Message-ID: <50824asstr$1111990201@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <news@google.com> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-Original-Path: o13g2000cwo.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: "Shadowloup" <shadowloup@hotmail.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <1111976647.112514.208180@o13g2000cwo.googlegroups.com> Mime-Version: 1.0 NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 02:24:11 +0000 (UTC) User-Agent: G2/0.2 Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: o13g2000cwo.googlegroups.com; posting-host=64.12.116.197; posting-account=DKRltgwAAADqFv4yspxqKCDz0KGwRr_h X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 27 Mar 2005 18:24:07 -0800 Subject: {ASSM} Dr. Screw 2 - Return of the Screw - Chapters 3 and 4 (scifi, mf, aliens, humor) Lines: 543 Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 01:10:01 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2005/50824> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: hoisingr, dennyw 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. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+