Authors: Eric Coyote,Walt Morton
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Erotica
Mia reached around and spread her ass cheeks wide. There was another pussy where her anus should have been. “Bareback me, Gary. Fill me with your dirty monkey juice.”
Gary stumbled forward and shoved his cock up Mia’s ass … vagina … he wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, the hole was tight, wet, and volcanically warm. He was dipping into hot lava.
With Gary pounding away at her rear, Mia stared lustily into Erin’s eyes. “You can fuck me, too, Erin. You know you want it. You know you’ve always fantasized about fucking another person with a man’s dick.”
“How’d you know that?” Erin gasped. She never even told Gary about her most secret inner fantasy.
“Every woman wants to be driving a big fat cock. It’s like owning a Cadillac Escalade.”
Erin felt something unfolding between her legs. She looked down. There was a beautiful new penis growing erect out from her loins. To her shocked delight, the cock kept enlarging until it was solid as oak and nine inches long. Erin touched her lovely new pink penis awkwardly. Pleasurable sensations filled her. So this is what it felt like to have a dick, she thought. How cool! She shuddered in delight.
“Don’t be shy,” Mia said. “Stick it in.”
“But Gary’s in you,” Erin said.
“Take Gary in the ass. Mount your man.”
“Do it, honey! Make me your bitch!” Gary yelled. He was pounding Mia so emphatically sweat was streaming off him, his face beet red and eyes clenched.
Erin shoved her new penis up Gary’s ass. The stimulation to his prostate sent shockwaves of pleasure through him. Gary snorted like a mad bull. His cock spasmed, jetting rockets of spunk into Mia’s pussy. An instant later, Erin felt her own cock let go inside her husband’s sphincter, deeply filling him with white bridal juice. Erin never knew it was possible to pass out from pleasure. But as she thrust her dick in and out of her husband, she overdosed on her body’s own endorphins. Such an intense feeling of elation washed over her, Erin’s head floated through clouds. The airplane disappeared around her. Her vision went white and all she heard was the sound of seagulls crying softly in a high wind.
And then Erin awoke in the bed of the master suite of the Santa Maria Inn, cocooned in blankets. Gary was in the bed next to her, gently snoring.
Erin checked under the covers to see if she still had a blue-ribbon cock. To her disappointment, all she saw down there was the pussy she had neatly groomed for her wedding night. A wave of loss suffused her.
At least there was a wedding ring on her left hand, and that made Erin’s heart fill with joy. She looked at Gary, still snoring softly. He was always so cute when he was sleeping. And true to form, he had a jaunty morning erection.
Erin decided to wake him with a blowjob, and start their new life together on the proper note. She pulled the blankets down and curled over to give Gary head, but stopped cold. Crazy welts crisscrossed the shaft of his penis, weird alien symbols, all pink-tattooed evidence of their alien encounter. Erin felt tears well up in her eyes, remembering the rare experience the visitors had given her. She was sad they were gone. She wanted her wonderful penis back, if only for a few more days.
In the three weeks following the wedding of Erin Tanaka, the town of Santa Maria slowly returned to normal. The weird weather stopped. The plants began growing again. The quirky behavior of various farm animals returned to routine. In an agricultural community, people don’t have the luxury to stop and worry too much. There was work to be done, and necessary labor ate up every minute of the long summer days.
Moreover, for many residents the events were so disturbing that it was better to pretend they never happened. The truth was too hard to live with. Of course, the visitors couldn’t entirely be forgotten, but people put it on the back burner and said things like, “Pray we never have a damn-fool crazy week like that again.”
Pastor Baker led the repair of the church roof, and though he didn’t admit to being wrong about the Rapture and the faithful rising to Heaven, he did offer a special sermon on the following Sunday to comfort his flock:
“In Psalm thirty-two, verse one, David says, ‘blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered, and blessed is the man whose sin the Lord does not count against him.’ Aren't these verses special? God doesn't count your sins against you: every past sin is forgiven; every one erased, deleted, like it never happened. I like that. I believe that God enjoys forgiving sin. It's a good thing he does. If God were not willing to forgive sin, Heaven would be empty.”
Sheriff Olsen missed the sermon because he was sitting alone at a table in his favorite diner. Spread out before him was a spiral-bound notebook and dozens of photos. The evidence included images of crop circles and queerly modified cattle as well as pictures of odd-shaped heirloom tomatoes and motorcycle skid marks running right up the wall of the Santa Maria Public Library. Other bits and pieces were too inexplicable to enumerate. He had official statements from more than a dozen residents, but as the witnesses’s accounts drifted into sexual escapades, the statements became sketchy. People didn’t want to admit too much, especially if they enjoyed four alien cocks up their ass. It was embarrassing in many ways. For Olsen’s logical cop brain, it was frustrating. He drained his coffee mug and banged it on the table.
Darleen appeared at his table, coffee pot in hand.
“Refill for you, Sheriff?”
“No, dammit,” Olsen growled.
Darleen watched the sheriff openly take out a pint whiskey bottle and tip it into his empty coffee mug. The bottle made a glug-glug-glug sound as it emptied, and Olsen set the drained bottle brazenly on the table. This unabashed boozing was a first-ever for Olsen at the diner. Usually he was circumspect about his whiskey. Darleen looked at him with concern, frowning, then sat opposite him.
“That’s a damn big shot for a Sunday morning, Sheriff.”
Olsen took a gulp, grimaced, and set his mug down among his evidence.
“What’s bothering you, sugar?” Darleen said in a soft voice.
Olsen saw her compassionate eyes in a saggy face beneath a bun of dyed hair. For a moment Olsen tried to imagine the young sexpot Darleen had once been, but the image wouldn’t come. It was too long ago. He sighed.
“Darleen, you hear things. You know the trouble we had.”
“I presume you are referring to our recent alien visitors and our randy local women they fucked so good?”
“Great summary,” Olsen said. “You hit the nail on the head.”
“But it presents a problem?”
“It does. I’m an officer of the law. When some idiot gets up to hijinks, my job is to collect evidence that will allow me to arrest the dumb son of a bitch, and send him to jail.”
“So you’re frustrated the aliens are gone and you can’t arrest them?”
“Well, no, not quite.”
“Did they actually break any laws?”
“Yes. Trespassing. Also breaking and entering. Beyond that it’s less clear. When I study the witness statements, not one person feels like they were raped or taken advantage of. In retrospect, all the ladies seem almost grateful.”
“Then what’s really bothering you?” Darleen asked.
“I need to make sense of it, for my own peace of mind,” Olsen said. “I don’t understand the pattern of behavior. They come into town for wild sex orgies and raising all kinds of hell and then after a week, poof, they’re gone. No logic to it.”
“Sounds like Spring Break,” Darleen said.
“You know, it’s the week college kids go on vacation to Palm Springs or Fort Lauderdale. They get blind drunk and party and fuck to blow off steam. My niece got in so much trouble on Spring Break that we had to bail her out of jail. She came home hungover, freshly tattooed, and with three sexually transmitted diseases. And then she proudly posted pictures of her trip all over her social media.”
“You think these aliens were on Spring Break?” Sheriff Olsen rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
After a moment, Olsen slid the whiskey mug across the table under Darleen’s nose. “Go on, have a jolt.”
Darleen picked up the mug and downed a gulp that would stun a mule, then set it back on the table neatly.
“Interesting theory, Darleen. Maybe you missed your calling as a detective.”
She batted her eyes at him. “I wouldn’t fret about those visitors. I feel they’ve gone back home like all Spring Breakers do, wherever their home is.”
“I guess so.” Olsen sighed as he shut his notebook on the case.
“Of course, it could be worse next year.”
Sheriff Olsen stared at Darleen. “How could it be worse?”
“Next time they might be fucking you.” Darleen smiled and went back to work.
(left) and Walt Morton
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Eric Coyote and Walt Morton both attended the University of Southern California’s prestigious film school, which is (in retrospect) poor training for anyone writing erotic science fiction. Eric is the author of the ultra noir detective novel
The Long Drunk
, named to Kirkus Reviews’ Best of 2012. Walt’s debut novel
is a dark fantasy beloved by fans and food critics. Both men live in Venice, California, but almost never go to the beach, and neither surfs.
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