Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

My little boudoir, tucked away in the shadows of the Neo-Quebecois arcologies, is more of an intergalactic pit stop than a massage parlour. Earthlings? Pah! They are so predictable. Most prefer vanilla sex, some maybe throw in an interesting fetish or two every so often. But the extra-terrestrials? Give me a multi-limbed sentient cloud anytime. They know how to live!

It wasn’t always like this, of course. Back on old Earth, it was all just…well, skinflute city. I can’t count how many boring blowjobs I’ve dolled out over the years. Then the galactic gates opened, the tourists arrived, and suddenly, there was a whole new world of anatomy to explore. And let me tell you, when a Tralfamadorian senator offers triple credits just to have you gently hum while they regenerate their epidermal layer, you don’t say no. Especially when their epidermal layer looks like a shimmering, bioluminescent silk cocoon. It’s surprisingly peaceful, a bit like watching a very slow, very expensive lava lamp.

My little boudoir is more of an intergalactic pit stop

Take my regular, Zylar, for instance. A lovely fellow, really, from the Glorgon Cluster. He has, oh, maybe eleven or twelve tendrils, all wonderfully phallic. His ‘thing’? He loves to have his tendrils braided. Not just any braid, mind you. He insists on the ‘French braid,’ naturally. The irony is not lost on me! He coos when I get to the delicate spirals near his sensory organs. And the tips? He likes them adorned with tiny, artisanal bells I import from a moon of Jupiter. “It tickles my essence, Stella,” he’ll purr, his voice a low thrum that vibrates the very air. Honestly, the patience required for eleven French braids would test a saint, but the bells chime a sweet tune of payment.

Then there’s Gorp. Gorp isn’t exactly a being in the traditional sense. More of a sentient gaseous anomaly from Sector 7 (interestingly, also the name of a Canadian punk band I listen to a lot). His request? He likes to be gently contained within a specially calibrated force-field projector while I read him erotic poetry from Japan, but – and this is the kicker – I have to recite them in a language only he perceives. So, I’m effectively just making a series of odd, guttural noises into a shimmering purple field, while Gorp, presumably, enjoys a spiritual awakening. He says my “vocal oscillations are divine.” Who am I to argue? A happy Gorp is a very generous Gorp. And surprisingly, he leaves no residue.

Stella 1-844-332-2639 ext 322

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