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His command module was not equipped to fight. His ship was not supplied with enough equipment for himself and the infants to remain hidden.The plan called for the population to accept the babies as their own. When they grew up, they would be introduced, one at a time, to Trat and the command module. Their people would be reborn as a subset of the sentient population of Earth.Trat was forced to improvise. Contact was necessary.Making initial contact was easy. Simply walking to the gate of the facility assured him a meeting with the camps leadership.A simple conference room served as the actual first contact room. It was virtually empty aside from the table, chairs and white boards. Everyone in the room came as they were for this extraordinary event. The base commander was in his exercise clothes and exuded the musk of someone recently exerting himself.Trat got straight to the point. He described everything openly and completely to the best of his knowledge. He was a specialist, as all. . Hey!” I yelled as George picked me up and put me on my knees on my bed. I giggled though. I like it a little rough. George forced my legs apart and I felt my panties being jerked aside and his coarse tongue on my clit.“Ohhh, fuck!” I yelled involuntarily as a shiver of electricity coursed through me causing me to gasp. Jordan was okay at the fucking part, but he sucked as eating pussy. Annette was good at it. George loudly lapped at my pussy and tugged on my clit. I gripped the sheets and yowled like a cat, but just as I felt a glorious orgasm coming on, George stopped.“Aw, c'mon! Don't stop, dammit!” I pleaded.I heard the rustling of clothing and looked behind me. George was rock hard and big. Probably seven inches. I got off the bed and went to my knees.“Hey, Chrissy. If you d...” George began to say. But I cut him off. He didn't know how much I loved sucking dick.I tongued him and spit on it and began rubbing my clit and fingering myself at the same time. George forced his dick.
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‘Well, I can’t promise you anything, I mean, there are six of you, but let me start typing and see what develops.’ ‘Oh, goody,’ said Priscilla clapping her hands. My hands were shaking. My pulse was racing. I was nervous. I felt pressured. I felt stressed. I so wanted to help them. Yet, realistically, how could I possibly deliver six very overweight women six men of their dreams? I closed my eyes and, even though I had never met her, I concentrated while thinking of Madam Mona. I asked her for help in guiding my fingers over the keyboard to write these women the perfect story that would somehow deliver them men. Then, once inspired, I started typing. ‘It was a day like any other when six attractive women, talented women, women of the town choir, Gwen, Gayle, Rita, Maureen, Priscilla, and Susan, walked into my office,’ I recited as I typed. ‘This is our story,’ said Susan. ‘It’s a magical moment,’ said Priscilla. ‘Shh,’ said Gayle. ‘They all wanted a story, but not just any story,’ I.

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