Author's note: The premise of this story is that of a cheap 80's pulp movie. So just imagine the whole thing in grainy VHS resolution. Also, there is graphic content and death scenes. If that is slightly disturbing to you, just keep reading till the end and you'll feel better. Enjoy!
ALIEN WORM RAMPAGE 1982
A Porn Story about a Horror Movie about a Porn Movie
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Late at night, in an empty college rec center, a small camera crew was huddled around in the university gym, their cameras fixed on an actor and actress. They'd snuck in without a permit to shoot a hardcore porn film. The crew of young college students scurried around at the command of a fiery director, whose laser attention was fixed on the two stars.
In frame, one could see a man and a woman, presumably in the middle of a personal training session. The man was Ron Porkhardt, currently one of the biggest names in the industry and the quintessential 80's male pornstar. He had greasy black, curly hair and a thick sleazy mustache. He was thin and lanky with long hairy legs. But his real claim to fame was the nautilus shell rolled up in his gym shorts.
Bulging through those high-cut shorts, nearly about to flop out, was his immense 13-inch dick. Ron was a top name in the industry and in high demand. He had crushed more box than a Chinese trash compactor, and creamed more tits than the Hawaiian Tropic suntan lotion company.
On the bench in front of him was the luscious vixen he was about to use it on. Briella Bangers was an up-and-coming starlet. She'd recently been crowned Rack magazine's Bimbo of the Year for 1981, and she was stretching her legs into lurid, hardcore porn. Her rise in popularity had been meteoric, leaving a trail of emptied balls in her wake.
She had big, black permed hair, whore-red nail polish on her fingers and toes with matching lipstick, and heavy makeup. But the thing that made her the ultimate XXX bimbo was the massive pair of tight heaving tits dancing on her chest. They were bulging through the spaghetti straps on her tiny bikini top, looking like they would burst out at any second. Aside from that microscopic bikini, the only clothes she wore were a little sweatband around her forehead and cotton leg warmers around her ankles.
It didn't take much insight to figure out the scene. Ron was Briella's trainer, and she was his trainee. Ron had her laid out on a bench, leading her through a battery of exercises. In one moment, she was on her back raising her legs up together, then Ron would push her feet back down, gazing down at her the whole time with a goofy overjoyed smile as she repped it out. Next, she was curling tiny dumbbells in her hands, and Ron was leaning in obnoxiously close, feasting his eyes on those two hot, bulging, glistening tits. Finally, he put ankle weights on her, and leered hungrily over her ass as she donkey kicked them up into the air on her hands and knees.
"Beautiful! Gorgeous! Now the dialogue!"
The exuberant direction was coming from Gary Fligm, the industry's seediest -- and most demanding - XXX producer. At his command, the two stood up and faced each other awkwardly.
"The line... The line!" Fligm whispered to Briella. One of the young crew members held up a cue card for her. She glanced nervously at the cards, her ditsy goldfish memory fumbling with the lines.
"So, Ron..." She flung the tiny bikini top off and let her gargantuan knockers finally splay out. "Do you think my body is "beach ready" yet??"
Ron's eyes lit up lustfully at those bare, wrecking ball tits and he said:
"Hmm...I don't know. I'd say you need a little more..." he looked straight at the camera; "Lower body work."
Then he dropped his shorts and scooped his anaconda cock up in his hand, waving it at her tantalizingly.
"Ooooh." Briella said. "A Power Bar!"
"Good!" Fligm exclaimed. "Now, both of you on the bench. Briella, suck his brains out through that thing, and make it look good!"
Cheap lounge music started up from a boombox on the floor. The real fun was about to start. As the camera crew shuffled to follow the performers, there was a distant rumble and the floor shook. Todd, a film student at the college like the other two crew members, stopped and said:
"Mr. Fligm, what was that noise?"
"It's just a little earthquake. We're in California, dummy. And I don't care if the building gets shaken to the ground, I'm getting this shot!"
Briella gave a fabulous, and sloppy performance. After just a few moments. Ron's cock, balls, and lap were a shimmering mess of her hot spit. He was rolling his head, moaning loud and obnoxiously. It was hard to tell if he was putting on the ole razzle dazzle, or if Briella's hot mouth really felt that good.
The crew of horny college students were getting visibly mesmerized and distracted. They couldn't peel their eyes off her. One of them accidentally lowered the boom mic too low and some of her hair got stuck to it, thanks to the whole can of hair spray she'd emptied into it.
"Fuck!" Fligm erupted. "Get the boom mic out of the shot, you dolt! And Briella don't even think of spitting that cock out!"
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About a mile away in the woods, there was a smoldering crater. It turned out the rumble Todd heard was no earthquake. Inside the crater was a bizarre structure. Not a meteorite, but rather a perfectly sculpted organic capsule. It split open right down the center as if it were designed to do just that. From inside of it came something incomprehensively horrific.
It was a grotesque, one-ton alien worm. Its pink, viscous skin shimmered in the glow of the smoldering capsule. It raised its revolting grub-like face, tendrils and appendages twitching and writhing, and scanned the landscape. Its ganglia activated, clicking out primitive thoughts in the creature's head. It thought to itself:
"Slumber...Long.... Body.... Weak...Must... Feed.... Must FEED!!!"
Then it burrowed into the ground and barreled through the earth towards the only nearby signs of life its hyper-sensitive alien senses could detect: a group of warm-blooded earthling creatures in a college rec center nearby.
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Back at the film shoot, the scene had transitioned to Briella on her back with one leg propped up on Ron. He clenched her ankle in a death grip, gritting his teeth as he clobbered her snatch like a baby seal. The crew shuffled around trying to capture it from the juiciest angle. At Fligm's direction, they zoomed on their strained, grimacing faces.
After spearing Briella's guts for several minutes, Ron slid out of her and slapped his big heavy dick down into the chasm between her tits, then clutched her jugs with white knuckles and titty fucked those wet cantaloupes with nipples. It looked like he was trying to start a fire, and if Briella weren't so oiled up he might have. Briella looked down mesmerized every time he came busting through from between her tits like a battering ram, opening her mouth just enough to let him slip through her lips with every stroke.
"Yes! Now Ron, get on the bench. It's time for the anal."
"Already??" Briella protested. "But I was really liking that..."
"Don't be a greedy slut, Briella. We're making art here. Now get that hot shitpipe ready. It's about to make us some money."
Unknown to the performers and crew, they were being watched. From behind an air conditioning vent in the ceiling, the worm had infiltrated the building and was stalking them from above. Its slimy boneless body enabled it to ooze through the vents. It leered through the grates and looked in on them with its thermal vision.
