by Dan Mills
It started out like any other Friday night. After putting
in twelve hours over at the feedlot, Denny Royal went home,
ate a can of pork and beans, and took a shower. Then he
put on a clean shirt and jeans and headed back out the door.
He jumped into his 1972 Ford pickup and turned the ignition
key. The old 302 V8 turned over twice and rumbled to life.
Denny mashed the gas pedal to the floor and held it there
for a full fifteen seconds. It sounded like a top-fuel funny
car revving up for a three hundred mile an hour run. A pair
of rusted exhaust pipes, secured with several strands of
bailing wire, belched out generous amounts of blue-black
smoke. After Denny let up on the gas, the engine was still
winding out at around five thousand rpms. He had adjusted
the carburetor up to keep the engine from dying when it
was at an idle. Denny dropped the gearshift into drive and
the pickup lurched forward like a thoroughbred out of the
gate. The dented pickup, with its loose fender trim, rusted
mag wheels, and ten-foot whip antenna; slung gravel into
the bushes beside the doublewide Kentwood mobile home he
called home. When the truck hit the highway, it laid thirty
feet of rubber before the tires quite spinning.
Denny Royal was headed toward the local watering hole,
the "Kick and Stomp Saloon". All of the available
women seemed to congregate there on a Friday night because
it was the only bar within fifty miles with a live band.
Something told Denny that he was going to get lucky tonight.
Denny walked through the front doors of the "Kick
and Stomp" and spotted a table loaded with his friends.
He took a chair next to Rick Stumpy and waved to the waitress
for a drink. She held up a hand as if to say "In a
minute" while taking an order from another table.
"Boy, this place is really hoppin' tonight!"
Denny yelled into one of Rick's huge, wax infested ears.
The featured band, "Muddy Hoof Prints", was knocking
out a country-rock tune and the amplifier was set to stun.
It was impossible to carry on a normal conversation.
"You said it pard," Rick hollered back, revealing
a juicy clot of Copenhagen in his lower lip.
The waitress finally showed up and Denny yelled that he
wanted a Budweiser, but she couldn't hear over the music.
She bent over so he could repeat his order directly into
her ear, and Denny damn near choked on his request. The
waitress's blouse was unbuttoned halfway to her navel and
Denny was getting a real eyeful. He'd always been a little
uncomfortable around attractive women and she was a real
looker. When he was able to get his voice back Denny ordered
a Bud and told her to bring the table another round too.
Frank Owens was leaning back in his chair, nursing a bottle
of some kind of imported Euro piss, while Tad Perkins, the
town pervert, was sipping a shot of Black Velvet and scanning
the room from under his ragged Stetson.
Shortly after midnight a tall mysterious woman, with long
sexy legs, strolled in and sat down at the bar. The tight,
red mini-skirt she was wearing barely covered her lace panties,
as she perched on the leather and brass barstool.
The band started up a new set with "Honey if my horse
could cook, I wouldn't need you" and Denny Royal decided
it was time for a dance. He was beginning to feel his oats,
mostly from the half dozen beers he'd consumed. The liquid
courage was just what he needed to approach the hot little
filly in the red skirt. He hitched up his Wrangler jeans,
cocked his light brown cowboy hat to the side of his head,
and sauntered up to her.
Denny tapped her on the shoulder. "Scuse me perty
lady. Would you like to dance?"
The vixen turned around and Denny momentarily forgot how
to breathe. She was both stunningly beautiful and oddly
different. Her shoulder length, coal-black hair was in shocking
contrast with her absolutely white skin. Her milk chocolate
colored eyes seemed a little too large and slanted for her
slender face. The corners of her small mouth seemed to curl
up naturally on the ends. To accent her red mini-skirt,
she wore a black, form fitting halter-top that showed off
her large, firm breasts and hard, flat stomach. She was
built like a Play Boy centerfold without the staples.
Denny noticed how the corners of her mouth turned up even
more at his request to dance. He didn't think he could stand
to have her laugh in his face so he turned to leave without
waiting for a reply. Before Denny could take a step, she
reached out and grabbed him by the arm. He turned around
and she smiled, showing a tiny set of perfect white teeth.
"Why not?" she said with a heavy foreign accent.
Hot Damn! Denny thought to himself. I'll bet she's French.
Now, Denny was six foot and one inch and was used to women
looking up at him. Well, when this little filly finished
standing up, she was looking him directly into his eyes.
Again Denny was dumfounded and unable to speak. She took
him by the hand and guided him to the dance floor.
Maybe she's a model, he told himself. Yeah, she's a tall,
French model.
Even though the song was kind of a boot scoot boogie, Denny's
dance partner mashed her slender body up against his and
was all over him like ants to a picnic.
Denny swallowed hard as she began to grind her groin into
his and squeeze his buns through his Wranglers.
"What's you name, Darlin?" his voice cracked
as he asked.
"Zeleaka," she replied in a low seductive tone,
"what's yours?"
"Denny, ma'am," again his voice cracked, sounding
like a ten-year-old. He cleared his throat and said "Denny
Royal," much deeper this time.
"You ain't from around here, are ya?"
She straddled his left leg and commenced to rub up and
down on it as she bit the lobe of his left ear.
"No," she whispered into his ear, "I'm not."
Zeleaka didn't elaborate and Denny didn't much care. His
pecker was starting to tingle and straighten out.
"Say, would you like to come see my barbed wire collection?
It dates all the way back to the mid 1800's."
The last sentence was in the voice of the ten-year-old again
because Zeleaka had just bitten the side of his neck. Not
hard enough to draw blood, but it sure got his attention.
"Let's finish the dance, shall we?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Denny's heart rate went up to about two hundred beats per
minute. He couldn't believe his luck. He usually wound up
going home by himself, or with one of the less than desirable
local girls. Shoot, most of the time it was a plus if the
girl had all of her teeth and he could fit her ass through
the door of his Ford pickup.
Now this French honey, if that's what she really is, was
a dream come true. One for the record books. Then he began
to daydream just a little, wondering what it would be like
to get married and move to France. No, sir, that wouldn't
work. She would just have to pack up and move out here to
Oklahoma and settle into his Kentwood doublewide. Hell,
he could make her happy, if she would just give him a chance.
When the song came to an end, Zeleaka finally unlocked
herself from Denny's left leg and grabbed a handful of his
hair. She pulled his head back and placed her mouth over
his. She explored every nook and cranny with her slippery
tongue.
That confirmed it, Denny thought; she was definitely French.
When she let him up for air, Denny couldn't find his voice,
the ten-year-olds or his own.
"Come on, cowboy, let's go look at your barbed wire."
She took him by the hand and pulled him toward the exit.
Denny stumbled along behind her, grinning like an idiot
and waving to his buddies.
"Ride 'em, cowboy!" hollered Rick Stumpy while
spewing tobacco juice from his bottom lip.
"Yahoo!" yelled Frank Owens as he waved his hat
in the air with one hand and held an imaginary set of reins
with the other. "Give her hell, boy!"
Tad just stood up and grinned from ear to ear. This make
Denny a little uncomfortable, since old Tad "I'll Jump
Anything That Moves" Perkins wouldn't just let a thing
like this go without his own special brand of encouragement.
Sure enough, he started by running his tongue around the
outside of his mouth and rotating his hips. Then he began
to hump the air and squeal like an asthmatic pig. He ended
this disgusting display by throwing his head back and howling
with the enthusiastic pleasure of a world record orgasm.
He fell back into his chair and let his eyes roll back in
his head.
This embarrassed Denny to no end, but Zeleaka didn't seem
to care. She glanced back at them one time and smiled before
dragging her man out the door.
On the way to his truck, Denny had a disparaging thought.
He didn't quite know how to bring up the subject without
looking like a fool. But better to find out now, rather
than later.
"Say, Darlin," he said as Zeleaka climbed into
the cab of the truck, "I don't have a whole lot of
money. What's this going to cost me?"
"What are you talking about?"
The bewildered look on her face seemed genuine, so he decided
to drop the subject before she became insulted and told
him to take a flying leap.
"Aw, never mind."
Denny jumped in behind the wheel and pointed the old Ford
toward home.
"Where are you from, anyway?"
Zeleaka just gazed at him for a second, then winked and
reached for the button fly on his jeans.
HOT DOG! She can't even wait until we get home. The next
thing he knew, she had her face buried in his lap.
"OH MY GAWD!" he exclaimed wide-eyed and gasping
for air like an out of shape marathoner. It was all he could
do to keep the pickup truck between the bar ditches.
He hoped to hell old Roland Tubbs, the county sheriff,
was busy pounding down donuts and coffee at Mable Pine's
Country Kitchen. The way he was driving, and the fact that
Zeleaka was doing what she was doing would surely get them
some time behind bars.
As Denny pulled into the driveway, he was having some trouble
controlling himself. He was wiggling all over the seat and
trying to concentrate on the steering wheel, gas, and brake
pedals, while attempting to hold on to his dignity and reproductive
fluids.
Denny drove up next to the double wide and turned off the
ignition. All at once Zeleaka sat up and smiled at him.
He let out a long trembling sigh of relief. Sweat had formed
on his forehead and upper lip as he sat there clutching
the steering wheel.
"Boy, that was close, eh?" she remarked as she
stared into Denny's eyes.
"Yes, ma'am," said the ten-year-old. "Let's
go inside, shall we?"
When they entered the trailer, the place looked like a
tornado had recently passed through it. Denny hadn't really
expected to bring anybody home, especially this French filly,
but it didn't seem to bother her in the least. She just
gave him that certain look, and they were headed down the
hallway toward the bedroom.
They spent the night like contestants in a no-holds-barred
sexual rodeo. Denny Royal went the full eight seconds several
times before the night was over. At one point, Zeleaka thrust
her tongue so far down Denny's throat he nearly gagged.
Damn this French woman liked to do that, he thought. Some
time around four in the morning, spent both physically and
mentally, Denny Royal passed out.
When Denny woke up he didn't know what time it was, and
he didn't care. Even though his eyes were shut and he had
a pillow over his face, Denny knew that he looked like ten
miles of unpaved road.
There's no way he drank enough last night to feel this bad.
He must be coming down with something. He pulled the pillow
off of his face and felt warm sun light shining on him as
it streamed through his bedroom window. He sat up and slowly
pealed his eyes open. Zeleaka was nowhere in sight. Thank
God, he groaned to himself. She would probably want him
to perform again.
Maybe she was in the kitchen, like any good woman should
be on the morning after. But the thought of food made Denny's
stomach roll. It felt like he'd been sucking on a fresh
horse turd all night. Why did he feel so bad?
Denny's gut finally stopped turning for the time being,
so he swing his legs over the side of the bed. The room
started to spin and tilt like a merry-go-round. He put both
of his feet on the floor and closed his hot, stinging eyes.
This seemed to help. After a couple of minutes he stood
up, opened his eyes just enough to see and began to shuffle
toward the bathroom.
He stood in front of the toilet and tried to take a leak,
but his pecker just hung there, refusing to cooperate. It
felt like a piece of raw hamburger. Why in the hell couldn't
he piss? Nothing like this had ever happened before.
Denny gave up and filled a glass of water from the sink.
Maybe he could prime the pump and wash that horrid taste
out of his mouth at the same time. He took a drink of water
and immediately spit it out. The back of his throat felt
like it was full of razor blades and fishhooks. The intense
pain brought tears to his eyes. What he'd spit into the
sink was flecked with blood.
Denny looked into the mirror and almost didn't recognize
himself. His eyes were the color of mustard and dried blood
encrusted the corners of his mouth. Another sharp pain pierced
the back of his throat. He screwed his eyes shut and gripped
the edge of the sink until the stabbing pain subsided. When
he looked in the mirror again, a fresh trickle of blood
started to run out of his mouth.
He slowly opened his mouth and said "AHH" into
the mirror. In the reflection Denny saw something attached
to that piece of skin that hung down the back of his throat.
"No way," he wheezed.
Denny got closer to the mirror and opened his mouth again.
When he did, the thing hanging from his uvula moved. It
had tiny-clawed hands and feet. The little creature noticed
its own reflection and sneered, revealing several rows of
dagger-like teeth. With a threatening hiss, it opened its
mouth as wide as it could and took a huge bite out of the
punching bag-shaped piece of flesh it was clinging to.
The excruciating pain dropped Denny to his knees and loosened
his stubborn bladder at the same time. His insides suddenly
began to crawl with activity. He could feel tiny hooked
claws roaming the inner cavities of his body. Another stabbing
pain in the back of his throat forced his eyes opened, revealing
to him that he was kneeling in an ever-expanding pool of
bright red urine.
"Zel nine to command center. Command center, do you
read me?"
"This is command center, Zel nine. What is your current
status?"
"I have just finished with the test subject and he
has been impregnated with a number of hatchlings. The donor
was cooperative and completely unaware."
"Copy that, Zel nine. Similar test results have been
recorded from all parts of the globe. What is your projected
assessment of this operation?"
"In my estimation, this planet will be ours in no
less than six months. The bipeds are going to be easy to
eliminate. The ones we aren't unable to seduce will be exterminated
by the hatchlings once they are fully developed. Then the
natural resources of this planet will be ours for the taking.
Send down the rest of my team."
"They're on their way, Zel nine. Report back when
your sector is cleared."
High above the Earth, an enormous intergalactic space vessel
masked itself inside an asteroid field. Newly formed human
replicas formed lines leading to the transport station,
male and female alike. It was time for a new beginning.
* * *
The following illustration is also by Dan
Mills.
click image to enlarge
Click here to view all of Dan's
Artwork.
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