
Message-ID: <55724asstr$1177629006@assm.asstr.org>
From: Russell Hoisington <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} RP GSN35 - The Last McCoy {Evil Nigel}(Mgggg, oral, scfi)
Lines: 242
Date: Thu, 26 Apr 2007 19:10:06 -0400
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===================


                   Girl Scout Nookies 35
                       The Last McCoy


                       The Last McCoy
                         Evil Nigel

************************************************************

Welcome to the Girl Scout Nookie story collection.  In
honor of the Girl Scout Cookie season, this collection is
being reposted in the story order sequence we used in the
Girl Scout Nookie Collection story site at

    http://www.asstr.org/~denny/

This is story number 35.

A spaceship lands on the planetoid of 93644512 McCoy, the
last legitimate descendant of Saint Frank McCoy, bringing
news of his fortunate inheritance. The ship carries four
small female bots. In uniforms. Green uniforms. Maybe
things aren't so fortunate after all.
************************************************************

Blah blah standard disclaimers and exposition of rights
blah blah.

************************************************************

Clearing the whitefly from my carrots, I saw the spaceship
land through the plastiglass of my biodome. Actually the
whitefly weren't white and they couldn't fly, being some
sort of indigenous parasite which filled the traditional
role of whitefly. And the carrots weren't carrots either,
but a bio-engineered rootcrop tailored to conditions in the
biodome.

I wondered who had come to visit me on my planetoid. I
could make out markings on the side of the spaceship - 'USS
Russell Hoistigon". Funny, they must have run out of
numbers and resorted to using random collections of letters.

Some time later, my security system alerted me to the
presence of visitors at the airlock to my living quarters.
I picked up my thesaurus as a precaution. On the video
monitor I could tell they were bots because all bots have a
slightly unnatural way of moving, and humans not wearing
pressurised suits would have been suffering distress in the
thin atmosphere of the planetoid. There were four of them,
somewhat undersized, young and female in presentation, and
wearing some sort of strange uniform.

Even before the supermarket trolley war started,
enlightened humans had started to believe that supermarket
trolleys were aliens with minds of their own, but it was
still a surprise when the trolleys tried to take over the
earth. After years of bloody conflict mankind seemed to be
losing the war, but defeat was averted by the actions of
seemingly innocent boy and girl scouts taking the trolleys
by surprise and throwing their leader into a canal. The
negotiated peace settlement included laws guaranteeing
respect for non-carbon life forms and the banning of
uniforms except on police and the military.

Reassured by the uniforms, I put down the thesaurus and
deactivated the security lock. The four bots came through
the airlock and stood in a line, looking at me with
disdain, red hair on the left, then blonde, then black,
then brunette on the right. These bots were technologically
extremely advanced, being able to display complex facial
expressions.

"Good day, officers. How may I help you?" I asked.

"Is this human for real?" whispered black-haired bot, the
contempt on her face echoed by the others.

"Are you 93644512 McCoy?" asked the blonde.

"That's me," I replied.

"We've been looking for you for a very long time," said
the blonde. "You are the last known legitimate descendant
of Frank McCoy, the patron saint of pubescent girls. Saint
Frank established an enduring universe-wide monopoly on
Girl Scout Nookies, which you have now inherited."

"But you're not Girl Scouts, you're bots," I observed.

More disdainful looks.

"Girl Scouts as such were abolished when everyone was
given their own planetoid and virtual meetings proved an
adequate alternative. However from the substantial profits
generated by the Girl Scout Nookie monopoly, state of the
art Girl Scout bots were built to fulfil the obligations,"
replied the blonde, who appeared to be the spokesbot.

I looked at the bots closely. They were rather attractive
in a gamine, coquettish sort of way, with their tight
uniforms exacerbating their small chest bumps and their
short skirts allowing flashes of white panties."

"But I'm 900 years old, and I haven't had sex for 200
years. I'm not sure I'm still capable," I said.

"Your penis thinks otherwise," replied the blonde,
pointing to my semi-erect member.

I must have been getting senile, forgetting to put clothes
on when receiving visitors.

"We each have three functional feminiform orifices into
which you are required to ejaculate at least four times a
day. If you fail, you will be reported under the 'Respect
For Non-Carbon Life Form Laws'. However we do have some
chemical assistance for you should you need it," the blonde
continued.

The brunette came over to me and took my semi-erect penis
in her hand. The hand felt warm and fleshy, so despite the
surprise at being handled this way, I felt no discomfort
until the sharp, stabbing pain on the underside of my shaft.

"Ouch, what have you done to me?" I protested, as I pulled
out of the brunette's grasp and inspected my wounded penis,
noticing a small drop on blood on the underside near the
base.

"Given you a bit of help," answered the brunette,
"although it will take a few minutes to have any effect."

The immediate effect was the exact opposite, with my
wounded penis shrinking almost to nothingness.

"While you're waiting, you might as well have a taste of
what we have to offer," said the black-haired bot, sliding
her white panties down her legs and over her feet. "Lie
down on your back."

After I lay down, the black-haired bot came and squatted
over my face. Technologically it was a miracle, possessing
all the characteristics of a pubescent girl including a
puffy-lipped hairless vulva. I parted her pussy lips and
inserted my tongue, feeling warm flesh with a reminiscent
taste. As I started licking, a tiny clit poked out of its
hood and the taste grew stronger - it was liquorice. The
bot grew damp and started sighing with pleasure.

"Why are you sighing?" I asked. "You're a bot and you
don't have any feelings."

"My sensors tell me that despite your appearance, you're
actually quite good at this and sighing is an appropriate
response," the bot replied.

I continued licking and the sighs grew louder. The pussy
lips turned pink and the vulval area became very wet.
Liking the taste of liquorice, I licked it up avidly.
Suddenly the bot squealed, squirted liquorice liquid into
my mouth, and pulsated strongly around the vulval area -
the bot had orgasmed and ejaculated.

"That was adequate," commented the black-haired bot, as it
rose up with a discreet smile on its face.

My penis was feeling warm and tingly, but was still
flaccid. The black-haired bot was replaced by the red-
haired bot. I licked it to pseudoorgasm too, receiving a
squirt of strawberry-flavoured liquid as a reward. My penis
was now almost half-mast. The red-haired bot was replaced
by the blonde-haired bot, which tasted of lemon when it
ejaculated. My penis was now almost fully erect. Finally my
face was mounted by the brunette bot. By the time it
squirted its chocolate-flavoured ejaculate into my mouth,
my cock was like a baseball bat and seeping precum.

"Looks like he's ready for us at last," commented the
blonde spokesbot. "Same order as before."

The brunette bot came over and straddled my hips. It was
about to mount my penis when there was a huge crash as
something burst through my airlock. It was another bot,
presenting as an Amazonian female; tall, muscular, huge
breasts, short spiky blonde hair, clad in black leather, or
rather almost unclad, as apart from the boots, the catsuit
had been mostly cut away to reveal acres of realistic
looking flesh.

"Stop what you're doing!" the bot ordered.

The brunette bot dismounted, leaving my throbbing penis at
full mast, still leaking precum.

"Who are you?" I asked weakly. Breathing was beginning to
be a problem as my precious air escaped though the damaged
airlock.

"Officerbot Sherry 91122476," the bot replied, indicated a
small name badge over its right breast. "Are these your
bots?" asked Officerbot Sherry, indicating the Girl Scout
bots.

"No!" I gasped, panting in the thinning air, but my voice
was drowned out by the chorus of "yes" from the Girl Scout
bots.

"Your bots are wearing uniforms in contravention of the
'Supermarket Trolley Peace Treaty'. You must be punished,"
advised the Sherrybot.

Then the Sherrybot noticed my thesaurus and raging hard-on.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you," asked the Sherrybot,
picking up the thesaurus and striding purposely over to my
prostate figure, kneeling over me to pin me helplessly to
the ground with her muscular thighs.

I tried to deny it but I didn't have enough air to speak.

The Sherrybot whacked my hard-on with the thesaurus. I
tried to scream, but was let down by the burning emptiness
in my lungs. My chemically-induced hard-on stayed hard,
continuing to leak precum.

"You pervert, you enjoy erotic asphyxiation don't you.
Let's see how long you can keep it up."

Whack. More pain from my penis. Whack, whack, whack. As
the atmospheric pressure inside my living quarters
equalised with that of the planetoid, I gratefully slipped
into unconsciousness. 

************************************************************

Copyright Evil Nigel 2007

--
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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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