The Soccer Mom Who Saved the Earth
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Consensual, NonConsensual, Mind Control, Heterosexual, Humor, Oral Sex, Petting,
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Prologue - When an alien race arrived to conquer Earth, and add it to their empire, they weren't counting on mixing it up with a dumb blond.
Xixxnoir, commander of advance scout ship 265443, of the Blagtox confederation, unfurled his two primary tentacles and entwined them behind his back as he paced the bridge.
“Approach the parking orbit with care, Lieutenant. This planet has weapons that have the potential to be able to reach us.”
“Give me a break, Sir,” said Rilpak, the engineer and second in command of the mission. “We’d see them coming long before they were a danger to us, and we can fly circles around anything they have here.”
“Anything we know they have here,” corrected the captain, still pacing. “I’ve been doing this a long time. You are beyond the pupal stage by only what ... fifty or sixty years? Do as I say. We’ll park behind their moon. There will be time enough to be seen once the terms and conditions for surrender have been delivered.”
“As you say, Sir,” said the engineer, his minor tentacles flashing here and there, adjusting knobs and pushing sliders. Half an hour later he announced they were in a stable parking orbit.
A horn sounded and three compartments in one wall unsealed, letting out puffs of gas. It took another half hour for the three crew members in them to become fully functional after the suspended animation that had kept them from aging while the scout ship traveled to its destination. Munwavvatii, the mission psychologist and first contact specialist took charge, full of himself and overly dramatic, as usual.
“Advance Scout Lieutenant Izzlestax!” he snapped. “As per regulations, to ensure that suspended animation didn’t addle your brain, tell me what your primary and secondary missions are on the target planet!”
Izzlestax, a four foot tall cone of blue-green flesh with two primary tentacles and four secondary ones, stiffened his jelly-like appearance.
“Sir!” he shouted. “I will merge my mind into the body of an Earthling, and then use that Earthling to deliver the terms and conditions of surrender to the leader of the nation in which my host is located. That is my primary mission. While completing that mission, I will confirm intel already received, and gather additional information of benefit to our mission, transmitting it to you on a regular basis!”
“Excellent,” purred Munwavvatii. “I understand you have inhabited the bodies of aliens before this.”
“Once, Sir,” said Izzlestax, still stiff. “It was a marine predator, Sir. Very stupid. They turned out to be suitable only as food, Sir.”
“Ahhh,” said the psychologist. “That was on Barduk, then. I’ve vacationed there. Very nice climate. And the natives really are delicious. Tell me. What was it like to be in the mind of something that unintelligent?”
The mass of blue green flesh vibrated briefly, but then returned to stiffness.
“It wasn’t any fun, Sir,” said the scout. “They had to pull me out before I lost it. Had to skip over the normal separation procedure. It wasn’t pretty, Sir. I thought I could live under water for quite a while.”
“But you’ve recovered now?”
“Of course, Sir. I’m ready to go, Sir.”
“All right then,” said the psychologist. He looked at the other first contact scout awakened thus far, who was immediately below Lieutenant Izzlestax in the chain of command. “Advance Scout Sergeant Dulpprizwa, assist your compatriot into the transfer station. Ensure you can achieve mind meld with him. You will be the primary monitor of his mental transmissions during the mission, unless you are required to go down there for some reason.”
Izzlestax was placed in a clear plastic tube, surrounded by wires. Contacts from these wires were inserted into his ectoplasm at strategic points. Munwavvatii, meanwhile, hovered over the transfer board that would send the essence of Izzlestax’s intelligence into the brain of a native on the planet below. For possibly the thousandth time, the first contact specialist wished they could target the sending to a specific native. It would make things so much easier if the advance scout could take over the mind and body of the actual leader of a planet, rather than some random citizen. Nobody understood it yet, but once an advance scout’s mental probe reached a planet, it somehow identified the strongest predatory mind within range and was attracted to it. Of course the best predators were almost always the ones in control. Predators loved to be in control. And the Blagtox were the most predatory species in the empire. At least thus far. Munwavvatii flicked switches and adjusted dials to take into account the mass of the moon behind which they were hiding.
“Transfer ready?” called the psychologist to the two advance scouts.
“Transfer ready!” they both called back.
“Request permission to transfer!” said Munwavvatii.
“Permission granted,” said Captain Xixxnoir, sounding bored. He’d seen this dozens of times before. At least the natives on the planet below them had sufficient technology that it clearly demonstrated basic intelligence. He hated dealing with stupid natives when it came to demanding they surrender to the whims of the empire. Beings who had a sufficient level of technology were always smart enough to recognize superior empire tech when they saw it, and they always surrendered. Always. The trick was ensuring that the natives didn’t destroy themselves, or at least use up too many resources in the process of being defeated and then surrendering.
One of Munwavvatii’s primary tentacles pressed a button. The light in the tube surrounding Izzlestax turned to blue and his gelatinous body relaxed, becoming almost round as all conscious control of it left the ship with the advance scout’s mental identity.
The essence of Izzlestax wasn’t aware of the density of the moon as it flew effortlessly through the 2,159 miles of rock. It was even less aware of the 238,857 miles of relatively empty space between the moon and Earth. But when it landed in the prefrontal cortex of Chuck Dillworthy, coach of the Kingston, Missouri Fatal Femmes soccer team (a name that would be immortalized in history) the effect on both Izzlestax and Chuck was both immediate and spectacular.
Intelligence, as a general concept in the universe, is almost always based on a chemical interaction that a brain can interpret and make sense of. If one had examined the statistics of other species the Blagtox had colonized, he would have noticed that almost without exception, the brains of native species were only as large as was needed to contain the amount of intelligence present in that species. In other words, just about every being in the universe used almost all of whatever sized brain it had.
They had no way of knowing therefore, that a species existed on a lonely planet the inhabitants called Earth, which used only ten percent of the brain each Earthling was equipped with.
Basically, when Izzlestax’s mind landed in Chuck’s brain, it was a little like a grain of sand had been pushed through the skin of a ping pong ball, and then bounced around inside it. This was, in reality, Izzlestax’s essence trying to find some kind of intelligence in the brain that he could latch onto to control the creature. Imagine, if you will, a brain in which ten percent of it is wired like the wires in a house. They make sense, are attached to the right things, and can be used to make predictable things happen. The other ninety percent of the brain is just a mass of tangled wires, some of which work their way into and among the ten percent. Now imagine a huge electrical spike zapping that big mass of tangled wires.
The effect on Chuck was that he had what appeared to be a grand mal seizure. He rose from the bench where he had been talking to Mitzi Hampton about her footwork, spun in a circle, collapsed and flopped like a fish while his vocal chords vibrated, making it sound as if he had swallowed a Jew’s harp. His feet exhibited exactly the footwork he was trying to describe to Mitzi (though to be honest, she missed that) while his body arched up completely off the ground and spun in a complete 360 degree circle.
All of that might have been academic in the long run, as Izzlestax’s consciousness flashed here and there in the echoing brain, desperately seeking a place to latch on to some kind of intelligence it could control.
But then Coach Dillworthy’s body did a violent sit-up which brought his head into contact with the underside of the aluminum bench he had been sitting on, and which Mitzi was still sitting on. The bench didn’t give. Chuck’s brain, which had been traveling about ten or fifteen miles an hour, along with his head, tried to keep going when his skull suddenly stopped, and his prefrontal cortex banged off the front of his skull before flopping backwards. That led to the occipital bouncing off the back of Chuck’s skull, which was why he saw stars, even though his eyes were clamped firmly closed. The rest of Chuck’s brain, recognizing imminent danger, simply shut down like a circuit breaker that has blown.
Chucks’ body went limp as he lost consciousness.
Rilpak stared intently at the board he was monitoring. “We have a problem,” he said.
Munwavvatii had seen the same data on his board. “Try to reestablish contact,” he said. This wasn’t unusual. Most advance scouts needed a few minutes to take over the mind of a new species. But the techniques Izzlestax were using were tried and true. They always worked ... or at least had never failed thus far. Some brains were more difficult to take control of than others, but it was just a matter of determination and persistence.
Rilpak pushed a button and spoke softly into a microphone that was plugged into a jack on his forehead.
“Base calling Izzy. Come in Izzy.”
There was a hum, but no other sound.
“Base calling Izzy. Come in Izzy.”
Chuck’s eyes popped open. Mitzi had gotten down from the bench and was leaning over the coach, her blue eyes inches from his. When his opened, she saw them dart around and then fix on her cleavage. She looked down to see her jersey hanging loosely. Her sports bra was clearly visible.
“Braaaaaaaaaaack!” groaned coach Dillworthy.
“Geesh, Coach” said Mitzi tensely. “I thought you were hurt. But if you’re staring at my boobs you must be okay.”
Chuck blinked several times. Finally, explosively, he said “Boobs!“
Mitzi looked around. “Shhhhh!” she warned. “Nobody’s supposed to know you’ve seen them!”
Chuck’s abdominal muscles bunched. Again he sat up. This time his twenty-eight-year-old skull impacted Mitzi’s eighteen-year-old one. She flopped backwards and his head dropped to slam against the dry turf.
It was like somebody was playing ping pong with the ball Izzy’s consciousness was in.
The speakers in the scout ship suddenly belched sound: “Bodanna maplethorp suspenny magatoop bugatana.”
“What?” If Rilpak had had eyebrows they would have risen.
But there was no further communication from advance scout Izzlestax, except the final word which boomed through the speakers.