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From: "chew toy" <wellgnawed@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Some Annoying Aliens (mc, nc, hyp, mff, fd, md, ft, humil, humor, mast, bdsm, fu
Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 17:10:06 -0400
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Some Annoying Aliens (mc, nc, hyp, mff, fd, md, ft, humil,
                     humor, mast, bdsm, furry, robots, sf)

Copyright 2001 by Chew Toy (wellgnawed@hotmail.com)

WARNING: The usual disclaimers and warnings apply.
The characters in this story have sex; if that offends
you or for some reason you are Not Allowed to read about
such things, stop now. The events in this story might not
be moral or even possible; the point is to give you a hot
fantasy, not a blueprint for life.

Note: parts 1-3 can be found at 
http://www.mcstories.com/SomeAnnoyingAliens/index.html
---

                    CHAPTER FOUR

---

  Sandra didn't generally have sex on a first date, let
alone get cum in her eye.

  The experience left her rather confused, as well as a
bit horny and frustrated.  At least she'd taken off her
glasses first.

  Rubbing most of the slickness off her eyebrows and face
with her hands, Sandra briefly looked around for something
clean to wipe them on, before deciding on John's back.  It
was his cum anyway.

  John shifted a bit in the fitful doze he'd fallen into
mere moments after coming on her.  His mouth fell open and
a faint snore, as well as some drool, escaped.

  Rescuing her glasses from the flotsam that covered
John's bedroom floor, Sandra set about locating her clothes.

  A few minutes later she'd found her way, now clothed, to
the kitchen, tracked down a not-too-grimy drinking glass,
and guzzled a few glasses of tap water, which she was
pretty sure wouldn't cause her much immediate harm, unlike
some of the things she'd spotted during her brief peek into
the refrigerator.

  *OK, was that good or bad?* she thought to herself,
lingering over her third glass.  *He had me babbling like a
porn star--* she flushed an even deeper red as she realized
the memory of the things she'd said was turning her on as
much as it embarassed her-- *OK, that was hot.  But then
he came without even managing to get it inside me.* She
blushed again. *Not that I WANTED him inside me, on our
first date and all... OK, I guess I kinda did.  Oh, darn
it, I'm not sure what I want.  He's SO sexy... well, OK,
not all the time, and his apartment is pretty repulsive,
but when we were in bed...*

  Thinking back on their encounter, Sandra missed the slow
pad of bare feet until John appeared in the doorway,
loosely clad in a threadbare brown bathrobe.

  "Can't have you wandering off," he said, and aimed what
looked like a toy pistol at her.

--

  Making Smith screw a sheep had sounded like a good idea
at the time.  All her life Gina had heard jokes about guys
having unnatural relations with farm animals, but she'd
never met anyone who would admit to having done or even
seen it; let alone having seen it herself.  It didn't
really sound very sexy to her, but she thought it would be
kinda funny and it definitely sounded degrading.

  She thought she would enjoy that part.

  What she hadn't counted on was the difficulty of getting
ahold of a sheep.

  Living in the city, Gina was a little vague on where
sheep were typically to be found.  Out in the country...
somewhere.  She knew there were farms on the outskirts of
town; she just wasn't sure which ones kept sheep.  If any.

  This called for some research.  In the meantime, she
took "John Smith" (was that really his *name*?)'s driver's
license and told him she would get in touch with further
instructions that he'd damn well better follow.

  On the way home from work, she bought an inflatable
sheep from a sex toy shop and snuck it back into her
office's outgoing-deliveries bin addressed to Smith, just
to taunt him.

--

  John Smith, the alien spy-- spymaster for an Imperial
Princess of a galaxy-spanning civilization as far
advanced beyond humans as humans are beyond prairie dogs--
returned to his human-style "house" in disgrace.  Not
only was he unable to penetrate the mazes of Earth
bureaucracy, but now he was being blackmailed by one of
the natives.  The sheer ignominy kept him going through
three orgasms.

--

  As Zaral Felt's anonymous buggerer smugly strode out of
the park restroom, another apparent human male walked in,
pushing a large wheeled device with nozzles and big soft
rotating brushes near the bottom.

  "Are you 'Mister X'?" Zaral asked, as the man fiddled
with something at the rear of the device and removed a
long rod with a brush on one end.  The man nodded to
Zaral, smiled, and stepped into one of the stalls.
Zaral saw him pour a brightly colored liquid from a
small bottle into the toilet, and then insert his tool
into the toilet cavity, brush end first.

  "HE CANNOT HEAR YOU" said an oddly flat voice.

  "What?" said Zaral.

  "THE HUMAN WORKER IS UNABLE TO PERCEIVE SOUNDS.  HE
PROVIDES AN EXCELLENT COVER FOR MY MOVEMENTS."

  Zaral looked around.  The tinny, electronic-sounding
voice could have been coming from anywhere.

  "HE BELIEVES ME TO BE A MACHINE FOR POLISHING FLOORS."

  Zaral looked at the large wheeled machine the human
had brought.

  It waved a brush at him.

--

  "Who wants to kill me, Genari?" Princess Thrrmm asked
her most trusted servant.

  Continuing to lick and massage the Princess's naked,
delicately furred toes, the sexbot pondered her
Mistress's question.  After appropriate oohing and
aahing over Deke's excellent performance as impromptu
bodyguard, the scout pilot had been sent home with a
few quick posthypnotic suggestions to return for
further mind-control conditioning later.  Now Princess
Thrrmm was spread out on the luxurious forcefield
mattress which formed the centerpiece of her opulently
furnished boudoir-- appearing to any technologically
unsophisticated observer to be floating on a cloud of
dense fog, while a sort of animated jelly-- another
robot-- warmed and massaged her shoulders and Genari
knelt on the edge of the cloud tending to her feet.

  "Certain of your ex-lovers have been permitted to
harbor bitterness, Mistress, as you instructed that
this amused you.  At last check, their conditioning
against harming you directly or indirectly was still
acceptably strong.  I have initiated checks to verify
their current state."

  "Very good, Genari.  Go on."

  The robot felt the usual moment of simulated pleasure
at her Mistress's praise.  "The most likely candidates
are political.  Your mother's regime has no shortage of
enemies, and one of them may have decided that your
studied absence from the political scene might lead to
lax defenses against such probes."

  "Which apparently it has."

  Genari quickly bowed her head in shame at her failure
to spot the assassin robot before it was activated.

  "Never mind.  The fault was mine for not investing in
stronger security measures."

  "Shall I report the attempt to Imperial Security,
Mistress?"

  "Not yet.  I want to find out a bit more first.  Get
my sister Thrmm on the holo."

  Genari closed her eyes, then opened them a few moments
later.  A figure very similar to Genari's Mistress but
more formally dressed appeared on the bedside table.
"Well hello.  What brings you to remember your neglected
family, dear Sister?" it said in a high-pitched voice.

  "Hello Thrmm.  How are you doing these days?" asked
Genari's Mistress, still reclining on the bed.

  "Wishing as ever that our wise and loving parents had
been more creative in their choice of names," replied the
holographic figure.  "I won't ask how *you* are doing,
as no matter what you get up to, some idiot will hear
wrong and attribute it to me.  I am treated to a never-
ending commentary on your doings."

  "Really?  How *am* I doing, then?"

  "Scandalously, as always.  I try hard not to remember
the details.  What do you want?"

  "An update on Imperial politics."

  "If you hadn't short-circuited the protocol droid Father
sent you, you could ask it."

  Genari looked down.  One of her earliest failures; she'd
found some protocols it wasn't programmed for.  The
Princess had been too amused to punish her.

  "Alas, here I am now with no-one to guide me through
the tumultous sea of intrigue.  I thought you wanted me
to show an interest, Thrmm."

  "I'm just skeptical that it will last.  What political
conundrum has piqued your curiosity?  One with enormous
genitals, no doubt.  Or-- I know!  A hairless ape
creature of some sort!  Or perhaps--"

  "I didn't call you to be mocked.  If you don't feel
like talking shop-- which you do all day every day with
every other member of our vast family-- with your lost,
prodigal sister, I'll find some court reporter and
pump his brains.  I'll try to find something juicy to
give him as a reward."

  "No, no, I'll give you the run-down."  The diminutive
holographic figure sighed.  "I still want to know why
you care."

  "Can't you imagine that I might consider coming back
into the fold?"

  "No.  Now, the Conservo-Librarian faction..." she
started into her spiel.

  Knowing Genari could reproduce the entire conversation
on later command, Princess Thrrmm concentrated on
pretending to look interested.  It was a bit like trying
to seduce a boring but hardbodied young stud.  *Actually,
Thrmm isn't bad-looking,* she thought.  *Now there would
be a scandal...*

--

  On the third try, John managed to get it inside her.

  Briefly.

  Rooting through his housemate's bed turned up the August
issue of Hot Babes Holding Sports Equipment Monthly, and
he'd spent an excited hour making Sandra freeze in each
pose-- so excited to have a real live girl there that he
forgot for a while that he could touch her instead of
himself.

  But eventually he got up off the mattress and started
groping her in the "Tennis Match Between Underwear Models"
pose, pulling the underwear she was so nicely modelling
down around her ankles and fumbling his dick into her
from behind, coming almost as soon as he got inside her
and sending them both tumbling to the bed.

--

  "So tell me about the mind-control device," Zaral Felt
said to the faux floor-cleaner.

  "CURRENT EXACT WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN.  LOCATION: THIS
PLANET, AS OF SEVEN GALACTIC STANDARD DAYS PAST."

  "And the source of your information?"

  "ROBOT GRAPEVINE."

  "Robot Grapevine?"

  "LOADING ROBOTS.  THEY GET VERY BORED.  BRAIN THE SIZE
OF A KLUUM, YET ONLY USED FOR MENIAL TASKS.  THEY GOSSIP
A LOT ON THEIR SMOKE BREAKS."

  "Loading robots can inhale?"

  "SMOKE.  WHEN OVERWORKED, THEY HALT AND EMIT SMOKE.
THE MAINTENANCE STANDARDS ON SHIPS THAT COME OUT TO
THESE FRINGE WORLDS ARE VERY POOR.  ONE ROBOT TOLD ME THE
DIODES ALL UP AND DOWN ITS LEFT SIDE--"

  "Yes, yes, ok.  So it's on this planet, you don't know
where."

  "CORRECT."

  "Any idea who it was sold to?"

  "NO."

  "Is there anything else you can tell me about it?"

  "IT IS SMALL-- IT OCCUPIES LESS VOLUME THAN ONE OF
YOUR LIMBS.  AND RECYCLABLE."

  "That's all?"

  "CORRECT."

  Zaral sighed.  "Well, thank you for that much.  What
are you doing out on this fringe world, anyway?"

  "I HAVE A THING FOR EARLY-MODEL LOADING ROBOTS."

  Zaral shook his head.  *Robots are all such perverts.*

--

  Back on the homeworld, Genari the sexbot bustled about
the kitchen wearing a long white apron and slippers,
humming to herself.  A lavish breakfast was slowly
taking shape under her ministrations.  It helped that
most of the kitchen appliances knew their jobs without
any ministering from her at all, but she enjoyed playing
happy homemaker.

  Deke's brainwashing, though not yet complete, was
progressing well enough that the Princess was willing to
use him for physical gratification, and after pondering the
political situation until she was bored with the problem,
Thrrmm had summoned him to work off some steam.  The two were
in bed dreaming in post-coital bliss even now.

  Looking over the breakfast tray she was arranging,
Genari's programming prompted that samples of distinctively
colored non-edible vegetation were a traditional
decoration for romantic occasions on Deke's homeworld, and
she headed outside to find something suitable in the
estate's garden.

  At the door, she nearly ran into a short, bluish-grey
creature with bulbous eyes and rubbery skin, standing on
the step.

  "Oh!  Hello," said Genari.

  The creature reached out to touch her with a small
object held in its hand.  A smell of ozone filled the air
as a shock lanced through Genari's body...

--

  Gina wasn't finding much on the Internet about sheep.

  Rather, she learned a lot about sheep, but nothing
about where to find one.  She read about, for example,
the Lesbian Sheep Paradox: the female sheep's basic means
of announcing sexual availability is to stand still.
So there could be any number of lesbian sheep out in the
world, each desperately wanting another girl sheep, but
unable to really get the message across.

  *And their response to 'John Smith' will probably be
to run, bleating, in all directions.  At least it'll be
good for a laugh.  Assuming I can ever find a sheep.*

  Fortunately her tedious investigation was interrupted
by the return of her wayward roommate.  Gina hastily
closed all her sheep-related browser windows.

  "Before you tell me how bad it was, I've already found
a guy to set you up with who'll-- oh my GOD, what
happened to you?"

  Sandra stumbled, dreamy-eyed, through the door,
vaguely gestured as if to close it behind her, and
staggered over to fall onto her bed.

  "Are you all right?  Did that creep hurt you?"

  Sandra brushed a matted lock of hair from in front of
her eyes, hitched herself up on one elbow to pull a bra
and panties from her back pocket and throw them towards
the clothes hamper, kicked off her shoes, and lay back
again with a sigh.  "I had a wonderful date.  He was
better than _Cats_.  I'm going to date him again and
again."

  Gina frowned, her bestiality researches making a
strange picture form in her mind.  "He was better than
*what*?"

  "_Cats_, you know, the musical.  'Jellicle cats come
out tonight, Jellicle cats come one, come all...'"

  "Oh, right."  Gina shook her head.  Then she shook it
again.  "Wait a minute-- you didn't..."

  Sandra looked sideways, shyly, and smiled.  "Uh-huh."

  "Well, uh, how was it?"

  Sandra frowned, propped herself up on one elbow, then
smiled and looked back up at Gina.  "You know, it's
funny, I can hardly remember."

  "Well, I mean, did you like it?  Was he a good lover?"

  "He was a wonderful fuck!  He was better than _Cats_.
I'm going to fuck him again and again.  Whoops!"  she
clapped a hand over her mouth.  "I said 'fuck'!"  Then
she slid back down to the bed, closed her eyes, and
fell almost immediately asleep.

  *What do you know, the guy may have hidden depths.*
Gina thought, as she pulled some covers over her inert
roommate.  *I wonder if HE knows where to find a sheep?*

--

  Wallowing in despair and humiliation, Frrbnglrr
forlornly sniffed a pair of panties as he sat on the
couch wondering how to dig himself out of the several
holes he had fallen into.  Movement caught his eye,
and he noticed the holographic communicator had a
message waiting for him.

  Fearing more of his Mistress's growing wrath, he
froze a moment before tentatively activating the
playback.

  A holographic insect, something like a large, very
thin beetle with wicked mandibles and a tweed suit,
formed on the TV set.

  "Hello," it said.  "My agents inform me that the
device has been delivered into your hands, and yet
your payment has not reached ours.  I'm sure this is
merely a small oversight which will be rectified by,
say, noon tomorrow?"

  The image winked out, but Frrbnglrr had already
leapt across the room in a rage, and was furiously
swatting the top of the TV with a rolled-up newspaper.
"NOON TOMORROW?!" he yelled, *SMACK* "In my hands?!"
*SMACK* "I haven't even SEEN it yet!"  *SMACK*  "You
ARROGANT--" *SMACK* "--LITTLE--" *SMACK* "COCKROACH!"

  With the last *SMACK* the television set slid off
its stand and crashed to the floor, narrowly missing
Frrbnglrr's foot-- he hastily jumped back-- and
noisily shattering the picture tube.

  And the communicator.

  "Oh.  Damn."  said Frrbnglrr quietly.

_________________________________________________________________
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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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