before rounding angrily on High Psychophant Qwaizoo with his pseudopod pointed back towards Flunky Third Class Bhamme.
"Who is that incompetent shtaaark-hole
and what is are they doing on my star-ship?"
________________
"Excuse me, Miss Gwendoline..." Terry stuck his head around the store manager's office door trying to keep his jutting crotch out of sight.
It was a tall order, his middle-aged ice-queen of a boss worked in a proverbial fishbowl. The curving walls and even the door were entirely transparent glass, even lacking blinds to obscure her view of the sales floor. It was her own personal panopticon from which she ruled over her little kingdom like the petty tin-pot tyrant she was.
...and right now Terry looked like he was trying to smuggle a blue-ribbon prize cucumber down the front of his slacks.
"What is it Terrence?" She asked, never taking her eyes off her laptop screen. "I need you to finish that stocktaking, not wasting company time by slacking off. The end of the fiscal quarter isn't far away now."
That was a bald-faced lie delivered with all much warmth of a thrown knife. They were barely into the fifth week of the first quarter...
"An emergency has come up and,