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Archive name: jillian1.txt (MF, rom, v, oral, sci-fi)
Authors name: Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com)
Story title : Jillian Saves the World - 1
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Copyright 2002 - As the author, I claim all rights under
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Jillian Saves the World (MF, rom, v, 1st, oral, sci-fi)
by Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com)
***
Jillian and her friends had no clue what a mess they'd
gotten themselves into with their moms. Then again, no
one had EVER gotten into a mess like this. Follow Jill as
she goes from being a very nervous schoolgirl, to savior
of the world.
***
This is a work of fiction and is not meant to portray any
person living or dead, nor any known situation. It is
meant for adults only and is not to be read by persons
under the age of 18, or the legal age in the
county/state/country in which the reader resides.
If you would like a Microsoft Word or a WordPerfect
version of this story (a much better read), please
contact me at MarciaR26@aol.com.
Jillian Saves the World
by Marcia Hooper
(MarciaR26@aol.com)
Part one: The Arrival
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
2:45 P.M.
Jillian was the first one home.
Coming through the front door, she was immediately
grabbed by her mother and dragged into the living room.
She dropped the book she was carrying and her backpack on
the floor. Her expression was disbelief.
"Ow!" she protested, loudly. "What's going on?"
Her mother, face hard as polished marble, remained grimly
silent. She pulled Jill across the room to her husband's
leather recliner, stopping her with a jerk.
"What is going on?" Jill again demanded.
"Where were you last night?"
Jill was instantly belligerent. "At the mall!" she cried.
"Just like I said!"
"You were not!"
Jill tried to extricate herself. "I was! You can ask my
friends!"
Mrs. Cooney laughed. "Your friends! You were with your
friends. I am so tired of your lying, young lady!"
"Mom--"
"Donna Britt saw the four of you in the mall parking lot,
talking to a bunch of boys."
Jill exclaimed: "So!"
"So!" Mrs. Cooney accused. "You drove away with them!"
"We did not!" Jill shot back. But her eyes shifted
lyingly, and Jill knew she was caught. Her face turned
hot pink.
"There were so many of you in the car," her mother
continued, "that you had to sit on the boys' laps!"
Jill, her belligerence tempered with fear, struggled for
words. The best she could manage was: "What? She was
spying on us?"
Mrs. Cooney ignored the comment.
"She followed you around College Park until you made up
your minds where to go. She said you got out and went
into someone's apartment. She said you were carrying on
like a bunch of hooligans."
Despite herself, Jill laughed. "Hooligans! Mom--"
"Don't you dare laugh!" Mrs. Cooney exploded. "I told you
not to leave the mall! Where did you go?"
"I--"
"Where did you go?"
"We didn't go anywhere!"
Mrs. Cooney smacked her daughter's hip, clumsily, but
hard. Even muffled by clothing, the sound was an
exclamation point of shock.
"Mom!"
Jill stared at her mother in disbelief. Fourteen years
old--and theoretically beyond spanking--she had not been
struck by either parent in years. She tried to pull away.
"You hit me! I can't believe you hit me! What are you
doing?"
Mrs. Cooney remained hard set; her eyes and lips were
pinched. Taller than her daughter by four inches, and
fifteen pounds heavier, Denise was an attractive woman of
thirty-four. Flaxen haired and lightly freckled across
the nose and cheeks, with small breasts, she looked more
like an aged teenager than a harried mother. But, looks
could deceive--as Jill and her sisters could attest.
"I'm tired of you lying," Denise said.
Jill wanted to rub her hip. She did not. "I'm not lying!"
she lied, again.
Denise said, simply, "You, Jenna, Krystal and Nicole."
Jill blinked. "So?"
Denise let go of her arm. She rubbed her forehead. Her
eyes were strangely bloodshot, and she shook, ever so
slightly. Jill had never seen her this way.
"You lie to me with such arrogance," Denise sighed. "My
best friend tells me what you did, and you expect me to
believe you over her?"
Jill summoned her best teenage conceit. "Well, yeah! I am
your daughter!"
Denise said: "And that's exactly why I don't believe
you!"
Stung, perplexed and angry, Jill looked away. "I don't
believe this," she muttered. Her mother pushed her into a
chair.
"Sit right there."
"Why?"
"Because, I said so," Denise said. She left the room.
Befuddled, Jill straightened her clothing and tried to
calm down. Five feet two inches tall, and one hundred and
ten pounds (if she held her breath and tiptoed onto the
scale), Jill had enormous brown eyes, a wide mouth, and
chestnut hair cut just above the jaw. She suffered from a
mild case of acne, breasts that refused to grow, and
needed eyeglasses which she refused to wear. All of which
made her slightly insecure.
Hearing her mother's voice from the kitchen, Jill leaned
forward. "What is she doing now?" she wondered. She stole
from the chair to listen.
"She's lying through her teeth, Dawn. All of them are."
Denise's voice was taut with anger. "I swear, I could
just break her neck."
There was a long pause, during which Jill heard an angry
buzzing--Jenna's mom on the other end. Jill wondered how
much trouble they were really in.
"I'm serious," Denise continued. "They deserve a good
beating. Every one of them. I only wish I had the nerve."
She was silent through another length of buzzing and Jill
peeked around the corner to see. Her mother rubbed her
forehead, and then stood erect.
"I'm...I'm not sure," she said. "Sylvia's threatened to,
before." She snapped a look back, but Jill had retreated.
"The girl's are at my mom's," she said, speaking of
Jill's younger sisters. She laughed, softly. "I almost
want them here, just for that reason. Serve the brat
right. Serve them all right."
Like an onlooker sighting what she hitherto thought
impossible, Jill had a powerful feeling of dread.
"Jesus," she muttered. "This is really bad."
There was another extended silence, during which Jill
considered fleeing the house. She slipped back to the
chair and sat down. She looked straight ahead, hands in
her lap.
Surely her mother wouldn't--couldn't be thinking...
What the hell was going on?
Denise appeared at the doorway and her face suddenly
twisted. Had her eyes reddened more? She motioned for
Jill to follow.
"Where are we going?" Jill asked.
Her mother snapped her fingers. "Just get yourself here!"
Jill hurriedly arose, collected her textbook and backpack
from the floor, and asked, plaintively, "What is going
on? I can't believe you're this mad."
Denise shook her ahead. Returning to the kitchen with
Jill in tow, she went to the garage and opened the closet
door. She removed her winter coat and shrugged it on.
"Just do as I say," she said. "Don't talk back..." she
looked at her daughter, hard "--or you'll regret it.
Understand?"
Jill nodded.
"Do you?"
"Yes, ma'am," Jill said.
It was the first time in years Jill had addressed her
mother this way--unmockingly.
Zipping her coat, Denise opened the garage door and
stepped outside. Standing for an irresolute moment, Jill
dropped her backpack and textbook inside the closet, and
then followed. The dog-eared volume, sheathed in a worn
dayglo yellow cover, was a tome on criminal justice. The
title--prophetically for Jill and her friends--was:
Disobedience and Discipline: Case Studies in Punishment.
"I don't like this," Jenna McTierney said. "I don't like
this at all."
The friends stood in a loose circle, a mirror of each
other's dread. They were in Krystal Hart's living room.
"What are they doing?" Nicole Pratt wanted to know. She
hugged herself tight. "This is so weird. So totally
weird."
Jill shook her head. "My mom is really pissed. More
pissed than I've ever seen her."
"Mine too," Jenna said. "She wouldn't even let me
change."
Jenna's outfit was identical to that of Jill's, as were
all the girl's.
"What did you say?" Krystal asked.
Jenna looked around. A thin, European-featured girl with
wavy brown hair and small eyes, she said: "Nothing. I
told her we never left the mall."
Jill recited her mother's accusation.
"Bitch!" Jenna exclaimed, softly. "I hate that woman."
Jill completely agreed. "She followed us around, can you
believe?"
Jenna, Krystal and Nicole shook their heads.
"Talk about nosy."
"Talk about rude!"
Nicole said, "What are they doing out there?"
Krystal went to the dining room arch. Tall and blond like
her mother, with razor sharp features and expressive
eyes, she was the group's oldest member, its most
experienced, and the defacto leader. Wearing the crisp
white blouse, pleated blue skirt, and blue and red-
checked blazer of the Montessori Academy, Krystal
appeared the perfect young student. Her friends and her
mother knew better.
Krystal strained to hear. She cocked her head. "They're
moving furniture?" she said.
The others moved forward.
"What's with that?" Jenna asked.
The dining room chairs were gone. Where each had sat,
rectangular depressions marked the carpet. Only Jill
thought she knew why.
Krystal said, "I didn't even get through the door before
I got grabbed. Yanked my arm almost out of my socket."
She rubbed her obviously tender shoulder.
"Me, too," Jill said. She looked thoughtfully at Krystal,
remembering her mother's anger, her bloodshot eyes. "You
think they know?" she whispered.
"Know what?"
Jill bumped her friend's arm.
Krystal looked around. Her eyes said, "Oh." Then she
whispered, "Why bring Jenna and Nicole into it, though?
That makes no sense."
It made no sense to Jill either. She shrugged. "She got
on the phone with Jen's mom right away."
"Great," Jenna muttered. "Blame it on me."
"Nobody's blaming you," Krystal said. "Stop pouting."
"I'm not pouting, " Jenna said.
"You are too."
Nicole stepped away from the door. Dark-haired and tiny,
the smallest of the group, Nicole was cute, but visibly
insecure. Looking for affirmation, her eyes continually
darted between her friends. "You don't think..." she
said.
The others looked at Nicole.
"No way," she whispered. "They wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't dare what?"
Nicole, seeing her fear mirrored in Jill's eyes, took
another step backwards. "No way!" she protested, shaking
her head. "That's...that's..."
Jenna and Krystal stepped forward, in unison. "What?"
they both said. "Tell me!"
Just then, like a cadre of jailers, Denise Cooney, Dana
Pratt, Dawn McTierney, and Sylvia Hart entered the room.
Krystal demanded: "Mom! What is going on?"
"You're about to find out," Mrs. Hart said. "Into the
family room. Now."
Krystal looked from friend to friend. "Why?"
"Because!" Mrs. Hart said. Her voice was a dangerous
whisper. She indicated the door.
Krystal backed away--they all backed away.
"Mom, come on."
"Now, Krystal Lynne!"
Krystal shook her head.
Mrs. Hart pointed at the door. "You have three seconds!
After that, I do it outside."
Single file, arms folded defensively across their chests,
the girls marched out of the room. At the door to the
family room, they stopped. The coffee table was shoved
aside, and the armchair moved against the wall. The
dining room chairs were arranged in a circle around the
center of the room.
Sylvia Hart said: "You know what this is." It was not a
question.
Krystal only blinked.
Sylvia said: "You're being taught a lesson."
"You can't be serious," Jill whispered.
Sylvia said, "I am."
A strikingly beautiful woman in her mid-forties, the
gray-suited woman stood rigidly before the four. She
looked every bit the Assistant School Superintendent.
"For years now," she declared, "your mothers and I have
tolerated--no, endured--deceit on your parts." Her eyes--
as bloodshot as those of Denise Cooney--shifted
relentlessly back and forth. "You lie as though every
word of truth were cause for shame. As though honesty
were an affront to dignity. Every week it gets worse."
She pointed at the television, currently staring from the
corner.
The girls, were they not so distraught, would surely have
rolled their eyes.
"MTV, The Simpson's, Married with Children..." She
paused, her expression saying the thought of making
allowance was abhorrent. "We realize it's not all your
fault. Corrupt values lead to corrupt children. But we
also know that the buck stops somewhere. If not with the
perpetrators, then with you." She rubbed her forehead.
"We'll give you this choice. Tell us what you did last
night, the whole truth, and you'll at least stay
clothed."
Jill and her friends recoiled.
Stay clothed?
Mrs. Hart singled out her daughter. "Well?"
Krystal, brilliantly red, stammered. "I--I--"
That's all her mother allowed.
With a suddenness that stilled Jill's heart, Krystal was
yanked out of line and dragged to the closest chair.
Sylvia sat down and Krystal went over her knee. A moment
later her skirt was raised and a hand came down on her
rear.
Ka-whack!
Krystal yelped loudly--more in shock then in pain--and
her right foot kicked skyward.
"Mom!"
She was spanked again.
"Ow!"
Jill, dazed and frightened, disjointedly thought: Pink.
She's wearing pink.
Years before, in a pique of solidarity, the four had
promised to wear the same color panties and bra's each
day. Friday's color was blue, Thursday's was white,
Wednesday's pink. Tuesday's color was green and Monday's
yellow. They had not compared colors in years, but Jill
wore her's religiously. As she did today. By coincidence,
or by design, Krystal had also.
Krystal yelled: "Mom! Ow! Stop it!" She reached back with
her right hand--the other hand clutched the chair--but
Mrs. Hart grabbed it and pulled it aside. She spanked
Krystal even harder.
"Mom! What are you doing!" The mortification in her voice
made Jill stare, open-mouthed.
Mrs. Hart asked: "Where were last night?"
"Mom! Please!"
Mrs. Hart hit her again." Where?"
Before she knew the words were being formed, Jill cried
out: "Missy Pupchak's!"
Mrs. Hart speared her with a glare. Jill shrank away.
"I asked Krystal," Mrs. Hart said. "Is your name
Krystal?"
"N-no ma'am," Jill stuttered. This isn't happening, she
thought. This isn't happening at all!
"Open your mouth again," Mrs. Hart warned, "and I'll fill
it with soap. Understood?"
Face blazing red, Jill nodded.
Mrs. Hart retuned to her daughter. Krystal's panties were
bordered in red.
"Where did you go last night, Krystal?"
"Missy's house," Krystal said. She had begun to cry.
"Why?"
Miserably, Krystal said: "Because her parents were out."
Mrs. Hart spanked Krystal twice, very hard. "You were not
supposed to leave the mall." she said.
"I know, but--"
Sylvia spanked her, again. She repeated: "You were not
supposed to leave the mall."
Krystal, sobbing loudly, conceded.
"What did you do there?" Mrs. Hart asked.
Krystal hiccupped.
Mrs. Hart repeated: "What did you do at Missy'
Pupchak's?"
Krystal said: "We smoked dope and fooled around."
Mrs. Hart's face went from stone to polished steel. "You
smoked marijuana?"
Krystal sniffled loudly and nodded. "Yes," she sobbed.
Carefully, as though unwilling to damage the fabric, Mrs.
Hart lowered Krystal's panties to her thighs. Outlines of
her hand, red with white edges, were printed across the
skin.
Krystal sobbed, "Mom, please!" squeezing herself closed.
"Don't do this!"
A hairbrush appeared in Mrs. Hart's hand. With a grim
determination, she laid into her daughter's rear end. The
strikes rang throughout the house. Krystal's bottom grew
crimson.
"Mom! Mommy, please!"
"You will not smoke marijuana!" Mrs. Hart yelled.
Krystal pleaded and begged and sobbed and kicked--all to
no avail. "It hurts, mommy! It hurts! You're hurting me!
Ow!"
"You will stay at the mall when you're told to!" Mrs.
Hart yelled.
Krystal's head flew up and down. "Yes, mommy! Yes!"
Frightened to the point of panic, Jill and her friends
drew together; Jenna started to cry. Nicole did also.
Jill squeezed closed her eyes, then forced them open
again. She would not let her friend suffer in darkness.
"You will not lie to me any more!" Mrs. Hart railed. "You
will obey my every command!"
Past indignity or embarrassment, Krystal wanted only
mercy. "Yes, Mommy, please!" she wailed. "I'm sorry! I
am! I won't do it again!"
Scarlet in the face and gasping for breath, Mrs. Hart
turned to Jill's mother: "Get a spatula from the kitchen.
Would you please?"
Jill cried, "Mom! No!" and grabbed her mother's arm.
Denise threw her daughter off. Jill backed away. "Mom,
please," she begged, falling into tears. "Why are you
doing this?"
"Touch me again..." Denise warned. She shuddered from
head to foot. Then she left the room, rubbing her
forehead; she ran into the doorjamb.
What is going on here? Jill's mind demanded. Is everybody
insane?
Denise returned, carrying not one, but three spatulas.
One was plastic and very long, with quarter-inch slots
running the length. The second was burnished wood and,
though only half the length, was much heavier. The third
spatula made Jill's heart freeze. It was made of
stainless steel. It would hurt atrociously.
Mrs. Hart held out her hand. "The plastic one is fine,"
she said. Denise handed it over. With the grin of a
sadistic tyrant, she began to pummel Krystal's behind.
Krystal, screaming hysterically, kicked hard enough to
lose both shoes. Welts raised wherever the spatula
struck.
"Let me go! Let me go! I promise not to do it anymore!
Let me go!"
Jill, close to hysteria, wanted to run away. "Please,
Mrs. Hart!" she wailed. "No more! Can't you see--"
She was grabbed roughly from behind. The steel spatula
was waved in her face. "Worry about yourself!" Denise
said, fiercely. "Not Krystal!"
Jill screamed: "Why are you doing this? Have you all lost
your minds?"
Mrs. Hart screamed, "You're next!" brandishing her
spatula. "Compared to you, Krystal's beating is a kiss!"
Her face twisted in fury. "Ten times worse! Twenty times
worse!"
Jill screamed back: "Fine! Beat me! Only stop hitting
her!"
Leaping forward, she grabbed the spatula and wrested it
from Mrs. Hart's hand. Throwing her arm back, she
screamed, "You are not hitting her again!" and swung the
spatula against Mrs. Hart's face. It hit with a
resounding smack.
Jill backed away. "I'll hurt you. I swear I will! Now let
her go!"
Mrs. Hart rubbed her face. "You fucking little cunt!" she
said.
She didn't! Jill thought, wildly. She didn't just call me
a cunt!
"I'll do it again!" Jill threatened. "Let her go!"
Mrs. Hart smiled. Placing a hand in the small of her
daughter's back, she said: "Come and make me, cunt."
Jill simply stared. This was something out of a Steven
King novel. Worse, a story off the Internet.
"You people are crazy," she whispered. She shooed her
mother and Dawn McTierney away. She thought how crazy it
was, brandishing a spatula. "Let Krystal go," she
repeated.
Krystal finally looked up. Mucus encircled her lips and
her cheeks were twin fields of black. She looked like
Alice Cooper.
Jill shivered. Why is it so cold in here? she thought.
And why is the floor shaking? She looked around and saw
things jittering across furniture. Like an army of
lemmings, the dozen or so framed pictures atop the walnut
credenza made slowly toward edge, then went over. Only
Jill seemed to notice.
Circling to her left, she moved toward Mrs. Hart's chair.
Mrs. Hart observed her, smiling pleasantly.
"I'm going to so enjoy this," Sylvia said. "So much."
"Oh, no, you're not," Jill countered. She had no
intention of going over anyone's knee, let alone crazy
Mrs. Hart's. The bitch intended more than a beating.
Continuing to grin, Mrs. Hart held out her hand. Denise
handed her the stainless steel spatula.
"Mom!"
Denise Cooney laughed. In a sing-song voice, she taunted:
"Jilly's next, liar's next, now you're gonna get it!"
Without warning, and emitting high-pitched shrieks,
Denise and Dawn McTierney leapt forward. They grabbed
Jill's arms and wrestled her to her knees. Then Dana
Pratt jumped on her back.
"Get off me!" Jill screamed. She threw herself back and
forth. She shrieked as Dana tore at her hair. "Bitch!"
Like a psychotic inmate, Dana Pratt shrieked back: "How
you like it! How you like it, whore!"
Jill stabbed madly with the spatula, catching Dana
between the teeth. She shoved the spatula into her mouth
and Dana gagged. Shoving backwards, she slammed Dana
against the wall. A huge oil painting--which Jill had
hated since the day Mrs. Hart hung it--banged to the
floor. Then they rebounded and Dana came loose and
stumbled to her knees. The spatula remained in her mouth.
She vomited trying to get it free.
Then everyone was on Jill at once.
"Mom! Mom, what are you doing!"
Jill struggled to remain in her panties, which her mother
struggled to rip away. "Mom!" she screamed again.
"On the floor!" Mrs. Hart shouted. "Onto the goddamned
floor!" Her face was a rictus of hate; hands transformed
into claws. She looked like an attacking vulture.
Jesus, Mother of God! Jill's mind shrieked. What is going
on!
Then Dawn rammed her from behind and Jill went down. She
struggled fruitlessly as her arms were pinioned behind
her and her face pressed roughly into the nap. The floor
beneath her vibrated so strongly that, if not preoccupied
with her attackers, Jill would have been terrified.
"This!" Sylvia Hart yelled. "You will not enjoy!"
Dawn McTierney bent down and tore away Jill's panties.
Jill screamed, "Noooooooo! Don't you dare!" and kicked
with her feet.
"Hold the bitch still! Hold the bitch still!" Mrs. Hart
yelled.
Jill screamed: "Mrs. Hart, no!"
Three feet away, where her mother had dumped her of the
floor, Krystal sat and wept.
"Krystal! Krystal, please!"
Krystal continued to bawl.
There was an unendurably long moment, and then the first
blow hit. Jill shrieked at the top of her lungs.
"Nooooooooooooo!"
Mrs. Hart cackled and hit her again.
"Get offa me!" Jill screamed. "Get offa me, you bitch!"
She sensed, rather than saw Mrs. Hart's arm raise again.
"Don't you dare!"
With a strength not even she could believe, Jill rose
from the floor. Wresting her arms free, she lashed out
with them both, catching her mother flush across the
mouth, and Dawn McTierney on the nose. Both women fell
away. Mrs. Hart, riding Jill's back like a bull-rider,
continued to flail her behind.
"Get offa me!" Jill screamed, again. She swung back and
forth with both elbows, catching Mrs. Hart in the ribs.
She heard something crack. Mrs. Hart shrieked and began
to slide off.
Suddenly, the house violently shook and items throughout
it fell. A crack opened in the wall before her, growing
rapidly wider, and Jill's mind reeled.
What the fuck is going on? What the mother fuck is going
on?
On her hands and knees, bleeding from the nose and
mumbling incoherently, Dawn circled around to Jill's
mother. Mrs. Cooney got to her knees as well, her eyes
bright with hate. She looked entirely mad. Then she
lunged forward and Jill barely managed to turn away
before fingernails dug into her scalp.
"Yeowwww!" she wailed, at this new pain.
Denise screamed. "Bitch! I'll teach you to hit your
mother!"
Wild with confusion and rage, Jill reared back and threw
Mrs. Hart off. She hit the floor with a resounding thud.
Grabbing her mother's wrists, Jill screamed, "Leave me
alone!" and threw her mother back. Denise tripped over
her own feet and crashed to the floor. Finally, Jill was
free.
"Has everybody in this house gone mad?"
Horribly, she knew it was true.
Holding her badly torn skirt, Jill staggered to where
Krystal sat and tried to drag her up.
"No!" Krystal sobbed. "Lemme alone!"
"Krystal!"
Krystal threw off her hand.
"Fine then!" Jill exploded. "Stay there!"
Jenna and Nicole, cowering against the wall, recoiled as
Jill approached.
Jill yelled. "Are you coming?"
Both hid their faces and turned away.
Jill screamed in frustration and fled the room.
Outside, she discovered the madness had spread. Children,
in varying degrees of undress and terror, ran screaming
about. Most were chased by screaming adults. All were
female. There was not a man in sight.
"Please!" somebody wailed. "Help me!"
Jill turned to find a girl her own age, clad in nothing
but a white brassiere, on her knees between two women.
She was being beaten by a third. The woman swung a long-
handled wooden paddle, the kind Jill had seen a thousand
times in situation comedies. Only this paddle was not for
comic relief. It had the teenager's bottom a horrible,
brilliant red. The girl howled in pain.
This cannot be happening! Jill's mind screamed, again.
Then a commotion sounded behind her and Jill turned to
find Mrs. Hart, Dawn McTierney, and Dana Pratt on the
porch. Dawn and Dana looked at the surrounding tableau,
and began to laugh. Mrs. Hart had eyes only for Jill. She
moved purposefully down the steps, the steel spatula in
her hand.
In a reasonable tone of voice, Mrs. Hart said: "I'm going
to kill you."
Jill understood it was true. "Stay the fuck away from
me," she said, backpedaling.
Mrs. Hart laughed.
"I'm warning you," Jill said. She bunched her fists and
raised them high.
Mrs. Hart laughed again. "See that cunt over there?" She
indicated the girl in the white brassiere. Only the girl
no longer wore the brassiere, but had it stuffed in her
mouth as a gag. The condition of her bottom was
indescribable.
"When I'm done with you," Mrs. Hart said, "I'll hand you
over to them. What do you think of that, my little cunt?"
Jill turned around and fled.
"Come back here, you bitch!"
Jill dodged as two, thirty-something women moved to cut
her off. She rammed one with her right shoulder, knocking
her to the ground. The other caught her across the back
with a bamboo cane, and Jill shrieked. She was tackled
from behind.
"Gotcha!" Mrs. Hart bellowed. She scrambled onto Jill's
back and flailed at her with the metal spatula.
Enraged, Jill screamed and threw Mrs. Hart off. Gaining
her knees, she punched with all her might and heard a
gratifying crack!, as Mrs. Hart grabbed her side. Jill
punched her again and this time the ribs broke. "Yes!"
she screamed. "How do you like that!"
Mrs. Hart tried to crawl away and Jill kicked her in the
side. Then she kicked her again and again and yowled in
triumph and hardly noticed--or cared--that her skirt
ripped completely apart and fell to the ground.
"Bitch!" Jill screamed. "I'll fucking kill you!"
She was about to deliver a fifth, and possibly fatal last
kick, when the shadow arrived.
She felt, rather than saw, the object.
Turning around, Jill watched as a huge band of smoke,
wide as the entire sky, advanced. Flame--or something
equally hot--shone through the pall.
The ground shook. Trees shimmied. Car alarms went off.
Everywhere, women and children pointed skyward, suddenly
nothing again but mothers and daughters.
"What in the fuck is that?" Dana Pratt cried.
Standing side by side on the porch, she and Dawn
McTierney pointed skyward and gawked. Jill watched them a
cautious moment, then turned back to the object.
Exhibiting a distinctly circular edge, the spacecraft
approached and passed over. Darkness descended like deep
twilight. Streetlights winked on.
Noticing the coolness on her buttocks and thighs, Jill
looked down. Her genitals were exposed. She barely cared.
Looking skyward again, she heard--or thought she heard--a
low, throaty rumble.
My God! she thought. This can't really be!
Despite her protestations, the object did resemble the
spacecraft from Independence Day. Right down to the
immense size, the shroud of smoke, and the deeply felt
rumble. Only the score was missing.
"This can't be," she said again, aloud.
Dawn McTierney and Dana Pratt ran away. Then everyone
started running. Only Jill held her ground. And Mrs.
Hart.
"It was a movie," Jill objected. "A fucking movie."
Fucking movie or not, the spacecraft was right there.
Right there above her. Heat engulfed her like an oven and
she said: "Jesus, what do we do now?"
She looked down to find the Mrs. Hart's hand, pleadingly
raised. Going to one knee, Jill cautioned her to remain
still. "We have to get you inside," she said.
There was blood inside Mrs. Hart's mouth. Jill felt
suddenly, terribly ashamed. "Come on," she said, helping
the woman sit up. She flinched as Mrs. Hart gasped. "Can
you stand?" she asked.
Mrs. Hart shook her head. "911?"
Somehow, Jill didn't think they'd respond.
Looking up again, Jill discovered Jenna and Nicole on the
porch. They looked fearfully at the object, now directly
overhead. It had started to slow, and would soon overhang
the city. Jill wondered what the president thought about
that.
This brought on a riotous laugh.
Tearing her eyes from the spacecraft long enough to
concentrate on her friend, Jenna stripped off her blazer
and came down the steps. "Here," she said, handing the
blazer to Jill. She looked terribly embarrassed.
Jill placed the blazer around Mrs. Hart's shoulders.
"No!" Jenna exclaimed. She indicated Jill's lower half.
"Christ, Jenna! Like it matters! Help me get her up."
Jenna stepped away.
"Help me!"
Jenna said, "Why?"
"Why?"
"Look at what she did!" Jenna exclaimed, indicating the
marks on Jill's bottom.
Jill jabbed her finger skyward. "It was that! Everyone's
back to normal now, haven't you seen? Now give a hand!"
"I don't know..." Jenna said.
"Well, I do. Now help."
Jenna came forward and together they pulled Mrs. Hart to
her feet.
"Come on," Jill said. "Let's get inside."
Guiding Mrs. Hart across the lawn, Jill fought the urge
to look up...and lost. The smoke had cleared enough to
discern the incongruously, petal-shaped topography of the
hull. The eight petals bloomed from the jutting central
core, extending to the spacecraft's edge. Making up their
length were huge slabs and outcropping of hull, almost
recognizable in form. They seemed a city of stone. The
ship's edge, towering monstrously high, was almost
directly overhead.
"Hurry," Jill pleaded.
"This is so crazy," Jenna said.
"Just get inside."
They never made it. From atop the front steps, Nicole
emitted a terrified shriek and everyone turned around.
Jill knew what they'd find. A translucent dagger of green
lanced down from the spacecraft's center, pulsating and
strengthening with each second. Just as Jill started to
scream, "Get inside!" a great burst of energy exploded
downward. There was a tremendous explosion.
"Inside!" Jill screamed. "Get inside now!"
Pushing Jenna with her right hand, she looped her other
beneath Mrs. Hart's arms and dragged her forward. "Inside
the house!" she screamed, again. "Now!"
Jenna suddenly stopped, then screamed hysterically.
Whipping around, Jill found not a devastating wall of
fire, but a shimmering curtain of--what? Jill couldn't
tell. It looked like a wave of heat, running from the
ground to the underside of the ship. Already it was a
quarter way out to the edge.
"Into the house!" Jill screamed, knowing it was useless.
The closer the wave got, the more discernible its
effects. Houses imploded, seeming to fall right in. Cars
and trucks, shiny one moment, disintegrated into billowy,
powdery dust. Sidewalks crumbled and tarmac buckled and
boiled. Lawns erupted into mountainous growth,
overwhelming all in their path. Trees, once six feet
tall, suddenly grew to sixty feet. Sixty-foot trees
withered and died.
And where the wave engulfed human beings--or dogs, or
cats, or flying birds--they instantly withered and died.
Older people disappeared right before her eyes. Children
grew to adulthood in an instant, only to fade to old age.
They fell in their tracks. Most crumbled to dust and were
blown away. No one survived.
"Run!" Jill screamed again.
Jenna ran, but not toward the house. She headed across
the lawn. Jumping from the porch, Nicole and Krystal gave
chase, and so did Dawn, Dana and Jill's mother.
"Mom!" Jill screamed. "Help me!"
Denise momentarily stopped, looking from her daughter to
the approaching wave, then ran on in panic. She ignored
Jill's screams for help. Jill turned around to watch her
approaching doom.
It didn't wait, she thought, crazily. It didn't wait for
the signal!
Suddenly, again in an agitated state, Mrs. Hart bellowed:
"Get offa me!"
Though weakened to the point of collapse, she wanted to
run. Jill refused to let her go. Mrs. Hart bit her.
What difference does it make, Jill? Can she outrun the
wave?
Jill released her grip. Staggering forward, Mrs. Hart
went down on one knee, then struggled erect; she
staggered after the others. Jill watched her a moment,
then turned away.
"Close your eyes, Jillian," she whispered.
Dutifully, she closed her eyes. Then she opened them
again.
High in the air, possibly right at the ship's surface,
there had been a flash. Almost academically, Jill looked
for its location. She held no real hope. A moment later
the flash reappeared, and this time was much brighter. A
visible portion of hull blew away.
My God, Jill thought. That was an explosion.
She watched debris rain down.
As the wave approached, then overtook the wreckage,
something occurred. A ripple formed in the curtain's
face, becoming a tear. The tear became a fracture, the
fracture a gap. Where the gap hit the ground, changes
dramatically slowed. Houses aged on one side, but not on
the other. Lawns went to riot where the wave held
strength, grew in slow motion where it did not. Vehicles
remained intact.
Jill began to run. The wave was less than a hundred yards
away, and loosing speed. She had a chance.
"Please, God!" she wailed. "Please let me make it!"
The break began to close.
"No!" Jill screamed. "Don't you dare!" She waved as
though the wave could see. "Please! Let me through!"
If she missed the break, she would die.
Then Jill became aware of someone else.
Running full out down the street, Dana Pratt bore down on
Jill's position. Not on the break, but on Jill herself.
What is she doing!
Then Jill saw her eyes, saw the madness within, and knew
Dana cared nothing about the break. She wanted Jill dead.
Jill ran faster.
Approaching with her teeth bared and her claws extended,
Dana let out a shrill, high-pitched screech: "Bitch! I'm
gonna kill you!"
"No!" Jill screamed, trying to bat her away. She landed a
blow on Dana's shoulder, hard enough to make her falter.
It put Jill one fateful, precious step ahead.
"You're going to die!" Dana screamed. "You hear me you
fucking whore? Die like the rest!"
Jill ran with every fiber in her body. The break was less
than twenty yards away, and if it didn't close, she might
make it through.
"Please!" she beseeched, willing the break to remain.
"Not yet!"
Right on her heels, Dana Pratt continued to scream.
"Cunt! Cock sucker! Ass-fucking whore!"
That's right! Jill's mind shrieked. Waste your breath
screaming!
As they neared the break--which had narrowed to less than
ten feet--Dana made one final lunge. She caught Jill by
the feet. They both went down.
"No!" Jill screamed.
But her momentum was enough to free her from Dana's
grasp, and she rolled head over heels into the break. It
engulfed her in agony. The last thing she saw as the
world changed forever was the shocked face of Dana Pratt.
Engulfed in the full violence of the wave, Dana aged a
lifetime. Her scream ended abruptly as skin crinkled like
parchment and her teeth rotted away. Her hair shriveled
to gray wisps and cataracts filled her eyes, turning them
lifelessly white. Then the wave was past and Jill,
already unconscious, was saved the final moments of Dana
Pratt's life.
Continued in part 2...
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 19