Maxwell Booker, Secret Service agent, stood ten feet away from the President of the United States. Another Secret Service agent, Simms, was ten feet away from the President on the other side. Both of them would have liked to have been closer to the man they were supposed to protect, but the President was giving an interview to a Wolf News reporter and the President hated sharing screen time with people who had never been on television.
They were fifty feet underground, inside a bunker designed to take an indirect nuclear stroke. Five Marines guarded the thick metal door that led to the surface. The bunker was supposed to house the President’s family and a few members of his security detail, but the First Lady went AWOL two weeks ago with a Russian Ambassador. The President decided to bring his staff with him so that the press wouldn’t accuse him of hiding in a bunker by himself. The reporter was invited because the President always wanted the spotlight, even in the middle of an invasion from Venus.
“What message do you have for the American people about the Venusian ships bombing their cities?” the reporter, Brett Canny asked. Maxwell was amazed by how upbeat Brett sounded during a bombing run.
“I tell people that the Venusian space ships and their armies will go away,” the President said. “One day, they will just disappear and it will be like a miracle.”
Maxwell bit back a snort. It was easy. He had plenty of practice not reacting to stupid things the President said.
There was a tingling on the top of Maxwell’s bald head. He looked up to see the ceiling was glowing pink. That was not good.
“Sir, we should move,” Simms said.
The President had already fled to the bathroom. Damn, the old fart could move when he wanted to. Self-preservation was his best talent.
The ceiling vanished. Maxwell looked up at the open sky. Where the fuck was the White House?
A floral scent wafted down to them. Oh shit.
Venusian soldiers lined the edges of the hole. Each were eight feet tall and covered in silver metal from head to toe. The metal appeared to be skintight, and revealed more than it concealed. It was impossible to miss the giant breasts, the wide hips, the bulging biceps, the thick thighs and incredible posteriors.
Maxwell heard Simms whistle in shocked appreciation. He shared the feeling. Video footage didn’t do the feminine curves justice. No one knew what a Venusian looked like under that armor, but they had the bodies of Amazons.
The Marines opened fire with their automatic weapons. Sparks flashed on the Venusian Solder’s armor. White House staffers screamed and scrambled to hide under desks and behind couches. Brett dropped to his knees and cried.
“Protect the President!” Simms yelled. Maxell drew his service pistol as Simms ran to the bathroom. Covering Simms, Maxwell walked backwards slowly to keep an eye on the invaders.
A few Venusians dropped down into the bunker. There was three of them. They raised their hands and pink beams of energy fired forth.
Three Marines turned to ash. One of the Marines rushed a Venusian and she backhanded him, breaking his neck. The fifth marine pulled out a grenade and tossed it. The Venusian grabbed the grenade and pressed it to her chest. There was a muffled “k-tump” as the grenade harmlessly went off. The Venusian blasted the last Marine with her free hand.
So much for the Marines. The Venusians turned their attention to the civilians. They fired rapid shots into the furniture. Screams and ash filled the bunker.
One of the Venusians turned to face Maxwell. He was the last one alive in the main bunker chamber. She pointed her hand at Maxwell.
He was going to die. Maxwell knew it but he didn’t falter. He pointed his gun, aimed for where he assumed an eye would be and squeezed the trigger.
The Venusian’s head snapped back. She lowered her hand. One of the other Venusians pointed their hand at Maxwell but then stopped.
Maxwell fired again. This time he aimed a little lower, hoping to hit a mouth. The Venusian head snapped back again.
The other two Venusians lowered their hands and flanked the one that Maxwell had been firing at. The stance reminded Maxwell of how he and Simms flanked the President. Was he shooting at some kind of leader?
The center Venusian walked towards Maxwell. He kept firing. Each shot hit the head of the Venusian and each hit made her head snap back.
KLICK KLICK. Maxwell was out of bullets.
The Venusians surged forward. The center one grabbed Maxwell’s wrist and squeezed. Pain shot up his arm and he dropped the gun. The Venusian delivered a swift kick to his stomach. Maxwell’s feet left the ground as the air rushed out of him. He collapsed to the floor and gasped for air.
The other two soldiers ran past Maxwell to the bathroom. Maxwell heard gunshots followed by a scream. There was the sizzle of a door being vaporized followed by pathetic whimpering. Another sizzle sound and the whimpering stopped.
Ice slid down Maxwell’s spine. He had failed. The President was dead. The guy was a useless asshole but it was Maxwell’s job to protect him. The only upside was that the Venusian would soon kill him and he wouldn’t have to live with his disgrace.
The Venusian stood in front of Maxwell. What was she waiting for?
Maxwell looked up at Venusian. “Kill me already.”
The silver armor on the Venusian’s arms shimmered and melted away to reveal light purple skin. The melting continued to expose thick shoulders and a stout neck. The armor faded from her chest to reveal massive purple breasts topped with black nipples. Next were wide hips and bulging thighs. Smooth sex lips glistened with perspiration or desire. The silver armor continued to fade until the Venusian was barefoot.
The floral scent intensified. Despite the pain in his stomach and wrist, Maxwell felt his cock pulsing within his boxers.
Only the helmet remained. The Venusian touched a spot on her chin. The front of the helmet vanished.
The Venusian was beautiful. Bright yellow eyes stared at him. A pointed nose flared. Thick dark purple lips were slightly open to give hints of the pink tongue inside.
There were slight discolorations around her eye and lips. It was a lighter shade of purple. Were those bruises?
Maxwell smiled. They were bruises from where he had shot her. “Bet you felt that,” he said. If he was going to die, at least he gave the enemy a black, err, purpler eye.
The Venusian opened her mouth. A strange whistling sound came out. Was that their language?
“Yeah, fuck you too,” Maxwell said.
The Venusian stopped down and grabbed the back of Maxwell’s neck. A tight vice cinched around him. She stood and lifted him from the ground. Her head tilted to the side and her lips pursed. Up and down her yellow eyes roamed as she studied him.
Maxwell didn’t like the look in her eyes. It reminded him of the President eyeing a well done steak.
The Venusian grabbed the back of Maxwell’s head and pulled him to between her breasts. Purple flesh engulfed Maxwell’s bald head. Powerful arms cinched around him, squeezing her giant tits tighter around him.
Maxwell fought back. He tried punching but his hands either grabbed soft tit or the hard bulge of muscles. Kicking was useless as the alien’s powerful body easily absorbed his feeble strikes. He resorted to wiggling and squirming but the grip of the Venusian was as tight as a cunt.
Desperate, Maxwell tried biting. A sweet taste tilled his mouth. The Venusian shuddered. Ha! He might get out of this after all!
The need to sleep washed over Maxwell. No! He knew this feeling from his training: his ceratoid artery was being pinched! The Venusian was putting him to sleep between her lush purple breasts!
But why? Why not kill him or reduce him to ash? What terrible reason did the Venusian soldier have for subduing him? Where would he wake up?
Maxwell passed into unconsciousness and dreamed of purple pillows.