David Garnet - Bikini Planet

“What?”

“Our real name is Janesmith of Algol.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Princess Janesmith of Algol.”

“Very pleased to meet you.” Norton wondered if he was expected to bow.

“You must have discovered our identity.”

“I haven’t discovered your identity. You told me who you are.”

“We are Princess Janesmith, heir to the imperial throne of Algol.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Xenbashka Bashka Ka is our assumed name, but everyone on Hideaway knows who we really are.”

“I told you, I didn’t know.”

“We are a direct descendant of the First Empress, six hundred and fourteen generations ago. Why should we hide under a false identity? We are Princess Janesmith, next in line to the imperial crown.”

Janesmith wasn’t a very alien name, although that was the fault of the slate. It was a female name, however, and princess was a female title. If that’s what the alien really was.

“Why’s a princess running a clothes shop?” asked Norton.

“If you know who we are, you already know the answer.”

“All I know is what you’ve told me. You say you’re Princess Janesmith.”

“We are, and therefore we’re a threat to our sister, Mary-smith, Empress of Algol. Only an aristocrat, even an alien aristocrat such as yourself, is permitted to eliminate that threat by assassinating us. Are you here to execute us, Duke Wayne?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re not sure?”

“Yeah, er, I’m sure. Sure I’m sure.”

But Norton wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything. It was a reasonable assumption that his secret mission was not to kill Princess Janesmith, alias Xenbashka Bashka Ka.

He wouldn’t have been brought halfway across the galaxy for that—would he?

“If you’re not going to kill us,” said Princess Janesmith, “shall we have sex together?”

“Sex?”

“Yes.”

“Together?”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Why?” asked Janesmith. “Is it because we’re ugly? We think you’re very ugly, but we’ll close our eyes and imagine someone else.”

“You’re not ugly,” said Norton, and he realised he meant it.

Despite her blue skin and her strange appearance, the Algolan was better looking than a lot of human women. If she was a woman.

“If we weren’t a princess,” said Janesmith, “we’d have been drowned at birth.”

“You are, er, female, aren’t you?”

“We are, but we don’t look very feminine because we’re deformed.”

She looked feminine enough to Wayne Norton, and what he could see definitely wasn’t deformed.

“But my genitals are not deformed,” the princess continued, “and they’re compatible with yours.”

“Er… how do you know?”

“Because of my research on male Earth persons. You’re certain you are male?”

“Yeah. Totally. All male.”

“And because you are an aristocrat, you can have sex with us.”

“Can’t we, er, wait?”

Norton kept backing away, hoping to reach the wall, then feel his way around to the exit. He moved slowly, hoping that Janesmith wouldn’t follow. But she did.

“Why wait?” she asked.

“Er… shouldn’t we get to know each other better?”

“What for?”

“Because, er, it’s nice to talk first.”

“Is it like foreplay for you if we talk?”

“No, I mean, er, yeah. So, er, what’s a princess like you doing on a planetoid like this?”

“We’re trying to have sex.”

“Have you been on Hideaway very long?”

“Far too long.”

“Nice place you’ve got here.”

“It’s not nice, and it’s not ours. You think we want to be here, making impossible clothes for temperamental aliens? We’re here because we’re trapped, paying off our debts.”

“Through gambling? You lost your shirt?”

“We never wear a shirt. If we wanted a shirt, we could make one. As a young princess, we learned embroidery. It’s one of our three skills. It’s also our qualification for this demeaning job we were forced into after being abandoned on Hideaway. And who abandoned us here?”

“Who?”

“An Earth person. A male Earth person.”

“Oh,” said Norton. “But you said you liked Earth persons, Earth people.”

“Some Earth persons. One male Earth person in particular.”

“Me?”

“Not you. He was so handsome, so strong, so wonderful, so perfect.” Princess Janesmith gazed up, remembering. “Definitely not you.”

While her eyes weren’t on him, Norton retreated two steps. There was still no trace of the wall, let alone a doorway, just more and more drifting lines of soft material. One by one, they were as light as gossamer, whatever gossamer was; together, they were almost impenetrable. He kept his arms behind him, yanking the layers of flimsy fabric aside, trying to force his way back.

Janesmith seemed to have no problem with the stuff, simply brushing it aside as she remorselessly pursued him.

“But he abandoned you,” said Norton.

“He wasn’t to blame. It was another Earth person who left us here. When we find him, we’ll make full use of our second skill.”

“What’s that?” Norton didn’t want to know the answer, but he wanted to keep Janesmith talking.

“Death,” hissed the Algolan, baring her fangs. “We killed three of our sisters. They called us the ugly sister. Now they’re the ugly ones. Ugly corpses!”

If Janesmith was considered ugly, then her other sisters must have been absolutely beautiful. When they were alive.

“We should have executed Marysmith when we had the chance,” added Janesmith. “We wouldn’t be here now, slaving like a peasant. We would be Empress. Empress of Algol!”

Janesmith flexed her claws, and her whole body seemed to ripple. There was something almost feline about her exotic features, her lithe shape, her supple movement.

“From what you say, Algol isn’t a constitutional democracy?”

“What?”

“Crowns and thrones, princesses and empresses. You don’t operate the one-vote system?”

“We have a one-vote system,” said Janesmith. “The Empress is the one with the vote.”

“What about ‘one man, one vote?’ ”

“On Algol, men are nothing. Their only purpose is for pleasure and for siring children.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve talked enough. You must be aroused by now.”

“Er… no.”

“You soon will be. Our third skill, the other royal talent we spent so long perfecting, is the art of sensual enjoyment.”

Norton could no longer move. He was Janesmith’s helpless prisoner, entangled in a spider’s web of gauzy fabric, drugged by the exotic aromas that filled the air, trapped by her hypnotic alien eyes.

“Now we will have sex, Duke Wayne,” she said. “That is an imperial command.”

Princess Janesmith stepped toward him, her arms going around his shoulders, and she pulled him close. Their lips met.

He didn’t want to, but he couldn’t resist. No longer in control of himself, Norton’s mouth opened. They kissed.

And kissed. And kissed.

He’d never been kissed like this. Her tongue sinuously twined around his, explored his mouth, his palate, his throat. He felt her warm breasts against his chest, while her fingers clawed up and down his spine. His passion rose, his ardour grew.

She finally released him, licking her lips with her tongue. Her forked tongue.

Wayne Norton watched as the Algolan princess discarded her clothes. Her strange garment began to unravel, falling apart brick by brick, revealing more and more of her blue flesh.

He’d never seen a naked girl before, either human or alien.

Until now, the closest he’d come had been gazing at photographs in Playboy .