(An alien invasion story)
>> I want to thank Voyer for his contributions and for having the patience to edit this.
>> The descriptions of the cat suits were inspired by the recent Reebok commercials for “Easy Tone” apparel. (Am I the only one that finds the idea of posture reinforcing workout apparel erotic?)
>> My “Kinky Kendra” character was lovingly inspired by Kendra Jade, since I wrote most of this during her “VH1 celebrity rehab” era. I also pictured Reba McEntire when I created the “Red” character. (Yes, I know…). But you can picture and imagine whoever you want them to be...
[You can read Chapter 1 here, Chapter 2 here, Chapter 3 here, Chapter 4 here, Chapter 5 here, and Chapter 6 here. ]
Thursday morning at 0600, and the order comes down from above. In less than five minutes, a group of well-rested shock troopers have gathered in a darkened field behind a defunct processing plant. Forty-one Orion soldiers quickly form ranks, before coming to attention in front of the ship commander and their revered Princess Theramea.
The judgmental leaders study their troops with trained eyes. Each member of the unit stares blankly ahead, their sleek wireless communicators blinking at their ears. And although these soldiers’ eyes are vacantly dull, there isn’t a single unshaven face or even an errant hair to be found in the entire company. Displaying an immaculate appearance during battle wasn’t a personal choice; it had been ingrained since birth.
The males have their identical black “bowl-style” haircuts trimmed with flawless precision. Each one of them is attired in charcoal gray coveralls - so clean and so crisp, that they almost appear to be starched. Even more numerous are the females whom stand at attention among their male compatriots. All of these women share a homogenous “hair slicked back and swooped into a bun” appearance. Each one is attired in a one-piece, light gray cat suit that fits snug to her body. Breaking the sleek lines of each one of their lithe forms is a trusty utility belt that hangs loose from their hips. At each side is a holstered suspender weapon that’s fully charged. Both genders sport black, over-the-calf combat boots that are impeccably polished to a radiant shine.
Princess Theramea approaches the nearest of the soldiers who stand at attention. The decorated warrior studies the trooper’s equipment first, before looking even closer at her attire. The entire uniform - from head to toe, was engineered to tone and strengthen both upper and lower body muscles. The catsuit itself has interwoven elastic bands that reinforce perfect posture and body alignment. The high-heeled boots each wears are engineered to strengthen the glutes and key leg muscles. All are designs that the princess conceived herself and is quite proud of.
…Theramea cracks a devilish grin.
- If the uniforms don’t give them perfect posture, the communicators surely will.
The warrior’s steely stare crosses the blank gaze of the woman before her. An errant hand drops down and long black nails drag across the soldier’s thigh, slightly catching on the stretchy material. A brief moment later, said hand not so accidentally dips in between stiffened thighs to cup the spandex imprint of the trooper’s cleft.
Theramea flashes a faint smile, seemingly satisfied enough to move on. She squares herself with the next trooper in line, and subjects a male to the same intense scrutiny as the female. After briefly inspecting “his goods” the princess turns back to Captain Kiyar with a pleased expression...
“Very nice work, captain. …You may now proceed.”
Captain Kiyar then turns to an awaiting lieutenant beside him, and grants a nod to begin the daily ritual.
In Orionspeak the captain’s subordinate calls out, “At my command, platoon atteeeen-tion!”
…All forty-one soldiers bolt upright with heels clacking together, and with feet at an angle of forty-five degrees. Their hands are pressed tight to their sides; necks back, chins in, chests thrusting out - communicators buzzing in their ears.
“Company leeeft face!” The entire company turns sharply to the left, their heads held high. “At double-arm interval, dress right, dress!”
…The echo of the lieutenant’s instructions, reach far beyond the edge of the darkened field. In the shadowy distance, some grazing deer raise their heads from the tall wheat-grass. Their ears nervously twitch back and forth.
As his lieutenant continues to bark out orders, Kiyar surveys his troops with pride. And as those soldiers march around the grassy field before him, the captain finds himself reflecting back on all the grooming and mental conditioning that got them here. Programming technicians had even gone so far as to create a special software package to mass upload into outgoing Orion forces. Appropriately titled “Human Studies”, the custom software contains countless video clips, sound bites and one-liners - all electronically collected from pop-culture from around the Earth. A second, much more thorough program called “Human Studies II” was then devised, in the event that troops had to recreate human speech, gesticulations or other such mannerisms. And now, to see those very same troops marching around in perfectly timed cadence, and knowing that their reprogramming is complete, Kiyar has no doubt that they are thoroughly prepared for their upcoming mission.
Still looking on beside the him, Princess Theramea mentally scans the captain’s mind and states: “Years of painstaking research and relentless experimentation have brought us to this very point, captain. What we are witnessing is ultimate perfection; genetically engineered soldiers programmed to obey our every whim, and bred to withstand the cruelest punishment that our enemies can deliver. …They will be unstoppable.”
Kiyar flashes his bleached-white teeth. “…And if the spoils of Earth go to the victor, I believe the odds will surely be in our favor.”
The princess expels a confidant laugh, as the unit makes yet another rotation around the field in front of her. The sight of so many marching along in unison, with their minds completely under control, and the simple fact that any one of them would obey her without question, makes Theramea’s clit throb right then and there. The aroused leader muses beneath her breath, “Marvelous, simply maaarvelous…”
Kiyar glances over at the princess and recognizes the look. The captain then clears his throat and advises, “I suggest that we dispense with these gratuitous demonstrations and get down to the business at hand, shall we?”
The princess breaks out of her light trance and displays a disappointed expression, “You always seem to spoil my fun, captain.”
Just then, a teenage cadet in stretchy white garb steps out from the shadows. Theramea is the first to acknowledge the young woman’s presence and she hungrily licks her blood-red lips…
- Mmm, some fresh meat!
The young cadet gives a quick bow to her superiors before warning, “Captain, the Great Queen is about to send her transmission.”
Kiyar gives an appreciative nod and says, “Very well, Nia.”
As the captain and the cadet turn 180 degrees to face the screen, Theramea checks out the young woman’s sculpted backside…
- A nice little tush that’s gift-wrapped in stretch polyester and Elastane Spandex! - Oh how yummy!
…The unknowing cadet innocently shifts her weight from one hip to the other, before coming straight to attention and with her hands at her sides.
Theramea cracks a devilish smile. - Thatta girl!
Towering above the “powers that be” is a monstrous 150-inch plasma screen that’s mounted on a rolling carriage. The monitor blinks to life just as the troops are returning to their parade formations. They quickly halt in place as Queen Admira’s smiling visage appears upon the screen...
The order “All hail the queen!” rings throughout the field and four standing rows of soldiers immediately bow forward. When they complete their bow, all four rows arise in unison to beat their chest with a resounding thud!
After receiving the Royal Salute, Queen Admira briefly scans over the troops. Before her is nothing more than a faceless sea of green-flesh and spandex. Yet this mass would be the very force that would carry out the latest mission. And although not the most dangerous mission they’d ever taken on, it would surely be just as important as any. And as the twilight begins to illuminate the horizon just beyond these courageous souls, the queen can’t help but smile. Without a doubt, this is going to be a glorious day for battle…
The queen looks to Kiyar and compliments, “Impressive, captain, veeeery impressive! …In all my years among Orion’s ranks, I have never seen a more splendid display.”
The captain replies, “Well thank you, your highness. And I’m glad that you can join us on such a momentous occasion.”
“Yes, well…enough of the niceties, captain. Let’s get on with it…”
“But of course, my queen.”
Queen Admira clears her throat and begins, “My fellow Orions, I shall make this briefing short. We are gathered here today to carry out a mission. The goal of this mission is to successfully execute a full-scale raid and substantially build our human female storage quota. In order to ensure that success, I will furnish you with my very own daughter - a very fearless and accredited warrior in her own right.”
…A brief pause, as Theramea graciously bows.
Admira continues, “…And as you charge into battle, I shall leave you with this: The mare may be strong, and fleet of foot, but it is the rider who retains the controls. Control is of most importance to the collective. We control your surroundings. We control your minds, your desires and your destiny. And we shall control the humans, just as we control each and every one of you. Just imagine the honor of passing along that same privilege to so many others. Now go forth into battle and represent the collective with pride!”
As the queen’s image fades from view, Captain Kiyar risks a small eye-roll and thinks “Was a pep-talk really necessary when they’ve been so deeply conditioned their entire lives?”
Catching this, Theramea replies aloud, “Sometimes mother likes to “tighten up the reins” so-to-speak.” The princess then pulls on a pair of fingerless gloves that are black and made of leather. As she cinches up the pull straps she orders, “Now take me to your bridge…”
The Road Trip . . .
It’s a hot summer evening in July. Four Harley Davidsons are thundering down U.S. 75, in a 2 x 2 formation. The constant grinding of fat rubber tires, along with the crisp sound of crackling exhaust pipes, creates an alluring mechanical drone. As the roaring choppers cross over the Shawnee County line, one of the riders lets out a rebel yell in total liberation.
A portly man called ‘Pig Pen’ breaks formation and drifts in behind the lead bike. Coming along for the ride on the back of his sinister black Harley, is a gritty young blonde sporting corn rolls and the nickname of Softail. Often referred to as “Pig’s old lady,” at nineteen years is in fact, not that very old, and her ass is just as firm as any.
The loudest outburst comes from the silver “V-Rod” up ahead. It’s a bestial machine, with an equally tough-looking broad straddling its powerful engine. The bare curves of ‘Kinky Kendra’s’ shapely hips are visually appealing, and her hunched-forward position only further complements the rakish design of the bike.
Pig Pen is enjoying this enticing view, just as he has been for the last several hours. The bearded fifty two-year-old can’t help but smile at the way Kendra’s black thong is creeping up out of the back of her fringed leather pants! . . . Better than witnessing the crack of dawn, he silently muses…
Just behind Pig Pen are two more Harleys: a Wide Glide and a Sportster. On the ‘Glide is a guy named ‘Pappy’ - the eldest of the tribe. Pappy is a sixty two-year-old man, who’s widely known for dating women less than half his age. Enter his latest conquest: a twenty one-year-old, long-legged stripper called ‘Lickety-Split’ - (now riding on the back). Traveling on the candy-apple-red Sportster beside them, are ‘Big Jim’ and a woman nicknamed Red. (A handle that was only most appropriate, due to her slightly thinning, but deep red locks). Red was often the one that kept the other gals in line, and the closest thing to a mother figure they’d ever had. Thus, she is also sometimes referred to as ‘Ma.’
The four Harleys blow past a billboard sign with a furious roar. That same billboard advertises their final destination:
“Hawg Fest 2010 - JULY 2nd thru the 5th, Indian Creek Fairgrounds”
Camping . Vendors . Live music . Bikini Contests
“What else do you have to do this weekend?”
Softail squeezes her tanned arms just a little tighter around Pig Pen’s ever-expanding beer belly. The young blonde then yells to her partner against the wind, “Did you see that sign babe?” . . . (The excited rider starts to bounce her rump up and down on the seat, causing the heavy bike to slightly wobble).
The big man shouts back over his shoulder, “Yeah, it ain’t that much further up the road. Jest set 'cher cute 'lil ass down, darlin' …We’ll be thar before ya' know it!”
Hawg Fest arrival . . .
True to Pig Pen’s word, the Nebraskans arrive at Indian Creek around 7:00 PM. It was now seventy degrees outside, and the sun was just starting to sink below the horizon. The beautiful sunset created a picturesque view for the new arrivals.
The two-lane highway leading into the old fairgrounds was already jam-packed with people making their way into the rally. The festivities for the four-day event would include: the motorcycle showcase; live concerts; burnout contests; bikini contests; and some very serious partying.
Softail can already see the bright lights ahead. Her heart starts beating a little faster in anticipation. The neon lights on the peak of the bar, are the very first to come into sight. Red, blue, pink, green - nearly all the colors of the rainbow are shining brightly in the darkening summer sky.
Finally, (after what seemed like hours to Softail’s mind), the Nebraskans pull into the festival grounds. They can already hear the music thumping in the distance, and it sounds great from even this far away. With Pig Pen now leading the way, the group turns into a spacious field and rolls into a sea of shining chrome, greasy hair and black leather. Loud pipes crackle everywhere, as numerous bikers jockey their rides around in search of the perfect parking spot. The air smells of freshly mowed wheat, burning cannabis and high-test fuel.
Softail is the first to slide off the back of her old man’s Harley. The other riders soon park and dismount as well…
Kinky Kendra kicks the stand down on her heavy V-Twin and steps off to the side. She unhooks her chinstrap and removes the helmet, before shaking loose a full head of jet-black hair. The hard-looking woman combs her fingers through her mane in a nonchalant manner and asks in a smoke-tinged voice, “Any of you fuckers got a light?”
From just beside her, Red assures, “Yeah, I got one…”
The forty-five-year-old flips a Zippo lighter open and flicks a light. A soft glow begins to illuminate the sunken planes of Kendra’s cheeks. The tough biker continues to take a long deep drag off of the cigarette, before blowing a thick cloud of smoke out into the air.
*Phweooooo - …“Thanks Ma, I really needed that…”
Red replies, “You bet, sweetie,” before lighting up a Winston of her own.
In the background, Lickety-Split finishes running a brush through her wind-blown hair. The stripper waits for her sixty two-year-old lover to take off his WWII German helmet, before leaning in to give him a long and loving kiss.
Meanwhile, Softail can’t wait to get into the festival. The young woman urges, “Come on Daddy!” before pulling on one of Pig Pen’s tattooed arms. “One of the bands is already up there playin!”
“All-fuckin’-right already!” complains the biker before warding the girl off with one of his big meaty hands. He then goes on to grumble, “Why don’t cha jest go on ahead n' enjoy the show…”
“But where are you going?”
The burly biker replies, “I’m headin' over to the bar to grab me a brew n' catch-up with some old friends.”
Softail puts on her best “pouting face” and whines, “But I thought we were gonna dance at the concert?”
“Nah, I aint dancin’ to that shit.”
Softail stomps her boots on the ground like a six-year-old girl throwing a tantrum.
Luckily, the big guy has a big heart as well. Pig Pen whips out a thick roll of cash, peels off a couple of fifties, and then stuffs them in his girlfriend’s hand. “Now you jest go ahead n’ enjoy yerself, sweetie - Jest stay outta trouble.”
Softail jumps up on the tiptoes of her leather boots and wraps her arms around the biker’s thick neck. She French-kisses the guy right then and there…
…Pig-pen reciprocates with a big ole grab of her tight little ass.
By now, the rest of the crew has caught up with the pair. Pappy, Big Jim, Red and Kendra have all decided to join Pig Pen at the bar. Lickety-Split and Softail would go into the concert by themselves.
Softail grabs Lickety’s hand, and the pair look at each other with starry-eyed excitement. It was as if they’d been transformed into two little teenyboppers, and they were going to their very first concert…
“I heard that ‘Blade’ is closing the show tonight!” Softail exclaims. She then lowers her voice to add; “I think the lead singer is sooo hot!”
Lickety disagrees. “Nah, the drummer is waaaay hotter!”
As the group makes their way toward the line of people getting stamped at the entrance, they can already smell the alluring scent of barbecue and chicken wings, and Kinky Kendra is already eyeing some deeply tanned biker chick who’s waiting just outside. The bleached-white blonde is bending over in a pair of faded Levis, and proudly buffing her old man’s Harley. Kendra cracks a road-weary smile and reflects, there’s nothing finer than a pair of faded Levis that are packed just right!
Meanwhile, Red had other concerns on her mind. The “mother hen” turns to warn; “Now before you two go and run off… Softail, you mind your manners; and Lickety, you best be sure to keep an eye on this lil' gal.”
“Yes ma’m . . . Ya'll know us girls just wanna have fun!”
Red returns, “Yeah, that’s what worries me. …Now I don’t wanna hear bout no fightin' …And stay clear of that tequila, ya' hear?”
Pappy taps his girlfriend on the ass just to get her attention. The old man nods his head and suggests, “You heard her baby. …Now ya'll go ahead n’ run along.”
The stripper blows Pappy a kiss, before Softail pulls her off into the crowd…
The Hawg Pit . . .
The sign outside proclaims the place as ‘Tha Hawg Pit.’ A pair of identical neon signs with the naked silhouettes of two seated ladies glows on either side of the wording. The erotic symbols are affixed to the building’s upper-most peak, making it perfectly clear that this isn’t your typical neighborhood bar.
Out in front of the building is a go-go dancer wearing shiny-red boots and a dangerously short mini-skirt. Although undeniably cute, the chesty female has gaudy make-up and is doused in cheap perfume. She appears to be the one in charge of beckoning customers to come inside for a peek . . .
“Come on in guys and dolls! We got Jell-O shots and other drink specials . . . Lots of great hot food for those of you that just came in from the road . . . There’s a lot of cool biker giveaways too, including ‘Tha Hawg Pit’ T-shirts, tanks and g-stings. Everyone that enters tonight gets themselves a complimentary “welcome shooter” at each bar! …And don’t forget our stable full of beautiful barmaids and waitresses, fellas! …We got white pussy, black pussy, Spanish pussy, Asian pussy! We even got some velvet pussy in there! You all know how the saying goes! So come on in - They’re all in here and waiting to serve you!”
As the rest of the group pass by and step inside, Pappy stops to give the gal a great big hug. As he leans in, his hand sneaks down to grab her tush. The girl playfully smacks the old man on the arm and says, “You’re baaad!” before she pulls away and leaves him with a smile…
Inside the saloon, two dozen or so little round tables are clustered around the main bar, which is elliptical in design. The room is dimly lit by numerous neon signs, as well as by hundreds of little colored bulbs that hang throughout the wooden rafters. The place is already packed with customers that are eager to be served, and drunken ones alike. The smell of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume and hard liquor permeates the air…
Kinky Kendra takes a good look around the bar, noticing that the place is literally infested with hot females. Initially fatigued from her long-distance ride, she can’t help but smile at the delightful sight…
… First there are the biker chicks. Some are dressed in tight leather pants and studded vests, while others wear cut-off tops and faded Levis. Looks vary from teased up hair and perfect make up, to au' naturale and greasy. There are tattoos nearly everywhere you look, ranging from richly detailed, to vibrantly colored. Some of these women hold on tight to their silver haired bikers, while the rest saunter around in an attempt to attract everyone’s attention!
…Then of course there are the bartenders and waitresses. Some of them are dressed in bikini tops and booty-shorts, while others sport Daisy-Dukes and T-shirts that are tied off at the middle. Some are mixing and pouring drinks, as they lean over the bar in an attempt to hear their customers. A select few are dancing erotically on top of the bar with an assortment of dollar bills hanging from their waistlines.
Kendra’s pulse begins to race from all the excitement in the air. She watches from afar, as the bartenders bump and twist their sexy bodies around each other, in a frantic effort to serve their anxious customers. The biker subconsciously bites her lower lip, as she revels in the momentary sense of voyeurism. She’s well aware of what kind of effect the almighty dollar has on a small-town mid-western gal. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and few things hold such weight as filling up the tip jar by the end of the night...
– I’m liken’ this place already!
“Hey, I’ll catch up with ya’ll later,” says Kendra, before she parts ways with her group. From over her shoulder the woman hears, “Don’t do anything to those gals that I wouldn’t do!… He-he-he-he!”
…The comment came from Pappy, the sixty-two-year-old womanizer.
The leather-clad biker saunters on up to the bar and stops just beside a pair of nicely toned legs. (Those legs had just finished dancing around to a southern beat in 4-inch- spiked red heels). At this very moment, the jukebox is changing over. Molly Hatchet’s ‘Flirtin' with Disaster’ gives way to the burbling intro to White Zombie’s ‘More Human Than Human’ . . . The sound snippet of a woman moaning in ecstasy against the backdrop of screeching guitars, quickly sets the mood...
A heavy backbeat that’s coupled with a vicious electronic groove is enough to send the bikini-bodied blonde into motion. Her swaying young body is seductive enough to draw Kendra’s hungry stare away from her strapped high heels on the bar top. The biker’s deep brown eyes scan over the curvaceous humps of the woman’s calves, before wandering even further upward. Those eyes come to a rest on the recently tramp-stamped ass, now gyrating in a rhythmic grinding motion, just inches above her head.
All the while, the dancer hypnotically sways in time to the electronic-metallic beat:
- I am the Astro-Creep, a demolition style - hell American Freak.
- I am the crawling dead - a phantom in a box, the shadow in yo' head.
. . . More human than human, more human than hu - men.
The biker takes in the intoxicating vision of the female’s heavenly body, now twisting and turning about, as she slides her crotch up and down the vertical pole before her. It wasn’t long before Kendra began to imagine being that pole and enjoying all that undivided attention…
“Hey there, can I get you something?”
Kendra lets out an extended sigh, as she studies the gal’s two-piece. It was designed with the artwork from the American Flag, with red and white vertical stripes on the bottom, and a sprinkling of white stars over a blue background on top. The vibrant colors looked even more vivid against the female’s deeply tanned skin.
– Mmm, talk about the stars and stripes forever! …Who would’ve ever thought the American flag could be so sexy?
“Hey… you in the leather! …Do you want a drink or not?”
…Kendra finally snaps out of her daydream, only to find a cute brunette in a sexy “cow-girl” get-up. The young woman is leaning to one side of the dancer’s legs, and staring at her with an annoyed expression.
“I asked you if you wanted a drink . . . I do have other customers…”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kendra apologizes. She then tosses her dark hair back from her face in slight embarrassment. “I was a little - ya’ know - caught up in the moment!” (Laughs).
The bartender nods her head and flashes a quick smile in understanding. She then asks, “So what’ll it be, sweetie?”
“Why don’t cha make my “shot on the house” a tequila, and I’ll take a J.D. and coke along with it - Go heavy on the JD, if you would… it’s been a long day.”
“You got it…”
As the bartender turns to get Kendra’s drinks, the biker checks out her exposed backside. - Hmm; open-ended chaps with a tiny lil' G-string, and a perky lil' ass to boot. Some pretty impressive ink work on her tramp-stamp too . . . Me likey - likey!
The biker continues to scan over the cowgirl, along with the rest of the dozen or so hot waitresses who are working the main bar. - Damn! Talk about heaven on earth!
Cowgirl waitress returns with the drinks a moment later; Kendra pays for her J.D. and coke and comments, “Those are some nice six-shooters ya' got there!”
The bartender smiles at Kendra’s compliment and the reasonable tip that followed, before sexily sauntering away...
Kendra slams her tequila down with one tilt of the head. The biker bangs the empty shot glass back on the bar top, before shaking the after-effects out of her head...
- Damn, that’s some good shit!
Kendra then turns her attention back to the jiggling sashays of the aspiring dancer, whom is still above and to the left. The biker soon considers:
…This one has to be a wannabe. If she’s the real deal, then this gal must’ve just started. She doesn’t have that “broken in” appearance that most of us dancers (whether former or current) surely have. This one still looks young, wholesome and full of hope. To her own credit, the girl has some good moves! …Blondie’s spine and hips are swiveling in perfect harmony to whatever this song is that’s currently playing. - I wasn’t quite sure what it was, myself. …I just remember being partial to the Crüe, back in the day.
Arrrgh! - Now her ass is gyrating around in front of... some seasoned-looking biker. The old guy is in his late fifties, judging by the wrinkled skin and his balding, silver-lined hair. Looks like a complete slob too, with that frizzy and unkempt ponytail, and the beer gut that’s practically spilling over the waistband of his (ugh) greasy Wranglers. …Kinda looks to be an unlikely match to me, but with Blondie’s perky lil’ behind swaying just inches from his face, the forlorn biker looks like he’s in 7th heaven. I’ve never seen anyone look so blissful. It’s as if her little butt cheeks have somehow granted this slob some sort of eternal salvation!
- What a bunch of shit…
Kendra continues to watch with growing jealousy. However, that envy turns into complete despise, once the old man starts dumping his beer down the back of the female’s bikini. The young girl continues to dance away, with alcohol now splashing every which way over her perfectly toned body!
Kendra pounds down her rum and coke, before slamming the empty rock glass on top of the bar. She then turns in the direction of the old man and shouts over the blaring music, “Hey you there - Captain Asshole!”
…Unfortunately, Kendra’s comment falls on deaf ears.
- Hmm, time for a little more assertive action!
Kendra walks up to the drunken man with a swagger that reeks of attitude. ““Hey shit head, I’m talking to you!”
The drunken old biker turns his head and the gold caps on his front teeth reflect the bar lights from above. With a menacing sneer, the old man grumbles, “Whadda you just say ta me, bitch?”
“You heard me, you dirty prick. Now back away from the girl, and let her be…”
The girl that was dancing upon the bar had already slowed to a stop. She quickly warns, “It’s ok…I really don’t mind. …It’s just one of those things...”
That’s when Kendra warns, “Trust me hon, you don’t have to put up with this dirt bag pouring beer all over you.”
The burly biker tosses his emptied beer bottle to the ground and sizes Kendra up. “Well aren’t you a sassy little thang! …Maybe you’re overdue for a little attitude adjustment!”
…The guy draws his meaty fingers over his handlebar mustache, as if he is picturing just what he’d do to the woman’s body, right then and there. Whatever it is he’s envisioning, it’s not how it plays out...
The female biker whips out a switchblade and a six-inch cutting edge springs outward! Before her opponent even has time to react, Kendra’s sticks it right between his legs, and with the blade pressing into his sack!
“Now, if you ever plan to use these again, I suggest that you turn your fat-ass around and hit the road!… Ya' hear me?”
The enraged biker dude glowers at Kendra. After an intense moment, he slowly eases his balls away from the sharp knife. With a crooked smile showing on his face, the biker threatens, “I’m gonna git you, ya' stupid lil' bitch…I’m gonna git ya' if it’s the last thang ah do!”
By now, the confrontation has drawn quite a crowd. It isn’t long before Red pushes her way through the throng of people, in hopes of dragging her girl out of trouble.
“What the hell is wrong with you? . . . For Christ’s sake, put that damned thing away!”
Kendra quickly retracts the knife blade and slips it in the inner pocket of her leather jacket. That’s when she jokes, “Come on maw, I was just messin' with the ole fart!”
Red quickly assures, “Well I think you just proved that you haven’t lost your edge!” The older woman goes on to suggest, “Let’s head outside and get some fresh air, before they kick both of us outta here…”
Kendra shrugs her shoulders. “Yeah, probably not a bad idea.”
As the pair take a step toward the side door, Kendra turns her back and lets out a deafening two-fingered whistle. Once she attracts the young dancer’s attention, the biker goes on to yell, “Look me up sometime, sweetie…I promise that I’ll make it worth your while!”
The blonde dancer blows-off a kiss to the brazen biker, before swaying her hips on over to the next paying customer.
A moment later, the female bikers step outside of the Hawg Pit, leaving the blaring jukebox and the sound of clinking bar glasses, well behind them…
The concert scene . . .
As Kendra and Red shift their way through the crowd, they can’t help but joke at the limited possibility of finding the two younger women. Along with its size, the crowd sports an awful lot of diversity. There are bikers both young and old, of all shapes and sizes, and from all walks of life. Out here in the field, the sweet smell of burning cannabis, stale beer and freshly mowed wheat, fills the nighttime air. And even though the music has seemed to have briefly stopped, there is still an energetic vibe throughout. Every few seconds, somebody lets out a rebel yell, or blows out an ear-piercing whistle.
…You might say that the crowd was in “high spirits.”
Still working their way through the throngs of people, the sexy pair turns more than a few heads along the way...
Already on her slow descent into middle age, Reba “Red” McKinley could still attract attention from males of any age. She had an adorable face with a great smile and very expressive blue eyes. Her glorious red hair is cut just above her shoulders and feathers outwards all along the edges. And from her weighty breasts, to her well-rounded backside, this well-endowed forty six-year-old still has plenty of curves in all the right places!
On the other side of the spectrum is Red ’s young and athletically fit cohort: “Kinky” Kendra Ford. Born in the Deep South and abandoned at an early age, Kendra was shuffled from one orphanage to another. She defied authority, maintained very poor manners, and exhibited social ineptitude, resulting in a lack of any close friends. But in time, the troubled girl learned that she could get by on her good looks alone, (a character trait that she unknowingly inherited from her long-absent mother). From her cat-like deep brown eyes, to the high cheekbones that set off her full red lips, the thirty-three-year-old beauty had always possessed a rather exotic look. The hair on her head is shoe-polish black with burgundy streaks; its length cascades down the curve of her back in long tumbling waves. The leggy biker keeps her toned body in shape by kickboxing at the local gym, and by practicing vegetarianism.
Kendra struts through the crowd in fringed leather boots with confidence and ease. Her leather coat is tossed casually over her shoulder, revealing the tight black tank top beneath. The words, “40 grand and 40 miles, don’t make you a biker” are printed in white and stretched out over a pair of 34DD’s. …Down below, Kendra wears black leather pants that fit her like a glove. A single seam runs from the front to back, interrupting the look of liquid glass, while its “double-stitched” pattern further molds her already sculpted ass. A daring pattern of crisscross lacing starts at her upper hips and runs on down the length of both legs, exposing the sun-kissed skin beneath…
Now searching through the endless sea of faces, the eye-catching duo sees a well-endowed female with a body-painted bikini top. Kendra reaches out to pinch the woman’s arm and compliments, “I just LOVE IT, girl!”
…That brunette turns around with a beaming smile and jiggles her sizable melons about, before letting out a “WOO-WHOOOO!” for good measure!
A few feet further on ahead, Red recognizes a biker chick called ‘Big Mama’ and her old man ‘The Toad’ . . .
“Hey, I know you!… Sturgis, 96’!”
Big Mama turns around and shouts, “Oh my God!… Red, is that you?”
…The biker shrugs a “yeah” and extends her arms for a hug. The foursome immediately exchanges greetings, before sharing some brief stories about their experiences on the road. In due time, Red brings up the question, “Have you seen a purty nineteen year-old-blonde running around here? …She’s got corn rolls and a jean jacket, with ‘Softail’ sewn across the back…”
Big Mama starts to say no, but then the Toad replies, “Low-slung, hip-hugger jeans with the back pockets torn clear off?” . . . (Big Mama immediately gives her man a stern look, before smacking him upside the head!)
The Toad manages to duck a second swing, before pointing towards the stage and yelling, “Up there someplace towards the front!”
Kendra and Red yell out a “Thanks!” in unison, before squeezing their way towards the front of the stage…
The Wet T-shirt Contest . . .
As the two women get closer to the front of the crowd, they can see that the sound equipment is definitely top notch. The stage setup is perfect: two raised platforms of an equal size stand side-by-side. While a band is playing on one stage, another group can set up their gear on the other. This means no dead air, and no distance to walk in between sets. However, there are no bands playing on either of the stages at the present moment.
It doesn’t take very long for the gals to figure out what the hold-up is all about.
A pudgy looking man with a ZZ Top beard and braided ponytail begins yelling into a mic, getting the crowd all fired up. Standing just behind him, is a row of scantily clad women. Some look like true hard-core biker chicks, while others appear to be exotic dancers, (judging by their platform high heels, the perfect make up and overly teased-out hair).
“Alright ladies and gents,” shouts the MC. “The Hawg Pit Saloon is proud to present the first of our qualification rounds for Miss Hawg Fest 2010 . . . Are you ready?”
– The crowd yells back a meager “Yeah!” in anticipation.
The MC questions, “Ohhh come on people, is that the best you can do? …I can’t even hear you out there! …Now I said ARE YOU READY?”
– The crowd yells back even louder this time.
The MC continues his appeal, “Can I at least get a HELL YEAH?”
– The crowd returns with a thundering “HELL YEAH!”
“Alright, I think these hotties heard it that time! So let’s get this party started, people!”
As the crowd continues to applaud below, the MC gives the DJ a nod. Taking his cue, the disc jockey cranks up ‘!’ by Motley Crüe. The dozen or so contestants begin to strut their stuff back and forth across the stage. Several of the more talented and brazen girls start amping-up the crowd from the get-go; some perform handstands with their legs spread wide, while others do leg-splits on the stage floor and start popping their booties!
Not to be up-staged by their fellow “professional” contestants, several of the biker babes strike erotic poses and start playing up the crowd as well!
From down below, the on-looking biker dudes, (as well as some of the women), continue to hoot and holler in full appreciation!
Kinky Kendra is so caught up in the flurry of gyrating body parts, that she nearly misses the tug on the back of her tank top…
A voice shouts from behind, “Heya, Kinky; do you see something you like up there?”
Kendra and Red both turn in unison, to find Softail standing right behind them.
Red immediately hollers, “Where in the hell have you been? …We’ve been looking all over for you two!”
The corn-rolled blonde replies, “Oh Ma, we was jest havin' us sum fun!”
Kendra looks around in the crowd surrounding them before asking, “Where’s your girl Lickety at?”
Softail excitedly points and yells, “Right up there on the stage!”
Sure as the night divides the day, Lickety Split is up there on stage at front and center, and giving it all she has. The twenty-year-old brunette is amazingly gymnastic; turning and twisting her near-naked body, while being careful not to wiggle herself right off the edge of the stage. In one particularly shameless move, the stripper bends forward - keeping her legs locked straight, just to show her splendid backside to the roaring crowd. Her tiny G-string bottom doesn’t fully cover the area between her legs, and she gives a revealing “parted-lips” view to the onlookers in the front row!
By now, stagehands are already making the rounds and lining the competitors up for their impending dose of ice-cold water. One-by-one, the willing contestants get doused, and their breasts magically come into view!
Kinky Kendra is watching a peroxide blonde with deeply-tanned skin with particular interest. She’s wearing a white T-shirt that says, “Real women ride men with Harleys!”
…When they pour water over the front of her body, Kendra can see that she has the most perfectly formed breasts. The contestant’s nipples are the size of silver dollars, and they strain against the translucent white material of her shirt!
From just beside Kendra, Softail yells out, “Come on, Lickety! - Start jiggling them twins and win this crowd over!”
As if on cue, the stripper grabs her jugs through her shirt, and suggestively jiggles them around a few times to the whistling delight of the crowd!
By now, all of the contestants are soaked to the bone. Some start tearing their shirts completely off, while others are only willing to flash their boobs or their asses for the crowd. The cheering mob has been worked up into such a frenzy, that they fail to see a series of lights that are approaching in the sky…
With one exception; Red has been looking around and laughing at the frenzied onlookers, and just enjoying the excitement. It is totally by chance that she glances skyward, and sees the approaching lights. She turns to Kendra beside her and tugs at her arm.
“Hey, check out those freaky lights up in the sky.”
Kendra turns her head in a rather nonchalant manner, but then a look of curiosity quickly spreads across her face…
“What in the hell…?”
Softail turns her head too, just to see what the fuss is all about. She looks to the sky to where Kendra and Ma were pointing and suggests, “Maybe it’s one of the headliners flying in.”
Red replies, “In something that size? . . . That looks waaay too big to be a helicopter, kiddo!”
By now, some of the folks surrounding the women had turned to look at the sky just as well. Completely drowned out by the roaring approval from the wet T-shirt contest, no one could hear their distressing comments, nor see their growing looks of concern.
At first, the foreign object appears as nothing more than a grainy rectangular shape against the darkened sky. But as the unfamiliar craft draws nearer, viewers could start to make out the individual white lights that illuminated its profile.
– And then there was the sound.
…The ship makes a rumbling noise as it continues its approach. It isn’t necessarily loud, but the low-frequency drone reverberates in the ground, and there is a certain sense of static electricity in the air. It sends a tingling sensation up and down your spine, while making the fine hairs on your arms stand on end.
Kinky Kendra turns to Red with an awkward expression, before raising her bare arm to the woman. The biker says, “Look at this shit! …I’m completely covered in goose bumps!”
Red replies, “I got a bad feeling about this!”
Up on the stage, the MC finally notices the peculiar craft. As the unknowing contestants continue to gyrate all around him, the man turns to stage left and raises his microphone to ask, “Hey Charlie, that supposed to be a some sort of new addition to the show, or what?”
…The dumbfounded promoter just shrugs his shoulders with a weak grin.
Then suddenly, the stage lights flicker and dim down low. The boisterous crowd grows nearly silent for a moment; their shouts of approval changing to a low murmur of questions and confusion…
Electromagnetic flux surges throughout the fairground’s electrical systems. Fuses in the power box begin to trip one-by-one. It isn’t long before one of the transformers blows up with a shower of brilliant blue-green sparks. The lights dim down even lower for a few brief seconds, and then the festival grounds go completely dark.
Like a group of fair-goers dropping from the highest peak of a rollercoaster, people begin to scream out in terror.
. . . It wouldn’t be dark for very long, though.
As the massive shadow continues to creep closer, something begins to lower from its underside. (One could see this by the marker lights, which are now blinking in the near total darkness). All the while, onlookers below the unseen object continue to point and shout in mass confusion.
– They have no idea just how much their lives are about to change.
At once, a brilliant explosion of light interrupts the darkness. With an intensity far more powerful than the most brightest of stage lights, the beam completely illuminates the eastern-most end of the fairgrounds. A series of “ooohs” and “aaahs” suddenly erupts from the dazzled crowd, as they point to the sky in awe. Many of those onlookers are raising cupped hands to their eyes, in an attempt to block out the glaring light.
From her own position within this crowd, Kendra winces her eyes and tries to follow the movements of the obscured object. Just off to her right, Red studies the same movements with growing concern…
“What in the hell is that thing?”
Kendra quickly confesses, “I don’t know, but that’s the most fucking obnoxious light that I’ve ever seen!”
The pair continues to watch in awe, as the shadowy object slows to a stop at the edge of the crowd. The mysterious craft then hovers there for an interminable moment; humming at low-idle, as if it is somehow sizing up the task at hand…
By now, many in the crowd are murmuring their theories about what the mysterious craft could be. Still others were raising their beer bottles, cans and plastic cups to either yell out a drunken salute, or jeer at the unwelcome intruder. A few throw their empties at the intruder. One tattooed female who’s heavily intoxicated, threatens to “flash” the unidentified object. Encouraged by her equally intoxicated friends, the brazen character yanks her top up. An impressive set of silicone tits quickly spring forth; their pierced nipples rising in the nighttime air. And as if that weren’t enough, she then begins to enthusiastically shake them about as she hops up and down!
“YEE-HEEEW! . . . How ya' like these puppies, huh? . . . YEEEEEEEW!”
Meanwhile, the blinding ray of light has grown in intensity. The beam has also started to expand outward into a giant wall of light, its span reaching from the outer edge of the stage to nearly the back row of the crowd. And as this light continues to grow, so does the unearthly humming sound that the object is emitting, which has now intensified to a near deafening level. As the strange craft continues to power itself up, it begins to slowly pitch forward...
Still held spellbound by the unidentified object, Softail murmurs in a lowered voice, “This is sooo trippy…”
Red questions, “What is it doing now?”
“I don’t know, but it looks sooo cool!”
Kendra taps Red in the arm and urges, “I think it’s time to gather everyone up and get the hell outta dodge, so let’s go!”
Red couldn’t agree more. The elder of the tribe orders, “Come on Softail, we’re loadin' up n' headin' out!”
Softail casually waves the worried woman off, as Kinky Kendra starts weaving her way through the crowd of bedazzled onlookers.
Red leans forward on the tips of her boots and attempts to yell for Kendra to wait up, but the biker has already disappeared within the crowd. The woman flips open her cell phone just a moment later, in an attempt to call her old man. She mumbles “shit” beneath her breath, as the words no signal appear on the screen…
Meanwhile, the craft finally begins to creep forward. It edges its way over the milling crowd, illuminating everything - and everyone, within its path. It washes over the vulnerable concert-goers below, silencing dozens - if not hundreds in an instant. Still confused by the effects of the light source, many onlookers continue to point to the sky, only to be frozen in place with their arms still raised and their mouths agape. By the time the crowd breaks into an all-out panic, it is far too late…
It is at this point that somebody turns around to yell out, “RUN FOR YOUR FUCKING LIVES!”
– A second round of terrified screams pierces the night. Mass chaos and confusion ensues, as hundreds of bikers turn to make a run for it. Many are knocked over and trampled as the mob stampedes in the direction of the exit gates. All the while, the brilliant veil of light continues to sweep over the crowd behind them, leaving silent stillness in its wake…
Red turns to grab Softail by the wrist, but the young woman resists.
“I have to get Lickety!”
“There’s no time to get to her, honey - now let’s go!”
– Red tightens her grip, but the young woman breaks free and attempts to run against the scrambling crowd. The elder woman makes one last desperate plea before she finally loses sight of Softail. She then tilts her head to look up at the sky…
The menacing craft pitches to the right and spreads its brilliant light across the performance stage. By now, even the contestants from the bikini contest are terror-stricken. A few of the participants are frantically gathering up the remnants of their clothing. Still others completely panic; their bare breasts bounce wildly about on their thin frames, as they desperately attempt to run for cover. …And yet all of their efforts prove futile; the inescapable suspension ray quickly sweeps over the stage and instantly paralyzes the scrambling contestants in place, freezing them in frantic poses!
At that very moment, Softail let out a blood-curdling scream. She has just witnessed her friend Lickety getting zapped right there before her eyes. The immobilized stripper now stands stiffly above and before her, with a terrified expression now permanently frozen upon her face. She had attempted to shield herself with her bare hands, which are now locked in an upright blocking position. (The odd arrangement of Lickety’s hands makes the woman appear as if she’d slammed headlong into a Plexiglas wall!)
…Finally realizing the danger she’s put herself in, nineteen-year-old Softail suddenly panics and turns to run in the opposite direction. It is a smart move, but one that wouldn’t go unnoticed…
Still some fifty feet behind her, Red’s anger and confusion have returned to alarm. Where in the hell is that damned girl? . . . The woman yells out, “Softail! . . . SOFTAIL LETS GO!”
Then, amongst all the chaos and the panicking screams, a familiar feminine voice cries out in terror, “They’re coming this way, ma! . . . RUN!”
– It was then that the biker saw her younger charge running towards her in fear. The older woman urges, “Go, Softail! GO! - IT’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU!”
The veil of light suddenly morphs into a series of pulsating bolts in vivid electric white -
CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE!
– The bolts flash like lightning in the darkness. They miss their intended target at first; only striking at the ground around Softail’s scrambling feet. But then a bolt of energy manages to find its mark - striking the running woman square in the back. The biker arches her body hard and manages to emit an “UUUGH!” before she too freezes in place!
Red lets out a scream in horror. The sight of Softail getting hit by the beam of light was like witnessing a tsunami hitting a beachfront. Yet her anguish wouldn’t last for long…
CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE!
In her peripheral vision, the terrified forty five-year-old sees another series of bolts strike a scrambling couple that are just a few feet away!
That’s when Red flinches and yells out, “OH MY G-!”
CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE!
– The biker is struck in mid-sentence by a flood of light-energy that surges throughout her entire being. The impact on Red’s body is so sudden and so intense, that the woman doesn’t even get a second chance to scream. And yet her reward is instant: hundreds, if not thousands of prickling sensations suddenly burst throughout her entire body. The aging redhead arches on her feet from the overwhelming force - The burning feeling is pleasurable, thunderous, and all consuming. And just as the walls of her pussy begin to contract, Red’s body suddenly locks in place. And just as fast as it began, the stunning sensation begins to subside, leaving the seasoned biker completely disoriented and pinging for more. As Red’s world begins to narrow before her, and she finally gives in to the inevitable darkness, her last free thought is, God help us all . . .
Red stands still as a statue; she can’t move, she can’t scream, and now she certainly can’t think – She just simply is. The woman will remain standing there in silence, among her helplessly frozen peers, as they wait inertly to be collected by their captors.
A daring escape . . .
Kinky Kendra had managed to outrun the stampeding crowd. She storms through the endless sea of chrome and metal flake paint, in a desperate search for her motorcycle. Once the Harley is located, the woman makes several frantic attempts to start her bike, before the powerful V-Rod sputters to life. The woman looks up in the sky to her right and immediately shouts out, “HOLY SHIT!”
…The menacing craft was now sweeping its brilliant curtain of light over the Hawg Pit itself. White light flashes through all the windows of the wooden structure, instantly suspending the activity of everything - and everyone, inside. The craft then turns and its menacing force of energy continues onward; flowing out over the remainder of the panicking crowd. The mysterious ship pitches hard to the left and takes aim at those individuals who were alert enough to make a run for it. The great wall of light morphs once again into a series of pulsating bolts:
CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE!
– The bolts strike out in the darkness, flashing through each human life without a hint of remorse. One-by-one the escapees are hunted down; their muted cut-off screams are the only sign of their unavoidable demise.
Sensing that it’s now or never, Kendra twists her wrist and her Harley surges forward. The impressive torque of the bike actually pulls the front wheel off the ground, but the woman somehow manages to hang on. The biker tears off fearlessly across the bumpy field ahead and at full speed; without lights and with her leather-clad ass violently bouncing up and down in the seat! The only sign that she even exists, is the high-pitched wail of her dual exhausts as she roars off into the darkness…
Dissension among the ranks . . .
Onboard the collection ship and some eighty yards above, Princess Theramea is sensing the thrill of victory. She had just single-handedly suspended an entire motorcycle festival, containing hundreds, if not thousands of captured human beings. In the process, she had earned herself another battle star. Unfortunately, the satisfied expression on her face wouldn’t last for very long…
The chief communications officer is seated in the front, and to the far right of the control room. She is a rather shapely female, with long black hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail. Lieutenant Leeza was a promising cadet, who was handpicked by Captain Kiyar himself, so many missions ago. She’s quite gifted at her job, and completely loyal to the Orion cause. Therefore, it’s no surprise that the officer speaks up immediately when she spots trouble on her monitor…
Leeza turns quickly in her seat and mentally warns - Your highness, we’re picking up a heat signal on the infrared monitor. This culprit may be out of our reach.
Thermea swings her gunnery chair to the right and glares at the woman. - What do you exactly mean, lieutenant?
The nervous officer swallows hard. She then looks back at her monitor and goes on to mentally advise - They appear to be traveling at an extreme rate of speed, your highness. The high velocity suggests a motorized vehicle; perhaps something with a small wheelbase and an impressive power-to-weight ratio . . . Possibly even similar to a Raptor 5000.
In a huff, Theramea gets up from her chair and quickly steps down from her battle-station. The alien flips back her feathered boa and proceeds to stomp her heels across the metal flooring of the bridge. As she does so, Chief Science Officer T' Pang looks up from her own viewing monitor and furrows an eyebrow in concern. The rest of the crew let out a collective gasp, as their leader grabs hold of the lieutenant’s ponytail and violently yanks it back!
– The lieutenant looks up at her leader with her head pulled back, and with a noted fear in her eyes.
Theramea growls, “Are you questioning my abilities as an accredited warrior?”
Again the lieutenant swallows hard in her throat; she’s far too scared to reply, and Theramea has already locked her stare in place. The officer flutters her eyelids several times before they slowly begin to narrow. The woman is almost squirming within her seat now, as she desperately struggles beneath her leader’s probing stare. Yet that struggle would be in vain…
The princess’s eyes were like two glistening black holes; lifeless - yet bewitching. And as the lieutenant’s resistance begins to fade, she can’t help but feel as if Theramea were the predatory animal, and she her prey. …Had she been given the choice, Lieutenant Leeza would have never glanced into those fiery eyes in the first place.
Theramea looks her victim over with satisfaction. The woman’s breathing is already slowing, and her body has taken on a relaxed appearance. The princess muses, Well that certainly didn’t take long! . . . The manipulative alien gives Leeza’s ponytail another quick tug, causing the officer’s head to snap back into place. It was a rude gesture, and one that was meant to affirm just who was in control…
T-ssst . . . – Surrender your weapon, slave.
…Without the slightest hesitation, Lieutenant Leeza obeys. She withdraws a small taser from her utility belt and carefully sets it down upon the console before her.
Theramea was already studying the inviting crack of cleavage within the parted halves of the woman’s jumpsuit. (The light green melons are forcibly squished up against each other due to the restrictive confines of the suit, and are just begging to be set free!) The leader starts to crack a devilish smile…
– You do know what I do with insubordinates, don’t you lieutenant?
. . . The Lieutenant’s eyes are completely glazed over now. Had she the capacity, she would nod her head in understanding. She’d often heard rumors about the hall of statuary.
Theramea starts caressing Leeza’s cheek and before long, she’s running a finger down over the lieutenant’s breasts. As she begins to tug at the woman’s zipper, the leader begins to ponder; This female would surely make a fine addition to the collection...
At this point, the captain of the ship - Kiyar himself - enters the control room. Secretly alerted by Chief Science Officer T' Pang, the captain quickly comes to his comrade’s aid. He’s shocked to find the royal princess standing over his chief of communications officer, who is now seated with her neck outstretched and her head leaning back against the chair. Right away he could tell what happened, just by the blank look on the officer’s face and the limp positioning of her body.
Dammit! I leave the control deck for five minutes, and she’s already caused a situation!
“Theramea! . . . What do you think you are doing?”
- The startled princess lets go of the zipper and casually steps back from the bedazzled crewmember.
Kiyar quickly rushes to Leeza’s side. Unfortunately, she already had “the look” in her glazed eyes. . . .The old man lightly slaps the woman’s cheek hoping to snap her out of it, but it’s no use; he’s too late. The captain then turns to the princess with a look of carefully controlled disappointment.
“Control yourself, Theramea! …She’s the Chief of Communications and one of the best officers I have!”
The princess adjusts her tiara rather complacently, before rolling her eyes like a scolded child…
“You can’t just go around mesmerizing the female members of my crew!”
…Theramea shrugs her shoulders and replies with a smug, “Oopsie! …I guess that some are more easily enthralled than others…”
Kiyar snaps his fingers at one of the guards at the entrance door and orders, “Take her to the sick bay at once!”
The blocky guard approaches the grouping. The pair watches as the servant methodically bends over and picks the dazed lieutenant up by the waist. (The female’s breasts nearly fall out of the front of her jumpsuit, as her trim body is carelessly tossed up over the guard’s shoulder!) With his massive green hand placed firmly across her backside, the ape-like creature does an about-face. He then makes his way back across the control room, with Leeza’s ponytail and lifeless arms helplessly swaying about from his back. The compromised officer is carried off to the sick bay at once…
– Theramea can’t help but crack a smile at the erotic sight.
Kiyar turns back to the princess with a look of concern. He then reprimands, “Your highness, we need you to remain completely focused on our mission. I understand that you have your . . . your certain “kinks” if you will. But acting out your domination fantasies during the throes of a battle, is surely not the appropriate time!”
The princess remains aloof. She’s already turned her focus to her long red nails and is making a mental note of how they need to be redone…
In the immediate background, one of the navigators telepathically warns - The fugitive has successfully escaped the region, captain. Shall we continue to pursue?
Kiyar turns to one of the two navigators on the control deck and mentally returns - We shall not! I refuse to delay our given task over one lowly human. Return to the fairgrounds at once, so we can execute phase two of the mission!
The captain then returns his focus to the princess and projects – This craft was designed for the purpose of storing and transporting humans back to the mother ship. It is not a runabout that was specifically designed to track humans through the countryside and strike them down! …Now I suggest you teleport back to the mother ship and study your technical manual this evening, rather than toying around with your numerous sexual playthings like you always do!
Theramea only manages a pouty look. She reaches out and realigns the captain’s collar in a polite, but wise manner. Once adjusted to her satisfaction, she cracks a cunning smile.
…The captain isn’t impressed.
The princess reminds, “Don’t forget who is and who is not Royalty around here. …Do I make myself clear, captain?”
If Kiyar wanted to keep his job - or even his life, then there wasn’t another word the creature could say.
Theramea flashes him a smug look and adds, “…That’s what I thought.”
The princess turns to strut haughtily across the control room floor and away from Kiyar. When she comes upon Officer T' Pang’s workstation, the leader notices the slight smirk on the scientist’s face. Theramea’s eye’s light up wickedly as she pauses to give the female a suspicious glance…
T' Pang simply clears her throat and continues on with her work, as if to ignore the princess…
Without warning, Theramea lashes out, “…It was YOU that called him, wasn’t it! …You elf-eared, Vulcan trash! If my mother reprimands me for this, so help me…” …The princess then lowers her voice and cryptically warns, “Someday, you’re gonna get yours too, bitch!”
…The sealed door behind T' Pang makes a pneumatic “shush-it” noise, indicating Theramea’s exit. The scientist frowns, as she knows that she just might have sealed her own horrible fate.
Meanwhile, Kiyar projects the order - Navigator, take us back to the fairgrounds and look for a place to set this thing down . . .
- Aye, captain!
Until the captain can find another replacement for Lieutenant Leeza, he’s forced to sit down in her chair and fulfill her duties. He maneuvers several different screens around on the user interface with the tips of his fingers. Next he presses a series of keys on the communications panel, before tapping into the main feed to send out the order:
- Attention all crewmembers . . . Attention all crewmembers . . . We will be making our landing in ten glicks. Be sure to re-check all preparations for the harvest and be at the ready…
Gathering up the goods . . .
The UFO - along with its constant flood of light - has returned to the fairgrounds to finally complete its mission. As the craft carefully maneuvers its way to the ground, tiny bursts of orange flame sporadically flare out from the small thrusters on the ship’s flanks. And even as those jets flicker above them in the night, the enchanted crowd below remains silent and waiting.
. . . After all - it wasn’t like they had much of a choice.
As four landing struts extend outwards toward the ground, a platform begins to lower from the ship’s underbelly. Like marines storming the beach at Normandy, Orion shock troopers begin pouring from the still lowering platform. They quickly fan out across the fairgrounds; their increasing numbers thoroughly searching through the inanimate crowd for any unlikely survivors. They comb the stage area - both front and back, the burnout pit, and the surrounding outbuildings, while others jog in formation throughout the parking areas. Another unit marches through the Hawg Pit, carefully scouring behind and around the bar areas for any possible escapees. One of the lead troopers comes upon an immobilized blonde beauty that’s attired in a star-spangled red, white and blue bikini. The trooper lowers his weapon and coldly comments to his comrade beside him, “I’m starting to like these so-called ‘American women’ . . . Big breasts, blue eyes, blonde hair - they’re quite beautiful, yes?”
- His comrade quickly nods his head in agreement.
Just behind the bar, several shock troopers surround a brunette in a rather curious-looking uniform. With their weapons raised at the ready, one of the female shock troopers cautiously steps forward to approach the young woman. The alien steps behind the human female, who stands rigid with legs spread and her arms braced against the bar. (The unfortunate young woman had been holding this same frozen stance, ever since she looked out over the bar just to see what all the commotion was - and that was almost twenty minutes ago!) …The shock trooper slowly reaches around the human’s curvy waistline, and carefully removes the two weapons from the female’s holsters. She then places the identically chromed six shooters upon the bar for further inspection.
Another shock trooper picks up the crude weapon and studies it with great curiosity. Before long, he aims the weapon at the wall and pulls the trigger. The aliens around him immediately duck, as the weapon makes a loud snapping noise and emits a foul odor! There’s a brief pause, followed by several more snaps in a row. When the trooper finally opens the pistol’s side chamber and unravels a roll of paper caps, the rest gather around him with looks of confusion…
One trooper holds the caps up to a nearby light and silently revels, paper bullets?
By now, one of the other troopers has removed the female’s cowboy hat and set it on his own head. He comments, “This is so-called John Wayne - the famous cowboy movie actor - no?”
. . . The surrounding unit breaks out in laughter; down-time viewing of the endless spewing of the humans’ video transmissions has become a common habit among the lower ranks; ironically perhaps, many of them now have a better grasp of human culture than some of their own commanding officers.
Back out in the concert area, workers are rolling out and setting up large floodlights to illuminate their work area. Once finished, a machine that is similar to an industrial forklift frequently drives back and forth to the ship’s loading dock. Upon its tines are the numerous conversion booths that will be used to convert the surrounding humans. Behind it, another wave of workers roll out stack after stack of shipping crates on upright carts. Inside each of the aluminum trunks are the thousands of ear pods that await new owners.
Amidst all this industrious activity, Kiyar walks along with his Chief Science Officer T' Pang. The pair are surrounded by a motionless mob of humans, all of whom stand frozen and captured in a moment in time. “It’s almost like walking in a statue garden back home,” comments the Orion captain.
T' Pang nods her head in agreement before the Vulcan observes, “This will be quite a yield, Kiyar.”
The captain predicts, “Yes, I’m sure our great Queen will be entirely pleased.”
The pair continues onward, casually studying the human statues in silence as they walk along. Their silence is broken when they come upon a human female who’s pulled her top up to expose herself…
“This looks like a brazen one,” remarks the captain with a smirk.
. . . T' Pang narrows her eyebrows in curiosity.
The figure is a wiry, yet tough-looking woman. The sleeves of her shirt are cut off to display her colorful tattoos and chiseled arms, while her faded jeans are ripped at the knees. Her stringy bleach-blonde hair is long and greasy, indicating that she could use a good shower. The woman’s mouth is shaped in an O of astonishment, mirroring the many expressions on the faces of those around her. Her impressive globes are thrust out in the open for all the world to see, yet neither of the aliens had a particular clue as to why…
Kiyar studies the pair of silver hoops that pierce the female’s engorged nipples with great curiosity…
“Hmm . . . It must be some crude ritual,” guesses the captain.
T' Pang explains, “This is something that some humans have been known to practice. In some cases, they pierce their genitalia. Some… have even been know to pierce their tongues, just to improve oral satisfaction for their partners…”
Kiyar’s expression morphs from confusion to curiosity. The man steps closer to the human and peers inside the female’s opened mouth. He emits a surprised “Hmph!” when he sees a silver stud sticking up through the center of the woman’s tongue…
“In that case; this one must be truly gifted at giving oral pleasures!”
. . . T' Pang just shrugs her shoulders and chooses to move on through the crowd, choosing not to mention that sometimes the humans pierce their genitalia as well.
By now, technicians had connected power cords to their corresponding control consoles, and the cylindrical conversion booths were ready for action. And like on the previous attack on the National Guard barracks, a pre-recorded message (in perhaps not quite perfect English) had started to play through a set of high-powered speakers.
“Attention all humans . . . Attention all humans . . .There be no need for alarm, as we mean you no harm.”
“As you hear these following words, let them resonate into your mind.”
“We have assumed control.”
“You now belong to the collective . . . You will be assimilated.”
“The time has come to accept your pre-chosen destiny.”
“ . . .You will be assimilated.”
“You are now being ordered to report to the front of the platform area, where you soon will be assimilated with your fellow brothers and sisters.”
“You belong to the collective…You will proceed as expected…You will be assimilated.”
“We have assumed control . . . We have assumed control . . . We have assumed control.”
…When the entire message had played through, it looped back to the very beginning and repeated.
Before long, Harley dudes and biker chicks slowly begin to thaw from their frozen limbo. Those in the field slowly turn towards the stage area and then mindlessly shuffle their feet through the grassy field. Still others stream out of the Hawg Pit in single file, as the aliens instructions ring out in their heads. Here bartender babes and bikers alike lumber along in a fog; some with their eyes at half-mast while others are glassy and wide open. With their arms dangling limply at their sides, all stare forward with blank expressions; their only remaining ambition is to step into one of those inviting glass chambers ahead…
As with the previous strike, waiting shock-troopers gather up the neutralized humans and sort them out by their sex, before filing them into narrow rows. Another unit of technicians receive the stupefied humans and usher them into the already humming conversion tubes.
As the first few unsuspecting humans are enclosed in the chambers, it seems that everything is running smoothly. Yet out in the field, a few of the humans remain frozen in position…
Captain Kiyar looks around in confusion at those few that remain static around them. He then turns to T' Pang and questions, “Why aren’t they following the instructions?”
T' Pang steps up to a tableau of two anonymous women, who are facing each other. One has blonde corn rolls and appears to be young, while the other has deep red hair and looks to be in her forties, (judging by human years). The officer studies the corn-rolled blonde first, by removing a pen-light from her utility belt and aiming it directly into the human’s eyes.
“Her pupils are dilated,” observes the alien. She then feels for a pulse beneath the unconscious female’s ear. “No pulse though.” …T' Pang then steps up to study the redhead and repeats the process, before placing a palm to her forehead.
“This one looks flushed too.”
T' Pang furrows her brow in thought for a moment. Then she dispassionately unzips and parts the human’s leather jacket. The scientist reaches to unsnap a small pouch on her utility belt, and retrieves a small knife. As she unfolds the blade, the alien comments, “Sorry for the inconvenience dear, but I can assure you that this is purely in the name of science…”
T' Pang pulls the female’s tank top away from her chest, before placing a blade against the neckband. With one swift slice, the alien cuts the human’s top wide open, revealing her upper torso and lacy black bra. The scientist digs into her belt once again to retrieve her stethoscope, and then presses it in between a pair of lace-bound breasts…
“Hmm, I’m not getting anything . . . It’s almost as if they’ve been fully suspended.”
Kiyar questions, “So what exactly happened to them?”
Before explaining, the scientist withdraws her stethoscope from around her neck and coils it back into its pouch, “When Theramea ordered to fire upon anyone who attempted to run - at full power - I knew there would be problems. These women took a direct hit at close range - They’re in a “hard freeze” - In fact; all of these people that the princess mowed down at full-power, most likely they are as well.”
Kiyar looked into the frightened stares of another couple that stood just a few feet away. Their hands were still interlinked, and it looked as if the burly biker was pulling his female companion behind him as they were hit. The alien waves a hand in front of the male’s eyes but fails to get a reaction.
“So they can’t be indoctrinated?”
“Sir, I’m afraid they wouldn’t be able to take orders now even if you were yelling at them with a human bullhorn.”
“I see,” accepts the captain with a disappointed expression. “I’ll have them taken back to the base. We can thaw them out, convert them and then refreeze the ones we choose to keep.”
T' Pang concurs, “That would be all for the best, sir.”
Kiyar decides to add, “After all, we can’t afford to have any… What do the humans call it?”
His lieutenant replies, “I believe it’s loose ends, sir.”
“Right…loose ends,” repeats the captain. He then suggests, “Well, I suppose we should see how the processing is coming along . . . Shall we?”
T' Pang nods her head, as the captain graciously guides her around the suspended red head before them…
Sizing-up the catch . . .
In front of the stage area, technicians are working diligently to process the rows of enthralled humans that stand before them. Up on the performance stage itself, several more of the aliens are examining the unfortunate wet T-shirt contestants…
A female technician in a white jumper currently scans a peroxide blonde with a fake tan and bee-stung lips. As crewmember Teeyah waves her intrusive wand over the human’s body, the scanner lets out an eerie static-like sound. (It isn’t until the alien scans over the female’s exposed bust, that the scanner grows louder and eventually lets out a telltale beep). The technician presses “review” and looks over the results on the screen of her scanner. “.092 out of a hundred,” reports the tech. “This one is a keeper.”
A male technician who’s scanning an equally exposed brunette looks up to agree, “These humans are particularly well endowed. They will bring a great reward back on the mother ship. Our great Queen will be very pleased…”
The technician’s conversation is interrupted when Captain Kiyar walks up the stairs to the stage, with T' Pang following closely behind. The leader quickly inquires, “How are we doing?” …(His eyes quickly wash over the busty blonde with the bee-stung lips, as he approaches).
“Sir, we’ve managed to get a pretty good crop from this raid,” reports the chief processing technician. “Early estimates are around ten percent yield for females in the .090 through .100 range, such as these . . . Another twenty percent in the .070 through .089 range.”
Captain Kiyar takes one last look at the bedazzled bleach-blonde, before she’s guided away by awaiting technicians. (He even turns to take a quick glance at her thong-pierced ass cheeks, as she lazily stumbles along between her two escorts). The ship captain then commends, “These will make an excellent yield…Keep up the good work.”
The lead technician nods his head and displays a serious expression. He then orders his workers, “Let’s step it up a notch; we have many more to process tonight!”
Captain Kiyar turns and walks to the edge of the stage to look out over the field. With arms crossed over his chest in satisfaction, he takes in the industrious scene before them. Technicians continue to process the humans a half dozen or so at a time. When each group receives their earpieces and move onward, a new group steps inside the glass chambers to replace them.
T' Pang observes from just beside the ship captain. The officer mentally calculates and then states; “Despite the technicians’ efficiency, at this rate, they’ll have to work throughout the entire night.”
Kiyar turns briefly to acknowledge the officer and returns, “Yes, but the end rewards shall be great; the more humans we can control, the further our reach. We must also fill our storage hold to maximum capacity, before we return to the Queen. . . . And at this point, I’m afraid we’re still lagging behind our expected quota.”
He looks out over the hundreds of humans who continue to stand sleepily in their designated rows, and notes how willingly they step forward in line. They almost seem eager to feel the bliss that their converted fellow humans were already experiencing. And although pleased with the many scenes of submission that were taking place, Kiyar still isn’t completely satisfied. Deep down, the seasoned captain knows that this small triumph would merely be a stepping-stone in their overall mission. A mission that would take many more female earthlings to complete…
* * * * * *
To be CONTINUED… in The Hawg Fest Invasion, Part 2