Exofuckologist Grxxxphttt rested mandibles on thorax and folded his antennae, deep in thought. He snuggled his glossy green-and-gold chitinous rear deeper into the sticky folds of the arm-and-leg chair and tried to lift his mind into the third sphere. It was difficult. That creep in the Department of Off-Planet Spawning, Sssplaschtt, had been turning his poison vent in his direction for the last four Cycles - sooner or later, one of Sssplaschtt's nasty little remarks would reach the antennae of the Spawning Minister and Grxxxphttt would find himself having to defend a position that should have been unassailable.

Three thousand five hundred and eighty four successful penetrations in the last forty Cycles! Upward of one hundred thousand Agagagagraxa spawned as a result. No other Exofuckological officer had even approached his stats. And his target females weren't a load of withered old bags abandoned by their own kind, no indeed. He had played it by the book, followed the Department's mission directive to the letter: 'Take only the best females, single out the most competed-for, the prize bitches, the queens of the hive, take them, subdue them and fertilize their eggs, harvesting the best inter-planetary DNA, that the Agagagagraxa may spawn and multiply throughout the Mother Spiral who spawned us all. Chzzzttt!'

'Chzzzttt!' Grxxxphttt said out loud, hoping that the sacred expletive of the Agagagagraxa spawning cult would clear his mind of doubt as it had so often done before; but he remained sunk in melancholic gloom. What he needed was the nasty little sting-sucking Sssplaschtt out of the way, and an absolutely unequivocal mind-buggeringly successful alien-spawning to place in the mandibles of the DOPS management, with his name on. The clock dripped away the time and Grxxxphttt sank lower in the chair, worrying, brooding and ... eventually...planning.

*****

Emma Watson crossly brushed the hair out of her eyes, let it flop back down, brushed it away in a different direction, threw the gold-plated hairbrush aside, grabbed her hair in two bunches and dragged it back until it stretched her features out of shape.

'Fuck, bugger, piss, shit and ... and ... ,' she shouted into the mirror, 'fuck Harry fucking bloody Potter, fuck J K fucking Rowling, fuck films, fuck acting - why won't they let me fucking FUCK!' She burst into tears and commenced banging her head, not hard but methodically, on the make-up table in front of her.

'Everything all right dear?' asked a motherly woman with a clip-board, who popped her head round the door. Emma Watson stopped banging her head long enough to say, 'Fuck off!' and then carried on as the woman flinched and withdrew.

Shortly afterwards, another figure appeared in the dressing-room doorway, a large and bulky woman, simply but expensively dressed, of indeterminate age, with a sharp, concerned expression focused on the teenager now slumped despairingly amongst the scattered pots and tubes of make-up, her white cotton dressing-gown slipping from one shoulder, unheeded.

'Oh dear, of dear, oh dear,' sighed the woman, 'are we having another bad bit?'

'What?' snarled Emma Watson, 'What?' Her scowl would have wiped the grin off a skull, but it had no effect on the woman who stooped over her making little clucking and soothing noises. 'Is our little Emma unhappy? I say we should drive into town and go shopping later, how about that - after the shoot, yeah?'

Some muffled words could be heard coming from under the woman's two thick tweed-clad arms, which were wrapped consolingly around the crying girl. The words might well have been 'Fuck shopping.'

'Sadie,' said Emma, when she was released from her agent's powerful grip, 'I cannot stand this ANY MORE!'

Sadie Arsewangler stood back abruptly, her face severe. 'Stand what, you ungrateful little cow?' She picked a slim black cigarette out of a gold case, lit up and exhaled over the teenager, making her cough, then perched one flaccid tweed-clad buttock on the edge of the make-up table, looming grossly over the slim form of the adolescent English actress. 'I don't think a little girl who's pulling in millions of dollars ought to complain so much,' she said, taking another deep drag on the Sobranie special export.

'Yeah, millions of dollars for YOU,' was darkly muttered from under the great cloud of glossy chestnut hair.

'Now, Emma, darling, you know that's not true,' said Sadie Arsewangler. 'Your mother agreed a generous percentage for me, it's true, but look how far we've come together.'

'Yeah, a piss-poor town without even a bloody Macdonald's.'

Emma's agent sighed and dropped a long worm of grey ash into an open tub of face-cream. 'It's only for a week.'

Emma Watson lifted her tear-stained head from the table. 'Huh! A week of being ordered around, shoved into position, do this, do that, run down there, scream, like I was a... a robot or something!'

'I thought you liked the location stuff,' Arsewangler said, idly playing with a wayward lock of Emma's luxuriant hair.

'Maybe I did, once,' said Emma, folding her arms and scowling at herself in the mirror. 'It's not exactly a novelty any more.' Her manner suddenly changed and she turned her pale, dark-browed face earnestly up to her agent's rather slab-like features. 'Oh Sadie, you know what it is. There's no ... life for me. No ... you know ...'

Sadie Arsewangler's pudgy fingers stopped their teasing of Emma's hair. 'Boys,' she said tersely, shoving the stub of her cigarette into the same hideously expensive tub of face-cream. 'But you have Dan, and Rupert.'

This brought a near-hysterical and rather unpleasant cackle from the young actress. 'Oh yeah, sure - Rupert and Dan. Well,' she said with sudden crisp authority, sounding very much like Hermione Granger, 'firstly, my contract, which I know you know backwards because you bloody well signed off on it, says if I so much as snog someone within one mile range of a camera without permission I'll be working free for the studio for twenty years just to pay off the fine. And the other point is,' said Emma Watson, her brown eyes glowing from under an intent frown, 'that I don't want boys, I want MEN - or A man, at least.'

'Poor Emma...' lilted Sadie Arsewangler dreamily, and let one pudgy, heavily-beringed hand fall on Emma Watson's slim bare shoulder, where the dressing gown had fallen away. The theatrical agent, whose fake bottled tan was shown up rather cruelly by the smooth perfection of the young girl's skin, bent her head until her chin rested on Emma's shoulder and her bright pink lips were right beside the young star's ear; her hand, meanwhile, had strayed lower, pushing down the front of the open dressing gown, sliding between the little breasts. 'Men,' breathed Sadie Arsewangler, tenderly cupping and squeezing Emma Watson's left breast, 'plenty of time for all that, if yah really want the bastards. Meanwhile, you and me can have fun, like always, mmm? Sadie's little tickle-bunny?' And the agent's bottle-blonde curls dipped, her plump flour-white hand moved down, her prominent pink-painted lips fastening on Emma's stiffened nipple while the clawed, greedy fingers shovelled, unresisted, into the sweet fuzzy crotch of the most desired and desirable adolescent girl on the planet.

Who mumbled, before giving way to the hot treacherous waves sweeping the length of her arched back, slender legs sprawled apart and quivering under the make-up table, 'I - hate - you - Arsewangler, you - fat - Jewish - dike...'

Then, with the last grains of rational cognition left to her before a big red orgasm threatened to push her uterus out of her ears, Miss Emma Watson reflected on the irony that for her, the love-object and fantasy fuck of males the world over, this gross woman with thinning dyed-blonde curls bobbing, panting stale tobacco fumes and rooting at her young sex like an ageing porker on the scent of truffles, this, THIS, was her sex-life. Anything, anything at all would be better .... except Daniel Radcliffe, of course.

*****

At that very moment, above the sordid little scene, in which sweet Emma's beauty shone like a diamond clasped in the hand of baboon, a long way above - two thousand miles in fact, a starship was easing into high Earth orbit after a lengthy but uneventful trip from the Agagagagraxa heart-stars at the galactic core. Technically the vessel's correct designation was Mobile Exofuckological Implant Facility Number 19, but Grxxxphttt, leading this breeding expedition in person, had dubbed it the !obzix in honour of his home hive-sector.

'Have we harvested this planet before?'

The words came from a slight, thin faced, long-legged Agagagagrax who had just entered the control room, where the ship's officers were clustered around the viewport. The newcomer was none other than Sssplaschtt, Grxxxphttt's enemy at the Department of Off-Planet Spawning, whom the Exofuckologist had manoeuvered into joining the expedition.

'Odd that,' Grxxxphttt had said to the Head of DOPS, 'one of your team - Sssplaschtt, isn't it? Never actually penetrated a female off-planet - or on, if it comes to that ... or so I gather.' So it was that, just half a rotax later, Sssplaschtt's crystal had vibrated with the instruction that he should report to Grxxxphttt, to be inducted into the next available off-planet spawning expedition.

'No,' replied Grxxxphttt absently, without taking his eyes off the infocube, where cherry-red and algae-green numerals danced in neat columns. 'Only surveyed, never used. It's changed a bit since the scout ship visited. More communication devices. Simple stuff, electro-mag.'

'No quantum?'

Nothing - almost. Couple of installations, but they might as well be banging rocks together. Still way off.'

'And...,' said the spindly Agagagagrax functionary, nervously joining the group of officers at the viewport. 'have you scanned for ...appropriate ... females?'

He's excited, thought Grxxxphttt - excellent! Aloud he said, 'Scanning communications now. Looking for tell-tale signs - frequency of images, references, displacement behaviours - well, I don't need to tell YOU of course, Sssplaschtt. It's all standard DOPS procedure.'

For a moment Sssplaschtt's antennae quivered uneasily as if he had picked up overtones of hostility, then subsided. Grxxxphttt emitted a silent churr of relief: he'd have to be careful. Sssplaschtt must suspect nothing if the plan was to succeed.

'Data coming through now, sir,' said a junior officer, busy at the glowing crystals of the reception lattice.

'Come and have a look,' said Grxxxphttt to Sssplaschtt, and watched his enemy come scuttling across the control-room floor like an unsuspecting hive-pest towards the trap. 'We always aim for a total of two hundred,' he said, his tri-partite eyes rapidly traversing the dim violet array. Across a representation of the planet in ragged 2D projection pulsed chains and whorls of brilliant blue-green dots. 'Looks like we've found our quota already. Helps a lot, of course, that these - what do they call themselves? - Hoo-manss have developed a primitive infoweb. Our techs just insert a simple code and the Hoo-manss web traffic automatically votes their top two hundred females straight into our databanks, image, location and all. Almost too easy.'

'Wh - what sort of being are they?' said the spindly Sssplaschtt, nervously rubbing his front forearms together, making the bristles stridulate faintly in a manner thought by most Agagagagraxa to be rather common.

'Warm-blooded, mammalian, tribal...' said Grxxxphttt, but Sssplaschtt was staring at the planet Earth, projected in violet outline like a flayed hide, peppered with blue-green gems, each one, in the mind of the sex-starved little functionary, a wet and wriggling bag of ova, ripe for the teeth of his scaly, multi-legged sperm.

'You say we've never had these before...' whispered Sssplaschtt hoarsely, foaming slightly at his thorax ears. 'What shape...? I mean, where do they...?'

'I am so sorry, my dear Sssplaschtt,' said Grxxxphttt. 'I keep forgetting that this is your first time in the field. I should have told you. It is the Executive Spawning Officer of the day, that is, yourself, who deals with all that. My goodness me, yes, how well I remember my first Exofuckological Spawning - spent half a cycle with my secondary phallus jammed up the cloaca of a gas-creature from Gloppagloppa 4 - missed her genitals, which were at the other end! The spines of my penis locked into her gut-striations and in the end I could only pull out by bringing her internal arrangements with me. Well, she exploded, of course - my junior staff spent the next rotax scraping Gloppagloppa gas-creature off the walls of the Fuck-Chamber, and me - I have gagged at the smell of methane ever since. Ah, great days, great days!'

Peeping at Sssplaschtt out of the edge of one of his tri-partite eyes, Grxxxphttt was pleased to see an unhealthy orange stain the natural green of his face and upper thorax. The spiteful little clerk was beginning to worry. Well, let him ... this was only the beginning: Grxxxphttt would see to that!

*****

Emma Watson sat alone, looking small and very young in jeans and white sweater, on the enormous back seat of the studio limo taking her back to her hotel. She'd told her minders to keep Sadie and her clammy attentions right out of her sight for a while. The fat bitch would have to be allowed back at some point though, just to handle the money. No one else knew what the hell was going on. It crossed Emma's mind that Sadie Arsewangler had probably worked hard to ensure that that was the case. She sighed - her agent really had got them all by the balls. Emma grinned suddenly, putting her hand down to her smooth wide denim-clad crotch. No balls there! Just a wet and hungry vacancy, longing for... longing for ... Oh dear, oh dear ....And the insolent old fart of a driver was blatantly grinning at her in the mirror.

No, not grinning. Emma sat up, alert, as she saw the man's expression change to one of concern, then fear. A split second later the car jerked, swayed and left the road. Emma screamed and covered her eyes, wishing, too late, that she had worn her seat-belt. Through her covering arm, through her tight-shut eyelids, came a brilliant blue-green glow which was like nothing she had ever seen. The light pulsed in time with a vibration which seemed to affect her whole body, reaching right inside, to bone, bowel and brain, insidious, invasive, alien....rather nice, really, like when she and Mandy Barnard had discovered, at ten years old, the peculiar pleasure of sitting on the front of Mandy's Daddy's Toyota when the engine was ticking over. How pleasant now, to drift bodiless like this, weightless, with all those other girls for company, all floating up in a long line and - Emma noticed without any surprise or apprehension, for this was, after all, so obviously a dream - all completely naked.

*****

'Suck completed, sir,' reported a junior officer, busy at the sparkling green column of the Brood-Suck control which had brought the planet's best, most desired, most fantasized-about, most-stalked and masturbated-to females past the force-field, through the space-hardened hull and into their individual brood-creature holding-pens in the blue-green-lit heart of Mobile Exofuckological Implant Facility Number 19 of the Agagagagraxa space-fleet.

'You hear that?' said Grxxxphttt jovially, clouting Sssplaschtt around the upper thorax-segment with one of his middle arms. 'Suck completed! Let's go down to the holding-pens and see what the good planet "Uuurth" has yielded up to us, eh?'

Pretending not to notice Sssplaschtt's quivering discomfort and outright fear, Grxxxphttt extended one of several tentacular pseudo-phalli from the puckered orifice on the right side of his middle thorax, wrapped it firmly around the nervous clerk's crest and half-dragged him to the nearest skitterway. Sssplaschtt was going to pay for his office-politicking against Grxxxphttt, pay with his dignity, his career and - quite possibly - his life. As they skittered together down to the Brood-Chamber deck, Grxxxphttt allowed a slight smile to bend the tips of his antennae. Sssplaschtt, of course, was in too bad a state to notice, and Grxxxphttt knew why: the spindly little Agagagagraxa, well-known for his constant carping criticism of Grxxxphttt's exofuckological methods, was going to have to perform a major implanting in front of a galaxy of off-planet spawning talent - and not just any major implanting, oh no: Grxxxphttt had made ... certain arrangements.

*****

Emma Watson awoke from a pleasant dream of a summer tea-party on her mother's lawn, yawned widely and stretched like a cat. She opened her eyes, and then the fear descended. Opening her eyes made no difference. Pitch black. She shut them again, squeezing the eyelids tight, then opened them wide. The same coal-cellar, speluncular darkness pressed its thumbs against the young star's eyeballs like an idiot bully. She opened her mouth to scream and the dark seemed to flood down her throat and she closed her dry trembling lips. Of course! The car. There had been an accident. She must be trapped somewhere, some ditch or culvert, they had rolled off the road...and all the while, the thought that she might be dead floated slowly up into her mind from where the nightmares lurked.

With an enormous effort Emma controlled her rising panic and made herself think straight. She was lying on something giving yet firm, soft in texture, not wool, not plastic, not linen - it reminded her of something but she could not think what. She flexed her arms and legs again, more carefully - no aches or pains - no injuries at all, it seemed. Very cautiously, mindful that she could be in small space with a low roof, she sat up. Nothing - plenty of room, then. As she moved, the air flowed around her face with an oddly caressing touch, viscous, not unpleasant, but ...wrong.

Very slowly, Emma rolled and got onto all fours, then crawled a few experimental feet, feeling all the time in front of her face. Her fingers touched something but her scream was swallowed as she realized it was only her own rumpled hair hanging down over her face; she knelt up and swept it back, the familiar action making her feel better. The young girl was still in that position, kneeling up, back straight and arms raised behind her head, when the Agagagagraxa put the lights on. It was only a tremulous corpse-light, the blue-green of rotting vegetation, but bright as day to eyes which had got used to total darkness. Emma Watson, quick as ever, rapidly took in everything around her in the holding-pen: the adjustable multi-species fuck-frames, spawning tables and insemination guns and other devices with claws, hooks, spikes, needles and prongs enough to make even a brave little girl wee herself- which our young star promptly did.

*****

Sssplaschtt twitched a mouth-palp: 'It's urinating. Is that good?' 'She can probably smell your sex, my dear insectoid. I believe this species empties its bladder in preparation for intercourse. Well, I'll be off to the spectators' gallery, where I understand there's a pretty distinguished audience gathering. Whistling-Admiral Pokkslabz is observing today, did you know that?'

A deeper orange tint of anxiety spreading across Sssplaschtt's upper thorax segment was answer enough. Grxxxphttt had known though, oh yes - for he had personally invited the Whistling-Admiral Pokkslabz, the biggest cunt in the known universe, a career-wrecking bastard, to honour this first implanting of female Uurth with his grouchy mean-minded presence. 'Oh, and by the way, my dear Sssplaschtt ,' said Grxxxphttt , pausing in the act of turning away, 'this one's the best of the bunch - the planet's top egg-carrier - just thought you'd like to know!' And before the nervous little functionary could respond, he pushed Sssplaschtt through the holding-pen's narrow doorway, shut it, sealed it and bounded off to the skitterway, gleefully rubbing his antennae together. What a show he had arranged for the Whistling-Admiral - a nervous and sex-starved Agagagagraxa coupling with a planet-class prize breeder, under the compound eyes of a professional, hard-bitten and highly-critical audience. The nervous and inexperienced Sssplaschtt would either fail to copulate and never dare to show his chupper-hames in the Department again, or, better, his pent-up sex-drive would cause him to forget all his training and fuck the little pink hooo-man to a painful death: he imagined the headlines, the interviews, the disgrace! 'EXOFUCK OFFICIAL BURSTS TOP BITCH' 'A win-win situation, yes indeed,' Grxxxphttt chuckled to himself as he skittered up to the observation level. Oh yes, revenge was sweet!

*****

The Whistling-Admiral was not in a good mood. Officers and observers were all contriving to stand a little apart from him, without quite appearing to do so. Grxxxphttt. however, bounded confidently up to the blue-jawed senior officer and did the triple hornpipe of subservient greeting with an enthusiasm which caused heads to turn and the warning bells to ring in both his brains: steady on, he told himself, the gropplers are not out of the hruph-hruph just yet.

'Whistling Admiral Pokkslabz,' he chirped, 'may I say how...' 'No,' rasped the old spacefarer rudely, 'you may not. What the hell's happening down there. What's that fellah up to, eh?'

Down in the insemination facility or 'shagging pit' as it was more commonly known, the human female had climbed on top of the fuck-frame, to which she clung with arms and legs, making high-pitched mooing noises. Sssplaschtt, almost three times her size, was poking at her ineffectually with a nerve prod, trying to dislodge her but worried about damaging her genitals as he had no idea yet where they were or what they looked like.

'Why don't he just get on with it?' muttered Pokkslabz. 'Sting in the spine, split the arse and shoot your load right into their eggs, that's how we used to do it.'

'Well,' said Grxxxphttt, speaking slowly and clearly, 'I'm sure Exofuckological Officer Sssplaschtt knows what he's doing.'

'Sssplaschtt, eh?' said the Whistling-Admiral. 'Fellah who's always on the crystals complaining?'

'I believe Officer Sssplaschtt has had some exposure on the news media, yes sir,' said Grxxxphttt. 'He seems very keen to keep standards up.'

'Well if he keeps this up we may as well all go home,' said the Whistling Admiral. Down in the pen, Sssplaschtt had tentatively caught one of the Hoo-man female's hind legs in one claw and was trying to drag her from her perch. The little female's mooing grew more high-pitched and her other leg, flailing, caught Sssplaschtt on the side of the head with a loud thud which made every watcher in the gallery wince in sympathy.

'GET ON WITH IT!' the Whistling-Admiral suddenly bellowed, making everybody jump. Even the hoo-man female stopped mooing for a second and Grxxxphttt was immensely pleased to see his enemy shoot a guilty little glance up at the viewing gallery.

'Yes sir,' said Grxxxphttt, in tones of innocent helpfulness, 'it IS rather embarrassing, but you see, he probably feels he has to be careful. This female is the planet's prime breeder - it's an "emm-awatss-on". As far as we can tell they're highly-prized by millions of the planet's males and very rare - this may in fact be the only one.

'Hmm,' said Pokkslabz, giving Grxxxphttt a shrewd sidelong glance. 'So our complainer suddenly finds himself with a big responsibility on his chupper-hames. Hard luck on him - don't s'pose anyone else minds too much, eh?'

Grxxxphttt kept his antennae very still. Maybe the Whistling-Admiral was not such an old fool after all. 'Look sir,' he said brightly, as if he had not heard the last remark. 'Sssplaschtt has got the hoo-man down from the fuck-frame.'

Tiring of the impasse, the embarrassed Sssplaschtt had resorted to giving the emmawatson a hefty jolt from the prod and she now lay twitching and squealing between his two dark-green, bristly and many-segmented front legs. He grabbed her under the arms, his claws pinching the soft smooth skin cruelly, and dragged her into position on the spawning table at the centre of the fuck-frame.

Grxxxphttt smiled privately to himself, with the merest tremor of his antennae. He could see that Sssplaschtt was both angry and aroused. The sex-starved Agagagagraxa had flushed dark green all over, except for a livid orange patch around his chupper-hames; the chuppers themselves were visibly seething and twice their normal size. The observers watched, each aware of sympathetic stirrings in the chupper department, as after prodding frustratedly at the two small fleshy mounds which jiggled annoyingly on the creatures upper thorax, with a loud chuuurrr of anger Sssplaschtt bit into them with his razor-sharp mandibles, bringing a screeching yell of agony from the little hoo-man female.

'Ye gods,' breathed the Whistling-Admiral, 'the runt's going into a mating frenzy. Your prize breeder stands an excellent chance of being torn in shreds before a single sperm bites into her ovaries.'

'Oh dear,' said Grxxxphttt piously, 'what a terrible shame that would be. Still, I'm certain that such a consistent critic of Department practices will keep himself under control.'

Truth to tell, Sssplaschtt did seem to be mastering his instinctive desire, inherited from the distant origins of their race, to sting and claw the hoo-man female into a bloody mess and deposit his sperm in the remains. That was not how modern Agagagagraxa did it. Far too wasteful and inefficient. Now you found the eggs, all of them. You found the way in, be it vent, mouth, cloaca or vagina, and you fucked them right where it counted, in the ovaries. Some exofuckologists still favoured the bloodier direct route, but most preferred the more elegant and now classic strategy of using the alien creatures' own systems. 'Let ze biology work FOR you,' their old lecturer at the Institute of Fucking Alien Females used to say, 'zat is, after you haf zem into humiliatink zubmission terrorized and tormented!'

Sssplaschtt had drawn back from the hoo-man's naked body, breathing heavily, his thorax quivering and foaming very slightly from the ventral slits. The next move should be to make the hoo-man secure in the basic insemination position, common to all species - head clamped and out of the way, limbs splayed and twisted into painful immobility, body taut and orifices raised and accessible. The emmawatson's naked body was twitching and jerking weakly as the effects of the nerve prod wore off. It started making its panicky mooing sounds again and wagging a small slightly-hairy mound just above the fork at the base of its soft sinuous body, up and down and round in a completely futile attempt to squirm away from the combined gaze of the twenty or so Agagagagraxa, including the looming insectoid shape of the sweating Sssplaschtt, who was now even more aroused. Smell, and a dozen other senses unknown to humans, told him that the soft mound and its wet pink gash was the route to the emmawatson's eggs.

Slowly, carefully, trembling with barely-controlled rage and lust, Sssplaschtt extended his sting in an arc over his own head and brought it down precisely, almost delicately, just in front of what he was now sure was the alien female's cunt. Another second and his sting would deliver a chemical jolt to paralyse and dilate the creatures vagina orifice and whatever moist tunnel lay behind it. Another second, and still the great sting hovered there in a menacing arc. Up in the gallery, the tension grew. Even the Whistling Admiral's face had lost its habitual expression of bad-tempered boredom as he gazed fixedly down at the tableau in the holding-pen, Agagagagraxa with great sting poised over the hoo-man female's open cunt, ready to strike, clearing the way for the big splitting thrust, the rush, the cascade of alien seed, the...

'Thank you, that should do it!'

The shout came from further down the gallery, where a slender quick-moving figure was hanging over the pit with a crystal-cam.

'Fucking Press,' said the Whistling Admiral loudly. 'Who fucking invited them, eh?'

Fortunately for Grxxxphttt, at that moment there came an ear-splitting scream from the holding-pen.

'Got down to it at last has he?' said the Admiral, craning over the edge of the shagging pit.

'Um, not exactly,' said Grxxxphttt, trying not to curl his antennae with joy. This was going even better than planned. The emmawatson was putting up a spirited fight and in the scuffle, the panting and furious Sssplaschtt had somehow stung himself in the leg.

One of the younger observers made a pointed remark about coming down to help and the DOPS functionary grew even more enraged, staggering and hopping, slapping at his left middle leg to dissipate the effects of his own disabling poison, and trying at the same time to keep the little alien female pinned. The scent coming from her genitals was beginning to overwhelm his feeble self-control. Half a lifetime without mating was threatening to burst his chuppers and finally - he could hold it back no more - his fleem inflated and -foot after glistening foot - emerged from its sheath, so rapidly that it struck him a painful blow as the blunt-barbed tip passed his face.

*****

Emma had had a pretty conventional upbringing really. Even that business with Mummy and Daddy was fairly typical, at least amongst the kids at the kind of school she attended. She had been given the usual teddies and dollies, the treats and the books. Especially the books. Daddy had been very keen on that. He had thought she was really bright. Foresaw an academic career. Perhaps there might have been, but Mummy had different ideas about that, just as she had about her own affairs. Affairs. How come everybody except her had a sex life?

She lay, propped on one elbow, only pretending to be held down by the feeble great stick-insect thing. Books. This was just like 'Alice in Wonderland', the version that pervy Mr Lewis Carroll would have really liked to write. Alice was always so self-possessed. She obviously knew a thing or two. And she was right. You could not really be scared of such silly clumsy creatures. Look at it now, foaming from the slits in its side, gasping, uncertain, acting like it wanted to do something to her but was scared to try. At once a vision of Daniel Radcliffe came to mind and she suppressed it immediately. Damn, she had been feeling quite sexy there, for a moment. Males, any species, they all turned out to be pathetic. You had to feel sorry for them.

Then she saw Sssplaschtt's engorged fleem, swaying above her head like a tent-pole in a gale.

Epiphany.

She was the girl in Year 5 who loved to draw enormous anatomically-exact penises, and did so, all over Mr Mayhew's copy of 'The Silver Sword'. Even precocious Epiphany would not have been disappointed by this spindly alien's unfeasibly gigantic cock...which it was now inexpertly aiming between young Emma's smooth, slender thighs.

'Fuck that!' the girl exclaimed automatically, flinching outside and in; but then, after a second thought, mostly occupied by horrible memories of Sadie Arsewangler's busy tongue, she shouted 'OK, fine, this is not how I thought it would be but go ahead, do it, FUCK ME, you green alien shit!' To make her point in the universal language of Copulanto, she drew her legs up and lay back on the strange yielding fabric of the spawning table, letting her thighs flop apart, wondering what it would feel like to be raped by an alien. Her thingy was buzzing with strange unaccustomed sensations and felt extremely wet and sloppy. She hoped she would feel it properly.

*****

Sssplaschtt was confused. The alien bitch was acting as if she had been stung when the only entity in the shagging-pit to get a paralysing jab had been himself. Yet there it lay, the emmawatson, prone, legs invitingly parted, the slit between them, he now saw, fringed by several overlapping lips, vertical folds, now wetly relaxed and revealing a glistening pink interior. A muffled hooting - 'Parp!' - from somewhere close at hand startled him and brought knowing looks and even some applause, not wholly ironic, from the experienced exofuckologists watching:

'The runt's chuppa-tunnel's popped its valve,' said a grizzled veteran. 'He'd better get his load away soon or we'll have another 'Blower' Sponx on our hands.'

'And everywhere else - poor old Sponx.'

Trying to ignore the conversation in the gallery, Sssplaschtt braced up, took a deep breath through his thorax slits and climbed onto the spawning table, on top of the naked hoo-man female. Above him, Grxxxphttt held his breath. watching intently. So far, his enemy had only attracted mild ridicule: this was not yet the disgrace which he had planned. Still, there was plenty of time and opportunity for that. The spawning had only just begun - in his overheated state, Sssplaschtt could quite possible kill the little alien female with the first thrust of his fleem.

*****

Emma was intrigued to find that her thighs, bottom and tummy were quivering in excited anticipation. In fact, strange new things were happening all over her body: her nipples were stiffly, almost painfully erect, her taut breasts were on fire and an anticipatory churning had started low down in her belly. Looking up, her view was limited to large amounts of Agagagagraxa body, the bristly green overlapping segments just inches from her snub nose; to either side she was enclosed by several pairs of powerful cantilevered legs, each ending in viciously sharp claws. Above and slightly behind her field of vision she was aware of the alien's head like some nightmare travesty of a grasshopper, all bulging multi-faceted eyes, palps, feelers and antennae. Its strange penis was butting at her vagina now, making her go 'Oh, oh, oh,' as it hit. She couldn't stop herself. She didn't want to stop herself. She tensed her buttocks and pushed upwards, opening her legs wider at the same time, and the alien's strange arrow-headed penis slid smoothly inside her with a sound like someone easing the mould off a jelly. A great big grin, a real Emma Watson-at-the-Awards special lit up the young star's face. Her brown eyes, half-closed in ecstasy, sparkled between their long lashes with a joy she had never known before. 'Yes!' she screamed, grabbing the alien's hard bristly body with both hands, 'Yes! Yes!', arching her back as the thing's penis distended the welcoming folds of her wet vagina, penetrating deeper, deeper, deeper, to the very centre of her sex, and her womanhood, yielding softly like the petals of a grateful flower, opened to receive it.

*****

'Get your spiny ass up here now! There's an Exo officer going into extreme rut and everyone says we're going to see a brain-fuck!'

The young brood-pen attendant should not have been present at all but so thick and fleemous was the atmosphere that nobody seemed to mind, or notice when he was joined by six of his young Gap-Cycle friends.

Excitedly they craned over the curved parapet of the observation platform, almost within foreleg-reach of Grxxxphttt's head, where it nodded and peered, intent on the wriggling white form beneath him.

All the watching Agagagagraxa, three deep in some places and many more than the viewing gallery normally held, were concentrating like the expert crowd at some esoteric game, such as English Billiards or Real Tennis. Now and then a satisfied communal hissing would arise, as Grxxxphttt made an approved move; more often there would come an irritable rasping of elbow-hairs as things did not quite go textbook fashion.

The DOPS officer's hindmost claws, normally brought into service to crush and immobilize female leg and slice bone-deep for good cunt-purchase, scrabbled uselessly behind him: the emmawatson had of its own accord tipped up and presented its two major orifices, anal and vaginal, as if for penetration.

'Disgustin exhibition,' rumbled Whistling Admiral Pokkslabz. 'The runt's let her take the initiative. She'll be palpating his chuppers for him, right in their flobsacks, before you know it!'

Dead silence reigned for a terrible moment on the viewing platform as the Admiral's obscene words hung in the air; even the Gap-Cycle youngsters dared not comment, although there was much nudging and suppressed hilarity.

The embarrassment was abruptly dispelled by an ear-splitting hoo-man shriek from below. Grxxxphttt's phallus, his probing, prehensile and toothed fleem, had reached the natural end of its travel at Emma's tender young cervix. The natural end, that is, from the human point of view. Now the watching Agagagagraxa all nodded in sympathetic unison as the exofuckological officer raised his green segmented body above his human mount then thrust hard, down and forward. Simultaneously, the big muscles at the base of his fleem contracted certain tendons, loosened others, and the fleem's arrowhead inexorably shouldered through the puckered neck of Emma's young womb. The little girl, star of several big-grossing movies and so many web-pages devoted to her youthful image, let out a bestial grunting squeal like a sow in the hands of an inexpert butcher. Urine and faeces spurted out onto the spawning table, her legs, glistening with sweat, straightened then bent under her in spasm as she actually lifted her pelvis, with its load of fuck-crazy insectoid, six inches up in the air.

'Bloody Hell!' exclaimed The Whistling Admiral and there was actually a small ripple of appreciative applause: 'Tough little bitch, ain't she,' murmured a deck-officer at Sssplaschtt's side. Sssplaschtt hissed noncommittally: it still looked good for the plan, but you never knew - the runty little pest-fondler might still pull off a successful spawning, despite the odd behaviour of the hooman, the emmawatson. Agonized squeals and secretions flying everywhere were what spawning was all about, but you couldn't exactly call the emmawatson subdued, not with a straight lift and fleem-clench like that. Sssplaschtt chewed the tip of his own mandible and watched, irritable and on edge.

*****

Inside her twitching sweat-streaked belly, Emma felt the head of the alien's penis turning, questing. She kept very still, having discovered the agony which accompanied any movement which the alien interpreted as resistance: two of its claws had found her nipples, two more the corners of her mouth while two further down, cruelly pinched and cut her outer labia. The insectoid kept experimentally closing the claws, pulling, twisting and tweaking, exploring the effects. She had no more piss or shit to let out, was too exhausted to scream - better to stay quiet, let it do .... let it...

'UUUUURRRGHNONONOSTOPSTOPNNNNGGGHHHPLEEEEZENONOAAGH!

'The runt's found her ovaries,' said Whistling Admiral Pokkslabz, his good humour recovered. 'This is more like it. Well played, that man!' And he led the polite applause.

Out of the thing's penis-head had come...she could not say, but Emma felt several cold thin filaments sliding and slicing to left and right through her soft female mysteries, probing and piercing to depths of her sex of which she was normally only dimly and as it were generally aware. The alien thing seemed to gather itself, taking a firmer hold on her nipples and vagina-lips; the great back legs came into play, gripe, gripe, with a giant's force right at the tops of her quivering white legs, at the juncture of belly, hip and thigh. Emma sensed rather than saw the tapering end of the creature's body lifted high in alien triumph, poised to deliver its biting seeds straight into her and she closed her eyes, mentally saying goodbye to her mother and Rudy, the invisible secret friend who had accompanied her everywhere since nursery school: at least she wouldn't have to suffer the hot breath and questing hands of that ghastly weed Radcliffe any more. At this thought, a great sizzling flash of erotic fury coursed the length of the young girl's naked body and, with a gasping roar of pure lust she clasped her legs as far round the alien's bristly green thorax as she could reach, dug her heels in as if he were a fat pony baulking at the silliest jump, reached for a double handful of the big wobbly sacky things above her, screaming, 'Is that the best you can do, you bastard! Go on, fuck me harder, you alien twat!'

As the girl's strong brown hands closed on his seething chuppers, Grxxxphttt's lustrous compound eyes did the Agagagagraxa equivalent of crossing themselves. His hames tightened involuntarily and the overburdened chuppers began to empty themselves into the wide sinewy tunnels which fed the throbbing fleem. The big gouts of spurting seed were both audible and visible as they travelled the exposed length of the fleem in close but separated packets, expanding the dark mottled organ to three times its former diameter as they passed. As each racing bulge reached the emmawatson's cunt, the hair-fringed hole, already swollen and enflamed, opened to an incredible size, so that even the Agagraxa audience, hardened to such things, had to blink away sympathetic tears, nictating like mad to clear the orange gum from their ocular membranes. 'Ouch!' said one of the Gap-Cycle trainees,'THAT'S gotta hurt.'

It did, but inside the bruised and perspiring belly, Emma's genitals were fighting back. The alien's premature ejaculation had forestalled the normal Agagagagraxa practice of 'ripping up the female a bit to keep her quiet' and Grxxxphttt found himself riding a hard little body which was sexually aroused to an extent which made it practically immune to pain: he had nearly pulled both her nipples off by now, but she didn't seem to notice, was apparently enjoying the near-destruction of both teats and mammaries. A sly, malicious dig in her anal vent from one of his free spines should have raised a howl of outrage but all it earned were fresh blows from the hoo-man's bony little feet and another terrifyingly powerful heave of her fragile-looking loins which nearly had them both off the spawning table. There was a great rasping of elbow bristles above and the wiser, older practitioners began to edge away from the front of the observation gallery.

As the first big packet of alien seed erupted into Emma's vagina, abruptly increasing its capacity to roughly the volume of a medium-sized water-melon, the girl's cervix decided that it had had enough. The female body would put up with a lot to get a decent fuck, but the time had come to protest. So it came about that as Grxxxphttt's horrible seed, a seething ball of teeth, claws and lust for eggs, hit the entrance to her womb, the most powerful muscles in Emma Watson's body closed like a vice on the insectoid's stiff and throbbing fleem, throttling it and stopping the onrushing line of bulges with the force and effect of steel and concret buffers on a runaway train of colliery trucks. For a millisecond the universe held its breath; the gobbets of Agagagagraxa spunk stacked up with moist thuds which could actually be heard up in the gallery.

Stretched and pinned naked on the spawning table, Emma Charlotte Duerre Watson, born April 15, 1990, looked down the perspiration-beaded and secretion-stained length of her own front, past the two pathetic little mounds of her bloodstained breasts, each gripped and mangled by big bony pincers, past the dip and hollow of her navel, filled with a pool of the sticky orange stuff sweated by the alien; she looked down and saw her dimpled lower belly inflate like a balloon, like a birthday balloon as the man sends the hydrogen rushing in from the cylinder, fast, fast and dangerous. Her fair skin rose, stretched, stretched again, the navel emptying as it flattened and turned inside-out, the Watson belly rising and swelling in a horrible parody of pregnancy as the savage pressure from the alien's ejaculate punched her cervix in and up, gathering womb, fallopian tubes and ovaries as it went and crushing the jumbled wreckage of her sex high into her abdomen.

Emma's legs straightened, strong young muscles bunched and slid beneath smooth glistening skin and from her throat come a low animal growl. Her body knew it was being fucked to death and it had strong views on the matter. It counter-attacked. Hormones flowed, enzymes and lactic acid surged through their secret courses, deep muscle fibres tightened and the big wriggling ball of alien spunk found itself travelling backwards, squeezed back out of the moist red furnace of the young girl's belly, gaining speed, rejected, ejected and finally projected at amazing speed by one final enormous and triumphant spasm of fragrant Emma Watson's snarling cunt.

'Blowback!' was the shout up in the gallery, and 'Hit the deck!'

A split second later there was a wet 'Boom!' from the holding-pen, and a brief but intense shower of Agagagaggraxa body-parts, razor-sharp and poisonous, hit the walls and roof.

The watchers in the gallery stood up, warily, and peered carefully over the low parapet. On the spawning table there remained of the DOPS officer not a trace; what they did see was a little earth girl, legs spread very wide, pelvis still pumping slowly, the enormous pink-rimmed hole between the splayed thighs drooling thick strands of mixed human and alien fluids which puddled under the tight twitching buttocks.

'The edges of the hoo-man's speech-orifice are turned upwards,' whispered one of the junior officers. 'What does it mean?'

No one was listening. Whistling Admiral Pokkslabz, a strange new light glowing in his multi-faceted eyes, had sprung heavily onto the low rail which ran the length of the observation balcony, his leathery old chupper-hames prominent under the cockily raised hind-parts. His massive head turned and he looked directly at Grxxxphttt. 'Swarm-fuck,' he croaked. 'Can't stop it, can't...'

Then he was gone, leaping straight down onto the spawning table and he was soon busily at work over Emma Watson's stained and abused body, the progress of his skinny but rock-hard fleem marked by squeals and then screams of increasing volume and pitch.

With a clatter of claws and rasping of leg-bristles, two more Agagagagraxa spectators jumped, first to the balcony parapet and then down into the holding pen. Horrified, Grxxxphttt saw them crowding the Whistling Admiral as if they were competing for space at a feeding-slot in Hive School, actually shoving the venerable old dignitary in their single-minded determination to get the big dark ends of their very-erect fleems into the flabby flesh-bucket which the emmawatson's cunt more and more resembled.

'What is it?' breathed Grxxxphttt, 'What's happening?'

'Swarm-fuck,' snapped the Communications Officer, 'we've found a Queen. Got to mate. You'll feel it too, just...'

The light of intelligence in the officer's eyes died and was replaced by something else, something old, old and primitive, inherited from when the Agagagagraxa were just eight-inches high and bred by the million, hive-bound. For a moment, Grxxxphttt recoiled. 'Chzzzttt! Is this how we look?' It was the last thought he had for some time.

******

The spawning table was completely hidden under a mound of Agagagagraxa. The pile of insectoid bodies was still, except for the occasional stirring of an antennae, the quivering of a palp, the last feeble peristalsis of someone's limp fleem (impossible to tell whose) sputtering a wriggling gob of doomed seed onto the floor, which was already swimming with surplus spunk and other stuff. A groan, a scrabbling of legs, and a couple of bodies slid off the table and staggered to their feet. One stared stupidly at the other, intelligence flickering fitfully in its golden compound eyes.

'Oh dear,' said Grxxxphttt, holding his head between his two fore-claws, 'Oh dear, of dear, oh dear.' He felt most strange. His fleem draggling behind him, wet and spent between his emptied chuppers, he limped to the spawning table and peered between the piled Agagagagraxa bodies, looking for smooth white flesh, but all he could see at first were hard chitinous segments, green bristly limbs and hooked claws. He drew back sharply as the mound of bodies moved, two more Agagagagraxa sliding off the table with a thump and an angry chittering as they came round. From the centre of the pile the Whistling Admiral arose, bleared and tottering, shedding underlings as he stood up.

'Underneath you sir,' said a voice, 'look!'

She was still alive. Crushed, clawed, nipples chewed flat, breasts ripped and bleeding, lower belly bulging with toothed Agagagagraxa spermatozoa fighting over her eggs, Emma Watson lay back with that big smug Hermione Granger grin splitting her face. Fucked at last! Well, gang-raped by disgustingly ugly evil aliens, but it still counted. Dreamily fingering herself, suffused with the afterglow of massive multiple orgasms, Emma considered how to show them where her clit was.

*****

Between the little hoo-man's obscenely spread and still-twitching thighs, the cavernous vagina gaped, bruised, bloody and gigantic, the once tidy little slit now a great oozing tunnel hanging slackly open and inviting.

'You could get your head in there now,' muttered the Communications Officer, nervously touching his stiffening fleem.

'Mmm,' said Grxxxphttt. He really did feel odd. At least his career was safe. A queen. Swarmfuck. Who would have thought it? Couldn't blame him. Sssplaschtt dead. Blow-back. Hah! Served him right. All gone quiet. Better say something. Officer in charge. Diplomacy.

'At least,' said Exofuckologist Grxxxphttt loudly, surprising himself and making every Agagagagraxa head turn in his direction, 'it will no longer... be possible... to say... that Whistling Admiral Pokkslabz... is the biggest cunt in the known universe.'