!ADULTS ONLY! DIRTY PARTS!

      She rode the huge baseball bat straight to heaven on a wave of explosions and starbursts. New waves of emotion flowed over her then lifted her higher. And even higher.

      Then higher still. Then something flowed back down. And flowed out of her. She felt as if she had flowed out through her vagina, flowed out all over the bed, onto the floor.

      And then, miraculously, it all flowed back into her. Then out again. She thought she would faint. She hoped so. Then she didn't want it to end. She wanted it over with, but never ending.

      She and Earl surfed the flow, the wave. She was sure they were somehow on the floor then on the bed. Another wave. Stronger even. Had she gone insane?

      From somewhere around her, she heard a wild, crazy woman yell, "Poppycock me, Earl . . . Poppycock me! . . . Poppycock me, poppycock me, poppycock meeeeeee! . . . Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!. . . Poppycock me silly, Earl, poppycock me silleeeeeee!" And amazingly, old Earl only heard what he wanted to hear.

      From a place somewhere way, way high above her, she heard, "Yes, Baby, yes! But you gotta tell your old Earl you love it! Say the words! . . . Say it! . . . I love it, Earl! . . . Say it!. . . Now!" She couldn't speak. And then, she could.

      "Oh, God, yes! I love it, Earl . . . I love it! . . . I love it, love it, love it!" As she said it, she wrapped her legs around his back, crossed her ankles and squeezed him. "Oh, yes! I love you, Poppycock! . . . uh, Earl! . . .
I love you, Earl, love you, love you! . . . Oh, God, oh, God! . . . Oh, sweet poppeeeeeeecock!"

      She showered his ears, his neck, and his face, with wet kisses. Sweat rolled off both of them. They kissed. Their wet, sloppy tongues crashed. Spittle flew. More sweat flowed. Two people entwined in a
rutting frenzy. No animals had ever matched their lustful actions. They were driven. Out of their minds. Insane.

      He told her he loved her, too. Once. Then he fucked her very hard and violently for a minute or so more. Then he yelled, at the top of his lungs, "Here I comes, Darlin!' Here comes your Earl! Hold still now, Baby, hold still . . . now! . . . ooooooooooooooooooh"
      With one final plunge of the entire snake-bat, he spasmed. And flooded her insides.

      She felt it. Every spasm. Every spurt. Deep inside her, spurt after spurt. And it felt hot. As if, somehow, each spurt was hotter than her own body's temperature. She felt sure an elephant had just unloaded in her vagina. But he only had the weight of an Earl.

      As she felt him flood hot and very deep inside her, a thought bounced in. She said, "Oh, God, Earl, you really have poppycocked me silly!"

      He chuckled in her ear. "Told ya I would, Hon," he said matter of-factly, "told ya."

      Then he asked, as his full weight collapsed upon her, “What does poppycock mean, Baby?”

      "I'll tell you in the mornin' . . . Hon."

Short explanation: In the story, Colonel Grok, Commander of a Groinkian warship hovering above Earth, is homesick for his gona, which is Groinkian for female counterpart, almost a wife.

Chapter heading: "I'm gonna miss my gona!"

OLONEL Grok looked down at the printout of Captain Grik's latest contact with Earth. It had every word that was spoken between the Captain and Lieutenant Gron. The higher ups had seen to that. They listened in on every form of communications. It wouldn't
surprise the Colonel if they even had his ship bugged. Always paranoid, those bastards, he thought. They see spies everywhere. So they put spies everywhere.

      He now knew Gron had eliminated Grin. On Captain Grik's order. Technically. For he knew the real order had originated with High Central Command. Listening in, they would have told the Captain, through his ever-present earpiece, what had to be done, right then and there--and by whom.

      He also knew his Captain, if allowed to, would have found a more saner and sensible solution. That he was sure of.

      He had liked Lt. JG Grin. A good Groinkian soldier. Loyal and faithful and dependable. What more could you want in a man? Some schmuck in the HCC should go to his books and look up what the term "real waste" means. But even if he did, that wouldn't help Grin now, would it? Nosirree.

      He was glad it wasn't he that would have to make the house call to Grin's gona, Gridda. He had only met her a few times, but he liked her. And she and Grin had one of those loves that he suspected would be gonotta-renewed many, many times. He would
have trouble facing her with the bad news.

      He thought about her cooking. Gridda's Slave- Surprise Stew was something to die for! He chuckled when he realized the pun he had just made. Some slave did have to die for that stew. Oh, well, he thought, one man's meat is another man's stew! He chuckled again, his heartlessness hidden from him by over a century of Groinkian training.

      His large warship was now in the static-filled position. The paradoxical situation this created wasn't lost on the Colonel. True, it made detection by Earthlings near impossible, but it also made communications between his ship, the infiltrators on the planet, and the home base, near impossible, too.

      Even though he had ordered the ship's power output tripled, even Groinkians, he thought, sometimes lose to the limitations of physics.

      To push the output even higher would use
up vast amounts of energy, which, should they suddenly have the need for, for whatever reason, including an attack, they just might find themselves caught short. Invincible Groinkian warships had their limits, too.

      Now as he sat in his private stateroom, he wondered what events, those over with and those yet to come, were leading up to. Victory? The conquering of a planet? New slaves and foodstuffs? Or defeat--with all the trimmings? And one of those trimmings, he knew only too well, would give him his first taste of a Grun-gun's savage raw power.

      He shuddered and his shoulders shook.

      Oh, well, he thought, I've been trained to accept death. Bitch is they don’t train you how to accept never seeing your Grinda again. The thought of her made his eyes mist up. He tried to picture her face more clearly, but it had been too long. Two years now. Of course, he had her on tape on his portable televiewer.

      Did she, he wondered, ever miss him the way he now missed her? Probably not. At least not often. For he knew Grinda had dozens of slave gossixi to take her mind off things. And fill more than just her time. And quell her loneliness. Especially that one slave-gossix, Gundle, who she once said had driven her to heaven with his three-headed penis. He had never met Gundle. Grinda had acquired him only recently.

      Of course, he thought, when the latest of the transformutations arrive, I'll have my fun, if I feel like it. They were sending along enough gammixi to keep the entire ship happy for a long time.

      He reached for his portable televiewer and pressed buttons. He looked down at the square four-inch screen. Gundle appeared. Naked . . .