Alien Dreams
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Alien Dreams

 Bill Pieper
 Bill Pieper
Alien Dreams
by Bill Pieper  FollowFollow
Bill Pieper is a voyeur and exhibitionist, perfect skills for writing fiction. To inspire novels or stories, he eavesdrops and spies on more he encounters, soaking up words, gestures, physical features and behavioral tropes. Then he writes it down, flips open his raincoat and exposes the whole sordid lot to as many eyeballs as possible. So far, he hasn't been arrested for this, but everyone in his Northern California haunts agrees it's a matter of time. Links to all his published titles can be found at:
More work by Bill Pieper:
Alien Dreams

Waking up this morning, Sabine thought she’d never be horny again, but here she was, not twelve hours later, taking the Metro home from work and feeling like a bitch in heat. This guy ends up in the seat just behind her—in jeans and a white T-shirt, the sexy Marlon Brando type from Streetcar Named Desire.

She thought about her dream, instead. Wow, what a dream! So weird and kinky it embarrassed her.

No special prelude. Just a quiet evening in her apartment—one glass of wine, she hadn’t smoked anything, and was pretty much out like a light when she hit the mattress. And usually, if she heard some voice in the darkness, it scared crap out of her, even if it was female and coming through the wall. This one had been male and right in the bedroom, but was so soothing and mellow, mesmeric, really, that she hadn’t felt afraid at all.

“You don’t know me Sabine, which I regret, because I’m sure we’d get along. It’s why I asked to be sent tonight.”

“Sent?” she said. “By who?” This seemed real but couldn’t possibly be.

“We have a bunker in the mountains and our disguises are good, but moving after dark is still much safer.”

“Bunker?” she parroted, dumbly.

“Yes, an exploration party. Our home planet orbits the star you call Bellatrix and a key strategy is mating with selected women here. DNA research shows it should work, and your name intrigued our cultural historian. You’ll be handsomely paid, too, don’t worry.”

“Not interested.” Dream or whatever, she should be screaming by now, and more so if it was real. Except for the continued calming effect of his voice.

“You’ll in no way be harmed,” he went on. “I daresay you’ll even like it. Ironically, we’re better constructed to please the women here than to please our own.”

She blinked and blinked, but her blackout drapes kept him invisible. “Because of my name?”

“No, mainly your phenotype,” he said. “The genes of a slender, well proportioned brunette such as yourself will be dominant over those for our greenish and somewhat scaled epidermis. I can see you perfectly right now, and I’m thought to be rather handsome myself.”

“Who cares what it looks like! And forget money! I’m not raising an alien baby.”

“We don’t want that. We’ll harvest any fertilized eggs...there are usually a few days with a tiny suction device. You won’t even know we were here. Then $1,000 per egg will show up in your bank account. The problem is that our sperm degrades immediately with any exposure to your atmosphere, so it must be delivered directly.”

“This has to be a dream.”

“But it’s not,” he said.

She heard a rustling in the dark, and before she could flinch aside, an atomizer of some kind released vapor into her nose. “What was that?”

“A fast-acting soporific and aphrodisiac.” He was on the bed beside her now. “You’re very beautiful, Sabine. I’m already quite erect.” He had a musky, ripe smell.

Here it became more surreal yet, like a dream within a dream. She always slept under silk sheets in just a pair of panties, and teasingly, he slid them both away. He was muscular, too, trim and fit, but his body had more the striated feel of a fingernail surface than of real skin. Still, his lips seemed full and tender, and though she no longer had any thought of resisting, he didn’t kiss her or make an attempt. Instead, he buried them between her legs, nuzzling and licking with a satiny tongue until she exuded slippery moisture onto his face and felt it spread down her thighs. Oh my God, she was coming—already. It was insane. “Oh, oh, ohh!” she panted. Then louder. “Oh, ohh, yes!” Her spine arched in a series of spasms.

He seemed to smile. “I think you’ll find a few more of those,” he said, pulling away to position himself over her at an angle that tipped her pelvis sharply up and that she could only maintain by wrapping her legs around his waist, surprised by her enthusiasm.

And OMG again! His cock! It went in with one smooth, slow thrust, like it had been custom fit just to the threshold of pain. He started fucking in steady motions and she bucked her hips into him in the same rhythm. But that wasn’t all. She thought it was his hand at first, but they were gripping her ass, so it was some other part of him that was madly licking and sucking her distended clit, never breaking contact as his cock plunged in and out.

And, yes, she did find more orgasms, lots more, shrieking into her pillow in so many waves she lost count. Finally, when he came, with a long ecstatic sigh and holding her legs wide apart, he didn’t decorate her with part of it the way some men like to. He held her at an even sharper angle and directed the full load deeply inside. Barely conscious by then, she felt him soften and gradually pull out.

“That was wonderful,” he whispered. “I can’t linger, but of all of us, I knew I’d gotten the best assignment.”

Sabine lay on her back, legs open, sated and unable to move. She heard a further rustling sound in the blackness and realized he’d left. The next thing was her clock radio going off, the smooth jazz station at low volume.

Her nipples were hard as acorns, her clenched hands had left fingernail marks on her palms, but she was under the silk sheets with her sleep panties on. Except they were drenched, her pussy was soaking and she literally felt reamed out. She knew on some level it had been a dream, the wildest of her life, but only after she’d had a second cup of coffee and taken a shower did the previous night lose hold and the reality of a new day, with the usual Metro ride downtown and a desk full of work, fully establish itself. That hadn’t been real. It hadn’t.

But this was real, now, climbing off the bus, horny all over again, and thinking of what might happen later. Could the dream return? She got lucky with the last of the pedestrian signal, reached the opposite curb and looked back across streams of traffic as the train pulled out. The guy in the T-shirt had gotten off too, and with his eyes on her, was waiting to cross, right where she had. Oh, no. She wouldn’t risk the temptation.

Quickening her pace, she dodged into a Mr. Pickle sandwich shop and out the side door to the adjoining mini-mall. She shopped here all the time and knew her way around. Two stores away was the Boutique L’amour, discreet and pitched toward women. She’d bought a vibrator and other things there, and you couldn’t tell through the windows if anyone was inside. Perfect. She opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through.

The friendly, butch lesbian who worked behind the counter recognized her and waved. “You got to see this new item,” she said.

Sabine walked to the counter. “Like what?”

“Greatest dildo ever.” The woman handed Sabine a flat rectangular box with a clear plastic top. “From Girl’s Own Products. They make the good stuff.”

Sabine stared at it. ‘THE ALIEN,’ the package read. ‘Adjustable size and length, adjustable speed and suction power, built-in lubrication reservoir.’ Its main shaft resembled an English cucumber fashioned from light green and slightly scaly rubberized plastic. Angling upward from just above its handle was a second, shorter shaft of softer green plastic that seemed to have a fleshy mouth at the tip. She felt tingling wetness fill her pubis.

“Comes with complete instructions,” the woman said, “which you really don’t need. Try it from behind, too.”

“How much,” Sabine asked, knees weak as she fished in her purse for her wallet.

“$49.95. Like I say, brand new this week. I can barely keep ’em in stock, and they only advertise with flash ads on the Net. Seen any?”

“Not that I remember,” Sabine answered. “Credit Card OK?”

“Sure,” said the woman. “The strap-on model’s ten bucks more, but I don’t think that’s you.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Sabine said, eager to get home, where she had every expectation of being a satisfied customer.

Which she was, even two weeks later, after an unexplained $2,000 deposit appeared in her account.



  10 months ago
Fun read
  13 months ago
Fascinating story!
  16 months ago
Really good stuff
  21 months ago
Good stuff.
  3 years ago
Freaky. Kinky. Creative.
  3 years ago
Sexy and cool


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