Message-ID: <47189asstr$1079813405@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: extra.newsguy.com!newsp.newsguy.com!enews3 From: Vivian Darkbloom X-Original-Message-ID: <405B9B38.9040401@aol.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit User-Agent: Mozilla/5.0 (X11; U; Linux i686; en-US; rv:0.9.8) Gecko/20020204 X-Accept-Language: en-us X-Spamscanner: mailbox4.ucsd.edu (v1.4 Mar 2 2004 11:47:57, 0.0/5.0 2.63) X-MailScanner: PASSED (v1.2.8 13651 i2K1Fdrr029667 mailbox4.ucsd.edu) X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Fri, 19 Mar 2004 17:15:36 -0800 Subject: {ASSM} The Invasion of the Bawdy Snatches [Mgg] Lines: 539 Date: Sat, 20 Mar 2004 15:10:05 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: newsman, dennyw The Invasion of the Bawdy Snatches [Mgg] by Vivian Darkbloom Usually I skip CBS on the channel-surf, now that they've demonstrated conclusively that you just can't get good porn there. But this time as I was skipping by, my thumb slipped. "...We really have to do something about these aliens," The caption underneath announced some semi-famous religious icon whose name I have forgotten, along with the subtitle `sexually abused by aliens.' Now that sounded promising. "Dragging our hapless youth into sinfulness. Mind you, they don't look anything out of the ordinary. In appearance, they resembled innocent young girls, about age 9 or 10. But filled with sin." "Could you be more explicit about the sin?" prodded the interviewer. "As I recall, there were 7 deadly ones, if you don't count `not recycling your bottles and cans.' Were they slothful? Are you telling me they slept the entire time?" "Nay, man. It was the sin of ...." he lowered his voice to a near whisper: " .... Lust!" The interviewer shook his head slightly. "Yet you say the appeared to be innocent young girls, age 9 or 10. "True," replied the preacher, "but, mind you, then they took me out to their space-ship and what followed was -- " he shook his head. "simply unspeakable." The interviewer smiled. "Could you tell us more?" The preacher growled indignantly: "Did you hear me man? I said it was unspeakable. That means, cannot be spoken about, cannot be told more about, etcetera ad libatum." "Well, is there any chance you could be a little less literal then?" "Less literal? What do you take me for, man? I'm a preacher. Say I decided to be less literal about the story of Genesis. Suddenly `boom,' I'm branded as a Darwinist. Sales would plummet. The fabric of society would come apart at the seams! ..." Bam! Bam! Bam! Someone at the door. Oh Hell, I thought. "Just a minute!" I called out. I opened the front door to two young girl-scouts, aged about 9 or 10. Only the writing on their badges appeared to be in Klingon. Great, just what we need: trekkie girl-scouts. "Excuse me sir, but would you like to buy some girl-scout cookies?" They were a cute pair, both dressed in the classic Junior-Scout Green, white shirt, green skirt (too short in both cases) and green sash. One was a fair-skinned blonde with long straight hair, the other dark-skinned of vague ethnicity, her long curls tumbling lusciously down her shoulders and back like an ebony waterfall, moist coal-black eyes sweetly burning into my soul. "Sorry, gave at the office. Don't have any money. Some other time. Bye!" "Wait!" said the blonde, as I was about to slam the door. My next-door neighbor Lydia strolled by on the sidewalk behind them. 19-year-old lesbian, always having parties next door with dozens (it seemed like) of young girls. Wearing sunglasses and semi-short dark hair in a black headband to offset her red mini-skirt and platform shoes. Seeing my predicament, she raised her eyebrows. "Got a couple of hotties?" she called out as she disappeared around the corner, "Bet you'll enjoy their cookies!" The girl-scouts conversed briefly in Norwegian. "Please?" they both looked up at me with irresistible ET/puppy-dog eyes. "Look," I said, irritated. "I was in the middle of watching TV," I glanced around anxiously at the muted flickering tube. They conversed briefly again in Norwegian. "We do not require money. Only sustenance." "Sustenance?" "Can we come in?" As they brushed by me through the open door, each one innocently bumped her soft shoulder directly against the front of my trousers. (Bump.) Hmm. (Bump.) Hmmmmmmmmm. They closed the door behind them. "We have a confession," said the dark one. "Yes, we are not in fact girl-scouts, but travelers from the planet of Riga in the galaxy of Andromeda. Our vacation-guide said that you would find this costume pleasing." She whipped out a PDA, one of these newer models with full color 3-d holographic projecting capability, telepathic user-interface, and so on. I think Sony makes them, but the damn trekkies had pasted over the brand label with something in Klingon. She was projecting images into the corner of the hallway. First, of the earth, which rotated 360 degrees, then zooming into a closer shot of the various continents, demarcated with lines for the countries, as an atlas. Finally, a life-size image of the girl-scout uniform appeared in the corner, and it swiveled around for a rear view. "For sustenance, our equipment is able to replicate all of the substances our bodies require, save one." The blonde continued: "The only place where this substance is known to occur is in the sperm of the human male." The 3-d holographic projection had shifted to display a complex molecular diagram. I laughed out loud. "I swear, you girl-scouts will do anything to sell a box of cookies these days." They looked at me blankly. "You do not believe that we are from another planet?" "Heck no. For starters, where's your bloomin' flying saucer?" She punched a few buttons on the PDA, and it displayed an aerial shot of our neighborhood. "We decided that your back yard was the superior location in this vicinity for concealment." "Whoa, now. Watch what you say about my back yard. OK, so I haven't mown the lawn in a while. But everything is under control, understand?" The blonde blinked at me. "Would you like to see our ship?" "Hell, yah." "Then just walk out into your back yard." "OK, that does it." I strode angrily through to the back of the house, to the back door, and turned the knob, and pulled. Nothing happened. Well, maybe the few tendrils of vines had made the thing a bit sticky. I pulled harder. I put my foot up on the door-jamb and pulled with all of my might. OK, so a LOT of tendrils had sealed the thing totally shut. The girls, who had followed me, stood there watching curiously. "May I?" gestured the dark one with her PDA. I nodded slightly. "Stand back," she warned, and I did. A ray of orange photonic laser-light burst from the PDA and seared the air for several seconds. When it was gone, the black wisps of plant-smelling smoke trailed in the air. "Whoa, you should be careful with that thing. I swear, kids nowadays. When I was your age, I was happy with a simple penknife..." She gave me a look. "When you were my age? I am 90 years old by your earth-years." "Yeah right, that story again." I tried the door again, and it swung open gently, to reveal a wild raging savage jungle of biodiversity, tangled vines, lush green trees, wild animals. I though I caught the glimpse of a Bengalese tiger, but it vanished in the shadows. "Hey look. I used to have a lawn out here. And wow, There's my old soccer ball! Needs a little pumping up, I'd say." I picked up the flattened, cracked, black-and-white moss-encrusted plastic pancake, and four or five scorpions and a millipede that had been living beneath it scuttled off into the underbrush. "Yep," I said. "just pump that baby up, it'll be as good as new." "Would you like to see our ship?" asked the blonde. "Yeah right. This I'd like to see. You girl scouts will say just about anything to sell a box of cookies. OK, where is this ship?" Without a word, she cut forth with another blast from the PDA-laser device, and a swath of green disintegrated, revealing the contours of a dark metal saucer-shaped object, large enough to hold several people. The entire surface was covered with complex patterns of tubing and Klingon writing. "Hey, you can't fool me," I said. "That's just my old barbecue." She sighed with genuine exasperation, and flicked a switch on her PDA. A circular hatch swung open on the side of the saucer, revealing a dazzling multicolored array of knobs, dials, switches, and blinking lights and displays. This caught me by surprise. I could have sworn they were just trying to sell cookies, and believe me I've seen what those girl-scouts will do to sell cookies. "Cool! Can I have a ride in it?" The blonde rolled her eyes. "First," said the dark one, "we require sustenance." "Sustenance. Human sperm. Well," I looked down, glumly. "What is it?" asked the blonde. "What's wrong?" "It's just that ... before we engage in sexual activity," I said, "I feel like I should know your names. I want it to be all proper and everything." "Of course. My name is ..." followed by a long string of bizarre syllables, many of which I am incapable of pronouncing. "and this is ... " another long stream of such syllables. "Well, that's a bit unwieldy," I replied. "I know! You could give us names. Earth-names." "You could baptize us!" "Well, I was planning to, in a minute. But before that." "No, no, silly. Baptize us by giving us names! Haven't you ever been baptized?" "Well, no." The dark-haired pulled out her mega-PDA again, flipping through meta-pages. "On this planet, they baptize via infusion, immersion, or sprinkling. Infusion means `pouring.' Sometimes immersion into a river or the ocean." "Isn't ejaculation in there somewhere?" "Moistening what is dry," said the blonde. "I think we could handle that," she said, absently digging the heel of her hand into her crotch. "I thought they fucked you in the asshole, but maybe that's just for the boys," I added. Both girls smiled and exchanged raised eyebrows. "That sounds fun. But later. What are our names?" "Oh jeez. How about ... Carmella," I pointed to the dark-haired one. "And, Vanilla," I pointed to the blonde. "Beautiful," said the soon-to-be Vanilla. "On our planet, we baptize with a single gentle kiss on the forehead." "French?" I asked. "FORE-HEAD, GENTLE, don't you listen?" "Yes, yes of course. So what do I say?" "Make something up. Go on." They both got down onto their knees and looked down solemnly. Good grief, I thought. "By the grace of the Holy Buddha, the Great Oz and various other subdeities, I invoke and arouse the Ominous Chartreuse Spirit of the Almighty and the forces of the seven chakras, the seven chocolates, and the seven dwarf-nymphets in congenial and otherwise pleasant ways to the ends of affixing to each your respective names to your cute little fannies; namely:" "Carmella," (gentle, loving kiss) and "Vanilla." (gentle, loving kiss). "That was beautiful," said Vanilla, wistfully. "OK, let's have sex." I later discovered that the phrase used on Riga as "hello" roughly translates to "OK, let's have sex," keeping in mind that Rigans are entirely a race of females, which is why they often travel to other galaxies for varietal entertainment. "Sex? Hey," I said. "I thought it was just for sustenance. Sa-a-ay, how do I know this isn't just an excuse to conduct wild unbridled kinky bizarre sexual experimentation on humans?" They both hung their heads guiltily, looking up at me with sad ET/puppy-dog eyes, standing there in silence... I exploded. "Well I didn't say to stop, did I?" "OK." Faster than a speeding submarine, Vanilla had my jeans unfastened, whipped out my hose and commenced on hungrily chomping away, hands busily probing and stroking in all the right spots, sending moiré shivers of ecstatic energy up and down my spine. The hose rapidly turned into a spear, a cruise missile... "Whoa, don't just stand on ceremony or anything," I said. "Whoa, oha, oh, you're very good at that, you know? Have you lots of experience?" Pausing briefly with a little slurpy-sucking noise, "Never," she replied. "Our travel guide gave explicit directions." She continued voraciously. "Oh, oha, oh, you know, they should publish that thing on this planet." "Does it distract you to have me watching?" asked Carmella. "Oh no. Don't go away. In fact..." Vanilla was pulling me down onto the lush, silky-soft carpeting of herbiage that had once been my lawn. Now I was on my knees. "In fact, if you could come over here so I could see what's underneath that skirt..." "Would you like me to take off my clothes? "No, no, not yet. Who, oho. oho. Vanilla, that's very distracting." "Thank you," she mumbled, mouth full. "In fact," I added, "the outfit is a nice touch." Carmella curtsied. "Why thank you. It was my idea. "I like the way you think. Just come over here for a sec. What have you got under that skirt, anyway?" She smiled, moseying over. The sparkling mystery behind those dark beautiful eyes burned into my soul. "I don't think you'll be disappointed," she whispered. Vanilla had me nearly horizontal by now, and Carmella sat down in front of me, still smiling. "Would you like to see?" asked Carmella, as she spread her thin, delicate legs, and pulled up her dress, thrusting her pantied crotch towards my face. The intoxicating aroma washed over my mind like laundry detergent, the enragingly sweet smell driving a crown of thorns into my ecstatically longing yearning to explode in the face of the sweet young girl who had me in her mouth. "Oh, oha, hoa, oh," "Try this," said Carmella, quietly, ebony curls cascading. Her gentle girl-soft dark skin glowed with an aura colored lightning energy-turquoise as she reached gently down and placed her tiny cute little delicate fingertips on my forehead. My mind sensed a jolt, like a wheel suddenly engaged, starting to spin. My vision burst into fractured-glass shards of white light. "Our minds are now one," she said. "our feelings melded. Our passions shared. What I feel, you feel. What you feel, I feel." "Really," inside the depths of my mind, I could sense the turnings of her thoughts. "Touch me," she implored. I reached out and gently stroked her cheek with the tip of my index fingernail, and with tingling immediacy I felt a finger stroking my own cheek... "Yes," she said, "Our sensations are now combined." She ran her fingers gently through my hair. I did likewise, fingers eagerly palpating each tiny strand of her soft beautiful black curls. She must be feeling the sensation of Vanilla, coaxing my throbbing spear to orgasm. Reading my mind, she nodded `yes' in answer, moaning gently, rocking her pelvis as if she were having sex. I looked down at Vanilla, my eyes tracing the gentle contour of her tiny face, her silky long blonde eyelashes, her soft moist thin red lips encircling my organ, making little slurping noises. I reached up and kissed her lips. Ultimate intensity. Breathless, heart pounding, her beautiful face flush with excitement. As I lowered my face towards her crotch, her pelvis writhed in suppressed anticipation. Eagerly, she lifted her dress once more, and thrust her pantied crotch to my mouth. I bit, gently, and she moaned. I felt everything she did, and she lovingly held my head in her elegant tiny hands as I drew the waistband of her panties down, gradually revealing the tiny chocolate rose, dainty and dripping, aroma assaulting my nostrils with prodding fiery ground glass of yearning. Perfectly smooth, not a trace of hair anywhere, the vagina of an 8-year-old. Slowly my tongue reached toward the soft, smooth recesses, and the contact sent sparks of shuddering electrical waves connecting to Vanilla's tongue relentlessly caressing and kissing my glans. I grasped Carmella's thighs, a thumb each on the inside of her thin, beautiful dark legs, as I commenced to lovingly kiss and prod and cajole her sweet pearl of joy. She tasted every bit as wonderful as she smelled, and my brain melted with the dueling sensation of how she felt my tongue on her and Vanilla's tongue on me... "Pretty intense," I commented, "this mind-meld." "Yeah," she said. "helps avoid the situation where somebody's down there slurpin' away but it just ain't turnin' you on." "Everythings OK today, I hope?" Carmella grinned. "You bet. Anyway, just as long as I get my sustenance, I'll be happy." I was puzzled. "Except, I'll be coming in Vanilla's mouth," "Don't worry," said Carmella, "we can share." I went back to kissing her love-spot again, waves of orgasmic energy building and falling like the to and fro of a young girl on a swing. From the corner of my eye, I saw an eyeball in the center of a knothole on Lydia's side of the fence. A hushed whisper : "Hey, check it out. The guy next door is getting it on with a couple of girl scouts. Cool!" More nervous giggles. In the heat of melting synapses, I lost all orientation with reality, and found myself believing that these two girls were actually girl scouts trying to sell me cookies, invited in on a dare, exploring the secret naughtiness of the dirty deed, crossing the forbidden boundary, boldly coming where no girl had come before... As I coaxed Carmella's body to orgasm, she came willingly and tenderly into my mouth, and I felt the sensation of her orgasm pulsing through my own body. The swirl of blonde hair at my belly button and the caramel and vanilla spiral of sensuous heat and sweetness and longing reached its fiery cherry-red yearning to release, and release it did, as my orgasm erupted, Vanilla lovingly held my sensitive balls and cannon, meticulously capturing every molten drop.... "ah - ah - ah - ah - ah - ah - ahhh......" As I collapsed in blissful exhaustion, Carmella knelt down, Vanilla reached up, and they shared a long kiss, as Carmella sucked my juices lovingly from Vanillas mouth, savoring, luxuriating in the rich salty sweetness. I got to thinking, now, girls scouts wouldn't probably smoke after sex, so what -- Vanilla reached into her bag and pulled out a brown disk, which she offered to me. "Thin mint?" ------------------------------------------------------- For more stories, visit our site on asstr-mirror.org http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/VivianDarkbloom/www/ -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderators: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at Hosted by | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+