Strangelove in the 21st

Venus: 4,450,000,000 B.C.

A compound eye in the Venusian ocean watches the fireball as it plummets through the atmosphere and plunges into a Hadean volcano, popping it like a zit and spewing molten lava into space in lieu of pus. The lava soon freezes to rocks in the absolute zero of interplanetary space. The spores, bacteria and naked genes they carry soon fall into a dreamless sleep.

Mars: 2,740,000,000 B.C.

...only to awaken in a splashdown in the nascent Martian sea.

Mars: 1,970,000,000 B.C.

A crystalline intelligence watches an incoming comet as it plummets through the thin Martian atmosphere. Said intelligence is soon ejected into interplanetary space. "Oh shit, not this again!" its core intelligence thinks before shutting down.

Earth: February 15, 2013

Demetri Chekov of Chelyabinsk, having successfully dropped off his daughter at elementary school (albeit two hours late), unscrews his second liter of Stolichnaya in celebration. For some reason he cannot stop thinking about 1908 Tunguska meteor that leveled a forest in Siberia. Then he sees the blazing bolide in the sky. "Oh shit, not this again!" he mutters and takes another healthy swig of Stoli.

Demetri need not have worried, as conclusive photographic evidence will later prove that the meteor was successfully plucked out of the air by Russia's fearless leader, who was fortuitously wearing nothing but a baseball mitt at the time.

Lunchroom: D-Day, June 6, 2016.

As soon as Suzy Osbourne took a bite out of her triple blackened Angus Whopper with cheese, she knew something was wrong. She spit it out of her mouth. It landed on her plate right next to the double fries. "OK, what have you assholes done now?" she asked the assembled crowd of her coworkers, which seemed especially large that day.

"Just put a little meteorite dust on it to enhance the Cajun effect," Jimmy McGoon said, and the multitude of gathered coworkers broke down in another burst of maniacal guffaws.

"Are you guys insane?" Suzy asked. Her face was red with anger now. "Let me get this straight. You put the ground-up remnants of a Martian meteorite on my food? A meteorite that is supposed to be isolated and sealed in a Level I containment lab for bioweapons under development? What part of containment facility do you not get?"

Suzy had always been a stickler for the rules, one of the reasons she had few friends in the Dance of Kali Bioweapons Facility and Car Wash.

"We didn't mean nothin' by it," Jimmy McGoon said, his arms outstretched in a futile gesture of reconciliation.

Peter Green stepped forward. "Besides, don'cha remember that meteorite them eggheads found in Antarctica back in the '80s? Them geniuses all thought there was microbes, little wormy ETs in it. Turned out to be nothin' but reg'lar ol' abiotically-produced spherules and microtubules."

All twelve of the remaining employees chanted in unison, "Yeah, nothing but abiotically-produced spherules and microtubules"

At hearing this mindless chanting of the corporation litany, which had been so deeply instilled in these low-grade morons, Suzy became so furious that her triple-Ds threatened to escape the flimsy confinement of her bikini's bra. (She had just finished her shift at the carwash operation that was used to cover up the real purpose of the bioweapons lab. Sometimes she thought that whoever developed that particular cover story had watched way too many episodes of Breaking Bad.)

"You know, that's not half bad," Suzy said after reconsideration, and she reached down to retrieve the already partially chewed triple Cajun Whopper from her plate and devoured it in four gulps.

"Eew!" said Becky May Ralph. The others burst out into another round of maniacal laughter.

Suzy could feel a warm pulsating glow in her tummy that quickly spread to her extremities (and last but not least) into her brain.

"OK, now you guys are just pissing me off." Suzy inhaled deeply, which stretched her mini-bra to the breaking point. "OK, who wants some of this?" she asked her assembled coworkers, as her bra finally snapped, and her firm yet oversized breasts spilled out for all the world to see.

Everybody raised their hands, including Jennifer Stillwater and Cleo "Moonpuppy" Schwartz. Suzy had always suspected they were lesbians. Now the proof was in the pudding, or more accurately in their pussies, which Suzy was quite sure she was going devour within the hour.

"OK everybody, drop 'em," she said as ripped off her bikini bottom. Everybody followed suit. There were now 15 employees of the Dance of Kali Bioweapons Facility and Car Wash standing naked in lunchroom, which was conveniently adjacent to the carwash facility.

Based on the raised penis count, the vote of the eleven males was unanimous. They did indeed want a piece of Suzy. Very much. Based on the fluids streaming down the legs of the three females, their vote was also unanimous.

Let the games begin.

A full picture window afforded the carwash customers (commonly called "stooges," "marks," and, on a slow day, "johns") a ringside seat to watch the erotic shenanigans that were about to unfold in the employee lunchroom and would soon spread to the carwash lanes and then to the surrounding environs of the greater Schenectady metropolitan area.

"OK, who wants to go first? You there, Billy Floggmeister, get your hands off your tool and raise em high. We can't lose any of your precious bodily fluids. I need all of your fluids. We can't lose a drop of your precious bodily fluids or the plan will break down. Do all of you guys understand? Raise 'em high to the sky. There'll be no beating the meat, no yanking the crank, no jerkin' the gherkin. Not on my watch there won't be.

"Ladies, I understand that you're drippin.' It can't be helped. Not in the presence of this," Suzy said, using her arms to show off her trim naked body as if it were a new model car.

Suzy began with Billy Floggmeister, the most onanistically-inclined of the assembled lunchroom crowd. "C'mere, you worm-cranker," she said, crooking her index finger. "Let's see if you are really ready for this jelly."

Billy took a few zombie-like steps in her direction. He seemed to have lost control of his own muscles. His heart was beating wildly, perhaps out of fear, perhaps in anticipation of the unprecedented attention his hitherto monastic genital system was about receive.

He supplicated himself before his new Queen.

"Arise, my servant," Suzy said. "I command you to stand. It is I who will kneel."

She did so, bringing her head in direct contact with Billy's genitalia. She raised his balls with her hands. "Mmm, must be over 30 milliliters of precious body fluid per ball. These puppies don't get out much, do they, Billy?"

Billy shook his head in quiet embarrassment. She rolled his balls in her hand, and then began squeezing them, gently at first then more and more violently. She ran her right hand up the length of Billy's throbbing cock, tracing her nails over the quivering flesh of that organ.

"Oh, what have we here?" she said, holding up her index finger to the transfixed crowd. A drop of precum glistened on its tip, which she licked off with relish.

"What part of retaining your precious bodily fluids don't you get?" she asked the shamed Laboratory Technician and Special Vice President of Upholstery Vacuuming. Her eyes rotated as a warning to the crowd in general. "Well, no matter; I was about to hoover you anyhow."

Her lips closed over the head of Billy's cock, and her tongue ran up and down its length, tracing its throbbing veins. She then ran said tongue up Billy's tummy and neck until her face was right against his. She went to kiss him, and Billy's head thrashed from side to side, trying to avoid her spider's lips at any cost. Suzy finally caught his head in her hands and soul kissed him with a longer tongue than Billy would have thought possible in even his wildest dreams (and in lieu of any girls in Billy's waking life, he had some pretty wild dreams).

Suzy slowly pulled her lingual anaconda out of Billy's gastrointestinal system and back through his mouth. She licked his cheeks, burning them with his own gastric juices, then she burned her way back down to Billy's throbbing cock. His eyes opened wide with fear as she opened her hydra mouth and plunged it over that aching organ, her hands still working his testicles as though they were a pair of Chinese Baoding exercise balls.

Her serpent's tongue wrapped itself around Billy's shaft. She began to squeeze him and then release him in a complex rhythmic pattern. The sensation was like nothing experienced by any mere terrestrial man before. Billy had been swept from his lonely position at the eternal back row seat of the fornication world right down to front row and center.

As Suzy sucked him harder and harder, she ran her fingernails up and down his naked, quivering, albeit partially-digested torso. Soon, her hungry hands descended once again to Billy's balls. She squeezed them in earnest, precisely in time with the contractions and dilations of her serpentine tongue, which were becoming more powerful with each iteration.

By now the carwash stooges / marks / johns were pressed against the picture window of the employee lunchroom like so many moths drawn to the light. Their noses were flattened against the glass, their fists pounding it, demanding immediate entry through that oversized silicon condom. The very few customers with any remaining powers of ratiocination were hastily filling out the employment application forms on the table below the window.

But this is a digression that needlessly threatens the reader's erection and/or lubrication. Let us return to the erotic antics of our extraterrestrial wanderer and her new disciple, one William Caisell Floggmeister III, in the final moments of the latter's human existence.

Where were we? Oh yes, the thing that had once been Suzy Osbourne was brutally squeezing Billy's balls with her Baoding-trained viselike hands in time with the constrictions of her strong and lengthy spiraled pythonic tongue. Those questionably human organs were of course merely biding their time until they were sure of extracting the maximum quantity of Billy's precious bodily fluids.

When that surety came, she squeezed Billy's trio of genital organs with a power that surpassed that of any pathetic carbon-based life-form. Billy exploded inside her mouth like a demolished Hoover Dam. She could feel the salty warmth of his cum as it poured down her throat, the most delicious treat she had experienced in over two billion years. The warmth in her stomach did not sate her completely, and so she withdrew the contents of his bladder, using his steel-like cock as a straw. Billy was now in heaven, his purpose in life fulfilled completely.

Still she was not sated. She still felt the raw hunger produced by two billion years of imposed chastity. She pulled again on her improvised straw, liquefying Billy's organs with her drooling acid saliva. She sucked up his innards, leaving only the wrinkled sack of what had once been Billy's skin, which now resembled the remnants of a punctured helium balloon.

Several of the potential employees dropped their application forms and began heading for the exits.

Suzy's eyes went black and began to shift back and forth, as though she were a robot with blinking lights processing some inner calculation in a cheesy 1950s sci-fi movie. She began to smile.

Billy felt no pain. At first he experienced a perfect blackness, and a feeling of bliss that far exceeded any Earthly pleasure. Then he remembered the many other worlds, the silicon seas, the mountainous terrains of the neutron stars, the violet sunrise of plasma fields twisting in interstellar space, all the creatures that had come before him, the eons before the Big Bang, and the infinity of universes yet to come.

Suzy Osbourne raised the empty balloon that was Billy's skin to her lips and blew it up. Billy felt himself pouring back into that lonely and neglected skin. He was not so much restored as reborn. His eyes searched the naked crowd before him. At least that had not changed. Billy's staff snapped to full salute. His eyes went black and shifted rapidly back and forth, performing some calculation known only to him.

Finally, he spoke. "OK, who wants to be next?"

"Two of us now, less waiting!" the thing that used to be Suzy Osbourne said.

"And for you hetero ladies, an erect cock is now available," she added gesturing with her arm at Billy's tumescent foot-long. "A pretty big one too, as you can see. Come and feel that yearning emptiness inside you filled up with his warmth all the way up to your diaphragm or right down to your diaphragm, if you happen to be of the oral persuasion.

"For you hetero guys and lesbos, I'll be taking all comers as well. The good news is that it won't stop there. You'll all soon be doing each other as well as anyone or anything you so desire, which will boil down to anything that moves. As soon as we finish this little employee development seminar, they will be powerless to resist you.

"OK, so who wants to be first?"

True to her name, Cleo "Moonpuppy" Schwartz, lay down on her naked chest, doggie-style. Her massive boobs spread out on the floor beneath her. She looked back over her shoulder with a mischievous grin. "Him," she said, with a wink directed at the newly reinflated William Caisell Floggmeister III.

In a rare manifestation of self-assertion, a trembling Geoffrey Whiteman stepped forward, looked at Suzy, and said, "Y-you. S-same position."

The thing masquerading as Suzy Osbourne replied, "Oooh, such a master! Gladly, sir."

She performed the most submissive and dignified curtsy she could manage, given that she was buck naked and twenty pairs of peeled eyes were devouring her completely exposed flesh through the wide-screen aperture of the carwash window.

She then assumed the prone position, lying adjacent to Moonpuppy Shwartz. She began to stroke the lunar canine's hair, smoothing away the snarls and assuaging the woman's trembling body. She reached over and interlaced her fingers with Moonpuppy's.

"We who are about to be fucked salute you!" Suzy cried out, pumping a fist salute to the assembled multitude and displaying her limited knowledge of the historical context of human idioms. She gave Moonpuppy's hand a supportive squeeze.

William Caisell Floggmeister III performed a graceful swan dive, landing on the soft warm flesh of Moonpuppy's supple back. His cock lay in the space between her tight buttocks. His warm lips traced her swanlike neck, and he reached underneath the vulnerable Moonpuppy and took the nocturnal canine's huge breasts in his hands, squeezing them with all his might.

A still-trembling Geoffrey Whiteman at last responded to the crowd's urgings and slowly lay down on Suzy's naked back. He imitated Billy's position, his lips and tongue on the false human's graceful neck, his hand cupping and squeezing her aching breasts, and his throbbing foot-long nestled in the tantalizing buns of his hitherto unavailable coworker.

Somebody in front of them waved a checkered flag (presumably stolen from the car wash). Billy and Geoff both backed up and rammed their cocks into the dripping hot cunts of their formerly ice-cold fellow employees.

Somebody somehow found a horse race on TV and handed a ruler to each of the riders. "At the curve, it's I-Gotta-Have It, followed by Ice Breaker,..." the drone of the race announcer went on and on and on, but neither rider paid any attention to it, driving their shafts harder and harder into the compliant female bodies beneath then and slapping their beasts' asses as hard as they could with their improvised metric jockey sticks, raising welts that would likely reduce their steeds' performance in the hellish computerized jobs that awaited them after this brief lunchtime frolic was concluded.

Black spots began to flow down Suzy's arm, then through the two mares' interlocked fingers and then up Moonpuppy's arms. A complex pattern of black stripes, swirls and dots began to more back and forth and pop in and out of existence on the women's skins. These patterns soon traveled up the men's cocks and then over their skin. Moonpuppy's and Geoff's eyes went black.

They were now an undulating mass of human flesh, united in a single mind. Their human identities were shed as needless garbage. Both men squeezed their partner's boobs as hard as they could while pounding their supersized extraterrestrial shafts as deeply into their partner's fading human bodies as Pauli's Exclusion Principle would permit.

They all came at once, as their spirits were completely united. Their fluids exploded all over the assembled coworkers, but failed to penetrate the giant prophylactic that was the picture window.

These fluids ran across the floor and up and down the walls, forming an army of miniature horseshoe crabs, a form that had served them well over the eons of their existence. Said crabs began to skitter across the floor and underneath the door to the carwash. All the remaining humans headed for the exits, taking the sage advice of the immortal actor Lincoln Theodore Monroe Andrew Perry (better known as Steppin Fetchit): "Feets don't fail me now." They would this time.

The Big Apple: June 7, 2016.

Princess Leia and Thor stepped up to the microphone. The princess wore only the metallic mini-bikini and collar chain that was so brilliantly designed by the underappreciated Jabba the Hut. Thor was almost an exact replica of his famed portrayer, the actor Chris Helmsworth, right down to his radiant smile, eye twinkle, and inhuman biceps.

The princess began: "How about a round of applause for the best Sci-Fest ever. I know many of you have to catch a plane, but if you are lingering around after dinner, I would like to invite you to our informal workshop on extraterrestrial and supernatural sexual techniques. These include of course the Vulcan sexual frenzy of pon farr, the violent mating techniques of the Klingons, the oviparous reproduction of the monster in the movie Alien, and my personal favorite, whatever that hot chick in Species was into, and of course last but far from least, the highly erotic Toad Sutra of Jabba the Hut. Don't worry, there ain't gonna be no hobbit sex, not here on our court."

She looked around at the vaguely bored crowd, their attention understandably flagging after the 7-day marathon Sci-Fest convention. Many were also fearful of their bosses' reprisals for missing an entire week of work (although said bosses would find it virtually impossible to find a competent IT employee that did not spend the entire week here). But fear was not the problem.

Lack of libido was not going to be a problem either. Her predominantly male audience seemed transfixed by her boobs, which threatened to burst free from their inadequate brass containers at any moment, as well as by her tanned and muscular legs, which flared provocatively out of her diaphanous loincloth.

She decided to up the ante. She said, "This will not be merely a theoretically-oriented workshop, but will involve hands-on training. You will get to experience these techniques yourselves. I promise that each and very one of you will be brought to orgasm. Each one of you men in this workshop will be able to shoot your seed into my personal body or into that of some of some equally beautiful female (or male) cosplayer of you own choosing.

"You women and all you submissives will experience what it is like for Thor to release his bolt and pound his hammer deeply into your dripping tunnels or mouth. Thor's amazing oral and anal talents will of course be available to any and all doms in the audience.

"If you're into kinky, we can also deposit eggs into your abdominal cavity that will burst through your tummy in a fit of Alien rage. Whatever floats your boat.