A note to the reader: This story is an experiment of sorts. A challenge to myself to write a complete erotic tale in less than eight hours. One filled with drama and humor and sizzling sexuality, without the lengthy exposition that I have a tendency to indulge in. And in a genre that I've never explored: Science fiction. I wrote this in 7 hours and 53 minutes. Let me know what you think.
Monica kept her thoughts wide open. As far as she was concerned, there was no point in trying to hide them. Sure, some people said they could shield their thoughts, using alcohol or hallucinogens or simple will power. But she didn't believe it. How could you tell, when you were under the influence of some mind-altering drug, whether you were being controlled or not? And for those who said they kept their thoughts shielded just by thinking about something else, well, maybe they just weren't worth bothering with. All she knew is that there hadn't yet been any sign of mass resistance, and it didn't seem likely to happen in the near future.
What Monica was thinking, at that very moment, was how bad she needed to be fucked. Not fucked badly. She needed a good fucking. She badly needed a good fucking. She needed to be fucked so good, it would make her feel bad. But good, too. That's what she was thinking, as she kept her mind wide open and waited for her visitor to appear.
She waited in the living room of her house, just inside the big bay window, where the drapes were already open to reveal glass that she no longer tried to keep clean. She was naked, as there was no point in being attired in any form of clothing, not even lingerie, because her visitor didn't have a need for such things. Didn't even understand such things. Wouldn't even react if she was clothed or unclothed or sexily clothed or partially clothed as long as those clothes didn't impede his penetration of her.
She called her visitor a him, though it could just as easily be a her, or neither, or both, though in the end it didn't really matter. Personal pronouns hadn't caught up with current events. But there was penetration... oh, yes, gorgeous, succulent, heavenly penetration, and that was most often a 'him' thing, so her visitor became a him in her mind.
She found herself trembling as she stood before the window in her full nudity, exposed to any who might be walking the sidewalk, though nobody did and nobody would until the appointed time. Her long, red hair, (natural, thank you) hung down in thick tresses over her shoulders, with the ends just caressing the tops of her breasts. She wore no makeup, as she never needed any to make her green eyes sparkle any more. Her heavy breasts felt engorged, and though she didn't have a trace of sag, she could feel them sway as she shifted from one foot to another. It was all she could do to keep herself from rolling her thick nipples between her fingers. But she didn't want to do anything that might keep the visitor from visiting. Who knew what might affect his plans?
She could see herself clearly reflected in the window. Her hourglass shape. Flat stomach. V-shaped pussy patch. Swollen slit. Toned legs. Just a few months ago, she never would've exposed herself so brazenly. But a lot had changed in those months. The thought brought a new flood of wetness to her pussy.
It was like a bad science fiction novel, the day that the aliens came. Not bad, in that there were alien ships carrying alien life forms that were gooey masses with big tentacles. Though there was those. No, bad as in a poorly written science fiction plot. In that there was no warning, no resistance and no final battle for the future of Earth and humanity. Earth was lost in less than an hour. And humanity was enslaved even faster than that. The War of the Worlds was over before it even began.
One day, we were alone in the universe. The next, we were enslaved by an alien race that could control our minds so completely, we didn't even know we were being controlled. In the same way that you couldn't be sure why you took a different route to work, people were pushed to do things just a little bit different.
Sure, at the beginning it was more than a little shocking. The President probably had a momentary twinge of danger when the first alien suddenly appeared in his office. A Secret Service guard or two may have started to raise an alarm or a weapon. But no more than a moment. And then it seemed like they had always been here. Maybe they had. Or not. It really didn't matter.
What mattered was what the aliens had in mind for the citizens of Earth. Enslavement, some called it. Though were you really enslaved if you were still living your life just like you had before that day? Still going to work? Still sending kids to school? Still grocery shopping and coaching baseball and hitting the clubs and sexting and fucking and making babies?
Sure, a few major things had changed. Like the absence of war and random violence. The aliens had come prepared. They'd screened through the whole of the internet. Or so the President had declared on that day, when they took control of him for the first time and arranged a worldwide broadcast so complete, there wasn't a person on the whole Earth who hadn't seen it. In their own language. Or perhaps in their own minds. There was still some question about which.
In delving into the internet, the aliens discovered the Earthlings' two obsessions: war and sex. War they understood. They didn't like it. They thought it was wasteful. So they stopped it.
Just stopped it. Where once men and women hated each other, suddenly they couldn't remember why. Or what to do if they did. Or why they'd want to do that, even if they could remember what it was. Jew got along with Muslim. White with black. Rapists stopped raping. Thugs stopped thugging. Sure, people still had disagreements. But now they ended in words, not fists or knives or guns or nuclear bombs. You couldn't get around the edicts in your mind. Most people didn't want to.
After the President's speech, there'd been some questions about just how many aliens we were really dealing with. One? Ten? A hundred? Ten thousand? It was impossible to tell. They just transported themselves from here to there. No ship. No car. No Star Trek transporter beam. And how many did it take to control all seven billion Earthlings? To Monica's way of thinking, not so many. In her mind, the people of earth were like mosquitos buzzing around a single alien. Just buzzing about, doing their own thing. But as soon as one of them got an idea in its head to suck some blood, to buzz in for a strike, the alien could sense it and shut down that threatening thought. Not kill the mosquito. Just redirect it. And then the alien went back to whatever it had been doing.
Scientists were still allowed to study the aliens. To a point. Newspapers to write about them. To a point. People could discuss them. Almost completely without worry. And who really knew if that treasonous thought disappeared of its own accord or was pushed in another direction?
No one even knew the aliens' ultimate goal. Enslavement is usually carried out for a reason. Veneration. Stealing of a region's resources. Power. Mass migrations. War fodder. But it was impossible to determine what they were up to. Things changed suddenly or subtly for no apparent reason. Factories that once made shoes suddenly began producing rain gear, their CEOs pushed from one path to another. Some farms grew soybeans instead of corn, others the reverse. Cars were produced all in red. Lattes disappeared from restaurant menus. There was no discernible pattern. And if anyone had discovered one, that theory wasn't allowed to see the light of day. A push of the mind would see to that.
That push was one of the reasons that Monica stood stark naked in front of the living room window, lightly bouncing on the balls of her feet, waiting impatiently for her visitor. But only one reason.
The other Earthly obsession that the aliens discovered in their perusal of the net was sex. Pornography. It was everywhere. In every permutation one could imagine. And some that defied description. And the alien species just didn't comprehend it.
So they started experimenting with it.
Monica remembered The Interview as though it had happened that morning. The Interview where the perky and beautiful Rosa Sanchez from Fox News had scored the big chance to talk with a member of the alien species. The Interview that had been hyped for days on every channel, with every other network buying the rights so that they too could show it live and get Super Bowl rates from their advertisers. The Biggest Fucking Interview in the History of the World.
It had started off pretty well. Rosa, sitting primly in her red dress, businesslike yet sexy, showing just enough of her almond skin to draw the eyes to her cleavage, but not enough to make it obvious. And the alien, propped on three of his many appendages. Or tentacles. But Monica didn't think of them as tentacles, because that brought to mind a slimy octopus, and the aliens were anything but slimy. Really, they were more like rubbery, with a hide/skin/whatever that felt like a rubber bladder that had been pumped up with too much air. But not bulbous like that. Just more like the texture.
They were the color of Idaho potatoes, if potatoes grew to the size of a 7-foot tall man. They didn't have eyes like potatoes, or any eyes at all. Or a face, for that matter. It was impossible to tell if one was facing toward you or away from you. But since they spoke right into your mind, it didn't really seem to matter.
Their most striking feature, though, were the appendages. That's what Monica called them. Though others insisted on tentacles. Each alien might have any number of them pushing out from any point on the body. They seemed to spring forth as needed, and might hang around or simply be withdrawn into the body. Each appendage was extremely dexterous, capable of taking on any shape at will, from the most precise pinpoint to the heaviest hammer. An appendage could curl, grasp, blow, suck, vibrate, envelop, pinch, or create nearly any other motion, and could also accomplish several at once. The appendages were as versatile as the quicksilver robot in the Terminator movies, with the added attraction of being real. They were omni-dexterous. And omni everything else, as well.
Rosa's first questions went well. She asked them of the alien, who replied in the mind of an on-camera actor, who repeated the answers word for word to the global audience. Then Rosa asked the question, "What puzzles you most about humans?"
Monica clearly remembered the way the coy look on Rosa's face had turned to something else. Amazement. And then lust. And suddenly she was pulling her red dress off, ripping the fabric when the zipper got stuck. And frantically yanking her silky French bra off, revealing the succulent breasts that so many viewers had longed to see. And just as frantically pulling down her panties to reveal her perfectly trimmed pussy. And was that cunt juice already appearing on the outside of her pussy lips, glistening in the studio lights as the camera suddenly zoomed in on her sex?
To the disbelieving eyes of billions around the world, Rosa spread her legs wide and propped them on the edge of the chair, offering herself to the alien like a common household slut. And the cameras followed every move, the operators clearly under the same control as their esteemed anchor.
Monica later heard that what happened next caused many people to vomit suddenly in extreme disgust. But also caused some men to cum right in their pants, without a single moment of stimulation. And created an explosive orgasm for a wide number of women throughout the world.
As for Monica, she remembered a moment of shock, then dismay, then total fascination as the alien thrust one of his rubbery appendages directly into Rosa's gaping cunt, eliciting a scream of ecstasy that reverberated throughout the studio. The cameras caught every raw motion as the appendage plunged into her slit, and then two tendrils grew from the top of the appendage and proceeded to fold her pussy lips apart, revealing her juice-soaked pink and throbbing clit. You could see the tentacle twisting and turning beneath the skin, clearly exploring every crevice of the woman's womb, while Rosa sobbed, whimpered and panted with unbearable pleasure.
As her cunt was being screwed, powerfully but awkwardly, another tentacle stretched from the alien and captured her breast. Monica had a recording of The Interview on DVD, and often played and replayed the breast part while masturbating to the erotic and disturbing images. Upon reaching Rosa's perfect breast, the appendage shriveled into a thin, pliant snake, as small and delicate as the tendril of a bean plant. This wrapped once around the base of Rosa's shuddering breast, then proceeded to spiral upwards, wrapping itself all the way around about once every half inch. Finally it reached the peak, the tendril's tip wavering over her nipple like a snake about to strike. Then it did, widening and thickening until it was big enough to encapsulate her whole areola and nipple. When the end began to pulse, as if it was sucking on her nipple, Rosa gave out another scream of pleasure, while the camera captured the scene in high definition.
With the same deliberate movements, another appendage formed and grasped her other breast, the end eventually suctioning on her other nipple too. With a thick tentacle inside her cunt and two thin ones caressing and sucking her tits, Rosa was clearly aware of nothing but the intense sensations exploding through her body. Her lips pulled back in a rictus of pleasure mixed with pain, and her moans, grunts and cries were almost inhuman in nature.
Then, without warning, using the appendage stuffed deep inside her cunt, the alien lifted her out of the chair and hoisted her into the air, so that she was perched upright on the alien arm inside her body. Her screams of pleasure turned to anguish as pain ripped through her. The alien reacted immediately, sending out new appendages to help support her weight along her legs and buttocks. Tits wrapped in tendrils, nipples being sucked, firm flesh thrust inside her, her sweat-soaked body trembled incessantly as orgasm after orgasm rippled through her.
Monica had found herself holding her breath, her fingers involuntarily massaging her own pussy as she watched the spectacle on the screen. It was better than any porn flick, better than watching a human couple fuck on stage, as she'd done in Amsterdam during one vacation. It was raw. It was powerful. It was exotic. And it was violent. Monica had sworn to herself that she'd be in Rosa's position at the end of an alien appendage one day. Screaming, crying and yes, maybe even fainting.
Rosa hadn't fainted, however. Maybe she'd wanted to. But more likely, the physical pleasures had overwhelmed any feelings of modesty. Even when the alien flipped her over, revealing her firm and sexy butt. And she'd barely reacted when another tendril runner from the alien entered her butt crack, tickled her anus, then smoothly slid inside. It was only after the tendril began to thicken, harden and revolve did Rosa's insistent and unending cries of pleasure again rend the air. Soon the shaft in her ass was as thick as a man's arm. And, coupled with the appendage thrusting in and out of her swollen cunt, it seemed as though a dozen snakes were writhing inside her two fuckholes.
The alien continued to explore her holes for several minutes, sometimes holding her parallel to the floor, sometimes sitting upright, sometimes at a weird angle. It was during one of these manipulations that Monica noticed a white liquid oozing from Rosa's tightly packed pussy. Had the alien cum inside her? Was she going to have an alien baby? What were the rules for interspecies intercourse?
Gently but deliberately, the alien lowered the spent woman to the floor, its appendages slowly withdrawing from her body. Standing tall over her, it suddenly shot stream after stream of white liquid up and down her body, like a bukakke film in overdrive. Monica got it then, though much of the viewing audience didn't. That wasn't alien reproductive liquids. It was simply what the aliens had seen in their study of human sexuality, provided by all the porn sites on the internet. First you fuck her, and then you shoot jizz all over her face and body. They were just replicating what they'd seen on film.
Scientists later corroborated her theory. The jizz they shot out of those appendages was mostly salt water, made white and viscous with some added enzymes. Highly unlikely to create alien babies. But it made for an impressive money shot.
The alien had disappeared then, leaving Rosa a wreck on the floor of her studio, her hair in disarray, her body streaked with fake alien cum, her skin flushed and sweaty from the thorough fucking she'd received. She'd gone into hiding after that. Some said she was holed up in the mountains. Others that she'd committed suicide after her humiliating episode on live TV. Still others said she'd become a sex slave of the aliens, one of only a few Earth women capable of giving them pleasure. Monica didn't really care. She had her own visitor to worry about.
Monica noticed motion on the front porch, and her spirits rose and then fell as she realized that it wasn't her expected guest. Instead, it was one of the spectators, men from the neighborhood or god knew where else who were somehow called to witness these visitations. This one was leering at her, his hand in his pocket moving up and down, already stroking his cock in advance of the main event. Another joined him, pantomiming how he'd like to fuck her. She smiled and wiggled her body, dancing like a stripper, caressing her breasts and showing her ass. She didn't mind if they watched, as long as they stayed on that side of the window. And as long as they didn't presume that they could have her when her Visitor wasn't around. That wasn't likely, though. Who would want to mess with a species that had that much power?
She was just about to put on another ass-waggling show for the men crowding the window when she felt her arms and legs constrained in a vice-like grip. Four alien appendages, soft and rubbery, were locked around her wrists and ankles, holding her as still as if she'd been encased in ice. She tensed despite knowing that he'd be coming for her. The touch upon her skin felt so... so... unmistakably alien, that her fight or flight instincts always fired off. In this case, she couldn't have run or fought if she wanted to. And she definitely didn't want to.
Monica wasn't sure why the aliens had selected her for this duty, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with her pussy. She'd always been able to squeeze it real tight around a cock Like tight enough to be painful to those men who couldn't stay hard the whole time. And when she started to orgasm, her pussy would spasm on its own, squeezing whatever was inside it with such rhythmic ferocity that anything caught in its grip would be milked mercilessly. And it was entirely involuntary. Which was why so many men went to such lengths to make sure she got off. She never knew how the aliens caught on to her special talent. But they had. And they enjoyed it.
The first time had been as clumsy as the pillaging of Rosa, more slam than bam, and no thank you ma'am. But as they practiced, the aliens got better at raping earth women, and better at deciding which ones would simply put up with it, and which would be active participants. Her first time, she'd been in the kitchen making dinner when the alien popped into place beside her. She'd stood there, shocked into stillness, as the alien arms slid under her clothing, exploring her body with all the subtleness of an adolescent boy. But when one tentacle latched onto her right nipple and began suckling it, she almost swooned. By the time another appendage began simultaneously massaging her clit and g-spot, the pleasure was so intense she began to wail, and couldn't spread her legs far enough apart. Her orgasm and subsequent spasmodic cunt had pleasured the alien enough that he'd grown dozens of extraneous tentacles and had literally showered her with sticky white jizz, leaving globs and rivers of it in her hair and dripping down her body.