("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text Archive name: jillian2.txt (MF, rom, v, oral, sci-fi) Authors name: Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com) Story title : Jillian Saves the World - 2 -------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 2002 - As the author, I claim all rights under international copyright laws. This work is not intended for sale, but please feel free to post it to other archives or newsgroups, keeping the header and text intact. Any commercial use of this work is expressly forbidden without the written permission of the author. -------------------------------------------------------- Jillian Saves the World (MF, rom, v, 1st, oral, sci-fi) by Marcia Hooper (marciaR26@aol.com) *** Jillian and her friends had no clue what a mess they'd gotten themselves into with their moms. Then again, no one had EVER gotten into a mess like this. Follow Jill as she goes from being a very nervous schoolgirl, to savior of the world. *** Part Two: Departure Wednesday, April 16, 2003 4:45 P.M. Jillian slowly awoke. Laying on her back, she looked up at a slate gray sky. Only it wasn't sky at all. It was the bottom of the spacecraft. It rotated slowly above her. Where she lay was thickly matted grass, strife with weeds. Moaning in pain, she worked herself onto her elbows and looked around. To her right were the remains of her mother's best friend; ghastly, shriveled, clothed in disintegrated rags. Jill looked down to examine her own clothes--and was thoroughly shocked. "Oh, my God," she whispered. Sitting erect, she found that her legs, shaved baby- smooth only that morning, were covered in a soft, silky down. No longer had she a narrow strip of pubic hair above her clitoris, but a wild mass of curls. She felt an equal mass of curls beneath each arm. And her brown hair, which before had barely reached her jaw, now hung about her in waves, nearly to her waist. "Oh, my God," she said again, examining her split ends. "Yuck." Getting to her knees, Jill realized that her hair was not the only thing to have grown. Trapped inside her brassiere were breasts twice the size and weight of her own. "Jesus Christ!" she muttered, cupping each in a hand. "What is this?" She actually had difficulty breathing. Standing erect, Jill slipped two fingers inside her blouse and released the bra snap. Her brassiere sprang open. "Ah," she sighed, breathing freely again. She felt suddenly embarrassed. She looked around. Then she peered down her blouse and realized she really had grown twice as big. "Oh, my God," she said a third time. Then she buttoned herself up. Like it matters, an inner voice said. Why not take off the rest and go completely nude? No one's to see. Shut up! she thought. The wave had aged her clothing as well. The colors had drastically faded, and the material hung on her like sackcloth. "Gross," she said, shifting her shoulders. For a time, she considered waiting where she was. Then it occurred to her that anyone with sense was heading in the opposite direction. Giving Dana Pratt's remains wide berth, she paralleled the high grass until reaching the street. The line of demarcation between wave and break was amazing. Calf deep grass gave way abruptly to chest high growth. It was like being in Africa. She headed east, back toward Krystal's house. Suddenly she stopped. Everywhere, houses were collapsed, or right on the verge. Those standing were overrun by weeds and vegetation; nowhere did one look inhabitable. Only in the break-path had anything survived. She headed back toward the swath of thinner grass. "I hate being naked," she said, sullenly. She looked around. "Cut it out, Jill. Who'd rape you, anyway, looking like this? Besides, no one else survived." And that was the gist of it, right there. No one had. Jill erupted in tears. "Oh, God!" she bawled. "Everyone's dead!" Her mother, her friends, both of her sisters. Her dad. And thousands of others she didn't know. Millions perhaps. And if the spacecraft above were one of just many, you could push that count into the billions. Jill fell to her knees, unable to stand. "Please, God!" she begged. "Please make it not real. Please, make it not real." Then she fell forward onto the ground, and bawling wretchedly, Jill rocked herself back and forth until unconsciousness blessedly overtook her. "Hello? Anyone there?" She stood on the front porch of a small brick rambler, screen door in hand. No one answered. "My name is Jill," she advised. "I'm coming in." She stepped slowly through the doorway and into the house. She listened to the silence. "Don't shoot me," she pleaded. "I'm not a burglar." She had awakened in a fetal position, thumb in her mouth. She had left her thumb there. For most of an hour, Jill had forced her mind blank, humming tunelessly, shoving aside thoughts when they intruded. Only when the ground began to shake did she rouse. The spacecraft was moving on. Rising to her knees, Jill watched the huge craft drift slowly northeast, toward Baltimore. Toward its next victim, she thought. She prayed folks there had fled. Surely everyone had. They, at least, had had warning. Following the slowly widening path, Jill passed the home of a classmate, Jill Sperry. The house was collapsed on the side of the wave, left virtually untouched on the other. The edge of the break straddled the midline of the sidewalk. Jill had not the heart to climb the steps. Walking on, she eventually came to a house fully within the path's confines. Now, she passed through the living room of that house and into the kitchen. Although not especially hungry, she had a ravenous thirst. She went to the refrigerator and put her hand on the handle. "Wait a minute," she said. "You don't want to do this." She was talking about years here. Many years. The smell alone would make her puke. "God," she whispered. "How old am I?" With mounting trepidation, Jill went in search of a mirror. A bathroom lay off the main hallway, but it was much too dark to see. Jill could barely make out her outline. She looked in the bedroom across the hall, obviously that of two girls, and decided against entering. Rachel and Angie, her two sisters, had until recently shared a bedroom. In the master bedroom, she found a vanity and mirror. She went and stood before it. She observed herself in shock. God! I am so old! Moving close to the mirror, she turned her face back and forth, then went impatiently to the curtains and threw them back. She returned to the mirror. "Better," she said. Her hair grew between eight and ten inches a year, and Jill guessed her age at nineteen, maybe twenty years old. Six fucking years! she thought. "Better than a hundred and six," she said, aloud. Yes, better than that. Other changes had occurred. No longer was she chunky throughout the waist and hips; her tomboyish figure had given way to rounded hips and a flattened tummy. "Wow!" she said, fingering her new thighs. "For real?" Twisting back and forth for a better look, she rather giddily thought: I look good. Better than I did, anyway. I actually have hips. But God, I hate all this hair. "So what's next?" she asked her reflection. A low dresser was against the wall, cosmetics littering the top. A jewelry box stood front and center. Jill opened the top, right hand drawer, and inside found the owner's panties and bras. Jill pulled out a purple brassiere. "Thirty two-B," she said, reading the tag. She sighed. "Well, that was my size." She replaced the brassiere. Removing a pair of beige panties--Victoria's Secret, the waistband read--Jill slipped them on. Her new growth stuck disgustingly out the sides. "That," she said, laughing, "is the first thing I do." Stripping off her blazer, Jill removed her blouse and the useless brassiere and dropped them both on the floor. From a center drawer she selected a white tee shirt and pulled it over her head. She shook her breasts beneath it and laughed again. Then she went to look for a brush. "Ouch." The brush hung up in her tangles. "Ouch, ouch ouch!" she complained. She dropped her hands in disgust. "This is impossible." Twisting her hair into a rope, she coiled and secured it at the top of her head with a pin. Finding two barrettes in a plastic bowl, she placed one either side of her head, securing the loose strands. She tucked the rest behind her ears. "There," she said, feeling a bit of satisfaction. "Now let's find something to drink." She headed back to the kitchen. A telephone ring. In the ethereal silence, it was impossible to tell from where the sound came. She ran to the front door and out onto the porch, then down to the sidewalk. She turned back and forth. "Come on, Jill," she warned. "It could be anywhere." But that wasn't true. It could only be from the path. Turning slowly around, she pegged the sound as coming from somewhere behind, maybe the next block over. But just as she started to run, the ringing stopped. "Fuck." For a long time she stood there and fumed. Her fists opened and clenched. "Come, on," she finally said. "You're not really alone. You're only alone here." The destruction, so far as she knew, extended only as far as the wave traveled. Judging from the precipitous drop in speed, she believed it stopped at the ship's edge. Millions of people were still alive and well. They had to be. Returning inside, she went to the telephone on the kitchen wall and picked it up. Then she put it back down. There was no dial tone. Her cell phone was where? she wondered. In her backpack at home? No! It was here in her blazer! Sprinting to the bedroom, Jill snatched her blazer off the floor, and fumbled the Nokia out of the front pocket. Pressing the power button with her right thumb, she waited for the display to light. Nothing happened. The battery was dead. Of course, the battery's dead, stupid. It's been six years! Jill tried to strangle the cell phone. Then she sat down on the edge of the mattress and, for a time, became catatonic. Her face grew slack and her mouth hung open and saliva trickled out the left side. She hummed tunelessly to herself. What was it her had mother asked? Where were you last night? Oh, right, Jill remembered. Missy Pupchak's. Missy Pupchak's indeed. Two months before, right in the middle of an IM session on AOL, her best friend Krystal's old Macintosh had died. Her father replaced it two days later with a new Compaq Presario--an early birthday surprise--and Krystal was back online. (With the same boy from Colorado, of course.) But no one had expected the digital camera. "It was there," her dad admitted. "But I didn't know it was part of the deal." Krystal barely gave the camera a thought, packing it away in a dresser drawer. Then her Colorado boyfriend mentioned web casts, and Krystal mentioned the camera. "YOU HAVE A CAMERA?" her online friend said. "HOOK IT UP!" Krystal hooked the camera up. Their last three times online, both girls had stripped down to panties and bra's. They had posed and gotten silly and giggled a lot. Two nights before, after repeated badgering from "TeddyIam", Krystal had removed her brassiere. She kept her breasts covered with one hand, typing with the other. Jill came very close to going topless herself, but embarrassment had saved her. She had, however, mooned the camera. It was this activity Jill feared her mother would discover, not some stupid high jinks at the mall. Like an automaton, Jill got up and placed the cell phone on the dresser. She went into the bathroom to pee. Raising the toilet lid, she started to lower her panties, then stopped. There was no water. Well, she shrugged, I only have to pee. Then she realized this was not true, and swore in frustration. Pooping in a dry toilet would smell really bad. And she had no idea how long she'd be stuck here. And she wasn't going outside, not in the dark. There had to be another way. Beneath the kitchen sink, Jill found a plastic bucket filled with car wash supplies. She dumped the contents into the sink, then, mumbling under her breath, placed the bucket on the floor. She removed her panties and squatted. "Paper, stupid!" she remembered. In the corner was a round kitchen table. Atop it were ancient flowers in a clear glass vase, a salt and peppershaker, and a holder full of napkins. "Thank you," she said, grabbing the holder. She returned to the pail and squatted once again. As urine rang out against the plastic bottom, Jill said, "This sucks on a wholly different level," and then her insides blew out. "Ohhhhh!" she moaned, clutching her belly. It was a horridly messy affair. And very noisy. Stinky, as well. After wiping herself, Jill slipped back into her panties and carried the bucket to the back door. She decided right by the door was the best idea; if her belly-rumble was any clue. "Jesus," she said. "I feel like a pioneer." Suddenly, she felt watched. Backing through the door, Jill looked nervously around. There were trees and bushes everywhere; lots of places to hide. She looked at the rear of the house across the fence, at the darkened windows. She looked at the darkening sky. The light was nearly gone. Standing behind the door, she cautiously called out: "Is anyone there?" Her voice, sounding timid and weak, invited rape. Jill slammed the door and locked it. "There," she said, softly. "That's better." Inside the kitchen pantry, Jill had discovered half a dozen white candles and a supply of matches. Carrying them back to the kitchen table, she lit a candle and held the flame over a saucer, allowing wax to build up. Then she planted the candle upright. She looked around the flickering kitchen. She was thirsty as hell. "How about the cabinets?" she said. "Let's check there." Checking next to the refrigerator first, she found baking utensils, but nothing to drink. The next cabinet was just as uncooperative: Tupperware bowls and other plastic ware. The third cabinet yielded pay dirt. On the lower shelf was a freshly opened case of Dasani bottled water. Grabbing a bottle, Jill whooped in delight and twisted off the cap. She upended it and gulped the contents down, emptying it without a stop. Then she grabbed a second bottle and emptied it just as fast. It made her belly ache. "Easy," she cautioned, wiping her mouth. "Once was plenty enough." Dribbles dotted her shirt and she brushed them lightly away. Removing the case and setting it on the table, Jill counted the bottles. There were twenty-one. They might have been made from gold. Hide it, her greedy half said. Hide it from whom? Whomever might be sneaking around. Jill looked at the widow. "No one is sneaking around," she said. But she shivered all the same. Leaving the case where it sat, Jill lit another candle and made a circuit of the house. She checked every window and every door, lowering the blinds and closing all the drapes. But she felt no safer. "Come on," she said. "It's just the creeps. You've been creeped before." But no one had ever been creeped like this. Thank God there was no basement, she thought. Back in the kitchen, Jill went to the counter and opened the drawers. She found a Bic lighter, a flashlight, two packages of D cell batteries--which despite an expiration date of June 2004, held a full charge--and a package of AA batteries. There were also a pair of scissors. She placed everything on the counter. Had she seen a Walkman, tonight? She had, hadn't she? In the children's bedroom. Returning to the bedroom, Jill found the yellow case sitting atop the dresser. It was a combination CD player and AM/FM radio. The batteries were dead, of course, but she had more. "Forgive me," she said to the missing children. "I'll bring it back." In the kitchen, she removed the batteries and dropped them in the trash. Installing two fresh ones, she turned the case over and put the headphones over her ears. She thumbed on the switch. Static. Moving the tuner up the dial, she found a station with someone shouting Spanish. The next station blared a staccato, repeating signal. Two more stations did the same. "We repeat..." a man suddenly said. Jill hurriedly turned back the dial. "... in or near a large city--" there was a loud burst of static "--not delay! Saucers are approaching Richmond, Virginia, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and Columbus, Ohio. Norfolk, Virginia and Cleveland, Ohio have just been destroyed. So will Atlanta, Georgia, very shortly. All the major cities--I repeat--all the major American cities, New York, Washington, Chicago, Los Angeles, have all been destroyed. Smaller cites and installations are now being targeted. Bands of alien attackers are assaulting any large concentration of refugees; drive with your headlights off and stay to the back roads. Keep your radio tuned to this station for further announcements. Do not, I repeat, do not, attempt to contact civil or military authorities. They have their hands full. Take whatever food and water you can find, and head for a rural area. Do not take pets. I repeat, do not take family pets! Those showing up at refugee centers with animals will have those animals taken away and destroyed. This is by direct order of the central military command!" Jill could take no more. Ripping off the earphones, she threw the Walkman into a corner. If it broke, she didn't care. Grabbing the candle, she ran to the bedroom and threw herself across the bed. The candle flickered, but did not go out. She shoved the saucer onto the bedside table, then wrapped herself into the bedspread. Curled in a fetal position, thumb in her mouth, she began to hum. Time passed. The humming faded and her breathing took on the slow, regular cadence of sleep. Outside, peering through a small chink in the blinds, a pair of blue eyes watched Jill's unmoving form. They watched for a very long time. Then, with a look of guilt and intense longing, the blue eyes went away. Jill slept the remainder of the night. Continued in part 3... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of the hands of children. They should be outside playing in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 19