Thank Your Lucky Stars Ch 01

Sarah paused at the door, feeling silly, wondering if the other nurses, the old hands, were playing a game with her. She was inexperienced, yes, but not naive. Their story was unlikely. She sincerely doubted that what they’d told her was true.

Her mouth wrinkled in something caught between a smile and a sneer, bothered by their teasing, and even more by her own, childish reaction to it. The old man looked languorously across the room at her, only belatedly half-noticing her in the doorway. With a moment of clumsy effort triggered by her own anger at herself more than any embarrassment with him, she surged forward, trying to make it look as if she’d never paused.

He sat stone still in a wicker chair. A fading, frayed knit blanket smothered his lap, with his hands tucked deeply beneath it, atop his thighs, keeping his thin body warm, although he no doubt felt forever cold despite his efforts. Men his age, and in his condition, were cold clean through, like a metal lamp post on a winter night.

The old man bestowed a vacant stare on her as she approached, clearly aware of something, but thinking nothing of it. It was hard to imagine him as the sort of idiot-savant they had portrayed him to be.

“It’s time for your medicine, Mr. Hesserschmidt.”

“In World War II, I shot down a Messerschmitt.”

She’d been told to expect something like that, so she was ready, if doubtful, but still she couldn’t hide the small smile. It was true, or partly true, although one quick, simple, almost random and meaningless rhyme was not all that special. It wasn’t worth all the giggles and guffaws and knowing glances they’d exchanged. Sarah glanced at the other nurses in the distance, out through the door, off at the nurse’s station, huddled together, themselves busily acting disinterested while stealing frequent glances back at her with wry smirks.

When he didn’t respond further, she gently drew his hands out from under the blanket, feeling them shake with mild tremors. They were far warmer than she’d expected them to be, warmer than her own, nor were they at all thin and shriveled like the rest of the patients. They were almost pleasant to touch.

She placed the small cup of pills in one hand and the small cup of water in the other. He didn’t look at them, or at her, as she did so. He just held them in place for a moment, frozen before him, while staring off at the far wall, as if he weren’t even there, or were trying to remember something completely unrelated to the task at hand.

“I need to see you take them,” she said.

“The deed will be to break them.”

She almost laughed out loud. For a moment she’d forgotten what to expect.

It was unsettling. There was no pause, not the slightest hesitation or moment to think. She said it, and before the last sound had escaped her mouth, he was responding. Now she grew eager to say something else, to try to get the sort of response from him that had sent the other nurses roaring — or so they had said. He did it more often than not, they’d promised, but he hadn’t yet for her. She had to say something more.

She watched him as he swallowed the pills. When he finished, he held the cups before him, seemingly not knowing what else to do. She took them from his unresisting hands, still shaking with small, regular tremors.

She drew a blank. As if struck with stage fright, she couldn’t think of the slightest thing further to say. His eyes looked something between tired and tranquilized, almost dead. He was like a zombie. She felt sorry for him, but not too much so. Sarah could be cold that way, and had to be. The head nurse, Francine, had warned her that any degree of empathy would leave her soon enough, anyway. You couldn’t do this day in and day out with that sort of connection to the patients. It would wear you down until you were like them.

That would come soon enough, to everyone. No need to hurry that along.

She glanced around the room, stalling, hoping something would come to her, some thought, some offhand comment to make. In total silence she surrendered to her failure and scuttled to the door. With her back to the poor, afflicted man, she allowed her face to break into a slight, affected grin that the other nurses could see, and returned.

“I’ll be back to bring you your dinner,” she said over her shoulder.

“I lived my life on the track of a sinner.”

* * *

He watched the cute little wiggle the girl proffered as she left the room. It was sexy. In another time he would have made a play for her. He’d done it often enough before, when he’d been healthier, in the old place, and sometimes it had actually worked. Once in a while one of them protested, but reveled in the sheer sexual power that it gave them, or just the gratification of feeling loved by a man with a long, ending story. Occasionally you could tell which ones were open to or even liked the idea, by how they dressed and behaved and presented themselves.

The other nurses mostly wore baggy, wrinkled overalls. This new, young one wore a nice, tight, short, even sheer nurse’s dress, the kind you almost only saw in costume stores or porn movies.

If only he had more control of his faculties. And his speech.

He waited for her to leave before reaching under the blanket to pull out the wrinkled, overused sheets of paper. When he was sure that she’d gone, he started reading again, one last time, from the beginning.

Prelude

It should be made clear, before more words are seen,

This story is littered with actions obscene

The characters, hot,

Some human, some not,

But all are most certainly over eighteen

This story's inferred from an unfounded rumor,

Containing some elements sick as a tumor

Like incest and porn,

French, cuckolding, corn,

Sci fi, Sue, cops, aliens, worst of all, humor

_ _ _ _ _

Our own government would have you believe

That there are no aliens, but they deceive

They've been here before

They'll come back for sure

With sick, twisted plans you can barely conceive

It began one dark night on an Iowa farm

The details I'm sure will cause most some alarm

The farmer, his spouse,

Two daughters, son, house,

Were all put in danger and subject to harm

The outcome, you'll find, left them shaken and pale

It’s known to be true, ‘cause it’s in an e-mail

Which spread ‘round the truth,

Though it's all so uncouth,

To learn what transpired read this sordid tale…

Phase I — Target : Farmer Brown

Events all began with a faint shooting star,

That grew as it fell, and it fell, and fell far

It struck fertile earth

Where its course could give birth

to a lengthy and heaving and deeply charred scar

Farmer Brown, so we'll call him, to maintain pretense

of some small discretion, considering events,

Went into the corn,

Before it was morn,

To see what had ripped up such long, jagged rents

Despite the black dark of an Iowa night

Old Brown ventured out with quite limited sight

To find what might hoe

Such a long, burnt furrow

Was in fact a charred, smoking, black meteorite

He might have done better to stay safe inside

And call the authorities there to decide

Upon close inspection

And some introspection

What's best to be done with a meteor's hide

Instead Farmer Brown, with a frontiersman's air

Although best advised to just wait and take care

Proceeded up close

Where he could diagnose

It was more than a rock that fell from who knows where

The sides of the thing where all shiny and clean

With a silvery look, and a shimmering sheen

And fins that looked new

And a porthole or two

That made it quite clear that this was a machine

One curious thing was a hole in its skin

Of just the right size for a prick to fit in

Invitingly tight,

He thought that he might

Enjoy a quick fuck while he clung to a fin

Perhaps you are asking what's in old Brown's head

That he would consider this deed, when in bed,

His wife lay alone

In want of his bone

While fucking this rock could make Farmer Brown dead

What Farmer Brown could not have known, (nor do you),

Was that Telefragenic Waves were passing through

The ship's shiny skin

From deep, deep within

Inciting his urges towards wanting to screw

It couldn't control him, or make him do things

Like move like a robot, or a puppet on strings

It could just project

With minor effect

Emotions that push one towards sexual flings

All Farmer Brown knew was his cock was inflamed

In need of release, so he carefully aimed

At the welcoming hole

Dearly hoping its role

Would be giving him pleasure, not leaving him maimed

In moments the farmer was thrusting away

Oblivious to anything others might say

The hole was, yes, tight

It felt, oh, so right

That the farmer thought he'd fuck this space rock all day

The extreme satisfaction of Farmer Brown’s find

Is not to be felt by a mere human grind

For here what entices

Were high tech devices

Designed by an extraterrestrial mind

Your time won't be wasted, describing his feel

Of hot, tight, wet pussy, far better than real,

Like velvety silk,

Or a glass of warm milk,

Or some proper metaphor, by Danielle Steel

The moment before old Brown came with a sigh

He noticed a seedpod was lying nearby,

But bigger than most,

The size of a roast,

Or maybe the size of a fresh loaf of rye

As Farmer Brown's cock started filling with semen,

His head started spinning as if he was dream'n,

The seedpod was glowing,

And pulsing, and growing,

Then flashed with bright light as the farmer was cream'n

The moment he came Farmer Brown was unhinged

His mind spun and burned just as if it were singed

The pod took control

Old Brown now had no role

In making decisions, he was pushed to the fringe

Soon, just like a robot, old Farmer Brown crept

Straight back to the house where his family slept

Four seedpods he held

Each ready to meld

With unwary victims soon forced to accept

Interlude 1 : Emma Lou Brown’s Journey

More than nine hundred fifty five miles away,

The eldest Brown girl, Emma Lou, was today

Getting into her car

To drive very far

Heading home for an unrestful, brief holiday

She was burdened with one small, annoying obsession

Driving home to make her most soul baring confession

Her family would cringe

When they learned of her binge

But compassion would aid in its needed suppression

Poor Emma's small problem was called nymphomania

She considered and planned as she crossed Pennsylvania

With words that might soften:

“I do it too often”

But really, she simply had sex on the brain-ia

Of course she'd not driven her car for too long

Before aching urges came on her quite strong

She looked for a him

To indulge her whim

Which her fruitless resistance could only prolong

Along this long drive, when she wanted to screw

The partners she'd find, to name just a few

Were truckers, hitchhikers,

State troopers, and bikers,

Street sweepers, one felon, and a waitress or two

One possible lover desired, not taken,

Considered, dismissed, but the thought left her shaken,

In the passenger seat,

Her faithful dog Pete,

Was a bedmate she was sure could be left forsaken

Another temptation, as socially crude

Was so wrong she kept that thought fully subdued

She’d wrestle and fret

But not let it get

To the point where she'd certainly find herself screwed

In her frequent rest stops for some brief masturbation

Was one act kept out of her imagination

Which she would not permit

Not consider one bit

Because it quite simply was too much temptation

This one worst desire, almost as illicit

As the one with her pet, to be no more explicit,

Was where she’d recruit

The forbidden fruit

Of her brother or father, who’d then be complicit

So Emma Lou Brown drove on through the dark night

Not knowing or caring of her family’s plight

What her dad was doing

Or what he was screwing

Or where things would lead in horrific delight

Phase II — Target : Bobbie Jean

Brown marched with intent through his tall fields of corn

On into the house, with his brain neatly shorn

He climbed up the stairs

Where they slept unawares

As he lurched toward a victim who’d take his stiff horn

With cock at full throttle and hormones on high,

Brown saw his wife sleeping, then walked right on by,

On alien orders,

The man had no borders,

So first with his own youngest daughter he'd lie

First, Brown set one seedpod by his daughter's head

A mini emitter was placed by the bed

Transmitting the waves

To turn them to slaves

Through sinful desires relentlessly fed

One should take a moment to stop and explain,

The way that these creatures take over one's brain,

They use an orgasm

To open a chasm

That cuts off one's thoughts, to lay bare what remains

A seedpod's just really a vessel, you see,

To hold one trained alien mind that will be

Injected instead

Into each victim's head

While subduing the hosts so they'll never be free

Some things you should know about Brown’s “little” girl

The things that she likes and what makes her head swirl

What she wants to do

When and how, and with who

So you’ll know that Brown’s daughter’s not some virgin pearl

Her daddy once took her to parks and to fairs,

He'd helped her learn walking, and climbing the stairs,

He'd scowled at her dates,

If she came home too late,

He was surely a father, quite proper, who cares

The girl, since her youth, would say, "Merci beaucoup"

Or sometimes, “Bonjour”, or perhaps, "Parlez vous?"

Speaking French was a game,

It was only a shame,

These were all of the phrases that this farm girl knew

This daughter, a hottie, was Bobbie Jean Brown

Who worked waiting tables at a diner in town

She was barely nineteen

But for sex was so keen

That she kept business up with her skill going down

“Bonjour,” she would say, as they ogled one breast

She would add, “Parlez vous?” never knowing the rest

Of what she should say

(“Parlez vous

France

?”)

But the men didn’t mind when she quickly undressed

Like mother, the daughter looked wholesome and pure

As cute as a button, a true girl next door

With curves and a smile

And enticing style

That made a man want to hold hands, and do more

And like her own mother, young Bobbie liked men

Over and under, before, now and then

She begged on her knees

Or took them in threes

But

she

always climaxed, again and again

His daughter gave head to a large, motley crew

There’s old Sheriff Jake, and that handyman, Lou,

There was Nate, Zed and Frank

Jack, Bob, Bill, Ed and Hank

And more than a few times she went down on Sue

She’d fantasized often, in detail, of course,

With forbidden lovers, of all different sorts,

The town's meanest baddie,

Her fine, handsome daddy,

Her brother, and even their dog, bull and horse

But these were just fantasies, don’t be deceived

What she’d really do wasn’t what she conceived

Unless she were wooed

By aliens who’d

Ignite some sick fantasies, privately weaved

The farmer climbed in with his cute, full-grown offspring

Then started to kiss and caress and do something

A dad shouldn’t do

But she wanted him to

So around him her arms and her legs wrapped to cling

She shocked him by whispering dark, dirty words,

He couldn’t believe that she’d said, or he’d heard,

Though not in control,

It stiffened his pole,

As she talked like some wild and lusty lovebird

“I love the idea and the tingling thought

Of indulging a love that I’ve secretly sought

Of feeling your cock

Instill a deep shock

While I return the pleasure your own lust has brought.”

In the recess of Farmer Brown’s too-crowded skull,

Which was currently two personalities full,

He recoiled in shock,

That she wanted his cock,

Yet against his hard push was a relentless pull

“I know that you must want my beautiful titty,

It's pert, young and firm to the touch, and quite pretty,

It makes your mouth water

To think of your daughter

And plunging your cock into her soft, wet kitty.”

These last, dirty words were so breathy, and squeaky,

Seductively voicing a concept quite freaky,

He had to admit

That the sight of her tit

Made his own mouth so hungrily wet it was leaky

In the depths of his brain he was shocked and appalled,

Quivering, trembling, hoping this stalled

His daughter, not wife,

The light of his life,

Was just not a woman that he should have balled

Some things no good father should begin to do

Like plunging his cock in his daughter’s kazoo

But that’s what Brown did

He aimed, shoved and slid

So deeply inside her she screamed, “I Love You!”

His fatherly cock thrust inside her so quickly

It instantly made her feel tingly and prickly

She thought with a grin

As he put it all in

That this family member filled deeply, and thickly

One side effect of mind invasions like these

Is to raise body temperatures by four degrees

Which makes what is felt

Feel so hot it could melt

Any cock or wet cunt when inserted to please

A touch without equal in close copulation

Is the feeling of thermally spiked penetration

If he can impale ya'

With hot genitalia

You'll savor a coveted carnal sensation

Few women will have the good fortune to relish

The plunge of a cock touched with heat that is hellish

It thrusts and it fills

With intense thermal thrills

So extreme that its praises one need not embellish

Now Bobbie Jean’s eyes grew quite wide when her sire

Inserted a prick so hot it seemed on fire

The heat never slackened

Her burning heart blackened

She fucked back with searing, hot, incest desire

No woman on this earth could ever withstand

A cock as red hot as her dad’s firebrand

Her juices were sizzling

‘Til out they came drizzling

Like rain pouring out while her insides suntanned

As a small girl she’d whine, "Thunder scares me"

Snug in

his

bed, she’d chirp, “I’ll sleep carefree”

But now here, in

her

bed,

With her eager legs spread,

She screamed, “Merci beaucoup, Daddy, Merci!”

He hammered her, showing no mercy, you’d guess

Diving into his daughter’s most pleasant recess

She begged and she squealed

As he relished the feel

While enjoying a chorus of “Yes, Daddy, Yes!”

Farmer Brown, or what’s left of his mind, thought this curse

Was horribly, painfully, sadly perverse

Her dad should escort her

Not be in his daughter

And yet he was craving to hear the next verse

Now that it came down to a moment to choose,

When he must give in, or else firmly refuse

He had to surrender

To loving so tender

And help Bobbie Jean with her “daddy issues”

"Yes, Daddy! Oh, Daddy! Your cock I adore!

I love you! I love you! I love you galore!”

She cried out in sin

Then she pulled him far in

Shouting, "Now I am Daddy's sweet, cock-loving whore!"

Beside them the seedpod was glowing extreme,

The whole room was bathed in the light it could beam

The pod sensed the point

It could gently disjoint

Bobbie Jean’s much too over-sexed mind at a seam

“Be a good girl for Daddy!” old Farmer Brown pleaded,

“Come hard now for Daddy!” was what Bobbie needed

To give her a shove

To show him her love

And come as her narrow furrow was well seeded

As his fatherly, strong arms surrounded her,

And his family member astounded her,

She came with the thought

That if she'd been caught

Doing this with a boy he'd have grounded her.

This was the last free thought that this poor girl had,

She was punished for being so sinfully bad,

The alien presence

Imposed the harsh sentence

That came from incomparable sex with her dad

So now this sick tale has been told some way through

The number of pod people now stands at two

The alien plan

Proceeds as it can

Seems there’s nothing this poor, besieged family can do

Mr. Hesserschmidt leaned his head back into the pillow, finding comfort in the welcome support it gave to his aching neck as he closed his tired eyes. Chilled, trembling hands, still clutching the sheets of paper, slipped awkwardly back into the welcome warmth of the blanket. He stayed there for a while, feeling them warm, resting his eyes, thinking of times gone, lovers gone, adventures gone, and battles gone, as he drifted in and out of a light, unwanted, but unavoidable sleep.