By: Punchinello for Pulp Erotica


Planet Venus, 1952

The silent, inky darkness of space filled the viewscreen. The tiny lights that dotted the sky brought less light than the dials and gauges of the control panel. The ship’s thrusters kicked on in an automated burn for a few seconds. The scene in the viewscreen shifted slowly, and a glowing, blue-green pearl of a planet loomed into view, rising from below, filling the viewscreen.

“Planet Venus now in visual contact,” came the dry tone of the navigator.

“Estimated time to set-down: 1 minute, 45,” called Captain Wagner in the same dull drone.

“Mark,” Glaser replied. He set the clock for the rest of the crew. None of them would be looking at it. They would all be plastered to the viewscreens below, even more mesmerized than he was. Venus was a luminous globe of swirling clouds and gases. It was astonishing... beautiful... alluring—like “she” was.

He had dreamed of “her” again the night before. They all had: the woman they called “Eve,” gesturing to them from the undergrowth of a jungle planet. She had purplish skin, dark hair, curves like Roman goddess, wearing leaves to cover her breasts and pelvis like a temptation from the Garden of Eden.

They all wondered how she could come to them, invade their dreams as she did, beckon to them demurely across thousands of miles of empty space. The scientists talked of tuned radio waves interfering with their brain patterns. The crewmen talked of “psychic energy.”

“We have broken the atmosphere,” the navigator announced. The clouds swirled around them, thick and hazy, infused with a thousand colors. Then his voice tightened: “I’m picking up a beacon.”


The spaceship Platinum cruised low over the strange, overgrown landscape of Venus. It was mostly jungle, with leafy plants in strange shades of green and red and purple. Here and there, roads and other artificial structures were carved out. Lights dotted the landscape, guiding them down... down... to a large, open landing field.

There, a small party welcomed them. Captain Wagner warned the men of the possible dangers: hostility, disease, toxins. They knew the air would be breathable, but only barely. To clear their lungs from time to time, they would carry light-weight breathing units that could filter and enrich the air. They would also carry phase guns.

The outer ship’s door hissed and slid aside. Thick, acrid air met them. It made them cough at first and take breaths from the filter units, but soon they were peering through the sun-lit haze at the little crowd and walking down the gangplank to meet them. It was hot, at least 90, even with the sun obscured by the never-ending haze.

“Welcome, men of Earth,” came an announcer from the loudspeakers. “You have traveled far to our humble planet. We greet you as friends. Welcome to Venus.”

Captain Wagner snorted. “They speak English.”

The crew of the Platinum greeted the Venusians graciously. A translator made the introductions. Their leader was M’sul, a stately woman of 50 or so, to judge by Earth years, and with skin of a rich violet tone. Others in her party were similar, more women than men, very like humans but for their strange skin. Most were purplish to red; a few were yellow to orange. All were dressed in light, robe-like garments, but some were open to reveal nearly naked bodies underneath.

The Venusians clearly had a different standard of modesty. M’sul herself wore an open robe that revealed the curve of her heavy bosoms. Her translator, a very young and beautiful woman, wore a casual wrap that artfully concealed her pelvis, but little more. Her breasts were covered with metal plates stamped into the shape of leaves.

“Captain,” hissed Laniston and jerked a nod to one side. Off to the side stood a whole section of young women, all of them dressed only in the metal leaves, looked very much like the Eve they had all seen. Suddenly it occurred to Glaser that perhaps they had not all seen the same woman in their dreams. Perhaps they each saw a different one, but this would soon prove unfounded.

“There she is,” whispered Coles, the navigator. And so she was. The young woman they had all seen, moving from the crowd toward them. She was about twenty, entrancingly beautiful, and graceful beyond Earthly measure. Her hips swayed provocatively as she approached. Glaser took a drag from the filter unit.

“I am Lyra,” she said in a velvet-smooth voice. “I came to you in your dreams as a representative of Venus. We welcome you and all men of Earth.”


The crew of the Platinum traveled with M’sul and her party in open cars to a summit location, a park-like complex of buildings and lawns lush with vegetation. Indeed the route to the summit location was clearly carved out the surly jungle, wild and verdant.

It turned out that only a sparse few Venusians had managed to learn English from the radio broadcasts that had been beaming their way for years, most of them children and teenagers. Most of the older ones were a part of the welcome party. The teens acted as servers and translators; the adults acted as hosts.

Lyra and the other scantily-clad women in the party seemed to be a special group. They mingled with the men a little, but hardly spoke; this was understandable: many of them had only a faint command of English. Glaser caught Lyra’s eye once or twice. She gazed back boldly, but did not speak to him.

It was tiring, of course. M’sul and some others of her administration had much to say of little importance. Glaser did gather the basics of Venusian politics from their speeches. It seemed that Venus was a rich and thriving planet, but not a utopia. It had its many assets—carefully enumerated—as well as challenges—unnamed of course. There were seven major nations, nearly all represented at the summit, but who was who was anyone’s guess. Glaser thought he recognized some standoffishness in some of the delegation, and some differences in dress and manner that suggested foreign emissaries, but they were all so different from Earthlings that it hardly seemed to matter.

Afterwards, when they mingled with the diplomats, the Venusians asked many questions. Some were innocuous: “Have you ever fathered a child? How many siblings do you have?” but others were disturbing: “What is the destructive potential of your space ship? What is your planet’s most valued resource?”

The Earth men provided their own meal, of course, a hearty dinner of vacuum-packed protein and vegetables in a nutritious but nameless mix no chef would ever have chosen. Glaser had “pasta 47.” The captain had “beef 12” with “number 6 sauce.” Ahh, number 6 sauce—good enough that it was rumored to be fattening.

The men were shown to separate quarters. The captain protested at first that they should return to their ship, but the quarters turned out to be cooled and treated for a more Earth-light air mixture. The furniture was strange but comfortable, reminding Glaser of Japanese style. There was even a window, albeit one that looked out on a hazy evening sky with a small, dull, gray moon.

The major stripped off his uniform and took deep breaths of the clean air. He laid his phase gun and other items on a low bench near the pallet-style bed and began to do some stretching. It was good to have some time alone. The cramped quarters of the Platinum allowed little privacy, and the duty roster kept them all busy during the trip. This expedition was no Earth-side orbit duty.

Glaser’s smooth muscles stretched and contracted, releasing the tension in his body and mind. He meditated on the depth of space and the vast gulfs between the stars. He wondered if Lyra would come to his dreams tonight.


A strange sound awoke Glaser from his light sleep. For a moment, he thought he had dreamed the sound, but then his eyes adjusted the dim light of the gray moon. It was Lyra, standing quietly beside the bed.

“Thank you for coming to my planet,” she said softly. Her skin was deep indigo in the moonlight; her skin shined where it caught the light.

“W-we’re explorers,” Glaser said. “We’ll go anywhere.”

The shapely girl sat on the bed. The metallic leaves she wore as clothing shifted slightly. “And do you leave part of yourselves behind?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

She pulled down the sheet to reveal his bare chest. She put her hand on his groin, feeling his manhood through the thin fabric of his regulation shorts. “I mean this. Your seed is compatible with ours. Do you spread your seed?” Glaser was astonished. But the girl only smiled. She removed the leafy coverings and showed him her naked breasts, her dark purple thatch of pubic hair. “You can couple with me,” she said softly. “You can put your seed inside me.”

She bent to kiss him and found his mouth warm and willing. He pulled her onto him and embraced fully, holding her full bottom, her full breasts. She smelled flowery, fresh, and tasted like nectar. “Fill me with your man-seed, Major Glaser,” she breathed. “Make my belly full.”

Her dirty talk was making him hot and bothered. His prick was a proud rock, red and ready, but his mind was reeling. “Why didn’t you speak to me at the reception?”

She caressed his hard member. “I had made my decision. Spending time with you would have got me into trouble. That was the emissaries’ time.” It suddenly struck him what Lyra’s role was in the reception. They weren’t a political organization at all. She and her band of young lovelies were good-time girls sent to make the visitors happy.

She moved aggressively, pulling off his shorts and kissing his lean, military body up and down. She lingered on his taut abdominal muscles, his thick manhood and hairy scrotum. She cooed as she caressed his balls, held them heavy in her small hand, and looked up at him. “We’re compatible?” he asked?

“Oh yes,” she murmured. “The scientists say so.” She proved it by mounting him, spreading her dark, moist vaginal lips and sliding down on his thick pole with a groan. “Oh, Major Glaser....” she breathed.

Glaser held her lovely naked body at the hips and let her rock back and forth on his dick. Her alien pussy was very tight but incredibly moist and willing. She rocked heavily and tossed her head, lost in the pleasure of taking this man’s cock inside her. From time to time, she bent to steal a kiss, soft and probing. She had sensual lips, full and womanly just like her breasts. They swayed and bounced in front of him, tempting him to take them, caress them, play with their dark purple nipples.

The girl rolled over and urged him to get on top of her. Her wild mane of hair fell all around her lovely face, and she alternated closing her eyes to savor the ecstasy and opening them to stare into Glaser’s own. She was the epitome of a luscious woman; the perfect siren to beam to the weary space men in the night to hurry them to their destination. Glaser’s body responded like a man’s body will to such a temptation. His strong thighs pressed her into the bed again and again, probing deep with his manhood into her moist, violet flesh.

“Oh!” she began to moan. “Oh, Major Glaser! Oh! It’s wonderful!” She thrashed back and forth in pleasure. “Deep!” she moaned. “Push it deep!”

Glaser jammed his dick hard into her, his balls coiling up with hot jism. His breath became ragged and heavy. “Oh yeah,” he grunted. “Oh, yeah. Lyra... Lyra, do you want it inside you?”

“Oh, yes!” she cried. “You must! Pump it inside me and fill me up with your seed!”

Glaser’s balls burst and pumped hot come through his achingly rigid prick deep into Lyra’s flushed, violet body. Her pussy clenched and relaxed again and again in orgasm. Her head thrashed from side to side, hair flailing wildly. Glaser grabbed her chin and kissed her hard, leaning heavily on her naked body, pressing their moist bodies together and mashing her lovely breasts.

They kissed for a long moment, tongues playing childishly along each other’s teeth and lips. They lay side by side, relaxing, catching their breath. The purple-skinned girl stroked his manly chest, nuzzled his cheek.

Then her small hand, with its slender fingers, slipped down his body to find his shrunken dick. “How soon again?” she whispered, and licked her lips.


In the morning, Lyra was gone. Glaser rose and washed in a strange contraption that was half-shower, half-bath. The user sat on a molded platform and was bathed by a waterfall-like rush of water cycled by a hidden pump. A quick rinse with fresh water left him feeling clean and refreshed.

The other crewmen of the Platinum were equally slow to breakfast. And they all wore the same wary, sheepish look that Glaser did. When their hosts turned their backs, they asked each other how they slept with a nudge and a nod. Even Captain Wagner seemed less of his irritable self.

Lyra and her friends were no where around at first. Then in the middle of breakfast, a few of them could be seen in the background, mingling among the shadows and curtains at the far end of the room, which led into other areas of the complex.

“Holy hell,” came the southern drawl of one crewman. He was staring at one of the scantily-clad girls—one sporting a bulging belly.

“Stow that,” snapped the captain in a low tone.

But it was of no use. Another girl and another slipped into the room, both showing the unmistakable roundness of a woman with child. “Dela?” one man said quietly. And another: “That’s— That’s the girl who—” The men were astonished. Glaser looked for Lyra. She had slid in beside M’sul the leader, who sat in a throne-like chair observing the morning meal and proceedings.

Captain Wagner stood and strode out into the middle of the room to address M’sul. “Show me the woman called H’sel.” The stately M’sul turned to Lyra, who stepped out from behind her to gesture to the girl. Lyra’s belly had a gentle, curving bulge. H’sel stepped forward; she bore the same.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Wagner demanded.

M’sul drew a deep breath and launched into her story. Her translator worked hard to keep up. “Our people have been weakened by radiation that has come to bleed through the atmosphere since our period of industrial revolution. It has made the males in our population largely unable to father their own children. We have had to devote great amounts of our time and resources to finding ways to increase our fertility and reproductive capability.

“What does this have to do with us?”

“We are sorry if our ways have offended you, captain. But our analysis of probes we sent to Earth confirmed that your people are very much like us, compatible in fact in the most profound ways. We had hoped that your seed would impregnate our women and introduce new blood into our population.”

“You took us to stud,” the captain spat.

“Each of the young women obtained permission from her... donor.” M’sul looked to Lyra for confirmation. Lyra nodded gravely and then glanced at Glaser for a moment before averting her gaze.

“How did they... conceive so quickly?” Wagner asked.

“They are all part of our reproduction program. Most young women are. They take strong doses of drugs to make them ready to conceive and to shorten the reproductive cycle as much as possible. If all goes well, these women will bear healthy children in just a few weeks.”

“This is outrageous. This is a deception.” The captain paced back and forth. Murmurs went through the ranks of the Platinum crew.

M’sul was taken aback. “It was our understanding that your military men often impregnate local women wherever they go.” She had him there. The Venusians had clearly gathered a lot of knowledge from Earth radio broadcasts.

The captain went on to protest the “deception,” and M’sul and the other leaders went on to defend it as a simple “cultural exchange” for which permission was requested and granted. And it was clear that they had every intention of offering the same exchange every night the Platinum was docked on Venus.

The Earthling officers gathered in a small room they hoped was secure. They argued the merits of leaving immediately and of “helping out” the Venusians by extending their stay. In the end, the captain made the decision to stay, but to order the men not to accept the hospitality of M’sul’s girls. This was, it did not need to be said, an unlikely proposition.


The Venusians took them on a tour of certain facilities (although not the reproductive laboratories), and the eternal hot weather and continual filter unit breathing wearied them all. At one point, Glaser’s car passed a park where they could see a young couple making love on a huge leaf stripped from a nearby plant. The guide took little notice until he saw Glaser gazing. The girl was nude, her skin a reddish hue, and eagerly humping her lover with abandon. When she finished with him, he rolled aside and revealed... another man. This second lover mounted the girl readily and plunged in with purple cock stiff and sturdy.

The guide shrugged. “Any attempts at natural reproduction are... encouraged.”

That night, Glaser took another relaxing shower-bath to cool off. He thought of that moment as he soaped his own cock. He wondered what the Venusians thought of masturbation: a sin, probably; or a waste—then again, perhaps a civic duty.... Perhaps they all captured their semen, refrigerated it, and dropped it off at the local reproductive lab twice a week. Maybe teenage boys could even get extra credit in school for it: father a child, get a scholarship.

As he dried off, the door to Glaser’s quarters came open. It was an orange-skinned girl with flowing red hair. She walked in boldly, wordlessly, eyeing his nude body. She removed her metallic leaves to reveal wonderful, firm breasts—artificially enhanced, he supposed now—and stunning red pubic hair and vulva. She spoke little English. “I am Mesol. You love now? You give seed?”

“Where is Lyra?” an amused Glaser asked, sitting on the edge of the pallet. “Can you send Lyra?”

The girl sat on his lap, rubbing against his half-hard prick. “Mesol,” she murmured, embracing him. Her body was warm and willing. He could feel her moisture slickening the shaft of his cock. The sensation was decadent. “Mmmm,” she purred, and raised herself up, pressed his face into her soft breasts. She found his cock and slid down slowly onto it, holding the half-hard shaft firmly to keep it from bending. She murmured in her language as she impaled herself. Glaser kissed her red nipples. They were brushed with something sweet and fragrant. He wished he had tasted Lyra’s nipples the night before.

The girl gladly did most of the work again, her tight pussy milking his cock as she bounced up and down. Glaser’s shaft was rigid now, filling her completely, making her groan in her alien language. “You want my seed, Mesol? You want it inside you?” He thrust up into her, meeting her fleshy hips, making her tits bounce.

“Yes! Oh yes!” she begged. Glaser shot a load of baby-making come up inside her, making her gasp and sigh. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hotly. “Thank you, major.” He pumped warm spurt after warm spurt up into her fire-red pussy with pleasure and kissed her small, sweet mouth.

When she dismounted and started to crawl into bed with him, ready to wait for him to recover, Glaser stopped her. “Lyra,” he said. “Bring Lyra. Get Lyra.” Mesol seemed confused, rejected, but picked up her metallic clothes to put them on. “Send Lyra here,” Glaser said.


Lyra appeared in just a few minutes. She must have been close. She knocked before entering, dressed now in the same sort of open robe that many of the diplomats wore. They talked for a long time, about her life, her planet. She confirmed all the things M’sul had said at breakfast and more.

“Have you borne children before?”

“Yes,” she said, “artificially. It has never worked naturally for me. It’s very rare.” She sounded as though she had done a lot of trying.

“How many children have you borne?”

“Two. A boy and a girl.”

“What happens to them? Who takes care of them?”

“You would call them teachers... or nannies. They are professionals who raise the children, mostly women. They raise two or three in their homes and teach them most of their early lessons; then they send them off to schools where they finish their education.”

“We call them mothers, I think,” Glaser said. “Adoptive parents.” She looked away. He pushed her robe open a little more. Her purple belly was swollen just a little more than it had been at breakfast.

“It happens very fast,” she said. “I will have to take more drugs; exercise.” She laughed. “I am always hungry.” He caressed it gently, taking pleasure in the warmth. “Do you have— Do you have children... on Earth?” He shook his head, looked her in the eye. He kissed her. “We shouldn’t,” she said.

“Why not?”

“I’m already pregnant. There’s no need.”

“We don’t need a reason.” He kissed her again and pushed her robe off her shoulders. Her breasts were already heavier and sagging with milk. He kissed them, licked her nipples, and tasted the sweet cosmetic the women applied to them.

“No,” she moaned, but her will was weak. She had been taught to want men, pleasure them, accept them when they were ready and able. “Oh,” she whimpered. “Oh yes.” He stroked her dark purple vulva and coaxed the lubricant out. He kissed her and laid her on her side, away from him. His cock was hard for her, throbbing to fill that hole again. She was so much more than any other woman he had known; carefully crafted to be alluring, perhaps, but even more alluring to him than the other women of her group. He caressed her belly from behind and let his cock slide along her wet pussy lips. “Enter me,” she breathed.

Glaser penetrated Lyra from behind and played with her clit as he did. She gasped hotly and moaned in her language, giving herself up to the pleasure, the decadent satisfaction of making love for the pleasure of it. She held her bulging belly as he fucked her, whispering in her ear, “Do you like the feel of man inside you? Do you want me to come inside you again?” She gasped her answers and pushed back against him, groping his muscular thigh and pulling him closer.

“Yes. Yes, major,” the girl groaned. “Please fill me up again. Oh yes! Touch me there! Stroke it!” Glaser rubbed her hard little clitoris furiously as he jammed his dick inside her again and again. They grunted together as she came first, moaning loudly and begging him not to stop.

Glaser’s balls boiled over and shot wads of semen inside her dark pussy. He kept pumping into her, wet flesh slapping, while she held her swollen belly and moaned. She thrashed about violently, making him grip her hard and hold her in a tight embrace.

She calmed at last, thanking him breathlessly for the multiple orgasms she had experienced. They lay together until morning, sometimes kissing and caressing, sometimes making love. But when he fell asleep at dawn, she was gone again before he awoke.


The second breakfast was hardly different from the first: the sidelong glances of the men, the lurking girls with their bellies full. But something was different. Mesol had not become pregnant. She spoke quietly to an official. He carried her message to M’sul.

The crew of the Platinum all stopped eating and conversing as they sensed the mood of the room change. The two guards who always stood next to M’sul suddenly took Lyra by the elbow and began to usher her out. Glaser nudged the Captain. “She’s the leader of the baby brigade. She’s... mine.”

“That’s the woman we all saw in our dreams,” Wagner acknowledged. He stood and approached M’sul. “Where are you taking her?”

“Lyra has been arrested. She has broken our laws.”

“What laws?” Glaser demanded out of turn.

“She has taken pleasure with a man in a manner unfit for reproduction.”

Glaser stood. “But she was already... carrying a child!”

“Exactly. Such behavior is not acceptable in our society, Major Glaser. It is a waste of life-giving substance. And in her case it could endanger her unborn child.” Glaser looked at Mesol, who averted her gaze.

“That’s ridiculous,” Wagner interrupted. “This is a special case. Let her stay. I don’t want her charged with any crime.”

M’sul was intractable, but Wagner persisted. While they argued, Coles leaned over to Glaser, “Isn’t there a way we can... bargain for her?” The thought was comical: how much grade A Earth sperm was one pregnant Venusian woman worth?

It might even have worked, but suddenly, Wagner turned to Glaser. “Gather the crew. All hands aboard the Platinum. We’ll see how they respond to—” His orders were cut short by an electric zap and blood spurting out of his chest. Glaser’s arm stung like fire, and he grasped it and grunted in pain. The slug—or whatever it was—had shot clean through the captain and grazed his second in command.

Med technicians rushed to the side of their fallen captain. Behind them, M’sul’s guards wrestled the gunman to the ground. He was crying out in his own language. Glaser shot a look at a young boy nearby, who immediately translated, “They’re leaving. You’ve chased them away. I’ll never have my child.”

“What kind of politics are you playing, M’sul?” Glaser demanded.

But M’sul was already being rushed out of the room by her guards. She threw a glance back over her shoulder. “Procreation is politics,” she snarled.

Glaser pulled his phase gun and pointed it at the guards holding Lyra. “Let her go!” he demanded.

The guards froze, but did not go for their weapons. Another guard did. Glaser turned and shot him down. The crowd cried out at the use of the strange Earth energy weapon, and the orderly removal turned to panic.

Glaser grabbed Lyra and pulled her away, threatening with his phase gun. Diplomats and staff rushed this way and that, tripping over each other to stay out of Glaser’s way. One small boy was looking all around and crying in English. Glaser didn’t know if he was translating or expressing his own feelings. “This is terrible! This is terrible!” he sobbed.

Glaser called to Coles and the other officers. “Call all hands! All hands aboard the Platinum!”

But even as the others rushed about, phase guns drawn, staring down purple and orange security men, Lyra pulled away from Glaser. “I can’t go,” she protested.


“I can’t leave Venus! I am needed here. My baby is needed here!”

Glaser took her arm again. “They think you’re a criminal! Come with me!”

“I can’t,” she cried, her eyes overflowing with tears. “It’s too important! My baby—our baby—is the only hope that’s left for us. Don’t you understand? Venus is dying!” Glaser stepped back, still clutching his injured arm. “We can’t keep breeding children artificially. It’s too slow, too uncertain. We need new blood. You were our only hope!”


“Please go!” she cried. And then she threw herself against him. “But please, someday, please come back!”

Glaser stumbled away, protected by his men, and led the crew out of the summit hall. They commandeered vehicles to get their ship.

The Venusians followed behind warily but did not take action. Captain Wagner was loaded aboard gingerly, clinging to life, and the crew fired up the engines. Laniston took the co-pilot seat while Glaser ran the check-out procedure in double-time.

Glaser strapped on his headset. “Estimated time to launch: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.”

The Venusians gathered below, passive and silent, in the same lookout area where they had greeted the men from Earth so recently. The Platinum launched herself skyward through the thick haze and pointed her nose for home.


reprinted with permission

Pulp Erotica



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