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From: "Shadowloup" <shadowloup@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Dr. Screw 2 - Return of the Screw - Chapters 3 and 4 (scifi, mf, aliens, humor)
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Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 01:10:01 -0500
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Greetings.  You must be physically and metaphysically old enough to
read this.  I'm sure your children are fine, I just have no wish to
raise them.  Anyone other than ASSTR who wishes to use this story for
whatever purpose should contact me, since I can actually prove I wrote
it.  Everyone else, please enjoy.  Constructive feedback is always
welcome.  If you like it, please visit my website at
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Shadowloup/www.



Chapter 3

One hour after the soiree's start found that the Whorelons had not yet
appeared.  They were now a bit beyond fashionably late.  To kill time,
the Frigadier, Bambi, and Bainter huddled in a knot about the
Confederate officer Turk.

"Will your crew members be enjoying our Byzantium III hospitality,
Captain?" Bambi asked.

"No, I'm afraid not," Turk said, giving the blond his largest smile and
most undivided attention.  The Confederate captain's syncopated,
breathless enunciation gave his every word a sense of urgency.  "You
see, the Confederation does not believe in money.  We have no need of
it, since it is an archaic concept.  Unfortunately that gives us
trouble when we contact races which do."

"It must also make buying booze difficult," Bainter said through
gritted teeth, as he tried to divide Turk's attention.

"You got that right, brother," Turk said, suddenly aware of some sort
of rivalry developing between he and Bainter.

The Frigadier muttered something which sounded suspiciously like "pussy
socialists living in a jerker's paradise," but everyone was too refined
to say anything.

"You do know what our penalty for theft is?" Bainter asked Turk.

Seeking a distraction, Turk quickly grasped a portly, bespectacled man
with curvy, crinkly hair who was passing by.  Roughly grasping the
man's shoulders, Turk turned him so that his startled, sweaty face
blinked at the group.

"Frigadier," Turk said.  "I would like you to meet Special Ambassador
for Earth, Dr. Henry Kissenger."

Kissenger was short, but made up for it by wearing shoes with extremely
elevated souls.  Beneath his crinkly hair, perched awkwardly atop his
pudgy nose, were a pair of antique horn-rimmed glasses.  His speech
held an accent no one had ever placed, with the vocal timbre of
rattling gravel.

"Hello, I am Henry Kissenger Mark 653.  You are happy to meet me, I'm
sure."

The holographic image on the wall interrupted Kissenger's remarks.  The
image displayed a pulsating, bright red and yellow light, an energetic
announcement of a ship sliding out of hyperspace.

It was huge.  It just kept sliding out of a vaginally shaped rent.  Its
hull rippled, reflecting the bright red radiation and background
pinpoints of starlight.

As the alien craft came to a halt near the more petite Roberty Lee, a
smaller alien craft with a similar rippling skin exited.  This
mini-craft sped through the vacuum of space towards Byzantium III.

"That must be our other guests of honor, the Whorelons," the Frigadier
said.

Everyone turned from the Confederation Officers to watch the new
arrivals, irking Turk.  He grew even more irked a few minutes later
when a mid-sized, squat being wearing a sort of encounter suite of a
style Turk had never seen before, sauntered into the hallway.  That
suit, composed of the same iridescent black as its ship, gave the new
being a funky, sadomasochistic monk-like look.

As the Frigadier approached the newcomer, Turk turned to his crewmates
who had coagulated near him during the excitement.

"Snotty, the translators," Turk ordered.

Snotty rolled his eyes, opened the black case he had been lugging
throughout the party.  He extracted four rectangular handheld devices,
which he presented to Turk.

Turk made his way towards the Frigadier as he ushered the Whorelon
towards the podium at the front of the room.  Several times Turk nearly
dropped his the four devices he carried.  Snotty, still rolling his
eyes and shaking his head, followed.

"Denizens of Byzantium III," Turk announced, cutting off the
Frigadier's official introduction of the newcomer.  "We of the
Confederation would like to thank you for this opportunity,  and would
like to present these useful gifts.  They are a little something we
call Universal Translators.  With clear understanding comes peace."

Turk held one device up, smiling grandly.  The Frigadier gave a pained
smile.  The black-clad Whorelon bobbed in place upon thick legs.

"How does it work?" asked the Frigadier.

"Just press this button and speak into it," Turk explained, pointing to
the button as he handed the device to the Frigadier.

The Frigadier gripped the machine, smiled at the Whorelon, pushed the
button and spoke.  "Greetings Whorelon Ambassador."

The machine whirled into action, then chittered something out through
the speaker opening at its top.  The being in the black encounter suite
nodded its head sagaciously, and chittered something back.  The
translator hummed, chirped, then spoke in a steady, deep, ponderous
tone, unencumbered by inflection: "I_like_to_fuck_po_tatoes."

The Frigadier blinked, but kept his smile.  He carefully yet forcefully
slapped the translator with the palm of his free hand.

"I trust your trip was uneventful," he said.

After whirling and chirping, the translator responded,
"All_your_po_tato_are_belong_to_us.  Take_off_every_zig.
Good_fuck_had_by_all."

Turk muttered something beneath his breath which sounded like "Shit!
Shit! Shit!"  He turned to his chief engineer.

"Mr. Welsh," Turk commanded.

"Allow me, sir," Snotty said to the Frigadier as he tenderly removed
the translator from the Frigadier's grip and let it drop.  It smacked
onto the hard floor.  Snotty picked it up, dusted it off, and presented
it back to the Frigadier.

"Sometimes these little electronic doodads have just got to be shown
who's got the dexterous fingers in this relationship," Snotty said.

"I'll bear that in mind," the Frigadier replied, eyeing the translator
warily.  It now made electronic growling noises.

"Once again, welcome to Byzantium III," the Frigadier said.

The Whorelon chattered something.  The translator chittered:
"I'm_pleased_as_fuck_to_be_here."

"Now that's an improvement," Snotty said.



Chapter 4

Over the course of the evening it was found that every translated
sentence uttered by the Whorelon either contained the word "fuck" or
some oddly inappropriate sexual reference.  These interjections were
often interspliced with some sort of mystic koanic story.  The net
result was that some ambassadors harbored suspicions about the new
diplomat.

The Vindaloovian ambassador was told
"Urethral_gerbil_stuffing_is_great," while the Anatnas ambassador was
treated to the insight "It_takes_a_mighty_ass_to_fart_prodigiously."
Both these must have paled to whatever was told to the Maloderon, who,
after conferring briefly with the Whorelon, went about the hall
smelling of spoiled tuna, a sign of worry in that race.

While Bambi ushered the Whorelon ambassador through more of the
diplomatic gauntlet, the previously introduced ambassadors mingled,
discussing various programs and deals.  One familiar voice cut through
the din, startling Alexis, who had camped out in a quiet corner by the
punch bowl.  She sought out the source.

"The problem with the universe today is too much CUNT."

The boisterous, familiar voice emanated from a knot of ambassadors
which included a gorgeous hominid ambassador from the planet Vindaloo.
Her deep chocolate skin and shapely feminine appearance had captivated
many males from a variety of species.  The man talking to her, and
doing an excellent job of peering down her copious cleavage, was none
other than the bespectacled Time Fnord Doc.

The bald-headed Vindaloovian tittered elegantly, her dark eyes wide in
feigned surprise.

"Why, whatever do you mean, Doctor?" she said in a tone of playful
rebuke.

Alexis was about to hurl her drink at Doc as she neared the group.

"No, no, it's just Doc," Doc replied.  He nearly blinded the group with
his smile.  "And I'm talking about Corresponding Universal Negative
Trust."

Appreciating the brilliant use of an acronym, the ambassadors
applauded.

Alexis couldn't stop herself.  As if from a distance, she heard herself
speaking.

"That is SHIT!" she said. "Silly... ahh... Hypno... ahhh..."

Alexis's face went red while her mind went blank beneath the barrage of
ambassadorial stares and Doc's impressive smile.

"Silly Hypothetical Ignorant Twaddle," came the cultured tones of the
Frigadier from behind Alexis's shoulder.  He too was applauded as he
entered the knot of ambassadors.  Bainter followed his superior.  The
Frigadier and Doc exchanged looks of mild non-amusement, though the
Frigadier's possessed more distaste.

"Well, well, if it isn't Doc," the Frigadier said.  "During my long
recuperation after that Dildek invasion I had so hoped you were only a
figment of my drug-addled imagination."

"Despite the sucky scansion on your impromptu rhyme, you must have been
on some pretty good shit," Doc said, perking up at his favorite topic.
"What was it?  Morphine?  Codeine?  Percocet?  All three?  Wait a
second and let me take some notes."

"I don't know.  I was on the receiving end.  But I always give credit
where it is due, and so I am forced to thank you for your help."

"Don't be so morose, Frigadier.  After all, we did beat off those
Dildeks."  Doc smirked.

"Yes, Dildeks.  And now Whorelons.  Have you ever noticed how all these
new alien species seem to have smutty names?"  the Frigadier mused.  "I
just heard tell of the Clingons from Uranus.  I wonder what will be
next.  Ahhh!  I know!  The Vagatarians from Y-space."

Bainter smiled.  "That's a good one, sir," he said, in counterpoint to
the ambassadors, who politely stared about the hall.

"Yes, I am rather proud of it," the Frigadier said, his smile beaming.

Doc turned to Alexis.

"Did you hear that?  The Frigadier cracked a funny."

"Probably because he was under doctor's orders to," Alexis grumbled.

Captain Turk, captivated by the cantilevered boobs of the Vindaloovian
ambassador, approached like a Terranian moth to photons.  He had just
entered the group himself when the Frigadier accosted him.

"So Captain, the Confederation's disbelief in the concept of money will
make your stay on Byzantium III a little difficult, will it not?"

"They can take it out in trade," Alexis said before thinking.  When she
noticed everyone looking at her, her face blushed again.

"Well, everybody else does," she said, adding "Oh dear, I seem to have
finished my drink," and walked off.

Doc took up the Frigadier's challenge.

"Just because the Confederation uses a different monetary system than
you doesn't require you to be condescending to them," he said.

"A stiff dick has no conscience, Doc.  You should know that.  And
whenever someone gets the itch for sex, they are apt to pull some
felonious stunt to get the proper capital to scratch that itch."

The group began shedding ambassadors, as most noticed other ambassadors
they just had to greet.

"Frigadier, why are you such a narc?" Doc said.

"It's in my job description."

Unable to assail that logic, Doc trooped off to the punch bowl where he
found Alexis topping off her drink with the gallant help of Snotty.

"This party is not the happy happening I was hoping for," Doc said.

"Why?  Because there's no sex?" Alexis grumbled.

"No sex, no laughter, no joy.  Just nauseating diplomatic niceties
abounding.  As a doctor I diagnose this party as a terminal bore.  What
it needs is a metaphysical enema."

So saying, Doc whipped out his antique hipflask, opened it, and poured
a very liberal portion into the punch bowl.  His liberal portion turned
into an anarchic portion as he continued pouring for three minutes.

"I doubt even your infamous Sonic Screwdriver could liven this line
dance o' the dead," Snotty said.

Doc considered for a moment.

"I concur with your diagnosis, doctor Snotty.  And as such, I prescribe
two hits of Neptunian Juju Juice to ease the ailments."

So saying, Doc now produced a small vial of colorless liquid, which he
unscrewed.  He carefully measured out and added two drops, resealed the
vial, then winked at Alexis.

"Anymore than two would cause a catastrophic breakdown of the thought
processes, and would be non-conducive to any sort of physical activity
as we know it."

"You would probably be the best judge of that," Alexis said.

It took a few minutes, but soon everyone was lining up for more punch.
The laughter became a little louder, the jokes a little more ribald,
the ambassadors a little friskier.

By the time the evening's entertainment, the musical group Circlejerk
du Soul, started performing, the audience was in an exceptionally
agreeable mood.  In the darker corners of the room some serious
violations of the Tan Non-fornication Codicil of the diplomatic liaison
code were already occurring.

Captain Turk, now even bolder thanks to three shots from the punchbowl,
marched to the small stage where the Circlejerks played.  Forgetting
his previous irritation at being upstaged by the Whorelon ambassador's
entrance, and now embarking on plan two, vis a vis, to explore the
Vindaloovian ambassador's tight body, Turk held a hushed discussion
with the musicians.  His argument, and the small wad of currency he
handed the leader, were most persuasive.  Turk then grabbed the
microphone, and began a rendition of the ancient Earthen song of
festival "Louie Louie".

Penned over a millennia ago, this song still retained its mysterious
party aura.  Part of this aura was due to its lyrical mysteriousness,
thank to the clumsiness of the song's original words and thanks to the
inarticulateness of all the singers performing it ever since.  Many
alien species had pondered the strange, incoherent lyrics, some going
so far as to wage intergalactic wars over their meanings.

Because of this, the ambassadors looked forward to Turk's clear
pronunciation.  They were destined for disappointment.  Turk soldiered
on as best he could:

"Louie Louie
Ohhhhh Oh
Me gotta blow

Her arms are wicked,
her legs are long.
When she move
I get stiff dong."

During Turk's rendition, the Frigadier sidled up to Bainter, who
guarded the entrees while armed with a large cup of punch.  The
Frigadier leaned over to whisper into his underling's ears.

"Sergeant, execute the first unclefucker who yells 'Food fight'."

At the other end of the room, Doc saw an eerily familiar figure from
the corner of his eyes.  He nearly locked gazes with dark-complexioned
man, but his line of thought was twisted by the arrival of the Whorelon
ambassador.

"Hydrogen_is_the_precum_of_the_universe," the Whorelon said through its
Confederation supplied translator.

"Would that make black holes the contraceptive jelly?" Doc asked.

"Precum_necessary_to_spawn.  We_are_right_to_spawn."

"To fuck is indeed a necessity of life.  For without procreation, we
are indeed fucked."  Doc smiled with this last philosophical point.

"It_is_fucking_good_to_be_fucked," agreed the Whorelon.  It then
shambled off.

Doc watched the receding Whorelon as the gorgeous Vindaloovian
ambassador walked up beside him.

"I swear, Doctor, that you are the only person able to hold any sort of
extended conversation with that being," she said.

"That's probably because my drug-addled mind is equal to the Whorelon's
in creating random sentences with blatantly sexual overtones.  I wonder
what sort of drugs he's on."

"I wonder what sort of drugs the singer is on," the ambassador said.

Doc peered at the stage.

"That's no singer," he said.  "That's just some Turk."

Onstage, Turk was in his element, fulfilling his lifelong ambition of
being a rock star and scoring some chicks.  He belted out a few more
lyrics with a vengeance:

"I want her in
my arms again.
That best way
to get fresh quim.

Louie Louie,
Ooooohhh Oh,
Me gotta blow.
Yeah Yeah
Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah."

The Vindaloovian ambassador puzzled over the last set of lyrics with
Doc.

"Am I the only being hearing strange overtones to this song, Doctor?"
she asked.

"I'd be surprised if you detected any sort of tones in this
performance," Doc replied.  "Oh, and it's just Doc.  Not doctor."

The Vindaloovian extended her hand in apology.  "Please call me
Xyndria," she said.

"Xyndria?  I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

Doc shook her hand firmly, half hoping the pumping motions would
transfer her bust.

"Is it me, or is it getting hot in here?" Xyndria asked.

Doc noticed two things.  The first was that Xyndria's bared skin above
her ornate green gown had a sheen of moisture.  The second was that her
glass of punch was empty.

"Perhaps some more punch would cool you down?" Doc said.  His grin set
a new level of luminescence.

Xyndria smiled in turn.  "Perhaps it would," she agreed.

Doc's smile threatened to split his ears as he nearly raced to the
punchbowl.

During Doc's sojourn, Turk finished "Louie Louie" to an underwhelming
but politely drunken applause.  He was about to launch into a rendition
of "Take a Walk On the Wild Side" when the Frigadier appeared to
liberate the microphone from the captain's hands.

"You've entertained us long enough, Captain.  Let the other young men
exhibit."

Turk reluctantly left the stage.  As he did, he saw a beautiful sight.
The lovely blond Bambi's ass jutted out while she talked with her
shorter, yet equally buxom brunette friend.  The captain then eyed
Alexis's tits with intent.   And then Turk saw the Vindaloovian alone.
He altered his trajectory to intercept the lovely ambassador.

"An earthen greetings to you," Turk said, using his smoothest
diplomatic tone.

Xyndria, waving her hand as though it were a fan, looked more
uncomfortable when she stared at the Confederation Captain.  She
gripped her gown and ripped the fabric.  A brown shapely body with two
fleshy titties balanced upon a tight green bra was revealed.  Her tight
ebony belly flowed into a tight pair of iridescent green panties which
disappeared at the crotch where it slid between her pink lower lips.

At the punchbowl, Bainter smiled.  He had finally won the security
force lottery on what color panties the Vindaloovian wore, and was
celebrating with another glass of punch.  He elbowed Doc in the ribs.

"That bald headed Vindaloovian chick looks great.  I'd love to pop a
load on her bald head and watch it drip."

Doc grinned at Bainter, then looked towards the ambassador in time to
see Turk reach out to cup her brown breasts with his hands.

Doc's smile faltered.

"Shit," was all he could think to say.

Like electrons orbiting a nucleus, so did a great many beings coalesce
around Turk and Xyndria as they fondled each other.  Then, like an
atomic nucleus grown fat with neutrons, couples began radiating out,
spreading their erotic energy among the crowd till the hall was a
seething froth of copulating couples.

Throughout the orgy Alexis kept her eyes on Doc.  It was stupid, she
knew.  He was a Time Fnord, whatever that was, and Alexis suspected it
was a code for 'dog in heat'.

She suddenly got a nasty idea.  She would get well and truly fucked,
her puss just brimming with spunk.  Then she would find Doc and plop
her steaming creampie right down on his face.  It was deliciously
vengeful, a vengeance served cold with a hot pussy.

But first she needed to sit down because she was rather tired.

Finding an empty chair, Alexis sat back, closed her eyes, and promptly
fell asleep despite the interspecies caterwauling, grunts, pants and
groans which surrounded her.

Henry Kissenger was in his element.  He ambled about the hall, looking
for females and talking diplomacy in his gravelly voice.  Few listened,
as they were busy.  Kissenger continued walking, making a retrograde
orbit about Turk and the Vindaloovian, who were now engaged in a deep,
soulful kiss while their fingers probed.

Turk, hoping to create a close encounter of the fourth kind, grabbed
Xyndria's ass, only to discover his hand now covered Kissenger's, which
was delving deeply into the shapely crevice.  The Vindaloovian moaned
as Turk stared beyond her bald head to give Kissenger as dirty a look
as he could muster.  Kissenger took the hint and left.

Meanwhile, the Frigadier was confronted by a group of Chtholians from
the Fifth Aqueous World, a race evolved from fish-like creatures who
had adapted to breath air.  They travelled in a school of nine beings,
with one primary male giving directions.  They travelled beneath
umbrellas which perpetually drizzled moisture to keep their skin wet.
Many an unwary being slipped upon the floor after their passage.

The primary male Chtholian spoke.  "As ranking humanoid on this ship,
your bodily essence would be most welcome upon our eggs."

"I beg your pardon?" the Frigadier said.

The short, stalky figure of Henry Kissenger inserted itself between the
Frigadier and the fish.

"I believe that, technically speaking, I am actually the most ranking
humanoid," Kissenger said.  "After all, I brought peace to Vietnam,
better relations to China..."

"No, no," the fish protested.  "We want the true one with the true
power."

"But I am actually that man," Kissenger said.

The Frigadier contemplated lodging a diplomatic protest up Kissenger's
ass with his foot when Bambi, who happened to be passing by with
Bainter in tow to find a more secluded area, leaned over.

"They want you to wack off onto their eggs," she whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm an ex-xenosexologist and orgasmic engineer.  Of course I'm sure."

"I owe you big time."

The Frigadier turned to the school of land-loving fish, who still
argued with the crinkly haired Kissenger.

"I believe Kissenger is the most rank," the Frigadier interrupted.  He
quickly left, nearly slipping in a puddle of effluvia left by the
Snipsnip ambassador from Crapile IV, an asexual worm-being, who, not
wising to be left out of the sexual festivities, had just split into
two new beings.

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