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The Riding School

"That's it," Heidi said and tugged at his cock, pulling him towards her groin.
He fell on top of her into the soft hay. He felt clumsy and embarrassed, but she didn't seem to mind at all. She guided his cock in between her legs, her knees raised, her leather boots pressing against the back of his thighs.

He went in and was grasped by the powerful, riding-trained muscles of her slick vagina. He was pressed against her smooth delicate body, a body constantly moving beneath him. He was face to face with her unbelievably beautiful face, her smiling face, hay in her hair, her hips were thrusting against him, him thrusting against her instinctively, desperately, fearing that this dream would burst like a soap bubble.
"That's right," she said.
He thrust even harder. Deeper. Grunting and red faced. Spittle on his jaw. He couldn't look away from her eyes. It wouldn't be long now...

"Let's shift position, try something new," she said.


The Tail


Gracefully she slid onto a stool and turned it towards the still standing Yann, crossing her legs as she did so.

"You may not have heard of us," she explained, "but we have certainly heard of you. In fact our entire culture has been more or less obsessed with Humans for decades. Entire generations of impressionable young students of xenoanthropology such as myself, " she looked down again as if embarrassed by her own youthful naivety, "have studied and learned your language and mannerisms in the hope that we would one day meet one of you."
She looked up at Yann, her slanted eyes huge: "That is why it would mean so much to me if you would only take the time to talk with me."
"I... well, of course. I would be delighted to," Yann answered truthfully, still more than a little flabbergasted by this turn of events.
"Thank you. Thank you so much." She smiled again.

Yann supposed her pointy teeth might be seen as threatening, but to him they just seemed small and kind of cute. Also the way she moved her large head on her thin neck seemed most of all like a schoolgirl and not at all dangerous. He sat down on a barstool next to her as she began to explain.

"Our obsession with Humans has many facets. First is your skin; albinos among us are rare and they are considered... desirable and exotic. As you can imagine a race of albinos fired up the imaginations of young Siva bachelors. As more movie clips and pictures of you became available this only got worse..."
The Siva held a long, four-fingered hand in front of her mouth and looked to the side.
"Please forgive me if I embarrass you..."
"It's okay, do go on," Yann said.
"Our tongue... our tongue is our sexual organ. To see you kiss all the time and in public like you do in movies, that... has distracted many of us more than a little."

Now Yann was embarrassed.



Impregnator

An hour and a half later, dizzy and cramped, Robert crawled from his vehicle. He looked around, holding his aching back. The hangar he was in wasn't that different from the one he had left. The discarded earthling vehicles were certainly the same; wormhole trains and bullets scattered about the floor. The wall and ceiling were painted ice blue and in places white. Pipes, wall plates, doors and machinery were steel and white ceramics. Everything was efficiently lid; there were no shadows and no glaring lights.

There was no one there.

The door out of the hangar was permanently open, and clearly dimensioned for heavy machinery. Robert walked through it, into a wide corridor. He looked up and down the corridor. It had closed doors in the walls at various places. To the left the corridor branched into two a hundred yards ahead. To the right the corridor continued into the distance, with numerous minor corridors leading away from it.

All the corridors were empty.


Impregnator 2: The Consul

That "evening" (it was always day in The Station, and always evening in The Bar) the Consul felt he had done a good day's work. He had read up on diplomatic briefings from the entire Sphere of Earth Interest, and then he had been called upon too assist Mr. Brenner and Mr. Glynn. The Consul took his work seriously, and few things were more serious here than getting people out of the holding cells. Still, sitting in a quiet booth, alone with a beer, he could not help but smile. Somebody ought to stop sending idiots through the wormholes. The universe was a dangerous place, and you needed a brain in full working order or bad things would happen to you.

He was somewhat surprised to hear the "music" change to actual music. A fast rhythm of deep sounding drums. He looked around. Who had ordered that piece? Hell, how did you even request music here? He was the only one who reacted; to all the aliens this was just more of the same noise.

And then she appeared.

Impregnator 3: Task Force

They felt themselves getting pushed forward in their safety belts as their capsule reached its destination. They did not get out straight away. Instead they unstrapped the mission arsenal, and opened it. The Sergeant got the submachinegun and the bayonet. They took a handgun and a holdout gun each. The Sergeant offered the Inspector one of the fake ballpoint pen one-shots, but he declined. He had been a two-gun cop for 22 years, and in his experience clever weapons were about as dangerous to the untrained user as to anyone else. The Sergeant hid both pen guns on himself.


Impregnator 4: Research Team Paradise

Thunder was telling about the Reacher method: to breed large amounts of copy creatures whenever a new sentient species appeared, and releasing them to form a buffer or interface in regards to the new species. This got the doctor thinking:
"Thunder, could I be allowed to examine a villager? I am curious as to how similar we are."
"Sure," Thunder said. "Lah! The doctor wants to check up on you!" Facing the doctor she added:
"Don't hold back on the needles. Please."
"I'm not afraid of needles," Lah said primly, and marched into a nearby hut for privacy. The doctor picked up his backpack and went after.
Lah stood perfectly still in the middle of the hut, hands clasped behind her back, head tilted to the side.
"Are you a real doctor?" she asked.
"I am," Doctor Baum said truthfully, as he opened his backpack. He did a surface examination first, then eyes, ears and mouth.
"Say ahh."
"Ahhh." Little mouth wide open, Lah patiently endured it all.
"Well, it seems you and I are basically the same," the doctor said, ignoring her girls face, young breasts and long cock for the moment. "You certainly have your heart at the right place." Lah beamed a beautiful smile at the joke. Actually it made a certain kind of sense: to use the basic human form in its most healthy state and run with that. The simplest way to make a copy human, really. Why they had made the copies with women's faces and, mostly, men's bodies, he could not say. Perhaps it made sense to the Reachers.
"Can I take a blood sample?" he asked her.
"Yes," she answered, unafraid.
He mounted a one-time needle on the handheld analyzer. Lah twitched as he stung her forearm, but made no sound. He looked at the read-out. The analyzer did not recognize the sample as blood, and reverted to an underlying chemical analyses program. So much for the similarities. The framework might be the same, but the Reachers had very different ideas as to what constituted an efficient biochemistry.
"Well, Lah, it seems like your blood is very different from mine. It is made of mostly water, and it got red blood cells, but the rest, your immune system and hormones, are totally unlike mine."
"You are very clever, doctor," she said softly, her big blue eyes looking at him with a strange intensity.
He paused.
And then he saw. Her penis was growing. He leaned forward to look at it as it rose. Amazing, he thought, her emotions are just like a human girl's: attracted to an experienced man who pays attention to her. The tip of her cock was free of foreskin now, small compared to the rest of her member. In fact it was still thickest at the base, giving it a distinct hornlike appearance now that it was fully erect. Dr. Baum shifted his glasses to get a better look.
And then she erupted. A thick white ray of sperm flew at his face, right up his left nostril. In surprise he breathed in, snorting a large gob of semen deep into his nasal cavity. It was quite painful, his eyes watered and he moaned loudly as he tried to blow the thick foreign slime out his nose again. Then he noticed Lah. She was holding both hands in front of her mouth, her eyes big and wet with tears:
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."



Thunder, Lah and Evaluna

Needles

Bangkok, Thailand

The taxi snailed its way through the streets of Bangkok. Sitting in the back seat, Lucille Cavill Parker did not appreciate the hot, busy and exotic city at all. She suffered from jetlag and shock, and just wanted to have it all over and done with. She was dressed in a light, flowery Vuitton dress, tired at the waist; her large handbag, shoes and sunglasses were all from Gucci. She had a world-class pageboy cut, dyed blonde in order to please her husband.

Her husband. Her two-handed grip on the handbag tightened, her knuckles turning white.

Leaving the cap behind, she made her way into an air-conditioned office tower alone. She did not have any of her personal assistants with her. None of her people even knew she had left the states. She looked around, unimpressed, as she waited for the elevator. A cheap rent-a-office high-rise. I must be desperate, she thought.

On the 9th floor she went to a door unmarked with anything but a number, and walked through. Inside she found a small non-descript secretary bullpen manned by Thai women in blue office uniforms. One of them showed her to the executive office.
There, dressed in a black Armani women's business suit with a white shirt, she found the object of her long, clandestine journey. Madame Vipada. A Thai woman of middle height, a broad handsome face, expert make-up, and a straight-backed, supple posture that emanated supreme confidence. She stood there by the glass wall overlooking the financial district.
"Have a seat, Mrs Parker," Vipada said, indicating the chair before her large desk. Vipada sat down in front of her.
Lucille Cavill Parker stalled there for a moment, clutching her handbag, before she popped the question:
"I understand you are a divorce expert?"
"Divorce and revenge, yes. Tell me, Mrs Parker, what exactly is your problem?"



Fate, as water

Iayd lost all awareness and wisdom (a modest loss, thank the gods), and memory of much, such as what he was doing and who he was. He did recall his childhood wet nurse quite vividly in that moment, and his mouth made whiny sounds and sucking motions unbeknownst to him.
"Praised be! Is that not the tower of a man, Iayd, son of Haydar, he of the most stylish and easily recognisable turban, who stands so above the common crowds? Might he be at least a little interested in a slave girl like, say, Lamiana, for sale here right now?" Fudail cried out, hoping to make a deal.
"I have no interest in a pleasure girl...ahem... I have no interest in a pleasure girl. None! I might take a servant girl off your hands at half price, but I see none here." replied Iayd.
"A servant girl you say? Well, Lamiana is both helpful and skilled... tell you what: all of Touruqe owes its life to your father many times over, he the slayer of legions of Kurstite scum. I would but be repaying a debt if I sold Lamiana to you for the price of a servant girl. The full price, that is. What say you?"
"The price of a servant girl?" Iayd considered himself a shrewd merchant, and something here aroused his suspicion.

Dreamcrusher

"I, uh, hear a lot about you, that you are a real head shrink that hypnotise people and shit?"
"Jason, I am a certified hypnotist, and let me tell you: hypnotism does not work on people of normal or better intelligence, it just doesn't. All those people you see on shows, clucking like chickens, they are just actors. I could not hypnotise you even if I tried."
"Yeah?" Jason "the Knife" Kinner, drug kingpin extraordinaire, sounded slightly relieved.
"You don't believe me? Let me show you. It's actually quite funny, that point where you can't get any further with a clever person. Play along with me here, and I will show you."



KGB Trained

The auditorium was filled with frightened young girls. Eyes darting to and fro, shoulders hunched. They had probably all been chosen because of their looks. KGB officers getting the pick of the greater Moscow area's orphanages. Flattering, if you did not think it over. But Irina had thought it over. She had seen this coming, unlike some of the other girls here.
The door opened and a woman in an olive green army dress walked in. She was middle aged but still handsome. Her hair was straight and brown; it covered her forehead and reached a long way down her back. Her cheekbones and jaw was prominent, her eyes and mouth cruel. Her body was heavy, but she walked straight-backed and with raised chin, giving a confident impression.
"Attention! I am Teacher V, on loan from another institution"

Six Days of Chastity

Maybe he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Maybe Hannah pressed close to him, a hand on his hand, a hand on his forehead. Maybe she whispered something very important in his ear. Something like:
"... You will find that you can't... you can only... the more you try... stronger and stronger... forget everything!"

Nah. Didn't happen.

Trial of the Black Widow

He flew out the chair. This was madness! He couldn't remember exactly right now, but he was sure that there were all kinds of laws against a juror and the accused meeting. They could both end behind bars.
She walked softly towards him, into the circle of light cast by the lamp. He saw that she was dressed in a black, tight full-body spandex suit; she had black sneakers on and she wore a rectangular black leather purse strapped to her right thigh. Her hair had been bound up in a convenient ponytail for climbing, but now she release her hair, shook it, and let it hang loose.
"Miss St.Clair, you can't... you can't just..."
She reached out and put her hand on his lips.