Meeting an Alien - Cover

Meeting an Alien

Copyright© 2023 by Duncan Mickloud

Chapter 5

Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 5 - A merchant seaman, Tom, is forced to retire when his ship is sold for scrap. He's a senior ship's engineer. He returns home, buys an RV, and begins an extended vacation across the southern states by going west. An alien had to land in the Arizona desert to make ship repairs. Of course, he has lots of advanced tech on his ship. Tom rescues the alien, a ditz that got himself into trouble. They become fast friends. Our alien, Drozul, does Tom a big favor by fixing a birth defect in Tom. Starts slow

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Fa/ft   Mult   Teenagers   Coercion   Mind Control   NonConsensual   Rape   Reluctant   Heterosexual   Fiction   Science Fiction   Aliens   DoOver   Extra Sensory Perception   Time Travel   Mother   Daughter   DomSub   Harem   Interracial   Black Female   White Male   White Female   Oriental Male   Oriental Female   Hispanic Female   Indian Female   First   Lactation   Massage   Oral Sex   Safe Sex   Big Breasts   Body Modification   Size   Small Breasts   Nudism  

He said into my mind, or sent, “Let me consult with Ships-Beings.”

I lay there thinking, I didn’t even know Sweety’s name. It wasn’t right to leave her high and dry. I didn’t know if her restaurant supplied health care; very few did. I could be a dick and leave it as is. If she’s knocked up, I don’t want a kid of mine to suffer. Goodness knows my life had been pretty bad, and my parents were alright regarding money. They helped me with the Maritime Academy.

Drozul returned to me, “Thomas, we have a convoluted solution we think you will like. It seems American money is mostly a fabrication mostly for the public. It does not relate to anything tangible like gold or silver. It is not balanced against any particular quantity or quality of output. It has no underlying foundation other than money is a universally accepted script.’ Drozul said, “People have been using money for millenniums. They use it and expect it. This makes it rife for mischief. The wealthy and powerful make full use of this public lassitude. They even have their own secret code word for this. They call it the laissez-faire economic system. Sometimes known as ‘laissez passer,’ this part means “let (things) pass.”

He continued, “American money is the only money accepted everywhere. We see this as disturbingly odd. The fun part is that over ninety-five percent of money does not have a physical form. That money is in the form of data. Ones and zeros sit in a federal or bank system’s computer.”

Drozul said, “When a bank needs to borrow money from the government, it simply sends an email. The government does not send cash to the bank. Oh no. That’s another thing altogether. Actual cash money comes from a mint.”

“No, the Fed sends a return email back to the bank saying, here’s your loan, with an authorization number. Data is passed between systems using routing numbers and authorizations. That magically makes it all official to bankers, accountants, and government minions.”

Here’s the hard part. All money starts life as data. Ones and zeros, as the computer weenies say.

He sent, “They say the fed prints money as needed. The real truth is more wicked. They have no real control over money. They don’t even try to limit this bullshit form of electronic dollars sent between people that know it’s absurd. Every business major in the country is complicit with this big mythology. The common man or woman goes on with daily life, not knowing the Sword of Damocles is hanging over the world’s economic systems. In this case, the sword is not over the heads of the powerful, but the entire world.”

“The main idea is, ‘we’ can hack a bank and create a corporate bank account. We then make it so it shows money is deposited into this account when there was not.

He says, Let’s say you start with ten thousand in your fake deposit. You draw money out of that account. Every time you draw out money, we reset the amount to 10,000.

“Every month, you draw out the same amount of money again. There never was any money since you only dealt with data. Ships-Beings say it’s more complex than that. They will handle the minutia. You are entirely untraceable. You never even entered a bank. Everything happened in the ether using data. Too bad bank firewalls have back doors and holes that we can use.

“Now, as far as supporting your children. Sources vary. It is best to err on the side of safety. On average, it costs $1,158.3333 a month to support a child. Usually, only rich fathers pay a larger amount. Some judges even cut that down. It takes two to tango, i.e., the female is partly responsible for having a child.”

He continued, “Our proposal is for each child you father, we create a dummy debit card and account for her. We use direct deposits to the Baby Momma’s debit card for child support payments. Each month, she gets another monthly deposit to her card. What do you think?”

I said I don’t know about this. It seems complicated, and you must check it every month.”

Drozul sent, “We have a plan B. We have located large accounts of “lost money,” in overseas investment banks. These are accounts that belonged to dead people. The banks often know about the deaths, but nobody claims the money, so the bank lets it ride. They purposely hoard it. They siphon off some from time to time. They trick the figures as the accounts accrue. So much of these earnings are siphoned off bit-by-bit over time.”

Continues, “We hack into a dead person’s investment account. We siphon money off through the machinations of buying and selling investments. This is similar to what these greedy bankers are doing now.”

Drozul sent, “They won’t dare mention the stolen money they have been stealing themselves. If word got out that they could be had, or the money in their bank is not safe, it would be doomsday for that bank.”

Drozul sent, “The joy of this is, you only need to hit one big account, one time. No monthly messing around. We will create a fake bank account to handle all baby momma transactions. One good hit and you get hundreds of millions from one dead billionaire. The bank we tap for our purposes will be upset but unable to trace where the money went.”

Then he sent,” Ships Beings AI will handle everything for you from then on. They will create a better investment portfolio for you than is humanly possible. You will have your own account offshore tied to these debit cards. We print the cards here. It’s simple, and nobody needs to be the wiser. By keeping the amount of each debit card at a sane level, the government will never look into them.”

I sent, “YES. I love this method. I hate billionaires, investment companies, and banks with a purple passion. All of them are thieving crooks. This strikes me as moral vengeance for their criminal ways. I hate every cocksucker that steals from the average man and does not pay his fair share of taxes. Fuck-them!”

Drozul sent, “So, this is good to go? We will run the operation tomorrow morning at opening, Swiss time. You should be able to start generating payments to women when needed.”

I sent, “Should I set this up in Quicken or something? That would be easy.”

He sent, “No. The Ships-Beings will set up the accounts and distribute all the money. Your name goes nowhere near any of this. This is for your safety. Do you realize this will enable you to tap untold wealth?”

I sent, “No. How would that work?”

He sent, “We give you prepaid debit cards. Most financial institutions will allow you to use debit cards from $400 to $25,000 daily. It depends on the organization and the type of account. Some accounts are unlimited. A true prepaid debit card is the same as cash. Limits are meant to limit the effects of someone stealing your account number and using it.”

I sent, “We should look into this further. There is no reason to scrape by using my savings when I could get back at the criminal big cheeses.”

He sent, “We will work on this, and by tomorrow night, we will have master card debit cards for you.”

I sent, Thank you, Drozul. My experience with this woman was beyond belief. I will close my eyes and check my eyelids for light leaks.”

He sent, “I do not understand. Just say “Eyes Off,” and AI Ships Being Offspring will turn off all input from eyes.

I sent, “Uh, AI Ships Being Offspring has not contacted me yet. Are you sure he/she/it is online?”

He sent, “I talk to the AI Ships Being Offspring many times a day, and it is an AI. It has no sex, so IT is more appropriate.

He then sent, “Thomas Morgan AI, why do you not talk with the human Thomas Morgan?”

Another voice, a tenor, sent, “Human Thomas Morgan has never addressed this AI.”

Drozul sent, “My fault. I did not tell Thomas to read communication protocols from the AI Beginning Manual. Thomas, your AI is probably sulking because you did not address it.”

I sent, “If I am forced to use ‘AI, Ships Being offspring,’ I doubt I will talk to it much. That is a ridiculously long name. Thomas Morgan’s AI is equally cumbersome.”

Drozul sent, “You can name your AI anything. You can change the voice, too. You only need to ask.”

I sent, “In that case, I would like to rename the AI, known as “AI, Ships Being Offspring’ or ‘Thomas Morgan’s AI’ to Zofia. She was a girl I knew in high school. It is something I can easily remember. Also, I would prefer Zofia’s voice to be a soft, airy soprano voice that is never harsh. “AI, Ships Being offspring,’ does this sound acceptable to you?”

“It said, “Yes, Human Thomas Morgan, this is acceptable.”

I sent, “I think you, for the sake of quick communications, you should call me Tom rather than Human Thomas Morgan.”

Zofia said in her new voice, “Yes, Tom, I understand.”

I thought, “So now I have two disembodied voices bouncing around in my head.”

“Zofia, Eyes off, please.”

“Eyes off.”

Later, I felt the bed shake a little, and my mystery lady peed and flushed, then got back into bed. I felt her fumbling around, and she climbed on my long pointy dick. It had conveniently popped up when I felt her begin to move about. The mere thought of another round of sex with her was all I needed to firm up.

She got me inside her quickly this time. She took me slowly, all the way in, then sprawled on me with a moan.

I noticed that she had stubble down there. The Exo’s neutralized their scratchiness. She’s a sopping cauldron of liquids. A lot of it is mine.

I sent, “Zofia, Eyes Open, please.”

I drew a deep breath and slowly opened my eyes. My guest sat up and looked down at me.

She said, “Who are you?”

I said, “I’m Thomas Morgan. I’m on vacation, and my dick seems to be conveniently inside your pussy somehow, Who are you?

“I’m Patty Johns. I wanted to see if it went as far up in me as it did earlier. It certainly did. I’ve never had one that far up in me.”

I said, “You know it went in much further than it should have?”

She said, “That’s not good. I think I’m in my fertile time, which has been a long time. I am not on the pill right now. There was no need before. I’m not a promiscuous woman.”

I said, “Patty, it sure felt like the best I’ve ever had.”

She said, “Well, Tom, it should feel good. I think it’s lodged in my upper intestines or something. We are well and truly connected.”

I said, “I AM in your womb. My dick-head slid right past your cervix. My swimmers are sitting there, just waiting for an egg to float by. When it gets there, they will swarm it, and may the best spermy win. The men in my family are known for being particularly virile. You are most likely going to become pregnant.”

“Fuck.”

I said, “Yes, That’s what did it, and we’re almost doing it again. Your name reminds me of a joke.”

She said, “Please, I know it. I work in a bar. It goes something like: ‘You can’t trust a man with two first names.’ I have two first names. Maybe you didn’t look closely at my little bitty titties, but I am obviously not a man.”

She’d clutched my dick with her pussy when she said that.

I said, “Darlin’, I looked closely at all your girly parts, your long, shapely legs. I looked at that cute fine lil’ bubble butt that’s hard as a rock. I’ve seen all of you. Yummy! I am not throwing you out unless you snore very loud, but it will have to be REAL loud.”

She said, “Where are you from, Tom?”

I said, “The Middle of Nowhere, Florida, from the panhandle. We grow two things there: big, hungry gators and skeeters. I am on an extended vacation. I’m hiding from the world and camping near here with my travel trailer. You sound like you’re a local, born and bred here.”

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