XENOBSCENTITY: ORIFICE SIFTY FUN
By Quillon42
Treacherous for certain had been the mission which the new crack recruit undertook in order to keep the States aseptic from alien infection. So many cosmically-contaminated congregating all around him, a horde of horrific semi-homo-sapiens whose skin had spoiled into the color of cigar ashes, they all gathering to rout this riotous rookie of the Strategic Tactical Advanced Alien Response team. What none of these necrotic henchmonsters knew, though, was that they were all up against an agent so adept in his abilities that he was able to enter one warehouse as an entry-level private in this Southwestern wasteland, and thence emerge from the next as a full-fledged general.
It was within this extraterrestrially-infiltrated Silver State of Nevada that indeed would arise a first-person S.T.A.A.R. assassin most stupendous. Indeed, despite the fact that this constituent of the American Union was also known as the Battle Born, the seasoned shooter fighting within it would put the likes of Phoebe and the Marquis from Gearbox (even moreso) to shame. Certainly General Ilovewar did not err one iota in enlisting the services of one Peterson Pfleger Weenjoyfornication, whose prowess with a pistol, whose gusto with a grenade made for the singlehanded safeguarding of an entire nation.
Yet there was many an obstacle in the path of this paratrooper through those sagebrush sectors which were odiously occupied by the execrable creatures known as the Kronn. Bullets abounded in bulk from the abovementioned aliendead, those personnel putrefied into gunning ghouls. Phalanxes of flammable barrels figured in as explosive hazards for this harrier most hardy. Concussive blasts beaming from the hands of horrid entities everyplace.
And then there was the unignorable fissure most fine residing between the lapels of the lady who lent peripheral support in this space-spawned sortie.
Undoubtedly the danger most dire for the warrior Weenjoyfornication was the lovely Lieutenant Stephanie Grant, whose wily white-bereted ways would almost spell the man's end on more than one critical instant during this mission. Just her ability to maintain that standby position so steadfastly and sultrily…the fetching veteran dissolved the hardness in Peterson's heart, yet endowed a similar stiffness in an organ underneath.
Despite the fact that there had been some sprays of too-eager gunfire by the hardy hero which caught the gorgeous Grant girl across the back, the neck, and even the head, the success of the skirmish in this Area of Aliens brought Peterson and his co-S.T.A.A.R.s so much recognition and utter gratification that all was forgiven between the two soldiers in the wake of the post-mission celebration. Forsooth, it was an intense twenty minutes that this entire war had taken, from the time of chopper contact with the ground to the departure of the scout ship leading on the soon-to-be-conquered Kronn…but the troops in teal had triumphed in the end, and now it was time for well-earned R&R after the close of this third-of-an-hour theatre of combat.
Just as a cache of cadets was evacuating from the Area, General Peterson grasped at the lapel of the delectable Lieutenant. He then motioned to the jeep once commandeered by a beefcakey bruiser, the one who drove him over to the space-freak-saturated office building in the second act of the operation. Stephanie smiled back in turn, and then the two piled into the vehicle to vroom off into the alien-annihilated night.
At present the munitions maiden once more had on her full suit of azure and ivory hues, even though she had minutes before been down only to non-civvy skivvies while in the clutches of the Kronn. He who was likely to be promoted to Commander-In-Chief in another half a day (at the rate he was going) didn't entirely mind this, though, as Peterson figured it would be a most challenging campaign to declassify the desirable matters stored under the woman's uniform.
One struggling in fright to free herself of bonds foisted upon her by fiendish foes, Lieutenant Grant now surrendered to the meaty manacles of her impassioned paramour's embrace. First of the cream-colored effects she submitted to serve as metaphorical white flags was her beret so alabaster, that pert little hat skimming through the desert air like the most itinerant of flying saucers as its wearer now rustled free her beauteous biscuit-beige tresses.
Then as for the second innocent ivory effect to shed, Stephanie divested herself of the standard issue undershirt next, but only after her fawnlike figure escaped from the confines of her jay blue jumpsuit. Once her savvy suitor followed suit himself, the Lieutenant allowed her bare bodacious build to bivouac most brazenly with this handsome hardy sniper turned snuggler now.
For his part, the one-hour-field-experienced Armed Forces Commander Peterson had dreamed, in so many fleeting reveries between screens of skulking void-vomited villains, of sighting his compatriot's consummate cleavage for more than a mere millisecond glimpse. Now the man's awareness would be exploded by an ordnance so erogenous, as those two enormous exposed encampments of ecru erupted outward, his military mistress shoving her appealing astronomically-weighted sand-colored shell casings most crushingly into the countenance of her fellow commando.
Yea, this intrepid paladin of the paranormal known as Peterson, he now beheld with shock and awe that brace of fallow-fleshed barracks as they barraged softly across his features. To be certain the fire and fury within this infantryman was so ardent that he arose and arrested Stephanie's arms to her sides as soon as she arched upwards once more. He knew that this warmonger of a woman wanted him to occupy her most confidential territory…but there were other battles beforehand with her which the specialist had wished to engage prior to any endgame with this most erotically evocative of ensigns.
Training his retinal reticles so that he met his lover's doe-delicate gaze, Peterson gingerly launched his haunches off the cool desert floor, tenderly turned the curves of Lieutenant Grant's lithe torso so that the servicewoman was situated at his waist, the lady adjutant's abundant breasts buoyantly at attention beneath his gaze. Daringly this desperado of the preternatural probed between the girl's ginormous garrisons with a roaring rifle that had been stifled for far too long. Impetuously Peterson's implement so insurgent had infiltrated that couple of quivering Quonsets, the most magnificent of which the man had ever had the satisfaction of a secretive, sumptuous sitrep.
At this junction of jaunty jouissance, the canny five-minute-colonel made sure to equip upon his undercarriage a fortified jet-tinted flak jacket, to shield shrewdly the prurient projectiles he would be discharging now. Stephanie's sensuousness had shifted Peterson's potency into shotgun-upgrade range, so he couldn't be too careful, especially as the comely contra with whom he now communed had been very egg-celent at this stage of her egg-sistence. Surely the serviceman's swarthy sheath would catch his spray of intimate emissions, the same way that the continually-closing ebony curtain with "AREA 51" emblazoned upon it would appear to intercept a spritz of bullets between each gaming segment.
And just as the incomparably incompatible samba theme tune of said gaming experience had intensified ever so deliberately over the course of that sitcom-episode-stint of an assignment, so too did a momentum of wantonness build between this chieftainess of khaki curls and her S.T.A.A.R. pupil. Now the latter was a man who coursed orally and most imperially to invade the lower lands of the Lieutenant, while above she played most profligately with his peter, son.
Indeed the two began to synch almost sinisterly as if each were the most carnal of Kronns. Now Peterson pilfered and plundered into that base that lay between the treacle-toned thighs of his trooper temptress, he masticating with the meanness of both the inner and outer jaws of a xenomorph as his lips sifted, as his tongue ploughed through his lady's charily-protected Chow Palace. Thereafter the concupiscent conscript meandered with his mouth over the large licentious hull of his combative countess's hindquarters; then his tongue had a tour upon the tremulous quavering harbor of her hairless, lustrously smooth tawny belly.
It was then that the major of only so many minutes erected himself again, engaged his explosive barrel onto the pulsating pallet of her fervent forklift. Stephanie arced back anew now, her mane of mahogany saturating the sky that Peterson could see from where he lay, the deific domes of her humongous brassy breasts bound heavenward, she at the same time issuing that iconic order to this soldier whom she still considered to be subordinate to her own stellar self:
"…STAAAYYYYY…LOWWW…"
But even though the titillating tanhead had him pinned to the ground with the perfection of her figure, the seconds-tenured sergeant felt himself flying on the inside, his id lifted higher than any helicopter rope ladder could make him swashbuckle-smash through any alien-occupied-building window. He let go now with his grenades of greedy lasciviousness, with his plastique of passion, the soldier shooting on rails of rapture until the mother ship of their mutual salacity launched upward, climbing toward a climax most erotically explosive…
EPILOGUE
When the pair of interplanetary pugilists were aroused by incandescent sun rays the next morning, each looked one to the other, tacitly pledging an enduring allegiance of amorousness which made both want to shed the skin and become entities of aphrodisiac obscenity, alien to anything the human mind could ever possibly divine.