There was pandemonium, confusion and mayhem as we tried to exit the confessional booth. Men, women and children were running or hobbling in different directions like ants in an anthill, screaming and shouting. 

I finally finished stuffing myself away and buttoning myself up, and turned to see my beloved appearing at my side, immaculate, composed, beautiful and serene. A look that she had obviously mastered in her former life of royalty - she was just a doctors wife now. Or was she? I was unsure what our official status was now - we had not had the time to really discuss such matters. Part of me was glad to see that she was at least breathing a bit harder than normal and her cheeks were slightly flushed. I smiled at her, and she winked back with such a happy, mischievous look on her face. I had to lip read the words "Thank you!" as the cacophony of screams and shouts echoed harshly around the cavernous expanse of the Abbey. 

I was about to reply when the Archbishop came out of his booth and shouted at the top of his lungs. 

"SSSSIIIILLLEEENNNNCCCEE!!!!!"

It took a few seconds, but ultimately worked. The Archbishop looked around, surveying the milling throng of bodies and said, in a crisp, clear voice, "That's better now. Follow me to the catacombs, we'll be safe there."

And off he went with a single clap of his hands, his congregation following him as if he were a religious Pied Piper. 

After about thirty seconds only myself, the Contessa and Bernhardt remained - running to safety was not an option - we had important work to do. We had a duty to the people of England. 

Bernhardt gave us both a big hug as we approached the wide open door. It was a mix of congratulations/ be safe / I love you all rolled into one. In spite of what could sometimes be deemed a gruff, stern visage, he really was the most caring man. 

We could see green lights coming from above - but no sign of the invaders. It was unnaturally quiet. Bernhardt signalled us to hold back as he went to do a brief reconnaissance. As we were approaching he saw first to our right across towards the Palace of Westminster and the clock tower, known almost universally as Big Ben . "I don't see anything," he said back over his shoulder, slightly unsure of himself. 

I realised that I was the only one of us to have previous experience with these monsters and their fighting machines. 

"Believe me, you can't miss them," I said, moving up behind him. "If you can't see anything then they're not there." I recalled in my mind as I joined him at the door that just as Sir Wells recounted in his famous book of the first inter-planetary war I too had seen a fighting machine towering over the famous clock tower. It was not a sight to be forgotten - nor something you could accidentally miss. 

There had been word, though I had never seen such things myself, that the Martians had started putting together flying machines during their previous stay too, but most people believed that to be mere poppycock invented for effect in Sir Wells' account. 

Previously the invaders had landed one at a time - tonight they came mob handed like a large scale Perseid shower. Even in the small window of sky that we had it was possible to count well upward of a dozen such trails of their green smokes behind them. We could now see with the naked eye that some of them were glowing almost white hot as they blazed their way through our outer atmosphere. The smoke trails left behind the hordes of enemy ships spread behind them, cutting off our view of the heavens and covering us with a glowing green mantle. 

Since the ships that we saw were still a number of minutes away it came as an almost heart-stopping surprise when we turned ninety degrees and came face to face with two alien vessels, one fifty and the other a hundred paces from us coming from the rough direction of Downing Street, pointing their deadly heat rays directly at us. 

They were both painted a matte black - one was of the standard tripod variety, the height of the one I had seen over the clock tower, cutting an ominous black hole in the green firmament - the other one, which posed the most immediate threat, was held about six feet off the ground, but scuttled along on five legs like a humungous  mutant spider with added pincers like those of a scorpion on the end of snake-like arms. The body of the spider craft was approaching twenty feet long by ten feet wide. There were two dark glass 'eyes' at the front of a ladybird shaped body, both of which were large enough to house the polar bear sized Martians, from where they would operate the fighting machines. The body of the tripod machine was twice the length and twice the width. Both had their heat rays pointed at the entrance to the north transept where we stood, exposed. 

The connection between my brain and my legs froze, as if severed. I stood rooted to the spot for an interminable two seconds, expecting to be burned alive or else picked up and deposited somewhere as food for the invading party, before finally diving back into the shadows inside the doorway. 

Bernhardt, however, cool as the proverbial cucumber, pulled out his pistol and started firing. The loud bangs echoed in the acoustically harsh granite corridor, but we could also hear the 'ping' as the bullets ricocheted off the body of the Martian craft. 

His six-shooter was quickly emptied, and he went to reload with loose shells from his pocket when we heard a cry in our direction from the spider craft. 

"Oi! Give it a fuckin' rest mate!" The cry was then directed at someone else - it became obvious that it was the tripod being shouted at. "See - I told you we should 'ave 'ad the Union Flag painted on 'em!"

Bernhardt continued loading, but pointed his gun to the ground when he was finished, constantly keeping an eye in the alien vehicles. I peeked out from the edge of the door along with the Contessa. 

One of the vessels 'eyes' had been opened up on the rear hinge and we could clearly see a soldier, one would guess an artilleryman. But a human soldier, not a Martian one. 

"What the actual fuck is going on, scaring the living shit out of everyone you motherfucking cocksuckers?" Bernhardt shouted at them in his accented voice. 

"Careful son, I've still got this 'ere fucking heat ray pointed at yer! You must be Army with a potty mouf like that mate," the artilleryman shouted with a great deal of mirth in his voice. Bernhardt chortled deeply, nodding his acquiescence to the truth of the statement. He put his gun away without any further resistance, with a cheeky grin on his face. He raised his hands in mock surrender. 

It turned out that these two craft were survivors from the previous war, commandeered by the British Military and manned by an elite artillery division. They had been training with them solidly for the past dozen years, and upgrading them ready for the possibility of further invasions. 

The Admiralty had sent these two particular craft on a 'rescue' mission, to find the Contessa. It may have been that they had felt slightly guilty having left a foreign dignitary to her own devices in their city when she should have been under their protection. They were very glad to have found her before the Martians landed.

Bernhardt was fascinated by the craft and begged for a guided tour, explaining that he was indeed ex-military and dying for the chance to 'kick some slimy arse', apparently. 

The Contessa begged a lift back over the river to St. Thomas's. The spider operator lifted her and myself onto the basket on its back that had previously been used for captured humans. Bernhardt was granted, courtesy of much begging and the fact he must "'ave a pair of balls the size of 'Ampton Court," the chance to ride in the second 'eye' pod. Half way across Westminster Bridge we found ourselves heading astray, and only just managed to refrain from falling into the Thames. We heard a plaintive "sorry!" from the co-pilots seat ahead of us. We both laughed nervously at the thought of Bernhardt somehow talking the pilot into letting him try the controls. 

We waved at the crowds at County Hall, but they all ran away - it didn't occur to me at the time that they must have thought us captured - I'm certain that a large number of them would have been all too well aware of how the Martians had misused their captives. I was glad to see that someone came back to free Selina and cover her with a long brown jacket as they made their escape. I just hoped that she didn't get the blame for the fact that God had given up smiting races over two thousand years previously, and once more failed to appear when called upon by the faithful. 

St. Thomas's Hospital was just past County Hall, and we had the Artilleryman drop us off 50 yards from the main gate. We were told that their orders were to protect the Contessa - who in turn countered that the best way to protect her was to set up outside the hospital and defend it against the invaders. They conceded the point when she refused to back down - she was going into the hospital and any attempts to stop her would be a serious breach of diplomatic protocol. It was also self evident that she was used to getting her own way. 

Bernhardt joined the pair of us, beaming from ear to ear as the two ex-alien vessels took up defensive positions, the spider back at the east end of the bridge and the tripod at the spot we had been dropped off. "I think this could be the best day of my life!" he confided. I don't believe it was far off for either the Contessa nor myself, though neither of us wished to steal his moment. 

The hospital was very glad to see that we were not Martians rushing their way, but a qualified doctor cum surgeon and an extra pair of volunteers. First, however, Bernhardt needed to find some paint to paint the Union Flag on the two vessels, to reduce the panic in the streets when they were seen. We left him to it while we went to inspect the facilities. 

The Contessa was given a crash course in triage and a basic nurses outfit so that her expensive clothes didn't get ruined. Not that she appeared bothered about her clothes under the circumstances, but then she had no real idea what the following twenty four hours was going to be like at that point. 

As I inspected the operating theatre I was going to be using and introduced to the staff we heard a number of distant crashes, and then the hospital shook as the first of the wave of Martian vessels landed. 

The second invasion had officially begun. 

------

The ensuing few hours was unmitigated chaos. No matter how organized the hospital had thought it was, the amount of human detritus flowing through the door was like a tsunami. It started slow - even before the alien craft touched down on good old terra firma the waiting room was full of people who had been in various accidents while running around in the dark moving furniture, building barricades or sharpening weapons. Most of these could be quickly bandaged up, but it really was mostly a spot judgement. There were so many injuries and so little time to spend on them. 

Broken arm? Straighten out. Splint. Sling. Out!

Machete wound? Sew it up and bandage it. Out!

We didn't even have time for analgesics - we knew we'd need all the pain medication we had and more when the really bad stuff arrived. Not that the patients appreciated that. 

It was obvious that some of these wounds were either self inflicted or else someone else taking out a grudge. Still - they couldn't hang around here with the potential life threatening injuries that would be heading our way sooner than we would like. 

Bernhardt returned, and was immediately utilized as a guard to stop angry and restless patients from forcing their way past the reception and demanding drugs. I learned later that a few heads had to be banged together to make the point that he was not to be messed with. 

Within an hour the first of the Alien Related Injuries arrived. Burned screaming bodies, twisted as a result of the heat rays, military uniforms melted into the epidermis. In such cases nothing could be done but give these brave soldiers  the mercy that we would all pray for in such circumstances - it was unfortunate that we had neither the time nor resources to deal with all cases. Any details known of the victims were taken down and pinned to their bodies. Or corpses. 

We did at least have a number of local clergy to give the last rites to any in need. Included in that number was Bishop Burton. He was waiting for me when I came out of theatre after yet another amputation - mask on, hair sticking up, bloody bone saw in my hand, and blood up to both elbows. The patient was still visible, being sewed up behind me. A bit of theatricality from myself - I had heard him talking to his nurse escort and recognised his Welsh accent and manner of speech. 

He visibly blanched on my exit from the theatre, and then went green when he saw the scene behind me. There was a bucket in the corner with limbs of different shapes and sizes and there was blood everywhere. We were down to ten minutes a patient by this time, including the required needlepoint. 

"What do you want? I haven't got much time as you can see," I said gruffly as they wheeled the next screaming patient in behind me. Chloroform was administered and the screaming calmed to murmers. 

"I .. I wanted to assure you that Selina is okay. She is helping outside if you want to talk to her yourself," he said rather nervously as I checked the sharpness of the saw blade with my thumb.

"Helping? How?" I asked brusquely. 

"Well, I'm administering last rites, and she's administering last wishes," the Bishop said. 

I must have looked suitably confused, because he elucidated. "I make sure they get into heaven, and she ensures they go there with a smile on their faces."

I still didn't quite understand. The nurse standing behind the Bishop made a universal sign with one hand in a violin bow movement and her tongue poking in and out of her cheek. I laughed. What a girl - I wanted her there with me when I was on my deathbed. 

I sent the Bishop back to his last rights and returned to the charnel house, but at least with a smile on my face. 

------

After being in what felt like the equivalent of Crimean War field surgery, surrounded by death, destruction, guts, brains, blood, urine, excretia, vomit and countless disconnected body parts for well over twenty four hours straight and awake for well over forty eight I finally took a telling from the chief staff nurse. I hadn't even caught her name in all the commotion, but she had been an absolute rock, ordering the staff and volunteers around like a drill sergeant. 

"You'll be better use to us if you can keep those eyes of yours open, t'be sure," she said with a remarkable amount of compassion considering the chaos around us. She ushered me to a small spare ward where there were already a number of staff - doctors, nurses, surgeons, porters - in various stages of wakefulness taking up about twenty beds. These were not the normal well spaced beds one one would expect to see on a hospital ward, but rather every possible space had been filled with beds or alternately with pillows. Anywhere soft to lie down. 

"Go - get washed up and find a bed. I'll send for you in three hours - get as much sleep as you can. I'll find your beautiful bride for you," she smiled. "Such a wonderful story," she added to herself as she left. 

I threw off my bloodied garments and washed myself from head to toe with carbolic soap in one of the sinks. There is little, if any, modesty in such surroundings. I barely recognised myself in the mirror - I looked as exhausted as I felt. 

Barely able to keep my eyes open I wandered out and collapsed naked onto the nearest pile of pillows on the floor, pulling a warm woolen blanket over myself. The persistent snoring of so many strangers in the same enclosed space, let alone the screaming and crying from the reception area along the corridor, couldn't keep me awake after my head sunk into the pillows feathery softness. 

-------

It was early summer. I was at home, in my lush walled garden and it felt good - late May weather. Winter was behind us and the warmth of summer lay ahead. I was sat relaxing in a red and white striped deck chair like you see for hire on Brighton beach, the green grass tickling my bare feet. The sun shone warmly on my skin from a cloudless blue sky, the butterflies fluttered from flower to flower and our bees collected pollen to make the beautiful honey that we put on our toast for breakfast. My mouth watered at the thought. 

Mary came out of the back door carrying a tray with a large plate of honeyed toast and a jug of freshly squeezed orange and lime juice. I felt a pang, but could not think why as it appeared to be a perfect moment in a perfect day. 

I had never seen Mary look so ... enticing, exciting ... sexual. I had to tell her. 

"Mary, you look so beautiful today - absolutely stunning. I love the way you're wearing your hair," I complimented her. Normally she wore it up in a bun, but today she had pleated her waist length blonde honey-coloured hair and was wearing it over her right shoulder, hanging down over her breast. A red ribbon was tied in a bow at the end. 

"Thank you Franklin. I have a confe..." 

I interrupted her. "And I like what you're doing with your make up - almost an Egyptian Queen look, with the thick black eye-liner and the glossy scarlet lips. Are you trying out for something? Cleopatra? Or possibly even The Mikado? It would work for that too. I've heard you say you love a bit of Gilbert and Sullivan and you know I always try to encourage your thespian dalliances.

"I would, however, recommend you finish getting dressed before leaving for your audition."

Come to think of it, she had never allowed me to see her in her undergarments before, but here she was in our back garden on this beautiful day in just that! I didn't know that she possessed such striking underclothes, let alone actually wore them. Everything she wore was black - either silk or satin - with the occasional red highlight. A tight fitting black silk whalebone corset, tied up the front. A black silk choker with a small red rose detail. A black lace bra, fitted to draw attention to her cleavage with a matching small red rose detail. I also noticed, peeking through the lace, two hard scarlet red nipples. 

"Ummm ... have you been putting lipstick on your umm ... areolae?" I asked, indicating my own. You would think as I was a doctor that I was past getting embarrassed saying the word 'nipples'. And you might expect that my wife would know what areolae were without me having to give her any clues. But something was still jarring in my head. 

She finished off the look with black silk stockings on her long smooth legs, suspenders and garter belt, and really quite high black patent leather heels. It seemed unusual, but she also wore lace opera gloves. It wasn't until she moved the tray from in front of her that I realised she was not wearing any knickers - she was smooth, her pale mound shiny as if freshly shaved. Her inner lips were tucked in, presenting me with a beautiful rounded 'w' between her slightly spread legs. I could feel myself stiffen. I had never seen her naked before - any kind of nocturnal goings on had always been with the lights out, under covers. But I would have been aware had she normally been clean shaved. 

She set the tray down on the small round table between us, poured us both a drink and took the deck chair next to me, crossing her legs. She sighed. I turned to look at her. It was as if I hadn't seen her for such a long time. I held my breath. 

She turned towards me. A tear was running slowly down her left cheek, dragging black eye-liner with it. She made no move to wipe it away. I don't think I had ever seen her look so sad. I raised my hand to wipe the tear from her cheek, but she backed away from it. 

"Leave it please Franklin," she requested in a small voice. I backed off as she blinked, sending more salty black tears down both cheeks. 

I opened my mouth to speak, but Mary stopped me by raising a finger between us. "Let me speak please Franklin. And no interruptions - I have a lot to say and our time is limited." 

I nodded my head as a signal to proceed. 

"I'm so glad that you've finally found someone new after all the time that has passed. She seems good for you," she started. "Gives you what you need - what I couldn't."

I looked at her quizzically. 

She opened her eyes wide at me as if to say 'Really? Do I have to spell it out?'

"Men, so unerringly stupid," she muttered under her breath. 

"Sex. I'm talking about sex. Okay?" she said, unexpectedly. "I was never any good at it with you - I'm sorry. But there was a good reason, I promise."

I must have still looked confused, but she soldiered on regardless. 

"You remember that female only  Thespian Society that I went to two or three times a week?"

"Of course - the Sapphire Sisters, wasn't it? Something like that. You used to love that group - always came home exhausted but with such a wonderful glow about you. You certainly gave your all," I remembered fondly. "I was surprised that you were never given the lead role - but you said that you preferred a less dominant part in any large production."

A winsome smile played on her lips as she waited for the penny to drop. Nope? Okay. Try again. 

"Yes, and the Gilbert and Sullivan that I especially loved were Melissa Gilbert and Susannah Sullivan, two of the troupe," she said. Still nothing but an 'okay?' grin from me. 

"So, what's the reason that you were never any good at sex with me?" I asked, trying to get the conversation back on course. 

"It's simple - you possessed something I had absolutely no interest in - a penis."

"You mean you prefer eun... oh. You mean you're a ..." I started. And stopped. "So why...?"

She sighed again. "I did love you, you silly man. Just not in that way. You're a good man, you provided me with a good life, and I really wanted to have a family with you. But I couldn't change the fact that I don't like having sex with men - and adore having it with women. I had to put up with it for the sake of the family I wanted - it's not as if there is another way. I am so sorry that we never managed to have one before the Martians came. I did try. " She paused, tears running. 

"Thank you for bringing me to London, there is such a great lesbian scene down here. It gave me the opportunity to finally investigate all these feelings that I had to fight back home. In fact I  invented a separate persona down here - a lot more as you see me now, rather than the dowdy Victorian lady I had to be at home for the sake of societal respectability. I used my middle name and maiden name for your sake  - Rachel Covington. "

I had no idea what to say. I get the feeling that my mouth might have flapped open and closed a few times before I grabbed ahold of myself. A memory arose from the depths - Marys sister Nichola had been in a habit of calling her Rachel, though I had never understood why. Is it possible that she had known of her big sisters secret - perhaps even shared closely in it when they were younger? I would take her aside and ask her the next time I saw her. 

Mary's face suddenly brightened. Her eyes lit up at something on the other side of me. Her eye-liner must have magically repaired itself, because it was immaculate once more. How strange - I obviously hadn't been watching her as closely as I thought I had. 

She stood and curtsied, bowing her head slightly. "Contessa - it's a pleasure to meet you. You are so much more beautiful in the flesh than in this idiots mind," she beamed. 

I turned to see my new bride approaching along the garden path from the back lane. She looked magical. She shone with an unnatural brilliance, returning Mary's smile. She was a good six inches shorter than Mary, but part of that was due to the difference in height of their heels.  

"Please, Rachel, there's no need for formalities - we're all in this together," she said. "And I insist, call me Vanessa." She bypassed me completely and went to Mary (I wasn't ready to call her Rachel yet - although that would appear to be who she wanted to be).

I don't know which of them smiled wider as they hugged; and it was not the formal hugs that gentry use when they lean in at forty five degrees and barely touch shoulders whilst kissing the air between them. This was a hug where you could just breath out because you instinctively knew that the other would look after you. 

It was beautiful to behold. I even found myself breathing out. 

The Contessa took a step back and looked Mary up and down. "That's a strong  look you've got there Rachel, especially down here," she said, her voice turning husky as she touched the beautiful soft smooth flesh between Mary's legs without breaking eye contact. 

Mary opened her eyes wide and shivered as she took an involuntary sharp breath. I sat in disbelief for the briefest second before I tried to move, but I felt myself held in place, loosely constricted rather than weighted down. I struggled briefly, most agitated, until I heard the Contessa whisper softly in my ear, "Its okay, you're safe, just relax my love. Enjoy." 

I breathed out, relaxed, and lit up one of my Sweet V cigarettes. The constriction lessened, but still held me. I realised that I had no idea what I was planning to do when I stood up. Sitting, relaxing, smoking, watching - all seemed like much better ideas than intervening. I exhaled slowly after a long drag, blowing beautiful rainbow smoke rings through which the butterflies danced. 

The Contessa looked up at Mary, expectant, but willing to wait. Mary blushed under her pale makeup. "I'm sorry Contessa," she said after a second and knelt in front of her in the lush green grass, knees together, hands on knees, head bent forward. 

She must be practicing for her audition, I thought. There would be lots of kneeling for tea ceremonies in The Mikado I guessed. Then the Contessa took a step towards Mary and stroked her head in much the same way that she would a dog. 

"Good girl, Rachel," she said, and stepped forward that other half step. From the angle I was at I could no longer see Mary's face, though I could see her head turn up and her body inflate as she breathed in deeply and held her breath, before slowly breathing out in an intimate moan. 

I realized that I had been in a similar position fairly recently - sometime between three minutes and a lifetime ago but I couldn't quite recall, inhaling the delicious scent of ... I licked my lips, hoping. But I half remembered washing my face recently, eradicating my lovers sweet juices from my moustache. Now I just tasted carbolic soap. Such an anti-climax. 

The Contessa wrapped Rachel's pleat in her hand and pulled her in even closer to her heart-shaped pubic foliage. I must have gotten distracted somewhere along the way because I realised that the Contessa was now wearing an almost exact negative equivalent to what Rachel was wearing. Her olive skin so warm against a bright white leather bodice, opaque white satin stockings, high heeled long white patent boots. She wore no gloves, and her beautiful manicured nails were glossy blood red. She also wore no choker, and her long dark hair was straight. 

Wait a minute, I thought. Rachel? I was calling her Rachel now. I was obviously more accepting of her fluid persona than I had thought I was. Did part of me always know deep inside, scared to face the facts, that she was leading a double life? Was it cheating on me if she was finally being true to herself? Is it possible that I was more in love with the idea of her than I may have been when she was actually alive. Questions to be pondered perhaps. Or perhaps not. 

Another penny finally dropped. 'When she was actually alive.' This wasn't a normal physical reality. I looked around me - a butterfly winked at me. Either this was a dream or else I had fallen down a rabbit hole. 

I heard a noise as of lapping, and, refocusing from my internal musings, saw the Contessa’s head roll back as she simultaneously raised herself on her tiptoes and thrust her beautiful soft mound harder into Rachels face. 

I knew from experience just how delicious the Contessa's freshly squeezed intimate juices were, and envied Rachel's first taste, though without resentment. 

"Oh my God!" the Contessa exclaimed loudly. "Franklin - you know how much I appreciate your oral skills - but Rachel is leagues better than you. It feels as if she has not one tongue, but three ... she's a real nymph ooohhhh!"

I felt my manhood stiffen, and it was almost immediately grabbed by whatever it was that was constricting me. I looked down to see a shimmering snakelike appendage wrapped around my body and stroking my throbbing tumescence. 

I had seen these snakelike appendages before - many years before. Except they had been a uniform brown colour as of wet leather. This one, however, reminded me of those marvelous encephalopods - octopi, and squid and cuttlefish. A mesmeric display of coloured lights floated through the squamous skin, there being no notable pattern. Perhaps like the chameleon it depended on mood, but it could just as well be a form of insanely complex communication. 

The Martians had often been compared with octopi, being massive of brain and eyes, very little body to talk of, with tentacles that carried and propelled them. The Martians had two sets of eight tentacles, one set on each side of their front facing eyes, but did not possess the suckers found on even the common octopus. Their sharp lipless, v-shaped mouth was to be found beneath their luminous eyes, and was known to be used only for the chittering that they occasionally use to communicate, rather than for eating. 

In our atmosphere they stood about five feet tall, but it was estimated that with the lesser gravitational effects of their home world they would stand around eight feet tall. 

As I looked up, from the single tentacle wrapped around me, that was what I saw - an eight fool tall Martian. This one shimmered, and glittered and pulsed patterns of colour across a mostly white background which was calming to the mind and senses. Part of me did wonder if these were not demons as the clergy had long told us, but actually angels. This one was indeed awe inspiring. 

Rachel and the Contessa appeared as if hypnotized in a vaudeville show. They both now faced me, in front of the Martian. It was obvious that Rachel had not been the owner of three tongues - the glowing, almost ethereal looking Martian was holding both women off of the ground. Two tentacles bore their weight under their armpits, circling their breasts and teasing out their long nipples. One tentacle was around each throat - not squeezing, but ready to do so if any escape or rescue attempt was made. 

The ladies legs were spread slightly, enough for me to see that there was a tentacle embedded in each vagina like a long, thick phallus, and seemed to be pulsing regularly - engorging then withering then engorging again constantly. Lubricating fluids dripped off of these tentacles from the women. Another limb snaked underneath and stroked their clitorii in unison, much to their obvious immense pleasure. Their breathing was shallow and intense. Their eyes were rolled back in their heads. They occasionally moaned as if in the throes of ecstasy. 

That used up five of each eight limbed side, but I could see only four more limbs being used to stand upright. I had to therefore make an intelligent guess as to the location of the two last limbs. Rectal corpus alienum, indeed. 

I watched, spellbound, my manhood being slowly, deliberately and expertly manipulated. The tip of the tentacle stroked my perineum, and I felt myself twitch in reply, automatically opening my legs to give easier access. 

Rachel and the Contessa were being worked up into an absolute froth by the expanding / contracting of the alien limbs deep inside them. I must confess to feeling tentacle envy, even as I understood this was not any kind of  physical reality, but merely the result of chemical imbalances in my brain due to lack of sleep. However, sometimes dreams brought forth answers to questions unbidden. And it felt as if there was a lot of truth in what my exhausted mind was showing me. 

Every colour in Gods great palette seemed to splash across the head and limbs of the Martian. I know I am anthropomorphising when I say that it seemed to almost smile at me as if to say 'I bet you wish that you could do this'.

The pulsing inside of the ladies increased in frequency, with a subsequent increase in vaginal juices flowing down the alien limbs and puddling on the ground beneath them. Their moaning increased too, but the creature extended the limb from around their necks, pushing their mouths open and sliding in past their lips, filling first their mouths and then their throats. They both gagged at first, but very quickly seemed most happy to be taking a good length of alien pseudo-phallus. 

I watched in equal parts fascination, awe and fear - liberally sprinkled with more than just a dash of desire and excitement. 

I could see the ladies shake and convulse in extremis, unable to breathe as orgasm after orgasm wracked their bodies. I had only one option. One shot. 

Held against my chair as I was, with no gun or knife at hand, I had to use the only weapon I had. If I were Bernhardt I could possibly have used it as a club, however...

I managed to get one arm out from the tentacles embrace and brushed its tip aside. I grabbed my already throbbing manhood and pumped it hard and fast. Jets of jizz poured forth from my erection, becoming like sticky rope. Although at least two yards distant, the Martian was captured by the very stickiness of the copious quantities of my semenal rope, bound, unable to escape try as it may. The creatures tentacles released the ladies, dropping them to the ground where they lay, allowing them to gasp in great mouthfuls of life-giving air. Their legs were apart, liquid streaming from their sexes; their anuses and vaginas visibly twitching. Such an erotic sight, had I not been worried for their very lives. 

But, this being a dream it took mere seconds for them both to be on their feet again, looking in the absolute peak of health, beaming at me with huge smiles of gratitude for my timely intervention. The Contessa knelt in front of me and, muttering that it would be a waste not to, began to lick the last of my emissions from my still tingling erection. It had started to soften, but very quickly came back to full hardness as her hot wet tongue stroked from root to tip. She stopped mid second lick and moaned. At first I thought it was due somehow to her love of fellatio, but then noticed the blonde tresses  of Rachel behind her, evidently rimming her beautiful little puckered anus. My guess was that her hands were supplying separate ministrations. I smiled and lay back ...