The Big Blonde...Pinkie Invasion

The Pinkies moved Max to the flesh bed. The ball-slurping Pinkie set him down, while the others, giggling the "Halls of Montezuma", raised his cock until he pointed upright.

Max lay on the flesh mattress, arms and legs splayed out, under his big stogie and coconuts. Spunk streamed down and pooled around him.

"Grrr! Trapped helpless under my gigantic cock. These foul inhuman creatures. What horrible depravity do they plan now?"

*******

The giggling Pinkies assumed positions around the rim of the bed. Stroking themselves to rock hard pornness (which Max no longer envied for obvious reasons) they moved close to the bed. The leader and another moved to opposite ends and inserted their pinkhoods into the balls inserted therein.

At the leader's "Heeheeheehee!" the Pinkies drilled their schlongs into vaginal slits indented in the rim. The Pinkies then proceeded to hump the bunk.

The bed responded, throbbing and swelling with each slide of Pinkie penises through its pussies. "Great cocks! It's a cunt bed!" exclaimed Max. "What's the big pink globe doing?"

The glow in the globe brightened and the globe moved towards Max's percolating penis. Max peered above the rim of his magnosity as the pink pearl touched his glans. "Ughn!" he ejaculated. "What the etc!"

The earlier strokes of the Pinkies were mere love taps compared to the touch of (Russ) Meyer's Grapefruit. Semen splattered across the chamber. The pumping Pinkies giggled and pumped harder.

The globe continued to descend. Its outer skin offered resistance, unlike Max. "I'm porking a jelly ball!" he gasped.

The intactness of Max's sanity during the massive cum session was due to years of practice. Porking Bambi was best experienced with a clear mind except during orgasms and dinner; but under the inexorable onslaught of the strange globe, which blasted his already cranked semen production into overdrive, Max's reason fucked off.

His twelve foot cock, not to be denied, pierced the pink peach; jizz blew into its warm jelly interior.

Max crossed his eyes in satyric pleasure. "My mind is becoming subsumed by my unending orgasm. These pink aliens have turned me into a...a fuck machine! I'm sorry honey bunny, I've failed. The aliens have converted me into a penis. I can't even 'Grrr!' properly. Is this my fate? To pork aliens and pink globes and Bambi's pussy forever? What a horri... hey! What the fuck am I saying?! Fuck yeah! Fuck yeah to eternal fucking!!"

The Pinkies apparently agreed. Pinkie pumping reached a climatic peak. A massive, simultaneous orgasm raced through their ranks. Jizz poured into Max's fuck bed. Max responded with an application of exertion, blowing his essence into the pornographic peach.

The effect was fucking mechanical. The Max pumped up, the globe went down, and the Pinkies drilled in. The sounds in the chamber; Max's grunts, the Pinkies' giggles, and the globe's slurps combined into an orgasmic rhythm: "Ugh! Slurp! Heeheehee! Ugh! Slurp! Heeheehee!"

The globes on the bed glowed bright and the big globe bloomed into a mini-sun. The glow spread through the chamber's veins and arteries. A great shudder quaked through the utero room; cum washed over all, and a great and final transformation began.

So what of Bambi? The great, curvy bombshell lay on her bed; gasping, moaning, and blasting the wall with floods of cum. "Mmmm, what is my Max doing?" she gasped.

Bambi came constantly, but each orgasm maintained a steady, but intense, consistency....and then it changed.

It began as a tiny rumble within her pussy. "Oh!" Bambi gasped. Her pelvis shuddered and spasmed. The rumble grew and spread to her belly. "Oh! Max!" she moaned. Her belly shivered and quaked.

It spread to her chest, raced up her spine, and down her legs. Her great round, shiny belly and her milky udders grew greater. Her tit fountains blasted cream through the ceiling.

Bambi, through her haze of lust, faintly noticed the room seemed smaller, but it didn't matter. The single, greatest, yummiest, supercalifragilistic orgasm in all of womankind was building in her body, a climax she instinctively knew would never end, and she was to be the recipient.

Bambi chanted a mantra to her Lord and Master: Max Casetta, her ever loving, now eternally giving husband. "Oh! Oh! Oh Max! Oh Max! OOOOHHHHH!"

*******

Sally Robbins lived across the street. A world wide adventurer and archaeologist, she acquired the moniker Virgin Islands Robbins, for no other apparent reason than famous globe trotting archaeologists were expected to name themselves after states or U.S. territories.

Plus, she was African-American, of Caribbean extraction, and wanted to call attention to an oft neglected part of the American Empire (she wasn't alone in her opinion, as her colleagues Puerto Rico Lopez and Guam Smith could attest).

Currently V.I. Robbins was categorizing her collection of ancient Mayan sex toys with the assistance of her college student protege, Sara Seals (who by all accounts was extremely hot....so was Robbins for that matter).

Today Professor Robbins was feeling unusually horny, but she attributed that tension to pent up sexual energy. She was surrounded by thousand-year-old dildos, a hot college student in a sweaty t-shirt was nearby, "Wait a second, what am I thinking?! I don't swing that way! That fling in college was an experiment....that's right, an experiment!" Still, Sara really had an ass on her that... "Stop it V.I. I really have to put these sex toys away. They're affecting my mind. Hmmm, maybe it's another one of those curses. Damn! Not again!"

"Do you feel a vibration?" Sara asked.

"Yes Sara," Robbins replied huskily. "What? Oh! Uh, what did you say?"

"Um, er, the shelves are vibrating. 'God! She looks so hot in that blouse; and she has big boobs. I'd like to...wait a second, what am I saying? I don't swing that way! That fling in high school was an experiment....that's right, an experiment!'"

"Earthquake?!" the two women asked simultaneously. "In this state?" added V.I.

"Do you hear that noise? It sounds like a building's getting demolished," remarked Sara.

"Impossible, nothing's scheduled for demolition on this street," replied V.I., heading for the door.

The women went outside. People were in their yards, staring at the Casetta's house. "What the hell is happening at the Casetta's?!" exclaimed Professor Robbins.

The Casetta's house was shimmying and shaking. Tiles and bits of brick were falling off the roof. A bright pink glow beamed from every window; rumbles, creaks, and wood splintering crashes emanated from within the house.

Other sounds, glass shattering, walls collapsing, and "Somebody's moaning," said Sara.

"Yeah, and it sure don't sound like she's faking it," replied the distinctly non-virgin Professor Robbins (who knew fucking when she heard it).

"Look!" shouted one of the neighbors, pointing at the roof.

The Casetta's roof bulged. Suddenly, in an explosion of tile, a huge pink object burst through the roof. "Why that...that looks like a boob!" shouted V.I.

A pink Volkswagen-sized melon, topped by a creamy tit the size of a beachball, jutted out of the dark gray roof. A splintering crash marked the appearance of its mammarious twin.

"Boobs Professor Robbins," said a stunned Sara. "Those are giant boobs."

The neighborhood watched, awed as a giant, round globe, fleshy pink and easily a match in size for the Casetta's house, rose from the remains of the bedroom.

Gleaming with sweat, topped by a Guinness record bellybutton, it rose under the big 'uns to form a porno grotesquerie. "That....is definitely a tummy," V.I. remarked. "And not a fat one either."

V.I. knew the difference between fat and pregnant. If that....thing was about to give birth.... V.I. shuddered.

The north side of the house blew apart as a pair of legs burst through the wall. The size of sequoias, they were as well shaped a pair of gams as could be seen on a giant.

Huge arms smashed through the opposite side. At their ends were lovely hands that could test crush an Audi. The hands went to the gigantajugs; squeeze! Pump! Squeeze! Went those beautiful mits.

"Squeeze! Pump! Squeeze!? And I actually heard them?! Wow! That is large!" exclaimed Sara.

The monster mams were mashed between the mits. Professor Robbins saw, with horror, the nipples blush and bloat. "Uh oh! Omigod! The tits are about to blow! Take cover people!"

The titanic tits erupted a white gusher. A deluge of breast cream fell upon the neighborhood. Residents were knocked off their feet. Others, men mostly, bravely stood their ground against the flood. Bob Harris, a thirty-five-year old claims adjuster and secret lacto fetishist, was instantly cured of his condition because really, after something like that where else is there to go?

Professor Robbins and Sara, thoroughly drenched in milky white goodness, stood up to watch the final destruction of Max and Bambi's house (V.I. noted Sara's wet t-shirt. She wasn't wearing a bra. "C-cups," she thought. "And perky tits.").

The Casetta's house fell apart with cinematic deliberation as pelvis, hips, shoulders, and finally a shiny blond head broke out of the crumbling domicile.

"Holy fucking fuck! That's Bambi Casetta!" someone screamed.

Yes, Bambi Honey Bunny Baby Cakes Sweetie Pie Casetta, floating above the remains of her house in fertile milk-fountaining, cum-dripping glory, was revealed.

Fifty feet from stem to stern; skin flushed bright rose with exponential lust; bunny rabbit smile on her face; sporting a pussy you could park a semi in, tits out to infinity, and surrounded by a glowing pink halo. She floated on her back, running her hands over her Hindenburg body, the ultimate reclining nude.

The neighborhood, male and female, old and young, self-satisfactorily smart and irretrievably stupid, was stunned, awed, terrified, and completely penis and clit pumped by the vision of fertile goddessness displayed to their eyes.

Overwhelming orgasmic energy emanated from this giantess of lust. "God! I'm soooo horny!" Sara thought. "I'm horny too," replied Robbins.

"Oh God! I said that out loud?!"

"Um, yeah."

Bambi floated upwards, stroking her breasts, belly, and bush. Her swollen clit exposed to all, the size of a six foot male. A bright pink glow gleamed from within her pussy. The cunt flexed and a blast of cum thundered forth, showering the neighborhood and satisfying cunnilingus fetishes for the next six months.

Trembling orgasmically Bambi tilted back her head and howled a great,

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!" Glass shattered in cars and windows over a ten mile radius. People screamed and covered their ears.

The scream faded to a low hum. "Mmmmmm," went the great Bambi. She rose higher, "Mmmmmm," increased crescendo the higher she rose. Higher and higher she floated, humming louder until, "MMMMMMMM...EEK!" BOOM!

A sunburst of bright pink orgasmic energy detonated from the Casetta's house. The neighborhood became orgiastic Los Alamos as the force of the blast stripped the clothes off the hapless bystanders (well that's how the authorities explained it. Really, the clothes were ripped, it's not as if they stripped them off in the blast wave, is it?).

Inhibitions vanished in the blast of lust. Sexualities, repressed for decades in some, revived in a neighborhood bacchanal, the story of which would reverberate through the succeeding decades.

Bill Potter, ninety-five, porked his wife for the first time in forty years. He fucked at least two teenagers, one divorcee, and the mailman before dying of a heart attack trying to....well it involved the family dog.

Reverend Jimmy Joe Brooks, anti-gay crusader and founder of the Christian Center for Proper Values, took on the entire college football team, emphasis on ball. His outlook (emphasis on out) changed considerably after that. Needless to say he had a lot of apologizing to do.

Tom Mathews and Ellen Taylor, eighteen both, said screw saving ourselves for marriage and promptly took each other's virginity. They then proceeded to relieve all the other members of their chastity group, vaginally, anally, along with discovering the pleasures of bisexuality.

Through all the ten block neighborhood orgy, few took notice that the cause of it had vanished without a trace.

Epilogue

"Two hundred cases of indecent exposure and public lewdness, forty cases of underage sex, twenty-five cases of incest, and fifty cases of statutory rape. What a bloody mess," groaned Agent Jones of the Federal Bureau for the Extremely Odd.

"Not counting all the legitimate sexual acts, so far as they go," replied Agent Jones Number Two.

"Any sign of the Casettas?" asked Jones.

"Agent Muldoon is interrogating two witnesses. It's a bit difficult. Um, they're kind of locked in, if you know what I mean. And well, Muldoon..."

Jones sighed, "Take me to him. I knew we shouldn't have activated him so soon after his sex therapy."

Wolfe Muldoon was interviewing two women, an archaeologist and her student. The Joneses found him, well not exactly interrogating. "Damn! He's relapsed! Agent Muldoon!"

Muldoon, a handsome but somber-faced man with a flat voice, turned reluctantly and saw the Joneses. "Oh! Uh! Sorry sir!"

"Put that back in your pants and tell me what you found about the Casettas."

"Unknown exactly sir. I asked about Mrs. Bambi Casetta and Professor Robbins mentioned something about her disappearing in, and I quote 'The fucks between fuckses.'"

"How soon do you think we can get a clear statement out of them?" asked Jones Two.

"Well, I guess it depends on how long Professor Robbins and Miss Seals, uh maintain their sixty-nine. We couldn't pry them apart with a crowbar and a Jaws of Life. The other couples are pretty well locked too."

Jones sighed, "This is going to be a long night."

Jones Two tapped his earpiece, "Sir we found something."

Dr. Watt was babbling with excitement. The greatest find of the twenty-first century, right in front of him. Agents and soldiers swarmed the field, collecting the parts and packing them in biohazard containers.

"So what is it, Watt?" asked Jones.

"So far as I can tell it's a dead body," Watt replied, giggling.

"Of what? It don't look human."

"Oh it's alien all right. Here's the gist: I think it's a spaceship!"

"A what, Watt?!" Jones Two asked, incredulous.

"The configuration, the evidence in the ground, the fallen trees. I'm making the call. It's an organic living spaceship. Probably crashed two weeks ago."

"So if it's a living spacecraft, how did it crash? What powered it? Where are the pilots?"

"I don't know the answer to the first two," Dr. Watt replied. "But I have a feeling the Casettas know the answer to the last one."

The End