Starfucker II

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{This is a sequel to me story, published many years ago, called “Starfucker” I have returned, and i intend to continue “Starfucker”. I originally published this story on another site. I edited it slightly to post here – mainly cleaning up typos and refining the language a bit. You can reprint this story – like all of mine – if you give credit to me as the author, and don’t post it on pay sites. Everyone involved in sex is 18 or over. Enjoy.}

My name is Suzi Creamcheese, but if you read “Starfucker” by Inosolan you know that.

“Starfucker” is mainly true, but, like Mark Twain, Inosolan couldn’t resist putting in a few stretchers here and there.

In this story, I plan to sort of avoid out and out lies — at least, insomuch as my basic nature allows it, which may mean some mighty big ones get in here. (Of course, some mighty big ones have got in here [and down there, and back there, and… ], but that’s not exactly what I mean… )

You see, I’m an undead. Well, yes, sort of like a vampire, but not really — I mean, Buffy wouldn’t try to impale me (I hope), though I wouldn’t mind at all trying to see if I could get that hunky Xander to impale me a few times. Not to mention that sexy dyke friend of hers, Willow.

No, I got undeaded because I didn’t listen closely to the conditions of a wish that I made when my Fairy Godfather granted it. Because of that, instead of the barely-pubescent-seeming 19-year-old that I was, I am now permanently the world’s greatest rock’n’roll groupie and slut. Not that I’m complaining — sex is what I live for, which is lucky since the curse that came with my not following the conditions of the wish basically requires me to cause one or more people to have orgasms almost every night, on condition of feeling Really Really Nasty if I don’t. (There’s also the matter of the six-inch-tall ghost of Frank Zappa who hangs around on my shoulder like Jiminy Cricket making smartass remarks from time to time.)

You may ask, why do I have to cause orgasms? Well, it’s related to one of those things that They don’t want you to know. Basically, when you have an orgasm, you release energy. I don’t mean the energy you use up having sex, I mean actual power that can be siphoned off by properly-designed powerplants and used to power all sorts of things, like… well, that’s another thing They don’t want you to know, and, if I told you, I’d have to kill you. Anyway, this energy is part of what, for want of a better term, is called your soul.

Of course, you’d Really Really Enjoy dying if I did kill you, because basically I’d fuck you to death. And that’s where the curse comes in; just as vampires need to drink blood to survive, I need to steal that orgasmic energy. When you and I make it, you have an orgasm (or two, or three… ) and each time part of your soul escapes, which, instead of it floating off into the aether or being captured by one of Their plants, I suck in. And, if I really want to, I can make a dead man cum (ask Frank). Several times.

In fact, I can make you keep cumming until I’ve absorbed all of the soul energy in your body… At which point you die. Not a mark on you. No signs of violence, poison, foul play, or anything a medical examiner would recognise as a cause of death.

But the smile on your face would really worry them…

I was driving down Archipelago one frosty evening, wondering who i was going to score that night. The top was up and the heater was on, because I really didn’t have much on. Of course, when I’m out at night, I almost never have very much on, so this is not unusual.

That night I had dressed relatively conservatively — a red spandex tube top that left my midriff bare above hip-hugger shrink-to-fit jeans that fit so well that there was obviously nothing but well-shaped grrl under them and knee-length red Supergirl boots with platform souls and heels a total of five inches high — and I was definitely needing the heater to keep warm, unless until I found a playmate bursa escort or two.

I was just passing the Kumaniwanlea Lounge when the door flew open and a woman ducked out. By the way that she looked frantically around, I could see that she was scared of something. Since I was right there, I swerved to that side of the street, reached over, popped the passenger door, and hollered “Get in, if you need to get out of here quick.” She looked down, saw me, and obviously decided that I was a lesser evil than whatever she was ducking out of the bar to avoid.

She climbed in as quickly as she could, considering that my car is a Mazda Miata (well, sort of) and she was wearing a tight mid-thigh skirt and spikes, which is not exactly the costume for entering or leaving any sports car quickly or modestly. I was honestly just figuring to help ot a fellow-female in distress until I watched that skirt ride up almost to her nicely-curved ass, revealing the tops of sheer blue thigh-highs held up with a genuine blue lace garter belt.

At which point I took a closer look at her as she slammed the door and we pulled away. (In the rear-view, I saw a big jock-type guy come slamming out the bar and look frustratedly around.) She was sweet. Probably not even five feet tall — maybe like four-nine in her spikes, actually — with long black shiny hair caught up into a long tail through a golden ring and Japanese eyes. Small as she was, she had a body that men would fight for and probably had — long legs that seemed to be half her height at least, narrow little waist above hips that flared out nicely and an ass that would be the envy of most women, including me (and my body was artificially designed to be dead sexy). But it was really her tits that caught the eye — she wasn’t competing with Dolly in that department, but they were about the biggest and fullest they could possibly be and still not look out of proportion.

“So, what were you running away from?” I asked after a couple of blocks.

“Who said I was running away?”

“Honey, I’ve ducked out of enough bars and other joints to get away from one thing and another that I recognise the signs.”

“Well, okay — it was this football player. I thought he was kinda sexy, and I was sorta planning on letting him take me home, until I found out what an asshole he was. We danced a couple times, and he started acting like I was already a sure thing headed for his bed and got a little too frisky and when he grabbed my tit I threw my drink in his face and ran for it.” As she said it she was looking out the window, and her left hand unconsciously came up to massage the mammary in question. “I think I’m gonna have bruises, he squeezed so hard.”

“Too bad. I never go into that joint; even aside from the jocks, the male clientele there is about seventy percent asshole and the rest are mostly wimps.”

Watching her tiny hand stroking that pretty globe inside her lowcut bodice was causing me to think all sorts of naughty things. Of course, the way I’m wired, looking at linoleum makes me think naughty things. And I could feel the magic starting to work.

I’m not sure if it’s actually magic, or if it’s pheromones, or some sort of telepathic power, but when I’m interested in someone, they usually wind up interested in me, generally with highly satisfactory results. Unfortunately, sometimes I get a little carried away

With a chuckle only I could hear, Frank Zappa’s six-inch ghost appeared on my shoulder. “Thinking of eating Japanese tonight, are we?” he asked, lighting a miniature unfiltered Chesterfield. Sometimes I enjoy talking to Frank; tonight I was too interested in my passenger. I swatted at him like a mosquito, and he vanished with a nasty chuckle.

“My name’s Suzi,” I said, as I thought about what I was already planning for later tonight with her. “I was just heading for a place I like for a drink or two — want to come along, since it seems as if your plans for the evening got disrupted?”

“Why bursa escort bayan not? The way my luck with guys has been running, I could stand a nice quiet night out with the girls. I’m Lee, by the way,” she answered. Without really thinking about it, apparently, her hand continued to stroke her tit, and she shifted a bit in her seat.

As we walked into The Purple Chairs, I could see that Lee had had the same sort of moment of cognitive dissonance that almost everyone who walks into the joint for the first time is prone to; you notice the name of the joint, and you think you know what to expect… And then you realise that the chairs are white.

Everything else in the joint — walls, fixtures, and so on — =is= purple though.

It’s my favourite lesbian cruise bar; I’ve spent many a happy night after picking up something to go at the Chairs.

It was “Xena Night”, which meant that most of the crowd was dressed — more or less — in “warrior princess” outfits, and the music was (sort of) country. Of course, in that place, if it was country, it was going to be cowpunk type stuff — as we walked in, a Nashville Pussy cut was just ending, and the DJ had Jason as it was, I somehow “accidentally” wound up with my hand cupped comfortably, if lightly, around her right breast. (I won a mental bet with myself; she was as braless as I was.) She was enough shorter than me that, when I pulled her against me, out of the waitress’s way, her eyelevel wasn’t that much higher than my nipples. Which were beginning to stand up and salute as, startled as she looked, she didn’t immediately move to shake off my hand. In fact, I thought that i felt definite stirrings under my palm, and she sort of sighed and snuggled more firmly into the curve of my arm.

Looking up. she smiled at me, and I grinned down at her, as I steered her to one of the two last seats left at my friends’ table.

Lola grinned at me as she hooked a chair away from the table with her foot for me as I was pulling the other out for Lee. She and her dats gave us welcoming waves as the Scorchers roared into the second verse of “Whiskey Glass”, and Lola said, raising her voice to be heard over the music, “Hiya, Kitten! Who’s your friend?”

Looking at Lola, across the table from me, and at Lee, sitting next to me, I had to grin — Lee, barely four-eight, was sitting opposite Lola, who’s damned near seven feet tall, with a figure that would give Wonder Woman feelings of inadequacy. They were examining each other with fascination, as Lola’s grrlfriend (who I had never heard called anything but “Fluffy”) and I watched in amusement.

“So, Kitten — whatcha been doing since the last concert?” Lola finally asked.

“Not a lot… this and that,” I answered, enjoying the view of Lola’s dynamite bod in her Red Sonja-style chain-mail bikini, making a mental note that I neeeded to look her up more often.

The evening passed as such evenings pass, with a few drinks, a few old stories, including the one about how Lola and I met; Lee had asked why she called me “Kitten”, and I was too embarrassed to tell the story, so Lola did — she was the roadie who caught me backstage at a concert and she had paddled my bottom (among other things she — we — had done that evening) for trying to sneak backstage. Lee laughed out loud, and looked mischievously up at me.

“Aw, poor spanked kittie,” she said, between giggles.

It was the perfect chance, and I bent my head and kissed her pretty red lips, again putting an arm around her, and pulling her closer. At first it was a pretty tame kiss, but then her lips parted, and her tiny tongue came out to play with mine. As they slipped past and around each other, I stroked and fondled the warm flesh that my hand cupped, and this time definitely felt her nipple pressing against my palm.

Just as we broke, the DJ, who had left country behind a while ago, started a slow number, and couples began to drift out onto the escort bursa floor, dancing in each others’ arms to the dreamy music. I grabbed Lee’s hand and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon,” I said — “Let’s dance.”

Out on the floor, she was content to let me lead, and we enjoyed holding each other close, feeling the warmth of each others’ bodies. Lee rested her warm cheek against my boobs, and I stroked her back and cute little butt with one hand, while the other caressed her slender neck and played with that long fall of shiny black hair. She pulled herself even more closely to me, and I was a little surprised to feel her rub her crotch against me — in the semi-darkness of the dancefloor, she was practically humping my leg! Looking down, I saw her sexy slanted eyes half-closed, but looking up at me with a mischievous glint. =Uh huh, my grrl, = I thought, and, putting a little more pressure on my hand on the back of her neck, I pulled her face toward my tits.

She didn’t disappoint me — she dropped feathery kisses on the tops of my boobs where they swelled out over the tube top, and then slipped out her little pink tongue and dabbed it along my cleavage. I gave a soft sigh, reached down and cupped one perfect little cheek in my hand and fondled it, then stroked my fingertips up and down along the crack between the warm globes.

She sighed in her turn, and then, just as the music was ending and we were about to break apart, she glanced up with a purely devilish grin, and her perfect little white teeth suddenly nipped down through the material on my erect nipple, and her tongue stroked across the bump. leaving a little wet spot on the spandex.

It was all I could do to keep from yelping out loud, right there. I gave her bottom a fast swat and said “Behave!”

When we got back to the table, we discovered that Lola and Fluffy had also been dancing, and, while we were gone, someone had swiped Lee’s chair.

Which was fine with me, because it was the perfect excuse to sit and then pull her down with her pretty little bottom warming my lap. Not that it needed much warming; it was getting pretty warm down there already as my body reacted to the signals Lee’s body was putting out.

Having her in my lap meant that her face was just about on a level with mine, and we took advantage of that for a little concentrated necking. I had one arm around her waist and one hand on her knee, and she had one arm around me, as our tongues again met and danced.

As i again lifted, stroked and caressed her perfect little tit, I felt her hand doing the same to mine. She broke the kiss, smiled at me, and then bent her head, lifitng my breast to her, and before I realized what she was doing, the sexy little bitch had nipped the flesh, sucking and kissing at it, then broke away leaving me with the beginnings of s spectacular hickey on the top of my tit.

In retaliation, I pinched her nipple a bit harder, causing her to squeak slightly… and slipped my hand from her knee under her skirt, tickling the inside of her thigh with my long red nails. For a moment, her legs clamped together in surprise, catching my hand, but then, as she again raised her mouth to mine, they opened to me, allowing my fingers to play along the smooth sheer silk of her stocking from knee to the top and beyond, to the warm softness of her own sweet flesh.

Just a little further, trusting that no-one could see clearly in the dark at the back of the room where we sat, and my hand slipped higher, encountering the warm silk of her panties; warm, moist silk. Kissing her again, I traced along her lips with a fingertip, feeling them swelling and loosening under my touch. She moaned into our kiss, and moved her legs a bit further apart to give me better access. Lola, who already had one hand out of sight in the bodice of Fluffy’s Gabrielle costume and another on her thigh, grinned at me and said “Get a room, Kitten.”

Lee and I gazed into each others’ eyes for a moment, and said, almost in chorus, “Sounds like a plan to me”.

I reluctantly pulled my hand out of its nice warm nest, groped in a pocket for a twenty to toss on the table for our share of the tab, and Lee and I walked with our arms around each other to my car.

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