Thank Your Lucky Stars Ch. 01

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An Iowa farm family fights off an alien invasion...
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Part 1 of the 7 part series

Updated 11/02/2022
Created 03/09/2011
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Rob_mDear
Rob_mDear
1,562 Followers

Sarah paused at the door, feeling silly, wondering if the other nurses, the old hands, were playing a game with her. She was inexperienced, yes, but not naive. Their story was unlikely. She sincerely doubted that what they’d told her was true.

Her mouth wrinkled in something caught between a smile and a sneer, bothered by their teasing, and even more by her own, childish reaction to it. The old man looked languorously across the room at her, only belatedly half-noticing her in the doorway. With a moment of clumsy effort triggered by her own anger at herself more than any embarrassment with him, she surged forward, trying to make it look as if she’d never paused.

He sat stone still in a wicker chair. A fading, frayed knit blanket smothered his lap, with his hands tucked deeply beneath it, atop his thighs, keeping his thin body warm, although he no doubt felt forever cold despite his efforts. Men his age, and in his condition, were cold clean through, like a metal lamp post on a winter night.

The old man bestowed a vacant stare on her as she approached, clearly aware of something, but thinking nothing of it. It was hard to imagine him as the sort of idiot-savant they had portrayed him to be.

“It’s time for your medicine, Mr. Hesserschmidt.”

“In World War II, I shot down a Messerschmitt.”

She’d been told to expect something like that, so she was ready, if doubtful, but still she couldn’t hide the small smile. It was true, or partly true, although one quick, simple, almost random and meaningless rhyme was not all that special. It wasn’t worth all the giggles and guffaws and knowing glances they’d exchanged. Sarah glanced at the other nurses in the distance, out through the door, off at the nurse’s station, huddled together, themselves busily acting disinterested while stealing frequent glances back at her with wry smirks.

When he didn’t respond further, she gently drew his hands out from under the blanket, feeling them shake with mild tremors. They were far warmer than she’d expected them to be, warmer than her own, nor were they at all thin and shriveled like the rest of the patients. They were almost pleasant to touch.

She placed the small cup of pills in one hand and the small cup of water in the other. He didn’t look at them, or at her, as she did so. He just held them in place for a moment, frozen before him, while staring off at the far wall, as if he weren’t even there, or were trying to remember something completely unrelated to the task at hand.

“I need to see you take them,” she said.

“The deed will be to break them.”

She almost laughed out loud. For a moment she’d forgotten what to expect.

It was unsettling. There was no pause, not the slightest hesitation or moment to think. She said it, and before the last sound had escaped her mouth, he was responding. Now she grew eager to say something else, to try to get the sort of response from him that had sent the other nurses roaring — or so they had said. He did it more often than not, they’d promised, but he hadn’t yet for her. She had to say something more.

She watched him as he swallowed the pills. When he finished, he held the cups before him, seemingly not knowing what else to do. She took them from his unresisting hands, still shaking with small, regular tremors.

She drew a blank. As if struck with stage fright, she couldn’t think of the slightest thing further to say. His eyes looked something between tired and tranquilized, almost dead. He was like a zombie. She felt sorry for him, but not too much so. Sarah could be cold that way, and had to be. The head nurse, Francine, had warned her that any degree of empathy would leave her soon enough, anyway. You couldn’t do this day in and day out with that sort of connection to the patients. It would wear you down until you were like them.

That would come soon enough, to everyone. No need to hurry that along.

She glanced around the room, stalling, hoping something would come to her, some thought, some offhand comment to make. In total silence she surrendered to her failure and scuttled to the door. With her back to the poor, afflicted man, she allowed her face to break into a slight, affected grin that the other nurses could see, and returned.

“I’ll be back to bring you your dinner,” she said over her shoulder.

“I lived my life on the track of a sinner.”

* * *

He watched the cute little wiggle the girl proffered as she left the room. It was sexy. In another time he would have made a play for her. He’d done it often enough before, when he’d been healthier, in the old place, and sometimes it had actually worked. Once in a while one of them protested, but reveled in the sheer sexual power that it gave them, or just the gratification of feeling loved by a man with a long, ending story. Occasionally you could tell which ones were open to or even liked the idea, by how they dressed and behaved and presented themselves.

The other nurses mostly wore baggy, wrinkled overalls. This new, young one wore a nice, tight, short, even sheer nurse’s dress, the kind you almost only saw in costume stores or porn movies.

If only he had more control of his faculties. And his speech.

He waited for her to leave before reaching under the blanket to pull out the wrinkled, overused sheets of paper. When he was sure that she’d gone, he started reading again, one last time, from the beginning.

Prelude

It should be made clear, before more words are seen,
This story is littered with actions obscene
The characters, hot,
Some human, some not,
But all are most certainly over eighteen

This story's inferred from an unfounded rumor,
Containing some elements sick as a tumor
Like incest and porn,
French, cuckolding, corn,
Sci fi, Sue, cops, aliens, worst of all, humor
_ _ _ _ _

Our own government would have you believe
That there are no aliens, but they deceive
They've been here before
They'll come back for sure
With sick, twisted plans you can barely conceive

It began one dark night on an Iowa farm
The details I'm sure will cause most some alarm
The farmer, his spouse,
Two daughters, son, house,
Were all put in danger and subject to harm

The outcome, you'll find, left them shaken and pale
It’s known to be true, ‘cause it’s in an e-mail
Which spread ‘round the truth,
Though it's all so uncouth,
To learn what transpired read this sordid tale…


Phase I — Target : Farmer Brown
Events all began with a faint shooting star,
That grew as it fell, and it fell, and fell far
It struck fertile earth
Where its course could give birth
to a lengthy and heaving and deeply charred scar

Farmer Brown, so we'll call him, to maintain pretense
of some small discretion, considering events,
Went into the corn,
Before it was morn,
To see what had ripped up such long, jagged rents

Despite the black dark of an Iowa night
Old Brown ventured out with quite limited sight
To find what might hoe
Such a long, burnt furrow
Was in fact a charred, smoking, black meteorite

He might have done better to stay safe inside
And call the authorities there to decide
Upon close inspection
And some introspection
What's best to be done with a meteor's hide

Instead Farmer Brown, with a frontiersman's air
Although best advised to just wait and take care
Proceeded up close
Where he could diagnose
It was more than a rock that fell from who knows where

The sides of the thing where all shiny and clean
With a silvery look, and a shimmering sheen
And fins that looked new
And a porthole or two
That made it quite clear that this was a machine

One curious thing was a hole in its skin
Of just the right size for a prick to fit in
Invitingly tight,
He thought that he might
Enjoy a quick fuck while he clung to a fin

Perhaps you are asking what's in old Brown's head
That he would consider this deed, when in bed,
His wife lay alone
In want of his bone
While fucking this rock could make Farmer Brown dead

What Farmer Brown could not have known, (nor do you),
Was that Telefragenic Waves were passing through
The ship's shiny skin
From deep, deep within
Inciting his urges towards wanting to screw

It couldn't control him, or make him do things
Like move like a robot, or a puppet on strings
It could just project
With minor effect
Emotions that push one towards sexual flings

All Farmer Brown knew was his cock was inflamed
In need of release, so he carefully aimed
At the welcoming hole
Dearly hoping its role
Would be giving him pleasure, not leaving him maimed

In moments the farmer was thrusting away
Oblivious to anything others might say
The hole was, yes, tight
It felt, oh, so right
That the farmer thought he'd fuck this space rock all day

The extreme satisfaction of Farmer Brown’s find
Is not to be felt by a mere human grind
For here what entices
Were high tech devices
Designed by an extraterrestrial mind

Your time won't be wasted, describing his feel
Of hot, tight, wet pussy, far better than real,
Like velvety silk,
Or a glass of warm milk,
Or some proper metaphor, by Danielle Steel

The moment before old Brown came with a sigh
He noticed a seedpod was lying nearby,
But bigger than most,
The size of a roast,
Or maybe the size of a fresh loaf of rye

As Farmer Brown's cock started filling with semen,
His head started spinning as if he was dream'n,
The seedpod was glowing,
And pulsing, and growing,
Then flashed with bright light as the farmer was cream'n

The moment he came Farmer Brown was unhinged
His mind spun and burned just as if it were singed
The pod took control
Old Brown now had no role
In making decisions, he was pushed to the fringe

Soon, just like a robot, old Farmer Brown crept
Straight back to the house where his family slept
Four seedpods he held
Each ready to meld
With unwary victims soon forced to accept


Interlude 1 : Emma Lou Brown’s Journey
More than nine hundred fifty five miles away,
The eldest Brown girl, Emma Lou, was today
Getting into her car
To drive very far
Heading home for an unrestful, brief holiday

She was burdened with one small, annoying obsession
Driving home to make her most soul baring confession
Her family would cringe
When they learned of her binge
But compassion would aid in its needed suppression

Poor Emma's small problem was called nymphomania
She considered and planned as she crossed Pennsylvania
With words that might soften:
“I do it too often”
But really, she simply had sex on the brain-ia

Of course she'd not driven her car for too long
Before aching urges came on her quite strong
She looked for a him
To indulge her whim
Which her fruitless resistance could only prolong

Along this long drive, when she wanted to screw
The partners she'd find, to name just a few
Were truckers, hitchhikers,
State troopers, and bikers,
Street sweepers, one felon, and a waitress or two

One possible lover desired, not taken,
Considered, dismissed, but the thought left her shaken,
In the passenger seat,
Her faithful dog Pete,
Was a bedmate she was sure could be left forsaken

Another temptation, as socially crude
Was so wrong she kept that thought fully subdued
She’d wrestle and fret
But not let it get
To the point where she'd certainly find herself screwed

In her frequent rest stops for some brief masturbation
Was one act kept out of her imagination
Which she would not permit
Not consider one bit
Because it quite simply was too much temptation

This one worst desire, almost as illicit
As the one with her pet, to be no more explicit,
Was where she’d recruit
The forbidden fruit
Of her brother or father, who’d then be complicit

So Emma Lou Brown drove on through the dark night
Not knowing or caring of her family’s plight
What her dad was doing
Or what he was screwing
Or where things would lead in horrific delight


Phase II — Target : Bobbie Jean
Brown marched with intent through his tall fields of corn
On into the house, with his brain neatly shorn
He climbed up the stairs
Where they slept unawares
As he lurched toward a victim who’d take his stiff horn

With cock at full throttle and hormones on high,
Brown saw his wife sleeping, then walked right on by,
On alien orders,
The man had no borders,
So first with his own youngest daughter he'd lie

First, Brown set one seedpod by his daughter's head
A mini emitter was placed by the bed
Transmitting the waves
To turn them to slaves
Through sinful desires relentlessly fed

One should take a moment to stop and explain,
The way that these creatures take over one's brain,
They use an orgasm
To open a chasm
That cuts off one's thoughts, to lay bare what remains

A seedpod's just really a vessel, you see,
To hold one trained alien mind that will be
Injected instead
Into each victim's head
While subduing the hosts so they'll never be free

Some things you should know about Brown’s “little” girl
The things that she likes and what makes her head swirl
What she wants to do
When and how, and with who
So you’ll know that Brown’s daughter’s not some virgin pearl

Her daddy once took her to parks and to fairs,
He'd helped her learn walking, and climbing the stairs,
He'd scowled at her dates,
If she came home too late,
He was surely a father, quite proper, who cares

The girl, since her youth, would say, "Merci beaucoup"
Or sometimes, “Bonjour”, or perhaps, "Parlez vous?"
Speaking French was a game,
It was only a shame,
These were all of the phrases that this farm girl knew

This daughter, a hottie, was Bobbie Jean Brown
Who worked waiting tables at a diner in town
She was barely nineteen
But for sex was so keen
That she kept business up with her skill going down

“Bonjour,” she would say, as they ogled one breast
She would add, “Parlez vous?” never knowing the rest
Of what she should say
(“Parlez vousFrance?”)
But the men didn’t mind when she quickly undressed

Like mother, the daughter looked wholesome and pure
As cute as a button, a true girl next door
With curves and a smile
And enticing style
That made a man want to hold hands, and do more

And like her own mother, young Bobbie liked men
Over and under, before, now and then
She begged on her knees
Or took them in threes
Butshe always climaxed, again and again

His daughter gave head to a large, motley crew
There’s old Sheriff Jake, and that handyman, Lou,
There was Nate, Zed and Frank
Jack, Bob, Bill, Ed and Hank
And more than a few times she went down on Sue

She’d fantasized often, in detail, of course,
With forbidden lovers, of all different sorts,
The town's meanest baddie,
Her fine, handsome daddy,
Her brother, and even their dog, bull and horse

But these were just fantasies, don’t be deceived
What she’d really do wasn’t what she conceived
Unless she were wooed
By aliens who’d
Ignite some sick fantasies, privately weaved

The farmer climbed in with his cute, full-grown offspring
Then started to kiss and caress and do something
A dad shouldn’t do
But she wanted him to
So around him her arms and her legs wrapped to cling

She shocked him by whispering dark, dirty words,
He couldn’t believe that she’d said, or he’d heard,
Though not in control,
It stiffened his pole,
As she talked like some wild and lusty lovebird

“I love the idea and the tingling thought
Of indulging a love that I’ve secretly sought
Of feeling your cock
Instill a deep shock
While I return the pleasure your own lust has brought.”

In the recess of Farmer Brown’s too-crowded skull,
Which was currently two personalities full,
He recoiled in shock,
That she wanted his cock,
Yet against his hard push was a relentless pull

“I know that you must want my beautiful titty,
It's pert, young and firm to the touch, and quite pretty,
It makes your mouth water
To think of your daughter
And plunging your cock into her soft, wet kitty.”

These last, dirty words were so breathy, and squeaky,
Seductively voicing a concept quite freaky,
He had to admit
That the sight of her tit
Made his own mouth so hungrily wet it was leaky

In the depths of his brain he was shocked and appalled,
Quivering, trembling, hoping this stalled
His daughter, not wife,
The light of his life,
Was just not a woman that he should have balled

Some things no good father should begin to do
Like plunging his cock in his daughter’s kazoo
But that’s what Brown did
He aimed, shoved and slid
So deeply inside her she screamed, “I Love You!”

His fatherly cock thrust inside her so quickly
It instantly made her feel tingly and prickly
She thought with a grin
As he put it all in
That this family member filled deeply, and thickly

One side effect of mind invasions like these
Is to raise body temperatures by four degrees
Which makes what is felt
Feel so hot it could melt
Any cock or wet cunt when inserted to please

A touch without equal in close copulation
Is the feeling of thermally spiked penetration
If he can impale ya'
With hot genitalia
You'll savor a coveted carnal sensation

Few women will have the good fortune to relish
The plunge of a cock touched with heat that is hellish
It thrusts and it fills
With intense thermal thrills
So extreme that its praises one need not embellish

Now Bobbie Jean’s eyes grew quite wide when her sire
Inserted a prick so hot it seemed on fire
The heat never slackened
Her burning heart blackened
She fucked back with searing, hot, incest desire

No woman on this earth could ever withstand
A cock as red hot as her dad’s firebrand
Her juices were sizzling
‘Til out they came drizzling
Like rain pouring out while her insides suntanned

As a small girl she’d whine, "Thunder scares me"
Snug inhis bed, she’d chirp, “I’ll sleep carefree”
But now here, inher bed,
With her eager legs spread,
She screamed, “Merci beaucoup, Daddy, Merci!”

He hammered her, showing no mercy, you’d guess
Diving into his daughter’s most pleasant recess
She begged and she squealed
As he relished the feel
While enjoying a chorus of “Yes, Daddy, Yes!”

Farmer Brown, or what’s left of his mind, thought this curse
Was horribly, painfully, sadly perverse
Her dad should escort her
Not be in his daughter
And yet he was craving to hear the next verse

Now that it came down to a moment to choose,
When he must give in, or else firmly refuse
He had to surrender
To loving so tender
And help Bobbie Jean with her “daddy issues”

"Yes, Daddy! Oh, Daddy! Your cock I adore!
I love you! I love you! I love you galore!”
She cried out in sin
Then she pulled him far in
Shouting, "Now I am Daddy's sweet, cock-loving whore!"

Beside them the seedpod was glowing extreme,
The whole room was bathed in the light it could beam
The pod sensed the point
It could gently disjoint
Bobbie Jean’s much too over-sexed mind at a seam

“Be a good girl for Daddy!” old Farmer Brown pleaded,
“Come hard now for Daddy!” was what Bobbie needed
To give her a shove
To show him her love
And come as her narrow furrow was well seeded

As his fatherly, strong arms surrounded her,
And his family member astounded her,
She came with the thought
That if she'd been caught
Doing this with a boy he'd have grounded her.

This was the last free thought that this poor girl had,
She was punished for being so sinfully bad,
The alien presence
Imposed the harsh sentence
That came from incomparable sex with her dad

So now this sick tale has been told some way through
The number of pod people now stands at two
The alien plan
Proceeds as it can
Seems there’s nothing this poor, besieged family can do


Mr. Hesserschmidt leaned his head back into the pillow, finding comfort in the welcome support it gave to his aching neck as he closed his tired eyes. Chilled, trembling hands, still clutching the sheets of paper, slipped awkwardly back into the welcome warmth of the blanket. He stayed there for a while, feeling them warm, resting his eyes, thinking of times gone, lovers gone, adventures gone, and battles gone, as he drifted in and out of a light, unwanted, but unavoidable sleep.

Rob_mDear
Rob_mDear
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