The TV Show

Penn Manship

The announcements ran on the local TV stations for a couple of weeks and were advertised in bold proclamatory print on the front pages of newspapers throughout the world. Each city was to have its own locally produced show and was to have one member of the Neila conquering force facing a team of seven female local news anchors or reporters. Why female? No one knew. The aliens had come months ago and disarmed the armies of the world in a matter of hours. It became common knowledge quickly that anytime that a soldier or a general had an aggressive thought they would be seized by an unbearable pain, a horrible cluster headache. They would fall to the ground and writhe like a worm stuck with a pin. The headaches would last for days totally incapacitating any counterattack against the aliens. The human mind was subject to a force it did not understand.

The aliens had chosen people apparently at random, and made them spokesmen for the conquering race. It was more a case of possession than mental telepathy. “Surrender, you can not resist” was the general message. To the general public, after the initial panic, the whole thing seemed like a bad Hollywood movie. The aliens through their human agents told the human race to go about its business except for the prohibition against violence of any kind.

The alien spaceships that resembled the flying saucers once imagined, or perhaps seen, flew in the skies regularly but hadn’t interfered with human flight except for the grounding of the space shuttle. The aliens had rarely shown themselves to the general public. Only the chosen few and the leaders of the world had a face to face meeting, and the leaders were imprisoned somewhere in a remote valley in Tibet. Rumors were ripe about the appearance of the aliens. The only common thread was that they looked like land-bound squid.

The TV Shows were being billed as a news conference to answer the many questions in people’s minds. It was mandatory that all adult humans watch the shows broadcast locally at the world’s TV stations. The earth was divided into six time zones. The shows were scheduled accordingly in prime time. Any thought of revolt was instantly matched by a twinge of pain. How this was accomplished wasn’t known? Were some electromagnetic frequencies broadcast directly to the human brain? Scientists speculated but since an orderly investigation could be considered subversive, very few dared to defy the unconditional surrender ordered. It was not a good day for humanity.

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In a large eastern city in America the seven women were assembled, and an eighth, an older woman in her late 50's, was to act as moderator for the alien who was to interface in this studio. As was said, similar scenarios were to be enacted throughout the world in their respective countries, time zones and languages. The moderator, the wife of a senator held captive by the aliens, was immaculately dressed in tweed. Her red lipstick glistened under the TV lights. Her silver hair looked statesmanlike. Her name, Jane Runyon, was flashed on the screen for those who didn’t know her but anyone who was of “society” and influential knew her personally, and the public, the part that keeps up with civic affairs, knew her face and name. She had stumped the length of America in promoting the “Save the Polar Ice Caps” campaign. However, Jane Runyon had a far away look in her eyes that night. She seemed to be in a trance. She didn’t smile as she introduced the seven TV women to the audience. She had no emotion, not even the fear, which gripped all seven of the “panelists”, as the women thought of themselves.

The seven were seated on two long couches to Ms Runyon’s right. Lisa Wells, a buxom blonde and almost plump, wore a pink suit. Her beautiful peaches and cream complexion and wonderful blue eyes, as a few TV consultants had noted after auditioning her, were as photogenic as ever, but she was biting her lip and fidgeting with nerves. She was a TV anchor and read the teleprompters very well. Next to her on her right, as Ms Runyon was on Ms Wells left, sat Sally Hawthorn, forty or a little past that benchmark at this point. Sally had a bob of brown hair and a lamp tan. She was very experienced in local television but never controlled her “happy” and “concerned” faces properly. Occasionally she would smile through a tragedy or frown at a forecast of sunny mild weather. Sally wore a bright yellow suit and a face, even that night, that was constantly smiling and frowning anxiously but to no apparent outside stimuli except that she was picked by her station to represent them at this historic occasion. The shadows in her mind were most apparent. Also, and not in the least a significant factor, but unbeknown to the viewer, she felt like she had to piss, but being a professional she stayed on the couch and squirmed. Next to her was Mary Anne Patterson, a woman in her 30's, slim of figure, svelte of leg, blonde of hair, like a Swedish actress, and outwardly composed. She wasn’t smiling ; she wore her professional face. Her eyes didn’t hesitate in seeking out the camera. She was also an excellent reader of the news. She felt some pride, though not unmixed with fear, if the truth were known, that she was chosen to question the alien. Next to Mary Anne was Cora Richards, a coffee-with-cream complexioned African-American woman, dressed in a brown cashmere sweater and black skirt. Her legs were crossed and the foot on top was bouncing quite rhythmically with nerves. Her brow had beads of sweat. She was the medical reporter for WPOO. Cora had big brown warm eyes that could melt the most menacing of medical facts. She was in her early twenties, a few years out of college and almost an adult. Next to her sat Elizabeth Brown, a blonde who had that girl-next-door look. Her hair was clipped comparatively short and was not fastidiously sculpted in place. She had that tousled look, but cute. She wore a white blouse, beige suit and a worried look. Next to her was Carol Donatello who reminded people of the young Mary Tyler Moore. She was dressed more informally in a white blouse and khaki slacks. Her hair was mouse brown and her eyes were large and she was trying hard but not succeeding in suppressing a nervous girlish giggle. Her news hour was the lowest rated in the area. No one could take her seriously except her husband who owned the station that carried her. The last person on the set was Keisha Robinson, a richly dark chocolate complexioned woman, a little short of stature, thin, but big busted in a natural as opposed to in an enhanced watermelon way . The valley between her cleavage was visible in the vee of her blouse. She looked confident for the night ahead, had questions ready to ask, but her stomach was queasy with nerves. All seven were attempting to hide the butterflies that possessed them. Ms Runyon’s face was as expressionless as a block of concrete.

The studio’s red light that signaled that the Program was on the air came on. Ms Runyon began in an emotionless monotone. “Good Evening, Ladies, Gentlemen. This program is important for the relationship which has been established between the Neila and the Human Race..” Just then Carol Donatello let out a flurry of uncontrollable giggles. (Jackson in the control room said to Max “Why did they pick that damn broad? Don’t put the camera on her.”). Ms Runyon hesitating so that Carol’s outburst didn’t obscure any of her wooden words resumed speech. “ The Neila have not come to harm you but to use you. You will feed them with what we humans will call “psychic” food. Only the female of our species can provide this but men you are important too. You must impregnate your women from time to time to keep generations upon generations available for your masters needs. (“Max, what the hell is she talking about. Are there kids watching? What the hell’s going---oh, oh, I feel a headache. Let me calm down. ). The Neilas have colonized many worlds and the humanoid races that populate the galaxy are their natural psychic protein. The Neila are benevolent. Do not worry. The Neila need humanity.”

Throughout the city people were spellbound before their TV sets. Those prone to anger, revolt and qualms of human dignity were rolling on their rugs in pain. Most people were stunned that humanity had been conquered They were confused about the meaning of Ms Runyon’s words. “What was going on?”, they said to themselves and to friends and to family members watching that emotionless face give a speech written, they thought, by a third rate speech writer. At least the Neila were not intellectuals.

“It is time to introduce our local master. Call him Master 1327. Humans can not be expected to pronounce Neila words because Neila have many tongues. (“Max, is this the Lone Ranger or what?”) Do not be afraid of his body. He may look repulsive to the human eye but appearances are only appearances. (“Hey, Jackson suppose this creature is scary ?” “Max, we’ve gotta show him. Don’t forget the headaches. Yeah, headaches.”) “Ladies and Gentlemen”, this was said with no human expression at all, “I give you our local Neila.”

A creature that seemed to be all tentacles crawled out from behind a curtain like a spider into

the studio where Sally wet her pants. Carol giggled and hiccupped in equal measure. The rest of the women screamed. The tentacles made a swishing or a whistling sound as they rapidly whipped through the air. Sally lifted her skirt and put its hem in her mouth. She chewed. The Neila approached the two couches where the women sat frozen as if viewing Medusa. Keisha said to Ms Runyon, “ Can I ask a question?”

“Approach the Neila and the purpose of your presence here will be known.” (“Max, that Runyon broad can’t speak American English. Tell Chip to keep his camera on Keisha and tell Paula to keep hers on the thing. We’ll jump back and forth for shots.”)

Keisha got off the couch and started toward the Neila but the Neila advanced more quickly to the couch. All the other women jumped up and stood as if they saw a mouse, but of course a Neila is bigger and definitely more threatening than a mouse. Lisa Wells looked like she was about to abandon ship and leap behind the couch. Keisha stood four feet in front of the couch.

Ms Runyon spoke for the Neila, “all will be demonstrated now.” And with that a number of the creature’s tentacles swished through the air, and in a second removed all of Keisha’s outer clothing. She stood in black bra and panties, her skin glistening in the bright lights. An “oh” from Keisha was met with another swish of tentacles. Keisha was naked. Her dark nipples, her curly pubic hair, her dropped jaw were naked. The other women screamed. Lisa Wells began to swing her leg over the couch, but a “swish” of tentacles removed her skirt and one as thin as a string but as strong as a steel cable had hold of her calf and pulled her back. Again the tentacles did “their thing” (as Jackson would say weeks from then) and removed her jacket, blouse, slip, bra, panties, all but her pink ass. She screamed. Keisha screamed. Carol giggled. Mary Anne said “this is insane.” Sally continued to chew her skirt but the masticating movements were faster. Cora and Elizabeth Brown, the girl next door type, sat frozen with their mouths wide open and devoid of sound, sense and any normal physical sensation. The creature had a number of tentacles which seemed to be stalks with an eye attached. One such eye stared through Keisha. She started to feel warm. Her pussy became wet. She had an unstoppable urge to rub her clit. She put one finger, two fingers in her pussy. She started to breathe heavily and rubbed and massaged and stroked herself. Her brow moistened with sweat. “Ooooh,nooooo! I can’t control myself.” She spread her legs and started a slow undulation, a standing undulation. Tentacles wrapped around her tits and squeezed gently at first, but then they tightened like a lover’s hands, but these were not hands but alien tentacles. “Oh, please, pleeease, stop, oh, oh, oh!” She started to buck. Put her hands on the cheeks of her ass and started to buck. Lisa, who was holding on to the back of the couch with all her strength, while looking over her shoulder at Keisha, screamed. This set off a chorus of screams from the other women. Elizabeth Brown and Cora held on to each other but that was a mistake. The Neila launched a new attack of tentacles and they wrapped around the pair of women like baling wire. Keisha, whose pussy lips were spread wide, fell back to the floor and held her ankles, spread her legs as wide as possible, though only so much is possible, and moaned and rocked and moaned. Lisa Wells, who still felt the tug of the vicious little tentacles that held her, began to lose her grip, and slid to the floor. The Neila pulled her closer, past the orgasmic Keisha, who could speak only one letter of the alphabet now and that repeatedly. Never were so many “o’s” streaming from a woman’s mouth. Another tentacle----this Neila looked like a land-based jellyfish-----took hold of Lisa. They pulled her onto her back. Her large beautiful breasts jiggled with every motion. Max in the control room almost lost control and ran out to cup those two wonderful udders in his own little horny hands. He didn’t. He was also conscious, at least on the periphery of his mind, of the Neila. Instead he reached for his joystick. Jackson would have yelled at him; fired him; hit him on the side of the head (the cranium, not the other head), but Jackson was simultaneously enjoying the show and ordering the camera crew to get close ups, then distance shots, then to capture the expressions on the faces of the other women. Ms Runyon had no expression on her face. Mary Anne had a look of horror on her face, but whether it was because she empathized with Keisha and Lisa, or because she knew she would be next, or because she was horrified that they were getting all the attention and not her, no, not her, couldn’t be said. Carol giggled hysterically. Sally wet her pants and the seat cushion again, while devouring her skirt. She had a wad of it in her mouth as her eyes stared wide and intense as the Neila took one phallic-looking tentacle and rubbed it on Lisa’s little blonde tuft of pussy hair. A tentacle had entered Keisha and had probed deep within her. She bounced like the nozzle of a garden hose on the end of the pulsing tentacle. A tentacle stalk with an eye came within six inches of Lisa’s nose. Lisa saw her chance and lunged at the eye and bit it off. Mary Anne said, “oh shit, we are in for it now.” The Neila’s other tentacles began to move in a frenzy, like a sea anemone in an underwater current but with so much more energy, the energy of pain. Another of the eyes, the Neila had at least a dozen eye-stalks, approached Lisa’s face but it kept a respectful distance. It stared into Lisa’s baby blues. Lisa fell back onto the floor. The tentacles that had her ankles released them. Lisa said loud enough for the microphones overhead to hear “I feel hot. My pussy. Oh. Ah. Oh.” She got on her knees, turned around, reached back with one hand and massaged herself in a circular motion, all the time spreading herself wider. Her buttocks were gloriously full. Her breasts with their hardening nipples hung magnificently from her chest. The Neila which had experienced pain drove its phallic tentacle further into Keisha, whose back arched, and whose legs stretched wider, wider. “Aaaagghhh! Ummmpphh!”

The Neila realeased its tentacles from Keisha’s tits and thrust one in her mouth and one in her ass. They squirmed into and explored those passages, while the other pulsed its roughness into her silky wet vagina. Oh such excess. She kept her frenzied fucking going for ten minutes, all the time experiencing such a physical ecstasy that few if any had ever felt before. Finally Keisha collapsed unconscious. Her face twisted in what could have been either pleasure or pain. How those two states bordered on each other.

Lisa arched her back as she bent over the couch. Her whole body grew tense. A tentacle ram-rodded her ass. Another pulled her hand away and dove for her intimate hole, and into it it went, elongating, thickening in circumference, pulsing, thrusting, grinding and oozing from its pores a clear but green tinted slime, a lubricant unknown on earth, but one known throughout the galaxy as the ultimate aphrodisiac. Lisa’s meaty buttocks bobbed and bucked. She moaned, groaned. Her eyes closed. Her face squinted in pleasure. She did more bumps and grinds than a thousand years of striptease. (“What a woman”, Max thought after his short-lived orgasm died and he was left with the goo of himself soiling his clothes, his mind, his sanity.).

The monster, for that was what thousands of homes throughout the city bathed in their TV’s hypnotizing light called it, was a flurry of tentacles. It picked Lisa up off the floor and held her high over the Portugese man-of-war helmet that was the top of its head, if head it could be called. It stroked and pulsed in Lisa continuously, monotonously if you were not Lisa, the Neila (they were in the act and had no rational regard for an objective appraisal), or one of the other women in the studio afraid to think of what was next, or one of the hundreds of thousands of horrified TV spectators, including religious fundamentalists, libertines ( some of whom may have thought of sex with animals but not with monsters), politicians, homemakers and steelworkers, to name only a few. The Neila which looked like a jellyfish, with some tentacles thin and some thick, and some as prominent as a spider’s legs, leapt onto the couch engulfing Carol Donatello, Mary Ann Patterson and Sally. There were screams. Mary Ann emerged from underneath the tentacles and tried to run for a door. It didn’t work. A tentacle lashed around her naked thigh and this sent her sprawling to the floor, almost on top of Keisha’s naked unconscious but still breathing body. Muffled cries came from under the veil of tentacles. Sally emerged for Chip, the cameraman, to get a shot of her writhing and struggling like a woman caught in a line of wash on a windy day. One of the eyes swayed in front of Sally. She followed its movement back and forth, back and forth, like a cobra. Its stare captured her. The tentacles lifted her out of themselves. She decorated the other side of the tree that was the Neila. Carol’s head emerged from the mass of the monster but she was busy trying to accommodate the tentacle that pulsed within her throat rather than trying to flee. Her eyes had a worried look rather than a haze of pleasure. She needed one of the monster’s eyes to calm her, or at least to get her with the program. (Jackson said “that will shut that giggling broad up”) The Neila pulled Mary Anne closer. Mary Ann tried to grab the rug but the fabric hairs were too short for a grip. Cora and Elizabeth Brown, the girl-next-door type, were on the second couch still tied together and the Neila held on tight but the tentacles stayed taut. Cora watched the events over Beth’s shoulder. Her teeth, the front of which were prominent, not buck teeth but prominent, bit into Beth’s shoulder as if they were hands holding desperately to a cliff. “Ouch” Beth protested. As her eyes caught the TV camera, the usual perkiness was replaced by desperation. The Neila lifted Cora and Beth from the couch, put them on the floor, quickly released its hold, and did a “swish” of movement in the air like brandishing a sword and stripped them of their outer garments which flew like shredded ribbons to all points in the room. An eye-stalk captured Cora. She instantly ran her hands over the softness of her body, dropped her bra straps, unhooked the catch and tossed the bra like a liberated woman, but she was a captured woman, a piece of meat, a psyche to be tapped for alien sustenance, a show for adolescent boys who watched the TV screen, not with the horror of their parents, but with a biologically frenzied curiosity. Cora felt the white silk of her panties with her palms. A hand, but not a brown hand but a white hand, the hand of Elizabeth Brown, snaked its way down her mons, through the soft curly wool of her pubic hairs, down to the lips of Cora’s secret valley, into the moist cavern, the soft-walled, pliant cavern that housed the volcano of passion. This happened because as Cora was undoing her bra in a slow gentle way, Beth was penetrated by the same eye-stalk; just a moment’s look into the dark pupil of that alien eye, had melted Beth’s fear, and her control melted as butter. Beth did not immediately reach for herself but for Cora. Cora and Beth kissed not as TV station rivals but as two weak-minded TV personalities under the influence of an alien presence and the release of bisexual urges. If the right man were there he would have been able to do whatever he wanted with those two bodies. The drive was so great. The physiology so changed by whatever invisible force the Neila wielded with one beady eye on a stick. Meanwhile Mary Ann’s vagina and her anus, as the more scientific in the local TV audience would have called it before thinking of the vulgar three-lettered word, were violated by tentacles. Mary Ann, who was not a prude, yelled to the zombie-like presence of Jane Runyon, “ It’s got my ass! Do something!” Mary Ann could only say “ummpphh” and “ugghh” until an eye came for her and turned her voice box to a channel that could only scream or grunt with pleasure.

Jackson, who had to secrete himself in an unseen corner of the control room and wank off, and Max, who hit his joystick two or three times during this whole catastrophe, for that was what it was socially, a reduction of human existence to basic instinct, though instinct heightened by an alien force, stared speechlessly at the sight in the studio. The Neila, a giant squid or jellyfish-like thing, a body trunk must have been hidden behind the veil of tentacles, eight of which were like legs, their diameter so large, and the bodies of seven women, all undressed, covered with slime, undulating , moaning, the whole thing, in the branches of the alien aforementioned squid-like tree(to mix metaphors) shimmied and danced to an unheard music. Jane Runyon, the silver tressed one, a woman of 58 in great physical preservation sat like a pod in “The Body Snatchers”. Even Keisha Robinson’s unconscious body was hooked with tentacles and probed mercilessly, but in her case it was an anti-climax.

After a few minutes of jiggling breasts and rears and the reaching of orgasms that ceased only in passing out, the Neila laid the seven women buttocks up over the couches. Jane Runyon said “ No one is hurt. No one is injured. The Neila has not impregnated the women. There will be no tentacles popping out of vaginas, of posteriors, of mouths, of ears, wiggling out of noses. The Neila only dine on pure sexual psychic pleasure. If Neila want to feed, girls, pull up your skirts, drop your panties. Get your clothes off as soon as possible. The Neila are not responsible for torn clothing. Do humanity a favor and be nice to the aliens. They have not come to harm you. They want to give you pleasure and feed off of it. Isn’t this a better world than the one we had before.” Ms Runyon stepped out from behind her desk and took one of the Neila’s tentacles in her hand and said “Goodnight, ladies and gentlemen.”

COMING SOON (or eventually) CHAPTER TWO