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From: CobaltJade <CobaltJade@aol.com>
Subject: Stasis, By Cobalt Jade (M/f, humor, sci-fi)
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Stasis [M/F, humor, SF]

"Stasis" is a work of erotic fiction intended to be 
taken as entertainment ONLY. If you are under the age of 18, you 
have no business reading this, and if you are, be aware you 
breaking the law in some states.

This work is (c) 1997 by Cobalt Jade (cobaltjade@aol.com) 
Archiving and reposting of this work is permitted for the 
following people *only*, who I know to be nice guys: Ole Joe and Eli 
the Bearded.

If you are any other collector or archiver who would like to archive 
or repost this story, *please* ask my permission first. Chances are 
I will say yes. This story may be archived on non-commercial sites 
only. Note that charging a fee for access to this story, or 
publishing it without my approval, this preface, or my author 
credit violates my copyright, and I may take legal action.

If you like this story, more fine erotic fiction, as well as some 
clipart, humor, and an extensive list of Japanese sex slang, is 
available at my website: (http://members.aol.com/cobaltjade) 




Stasis

By Cobalt Jade


A lonely beach on the California coast somewhere around Santa 
Barbara. Miles of unblemished sand white as salt, smooth as pudding, 
and soft as baby powder in a freshly removed tennis shoe. The ocean 
was a sheet of gently bobbing blue, the waves cracking crisply as 
they hit the shore.

A twenty-year-old VW Thing pulled up on the sand, sending a spray 
of fine particles flying. The young surfer jacknifed out of the car 
and stripped off his shirt. He wore white denim cutoffs which glowed 
like a matyred saint's loincloth against his golden tan. His hair was 
bleached to the color of lemons, intertwined with streaks of tawny 
gold.

He rocked restlessly on his heels, judging the waves. Then he tugged 
his surfboard down and carried it to the beach.

A jetty tongued out into the sea, lapped hungrily by the breaking 
waves. He hadn't seen it from the car. Standing by it, on the sand, 
was the perfect California girl for the California boy, her ass thrust 
out invitingly as she bent forward to scan the waves, one hand 
charmingly shielding her eyes. A mixed-race beauty, black and 
white and Hispanic, with cafe au lait skin and a fog of dark, curly 
hair. She wore a chrome-yellow thong-backed bikini. For a second 
all he could see were those glistening buttocks mounded like two 
dollops of coffee sherbert in a bowl, cleft oh-so-gently by the little 
strip of spandex that parted them. The two delectable curves where 
ass met thigh looked like twin smiles greeting him side by side. He 
could almost imagine a cartoon balloon emerging from between 
them: CUM ON IN!

Too soon she turned, and too late he realized his hard-on was 
thrusting through his own spandex trunks and the denim that 
covered them. Her tits danced slightly like fruit bobbing on a tree, 
round yet firm. He was just able to see the outline of her nipples. 
Chocolate truffles, he thought in a daze. After that ass and those tits, 
he barely noted her face, but saw her lips part in a dentist's-dream 
smile. "Oh, hi there! I didn't hear you pull up."

#

The Watchers observed with the patience and detachment of their 
race. Their craft, concealed from human eyes, hummed a height of 
six stories above sea level. Their multiple stalked radiation spectrum-
sensing orbs (one couldn't exactly call them eyes) stretched towards 
the monitors to see the alien mating ritual they had so fortuitously 
stumbled upon.

#

"My boyfriend's out on the jet ski," she said, waving her hand at the 
horizon. Far off in the distance, he heard an annoying buzz that was 
soon hidden by the slap of the waves. She squinted at his board. "Hey, 
are you a surfer?"

Her IQ was as Californian as her polyglot ancestry. Californians liked 
strange mixtures: rhinestones on sweatshirts, sushi on pizza. 
Michael Jackson. They talked.

He had just graduated from Pepperdine and was taking some time off 
before starting a career. She was an aspiring model, dancer and 
actress. They both liked the musical Cats, kung pao pizza, and going 
to raves. "He's OK," she said offhandedly when he asked about the 
boyfriend on the jet ski. He then volunteered he was traveling alone.

The sand grew a little hotter before he put his hands on her hard, 
trim waist. The smell of salt, suntan lotion, and pussy was God's 
perfect aphrodisiac, spiced with the rotting-seaweed smell of the 
waves. She *mmmed* and darted her eyes toward the waves, but did 
not nothing to stop him. She parked her gum on a rock before they 
kissed, their tongues probing like the noses of tropical fish in the 
lagoons further down the coast. His cock bumped her thigh, and she 
obligingly pulled down his shorts, along with the skimpy little 
speedo.

"Christ, you're HUGE," she giggled. Her manicured fingernails, 
which were lacquered the color of Hawaiian Punch, dabbled 
invitingly in his bush, scraping his shaft lightly.

"What about your boyfriend?"

"Oh, he won't be back for a while." 

"How about by those rocks?"

#

The Watchers peered even more closely, noting how the female 
jiggled like a brace of protoplasm-filled bladders as she ran two-
legged up the beach.

The male, surprisingly, was slower. Their sensors indicated he was in 
a state of duress that was somehow both painful and pleasurable. His 
reproductive organ was engorged with blood. The Watchers chitter-
rasped in surprise. The female showed similar reactions. A copious 
flow of creamy liquid was slowly emerging from the reproductive 
canal between her legs, and the two appendages this species used to 
feed their young also experienced a state of arousal, contracting and 
becoming more sensitive.

The pair ran swiftly behind a rock where they were hidden from the 
beach, but not from the sun...or the ones who watched them.

#

He could hardly believe his luck.

Never had he had the chance to fuck a girl like this. Firm, ripe, very, 
very willing, with the body of sex goddess and the mind of a...flea. He 
hated to admit it, but it was the sexiest combination he knew.

She leaned into a smooth rock and he pressed up against her, pelvis 
to pelvis, his cock saying the first hellos to her snug little pussy. She 
wriggled. "Oh, let's take it slow. I like to kiss. Don't you want to kiss 
first?"

Shit, the inevitable demand for foreplay. He obliged her--she tasted 
odd, a little like stale bread--and massaged the truffle-colored, 
truffle-shaped nipples under the top of her swimsuit. He tweaked 
them with his fingers, plucking chocolates from a box. "Ow!" she 
squealed. 

He gave them a twist, and they hardened like pebbles. Her hips 
thrust into his.

She'd forgotten about kissing as he nuzzled her ear, making her 
squeal and laugh again. Smoothly, with long practice from years of 
similar beach sex, he slipped his fingers into her stretchy thong. To 
his delight, her pussy was smooth as silk.

"I keep it shaved, baby," she said, and nipped his neck. "Do you like 
it?"

"Hell, I like it," he said, and let his thumbs strum her labia like the 
same way guitar virtuoso Dick Dale had banged his Stratocaster 
nearly forty years before, creating the surfing music sound. Da-da-
DAH-da da-da-DAH-duh!

She ground her hips into his hand as he diddled. This was one of his 
favorite parts of fucking: hearing some chick's first, helpless moans 
and knowing they would only get louder when his cock came into 
play. Her breath came in little pants. "Fuck me, baby. Right now, I 
can't stand it!"

Her bikini was still in the way. Well, there was a way around that. He 
rooted in the pocket of his shorts, which he'd tossed beside him on 
the rock. He always carried a pair of sportsman's scissors with him 
when he surfed in case he got tangled in fishing lines. Now he would 
put them to a better use. 

He touched the cool steel to the back of her waist and inserted the 
blade under the snugly nestled thong. Snip, and the damp flag of 
fabric slithered down her legs, with a slight tug to free it from the 
warm grip of her cheeks. Another snip, somewhat higher, and her 
tits burst free, bobbing globes that he immediately set his teeth to. 
She was far too aroused to complain.

#

The Watchers moved their craft closer. For many day-night cycles 
they had been observing these rituals, but this one was the most 
interesting. They could not say why, but there was a uniqueness 
about it. The two creatures were aesthetically attractive considering 
the limitations of their species, and they were young and healthy.

The Watchers nodded to each other. They would do.

#

The head of his cock entered her pussy, then his shaft, and finally 
all of his meat was firmly embraced. He pumped in and out, feeling a 
savage joy as she thrust against him, her throat split with wild 
groans. She was so wet; her body hard as an athlete's, yet soft. Her 
tits were sweet melons made to suck and squeeze. Her thighs gripped 
him, tense as she galloped toward her climax. "Oh, I'm coming, oh, 
oh..." Her face was slack and stupid, her eyes half-closed as she 
gasped.

Not before me, he swore, and his own pressure came to overflowing, 
a sensation like a river undammed in his balls. Pre-come spirted 
playfully, then a rapid jet of thick come. It went on and on, like it 
was never going to end.  Everything went golden-white in the sheer 
pleasure of orgasm. No boyfriend on jet-ski, no waiting career, no 
sand in the crack of his ass or the chick's bad breath. He last thought 
was, "Shit, why can't this last forever?

She came too, her spasms and gasps coaxing him on, emptying him. 
Then time stopped.

#

The Watchers looked over the pair, satisfied. The stasis field had 
frozen them at the height of their arousal.

If one were standing by the rocks at that particular time and place, 
one would see a cone of shimmering golden light cocooning the pair 
which only deepened their perfect tans. Both their backs were 
arched, their mouths open. Moisture could be seen at the junction of 
their organs. The woman's legs were straight out, toes pointed, one 
breast a squashed apricot squeezed by the man's hand.

If one looked up, one could see the ship descending. It would not be 
an impressive sight. The Watchers were a small race, so it was 
approximately the size and shape of a pizza delivery box.

Slowly the golden cone moves, shifting its frozen captives away from 
the rock. They rise into the air, rotating slowly, at once ridiculous 
and monumental. Smooth brown buttocks orbit out of sight, giving 
way to flat muscular ones and the line of a surfer's perfect calves. 
Then the soles of the feet, creamy white compared to the flesh at the 
ankles, toes clenched in passion.

Then the sight winks out as the ship cloaks itself and tows its 
specimans into orbit, and through the hypergate.

#

On a planet many parsecs, and uncountable light years, away, the 
two are displayed in a museum devoted to the flora and fauna of all 
the worlds the Watchers have visited. Still in stasis, they occupy cube 
#7891 between a motionless octobopple from Grunjemunje and a trio 
of dour bird-apes from Procyon IV. It might please them to know 
they are the most-talked about exhibit in the museum.

They will be there for a long, long time. In stasis, no time passes; 
they exist in a continual, unending orgasm.

Do they mind? Of course not. They're *Californians.*

Who would?

END

Author's Note: I've got nothing against Californians...really. It's just 
that the opportunity to parody mindless beach sex AND alien 
kidnappings was too great to pass up.

CobaltJade@aol.com
Website: http://members.aol.com/cobaltjade



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