Space Relations

Shortly after, we find lead singer Mark hoisting a portable recorder onto his shoulder, and focusing close on ensign Cumming's face. The navigator was wearing an orange business suit with a yellow tie, stylishly cut. Where he obtained said suit would forever be a mystery, such as the timeless enigma centering around the true identity of George Washington's illegitimate black children. The stout man was hurriedly checking the knot on his tie. In his hand, he held a wireless microphone.

"And, we are hot." Mark announced.

"What does that mean?" Cummings asked.

"That means that we are now recording. You are live on my digital broadcast feed. Make sure you plug my channel while you're talking."

"You mean right now, we're recording?"

"Yes, you dipstick." Mark rolled his eyes. "Don't forget about my channel, and give me your game face."

"Uh, hello." Cummings said into the mike. He looked back at Mark. "I can't hear anything."

Mark reached out slapped the thick navigator across the face. Hard.

With a red palm and five little red fingers starting to glow hot on his cheek, Cummings found his game face. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Mark's channel, which is normally reserved for broadcasting live performances from the Milky Way Misfits. If you're receiving this broadcast, be sure to notify your friends right away, because we're having a very special engagement and it's happening right now! No, we won't be sending you a live concert feed, no sir, but we will be telecasting this."

The camera panned away to take in the broad expanse of the lounge. A majority of the open space had been cleared off and restructured to mimic a tiny arena, complete with a boxing square of four corners and guide ropes. The camera came back to Cummings.

"You've all heard of the Galaxy Games, but you've never heard of anything like this. I am ensign Cummings, navigator for the recently commissioned starship, the SCS Space Relations. Our mission is to explore the vast, unexplored reaches of the universe. Perhaps you've heard of our recent exploits on the Starship Neptune?"

"Cuing video splice." Mark said. Whoever was watching at home would have seen a brief clip of the near riot that had taken place on the Neptune, with the crowd shouting 'Beat The Bitch!' to a scowling Commander Braxton. This interlude only lasted for a few seconds. "Back to you, ensign Cummings."

"Yes," Cummings nodded. "Thanks to the heroic efforts of myself and my crew, we were able to depose the tyranny in the form of Commander Braxton and her lesser flunkie Lieutenant Major Sessler. Both of these tyrants are now on their way back to Earth to be reprimanded by Admiral Cocksander himself. May the whip strike hard upon their power-abusing hineys!

"But that's not all, faithful listeners, because the crew of the Space Relations is now facing a new threat, that of the dreaded Worf horde. A contingent of which has cut us off at galaxy's edge and has made overtures to wage war with our peaceful science vessel. Instead of succumbing to their provocations, we have issued a serious challenge to these warmongering cretins, and here to explain that challenge is fellow crewmate ensign Willow Smith."

"Switching to camera two." Mark said.

Another band member, standing before Willow in the vessel's hallway, said, "We are live."

"How do you explain what a fuck-off is on a live feed?" Willow asked.

"I said, we are live."

"Oh." Willow straightened up right away. "And a very interesting challenge it is, Cummings. This is Willow Smith, live on the Space Relations, where the challenge is this; four, count 'em, four members of our crew are putting the reputation of the entire human race into their nether regions. They will soon be engaging in a pounding of the flesh as has never been seen before in the history of mankind. You heard right, this will be a contest of hardcore sex. The victor will be the last human or Worf left standing, or at least mounted on top. The loser will be the first sex combatant pinned and forced into submission. Standing here next to me is the newest addition to the crew, logistics officer Barbie Bruxhall. We've heard that you will be part of the judging panel here tonight, Barbie. Would you care to comment on that?"

Willow held her mike out.

"That's right." Barbie nodded. "Two members of the Misfits and myself will be judging the encounters, as well as three Worf. I've also signed up as an alternate, in case somebody gets hurt and cannot complete their intimate encounter."

"Any further comments for our audience at home?"

Barbie nodded. "You all need to hide your kids, hide your wives, and hide your husbands, because they're raping everybody out here!"

"There you have it, folks." Willow spoke into her mike. "Back to you, Cummings."

"This is ensign Cummings," The stout man took over. "The Wizard Of 'Oh', as in show me your 'Oh' face, oh, oh, oh, baby! Two human men and two human women are representing the human race, against two Worf males and two Worf females. Who will win, ladies and germs, who will have bragging rights to being the best humpers in the Sex Games at the Edge of the Galaxeeeee!"

Just then, the lights dimmed down, except for the few focused on the makeshift ring. We Will Rock You, by Queen, started blasting into the airwaves.

"It looks like our first match is about to begin." Cummings turned to one side. "And there is the Worf woman, Druna, making her way into the ring. She's a hairy beast, standing at five foot eight and with a bust size of thirty-eight D. She sure looks like she means business, doesn't she?"

"She sure does, Cummings." Willow stepped over beside the reporter. "Let's take our seats because the show is about to begin."

Mark kept his camera focused on the two of them, while the second cameraman went over beside the ring to film the participants.

"We've got ringside seats here, folks." Cummings said. "Hang on to your butts, because we'll be bringing you the play by play as soon as the action gets started."

"Tonight's referee will be ensign and combat technician Bjorn Brukenfooken, also known as Thor the Hammer." Willow commented. "Unfortunately, due to a mysterious bladder infection, Thor will not be participating in today's events, and, whoa! Cummings did you see that?"

"I sure did, Willow. It seems that the Worf woman, Druna, has mistaken Thor for her opponent. She has taken the big man down!"

Willow: "Several Worfs have entered the ring to separate the two."

Cummings: "But did you see how fast she moved, Willow? Thor was on his back before he even knew what was happening to him. She was like a cobra in heat; she struck so fast! It seems that her challenger has his work cut out for him."

Willow: "And here he is now, our own science officer Ramiro De La Cruz, the Cruzin' Bruzin', is making his way to the ring. Notice his Velcro bun-hugger briefs, Cummings. He is ripping them off and tossing them into the cheering crowd."

Cummings: "It doesn't seem like the Worf woman is very impressed by our Cruzer, Willow. She is laughing right at him. What's this?"

Willow: "Can it be? Cruz is holding up two fingers. I think he's asking for two Worf females to enter the ring and square off against him. This is unprecedented in the history of all fuck-offs, Cummings!"

Cummings: "I don't think he should do it, Willow. I think I'd have my hands full with just one Worf woman, let alone two. I'm shaking my head here. This could be a very disastrous move for our side, Willow."

Willow: "The second Worf female will be Dima. She's entering the ring and standing alongside her compatriot now. Both Dima and Druna are undressing for the battle. Oh, geez, Cummings, have you ever seen anything like that?"

Cummings: "Truly, I have not. While both women have highly visible hair on their breasts and all over their bodies, they have a full and shaggy welcome mat between their legs. I hope Cruz brought his weed-cutter with him, because he's going to have a tough time getting through that tangle. It's like a jungle in there and I'm not kidding!"

Willow: "Barbie Doll is holding up a large pot which is serving as the bell. She's striking it with a big metal spoon. You hear that? The action is underway!"

Cummings: "Cruz is taunting both Worfs by shaking his bared buttocks at them. They're scrambling across the ring, Willow, like two horny and extra hairy Amazon warriors. They've got a hold on him. Cruz is down! But no, he's managed to slide away from them both. He's attempting to mount one, but no, they've got him down again! Look at Cruz slip through their arms, Willow! Do you think he greased himself up before the match? Now, he's jumped on one's back. He's mangling those hairy breasts now. The second Worf is pulling him away, but no, Cruz has turned around within her arms, and he's tripped her down. He's on top, Willow! Can it be? Is this really happening? Yes! Yes! Oh, yes! We've got penetrashuuuuunn!"

Willow: "Which one is down, Cummings? Is that Dima, or Druna? Well, the one still standing is trying to tear Cruz off her partner. The one on the floor seems dazed. Cruz and the other Worf are fighting for control. Oh, will you look at that! Cruz is up, and he's lifting the Worf's leg into the air. He's trying to nail her while they're both standing up! Whoa, she got loose, but she's still off balance. Cruz has her back now, and he's taking advantage. What's he doing now, Cummings?"

Cummings: "Penetrashuuuuunn!"

Willow: "He's like a human jackhammer, isn't he? Oh, look, the first Worf is sneaking up behind Cruz. She's got him by the shoulders, but no, Cruz is slipping through her legs. He's tumbling her down on top of her partner. He's got both of their backs now. He's alternating with them, not letting either one of them get up, and holding onto their legs so they can't move away."

Cummings: "He's bagging 'em! Seriously, Willow, I don't know if I'd switch places with Cruz for all the money in the universe. Each one of those Worfs has more hair down there than I do on the top of my head, and that's really saying something. There's the ref, he's coming in close. The Worfs are tapping out! Unbelievable!"

Willow: "Cruz is up on his feet, but his pecker doesn't look the worse for wear. He's doing a victory dance, and who can blame him? He just took down two very capable and fearsome opponents!"

Cummings: "We hear boos coming from the Worf section, as Thor raises Cruz's hand up in victory. But will you look at this? Cruz is ready for more. He's challenging all of the Worf females in the audience to step into the ring with him. He wants them all in the ring at the same time. Unbelievable!"

As Thor began to herd Cruz away from the ring ropes, Willow dove in to get a few words from him. "They call you the Cruzin' Bruzin', and you certainly proved that you are a bruiser tonight. How does it feel to take and defeat not one, but two Worf females?"

"Notch two on the headboard for humanity, baby!" Cruz, his head still streaming sweat and his breaths ragged, held his hand up in victory. "I'd like to thank my sponsors, Space Corps first and foremost, for making this all possible. I'd like to thank captain Washington, for believing in me and bringing me on board. And a special thank you to Officer Wattakunt, because she inspires me to greater heights than I thought myself capable of, and because what a cunt she has, baby!"

As Cruz started to make his way out of the ring, ensign Willow said, "Let's hear it for the Cruzin' Bruzin'!"

Big cheers went up from the human side of the crowd.

"We'll be pausing a moment for some words from our sponsors." Cummings announced.

Mark brought his camera down and went to confer with his other camera-wielding associate. Willow returned to her seat.

"That was some match." Willow looked excited.

"I'll say." Cummings nodded. "Too bad none of this is going to reach Earth for almost a week."

Mark heard this last statement as he stepped back. "A few days for Earth, yeah, but not for some of the colonies on Jupiter and Saturn. We've got a bunch of tweets from Callisto Colony and Starship Neptune already. We're a hit, man!"

"Sweet." Cummings smiled. "Let Braxton chew on that!" He got up and started shouting, "Beat the bitch! Beat the bitch!"

The members of the audience who knew what he was saying took up the chant. Of course, Mark and his fellow got the footage.

Mark aimed his camera toward Cruz, as the tired fighter returned in a Space Corps official bathrobe. (Note: There were no official fighter's robes on board, so regular bathrobes were being substituted - the editor.)

Cummings slid a chair over for the champion and stuck the mike into his face. "I almost hate to ask you this, but what's it like having intercourse with a Worf woman?"

Cruz shook his head. "If you've ever tried to have intercourse with a wig, like I have, I'd say it was a similar experience. Or perhaps similar to humping a tarantula, but of course I haven't done that, at least not successfully. The hair on their legs is way too prickly. All of that was in the name of science, by the way. What I will say, Cummings, is that once you get past that great wall of hair, baby, the rest is as warm and gushy as a regular human female. In my humble opinion, it definitely is worth it to try and get to the gooey center."

"We saw you issuing a further challenge to the Worf females," Willow recalled. "What were you saying to them?"

"Oh, I was simply warning them that if any of them dared to even insinuate that I was gay, I would jump into their midst and do my utmost to impregnate the entire lot of them. In addition, I told them that I would commandeer their vessel and head directly to their home planet, wherever that is, and also proceed to impregnate every female of breeding age currently living there. I want one single message to come across very loud and very clear tonight; and that is that I am not, nor have I ever, resembled a homosexual male in any way, shape, or form."

"Strong words coming from a strong man." Cummings said.

"We are off the satellite!" Willow chimed in, as the crowd was hushed. "Oh, it's time for the next match!"

Both reporters shifted their attention over to the lounge door, where two bare-chested Worf men appeared and began to flex and bounce their pecs.

"I hate to say it, Cummings, but I am feeling some excitement here just by looking at those two lusty beefcakes. I'm not talking about their typical Worf hair, because these two don't have any." Willow announced. "The only human we have on board who can even come close to these two specimens is Thor, but thanks to his mysterious and sudden bladder malady, we won't be able to have a real human-versus-Worf pose-off. Wouldn't that be something to watch?"

"As far as their physical appearance goes, I'd have to say you're right." Cummings agreed. "They might as well call these two Adonis One and Adonis Two, even though their names are Dom and Doom. I hate to admit this, but I am jealous of all those big, rippling muscles. Do you think they'll let me walk up to them and feel up their chest and biceps, in the hopes that I one day too will have muscles like that? Visualization of the mind only goes so far, Willow."

"They are in ring now, Cummings." Willow observed. "And taking off their pants. Did you want to get a tactile impression of their cocks as well? Because the tools on both of those Worfs are rocket hard and ready for lift-off."

"You sound as if you're getting moist, Willow." Cummings commented. "But the short answer is no, I will not be touching Worf cock anytime soon."

The song by the Weather Girls, It's Raining Men, was blaring into the makeshift arena. Earlier, the Worf contingent had been convinced that such hymns were necessary Earth battle cries.

Willow: "And there they are, Cummings, our next two representatives in the Sex Games at Galaxy's Edge. They are ship's cook Margo Muldren, aka, the Manhandler, and science officer Mary Wattakunt, who has taken up the colorful moniker of Little Miss Muffet. The Manhandler is taking up the flag for alternate lifestyle aficionados everywhere. She is wearing a black leather vest and ass-less chaps, and whoa, are we getting a good view of her as she raises her leg to enter the ring. She is stepping right in front of her Worf opposition, bending over and shaking her formidable butt cheeks in their direction. A person could get lost in there, Cummings."

Cummings: "They certainly could, Willow. But let's not forget about Little Miss Muffet. She may only be about half the size of her Worf nemeses, but I can tell you from personal experience that she is quite the little sparkplug. Just watch her stretching out in her tight little pink and white outfit. Oh, doctor!"

Willow: "I wasn't aware that she even owned such an outfit."

Cummings: "It's a costume, Willow, one which Mary acquired from the costume shop on the Starship Neptune. I know because I helped her pick it out. The official description for the costume goes like this; it's a gingham dress with an attached apron and a teardrop petticoat, and thigh-high leggings."

Willow: "Oh, look at this! The dress is coming off, but the leggings are not!"

Cummings: "If Mary's trying to jerk a reaction out of the spectators here, she's already succeeded. I feel like rubbing one out myself, Willow. I'm sure you've heard of the more popular version of the nursery rhyme that Mary based her nickname on, correct? That goes something like this:

Little Miss Muffet, sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey,

Along came a spider who sat down beside her, and frightened Miss Muffet away.

"Well, there's another version you may not have heard of. Generally, this one is attributed to a man named Peter Doyle. This alternate version reads like this:

Little Miss Man, had a great plan, to get her man to love,

Along came the writer who sat down beside her, and said 'you fit like a glove.'

Cummings: "Peter Doyle, of course, was a contemporary and partner of Walt Whitman. Whitman is the writer in Doyle's version, which is, of course, pretty damned gay if you ask me."

Willow: "Thanks for the history lesson, Cummings, although I don't see what that has anything to do with today's proceedings."

Cummings: "It's color commentary, Willow. Are you seriously telling me that you don't know what color commentary is? Well, it doesn't matter, anyway, as the action is ejaculating prematurely inside the ring. The Worfs could only take so much teasing from Margo the Manhandler. The bell hasn't even rung yet, but both Worfs are chomping at the bit to get to her. Already, they are taking Margo to the mat!"

Willow: "The judges don't know what's going on! Little Miss Muffet doesn't know what's going on! And finally, there's the bell. Muffet is only now realizing that the action has already gotten underway. She's through the ropes, Cummings. She's doing cartwheels to get to the mass of limbs and legs at the far edge of the ring."

Cummings: "She's not strong enough to displace either of the Worf attackers. Instead, she's squeezing herself into the mix. Oh, will you look at that! She pried one Worf off of Margo, and now the odds are a bit more even. Margo just shoved her Worf three feet into the air. She's getting to her feet, but no! The Worf has her back down again!"

Willow: "Is that Dom or Doom?"

Cummings: "How the hell should I know? There, Margo finally managed to get back on her feet. She was blindsided, Willow, blindsided I tell you! Her vest is coming off, and her chaps are coming off, and holy macaroni, will you look at those milk jugs? The Worf is drooling out there, literally, as he's moving in on her. They're in a lip-lock now! Each one of them is shoving against the other and trying to get the upper hand. What's going on with Mary?"