Slug Fucker Movies, Inc.

No brain slugs or brain slug hosts were harmed in the making of this adult film.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Filmed with the participation of the Seacouver Hive.
Do not try this at home.
—Small print on the opening of ASIAN SLUG SLUTS VOL. 3 (2054)

Rachel did not feel comfortable with her head in Jordan's lap. Nor did she want Mel's dick in her hair. They compromised by laying a towel on Mel's lap so that Rachel could lie her head on that, her body stretched out across Soong and Jordan as the three sat on the couch, the brain slug hosts holding hands.

Mel did not know where to put his hands in this scenario, so he had his left arm on the arm of the couch, holding the remote. He stretched out one arm along the back of the couch, but that came too close to brushing Soong's slug—he could tell by the way it squirmed agitatedly—and he had it held uncomfortably by his side before Rachel reached up and guided his right hand to her breast.

Which meant that Mel wasn't really paying attention to the pornographic display on screen. His concentration was focused on the warm, soft mass that filled his hand. Mel had barely touched breasts at all during his relationship with his roommates, and that mostly not on purpose—a naked woman brushing her breast against his arm or back. Now, he held it in his hand with all the care he would give to a fragile egg. Afraid to squeeze it for fear of hurting her.

"This is disgusting," Rachel said, as she saw the dull-eyed, doll-up faux-version of Soong getting her face sloppily humped. "Like, it's racist, but how is this even sexy?"

"I haven't seen a lot of porn," Mel said. "But I found it disturbing."

Three fingers were underneath Rachel's nipple, in the mythical underboob region, which Mel had mostly seen only ads trying to sell how sexy a shampoo or skin cream was. Mel's pointer finger was above the nipple, the thumb resting casually on the upper breast. The soft, sensitive pink nub rested in between. He could feel as she breathed, and wondered if Rachel was as conscious of where Mel's hand was as he was. Then again, she had put it there. Maybe she had intended him to do more? Mel chewed his lip. Utterly unclear of what the gentlemanly thing was to do in this scenario.

They watched mostly in silence. The soundtrack was largely room noise from wherever they were recording, and wet schluck-schlug-glug sounds from Soong-on-screen, who was drooling copiously as the guy held her hand and thrust hard and fast, smearing her makeup as balls banged into her chin.

"Why did you do that?" Rachel asked. "Did the hive make you?"

Soong and Jordan had Rachel's phone. They held it between them to type out a message, then handed it to Rachel. Mel leaned over to read it over Rachel's shoulder.

Integration is resource-intensive. New brain slug hosts need additional nutrition. The Seacouver Hive made a deal with Slug Fucker Movies, Inc. to provide talent in exchange for an adequate supply of ejaculate. There were strict rules about what the hosts would and would not do, health screenings for all participants, security on set to avoid rough treatment, although they were allowed control of the storylines, production, and advertising. The government did not like the arrangement, and it proved inadequate to our needs in terms of quantity or frequency, as the desired frequency of our feedings and their shooting schedules did not overlap well. We did thirty videos as we investigated other options. Then we moved here.

"Thirty? Damn," Rachel said. "Wait, when you say 'we,' do you mean 'Soong,' or 'the Hive,' or—did Jordie do any of these videos!?"

Mel was very glad for the towel right then. If only because it was the only thing keeping him from poking into the back of Rachel's head. Somehow, the idea of Jordan on screen, some random guy thrusting into her mouth was . . . well, the image of Jordan sucking anyone off was unexpectedly exciting.

The phone made the journey back down to Soong and Jordan to type out and answer. Rachel glanced up at Mel.

"Does it bother you?" Rachel asked. "That Soong did porn?"

"Not really," Mel admitted. "I mean, I'd feel weird about it if she were doing it now, but we came to an agreement about that, right? And it's not like—I'm kind of glad none of you are virgins. It's kind of a relief."

Rachel wasn't watching the porn now. She half-twisted to stare up at him, which made his index finger slip over her nipple.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I've heard breaking the hymen hurts," he said, and his index finger slowly explored her nipple. "And I don't want to hurt any of you. If and when we do go all the way, I mean."

She studied his face. The nipple slowly swelled and stiffened, growing rubbery.

"You can't go through life without hurting anybody, dude," she said softly.

"Maybe not," he said. "But I can try not to hurt the people I care about."

Soong passed the phone back to Rachel, and she read without showing the results to Mel. Her lips were a thin line.

"You really don't care if Jordie did porn or not?" she asked.

"It's not that I don't care," Mel said. "But it doesn't change how I feel about her, or us, and she isn't doing it now so . . . I don't see how it matters."

Rachel nodded.

"You're a good man, Melville Arkwright. Even if your dick is poking me in the head through the towel," she said.

Which brought the burning heat to Mel's face, and did absolutely nothing to tamper down the pressure between his legs. Rachel's old grin returned.

"Okay, enough porn. I want to see Soong's video," she said.

Mel turned his head toward Soong.

"Is that okay? We don't have to watch it if you want to keep it private," Mel asked.

Soong gave a thumb's up. Mel tapped the remote and brought up her testament.

The Soong that appeared on the screen was maybe six months younger. Her hair was shorter, her eyes clearer; there was makeup on her face, and she wore a simple black robe as she looked at the camera. Her voice, when it came, had the kind of accent Mel associated with southern California.

"Hey. My name is Jenny Soong, and I'm here at the Compound, about to go under the slug," the Soong-on-screen said, her lips twisting up into a smile that Mel had never seen. "While this might not look like it, this is the last-ditch attempt to save my life."

She took a deep breath.

"They found the tumor six months ago. I'd had these migraines. Then I started to pass out. Doctors put me on seizure medication, just in case. They finally did the scans, and it was like—inoperable. I could do the chemo thing, that might buy time. But it wasn't the kind of cancer you get better from. It was just a question of how long before I started to lose function. One grand mal seizure and I could be stuck in a chair, dribbling, unable to fucking move. My grandmother hung on until she was 96 like that."

Her hands bunched the robe around her knees into fists.

"You know my mom wanted me to get pregnant? See if I could pop out a grandkid before this fucking thing ate my brain? She said my brother Mark and his wife could raise it. Fucking Mark even said I should consider it, just to make Mom happy. Because fuck knows I didn't have anything to live for, right? I should do something worthwhile with the time I have left. Called me fucking selfish for not wanting to spend the last of my life as a fucking incubator."

She took a deep breath and let it out. Everybody was staring at the screen now. Mel had stopped playing with Rachel's nipple.

"There was a—I don't want to say a recruiter, but that's sort of what they were. A brain slug recruiter at the hospital. Assessing terminal cases. The Seacouver Hive had some success with integrating with people who had certain neurological conditions. Like, the integration process itself causes a kind of brain damage, but it can also fix some brain damage, rebuild certain connections. They're very optimistic about my cancer. They think they can break up the tumor from the inside. That's apparently something that brain slugs sort of evolved to do by accident, because their tentacles are supposed to be able to burrow through bone and brain matter, eat the cancer, exude compounds to prevent brain bleeds or clear blockages."

The Soong-on-screen looked away from the camera.

"I didn't say yes right away. I talked with doctors. I talked with them, the brain slug hosts. A psychiatrist, a lawyer. They were pretty blunt that while my body would be alive and most of my memories, what came next wouldn't be me anymore, not exactly. It would be me plus the brain slug. Legally, I'd be dead. Whoever was in my body would be someone new. But that someone would, maybe, just maybe, have a chance at an actual life. And remember who I was."

Her shoulders slumped, and her hands fell into her lap.

"I don't know if my mom or my brother or any of my family will ever see this. I know it was a shit situation, and you thought you were doing what was best. But it wasn't in my best interests. You had written me off as anything except a fucking incubator. And I wanted more than that."

Soong-on-screen looked at the camera.

"So this is my testament: if I'm going to give birth, I want to give birth to a new version of myself. I want all I was to carry onward to someone new. And maybe that won't be the life I imagined six months ago, but at least it's my choice. My name was Jenny Soong."

She reached out, and the video ended.

Rachel looked like she was going to cry again.

"That was pretty fucking hardcore," she said.

Mel looked over to Soong.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "I mean, did it work? Are you cancer-free?"

Soong gave a thumb's up.

Mel sank back into the couch and gave Rachel's breast an **** little squeeze. **** gave a little gleep, and Mel immediately relaxed his grip.

"Sorry, sorry, I haven't really touched a boob before—" he apologized.

"I didn't say stop!" Rachel chided, but then rolled off the collective laps. "But we do need to get some sleep. And Soong—Jenny—thank you. For sharing."

Jenny let go of Jordan's hand. She stood face-to-face with Rachel. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, so close that their bodies almost touched. Her hands cupped Rachel's face, and she drew the other woman in for a kiss. From his vantage, Mel could see that the brain slug bud along the base of Jenny's neck was almost four centimeters long now.

When the kiss broke, Rachel was as red-faced and flustered as Mel.