Intrusion 3

Twisting and furling, a black shape glides through the afternoon air. It wafts over the roofs of houses, casting an ever-changing shadow that no one sees. Forty feet up from a bed of sunflowers, it pulses, throwing out three or four tapering tendrils, and with a faint pop the ground falls away again as the wingless thing rises on an intangible current. It swings forward in an arc that drops its indistinct mass straight through someone's upstairs window, knocking away metal screen and thin drapes as if they were mere cobwebs. There is a thump, and then a woman screams.

It only lasts for a moment. Then the screamer closes her mouth and sits down abruptly on a chair just behind her, eyes gazing in confusion at the mess of dark flesh smoothly untangling from the pile of broken plastic slats and bent college textbooks that used to be her nightstand. The creature pop, pop, pops again from some organ near its core, and she hunches over in her chair. Her brow is tense; her abdomen trembles. She slides to the floor, landing hard on her knees. The floor is not carpeted, but she only squeaks as her bones strike the hard wood.

The black shape projects toward her, supported by its rear protuberances. In a moment, shadowy intruder faces blonde cherub from a distance of inches. Two long, soft arms snake past the girl and close on her from either side, and a number of slender hairs extrude from somewhere to stroke and probe at her. The arms encircle her torso, bunching up her thin, gray shirt and tugging it partway out from under the waistband of her form-fitting jeans. They are soft but strong, and their surface is dry. But when it touches the bare surface of the girl's plump arms, a strange color flushes across her skin, at once red, green, and something else not mentionable in human language. The shock beneath it sears through her confusion, and she jerks her weight backward, crying out at a high pitch.

The creature's dark arms roll down her stocky, shapely body like the rim of a condom, and she falls onto her back, pushed sideways by the chair but still held at the waist by her alien companion, whose many lower tentacles are now grasping around her tapering legs. As black skin meets naked white belly, the girl begins to thrash and wail. But her cry soon fades away, replaced by a gentle popping sound. Soon her limbs are still and her eyes have rolled back, a stray tear or two still dripping from them. The girl shakes periodically, but does not resist, as the long, jointed hairs prod her heavy, jutting young bosom, poke under the ends of her short sleeves, slide up her nose. She inches backward on the floor, pushed by a questing thing whose tentacles lift her at the hips and coil over her pelvis.

Then a scraping sound announces the total collapse of the girl's jeans, which fall in a patchwork of torn slivers between the many arms that support and entwine her lower body. Uncounted delicate teeth retract, unneeded, as soon as they contact the girl's firm, naked legs. Something chemical and potent passes into the flesh of her dangling thighs where the black skin, here not entirely dry, squeezes into it, and her eyelids flutter as she regains herself once more. She's panting and sweating; her breasts jiggle in her large, tight bra. She twists and looks behind her with panicked eyes, ready to reach for the door, to scream for help, but then a furry black mass lifts her head and more blackness slides over her mouth, sealing off her voice with its slick kiss. Then a shallow hump that has aligned with her mouth erupts with a new limb, which caresses her tongue with the taste of madness as it finds its way down her throat.

Bent double, chin pushing into her own boobs, the girl strains and whimpers while a coolness spreads in her chest and little spasms shake the generous thickness of her reddening thighs. The tentacle in her mouth bulges, forcing her lips into a wide-open ring as a blob of viscous fluid squeezes through. This delivery spurts forth somewhere in her abdomen with a faint gurgle, and within seconds its effect has taken hold. Sweat beads all over the girl's pale body as if she has just run a marathon for which she is ill-suited; her fingers and toes flex and clench, and she begins to rock her panty-clad groin, on which a creamy patch of lubricant is rapidly growing. As if cued by the musky scent of sweat and sex that now fills the room, the creature spreads her legs wide and encases each of her breasts in a coil of ropy tentacles. Placed under this pressure, the hormone-enraged mammaries seep two thin streams of milky fluid through the taut cloth of the girl's bra. Meanwhile, a long, black prong has arisen from off to the side of the girl's crotch, and it settles upon her, eliciting little huffs of anxious breath from her dainty nose.

In moments the girl's panties are a pile of soaked shreds on the floor. Three slimy tentacles dart between her jiggling buttocks, and her eyes fall shut as they find their way in. Then the black prong, too, shoves at the folds of her labia. She twists her body, dribbling pussy-fluid down her own back, and the thing catches on pink, barely used flesh, and begins its slide inside her. With each of her heartbeats, another inch eases past and tiny wells of something that's almost milk momentarily crown her nipples. The girl is stretched and delirious, and when a new pressure meets her cervix, it is nearly lost amidst the sensation. But then a snaking thing grasps her clitoris, and her eyes shoot wide. The whole mess, black and blonde together, shifts and constricts, and every human muscle flutters with random signals. Now the big dark dick presses its tip into her weakly guarded uterus, and begins to pulse out something wet. The girl's bra finally tears. The tentacle in her mouth has slid back, and she expels it with a raw moan. Her hyper-nubile, naked body is turning greenish, trembling with ecstatic impulses. Her already padded belly is rising by inches. And the black thing still spurts.

Suddenly the intruder pops, and pops, and unravels all at once without ever letting go, though the girl could swear that she sees it streaking impossibly away to the left, where the wall is, where her bed is, just before her fattened body strikes the floor and she loses awareness, if not consciousness. She twitches there, splayed in a pool of many mixed fluids, her several roundnesses swaying with their own momentum. Minutes pass. She won't be up for a while. Nothing will stop whatever is happening inside her. She may even sleep through it, and then wake again, healthy after a fashion. And she'll never know that two countries away, right now, another young woman alone in a bedroom is unexpectedly receiving the thing that goes pop.