(An alien invasion story)
Forty three days ago, an Orion collection ship entered the Earth’s atmosphere. It has been almost three weeks since their successful strike on the National Guard Armory. In the stressful days that followed, Orion shock troopers also carried out successful raids on Brewers Air Force base, as well as the State Police barracks. With their first three targets neutralized, and with the first three stages of their mission now complete, it was time for the aliens to move on to phase four.
. . . Shawnee County was now prime for the taking.
April 4th, 2010... (Late Easter Sunday)
A trip down lover’s lane . . .
It was a warm spring night in early April, when Brett Johnson drove his 72’ Chevelle out of Silver Lake and headed west towards Rossville. There wasn’t much activity outside of town at this late an hour, save for the occasional tractor trailer passing by on U.S. 24, or the sporadic burnout by some restless farm boy in a fast car. However, this trip wouldn’t involve street racing his souped-up Chevy against another bored hot shoe. Tonight, the Barclay Bears starting forward was out on a date with Pamela Andrews; another college student that was home for the Easter break.
Now Pamela Andrews looked like the perfect blend of a small town cutie and a tempestuous porn-star. From her sun-streaked hair, to her deeply tanned skin, the nineteen-year-old looked more like a California beach bunny, than a farm girl from central Kansas. At five feet eleven, she was taller than most other girls, and sported an all-natural figure that was total perfection. But Pamela’s most appealing feature of all is her adorably cute face. She has these rounded cheeks that dimple whenever she cracks a smile from her full and luscious lips. Her nose is sharp and slightly upturned, while her big blue eyes are framed by thick long lashes.
Pamela had decided to let her long golden tresses down tonight, and they dangle upon her shoulders in a rather playful manner. Up on top, the gal touts her school pride by wearing a sweatshirt with the ‘Barclay Bears’ logo across the front, while a pair of faded denim shorts hug her bottom just right.
. . . In other words; she’s lookin' reeeeal good!
The couple had just finished a fulfilling Easter dinner at Pamela’s parents house. Brett had decided to take full advantage of the lovely weather, by inviting his girlfriend out for a ride in the country. (His ulterior motive was that he’d also be able to take full advantage of young Pamela, who’d gotten just a little tipsy from her grandfather’s home-made wine!)
With her hand lightly rubbing her boyfriend’s thigh, Pamela stares out the window with noted curiosity. It isn’t long before she asks, “So where are you taking me?”
Her boyfriend replies, “It’s a surprise babe . . .You’ll just have to wait and see.”
Now every restless farm boy from here to Topeka knew that if you wanted to go parking with your date, you headed out to Woodridge Road. The secluded Woodridge hilltop is the highest point in Shawnee County, and it provides a romantic view of the flat and seemingly endless landscape. Lovers had been doing it for generations, and tonight would be no different.
…So, with his hopes up high, Brett heads westward out of town until reaching the fabled dirt road. The young man steers past the gates that had been crashed and then tossed to the side, nearly twenty years ago. He drives up the long wooded road until reaching the grassy meadow at the end. Although it’s pitch dark in the nearby woods, the field is brightly lit by the full moon that’s directly above. Knowing that this was the perfect spot, the college freshman shifts his car into park and turns off the ignition . . .
The sudden lack of mechanical engine noise is quickly replaced by the sounds of thousands of crickets, now chirping intermittently. The man stares out across the field before asking, “Well . . . here we are darlin' . . . So what do ya' think?”
Pamela admits in her Kansan accent, “It sure is pretty, Brett . . . But it’s kinda out har in the middle a no-whars…”
Her boyfriend admits, “Well that’s kinda the whole point, darlin' . . . Now we can finally have some time alone with each other.”
Pamela briefly scans their wooded surroundings and quietly considers, Bad things always seem to happen in isolated places like this: attacks from wild animals; drug deals; rapes; murderers dumping their victims bodies! . . . What the hell was this guy thinking?
The young woman finally finds the courage to ask, “Can we go someplace that’s maybe a lil' more…well… maybe populated?”
“Come on, babe . . . I drove all the way out har so we’d have us some privacy…Aint nobody gonna bother us out har.”
“Yeah, except for the coyotes n' the war-wolves?”
A shit-eating grin begins to form over Brett’s face. “Shoot, thar aint no coyotes or war-wolves out har . . . Ya'll been readin' too many o' them thar ‘Twilight’ books!”
Brett squeezes his girlfriend tight in reassurance, as Pamela cuddles up within the safety of his big arms. As she places her head upon his shoulder, she feels that there’s no safer place to be . . .
The couple sits there in the front seat for a good thirty minutes, content with just watching the stars. At one point, a group of deer cautiously step out across the spacious meadow. They stand there peacefully in the moonlight; perfectly content and occasionally dipping their heads into the long blades of grass . . . Well, at least until an unseen disturbance causes them to run off into the woods…
That’s when Pamela points off into the distance and asks, “Hey, what’s that thar smoke comin' from?”
Brett leans forward in his seat. From his viewpoint above the dash, he can clearly see steam emitting from one of the smoke-stacks at the factory below.
“Huh! . . . That thar's the old meat-packin' plant . . . Last I knew, that place was boarded up n' locked down.”
“So if its shut down, why would thar be steam comin' out of it?”
“I don’t know babe,” confesses the boy. He then theorizes, “Maybe some comp-ny bought it ta' refurbish.”
Pamela nods her pretty head in understanding. With her doe-like eyes now looking up into his, the girl whispers, “I love you Brett Johnson . . .”
“I love you too, babe.”
. . . The basketball player leans forward to steal a quick smooch from his girl. Just a second later, he returns for a second kiss, with Pamela’s lips now reacting slowly against his. With a soft sigh, the young woman wraps her arms around his wide shoulders, before accepting his probing tongue into her opened mouth…
An eye in the sky . . .
In the abandoned meat packing plant that’s an eighth-of-a-mile below Woodridge, critical eyes stare at the monitor before them. Someone was trespassing on the outer parameter of the grounds, and security had taken notice. These very same eyes have been studying the pair of thermal images, ever since the intruders had arrived.
As a fourth figure enters the security chamber, the other three quickly arise from their seated positions. Although none of them physically speak out loud, there’s a telepathic greeting, followed by a quick bow in respect. The fourth figure ignores the show of consideration from his underlings, and immediately studies the monitor. Now showing a look of disapproval, the superior goes on to project:
- How long have they been here?
. . . Over a half an hour, Sir.
- Has our presence been detected?
. . . Not as far as we can tell, Sir.
The captain of the ship studies the monitor in deep reflection. He then goes on to project - Our presence must not be compromised this early in the mission. Immobilize the suspects and bring them here.
. . . We already have some trackers at the edge of the woods, Sir.
- Very well, then. I’ll notify the princess. . . . With that said, the captain turns abruptly on his heels to exit the room.
Working on the night moves . . .
Meanwhile, the entangled lovers continue with their passionate kissing; pausing only long enough for Pamela to pull her sweatshirt up over her head and off of her arms. (She quickly tosses the garment to the floor, where it lands beside her boyfriend’s flannel shirt). The young woman then repositions herself in a straddling position atop her lover’s thighs, so she can face him directly.
The basketball player returns his attention to Pam by licking a straight line from her bare shoulder, clear up to her neck. The delighted young woman expels a playful giggle. She then pushes the boy away, but only long enough to unclasp her lacy black bra.
. . . Brett eases up and lets out an appreciative snicker.
Lowering her bra from each of her shoulders, Pamela slowly unleashes her bountiful breasts. (They rise and then bounce abruptly, as she carelessly tosses the foundation over her shoulder). With her nipples distended and with her magnificent curves highlighted by the glow of the moon, the nineteen-year-old now looks like a sex-kitten that’s ready for action!
Brett can’t help but stare at the young woman’s breasts. The ample pair of globes seem to defy gravity itself, in just the way they jut out from her upper torso. When the young woman finally forces his lusty stare from her rosy crests, he finds Pamela looking directly into his eyes…
“Baby,” the young woman murmurs, before linking her hands within Brett’s. Pamela then moves his hands up over her tummy to her burning breasts and asks - no - make that breathes the words, “Please . . . touch me!”
The basketball player happily obliges; first cupping her plentiful mounds to appreciate their weight, then squeezing and rotating them around within his large hands. Pamela’s tits have a nice full shape and are capped with large areolas and pebble-like nipples that just beg to be sucked. Never one to hesitate, Brett tweaks both of the little knobs between his fingertips, before lowering his mouth to the right breast. He draws the tip in between his front teeth; playfully batting it about with his tongue, before sucking it out to a wet and rigid point. A moment later, the boy repeats the routine with the opposite breast.
Pamela moans out in pleasure with the welcome advances. Sensing that Brett is growing hard right there beneath her, she begins to purposely grind her crotch against her boyfriend’s bulge. (The constant friction causes Brett to bite down on her nipple and the young woman lets out a squeal in delight!) …In a bold move, the blonde yanks her lover’s head from her breasts and forcefully moves his mouth to hers; this time claiming his tongue for her own.
Once again, Brett reciprocates by kissing his girlfriend long and hard, his tongue enthusiastically tangling with hers. Pam felt so damned good in his arms, with those naked breasts impacting into his own bare chest . . . he couldn’t possibly imagine her ever being with anybody else.
. . . More heated murmurs of delight! Pam is so worked-up at this point, that she has to break away just to get some air. With her chest noticeably heaving, the young woman takes a couple of deep breaths and laughs at her temporary fatigue. She praises, “Damn you’re good!”
Brett tries to catch his own breath, before returning the compliment. “You must bring it out of me…”
Pamela is smiling down at him now; her face is flush; her parted lips all supple and wet. Even her golden-blonde hair is already tangled and tousled about - (just the way it usually is after a full night of some serious screwing!) . . . Just the mere sight of her makes Brett’s cock twitch hard with anticipation…
“Come on, let me take care of you,” Pam urges.
Now if there was one thing that Pamela Andrews was known for, it was giving great head. In fact; it was one of the things that Brett loved most about her…
“You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, not at all,” assures the girl while letting out a playful laugh. “I actually like doing it!”
Without hesitation, Brett lowers his back onto the bench seat. . . . Pamela raises herself up slightly and . . . *ZiiiiiiiiiiiiiP* - the fly on her boyfriend’s Wranglers is easily undone. (The blonde raises herself up on her knees even further, allowing her lover to kick off his jeans in hasty fashion).
Once Brett is situated, Pam wiggles herself out of her cut-off shorts and tosses them onto the growing pile of discarded clothing. Now wearing nothing more than her silky black thong, the blonde settles her ass back onto her lover’s thighs and pulls back the band of his athletic briefs. Pamela takes out his penis and studies it for a moment, taking time to appreciate its weight within her fingers. She then gets to work and starts stroking his ever-hardening cock within her willing hand. When the rod reaches its full length, the young woman bows forward and her blonde hair spills out over her boyfriend’s abs…
. . . Brett immediately let out a deep moan, as the heat and wetness of his girlfriend’s mouth, slowly encircles his penis. Pamela starts out at a slow pace, eventually bobbing her head up and down into a carefully timed rhythm. Occasionally she pauses to tilt her head and lick around the tip of the cock. Other times she runs her tongue along the entire length of the shaft…
. . . Pamela looked up at her man with hungry eyes, while continuing with her oral ministrations. (At one point, she even brushes her hair back over her shoulder and out of the way, just to give her man a better view!)
“What a b-ad, bad girl you a-re,” the guy scolds, before letting out another indebted groan.
. . . Brett’s voice was starting to get a little strain to it, and it makes Pamela smile around the head of his dick. She always loved to hear her boyfriends moan like that, and it only made her head bob that much faster. With her supple lips rolling back and forth over the length of the athlete’s penis, the nineteen-year-old farm girl manages to mumble, “Ong-ly fwerb you, bwaby…”
The forward splays his fingers across the back of Pam’s head and presses her down even further. Understanding the cue, the young woman sucks him in faster and deeper into her accommodating throat. With all this tension building in his unit, and with his girlfriend’s cadence now at it’s peak, Brett felt that he could come at any second!
Sensing that her boyfriend is about to unload a mouthful of cum, Pamela raises her head and clamps her hand around Brett’s straining rod . . . She adamantly warns, “Oh no you don’t!”
The irritated forward lift’s his head, only to see the blood vessels in his rod now throbbing with impatience. His confused gaze then wanders up to his girlfriend’s devilish smirk. In total frustration Brett yells out, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING TO ME?”
Pamela still has a cruel and yet kinky expression on her face. (The tease was obviously getting off on her ability to control her boyfriend, and knowing that she would determine when - and if - he’d be allowed to come!)
. . . By now, Brett’s knee was already parting his girlfriend’s creamy thighs, and it was quite obvious by the dampness of her panties, that Pam was more than ready to go…
Pamela arises once again and rearranges herself into a straddling position. She then reaches down between her legs and tugs the lower strip of her thong off to the side…
Pamela leans in and whispers into her boyfriend’s ear, “Baby, I’m gonna ride ya' like there’s no tomorrow!”
Brett’s breath is hot on the back of his girlfriend’s neck, while his cock is hard between her legs; throbbing away and searching for her all-important-entry. (Pamela herself was already reaching beneath her thigh and struggling to move a hand toward it, just to help him find his way inside). …The young man slides his hands up over his girlfriend’s slender waist and surrounds both of her breasts; squishing and squeezing them even more aggressively than before.
. . . Pamela is shifting the weight of her hips, patiently waiting, but with baited breath. When Brett’s shaft finally enters her passage, his girth spreads her wide and his length fills her entirely. The nineteen-year-old allows an abrupt gasp to escape from her lips-
Pamela began bouncing up and down on her boyfriend’s unit; riding him like a pogo-stick. With her long blonde mane dancing wildly upon her bobbling breasts, the young woman looked like a well-paid porn star in a feature film!
Brett’s powerful hands had already strayed from Pamela’s chest, and moved on downward to her waist. There they clamped onto her flexing hips, his cock slipping and sliding within his girlfriend’s slick pussy. Pam was softly whimpering now, in answer to his husky moans . . .
. . . The passion continues to build with each passing stroke. In a fevered rush, the lover’s lips had somehow fused together again, and Brett’s kisses seemed to be getting even deeper than before.
. . . Pam thinks to herself, Whoa! . . . It’s never been this intense with anyone else, before! - Not ever!
. . . And then, Pamela’s humping intensified all at once! The young woman knew her sensitivity was high, and that her boyfriend’s actions were pushing her to the limit. But what she didn’t expect, was that her orgasm would hit her so fast! That’s when she suddenly screams out loud,
“Oh God Brett! . . . OH GOD YESSS! . . . GIVE IT TO ME HARD, BABY!”
. . . Pamela arches her back in total ecstasy; her body jerking with the spasms of her climax. As she writhes with elation, Brett’s dick continues to pulsate within the clinched walls of her vagina - his hot cum exploding deeply inside her. She continues to bounce on him as they climax together; his hips thrashing beneath her like a bull trying to throw a seasoned rider!
The couple’s heated climax is so intense, that they fail to notice the onlooker’s just outside their vehicle. One of them raises a hand-held flash grenade and activates the charge…
The compact and yet powerful weapon, is carefully tossed through one of the opened car windows.
. . . There was no loud explosion to frighten the occupants.
. . . There weren’t any fragments of smoldering steel flying about either.
- Just a brilliant white flash that suddenly illuminated the interior of the car. Yet the device’s effects would be immediate and direct.
Still caught up within the throes of ecstasy, Pamela’s pussy continues to twitch against her boyfriend’s straining rod, even as she unwittingly freezes in place! . . . Her very own body seemingly betrays her, as her vision and memory begin to cloud over. The young woman’s very existence begins to swim in and out of both focus and importance.
Watchful eyes study the female’s sudden suspension from outside the car window. As her pussy-spasms eventually slow to a halt, the watchers nod their heads in approval…
Meanwhile, from inside an observation room that’s almost an eighth-of-a-mile away, even more watchful eyes observe the Woodridge location on several flat-paneled monitors. Their vision, (now being provided by a special pair of goggles that each of the trackers wore), gave the superiors a first-person-view of the unfolding scene.
. . . On monitor one, the camera pans around the exterior of the car. (Because of the steamed up front and rear windows, one can only conclude there had been some heavy-duty snogging going on). …Except for the distant sound of a howling coyote, and the hundred-or-so crickets that were chirping in the surrounding woods, silence prevails at the vehicle. The tracker reaches out into the night air and plucks a moth that was seemingly frozen in flight. They hold it up to the lens for a better view for all, before setting it back on its frozen flight path.
. . . On monitor two, the camera shows the view of approaching the driver-side door. A gloved hand reaches down to pull at the chromed handle, before swinging the car door open. One sees the steering wheel first, before glancing downward to see the head of a reclining brunette male. The victim’s face is frozen in rapture, his hands gripping the thin waist of the female seated atop him.
. . . On monitor three, yet another view shows a shock trooper approaching the passenger-side window. Again a door is opened, and the view scans the bare back of a female. The camera leans in for a closer view, and one briefly sees the side profile of beautiful blonde. Her blue eyes are wide open and unblinking, her mouth hangs slack. The view pans lower to her once heaving breasts, which were now frozen in mid-swell and capped with erect nipples. …A gloved hand reaches out to grope the breast, fully appreciating its firmness. . . . (The viewing lens quickly bobs up and down with approval).
. . . On monitor four, a gloved hand pushes monitor number three out of the way. We see the helpless female once again. Her back is deeply arched and her neck is craning too; so much so, that her long blonde locks hung loose in the seemingly weightless air. One hand is braced against the dashboard, while the other clutches at her boyfriend’s chest. Her hips are thrust forward and impaled on the male’s appendage. His juices are flowing with hers, and together they are one; forever frozen in a moment of coitus.
. . . A hand held scanner reaches out and makes a few passes over the suspended female’s body. The device snaps to life and emits an eerie crackling sound as it continues to rate it’s intended subject. (This whole while, the human female stares up eerily at the vehicle’s headliner, without producing so much as a sound or even a blink . . .)
The gloved hand raises the scanner to read the results, before the camera lens bobs up and down and gives a “thumbs up” in approval. The view looks down to change a setting on the scanner, before leaning further inside the vehicle to look around. The scanner rises into view yet again, and that’s when the shock trooper projects, - I’m picking up the scent of feminine musk . . . This one looks like she’s in heat. Could be a potential breeder…
That’s when all four trackers receive the same signal, - Excellent! . . . Bring her back to the base. She’ll be a good starting point.
Monitor one questions, - What should we do with the male?
The leader directs - You must bring him back as well. We can’t afford to leave any evidence behind. Bring their crude vehicle too…
With the latest commands projected, the superiors continue to watch, as the trackers carry out their orders. They look on with satisfaction, as the human female is carefully removed from the vehicle. Still frozen in her “forward facing cowboy” position, the helpless Pamela stares up blindly at the stars; legs rudely parted; her womanhood fully exposed; bare breasts thrust outward and distorted, as she’s set down on the grassy field below.
A naked Brett would join his girlfriend on the ground, just a short moment later. Unfortunately, any romantic relation that the couple may have was surely about to end…
* Several days later
Out on patrol . . .
It was around one o’clock in the morning, and Bruce Miller and Vincent Trillo were working the midnight shift for Trademark Security. The men were on radio-dispatched-motor-patrol, just outside of Silver Lake Kansas, (which was almost twenty minutes from Topeka). The two had just finished their nightly rounds at the railroad yard, and were headed up to Rossville to check up on an old meat packing plant. The two are making conversation as they drive up U.S. 24 . . .
Bruce Miller probes, “So what do you think of the job so far?”
“Yeah it’s alright,” admits the rookie. “I mean; I’ve only been on for a couple of weeks, but…”
“Bah,” scoffs Miller. “Easiest job in the world, kid! Drive around on their gas, in their car…Checking locks and watching for worthless punks . . . Easy money, kid, very easy money…”
Just then, a message came out over the radio from their dispatcher:
Attention all Trademark Employees;
. . . State Police are still on the look out for a 1972 model Chevrolet two-door hardtop. Color is red with a black vinyl top. Plate number THX-1138. Occupants: one Brett Johnson; male; aged 19; brown hair; brown eyes. One Pamela Andrews; female; aged 19; blonde hair; blue eyes. Disappeared from the Silver Lake/Rossville area on April fourth.
. . . Authorities are seeking any information on their whereabouts, and are asking for full co-operation from all agencies. Anyone with any information is urged to contact Kansas State Police immediately. Vehicle is not
stolen - I repeat car is not stolen.
“Wow - still looking for those kids from the college, huh?”
“Yeah, probably just some love-struck teenagers . . . Probably ran off to Vegas to get hitched or somethin,” theorizes Miller. “Speaking of which; so how are things goin' with your new girlfriend there?”
“Which one is that, bud?”
Miller pokes, “Oh, listen to Romeo over here!”
The young rookie brags, “What? … (Chuckles out loud)…So I get bored with one and just move on to the next!”
“Ok smart ass, then the one that you were telling me you were so in love with, just a few days ago.”
“Ohhh, you mean the Asian one?”
Bruce replies, “Yeah, the one with the funny name and the tight little ass.”
“Her name is Chi Lin . . . Great girl…Sexy too. Problem is: she has one of those high-pitched, whiney voices.”
“You mean like she sucked in some helium?”
“Exactly! . . . Plus; I can’t ever get any damned rest whenever she’s around.”
Miller jabs his partner in the side and presses, “So she’s a real wildcat, eh?”
“Yeah, well she has this thing about roll playing and dressing up.”
“Oh yeah? So what did she dress up as last night?”
Vincent confesses, “Last night, we played good cop/bad cop.”
“Good cop/ bad cop? . . . What the hell is that?”
“Chi Lin pretends that she’s a stranded motorist, and I pull over to help her out . . .”
“Wait, don’t tell me you slap the cuffs on and bend her over the couch!”
Bruce exclaims, “Oh shit, Vince! - This is too damned good!” He then pries, “So what happens next?”
Vincent starts to look a little embarrassed and says, “Alright, I’m not going to give you every sordid detail.”
“Oh, come on!” pleas his partner. “For Christ’s sake, I’ve been married to the same broad for over twenty years! …Ya' gotta give me some sort of juicy details!”
“Nah, I can’t,” says Vincent before asking, “Say…isn’t the turn up here someplace?”
“Yeah, yeah; next off ramp, half mile up on the right,” advises his partner. “So is it true about the inverted pussy thing?”
“You know: the whole deal about their pussies being sideways . . . Is it true?”
Vincent gets a confused look and says, “Man, that’s an old sailor’s tale!”
Bruce disputes, “Hell, that’s no sailors tale . . . My grandfather told me that story, and he was in the Army!”
“Alright, I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” advises the driver. “Is this the off ramp right here?”
“Yeah sure, right here and up that hill on the right,” instructs Bruce. “And by the way; this conversation about the inner structure of the Asian pussy aint over yet…”
*Sigh* - “Whatever man,” says Vinny, before he pulls the Crown Vic sedan up close to the eight foot high, chain link fence. He then manipulates his spotlight around, so that its beam is affixed on the huge padlock.
. . . Or at least where the padlock used to be.
“Oh shit, the locks gone!” exclaims Vincent.
“Well I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch! I better get out and take a look at it,” advises Bruce.
. . . The elder, more experienced security guard exit’s the vehicle. Bruce studies the burnt latch on the fence for a moment, before swinging the two halves of the gate wide open. (It was only then he noticed the singed remains of the padlock, on the ground beside his feet). The man returns to the passenger side of the vehicle, drops in the seat and then pulls the door shut behind him . . .
“Take a look at this shit,” the guard says, before turning on the Ford’s overhead interrogation light. Bruce then holds the melted padlock up beneath the light, for a more thorough examination . . .
“Whoa!” exclaims Vincent. “It looks like somebody torched the damned thing in half!”
“You know what kind of heat it would take, just to melt some metal that thick?”
With a confused expression, Vincent comments, “I don’t know, but who would drag a set of torches all the way out here?”
Bruce suggests, “They could have had a utility truck with torches on the back…Maybe even a plasma cutter.”
Vincent offers, “Regardless, this doesn’t look like your typical bunch of high school kids that are looking to throw a beer party . . . Should we call it in?”
Bruce rubs his chin in thought for a moment, before he suggests, “Let’s do a slow lap around the parameter of the building, first.”
Vincent steers the Crown Vic through the parted gates and into the factory parking lot. Bright headlights scan across the asphalt surface ahead, which was old, crumbled, and with blades of grass sticking up through its cracks…
Slaussen’s meat packing plant was a 71,000-square-foot, hulking structure of concrete. Located just three miles outside of Rossville, the facility sat on two hundred acres of land, and had been used for the processing and storage of meat, for nearly three decades. But after a slump in the economy back in the early nineties, the owners had decided to relocate the business. The plant was soon shut down: its many employees were permanently laid off; the heavy processing equipment removed; and the few glass windows were eventually boarded over. Although the county ordered the place locked up, the big empty shell has been a magnet for vagrants and partiers alike, for nearly two decades…
The ‘Trademark Security’ Ford crept slowly around the facility, with its regulation spotlight continuously searching the grounds. The halogen beam scans over a myriad of spray painted graffiti; some featuring caricatures, initials or gang signs, while others were blatant obscenities.
Vincent asks, “What kind of idiot would want to break into this place?”
“Well, I’ve chased everything from drunken teenagers to crack heads out of here,” brags Miller. “…Even caught a few hookers screwing their johns up in here!”
“This place even gives me the creeps!”
“Bah!” scoffs Miller. “Circle around the other side and we’ll see what’s going on back there.”
Yet, before they could even manage to drive around to the rear of the building, they spot a vehicle just up ahead…
Trillo questions, “What do we got here?”
“Looks like an old 72’ Chevelle . . . One like my buddy had back in high school,” evaluates Miller. “Pull up so I can check the tags…”
The Crown Vic pulls up, it’s spotlight trained on the Chevy’s rear plate. Trillo reads aloud, “THX-1138.”
“Whoa . . . Wasn’t that the number on that missing Chevy?”
. . . That’s the same plate alright. But why would somebody abandon such a beautiful car out here?”
“I don’t know, but we’re about to find out,” advises Miller, before he swings open the door to step from the vehicle. Trillo shifts the Ford into park, and then exits to join his partner . . .
The first thing the security guards notice is a low-pitched humming sound. It quickly brought to mind the vibration of a sub-woofer on a passing vehicle, yet not as distinct. The sub audible sensation seemed to even shake the ground beneath their feet…
The two men look around in the darkness that surrounds them, before the rookie Trillo asks, “Do you feel that vibration in your feet?”
Miller cocked his security hat on top of his bald head and suggests, “Bah, probably some punk-assed kid, going down 24 with one of those damned high-dollar stereos!” …The security guard then turns on his flashlight and orders, “Come on, Trillo…We got us more important business to deal with!”
. . . Indeed, the red Chevy muscle-car was in immaculate condition. Miller himself was quite surprised to find the doors unlocked. The two scan the pristine black interior with their flashlights, until the elder security guard reaches down towards the floorboards to retrieve something.
Miller recovers a lacey black bra and holds it up in front of his flashlight. “Heh-heh-heh-heh…I told you they were lovers!”
As his partner admires the delicacy of the brassiere, Trillo continues to scan over the vehicle. He finds the keys still inserted into the ignition. “Something isn’t right here, Bruce . . . Maybe we better call in the plates, eh?”
“Nah, I can handle these two by myself,” answers Miller. “They must be hidin' out somewhere inside that building.”
Trillo jabs, “You think so, Sherlock? . . . Then what’s our plan of attack going to be?”
Miller orders, “We’re going to split up, and then we’re gonna search every square inch of that Goddamned building! . . . And if we’re lucky, maybe we’ll walk in on em' just as their doin' somethin' naughty!”
That’s when Trillo teases, “Wow Bruce, you really are bored with your marriage, aren’t you?”
Creeping around in the dark . . .
Bruce Miller crept along the front facade of Slaussen’s meat factory. It wasn’t long before he came upon a large entry door. The guard scans his flashlight over the lock, only to find that it had the same singed-black appearance, as the gate out front. (There had literally been a hole burned clear through the heavy-gauged steel door). The security guard pushes the door open, before proceeding ahead with caution…
The sixty-year-old processing plant was the kind of place that some Hollywood filmmaker would die for. It was the perfect location to shoot a horror film, with its eerie dripping sounds, dangling cobwebs and industrial surroundings. But as Bruce Miller crept along in the darkness, he’s a bit surprised. This wasn’t the first time that he’d stepped into the factory, yet he could clearly recall the thick wads of pigeon droppings that covered nearly everything around. Usually the factory floor was littered with empty beer cans, broken liquor bottles and other assorted trash. Yet the place was surprisingly clean and unusually up-kept.
. . . And then there was that annoying humming sound. It rattled his teeth and numbed his feet. Within Bruce’s ears was the sound of constant white noise . . . The man likened it to an industrial air conditioner, (which it could have been, considering how much cooler the temperature was in here). …Whatever the sound was, it surely got considerably louder, as soon as he crossed through that doorway…
Meanwhile, Vincent Trillo is poking around in the darkness on the backside of the building. He was drawn to another loud noise: this one sounding like a large electric transformer, and he could almost taste the electricity in the air. Vincent side-steps a massive steel pillar, and continues onward into the darkness. The guard couldn’t help but feel as if he were walking beneath a huge canopy; one that’s designed to keep multiple tractor trailer trucks out of the rain. But when a huge blast of steam emitted from something just above his head, the brave man immediately dove for cover! …It wasn’t until Trillo was lying on his back and looking upward, that he became truly startled…
“What… the fuck… is this thing?”
. . . At first, I couldn’t believe my own eyes. What I had thought was a huge metal canopy, was in fact, not a canopy at all. Near as I could tell, I was looking at the bottom of some sort of ship! . . . I just lay there prone for a moment, staring up at the mysterious vessel in total awe…
Still in disbelief, I somehow manage to drag myself up off the ground and scan my flashlight to and fro. This mysterious craft was simply tremendous, being nearly the scale of an actual high-school football field. And what I had originally mistaken as support columns for the canopy, were in fact, large landing struts that extended to the ground and supported the mass of the ship!
Still looking upward, I could see that the ship’s lower belly was about ten feet above my head. There were jets of steam that would intermittently blow out of various ports on the ships undercarriage, making me flinch with each unexpected release. I then walk out past one of the landing struts, to get out from beneath the great craft. I scan my flashlight upward, to reflect a beam of light off of the ships metallic surface. It was only then, that I discovered that the upper flight deck rose another forty feet higher. I scan my flashlight down over the nose of the vessel, seeing that it comes to a sculpted and gradual point.
. . . I decide to take the long walk back beneath the belly of the mysterious ship, (the whole time being careful to avoid the hot discharges of steam). There seem to be some separation lines in the undercarriage of the craft, which suggest a receded loading ramp, or some sort of payload doors. Continuing my way onward, I eventually find four conical engine pods at the far end of the craft. They immediately bring to mind those giant propulsion units that are mounted on the back of the NASA space shuttle.
Although I wasn’t quite sure of what this mysterious ship was, (or even why it would be hidden out here), I couldn’t help but feel intimidated by it’s sheer size and mysterious nature. I quickly conclude that this isn’t just a grim looking-machine, but most likely an efficient one as well…
I decide to reach for my two-way radio. I raise the unit to my head and press “speak” in hopes that my new partner isn’t going to laugh at my unexpected discovery…
*SSSKRSH* - “Bruce, you got a read on me?”
. . . The man continues to stare at the craft in awe while waiting for a reply.
*SSSKRSH* - “Bruce are you out there? …Come on.”
. . . The radio remains silent, before a grungy feedback noise emits from the other end.
*ssskrsh* - “This is Bruce, over”
*SSSKRSH* - “You aren’t going to believe this, but I think I’m standing beneath some
sort of spaceship!”
*ssskrsh* - “A what?
*SSSKRSH* - “Yeah, it’s a frickin spaceship man! I’m looking up at the damned thing,
right as we speak!”
*ssskrsh* - “Now let me get this straight, you think you saw a UFO?”
*SSSKRSH* - “I don’t just think that I saw one, I’m staring right at the fucking thing!”
*ssskrsh* - “Alright Trillo, just settle yourself down for a minute!”
*SSSKRSH* - “No, I’m not going to settle down! . . . Now I think there’s some serious shit that’s about to go down, and we need to get the hell outta here on the double!…Do you here me Bruce? - AS IN NOW!”
*ssskrsh* - “Hang on for a second, Vinny . . . I think I see some light beneath the door
. . . Vincent presses the ‘speak’ button attempting to reply to his partner, but all he hears in return is:
*ssskrsh* - “I can’t hear you Vinny . . . Your breaking up . . . Wait, I think I might see something emerging from the doorway ahead . . . I think . . . OH MY GOD VINNY! -OH MY GOD!…NO!…NO…PLEASE DON’T!…NO PLEASE--”
. . . It was at that point that Miller’s radio went deathly quiet. Fearing for his own life, Vincent Trillo turned to run for the car, only to bump into the unseen figure just before him. By the time Vincent had the sense to react; the hooded alien had already raised his concealed weapon and aimed it at the security guard. The weapon - (which was part light-saber / part clear cylindrical tube) - would emit a brilliant flash that was a hundred times more powerful than the brightest of human-made flashbulbs!
CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE - CHOOVE!
. . . A brilliant burst of energy surges from the weapon, immediately engulfing the young security guard. Without so much as firing off a shot, Vinny was immediately frozen in place; his arm still locked in position as it reached for the weapon in his holster . . .
The hooded figure raises the clear cylindrical tube that has just subdued his foe, and adjusts a dial at the head of its hand-grip. The alien then passes the wand over Vincent’s petrified form, scanning him from head to toe.
Inside his suspended body, Vincent can feel the wave of energy passing over his frame. He wouldn’t know it, but the invasive weapon was recording important information, such as his measurements; his weight and other vital data that would be useful to the Orion’s.
A few moments later, the hooded alien was joined by others. The helpless security guard, (still stiff as a board), would be hauled inside the former meat packing plant, where he would eventually rejoin his equally frozen partner…
*Some 24 hours later
The conversion room . . .
Within a former processing room of Slaussen’s Meat plant, a handful of Orion scientists have gathered for a group session. Some are reviewing various charts, readouts, and samples. Still a few select others were now listening to yet another one of their comrade’s, “Did you hear about the stupid human?” jokes. However, when Princess Theramea bursts through a set of swinging aluminum doors just a moment later, the light-spirited mood is quickly shattered…
“I hope this is worth my while,” warns the female in a critical tone. The pompous female flips her feathered boa up over her shoulder, before stomping her high-heeled boots forward in an arrogant manner.
“Greetings your highness,” welcomes one of the lab-coated males. It is Kiyar; the princess’s second in command on this particular ship. “I’m quite glad you could join us, Theramea. Please come and observe our latest specimens.”
The pretentious female steps forward to where two human males hover several feet above the floor. The men had been stripped down to their underwear, and their bodies were covered with various wires and electrodes. Both are suspended in body harnesses, which are made up of a series of durable, double-stitched straps. These nylon harnesses include a belt that encompasses the waist; shoulder straps that come around beneath the armpits to connect across the chest; as well as a set of elastic leg loops that encircle the upper thighs at just beneath the crotch. All of these straps would merge together into one main belt that ran up the back. This main belt connected to a spindle hook that’s bolted to the ceiling, allowing the victims to hang and rotate freely.
To most, these restraints would appear to be something that a rock climber might wear. To a few select others, it could bring to mind something that might be seen in a bondage shop!
Princess Theramea approaches the nearest human, with a noted look of disinterest. The man was six feet tall, appeared to be in his forties, and was noticeably out of shape. The unfit human had a double chin, along with a beer gut that was creeping out over the distended waistband of his boxer shorts. His hair had thinned to a slight halo, and the bald dome seemed to nearly gleam beneath the bright halogen lighting.
The arrogant female shakes her head in disgust and assesses, “A population of millions, and this is the best you can do?”
Kiyar nervously answers, “But your highness, you’re merely judging the book by its cover. What is most important is what they can do for us…”
Theramea had already moved on to the next specimen. This one appeared to be in his early-to-mid twenties, and in contrast to his partner, had a much more muscular physique.
The male appeared to be of Italian descent, judging by his dark skin tone and thick black hair, (which was neatly shaved around the edges). He had a handsome face that hinted of a days growth of stubble, while his dark eyes, (much like his partner’s) stared glassily at the wall opposite.
Theramea reaches out to run a hand over the male’s bare chest, admiring his well-built pectorals, (all the while, being careful not to disconnect the electrodes that cover him). Thoroughly appreciating the view before her, the alien allows her hand to wander even further, running her fingertips over the bumps of his well-defined abs.
“When will they be ready?” the princess inquires with noted interest.
Kiyar replies, “As you know, level 2 reprogramming requires a minimum of twenty four hours. However, they should be nearing completion within the next few hours, or so.”
Theramea gives the ship captain a somewhat disappointed look. “You mean to tell me, that with all of this technology at your hands, you can’t give me a more precise answer?”
Kiyar abruptly snaps his fingers. One of his underlings jumps forward in haste and announces, “three hours; eleven minutes; twenty two seconds and counting, your highness.”
In time, the technician’s estimation would prove to be precisely correct. However, his prompt reply would only fall on deaf ears. The princess seems to have already occupied herself elsewhere…
Theramea was now tracing the faint hairline that ran from her captive’s navel, straight on down below his athletic briefs. (The light gray drawers fit snug throughout the crotch, and the contours of the fabric clearly defined the male’s thickness and length). The kinky princess traced her blood-red nails around the impressive lump, before pulling back the male’s waistband for a look . . .
The trace of black hair that covered the male’s stomach became both thicker and bushier, once it disappeared into his briefs. “Hmmm...” Theramea contemplates out loud. The female continues to hold back the waistband with one hand, allowing herself free access with the other. The princess maneuvers her fingers around in his shorts, until his penis flops into view.
Mmm-hmmm, there it is…
Theramea felt the weight of the human’s cock within her hands and shows an inquisitive look. …One thing’s for sure: It’s not quite as has hefty as an Orion male’s… The alien bounces the appendage up and down within her palm a few times, before reaching in even deeper to cup his balls. She rolls them around within her fingertips, before finally concluding, … I suppose he’ll have to do…
The female leader lets the unit drop back in place, before releasing the waistband. The stretched elastic immediately retracts against the male’s hips with a crisp *snap!*
. . . Theramea abruptly turns, leaving Vincent Trillo to sway eerily about in the background.
“I want the younger one sent to my sleeping quarters once you are finished,” advises the leader. “I’d like to give him a trial-run before we put him back out on the street…”
Kiyar assures, “We’ll be sure to clean him up and send him over, your highness.”
Then, just as the princess is about to exit through the swinging doors, the captain unexpectedly probes, “Your Highness…?”
“Yes?” replies the princess before urging, “Quickly Kiyar; I have some business to attend to, back on the mother ship!”
“The lover from the car that was found in the field . . . Was he not good enough?”
Theramea pauses in thought for a moment, recalling the basketball player’s sexual performance. Then in a rather indifferent tone, the princess reveals, “Perhaps . . . But the female specimen was far more giving, than he. …I trust that they’ve been dealt with by now?”
Kiyar assures, “Oh yes, your highness: the male has been teamed up with the delivery van driver, while the blonde female has been tanked.”
“I trust that you’ll keep me updated on their progress?”
“I will indeed, your highness.”
“Very well . . . As you were, gentlemen.”
As the double-hung doors swing closed behind the princess, Kiyar picks up his clipboard to finish comparing notes with the waiting technicians. In less than twelve hours, they would send former security guards Bruce Miller and Vincent Trillo, back out on the streets in a brand-new state of mind. But for now, they hang side-by-side in the background, with Vinny swaying eerily about in slow semi-circles . . .
* * * * * *
Continued? You Can Count On IT!