The Soccer Mom Who Saved The Earth

by Lubrican


Xixxnoir, commander of advance scout ship 265443, of the Blagtox confederation, unfurled his two primary tentacles and entwined them behind his back as he paced the bridge.

"Approach the parking orbit with care, Lieutenant. This planet has weapons that have the potential to be able to reach us."

"Give me a break, Sir," said Rilpak, the engineer and second in command of the mission. "We'd see them coming long before they were a danger to us, and we can fly circles around anything they have here."

"Anything we know they have here," corrected the captain, still pacing. "I've been doing this a long time. You are beyond the pupal stage by only what ... fifty or sixty years? Do as I say. We'll park behind their moon. There will be time enough to be seen once the terms and conditions for surrender have been delivered."

"As you say, Sir," said the engineer, his minor tentacles flashing here and there, adjusting knobs and pushing sliders. Half an hour later he announced they were in a stable parking orbit.

A horn sounded and three compartments in one wall unsealed, letting out puffs of gas. It took another half hour for the three crew members in them to become fully functional after the suspended animation that had kept them from aging while the scout ship traveled to its destination. Munwavvatii, the mission psychologist and first contact specialist took charge, full of himself and overly dramatic, as usual.

"Advance Scout Lieutenant Izzlestax!" he snapped. "As per regulations, to ensure that suspended animation didn't addle your brain, tell me what your primary and secondary missions are on the target planet!"

Izzlestax, a four foot tall cone of blue-green flesh with two primary tentacles and four secondary ones, stiffened his jelly-like appearance.

"Sir!" he shouted. "I will merge my mind into the body of an Earthling, and then use that Earthling to deliver the terms and conditions of surrender to the leader of the nation in which my host is located. That is my primary mission. While completing that mission, I will confirm intel already received, and gather additional information of benefit to our mission, transmitting it to you on a regular basis!"

"Excellent," purred Munwavvatii. "I understand you have inhabited the bodies of aliens before this."

"Once, Sir," said Izzlestax, still stiff. "It was a marine predator, Sir. Very stupid. They turned out to be suitable only as food, Sir."

"Ahhh," said the psychologist. "That was on Barduk, then. I've vacationed there. Very nice climate. And the natives really are delicious. Tell me. What was it like to be in the mind of something that unintelligent?"

The mass of blue green flesh vibrated briefly, but then returned to stiffness.

"It wasn't any fun, Sir," said the scout. "They had to pull me out before I lost it. Had to skip over the normal separation procedure. It wasn't pretty, Sir. I thought I could live under water for quite a while."

"But you've recovered now?"

"Of course, Sir. I'm ready to go, Sir."

"All right then," said the psychologist. He looked at the other first contact scout awakened thus far, who was immediately below Lieutenant Izzlestax in the chain of command. "Advance Scout Sergeant Dulpprizwa, assist your compatriot into the transfer station. Ensure you can achieve mind meld with him. You will be the primary monitor of his mental transmissions during the mission, unless you are required to go down there for some reason."

Izzlestax was placed in a clear plastic tube, surrounded by wires. Contacts from these wires were inserted into his ectoplasm at strategic points. Munwavvatii, meanwhile, hovered over the transfer board that would send the essence of Izzlestax's intelligence into the brain of a native on the planet below. For possibly the thousandth time, the first contact specialist wished they could target the sending to a specific native. It would make things so much easier if the advance scout could take over the mind and body of the actual leader of a planet, rather than some random citizen. Nobody understood it yet, but once an advance scout's mental probe reached a planet, it somehow identified the strongest predatory mind within range and was attracted to it. Of course the best predators were almost always the ones in control. Predators loved to be in control. And the Blagtox were the most predatory species in the empire. At least thus far. Munwavvatii flicked switches and adjusted dials to take into account the mass of the moon behind which they were hiding.

"Transfer ready?" called the psychologist to the two advance scouts.

"Transfer ready!" they both called back.

"Request permission to transfer!" said Munwavvatii.

"Permission granted," said Captain Xixxnoir, sounding bored. He'd seen this dozens of times before. At least the natives on the planet below them had sufficient technology that it clearly demonstrated basic intelligence. He hated dealing with stupid natives when it came to demanding they surrender to the whims of the empire. Beings who had a sufficient level of technology were always smart enough to recognize superior empire tech when they saw it, and they always surrendered. Always. The trick was ensuring that the natives didn't destroy themselves, or at least use up too many resources in the process of being defeated and then surrendering.

One of Munwavvatii's primary tentacles pressed a button. The light in the tube surrounding Izzlestax turned to blue and his gelatinous body relaxed, becoming almost round as all conscious control of it left the ship with the advance scout's mental identity.

The essence of Izzlestax wasn't aware of the density of the moon as it flew effortlessly through the 2,159 miles of rock. It was even less aware of the 238,857 miles of relatively empty space between the moon and Earth. But when it landed in the prefrontal cortex of Chuck Dillworthy, coach of the Kingston, Missouri Fatal Femmes soccer team (a name that would be immortalized in history) the effect on both Izzlestax and Chuck was both immediate and spectacular.

Intelligence, as a general concept in the universe, is almost always based on a chemical interaction that a brain can interpret and make sense of. If one had examined the statistics of other species the Blagtox had colonized, he would have noticed that almost without exception, the brains of native species were only as large as was needed to contain the amount of intelligence present in that species. In other words, just about every being in the universe used almost all of whatever sized brain it had.

They had no way of knowing therefore, that a species existed on a lonely planet the inhabitants called Earth, which used only ten percent of the brain each Earthling was equipped with.

Basically, when Izzlestax's mind landed in Chuck's brain, it was a little like a grain of sand had been pushed through the skin of a ping pong ball, and then bounced around inside it. This was, in reality, Izzlestax's essence trying to find some kind of intelligence in the brain that he could latch onto to control the creature. Imagine, if you will, a brain in which ten percent of it is wired like the wires in a house. They make sense, are attached to the right things, and can be used to make predictable things happen. The other ninety percent of the brain is just a mass of tangled wires, some of which work their way into and among the ten percent. Now imagine a huge electrical spike zapping that big mass of tangled wires.

The effect on Chuck was that he had what appeared to be a grand mal seizure. He rose from the bench where he had been talking to Mitzi Hampton about her footwork, spun in a circle, collapsed and flopped like a fish while his vocal chords vibrated, making it sound as if he had swallowed a Jew's harp. His feet exhibited exactly the footwork he was trying to describe to Mitzi (though to be honest, she missed that) while his body arched up completely off the ground and spun in a complete 360 degree circle.

All of that might have been academic in the long run, as Izzlestax's consciousness flashed here and there in the echoing brain, desperately seeking a place to latch on to some kind of intelligence it could control.

But then Coach Dillworthy's body did a violent sit-up which brought his head into contact with the underside of the aluminum bench he had been sitting on, and which Mitzi was still sitting on. The bench didn't give. Chuck's brain, which had been traveling about ten or fifteen miles an hour, along with his head, tried to keep going when his skull suddenly stopped, and his prefrontal cortex banged off the front of his skull before flopping backwards. That led to the occipital bouncing off the back of Chuck's skull, which was why he saw stars, even though his eyes were clamped firmly closed. The rest of Chuck's brain, recognizing imminent danger, simply shut down like a circuit breaker that has blown.

Chucks' body went limp as he lost consciousness.

Mitzi screamed.

Rilpak stared intently at the board he was monitoring. "We have a problem," he said.

Munwavvatii had seen the same data on his board. "Try to reestablish contact," he said. This wasn't unusual. Most advance scouts needed a few minutes to take over the mind of a new species. But the techniques Izzlestax were using were tried and true. They always worked ... or at least had never failed thus far. Some brains were more difficult to take control of than others, but it was just a matter of determination and persistence.

Rilpak pushed a button and spoke softly into a microphone that was plugged into a jack on his forehead.

"Base, calling Izzy. Come in Izzy."

There was a hum, but no other sound.

"Base, calling Scout Lieutenant Izzlestax! Respond!"

Chuck's eyes popped open. Mitzi had gotten down from the bench and was leaning over the coach, her blue eyes inches from his. When his opened, she saw them dart around and then fix on her cleavage. She looked down to see her jersey hanging loosely. Her sports bra was clearly visible.

"Braaaaaaaaaaack!" groaned coach Dillworthy.

"Geesh, Coach" said Mitzi tensely. "I thought you were hurt. But if you're staring at my boobs you must be okay."

Chuck blinked several times. Finally, explosively, he said "Boobs!"

Mitzi looked around. "Shhhhh!" she warned. "Nobody's supposed to know you've seen them!"

Chuck's abdominal muscles bunched. Again he sat up. This time his twenty-eight-year-old skull impacted Mitzi's eighteen-year-old one. She flopped backwards and his head dropped to slam against the dry turf.

It was like somebody was playing ping pong with the ball Izzy's consciousness was in.

The speakers in the scout ship suddenly belched sound: "Bodanna maplethorp suspenny magatoop bugatana."

"What?" If Rilpak had had eyebrows they would have risen.

But there was no further communication from advance scout Izzlestax, except the final word which boomed through the speakers.


Chapter One

Robin Hampton and Megan Watkins skidded to a stop beside the coach and Robin's daughter. Mitzi sat up, her right hand going to her forehead.

"Owww," she complained.

"What happened?" asked Robin.

"I don't know," moaned Mitzi. "He went all goofy and started flopping around and then head butted me."

"He's unconscious," said Megan, who was Robin's best friend. She also happened to be the mother of Todd, who was Mitzi's boyfriend.

"Do you think he had a stroke?" asked Robin.

"He's a little young for that, don't you think?"

Chuck groaned.

"What should we do?" asked Robin. "Should we call 911?"

"What if it turns out he just fainted or something?" asked Megan. "Do you know how much they charge for an ambulance ride these days? It's obscene!"

"We could take him to the ER," suggested Mitzi.

"We're not an ambulance," said her mother.

It must be noted here that while stereotypes are rarely good things to employ, that is not always the case. Robin Hampton was a natural blond, ex cheerleader, for whom math, science and just about any other subject had been a challenge. Robin was the epitome of the dumb blond, primarily because she was a dumb blond. That said, she was still a wonderful mother, in spite of being a single one. She had a good imagination, but some difficulty in recognizing the difference between fantasy and fact. That was mitigated by the fact that her children kept an eye on her. They were a very close family.

"Since he's not bleeding, we don't have to be an ambulance," said Mitzi, who knew exactly how to phrase things so that her mother understood them. "We can just give him a ride."

"Oh," said Robin. She leaned down to slap coach's cheeks gently. "Wake up, Chuck," she said. "We can't carry you to the car."

Coach Dillworthy opened his eyes. They focused on the deep cleavage between Robin's heavy breasts which were, at the moment, gently cupped in a straining halter top.

"Boobs" he whispered, and smiled.

Robin, who had had a thing for Coach Dillworthy for over two years now, but had never acted on it because she was six years his elder, felt a familiar tingle in her loins.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Izzlestax strained harder than he had ever strained in his entire existence. He'd found a set of pathways that he sensed would control his host, but he also sensed something was amiss. Logically, he should be in complete control by now. He explored, sending his senses further through the tissue and felt something that, he had a gut feeling, was pain in the host. It was remarkable how similar thought patterns were between species. His host was injured. That must be the problem. He found and explored autonomic nervous impulses that controlled major organs. They seemed to be in good condition. He didn't want to ask for recall and try again. Getting control over this host had been difficult enough. He suddenly realized he hadn't made an initial report and opened a comm channel.

"Izzy to base," he projected.

He waited for someone to answer the comm channel.


He sent again: "Izzy to base, come in base."

Still nothing.

He switched over to mental impulse, which would establish mind meld with Sergeant Dulpprizwa. Dulpprizwa's consciousness should have appeared in the host's mind as a shining blue sphere that Izzy could touch with an imaginary tentacle. That was how Izzy had always visualized a mind meld. He communicated through the tentacle.

But there was no sphere.

He came to the conclusion that he was cut off from the ship for some reason. He had no idea why that was, but he suspected, instinctively, that it had something to do with that pain tag he'd noticed as he explored the host brain. He decided to explore further.

He started looking for the hosts sensory inputs.

"Chuck?" Robin let him look. That was normal for a man, and she wanted him to be normal.

"Thirty-eight dee," said Chuck, blinking.


His hands rose from the ground beside him and came to grip her breasts, as though they were rocks on a climbing wall. He twisted them in opposite directions gently and said, "I lust for thee, orbs of desire."

Robin gasped and leaned back. His hands, now claw-like, attempted to follow and reattach to the mounds of her breasts.

"Chuck!" she scolded. "I can't believe you did that!"

"I can," muttered Mitzi under her breath. Ever since she had succumbed to coach Dillworthy's rather blatant attempts at seduction, she had noticed that he had a breast fetish. Not that she minded. He was very very good at nipple love, and he didn't short her on foreplay. But she saw how he looked at other girls' breasts. He was a horndog, plain and simple. But he was a much more mature horndog than guys her age, including her boyfriend, who truly had a one track mind. But coach, as lusty as a good pair of breasts made him, had never been this bald-faced about things. Something was wrong with him. It was obvious. "We need to get him to a doctor," she said. "Something is really wrong with him."

"Help me get him up," said Megan. "Let's get him to my car. It's the closest."

The essence of Izzlestax couldn't sweat, because its physical shell was in a climate controlled cylinder. And making the host sweat wouldn't do any good. Izzy's problem was that this host was unimaginably difficult to control. He had found the portion of the host brain that was active, and held the host's essence. That essence was incredibly strong. While Izzy could exert complete control over various parts of the host brain, he could not yet control the whole package, small as it was. And trying to use the rest of the brain was like yelling in an empty cavern. All he got were echoes of his thoughts.

The hosts visual organs suddenly began working and Izzy analyzed the inputs. The host was operating on his own for the moment. Izzy decided to just ride along and gather intel. He needed more information and practice before he could completely take over all the functions of this human brain.

He secured the part of the brain he was currently inhabiting. Idly he explored, trying to find what tasted like memory centers. Locating some he explored and found a stash of information on the body he was inhabiting. His current resting position was in something called the prefrontal cortex. It had something to do with behavior, but wasn't used all that much, which was why he was able to wrest control of it from his host. He was quite sure now that the host had some kind of injury, but still seemed to be functioning reasonably well.

He felt the host attempt to gain control over the prefrontal cortex again, and retreated into that part of the brain to secure his control. The barrier he put up could not be breached by a mind this undeveloped. He was sure of that. He would just watch for a while and figure out how to control this human. He wasn't about to admit defeat to those on the scout ship. He tried again to establish contact with the ship, but there was still nothing.

Captain Xixxnoir was no longer bored. Lieutenant Izzlestax's communications had cut off after that last word, which meant nothing in the language the Blagtox used. He snapped to Rilpak to research it in the archives of intell about this planet. Rilpak was under the hood, where he could call up any of the electronic communications that had been intercepted coming from this planet for years. The Blagtox were always scanning the universe, looking for primitive electronic communications. Such signals meant the inhabitants had achieved a certain technological level that allowed them to locate and harvest resources and flourish in the process. That almost always meant that the Blagtox could flourish there too. If the natives couldn't be co-opted into the empire as slaves, they were simply destroyed and used for food. Or mulch, if they tasted nasty. In addition, the signals could be used to learn a lot about the inhabitants as a scout ship approached.

"Got something!" came the muffled voice of Rilpak. The hood rose. Rilpak punched a button which sent information to the big screen so they could all see it. Two Earthlings appeared on the screen. They were Earthlings of the human variety, which were suspected of being the most intelligent on the planet. Much was known about humans. They had sent thousands of hours of descriptive information out into space, as if they were showing someone what they were like. It was through these signals that their language was decoded. It turned out there were different languages, which suggested they had co-opted beings from other planets, though that was not agreed upon. The only vehicles they had that appeared to be able to leave the atmosphere of the planet were incredibly primitive, inefficient tubes powered by chemical combustion. They seemed to be proud of that. Many of their electromagnetic signals displayed those vehicles rising from the planet in clouds of wasteful thermal reactions. The spectra collected over the years was difficult to interpret sometimes. For example, the earliest of recordings always showed humans covering most of their bodies with clothing, some of it obviously functional, most of it not. Later signals, however, sometimes showed them with little or no clothing on. The most recent interceptions had tons and tons of data showing them with clothing on, then taking it off and interacting physically, only to put clothes back on. There was an intense debate on whether parts of the planet were heating up due to volcanic activity.

"I love your fucking boobs," said the male on the screen. He reached for twin mounds of flesh on the female's upper torso, and squeezed them, as if they contained some substance he was trying to make come out.

Rilpak spoke. "The mounds are collectively called boobs, breasts, tits, hooters, flappers, bullets, milk bags, bazongas, melons, chest puppies, fun bags, headlights, the twins, and some few dozens of other names. All humans have them, but they are functional only in the female, who manufactures something called milk in them and then feeds it to infant humans."

He punched another button and a new picture blossomed on the screen. It was a close-up of one boob, with human fingers squeezing a dark nodule located in the front center of the device. As the fingers squeezed, thin streams of white liquid burst from the nodule, going in different directions. As Rilpak cycled to yet another picture, a miniature human opened its mouth and sealed around a similar nodule on an adult female human's chest. This one was protruding from the female's clothing.

"This may be the feeding of an infant human," said Rilpak, pleased with himself for finding and tying together the various disparate recordings.

"Why would Lieutenant Izzlestax be hungry?" asked the captain. "Are you telling me he jumped into the body of a human infant? How could this be? How could an infant be the most predatory creature within range?"

"I'll keep looking," said Rilpak. "Maybe there's some other meaning for the word."

"What did you find on the other words ... that string that might have been a sentence?"

"I got nothing on them at all," said Rilpak. "I tried all the languages in the database."

"Keep trying," said Captain Xixxnoir, as if it was his own idea.

Robin and Megan walked on either side of Coach Dillworthy, who was taller than both of them, and a lot heavier. They staggered as his feet stumbled along between them. He looked down at each of them in turn, and his hands came around their backs to cup a breast in each one. He squeezed and giggled.

"Bippity boppity boob!" he chanted. "There's something stiff in my tube!"

"Chuck!" gasped Robin as he squeezed her left breast.

"That knock on the head tipped over his naughty box," grunted Megan, whose right breast was being massaged by the big, handsome man.

"Stop it, Chuck!" yipped Robin, even though she'd had delightful dreams about this very thing happening.

"My cock's all hard. It's full of lard," sang Coach.

"You know," said Megan. "Roger has been neglecting me lately. Maybe I should just take Coach home and nurse him for a bit."

"So spread 'em wide, babe and let's fuck!" yelled Coach. He stopped suddenly, dragging the two women to a stop as well. "No wait," he said, looking all around. "That didn't rhyme."

"Come on, Coach," said Robin. "Just a little farther, and we can go for a nice ride to the emergency room."

"I have an emergency!" he said, his voice sounding like he was trying to be a radio announcer.

"Yes, you do," said Megan. “So start walking again."

"It's in my pants!" he barked. He leaned down to peer at Robin's face. "Hi, Robin. I don't feel too good. I think I could use a stiff one." He blinked. "No, wait. I mean I have a stiff one. You could use a stiff one. I've been trying to give you one for years, ever since Tom took off." He blinked. "Am I supposed to be talking about this? Why does my head hurt?"

"Just sit down in the car, Chuck," cooed Megan, turning the coach so that his backside was pointed at the door Mitzi was holding open for them.

Then, just as they got him into the car, he lost consciousness and went limp again.

"Should we unfreeze the rest of the landing party?" asked Munwavvatii. He'd been on at least a dozen first contacts, and none of them had gone like this one. He felt nervous for the first time in his career.

"It's a little premature for that," said the captain. "I don't think it's likely that he jumped into an infant. Besides, his vitals look fine. He's probably just having a commo problem. If the host mind is so primitive that they don't have telepathy yet, then he'll have to grow that capability in the host brain. That takes time."

"I'm just worried because he did communicate, and now he's not," said the first contact specialist.

Captain Xixxnoir flicked a minor tentacle toward his control panel. The picture of the human infant eating at the breast of the female disappeared and was replaced by a six section chart showing the cognitive function centers in Izzlestax's brain, there in the transfer tube.

"As you can see, his brain is registering no distress. He's just having a commo problem,"

Izzy took stock. His host was injured. That much was obvious. It had gone dormant, which meant it was probably trying to repair the damage. Izzy decided to help.

He let his consciousness float around the body, looking for things that didn't make sense. He paid particular attention to the area where the two lower appendages met the torso. That had been a very active area when the host was awake. He traced neural pathways and examined the condition of tissue. He located areas where tissue was being replaced, but it was only on a cellular level that appeared to be routine maintenance. He went on.

"Aha!" he said, finding a tube which was obviously supposed to transport something, but which ended abruptly. The end was closed off by scarring. The end of another tube nearby displayed the same problem. Somehow, this tube had been severed, and the ends had scarred as it healed. He had no idea whether restoring it would help, but he had nothing else to do. Searching the part of the brain that he had converted to his use, he sent signals, causing the muscles to push the two severed ends together. Calling on the cells that were making repairs in other areas, he surrounded the joint with them. It took him almost an hour, but he finally confirmed that the connection was viable now, and that other cells, shaped like little round balls with a tail, could now travel through it without problem. Once he was certain proper function had been restored, he tried waking the host. It didn't work. Then he tried to establish communication with the ship again, also without success. Giving a mental sigh, he kept looking for things to repair.

"Mrs. Hampton?"

Robin looked up into the dark eyes of a doctor who reminded her of Doctor Foreman on the TV show House.

"I go by Ms. Hampton," said Robin, automatically. Ever since her husband had discovered he was gay and took off to live with his best friend, Danny, she had decided that the married honorific put up barriers to advances from men ... real men. Never mind that Tom had gotten her pregnant when she was just sixteen.

"I'm Doctor Neuman. I understand you brought Mr. Dillworthy to the hospital?"

"Uh huh," said Robin.

"Did you see what happened to him?"

"No," said Robin, who usually took questions very literally and answered them the same way.

The doctor had obviously expected to get additional information, and looked annoyed. Mitzi raised her hand, as if she were in school.

"He was talking to me one second, and he had some kind of fit. He flopped around on the ground and then banged his head on an aluminum bench. That's when he went unconscious."

"Oh," said the doctor, looking the girl up and down. She was delicious looking in her loose soccer uniform. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," said Mitzi, politely.

"Do you know how to contact his family?" asked Doctor Neuman.

"He doesn't have any," said Mitzi. "He lives alone. His parents are dead and he doesn't have any brothers or sisters or anything like that."

Her mother looked at her in surprise.

"I didn't know you knew so much about Coach," she said.

Mitzi decided not to tell her mother that she'd learned that, and much, much more as she relaxed, after Coach Dillworthy fucked her socks off in his bed and they engaged in pillow talk before he fucked her socks off again. Coach was always good for going twice. She was very happy he'd had a vasectomy and she didn't have to worry about when, during her cycle, he fucked her socks off.

"I think he told us about that on one of our road trips," she said, innocently.

"Well, we need to do an MRI, and he's still unconscious," said the doctor.

"Well then go ahead," said Robin. “I'm sure he'd want you to do one."

Doctor Neuman looked at her like she was crazy.

"I can do it without his consent if you're sure he hit his head," he said to Mitzi.

"He hit it hard," she said, helpfully. "And he woke up and talked gibberish and then passed out again."

The doctor nodded, turned away, and hurried through swinging double doors.

Izzy had only inhabited one foreign brain before. He was a Lieutenant not because of his experience, or time in service. His great uncle was General Zaggtorbex, in sector nine of the empire, and had pulled some strings. His previous host had been a marine species, that had enough intelligence to know it was hungry all the time. It also knew how to search for food, which consisted of pretty much anything it could get its razor sharp teeth into. Izzy had almost dropped to the same level before they sucked his essence out of the creature. He had convinced the medics that he was fine, though he had to undergo counseling for the nightmares he had. That creature's brain was where he learned how to identify pain centers in a brain. His host had been in pain a lot, usually when one of the others of its' species was trying to eat it.

So Izzy thought he'd been through the toughest experience there was out there. This species was clearly more advanced and more intelligent than that fish had been. But try as he did, he couldn't break through to communicate with his superiors on the ship. Furthermore, his host kept becoming dormant without any warning. Izzy didn't become dormant when that happened. He was just trapped in a brain that, while it kept his host alive, wasn't giving Izzy any information to work with. He'd found the organs that processed sound, and he could hear voices of other humans, but his vocabulary wasn't up to the task of translating them.

For example; A male voice had just said "Process to MRI STAT. May be a bleeder. Move it! Move it! Move it!"

Now what the fuck did that mean?

He was pretty sure he'd found the visual works too, but the host had external protective shields over the eyes, and they were deployed at the moment.

He visualized clamping a minor tentacle onto the aural input and heard the sounds that meant technological machinery. He felt the host body moving laterally. Since the legs weren't moving, and he could feel pressure on the skin covering the back of the host head, he decided the host was lying down.

"Clear?" came a disembodied voice.

"All clear. Slice 'em and dice 'em," said another voice.

"You better hope the chief doesn't hear you say that," said the first voice.

Then all hell broke loose, and Lieutenant Izzlestax held on to his own sanity for dear life.

It was as though he suddenly had his body back, and something was trying to tear him out of the host's brain bodily. There was a screaming wail as what felt like unshielded cosmic rays bored through the host's brain. There was no place to hide from the deadly rays, and all Izzy could do was add his own silent scream to the electronic noise and beg the sixteen gods to let him live.

"We've got a problem!" yelled Sergeant Dulpprizwa, who had jumped up and was looking at the transfer tube. "He's screaming into the mind meld!" His major tentacles wrapped protectively around the scutum that protected his own brain and he winced. "I can buffer the noise, but he's in some kind of major distress."

The captain turned to Munwavvatii. "Wake up the rest!" he snapped. "We may have to go get him."

Rilpak had abandoned the porn he'd been watching. The human males only had one tentacle, and it was stubby and useless at first glance. Even extended it only grew a few inches. But it was what they did with that tentacle that was so bizarre. They actually stuck it up inside the female! Never in his wildest dreams would he have thought of doing something like that. Once they took over this planet, though, he was going to try it. It must be a lot of fun, because the male did it a lot, inserting the tentacle and then pulling it out, only to insert it again. Over and over they did that until it appeared to cause them intense pain. It had to be painful, because inevitably, they cradled the tentacle in their hand and it bled in long, white spurts. He closed the hood. "What if we can't get him out of the host?" he asked.

"Then we bring the host back here and do it the hard way," said Xixxnoir. "It won't be the first time a native has been abducted and operated on."

Robin woke up when the double doors whooshed open. She looked to see Dr. Foreman coming out of them again. She couldn't remember his actual name, so she just thought of him by his TV look-alike's name.

"You're all alone," he said. She was as good looking as her daughter. And they didn't have to be brilliant to be good in bed.

"Megan took my daughter home. She and her girlfriends are having a sleepover tonight, and she didn't want to hang around here. Though I'm sure she's worried about Coach Dillworthy. All the girls love him. How is he?"

The doctor looked left and right, and then lowered his voice. "I shouldn't tell you, because you're not family, but he's got a concussion. The MRI showed some minimal bleeding, but there's quite a bit of swelling. He had both coup and contra coup injuries."

"What's that?" asked Robin, frowning.

Neuman decided to go for it. After all, she wasn't family, which meant she had no legal relationship with the patient, which meant he was not restrained by medical ethics.

"I'd love to explain it to you over dinner," he said.

"That would be nice, but who's going to take care of Coach? Does he have to stay in the hospital?"

Now Neuman neared dangerous ground. He could keep the patient in the hospital, even though his injuries weren't really that bad ... never mind that odd ghostly image that kept shifting around like fog on the MRI scans. There had to be something wrong with the imager. But who knew if this guy had insurance, and if he didn't, the administration would cry and moan about it for days, making his life a living hell.

"Tell you what," he said. "Coach Dillworthy woke up after the MRI, and he's going to be just fine. Now somebody needs to keep an eye on him, but he doesn't have to stay in the hospital. I thought maybe you might take him home with you for the night, so there will be somebody around if he needs anything, and then I can drop by later to check on him. I can explain all about his injuries then. How's that sound?"

"That's a good idea!" said Robin, who always hated it when Mitzi spent the night away from home. It was always so lonely and quiet. And besides. Who knew what might happen with Chuck if he stayed all night? And she even had a doctor's excuse to do it!

Izzy regained consciousness slowly. It was an exceedingly odd feeling, because Lieutenant Izzlestax had never been unconscious in his entire hundred and eighty year life. The Blagtox didn't sleep, like some other species. What scared him the most, though, was the fact that he'd been completely out of control, both of the host and his own intelligence, and he didn't even know how long!

On the good side, though, the visual shields had been removed, and he could see what the host was seeing now. It was obvious there was some kind of injury, because the shields kept closing, and then opening again, as if a circuit was sparking. But that was a minor inconvenience, compared to what else had gone on.

The electronic screaming was gone, along with the feeling of danger and being ripped out of the host. He ignored what the host was doing right now and sought to extend and secure his hold on the host's capabilities. This host had resisted him from the beginning, and was incredibly strong. Izzy wanted to be in complete control of it as soon as possible. Based on what he'd felt, this host would be perfect to secure the surrender of the planet. Surely no other human was stronger than this one.

"It's gone," said Dulpprizwa.

"What's gone?" asked Rilpak, who was watching as the four clone suspended animation compartments were unsealed. These were the ground pounders, and Dulpprizwa would lead them down to the planet to get his Lieutenant back.

The Sergeant was thinking the same thing. There could be a promotion in this for him, and maybe even a medal for valor while in combat. Even if none of the humans resisted, he could shoot a few and spin a yarn that would get him a medal. It was the least they could do. After all, he was going into harm's way. He had to be. Izzy was a tough customer, and for him to be screaming like that ... they must be torturing him.

"The screaming," said the Sergeant. "It just stopped."

"Is he dead?" Rilpak felt a chill run through his central core, where the gelatinous flesh was firmer, forming a spine of sorts that contained the dense primary neural network.

"No," said Dulpprizwa. "I don't even think he's in distress any more. It stopped just as abruptly as it started."

"Well, they're waking them up now," said the second in command. "For my money, somebody needs to go down there and find out what the fuck is going on. This has never happened before, and cones could roll if it doesn't go well."

"I'm ready," said the Sergeant.

"No you're not. You aren't wearing armor and you're not armed. I want everybody loaded for Grilsax when you go into the transfer tubes. The captain hasn't authorized you to go down in body yet but if, while you do the recon, it is determined you need to wreak havoc, we'll send your bodies down so you can jump into them and kick some ass."

Izzy was in some kind of vehicle that transported his host's body along in the building. Izzy had decided this was a hospital, which confirmed that his host was injured. He tried again to communicate, but there was nothing.

The chair with wheels on it he was being transported in - he wondered what powered it - came to a stop in front of a seated human female.

"Hi!" she said. "Are you all right, Coach?"

He felt a surge of something in his host and was astonished that he could be pushed out of control so easily. His host vocalized something.

"Boobs!" it said. It was also trying to move its arms.

Izzy grabbed control back. It was easier this time. Normally, he would have let the host control speech patterns, and only exert enough control over the host mind to get the host to go where he wanted him. Only under certain circumstances would he take over completely and use the host to demand surrender. But this host was still damaged, and until he could get through to the ship, and have them recall him, he'd have to stay in this one, damaged or not. He visualized the language this species spoke, and the words he had studied.

"Take me to your weeder," he made the host say. It was wrong. He knew it. He had thought the last word properly, but the damaged host had said something else.

"What?" asked Robin.

Izzy tried again. "Take me to your weeder."

Robin looked up at the nurse who had pushed Chuck out and was still standing behind him.

"Sounds like his speech has been adversely affected," she said. "The doctor says there may be some side effects from the medication they've given him, not to mention the concussion itself."

"Right," said Robin. She looked over to her right and saw Megan hurrying toward them. Ricky Simpson, Chuck's twenty-two-year-old student teacher, and the assistant soccer coach, was with her. He broke into an athletic trot for the last ten feet and leaned over to look into his mentor's eyes.

"Coach? You okay?"

"I am gokfram with an injury at the zeeprang," replied Izzy, with his host's voice. He realized he'd mixed languages inadvertently, and tried again, using what he thought of as on of his specialties - English slang.

"I be fucked up to the max, bro," he said slowly and precisely.

Ricky blinked. Then he smiled. "It's not that bad if they're letting you go. Plus I bet they gave you some great drugs." He grinned.

"Fo shizzle, ma nizzle," said Izzy, which he knew meant 'I concur with you whole heartedly my African american brother'. Feeling like his communication skills were improving, he tried again. "So, dude ... take me to your weeder." Izzy wanted to groan. Why wouldn't his host verbalize that word correctly?

"He keeps saying that," said Robin.

"What's it mean?" asked Megan.

"I think he wants to see my ... what do you call it ... weed eater?" Robin shrugged. "We need to take him to my house anyway. He has to stay there tonight."

"Really?" Megan's voice registered intense interest.

"Yes," said Robin. "The doctor wants me to keep an eye on him. He asked me to dinner, but then said somebody needed to keep an eye on Chuck, and that it should be me, and that we could eat at my house when he comes by to check on Chuck."

"A doctor doing a house call?" Ricky laughed. "I've heard of those, but I didn't think they did them anymore."

"Boobs!" barked Chuck. His right hand reached for Robin's left breast.

Izzy grabbed control back from the host. This was getting ridiculous.

"I bet he's right," said Ricky. "The doc is probably just hitting on you."

"He wouldn't do that!" squealed Robin. "He's a doctor!"

"He's a man, and any red-blooded man around would jump at a chance to put a move on you, Mrs. H. If you want, I can hang around your place tonight. You know ... sort of keep him honest?"

"And who's going to keep you honest?" asked Megan. She lusted after the assistant coach too. Her husband hadn't expressed an interest in any nookie in the last six months. She'd worn out two vibrators. "Maybe I'd better be there too."

"Suck a fucking titty!" gasped Coach Dillworthy, staring at Robin's chest. He flopped in the chair, his hands flailing but then sat still, his eyes glittering under the harsh lights of the hospital waiting room.

"Yes, I'll definitely be there too," said Megan.

The Kingston High School soccer team, who called themselves the Fatal Femmes, was pretty good, considering that the only flat place in town where any child could play soccer was the school football/soccer field. Kingston was located deep in the Ozark Mountains, about ten miles north of the Missouri/Arkansas line, and it was all ups and downs. Still, a lot of practice can be done in a small, relatively flat back yard, or even in a family room, as long as the parents could live with the inevitable breakage.

The Fatal Femmes had exactly four seniors on the team, known as the Fearsome Four. They were the undisputed queens of soccer in Kingston. That put a lot of pressure on them, because not only were they the leaders when it came to soccer, they were also all varsity cheerleaders, so everybody saw them all the time. That afternoon, during practice, Coach Dillworthy had been ranting and raving about footwork. He had come out onto the field and played right through the fearsome four, as if they were freshmen.

"That is the kind of footwork I'm talking about!" he'd yelled at them as they turned around, shamed and embarrassed. Coach was twenty-eight, which was almost ancient, and he had gone through them like shit through a goose. They took it especially bad because all four girls had lost their virginity to Chuck Dillworthy in his office, after a soccer workout. They weren't in love with him or anything. They were much too practical for that. But he was special to them all, and when he yelled at them, it hurt.

Mitzi Hampton was the leader of the Fearsome Four. That was why she had been by the bench, talking to Coach about that footwork when he had his attack. She had been using her leadership skills for the last two hours, pushing Shelby, Takesha, Maria and herself to new heights to get that footwork down. They owed it to coach. After all, he'd gotten so upset about it he'd had a stroke or something!

The four girls were scheduled to have a sleepover at Shelby's that night, and the next day was Saturday, so they could stay up late and sleep in. Besides honoring coach, a good workout before that would give them an excuse to pig out on junk food. They'd already worked it off.

Not that any of them were anywhere near fat.

Mitzi was five six, the shortest of the group, and had the squat appearance of a gymnast. But she had plenty of curves to go with all that muscle, especially in her legs. More than once, Coach had gasped "Uncle" as she squeezed the cum out of him with those legs. She had light brown hair, that was neither blond, nor brown, really. Like all the others, she let it grow as long as possible, and hers fell to her shoulder blades. She wore a 36C bra, and it was a little tight. Her boyfriend was Todd Williams, a wide receiver on the football team.

Shelby Wilkes was a Japanese American with straight, heavy black hair, both on her head and between her legs. Her breasts were small enough that she rarely wore a bra, even when cheering. Her nipples were large and sensitive, though, and she loved nothing better than letting Coach suck them as he ran that lovely, long cock in and out of her pussy. Shelby's boyfriend was Randy Hampton, Mitzi's twin brother.

Takesha Greene, whose screen name was "Milk Chocolate", looked the part. She was brown, rather than black, though both her parents were the blue-black that suggested Nigerian ancestry. Her uncle liked to tease her mother by asking her who the white boy was she slept with to get pregnant with Takesha. Takesha's other characteristics were all black, though, from the big fro she sported, to her coal black nipples and pussy lips that, when pulled apart, exposed shockingly bright pink flesh. She had always thought "White man" was wrong, because white men were really tan, or pink or cream colored. But then she watched coach Dillworthy's very white prick split her very black pussy lips, and push into the very pink tunnel. He really was white. Like the others, she loved it when he fucked her until her toes curled. Takesha went out with Jerome, the quarterback of the team.

Finally, there was Maria Torrez, whose mother was literally a wetback Mexican who had swum across the Rio Grande thirty years ago, when she was just fourteen. She had worked in the fields, and anywhere else they would hire her, learning English and anything else she could learn. Finally she found a job cleaning house for a rich white woman and, over the years, they had become friends. That woman's son had fathered Maria, and he had married her, giving them both the citizenship Maria had come to America for. Maria was the buxom one in the group, encasing her voluminous breasts in bras that were size 38 and double D. She would doubtless have trouble with them later in life, because they already flopped around violently when she ran or jumped. Only the strongest bras would hold them. But she loved them, because Chuck loved them. Her nipples, like Shelby's, were inordinately sensitive, and she could cum just from having them sucked and played with. At least by Coach. Her boyfriend, Raul, who was a running back on the team, loved to suck them too, but his technique didn't bring her off.

It was, in fact, Coach Dillworthy who had brought the Fearsome Foursome together. He had seduced each one of them when they were Freshmen, and they had become his harem, of sorts. When they found out about each other, there was jealousy at first. But then, despite their disparate backgrounds, as he also taught them how to take their soccer to a new level, they got closer and closer until they had eventually been comfortable not only fucking Coach, but watching him fuck the others, and letting them watch too.

And, lest the reader think that Coach Dillworthy wasn't 'worthy' of anything, it should be known that he only had one rule for his harem. That was that there could be no other men until they graduated. Not that they couldn't have boyfriends. That was fine. And petting was fine too. In fact, the girls could do anything except fuck the boys. And that rule is probably what kept them all from becoming pregnant teenagers.

Plus he really had undergone a vasectomy. Tests had shown he was a carrier for a genetic disease that could be passed along to his children. The risk was remote, but that wasn't good enough for Chuck. When no American doctor would agree to make him sterile, he'd gone to Mexico, where a doctor happily cut his vas deferens and cauterized the ends.

So the girls got what girls wanted at their age, and there was no danger of pregnancies that could destroy their hopes and dreams.

That was why they were willing to work so hard for him too.

Mitzi slumped down on the bottom bleacher seat. They had been practicing on the basketball court, because the squeaks of their shoes helped them learn how to move their feet.

"Showers!" she said. "And then we get our stuff and go over to Shelby's"

"Aren't we going to check on Coach?" asked Maria.

"I'll call my mom when we get out of the showers. The custodian, Mr. Jenkins, said he would leave the door by the incinerator unchained for us, but only until eight, so we have to be out by then."

Lieutenant Izzlestax was exhausted. This host was taking a thousand times more energy to control than that stupid fish had. The humans that had taken him from the hospital had put him in a ground conveyance, and he hoped they would take him to the leader of this planet so he could get his mission finished and get the hell out of this body. He hoped these beings caused problems, because he'd dearly love to atomize them. He tried several times to get the host to say the right thing, but failed. He decided to reserve his energy and practice the speech in his mind. Then, when they got to the leader, he'd somehow come up with the energy to overwhelm his host and make it say the right thing. To that end, he abandoned controlling the speech centers of the host.

Ricky was driving. They had put Chuck between the two women in the back seat. It being spring, and the weather having been warm for two weeks, Robin was wearing a short skirt and Megan was dressed in loose shorts. Both women were wearing tank tops. Chuck's head swiveled from one to the other, looking at the cleavage and legs exposed.

"Number one on the hit parade are Robin's boobies," he slurred. "Nice, fat, soft boobies."

"I beg your pardon," said Robin.

"It's just the drugs," said Megan. "Pay him no mind."

"At number two, and coming on strong are the pointy little titties of Megan Williams," he said, turning to look down her top.

"They're not little!" yelped Megan.

"And mine aren't fat, you boob!" said Robin.

"Boob, boob, boobies," sighed Chuck. "The world is full of beautiful boobies."

Randy looked over his shoulder, grinning. "Whatever they gave him, I want some. There are a number of women I've wished I could be that truthful with."

"My boobs are not tiny!" snarled Megan.

"And mine are not fat!" yelled Robin.

"Ladies, ladies, you don't understand. Size isn't what matters. Shape isn't even important. As Will Rogers would have said if he'd have thought of it: I never met a boob I didn't like."

"Contrast and compare," said Chuck, helpfully. "Bare 'em babies, cause we love 'em all."

"Men are such pigs," growled Megan. "My husband won't pay any attention to me at all, and a simple bump on the head makes Coach turn into a horny old goat."

Chuck leaned toward her. "Horny, yes indeedy, especially for a MILF like you. Old goat? Not so much." He turned and leaned on Robin. "I'm horny for you too. Even more. Equal opportunity, that's my style."

They pulled into Robin's driveway. The women pulled Chuck out. They were being rough with him, the result of an internal conflict both women were dealing with. Both had enjoyed fantasies about Coach. Now they had learned he felt the same way about them. But neither felt like she was allowed to fully enjoy that, and should be mad at him for his unbridled horndogginess. It didn't help that, as they walked him toward the front door, his hands found ... and squeezed ... the tender bottoms of his escorts.

"Wait!" said Robin. "My purse is in my car, at the field," she moaned. She brightened. "We can get in through the garage. I have one of those keypad thingies."

They walked Chuck to the garage door, where Robin reached and hit a sequence of numbers. The garage door slid smoothly upward. Entering, they had only gone another ten feet when Robin said "Wait!" again.

She had Randy take her place, which was uncomfortable, because Chuck squeezed his ass too, while she went to the wall. She pulled down a green and silver weed whacker and held it out in front of Coach.

"Here is my weeder, Coach. Is that what you wanted?"

Izzy realized the female was talking to him, instead of the host. He felt excitement at the prospect of actual communication, but she had used the wrong word too, just like he had.

"No," he said, taking over the host's speech centers again. "Not weeder." He concentrated. Just as he spoke, the host's left hand squeezed something soft and warm, and a dizzying wave of powerful resistance to his control swept through the body.

"Take me to your larder!" he said.

First Contact Specialist Munwavvatii paced in front of the four clone soldiers who had been awakened. All were named Raxxi, but each had a number too.

"That is the situation, gentlemen. Now Sergeant Dulpprizwa will lead you down first in mental form. What we're going to try first is taking over some humans and using them to find Lieutenant Izzlestax. Your natural - and superior, I might add - forms would attract too much attention, because there's nothing on this planet that has evolved far enough to have reached our level of physical perfection." He made his whole body quiver and shake, changing his internal albedo so that he was momentarily translucent, a glowing, quivering, jelly-like mass with waving tentacles.

The sergeant slid forward. "To the transfer canisters, men!" he shouted. "And may the force be with us!"

Captain Xixxnoir leaned his scutum toward that of Munwavvatii's and spoke in an undertone. "We should never have sent that movie back to home base. I hear it's a favorite with all landing troops, even as completely silly as it is."

"Replace the humans with Blagtox and it would be a perfectly wonderful fantasy," said the first contact specialist. "Now, let's get on with conquering this farzltung planet."

Chapter Two

The girls stripped down and entered the showers together. To a psychologist, they would have been a delightful group to study. The diversity of the group was unusual, especially considering their choice of boyfriends, which was as un-diversified as things ever got. Of course, unknown to the psychologist, would be the glue that held them together - their attraction to, and satisfaction with, Coach Dillworthy. He gave them all the hard core sex they wanted, which left them fully capable of exerting wonderful self-control when they played with their boyfriends. More important, though, was the fact that, as their sexual worlds had expanded and opened up, as they learned first to tolerate each other's attraction to Coach, and then later to happily allow it, it brought far reaching changes to their mini culture. When they got comfortable being a harem, they eventually learned to recognize in each other, what Coach loved in each of them

Which is the long way of explaining why, when they got into the shower, there was a lot of washing of each other under the hot water.

And, since they knew the boys wouldn't be allowed at this sleepover (Shelby's parents would be home this time,) they also knew that this night would be a game of tennis with no balls, so to speak. So the shower together was the warm up for what was later intended to be a nice, long daisy chain later on.

And it would have been just like that too ... except that Earth was invaded by aliens that evening.

When Rilpak pushed all the buttons, and the transfer tubes glowed and gassed up and all that stuff, the five essences of Sergeant Dulpprizwa and Raxxi's One, Two, Three and Four shot out of the ship and through the moon, just as Izzy's had. They had the rough coordinates of where Izzy had landed, which meant they could navigate, more or less to within a few city blocks of his location. But fate plays a role in any invasion, and this one was no different. That's because the five mental essences were looking for the top five predators in those few square blocks.

One of them turned out to be Ricky Simpson, who had watched Coach feeling up the two women that Ricky had fantasized about constantly, ever since he got to Kingston and found out they were the members of the parent soccer pep squad who routinely showed up to help at practices and games. He couldn't count the number of times he'd flogged his log, thinking about Megan and her perky little tits, which she almost never encased in a bra, and which gave him an almost permanent hardon. And Robin was just as bad. Except Robin was Chuck's. Many a time they had watched Robin walk by, or dance at the edges of the field, urging the girls on. Chuck would lean towards Ricky and say something like "Man, I'd love to bang that drum."

So Ricky was revved up that night, sexually speaking, because he did plan on staying the night, and he hoped like hell Megan did too, because he was going to finally give it a shot. Her comment about her husband's neglect had brought him to high alert.

And it was that predatory nature that drew the essence of Sergeant Dulpprizwa, who landed in Ricky's brain with the same kind of success Izzy landed in Chuck's. The difference was that Ricky was in the bathroom, sitting on the pot when it happened. His body experienced a series of waves, just like a fish out of water, at which time his bowels were evacuated more perfectly than at any time in his previous life. Luckily, it was in the can. Then he lay there, half stiff, half on and half off the throne, as Dulpprizwa navigated the same mass of empty and apparently abandoned neural pathways. The difference, however, was that Ricky didn't bang his head, and his prefrontal cortex was working just fine. So the sergeant was able to find his way around, and secure control of the host much more quickly and much more securely.

He stood up and examined his surroundings. He queried his host for information on what was going on. When he realized what the body had just done, and looked into the water-filled bowl, he shuddered.

"These things are nasty!" he said to himself. Then he used half a roll of paper to carefully clean his host's body, pulled the pants up, and spent five minutes trying to figure out the thing the host thought of as a belt. Finally getting it as tight as the host seemed to want it, he was presented with the concept of "zipper," which seemed even more complicated.

He abandoned that part of the ritual and left the little room to go find his advance team, and Lieutenant.

The other four top predators in the neighborhood just happened to be together. And they happened to be motivated by the same type of predation as Coach Simpson.

Their leader was Jerome Washington, who filled that role both as the team quarterback and off the field too. His cohorts were his star running back, Raul Peters, his star wide receiver, Todd Williams and his star end, Randy Hampton. He had gathered the group to perform what they all thought of as a military style assault/ambush on their girlfriends.

"Takesha said they were doing an extra practice in the gym before going to the sleepover at Shelby's," Jerome said to the little huddle, gathered by the old unused incinerator behind the school. "Now we know they always take a shower after practice," he went on. "And we know that old man Jackson leaves this door open for them. Our mission, should we decide to accept it, which we do, of course, is to sneak into the school, make our way to the girl's locker room and see them fucking naked!" His last word was delivered in a high-pitched squeal of excitement, unmanly in the extreme, but nobody would have thought to bring that up. Jerome was the man!

Randy pulled a can of black shoe polish out of his pocket and displayed it. "Camouflage!" he whispered.

"You think that will work for me?" asked Jerome, his voice dry. Jerome was blacker than the polish.

"Randy!" whispered Todd, whose girlfriend was Randy's twin sister. "Are you really going in there, man?"

"Shit man," said Randy, who had been licking his sister's twat since they were twelve. She could jerk him off better than he could do it himself. Of course he couldn't admit that to his teammates. "I see her naked all the time at home. Ain't no big deal. Besides, I ain't gonna be looking at her, dude!"

"Oh man! This is gonna be so fucking cool!" panted Raul, who had been trying to see Maria naked for over a year. She let him see her tits, but that was it.

"Ready men?" whispered Jerome. "Keep it quiet. Let's move out!"

Quietly the wannabe (and soon to actually be, ironically enough) studs slipped through the boiler room, into the hallway and down toward the gym. They heard the showers before they got there, and female voices. Those voices weren't speaking, though. They were ... moaning. Carefully, the boys crept to where they could stay in the dark, but peek into the shower room.

They saw Mitzi, on her knees, her upturned face glued to Takesha's pussy. Takesha was pulling at her fat nipples and was one of the moaning voices. To one side of them Maria and Shelby were kissing and rubbing their soapy bodies together. Shelby's hand was moving rapidly between Maria's legs.

A surge of adrenaline and other hormones flooded the boys bodies. They tensed, ready to pounce; instinct and heredity ordered them to dash forward and claim their mates. In short ... the urge to do something ... to take action was too much to resist.

"Get naked!" hissed Jerome. To be honest, Jerome didn't actually plan on doing anything in particular once they burst in on the girls. He just wanted to be naked in the shower room with them. The other three boys hadn't known about the getting naked part. That hadn't been discussed in the planning stages of things. But they, like their leader, were high on teenage hormones, and the thought of being naked with those naked girls in there was very appealing. They didn't know what the girls would do, but no matter what happened, it would be a tale to tell ... something to remember for a lifetime. In record time, the boys dropped their clothes, dancing with excitement. Four extremely erect penises jutted, aimed toward what the boys wanted ... needed ... would somehow conquer!

Raxxis one, two, three and four couldn't possibly resist either. They sank into the four boys as a group, just as Jerome was taking his first barefooted step toward the moaning girls.

"This is my larder, Chuck," said Robin, standing beside the open door of her pantry. "Is this what you wanted to see?"

"Nooooooo," wailed Izzy, through his host's malfunctioning body. "We're here to conquer you! You have to give up. Take me to your reader!"

Megan looked at her friend. She was a little giddy already. Knowing she was going to stay the night - she had already called her husband, who told her it was fine, because he had to work extra late anyway - her imagination had already gone a little wild. Ricky was so cute, and he was staying the night too!

"They want to conquer us," she whispered to Robin. She felt her nipples spike, and looked down at her tank top. They were poking through, making it obvious. She decided she didn't care.

"We have to give up," said Robin, who was beginning to get excited herself. She was pretty sure Chuck was finally making a play for her ... teasing her ... working up to asking for something more than just friendship. And that excited her too. She saw her friend's nipples and knew what Megan was thinking. They'd talked about it often enough. Her own breasts were firmly ensconced in a sturdy bra. She wished they weren't, so that Coach could see them wobble. He'd made it obvious he was impressed with her boobs.

"Why don't we get ready for bed?" she suggested to her friend. "Then we'll get Chuck all settled in and I'll show him my Kindle. We can read him a story. You can borrow something from Mitzi's closet. She's got all kinds of sleepwear."

"Good idea," said Megan. "I'd hate to have to wear these clothes all night."

"All shock troops appear to have integrated with a host successfully," said Rilpak, staring at his board.

"Establish communication with them," ordered Xixxnoir.

"Base to Sergeant Dulpprizwa," intoned Munwavvatii.

"Kind of busy here!" came the immediate and complaining voice of the sergeant's body, in the transfer tube.

"No problem," said the first contact specialist. He punched another button. "Raxxi One, come in please."

"Rrrrgaltmfpht!" gasped clone one's body.

Clone Two spoke without being contacted. "Transfer very difficult. Host has incredible defenses and astonishing amount of brain that is unavailable to me, or is shut down or something. I can barely control it."

"Is one with you?" asked Xixxnoir.

"All of us are together," said Two. "Three and Four appear frozen. One was flopping on the ground, but is standing now."

One's voice came again. "In ... control ... now. Some ... kind ... of substance ... internal ... sucking my strength."

"Do we need to recall you?"

"No," said Two. "It's difficult, but with a little time, they'll get as much control as I have. Wait. The females have noticed us. I'll report back later."

Since the contact was mental, there was no sound of it breaking. Xixxnoir looked at Munwavvatii.

"This has never happened before ... has it?"

"Not in my experience," said the first contact specialist. "I've worked on two dozen projects, and of course the archives have data on hundreds of others. Nothing like this has ever happened. We've always been able to easily take over the minds of natives."

"Maybe we should just recall everybody and use the disruptor on the whole planet," said Rilpak.

"You've seen the list of resources on that planet," said the captain. "It's literally worth its weight in glaxnors. If we destroyed it, they'd boil our bodies and serve them to the Zillwags." His protoplasm darkened. "Besides, we can't recall them unless we can establish a good mind meld with them."

"Vitals?" asked Munwavvatii. He sounded worried.

Rilpak looked at his board. "All within normal. Some readings are high, but they're in the midst of an assault. That's normal."

"Then all we can do is wait," said Xixxnoir.

The four girls heard something in the dark. They didn't recognize it as the sound of bodies flopping around as they were taken over by alien invaders, but that's what they heard. Unfortunately, for the invaders, they had chosen precisely the wrong time to enter a human male's brain. Raxxi Two, having entered Randy's brain, had better luck because Randy was used to seeing his sister naked, and licking her pussy. For him, this was exciting, but not overwhelming. The other three boys were not in that situation. The brain they were thinking with was between their legs, in a little flesh pouch. The brain the Raxxi clones invaded was the other one, which was not working well at all, having been saturated with chemicals the Blagtox had never encountered before.

In short, once the levels of certain hormones reached a critical level in a human male's brain, no Blagtox in the universe was capable of exerting full control over it. Of course the Blagtox weren't aware of this little fact. That's because nothing in the universe was as determined as a human male in the midst of attempting to breed.

And so it was that, as the girls crept toward the sound in the dark, three boys, only partially in control of themselves on a conscious level, (and that part inhibited by the presence of a startled and scared alien mind,) rushed into the shower room to claim their prizes.

There was shrieking aplenty.

Raxxi Two followed the others with halting steps. Of them all, only he was cognizant enough of what was going on to try to report. Part of his consciousness announced finding the source of the feedback that was making it almost impossible to control his host. He looked down to see a single, puny tentacle extending from the groin of his host. It was laughably small, and he couldn't figure out how to manipulate it, but it was definitely the source of the problem.

Raxxi Three's body shrieked in its transfer capsule. All three Blagtox on the ship quivered with shock and surprise.

"Warning!" shouted Raxxi Two's body. Then his mind meld kicked in for a few seconds. "Earthlings have only one tentacle. It controls them instead of the brain! Very strong. Too strong."

"Recall him!" snapped Xixxnoir.'

Rilpak's tentacles flashed across his board.

"Too late," he moaned. "The mind meld vanished."

Had the boys been themselves, the girls could have controlled them. But the unnatural alloy of human and Blagtox allowed what was left of Neanderthal man in each boy to take over. Squealing, and then screaming girls were wrestled to the floor of the shower. The Blagtox could only watch in horror as that single tentacle was used to spear the females. That it was a mortal wound was obvious as all resistance left the females, and they lay, more or less sedately as the hosts assaulted them over and over again with that tentacle.

It happened so fast that not even Raxxi Two could make another report. And it was one other thing the aliens didn't know about, that did them in. They couldn't be blamed, really, since no race in the universe other than the human race, suffered premature ejaculation.

Four boys climaxed in their girlfriends. Jets of creamy teenaged cum - very virile cum - entered the bodies of the Fearsome Four, who were, at that moment, almost as a group, comparing their boyfriends with their shared lover.

Chuck was way ahead.

Then, as the peak of hormones associated with orgasm flooded the boys' bodies, the environment became toxic to the Blagtox invaders who, with no warning, found it impossible to retain consciousness. Their minds were expelled from the host and, since there was no recall process in the works, those minds floated aimlessly for a few seconds. Had there been another host handy, they might have darted toward it. But they were too weakened to search beyond the confines of the shower room.

Just like that, four of the first six aliens to invade the Earth ... died.

Alarms went off, first one, then joined by two more at the same time, and then the fourth, causing havoc on the ship.

Rilpak's tentacles flashed helplessly across his board, hitting reset buttons, searching for some way to make the information on the board untrue. A major tentacle slid by him to hit the button that silenced the alarms.

"They're gone," he whispered, shocked beyond anything he'd ever experienced.

"Who's gone?" asked the captain.

"The clones! All of them. Just gone!"

"What do you mean gone?" asked Munwavvatii.

"Dead!" shouted Rilpak. "That's what I mean. Gone! Dead! Their minds are nowhere to be found!"

"Impossible!" snorted Munwavvatii. "There must be some failure with the instruments."

Rilpak slid backwards. He looked at the mission specialist. "See for yourself," he rasped.

Sergeant Dulpprizwa hadn't reported in yet. He knew he should have, but he had nothing to report, other than the fact that the human mind, with its vast empty spaces, was a pain in the ass to control. He wasn't about to call the ship and admit that he couldn't conquer one lousy human, much less the rest of the planet. What he needed was his assault team, so they could gather intel and make a plan. He could sense that the Lieutenant was close by, but he was in this structure that had all these passageways. It was like a maze. He wanted to make contact with Izzy first, and then he'd be able to report he'd done that.

He moved down the hallway confidently. The host had fought him at first, but he'd been able to exert his control well enough to make the host go where he wanted it to go. There was a door at the end of the hall that had English letters on it that spelled out "Mitzi." That was close to the Blagtox word "Mitzbragum" which was the process by which the outer skin of a Blagtox was encouraged to molt so that it could grow bigger. It was, based on his sketchy research, something akin to what went on in those porn videos Rilpak was so interested in. He knew it felt wonderful. He'd only been authorized to do it once so far. He felt a surge of energy in his host body as he contemplated the joys of Mitzbragum. He pushed at the door, but it wouldn't move. Impatiently, he lent his psychic energy to the host body and pushed again. There was a groaning, creaking noise and the door broke into pieces and flew inwards. He stepped into a room that was full of pink, the color that all Mitzbragum chambers were painted.

He realized there was a human female in the room when she screamed. He looked at her. The humans had four appendages, two that they manipulated things with, similar to how tentacles were used, and two for moving around with, which was just a stupid, inefficient way of motivating. That was one reason why they should be conquered. They were wasting resources. The human female was holding what many of them covered their outsides with, at the end of one upper appendage. The host's body jerked and he was overwhelmed with the English word "naked." Then a flood of other concepts assaulted his consciousness as his control began to slip.

"We have come to conquer!" he made his host say. "You must surrender immediately!"

Megan had screamed as the door burst inward. When she saw Ricky, she was at once reassured, and confused. That he had broken down the door was clear, which was a little excessive. That he wanted her was also clear, which wasn't excessive at all. He was so commanding... so in control! She felt moisture flood her pussy. It had been so long since she'd had anything in there except her vibrator. And he was so cute! She wanted to do this, so she let herself go.

"Then I surrender," she said, dropping the nightgown she had been about to put on. "Approach, oh conquering one, so that I may pay homage to you."

Dulpprizwa was having more and more trouble controlling his host. Its upper body tipped forward, requiring that the legs move to keep the body upright. They did so without his conscious command. He recognized that this human female had spoken words of surrender, and he concentrated on that, trying to get his host to deliver the rest of the message.

"You must accept our terms of surrender," he rasped.

"Oh I will," she said, running what his host told him were her hands over what his host told him were her breasts.

The host stepped forward again. He ordered it to stop.

It ignored him.

He realized his mind was getting fuzzy, as if he was being drugged. Frantically he analyzed the available data. It was something in the nutritional liquid that circulated within the host's body, feeding the various bits and parts, another inefficient and wasteful process. The Blagtox injected nutrients directly into their protoplasm, where, like gas in a canister, they spread out and equalized everywhere.

The female approached him and sank to the floor. That was appropriate. The Earthlings should grovel. It was their destiny.

"Oh look what I found!" said the Earth woman in a high pitched voice.

He looked down and saw that part of his host's flesh was protruding from that zipper thing he'd been too impatient to deal with. It looked like a fat finger, pointing at her.

"Goody," she said, and while he tried to work out what that meant in their strange language, her head moved forward and her mouth opened.

"Shit, shit, shit!" gasped Rilpak as dials on his board began wavering. "Now the sergeant is in distress. What the fuck is going on here?"

"We're going to have to probe them," said the captain.

"Sir, they have the technology to detect our probes," Munwavvatii reminded him.

"I don't care. We have to get some data. This is going all wrong, and we have to figure out why. No race has threatened the empire before this. We've never lost more than two or three clones in an entire conquest. Now we've lost four at once? And their leadership is either incommunicado or in distress? Send that drone!"

"Drone away!" sang out Rilpak.

Robin led Chuck into her bedroom. Her mind was whirling. So much had happened. So much could happen!

"Are you glad you're here?" she asked the man she'd lusted after for two years.

"Oh baby," Chuck's actual consciousness got through. Then Izzy tried to grab control. "It's our destiny."

"I don't know what to say," she sighed. "I never knew how you felt. Would it be all right if I slipped into something more comfortable before I get you ready for bed?"

Chuck's mind leapt, and Izzy felt like he'd been slapped a dozen times. "Oh yes!" the body said.

"You won't peek, will you?" asked Robin, making it clear she expected him to say no, but peek anyway.

"You must surrender!" gasped Izzy.

Robin pulled off her tank top and, before she could lose her nerve, reached behind her to release the bra. It fairly sprang from her breasts, which dropped an inch. It felt so good to have them naked that her hands went to massage them without conscious thought.

"Boobs!" whispered Chuck

"What was that?" snapped Captain Xixxnoir. "Was that Izzlestax? Has he finally made contact?"

"I think so, sir," said Rilpak. "But it was just that one word ... the same as before. Then he was gone again."

"Is it a warning? Is this boobs thing some kind of weapon they have that we don't know about?"

"I don't know, Sir," said Rilpak, helplessly. "Maybe the probe will tell us."

"Beautiful boobs," whispered Chuck.

"Thank you," said Robin, blushing. "But you're not supposed to be peeking. I'm going to take my skirt off now ... and my panties too. Don't you peek, okay?"

Izzy felt like he was attempting to move through an atmosphere that was trying to crush him. He knew it was the host, interfering with his control, but it just got stronger and stronger. All he could do was watch.

The female dropped the rest of her clothes and stood, facing the host. Izzy was overwhelmed with the words "shaved pussy!" but he had no clue as to what the host was talking about. With sudden realization, Izzy knew that what was happening to the host was being caused by the female! In all the electromagnetic data on this planet, the male always seemed to be in control of everything. But now the female was doing something that was robbing the host of all control. The thickness he had been fighting grew even more, and his own consciousness began to get fuzzy. Frantically he pushed hard.

"Take me to your breeder ... pleeeease?"

The female stood still long enough that Izzy had some hope that she'd go away.

"Oh Chuck," she said softly. "Oh baby. I'm not on anything. If we do this ... you might breed me."

Izzy felt the little control he had snap, and suddenly he was merely an observer. The host body went toward the female, who reached for it. She tried to eat the host's lips, but he fought her off. Izzy was aware, on an academic level, that his host's body had heated up significantly, so he wasn't surprised when it started shedding the coverings on it. He just wished that there was some way he could get all this information back to the ship.

He didn't know it, but he was about to get his wish.

"Oh Ricky! Oh baby! Fuck me Ricky!" Megan's thrashing body told the barely conscious Dulpprizwa that she was trying to resist the dominant male, but the knives on the ends of her fingers dug into the male's flesh, pulling him against her and causing the male pain. Still the male lunged against the female, lying on top of her, apparently trying to squash her. Dulpprizwa's consciousness was too overwhelmed to do much analysis, but he, like the lieutenant, had come to the conclusion that the females on this planet had some kind of capacity to exert control over the males, and that when they did that, it made the male brain almost useless as a control mechanism for the body. Belatedly, he tried to make contact, to get some kind of report off. He could tell that he wasn't going to be able to retain any control at all for much longer.

"Dulpprizwa to base!" he sent frantically.

"Report!" came a scream in his consciousness. What was happening on the ship? Were they under attack?

"Found Izzy. He's here. Females have power," he gasped. "Males uncontrollable! Danger!"

Then, as Ricky Simpson, the twenty-two-year-old student teacher and assistant soccer coach of little Kingston, Missouri achieved his fantasy of fertilizing Mrs. Megan Williams, MILF extraordinaire, he unknowingly defended Earth by killing Sergeant Dulpprizwa, of the Blagtox empire with hormones associated with his orgasm.

"We just lost Dulpprizwa," whispered Rilpak. "He blinked out, just like the clones."

"Where's the probe?" rasped Xixxnoir. "We have to get some data!"

"It's approaching the last known location of the Sergeant. Their defense forces have detected it and are responding."

Colonel Patrick Davis, USAF and watch commander on duty at NORAD watched the screens over the shoulder of the two airmen who were operating them.

"It's faster than anything we have," reported Airman Cranston. "Anything anybody on this planet has," he added.

"Sir, on the trajectory it's currently on, the only military installation it could be heading for is Fort Leonard Wood," said Airman Black. "ETA five mikes max."

"Where are the interceptors we scrambled from White?" asked Col Davis.

"Fifteen miles out and closing, Sir."

"What's at Fort Wood?" asked Davis.

Cranston punched buttons. Another screen flashed to life. "US Army Chemical School, Sir," he barked. "There's a marker that says they have the facilities there to store chemical and biological warfare agents."

"Do they have any live agent there?" asked the colonel anxiously.

Cranston punched more buttons.

"Affirmative, Sir!" he barked. "Quantities classified!"

"What do you mean classified? We've got clearance for every fucking thing!"

"It doesn't say, sir. It might be just enough for training, or enough to wipe out the whole state."

"Authorize the interceptors to go in hot," said the Colonel.

"Sir, that's a populated area."

"Not if whatever that thing is hits and releases nerve agent all over the state of Missouri," snarled the Colonel. "Tell them to take it out!"

He turned and plucked a red phone receiver off the wall. He didn't have to dial. It started ringing on the other end automatically.

Izzy was now a prisoner inside the host. He had determined that the injury to the host, whatever it was, had affected the brain in such a way that it didn't operate normally. And, since it didn't operate normally, Izzy couldn't control it normally. Now, all he could do was watch what happened and hope that he would eventually be able to either switch hosts, or report back to the ship. He was convinced that, if he could get into a normal human, controlling one wouldn't be any problem at all.

He lasted longer than Dulpprizwa had, but that's because he was so horrified of what he saw that it gave him additional strength. The female approached and pressed her body against the host's. Izzy had been in the host long enough that he had established good connections with the various parts of the body. He felt, for instance, the hot tips of the female's upper body protrusions touch his chest. There had been a constant lower level agitation down in what he now knew was the part of the body called the groin, where he had repaired the tube, hoping that would give him better control. It hadn't. He'd gone on to examine the structural cells in the whole body, finding what he had no idea was called DNA. His experienced mind had recognized something that looked wrong, a pairing of the bits of the spiral construct that was damaged. He had no idea what this damaged part controlled, but he removed it, just in case, hoping it would give him more control. He had no idea he'd just cured Chuck of the genetic flaw that had led him to sterilize himself. All of this had been to no avail, though, and now the tentacle that tube was associated with was now extremely active. The sensations in the groin sharpened even more and what he'd thought of as an emaciated, stunted, or vestigial tentacle down there, came to life and began to stiffen. He watched in amazement as it grew longer, something a genuine tentacle never did.

The female led the host to the bed and lay him down on it. Then Izzy watched in disgust as she tried to eat his host's tentacle. She was unsuccessful, however, because the tentacle, which the host thought of as "prick" defended itself by becoming even harder. The female gave up, and rearranged them until Izzy was hovering over her. Her hand reached for the hardened tentacle and pulled it toward her. He wondered what she thought she could do to it now.

"Do you really want to breed me?" she asked.

At that precise instant, Izzy realized they'd sent a probe. It was right outside the building, hovering. And he could reach it! At last ... he could communicate with the ship!

To that end, he abandoned all attempts to control the host. His primary (and only) intent now was to get the hell out of this body, and get the hell away from this female who was so deadly.

Chuck, getting all of his mind back, with the exception of what was damaged, now realized that what he'd been dreaming was, in fact, real, and that he was about to fuck the lovely Ms. Hampton.

He lunged forward, lustily and felt delicious heat surround his prick. She moaned, and it was a happy moan.

Chuck Dillworthy was inflamed.

"Base!" gasped Lieutenant Izzlestax.

"I've got him!" came Rilpak's excited voice. "I've got Izzy!"

"Pull me out!" wailed lieutenant Izzlestax, one of the most feared beings in the universe.

"Lieutenant!" came Captain Xixxnoir's voice. "Where the hell have you been? We've lost five men down there! What the hell is going on? Report, Lieutenant!"

"Pull me out, quick!" whined Izzy, feeling waves of deadly ... something ... assailing his consciousness. "The women ... they're too powerful. Helpless. She's killing meeeee."

"Shit!" yelled the mission commander. "Pull him. Izzy, we're going to recall you. Keep the mind meld open, Izzy. The probe will help."

Col Davis was frowning and very unhappy. The UFO had come to a screeching halt not at Fort Leonard Wood, but at a little town twenty-five miles east and a little south of there. It had stopped, but telemetry data suggested it was still above the ground. That meant it was floating. He had no idea what it was doing, and the man on the other end of the red phone was getting more and more surly about the fact that that Davis couldn't tell him what it was doing. Meanwhile, backtracking the trajectory of the object had made it unmistakably clear that it had come from the dark side of the moon. That meant that either some nation had been able to build a base there in secret, which was unthinkable, or that there was an alien presence on the dark side of the moon. And because the thing was hovering, it was pretty clear that it was gathering some kind of data or intel. That was what the president had wanted to know - what kind of data was being collected - and what the Colonel had been unable to tell him.

The President spoke. He was on speakerphone, as per regulations, so there would be multiple witnesses to what he said.

"I don't give a damn what it is. Take the damn thing out."

"It's right in the middle of town, Sir," said Colonel Davis. "The casualties from collateral damage will be significant."

"Maybe not ... not if you use the marble," said the most powerful man on Earth. "Are your interceptors armed with it?"

"Sir, they are, but we've never deployed that weapon in a real world situation."

"No time like the present to see if the damn things works. Shoot that thing down, Colonel!"

Davis nodded to the airman who was in contact with the pursuit jets. The airman softly spoke into his microphone: "Go with RU-738. I repeat, go with RU-738." Within fifteen seconds a ghostly voice came through the speakers saying "Marble away."

The RU-738 was a side effect, of sorts, of the depleted uranium sabot round used by the M-1 Abrams Main Battle Tank with such devastating success in the Gulf War and then later subsequent missions in Iraq and Afghanistan. People in the Air Force wondered if, perhaps, they might be able to use that technology. The result was a super-precise munition dubbed the RU-738 "Marble", which was a ball of depleted uranium about the size of an old fashioned shooter marble. It was encased in a sheath of titanium that had circuitry which would communicate with the jet that fired it. Jet aircraft usually locked onto a target and then fired their munitions. With the marble, it had to be otherwise. The marble was contained in a pod which was released from the bird. Then the pilot locked onto a target and the pod completed the final firing sequence. That was because the marble was expelled from the pod at a blistering mach 8. At 5,280 miles per hour, it was almost like using a laser. Video tape of the tests, in fact, showed a straight line of superheated air between the pod and the target that looked like a laser beam. That line appeared instantaneously, and the marble invariably hit the target before the pilot had his finger off the pickle. The titanium was believed to erode away enroute, but they hadn't been able to find enough pieces of a fired marble to tell for sure. In any case, when the marble struck an object, it simply melted its way through whatever it hit and then buried itself thirty feet underground. That sounds like all it did was poke a hole in something, but the force with which it hit things was akin to dropping a bowling ball from a hundred feet up onto a sugar cube. Whatever it hit was often atomized.

In this particular case, the probe, which was about ten feet long and a foot in diameter, with gyroscopes at either end where there were also thrusters, was struck by the marble dead center. What the Air Force managed to find the next day were the gyroscopes and thrusters, but that was about it.

Unfortunately for Izzy, the marble hit the probe a split second before Rilpak stabbed at the button that initiated recall.

Had Izzy lived, he'd have been able to describe in intimate detail what it was like to be inside the body of a rutting human male, while the female throwing her pelvis up against him whined "Breed me, Coach, breed me."

Of course Chuck wasn't just any, average human. There had been dozens of times when he'd been fucking this woman's daughter, fantasizing about what it might be like to be virile and able to make her belly swell. And sometimes, while he was on top of Mitzi, he thought about what it would be like to do the same thing with her mother. It drove him so wild to be living that fantasy now, that his orgasm was strong enough to kill the parasite in him before the first spurt of his semen - which was now rich with sperm cells, thanks to Izzy's repairs - soaked Robin's cervix.

Chuck had no idea that as many times as he had fantasized about breeding Robin Hampton, he was now actually doing so.

Rilpak was right in the middle of the recall protocol when yet another alarm went off. This time it was an alarm none of them had ever heard before, because it was associated with the probe, which was guaranteed indestructible to everything except a cellular disrupter.

"What fucking now?" barked Xixxnoir.

Rilpak didn't answer right away. His ocular organ was vibrating as it looked at the readouts for the probe.

"They destroyed the probe," he said weakly.

Xixxnoir was past touting the party line. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Positive, Sir," said the second officer. "And Izzy ... Lieutenant Izzlestax ... he didn't make it either."

"All gone?" Munwavvatii's voice cracked. "This is a disaster!"

"Show me Izzy's last few minutes," rasped the captain.

Rilpak's tentacles poked at buttons from training, rather than his conscious effort to provide what was asked. He was stunned.

The probe had sensors in it that saw through the materials the structure was made of. Izzy's essence was shown as a red light in the head of the host. The host was lunging up and down on top of the female, who had her arms wrapped firmly around him, preventing him from breaking free. That he was almost certainly trying to break free was made clear by him trying to pull away from the female, only to be jerked back against her forcefully. The female was, indeed, incredibly powerful. And yet, Izzy and the rest had all been pulled into males. Apparently the females were shielded from possession. And this one obviously had complete control over the male, and she wasn't even in his brain! Izzy's light got dimmer and dimmer. He could be heard pleading to be recalled. Then everything stopped. That was when the probe had been destroyed. They still had no idea who or what had done that.

"We are doomed if this race ever leaves the planet," said Munwavvatii. "We must use the disruptor and destroy them all."

"And what if they have defenses against the the disruptor, and it doesn't work?" asked the Captain. "We will be exposed to destruction, and the empire will never know about the danger."

"Impossible!" yelled the first contact specialist.

"As impossible as them destroying a probe?"

Munwavvatii trembled. His protoplasm became pale and colorless. "What can we do?" he whispered.

The captain turned to his second officer. "What do the archives show about their space travel?"

"They came here, where we are, but only once in person. They seem to be sending probes all over the place, but to planets they couldn't possibly live on. There is no evidence that they have either the desire or capability to leave the planet."

"Destroy them!" insisted Munwavvatii.

"We don't have the authority, and the planet is too valuable," said the captain. "We will go back to the empire and report. We will return with a fleet. They can't resist a fleet." He waved a primary tentacle at Rilpak. "Plot a course for home."

Megan was just dozing off when there was an earthquake. The whole house shook and there was a booming noise. She heard breaking glass. Ricky had collapsed on top of her when he had his orgasm, apparently unconscious. She had pushed him to one side. Now he groaned and lifted his head.

"Megan?" His voice sounded surprised. He looked at her and then at himself. "We're naked!" he gasped.

"Well yeah," said Megan, curiously. "Get up. We just had an earthquake."

"Really?" He sounded interested. "Why are we naked?"

"You made beautiful, mad, passionate love to me," said Megan. "Don't tell me you don't remember it. You were like a crazy man."

They heard thumping feet. Robin appeared in the doorway, stark naked.

"What was that?" she yelled.

Megan and Ricky got up. Megan reached for the nightgown she had intended to wear. Ricky saw his clothes on the floor and wondered how they got there. Chuck suddenly appeared behind Robin. He was naked too.

"We're all naked!" Ricky pointed out.

"There was an earthquake," said Megan.

"We need to get outside, in case there are aftershocks," said Chuck.

"We should get dressed," said Robin.

"No time!" said Chuck. He reached and grabbed sheets and blankets off of Mitzi's bed. Megan ran to grab a handful of the nightgowns she had decided not to wear. Chuck herded them out of the house.

The Fearsome Foursome had recovered completely from what they would call "The attack of the boyfriends" from then on. All four of the boys had collapsed into limp heaps after shooting the girls full of spunk. None of the girls had been hurt, really. Maria and Shelby were a bit scared, initially, but only because everything was happening so quickly. Mitzi had yelled at her brother, telling him to stop his friends, but he had seemed dazed.

When none of the boys would wake up right away, the girls got concerned. They turned the water off and dried themselves. They got dressed and then worked on the boys, trying to dry them too, and get them back in their clothes. Randy woke up first, spectacularly. He sat up suddenly and yelled "What the fuck!"

The rest of the boys woke up in similar ways, but they couldn't remember anything they had done past spying on the girls. The girls didn't believe them at first, but after a good twenty minutes of interrogation, they came to the conclusion that the boys were telling the truth. Why it had happened was anybody's guess. Takesha accused them of smoking dope or dropping acid, but they insisted they had not. Then the boys got upset when they were told what had happened.

"Let me get this straight," said Todd. He looked at Mitzi. "I fucked you. And all the other guys fucked their girlfriends."

The girls all nodded.

"That's not possible," said Raul. "I'd remember something like that. You're lying."

Maria stood up, angry. So quickly that nobody could believe it, she skinned off her shorts. She had not put her dirty panties back on. Raul stared up at his bottomless girlfriend, who stood there, with her pussy on display to them all. Then she squatted. Her face tightened, and she grunted softly. She reached to spread her pussy lips with two fingers and thick, white spunk drooled out of her pussy.

"Don't you ever call me a liar again, you bastard!" she yelled.

The other boys looked at their girlfriends, who nodded solemnly.

"Shit!" said Todd. "And I can't remember it! I finally scored and I can't fucking remember it!"

Rilpak was poised over his navigation board, waiting for the captain to order him to engage the thrusters. He'd have to be careful with the maneuvering to ensure that the ship wasn't visible to the planet as they left, but that was well within his capabilities. The captain was finishing up an additional measure he had decided to take.

Xixxnoir entered the code that enabled the device and pushed the launch button himself. The beacon left the ship with a jolt, and spiraled down to the surface of the moon, where it settled in the gray dust and began transmitting. It was nuclear powered, and would continue transmitting for at least a thousand years. Its message was simple. This planet was quarantined and too dangerous to approach. All traffic was warned to come no closer than one light year.

He turned to Rilpak. "Get us the fuck out of here," he said.

"We have to destroy the planet!" wailed Munwavvatii. He knew his career was over. He had lost five men, an incredible and unthinkable catastrophe. He wanted to at least be able to say the planet that had done it was no more.

"You will go into suspended animation now!" ordered Xixxnoir.

Munwavvatii produced a hand disintegrator. "No!" he yelled. "We will circle this moon. We will let them see us. And then we will turn the disruptor on them and blast that planet into grit!"

Rilpak, who never got to go outside the ship, or down to the surface of any planet that had been conquered, had always wished he could do something to get one of the medals they showered on the landing parties. This landing party would never get any medals. Rilpak had been thinking about that. It was the first contact specialist who was supposed to ensure success of first contact. And Munwavvatii had not. He could see that the hand disintegrator in Munwavvatii's tentacle was set to project a needle beam, and all it was likely to do was leave a small tunnel, straight as a beam of light, through his protoplasm. So Rilpak decided he would subdue the being, and maybe salvage some kind of medal out of this cursed mission after all. To that end, he flowed toward the psychologist.

The disintegrator beam did, in fact, leave a simple tunnel of empty space through Rilpak's body. He barely felt it, in fact. He whipped both primary tentacles at Munwavvatii, and slapped him hard enough to cause internal damage.

Then the floor shifted under him.

He turned to see his navigation console smoking, where the ray that had gone through him had failed to pass harmlessly through all the machinery and electronics inside. He flowed back to the console, and saw immediately that the beam had caused one thruster to fire. They were spinning, and unless he could stop it ... well, it wouldn't be good if he couldn't stop it.

He had just determined that the thruster circuit was fused, when the outer edge of the ship impacted the moon. In what looked like slow motion, the skin cracked, and the atmosphere inside the ship whooshed out. There was no sound, only destruction as the mass of the ship continued to grind it into the gray rock. The three crew members aboard died almost immediately while the metal, plastic and other materials that would become their mausoleum collapsed around them.

In the end, all that was left was the beacon, sending out its everlasting warning to stay clear of a dangerous planet.

"Let's go inside," said Robin, tugging at the sheet wrapped around Chuck. "There's nothing we can do out here."

Chuck stood, still looking at the smoking hole, about a foot in diameter, that went down into the ground from the bottom of a ten foot crater. The patrolman who had arrived, his lights and siren flashing, had found the four adults standing around the crater, trying to figure out what had happened. Chuck had found some kind of metal thing and examined it briefly, but couldn't tell what it had been.

"Must have been a meteor," said the patrolman.

"I don't think so," said Chuck.

The thumping of helicopter blades came to them all. It was lots of helicopters, and they were landing at intersections, where there was enough room for the rotors to clear, but which closed off each intersection to regular traffic.

Soldiers appeared, with rifles, looking nervous.

"Now I really don't think so," said Chuck. He lifted a hand to his head. "My head hurts."

"Come back inside," said Robin. "I'll make it feel better."

Megan looked away from the hole in the ground to Ricky. She was worried that somebody was going to see her in a nightgown, with a man not her husband, wearing only a blanket, and jump to the right conclusion.

"Yes, we need to go back inside," she said. "We're supposed to be taking care of Coach."

"And we were doing that in Mitzi's room?" asked Ricky, grinning widely.

"Yes we were," said Megan.

"Would you mind explaining that to me? I'm just a little fuzzy on the details," he said.

"I'd be happy to," said Megan and turned to run back into the house.

"Come on," said Robin to Chuck. "You need your rest."

"Why do I need my rest?" he asked. "The last thing I remember is talking to Mitzi about her footwork."

"I'll explain it all to you, while Megan explains it to Ricky," she said.

An hour later, a gasping coach Dillworthy rolled off of Robin. He had just pumped more of what he thought was sterile semen into her pussy.

"I don't understand," he panted. "Give me a few minutes and you can try to explain it to me again."

The woman who had saved the Earth from invasion by aliens ... and didn't even know it ... laughed, and kissed her new man.

The man who neither of them knew yet was the father of the new life taking root in her womb, that had been created during the battle.

The End