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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Starry Starry Night
by Peter_Pan (uds3@hotmail.com)
***
Blow-up a nuclear reactor in the wrong part of the
galaxy and it could be the best thing that ever
happened to you. Don Mclean only knew the half of it!
(Mg, ped, sci-fi)
***
Travelling through space at close to six hundred miles
per second for most people, would constitute living in
the fast lane. For Yalgon it was merely another stretch
at the viewing port of a star freighter long since
passed its scheduled operational life-span.
Having slowed the craft at the outer edges of what the
company referred to as the "Origin World Cluster,"
Yalgon depressed the far left of eight crystalline
protuberances on that which a layman might have
incorrectly termed the 'control panel' in front of him.
The slightest humming could be detected throughout the
walls of the craft.
Just "why" the company insisted crew members engage the
ship's cloaking device when passing through this
particular tract of space he could never fully
understand. Inarguably the entire Valarian race owed
their very existence to those intrepid explorers who
hailed from the blue planet so many time-phases in the
past. Since that period though, 'humanity' as they were
collectively known, had curiously been plunged into
epochs of technological redundancy and appeared to have
now, neither the knowledge nor the skills of their own
descendants.
There had been concern during Yalgon's childhood, when
it was reported that an object of admittedly
inconsequential size, had actually landed on the small
moon which orbited the blue planet and that in fact two
humanoids had emerged from the craft briefly. Exactly
why they had chosen to visit so barren a location was
not immediately evident to the Valarian scientific
council. Initially thought to be a rekindled interest
in interplanetary travel - though seemingly of a crude
and indeterminate nature - no further exploratories
appear to have been made since that time. Perhaps then
he had pondered, it was simply a case of wishing to
avoid detection and thereby unwanted interest, that
craft were instructed to use their cloaking capability
in the vicinity.
Barely had the red planet exited the portside viewing
window when a discernible vibration became evident
towards the rear of the cavernous interior. With
practiced dexterity, Yalgon passed his hand across the
transparent shield immediately to the right of the
cloaking-crystal, his thumb and sixth finger spanning
their normal one-eighty degree coverage. Almost
immediately the skeletal structure of the craft in
technical cross-section, appeared on-screen in sharp
image, white outline against blue background. A second
pass of Yalgon's hand displayed what may have been a
lower deck. Towards the rear, surrounded by an
intricacy of fabricated structural-metal framework, a
circular disc appeared to be glowing a blood red color.
"The fusion reactor," Yalgon mused, running swiftly a
diagnostic on the ship's power-source. This merely
served to confirm his worst fear. The port-side
reactor, as it had threatened on an earlier star-
passage, was now crippled and at this point in deep
space, fully beyond repair. It was of little
consolation now that having earlier raised concerns
about the age of the craft, the flight council had
examined the ship and deemed it worthy of extended
certification. Whether or not a salvage team could even
rescue him was in doubt, which meant he would be
stranded in this quadrant pending the next allocated
star-freighter...a possible ninety "day" wait (as they
measured time in this realm of the galaxy)
Evaluating his options, only the blue planet itself was
within accessible reach of his damaged ship. On low
power even, it would be able to remain in cloaked-orbit
indefinitely while the space council decided its
immediate fate. His subsequent transmission contained
all the relevant data-scans and star-log details. Even
on reduced power, the blue planet's aspect was
monopolizing the frontal viewing-port in moments. It
was he decided far more beautiful than even his own
planet, far away as it was now in the Andromeda
cluster.
It would be necessary he realized, to acquaint himself
with updated local planetary customs and recent history
and thus he sat fully relaxed in the audio-pod as the
ship's "compuserve" oversaw the uplink that transferred
all current data to the bio-implant chip located
slightly to the left of his gills. Long since unused,
he realized it would take a while to familiarize
himself once more with the use of his lungs – an aspect
they had emphasized as high priority during space-
training.
Slowing appreciably, the craft entered its calculated
upper-orbit silently and efficiently. Assigning all on-
board systems to the care of the ship's "compuserve,"
Yalgon entered the molecular-dissociator, calmly
awaiting transfer to the Blue Planet's surface. He felt
little more than a tingling sensation followed by a
period of total black-out.
Even as the blue-tinged beam made contact with the
scrubland a short distance from a semi-deserted section
of Interstate 80 in Wyoming, the vague outlines of a
life-form assumed a shimmering reality. Slowly,
awareness returned to him. "So this is "Earth?" he
muttered, looking across at the darkened highway upon
which some primitive vehicle was travelling.
Although very much identifiable as humanoid still,
evolution had overseen some significant changes to the
Valarian race in the millennia since the arrival of
Earth's earliest – and hitherto forgotten – cosmic
explorers. Generations of offspring, having by
necessity to adapt to less of a gravitational influence
and spending a far greater proportion of their lives in
water than once did their ancestors, had resulted in
the re-development of upper thoracic gills and the dark
webbing between their six fingers. They stood taller
also at an average height of six-foot six. Having
consequently something of an ichthyic appearance,
Yalgon concluded that his external frame required at
the very least, some cosmetic attention in order that
he pass unchallenged among the local populace – as and
when he might locate such.
Pondering then his options, he depressed the touch-
screen of his small wristpack, entering various
parameters. Although unable to alter his height. quite
obviously, Yalgon's skin lightened considerably, the
webbing appeared to retract between his fingers and his
hairline to assume a normalcy no-one would commit to a
second glance. The skin rippled around his neck,
delicately covering the gill area, a physical
characteristic he knew he would not be requiring for
quite an extended period of time.
Breathing now pure oxygen instead of the methane he was
more used to and which constituted ninety-five percent
of the spacecraft's on-board pressurization, he felt
almost light-headed. This gravity however was
definitely going to take a while to get used to – not
half a dozen steps and he was feeling the weight of his
body already.
Crunching gravel underfoot, he reached the shoulder of
the Interstate, while in the distance could be seen the
approaching lights of a second vehicle. Waiting there
motionless, he raised his arm as the car approached.
The vehicle's driver braked hard, screeching to a halt
almost alongside him.
"Jesus man," he called out through the lowered window,
"What the FUCK happened? They took your clothes too?"
Yalgon's eyes studied the man for a moment. Maybe not
six-six, but tall enough!
Piloting a 1986 Oldsmobile Delta 88 following several
months in deep space at the helm of a mile-long
nuclear-powered space-freighter was for Yalgon, an
object lesson in humility. "Just how primitive are
these people?" he pondered, watching the needle
struggle to its graded zenith of ninety miles per hour.
An exit for 'Green River' flashed by on his right
followed by an overpass, upfront of which was a sign
'Cheyenne' 271 miles. It was to this co-ordinate he was
navigating, the compuserve having indicated a higher
concentration of humans clustered there than in the
surrounding areas. Given the maximum speed of his
present conveyance however, he calculated this to be
probably three and a quarter Earth hours distant.
A short time later, a strange sound could be heard in
the background. Yalgon concentrated on it for a few
moments. He was unable to immediately identify the
source but it appeared to be gaining in volume. A
mechanical whining of sorts he decided. Just then he
noticed in the mirrored reflection, twin beams of light
sweep around the bend he had just negotiated.
Evidently the newcomer's conveyance was possessed of a
higher speed capability than his own. Colored lights
additionally were now flashing on the roof of the
vehicle. Slowing to allow the whining object to pass,
he was fully surprised when the conveyance slewed
dangerously into his own path, forcing him to brake and
skid almost off the roadway. He brought the vehicle to
a stop as two quite large humans exited their vehicle
and began striding towards his open window. One of them
flashed a light-beam through the passenger's side.
"May I see your license and registration please sir?"
uttered the larger of the two "men" (as he knew the
male of the species to be called) who was now standing
alongside his window.
"What is THAT?" Yalgon replied, in a voice bordering on
the robotic. He would need time to perfect the human
tongue he realized, it being quite unlike his natural
oral tone and resonance.
The man looked at his partner who, having checked the
vehicle from front to back was now standing beside him
"Are you saying Sir, you do not have a license to drive
in this State?" he asked, acting in what Yalgon
interpreted as a threatening manner.
"I do not understand what a "license" and
"registration" is," he replied. "How then might I show
you either?"
The men conferred for a moment. "Please get out of the
vehicle sir," said the man's partner. Even as he spoke,
he was pulling something that may have been a weapon
from the belt he was wearing.
"I have no wish to do that," Yalgon replied, losing
patience with these humans. "I must leave." He re-
started the engine.
"I said, get out of the vehicle Sir – right NOW."
screamed the weapon-holder, aiming his 'tube' at the
driver's head and standing there in a fully
confrontational attitude.
"As I was led to believe - aggressive creatures,"
Yalgon thought briefly. He then gestured towards the
men. Both were flung backwards some twenty feet into
the scrubland, the 'weapon' dropping harmlessly by the
roadside. Glancing towards their vehicle that was
partially blocking his way, he momentarily inclined his
head, closing his eyes. Any observer would have found
it incredible watching what happens to a large metallic
object when simply the neutrons are fused together, the
space between them evaporating. One might only describe
it as total molecular anarchy in fact.
The officers remained where they were, on their knees
and staring wildly....at the six-inch "cube" of
blackened metal there on the shoulder, that shortly
they would find was so heavy they could not even pick
it up.
It was as he had expected, more than three hours before
he reached the 'Cheyenne' interchange. Navigating the
vehicle north on Interstate 25 now, the city outskirts
were almost immediately encountered. He was he realized
both hungry and in need of shelter for the night.
Unfamiliar with local hospitality customs, he knew only
that "Hotels" offered overnight accommodation. Having
cruised up and down what appeared to be the city
center, he had just turned into "Stillwater Avenue"
when he noticed across the street, a large and
brightly-lit building. The sign at the entrance
proclaimed this to be "The Fairfield Inn."
Taking the next intersection on the near-deserted
street, he turned the car around and headed south,
pulling into the hotel's car-park alongside several
other vehicles. Retrieving the keys, he walked towards
what appeared to be the main entrance. Inside, he
glanced around and noticed a female of the species
standing behind a long desk over which hung a wooden
plaque that read "Hotel Reception."
Twenty-year old Kelly Stevens looked up as the man
approached. "Boy, had she been rostered on the right
night," she thought to herself. Tall dark and handsome
barely covered it!
"Hello," he said, "Am I able to stay here overnight
please."
His voice was strangely accented she determined,
certainly not local if even American.
"Well of course," she replied. "What sort of room were
you wanting sir?"
"Room?" he asked, fully unfamiliar with the word.
She looked up at him quizzically. "Well, we have rooms
with single beds....double beds (she blushed
momentarily) ...it just depends what you prefer sir."
"I'd like a double bed please," he replied softly,
finding the words easier to enunciate with each passing
sentence.
"Certainly," she cooed. "That will be eighty-nine
dollars sir – and that does include breakfast. Will you
be staying long?"
He rather liked the appearance and scent of this
female, those of his own planet, though suitably
equipped from a reproductive viewpoint, offered minimal
variation outwardly from their male counterparts.
"I haven't decided yet," he replied, studying her
features as he spoke. The girl lowered her eyes.
"You will have to sign-in please," she half-stammered,
thrusting a card and pen towards him.
He looked at the items, unsure of what was expected of
him.
"What are these?" he asked, "I'm sorry but I have been
away a long time and cannot remember..." he raised his
right hand to the desk-top.
Fully unprepared for the girl's shocked cry, he
hurriedly withdrew his hand. "Of course," he realized
immediately "Humans do not have six fingers." He cursed
his short-term thinking.
"Please forgive me," she was saying, in commendable
control of her emotions now. "I didn't mean to be rude,
I-I just wasn't expecting to see your er, hand....."
He managed a smile. "Just a birth defect I'm afraid. It
has taken some getting used to....I'm really sorry for
scaring you, it was thoughtless of me."
"Oh no," she gushed, "please, you have nothing to
apologize for. Would you like me to fill in the
registration card for you? He allowed her to take back
the items before him.
"Your name?" she asked sweetly.
"Grant Davies," he answered, recalling the name on some
of the papers he had found in the pockets of the man's
jacket he had acquired a few hours earlier.
"Address?" she added.
"1826 Rosenberg Boulevard, Phoenix, Arizona" he
answered. "that's Zip code 85008," he told her,
remembering distinctly the last of the address lines.
"Your car's registration number Mr. Davies?" she looked
up enquiringly.
"Exactly what those men in the whining vehicle had
asked about," he reflected. Turning around, he glanced
towards the conveyance that had brought him here –
clearly visible through the double glass doors. He had
no idea what she was talking about.
"Is that Oldsmobile yours?" she enquired. He recalled
that was the name he had noticed somewhere inside the
car. He nodded. "It's a friend's actually," he lied
effortlessly. He then watched as she walked to the far
window and added information to the card. Something
about her movements and that rear profile especially,
anchored his attention – so much more curvy than his
own people. He wondered momentarily what she might look
like without those items of clothing?
Seemingly happy with her investigative questioning and
reaching beneath the desk to retrieve a plastic card
that she placed in a small folder, the girl repeated
her earlier request for the "eighty-nine dollars."
Realizing this must refer to a form of payment he
pulled out the man's wallet and opened it up.
Retrieving two rectangular pieces of paper, he handed
them to the girl. She handed one of them back. "Just
the ONE thanks," she giggled, delving into another
drawer and handing him back another similar piece of
paper and 4 silver pieces of engraved metal, that he
felt obliged to return to the wallet. "Sorry," she
muttered "I don't have any one-dollar notes here at the
moment."
Passing the small folder with the plastic card across
the desk, she indicated a set of stairs away to the
left of the front desk. "Just up there on the first
floor" she smiled, "Room 104."
He hesitated for a moment, "Will I see you later?" he
asked.
The question delivered as it was with an almost child-
like innocence, conveyed no semblance of either offense
or disrespect. The girl stared at him open-mouthed,
fully unsure how to answer.
"I s-suppose so," she managed eventually. "I mean, I
will be working here at the front desk until almost
midnight, so yeah, I guess you might see me." Again
that delightful giggle.
Bequeathing her a smile of his own, he turned and
ascended the stairs.
Finding suite 104 presented Yalgon with no problem,
opening the door however stretched his patience. Used
to portals that opened automatically in his own
terrestrial environment, this archaic mode of entry was
just too much. Aware eventually, that the piece of
plastic he had been given must be instrumental in the
overall design, he tried inserting the artifact into
the only slot he could see might accommodate it. The
door stubbornly refused his advances. At the point he
was about to deconstruct its molecular framework in
utter frustration, he noticed a very young male of the
species, observing him from the adjacent doorway.
"You don't know how to use them do you? the youngster
muttered with resigned acceptance. "Here, let me show
you."
Before he could mount any defense as to his apparent
technological deficiencies, the boy had taken the card
and reversed the face, before sliding it effortlessly
back into the slot, whereupon a small red light flashed
its acknowledgment of so simple a procedure. As if to
humiliate him further, the boy then pushed the handle
and the door swung inwards.
"Is it difficult having all those fingers?" he asked
with no trace of real surprise.
"YES sometimes," Yalgon almost snapped. "But thank you
for the assistance," he added, controlling his emotions
commendably.
The boy shrugged and walked back towards his own room.
In some ways, the interior of suite 104 reminded Yalgon
of a museum. He had seen "beds" similar to this in his
holographic history rings. He remembered as a child
learning about "The Ancients' mode of living." Now here
he was, holed-up like a virtual relic himself. He sat
down on the coverlet - certainly it was comfortable
enough. Removing his shoes, he stretched out full
length, arriving at the conclusion he would have no
problem sleeping on one of these for as long as it took
to mount a rescue mission.
Earthly terrestrial or not, hunger is hunger and Yalgon
realized suddenly he had need of sustenance. Aware that
gastronomic options vary greatly from planet to planet,
he wondered how best he might address the problem at
hand. His eyes fell upon a colorful folder lying on the
small wooden cabinet alongside his bed. He picked it
up. Having exceptional knowledge of several of the Blue
Planet's languages, he was able to comprehend the
wording. A highlighted sub-section entitled "Room
Service" secured his attention.
"A selection of sandwiches and hot-foods available
until midnight" seemed to convey the message he sought.
Further down the page, the many available items were
listed. Salads, toasted sandwiches, grilled meats,
pasta dishes etc. he didn't know what they all were,
but he had a strong conviction it might be a pleasant
experience finding out!How to obtain any was his next
consideration.
"To order from this menu, please call reception using
the zero on your handset," caught his eye.
"Reception?" now that was a word whose meaning he did
know. He looked around encouraged, wondering where he
might find a "handset."
Whilst nothing immediately 'clicked' he did notice the
small plastic device on top of the cabinet with various
numbered buttons at the front – and one of them was a
zero. He pushed it... several times in fact, yet
nothing appeared to be happening. Momentarily
frustrated, he shoved the thing back up against the
wall and was surprised to see the upper section fall
off. He could now hear a beeping sound. He realized it
was some form of communications device and held it up
to his ear. Again he pressed zero.
"Yes Mr Davies?" came a fully recognizable young voice.
"Is that the Hotel Reception?" he asked, needing to
confirm his assumption.
"Yes," she answered, wondering at his strange
formality. "It's me, Kelly Stevens."
"Kelly Stevens," he repeated, "May I call you that?"
"Of course," she laughed..."Well just Kelly is fine
thanks."
"Call me Grant then," he volunteered, "is that
alright?"
"Sure," she said. "Was there something I can do for you
Grant?"
"I wanted room service Kelly, just some food if that is
possible."
"Well if you tell me what you'd like, I can arrange to
have it brought up to you." she replied softly.
"Do you have fish?" he asked her.
"We have Atlantic-Salmon," the girl told him. "It's
really very nice, they cook it well here," she added as
an afterthought.
"And that IS fish?"
"Of course Grant," she assured him. "You've never had
Atlantic Salmon before?'
"No," he replied "Unless they call it something
different where I come from." He heard her giggle into
her handset.
"And would you like a drink with that?" she asked
brightly.
"Some liquid you mean?" he enquired.
This time she completely broke down in fits of
laughter.
"You crack me up Grant," she barely managed, before
recovering her composure somewhat. "Yes, what "liquid"
would you like?"
"I don't mind," he responded, "Bring me whatever you
want?"
"Well it won't be ME bringing it Grant," She was still
giggling.
"Yes, I want YOU to bring it Kelly – PLEASE!"
So stricken did he sound uttering that last word, there
was no question but for her compliance.
"Alright, just this once Grant, but I have to be back
at my desk quickly – it's my job OK?"
"Thank you Kelly," he replied.
He had gotten himself particularly comfortable on the
bed when his reverie was disturbed by a light knocking.
Quite some time had passed. Opening the door, he
towered over the incoming visitor.
"Where shall I put the tray?" she asked him. He
indicated the large table to the left of the bed.
"Thank you for bringing it Kelly, I had hoped to see
you again." He allowed the door to close of its own
volition.
The sound surprised the girl and momentarily her eyes
flitted to the doorway. He sensed her active concern.
"You are quite safe," he told her.
For reasons she was fully unable to comprehend, his
words had a cathartic effect on her. She knew them to
be spoken in complete honesty and any trepidation she
might have felt, melted into the ether.
Seated now at the table, he inclined his head towards
the plate. It smelt remarkably like something his
mother may have prepared. Retrieving then a corner of
the filet, he placed it gingerly in his mouth. The
"proof was certainly in the pudding." "Very nice," he
muttered.
"What is this?" he enquired, holding aloft the narrow
bottle.
"Californian white wine Grant... the "liquid" you asked
me to bring," she smiled. "Here let me pour you a
little." So saying, she filled the small flute from the
uncorked bottle.
Yalgon held up the glass, studying its contents for a
moment.
"Have some with me Kelly," he asked her.
"I really HAVE to go now," she replied, glancing at the
watch on her wrist.
"Just a little...please," he implored.
Again, she was persuaded. Finding another glass in the
wall unit, she allowed him to half-fill it, aware that
so far as alcohol and Wyoming State Law were concerned,
she was still technically under-age. No law however
could prevent her from enjoying the experience and by
the time he had seen off the last of the Atlantic
Salmon, her glass had been re-filled twice.
Unfamiliar with the properties of alcohol, Yalgon was
feeling quite at the peak of his physical powers. He
couldn't readily explain his light-headedness but it
appeared the girl was similarly affected. He made a
mental note to stock-up on this Californian liquid.
Glancing once more at her watch, Kelly let out a cry of
disbelief. "Oh Grant, I so have to go now, there is no-
one on the front desk, I'm going to be in SUCH
trouble!"
Having little idea of her meaning, all he knew is that
he desired her continued company.
"No, Kelly Stevens," he told her. "You will not be
needed at the desk – I shall see to it." Unknown to her
and with the least drain of his creative powers, he
instantly set in place an impenetrable force-field
around the hotel building. No-one in and no-one out.
Once again the girl felt it safe to place her trust in
this huge man. He was holding his arms out to her. Even
as she walked towards him, sitting there as he was on
the edge of the bed, she knew it was ultimately her own
wish to be doing this and no emotional over-ride on his
part.
Standing before him now he encircled her waist with his
arms. She felt deliciously alive and for some reason –
eager! His hands smoothed their way south, caressing
her bottom slowly. How wonderful those curves felt, he
was thinking. Feeling his way right to the hem of that
somewhat brief skirt, he became aware of just how warm-
blooded she was.
Kelly's mouth opened in silent surprise as he continued
to feel her up with what amounted to not the least
disrespect – rather an appreciation of her feminine
birthright. She steadied herself by placing her hands
on his shoulders. Letting go of her waist and raising
his hands to little more than face-height, he cupped
both the girl's breasts which brought forth a seemingly
curious reaction. Not only did she let out a soft cry,
but she closed her eyes and clasped her own two hands
over his. For several minutes he simply squeezed the
softness beneath while the girl swayed there on her
feet, quite obviously lost in some sort of dreamy
contemplation.
Encircling her bottom once again, he drew her towards
him, easing himself backwards on to the coverlet as he
did so. So compliant was this delightful female, that
she offered not the slightest resistance even as his
hand began to tug her skirt upwards in its quest to
discover what lay beneath.
Prostrate across his body now and quite without her
normal inhibitions, her lips sought out her partner's.
Unfamiliar with the art of kissing, Yalgon was a
willing student – quick learner too. He soon discovered
that this pleasurable pastime had much the same effect
short-term as had the Californian Liquid. That is to
say – he desired more of it. This of course facilitated
also his up-skirt hunting instincts. Kelly in fact
became one of the very few girls in hindsight, to
benefit from the dexterous pleasures to be had at the
behest of a five-fingered vaginal exploratory.
Wishing only to "render unto Caesar what is Caesar's"
she surreptitiously unzipped the skirt herself,
wriggling out of the flimsy little item and thereby
leaving Yalgon to infiltrate her now excessively damp
panties any which way he so chose. Feeling her was one
thing he discovered, actually seeing her quite another.
It was definitely all good news. That crippled reactor
was for now, consigned to the absolute periphery of his
alien thought-processes.
A whole new playing field was unleashed at the point he
discovered the practicality of a front-loading bra.
However inviting the softness between the girl's legs
was proving, and he had nothing but praise for what
appeared to be the ultimate in self-lubricating
systems, the all round appeal of those soft exposed
mounds and their dark-pigmented centers, erect as
Kelly's appeared to be, was without equal in his
experience. He discovered also the pleasures to be had
in sucking those erect little centers. Not only was the
sensation much to his liking, the girl was simply
insatiable.
Kelly in fact was now naked and increasingly desirous
of his attentions. The deeper his fingers penetrated
her lower cavity or the more he nuzzled his face
between her upper mounds, the greater her moaning
noise. He guessed that this must be how females on the
Blue Planet behaved when they wanted to be given
children. So much more "involving" than his own race
that performed a similar task but without either
enjoyment or any of this "kissing" prelude.
Finding at last the zipper at the front of the trousers
he was wearing, he managed to free-up his own sheath.
Fortunately for the girl, she was too far out of it
sexually, to notice the subtly different design between
Earthly and Valarian sperm transfer vessels. The
ultimate methodology however was comparable – well
except for the delivery mechanism itself.
With but a couple of sexual partners in her recent
past, and neither having been blessed with any great
competence in the field as it were, Kelly was yet to
experience unhinged procreative bliss. That which she
suddenly felt intruding upon her lower maidenly charms,
propelled her well up-town let's say. Filled to
capacity, she gasped as whatever it was in her, began
to throb, seemingly without any physical input from its
owner. She found the sensation delightful and responded
to her partner's renewed kissing with submissive
compliance.
For his part, Yalgon had never experienced such
pleasure. More a necessary "event" on his home planet,
this girl was making him feel more alive than ever he
had. He knew that "fluid transfer" was imminent and
tightened his grip around her waist. She really was
beautiful.
Kelly sensed the approaching finality. The throbbing
inside her had increased greatly with the result she
was now experiencing mini-orgasms that felt like they
were radiating outwards in concentric circles. She
spread her legs to their theoretical limit using her
hips to maximize penetration. Yalgon kissed her one
last time.
One might use several analogies. A dam bursting, magma
being expelled from a long dormant volcano, a water
cannon at twenty paces...whatever. The fact is though,
Kelly was privy to something very warm and under great
pressure, being squirted the length and breadth of her
inner vaginal walls. It seemed to go on for thirty
seconds or so during which time Yalgon clasped her to
him. She had the impression that he was totally
vulnerable for those few seconds and clung to him like
a protective mother.
Withdrawing from the girl, his sheath retracted and he
re-zipped his pants. Kelly simply lay there, exhausted
and most likely impregnated. For some reason she didn't
care. What had just happened was so far outside the
realms of normality there was nothing for it but to see
it through – whatever the outcome...
(c) Peter_Pan
Visit "The World of Peter_Pan"
http://www.geocities.com.au/phrenetic_ice/wopp.html
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 53