The Alaskan Snow Crab Virus

Chapter 1

"What is that, a crab in your pants? Or are you just happy to see me?" asked Marge.

"Both!" replied Slarm.

He then pulled down his pants, whipped out his dick, and started flopping it around. Marge ran away, screaming.

She went home that night, and, with hands shaking in fear, poured herself a drink. She sat on her couch, hoping to calm her nerves. Lighting a cigarette, she said to herself, "Just the one." She'd quit ten years ago.

She took a deep drag, exhaled, and then watched as the smoke poured into the beams of light coming through the blinds. It created a series of light strips. She peered into them, as if they were longed for gateways to happier times. She took a drink, and the whiskey slid down her throat, and warmed her belly. As the alcohol set in, she calmed down, and started to feel better. After dinner, she went to bed. She laid there, though, and kept thinking until she finally gave up and masturbated. She was thinking about Slarm's dick. She came and fell asleep.

The next day, she went to work. The year being 4283759827459 she worked in a floating office, like most people. She floated up to her desk and talked with a co-worker. She felt really sad, when she realized she was still thinking about Slarm's dick. She thought about how she had been flicking the bean atop her monster box last night, and thinking about that freakish thing Slarm had shown her.

He had the virus, the Alaskan Snow Carb Virus. That's why his cock had turned into a sentient crab that snipped at him when he tried to use it to go to the bathroom. And she had masturbated to it! What had she become, she wondered.

She got online, which just was closing her eyes and willing it, since the future was so amazing. She started typing a story about women who became obsessed with men who were infected. The women would see the crab, and then fall on the floor, masturbating furiously. Didn't matter if they were at the bank, or church, it was bean flicking time. In Marge's stories, all of the women had big hips, giant tits, and floppy, hairy vaginas. And, most importantly, they all masturbated uncontrollably when they saw a crab in a man's pants.

Time went on, and Marge kept to herself at work. She knew no one would understand her crabrotica, so she just told herself she was writing it for herself, alone.

Chapter 2

"So, you gonna let me see that big 'ol droopy crab again, Slarm?" asked Marge.

She'd tracked Slarm down using intergalactic technological space wormholes, and her own vagina pube fortune telling techniques. Now she was going to get that crab back in her life.

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Slarm. He was a smnxbfrmf, which is a job that doesn't even make any sense, and cannot be explained, to lesser beings. Suffice it to say, it requires travel.

Marge was annoyed. "I need it!" she demanded. She knew he was playing dumb.

Slarm smiled. "Let me see those nasty, sagging, pendulous titty boobies, and we'll talk." he said coyly.

"You know what they say," prompted Marge.

Then, in unison, they both recited the ancient lines, "Loving you is like rubbing your nipples all over somebody else's titties."

Marge got those big, unshapely, billowing titties out of her space shirt by opening the valve people used to show nasty titties to people, and pulled one out. She swung it around in front of her, like a rope.

Slarm pulled out the crab, and Marge fainted in ecstasy.

Chapter 3

"Wake up!"

Blackness, and just that voice. Marge woke up finally, and looked around. There was some kind of giant, ten foot tall chicken goblin in front her, wearing a doctor's uniform.

"Where am I? What happened?" asked Marge.

"Well, your ship's data log showed that you tracked another ship to the moon Titan, of Saturn. You then interacted with someone else, and were put into cryogenic freezing by your ship to protect you from dying of horniness." said the chicken goblin doctor.

"What the fuck?" asked Marge. "Alls I wanted to do was to get my nasty titties on some crab, is that too much to ask? Why didn't Slarm bring me to the doctor." she caught herself, not wanting to offend the alien's feelings by using the wrong honorific and self identity titles, and then added, "Sorry, doctor chicken goblin."

"Quite all right. Chicken goblin doctor, doctor goblin, chicken chicken chicken doctor goblin, it's all the same to me. Some people even call me piece of shit. I don't care. Fuck them." answered the doctor.

Marge just stared at him. She was becoming aroused, and was afraid of passing out, and waking up with an even weirder doctor.

The doctor went on. "Anyway, it's now the year 4283759826959, you've been asleep for 400 years or something!"

Marge was about to correct his math, since it had actually been 500 years, but she noticed he had started vigorously masturbating.

"The fuck you masturbating about man?!" demanded Marge.

"Well, crabs, obviously." answered the goblin doc.

"Well, fuck me! Someone else who knows what's sexy?" asked Marge, somewhat disturbed with herself for having the same interest as a species known the galaxy over for being "aslkdjfghs" which is incomprehensible to ancient human minds, but, let me tell you, is pretty fucking insulting.

"Everyone loves crab dick!" answered the doctor, giving her the bird equivalent of a thumbs up with his free wing/goblin hand, while his other jerked his bird cock, lost in feathery wonder.

Marge was full of orgasm-fear when she stood up, and walked over to the masturbating gobdoc.

"What the fuck are you talking about? People like getting nasty on the crasty these days?"

"You fucking bet your freakish monster boobies they do! The most famous author of all time led to this glorious future. Her name was StupidSockTitties, and she was an online author from your time."

Marge was amazed. Her dumbfuck crabrotica had changed the galaxy!

To be continued...