Jim kissed his wife goodbye, gripped his battered leather briefcase firmly in his hand and strode to the bus stop. He was early, for once, and as he stood with the other grey-suited males of his tribe, grunting the occasional greeting and staring ahead, he began to feel his tool starting to engorge again. Madge only allowed him near her once or twice a month and it had already been several weeks since their last encounter. He drew a deep breath and squared his powerful shoulders. With his tanned skin, his cropped blond hair, and his blue eyes, he looked like a cigarette ad, though in a sense they were all in a cigarette ad these days. Just then he spied Julia. She had been cast as a street walker by the aliens who now owned the theme park that Earth had become. She had the flat downstairs from him, on the street level. She came up. "Hi," he said, for they often spoke and now and again he had used her services. "Long hard night?" She shrugged. Her face was looking aged, tired. She wore black fish-net stockings, high heeled sandals and a short nightgown that was so sheer that you could almost count her pubic hairs. She wore no bra, of course. She had long, wavy brown hair and carried a black, plastic handbag. "Not long and hard enough," she said wryly, grinning in a resigned way. "I'm below my quota." He nodded sympathetically. The aliens who ran the Earth were like as not to come round and take a sample from her womb and if the semen in her body was not a mix of a dozen DNAs she would be reprimanded, and possibly even demoted to become a military whore, whose life was harsh and short. "I don't suppose you want to help me out?" said the woman, standing close, almost touching him with those pert breasts, but looking down, fearing rejection."For free this time." Jim looked along the road. A bus was coming, but there would be another in twenty minutes or so, and her presence, her perfume, her musky body odours, were working on him, making him quite hard now. "Ok," he said. She took his hand and led him back to the flats, into the foyer and up to the battered old wooden door of her apartment. When they were inside she shut and bolted it, then gestured at the bed, a double bed with a rather stained sheet on it, and nothing else. "Let's do it," she said, pulling off her nightgown and kicking off the sandals, watching Jim as he undressed, her breasts moving provocatively and gently in the light of the single bulb. Jim, even more excited by this sight, took off coat and tie, lowered his trousers and stood in front of her, slowly stroking a nipple. "Doggy," he finally said, and she obediently knelt by the bed and dropped her tits onto the sheet, exposing a broad bum and prominent piss lips. He knelt behind her and slid in. No need for foreplay. She always went on the town fully lubricated. He pumped into her and began to speed up. "Just play with my tits a bit, love," she whispered. "I need a bit of human contact." She raised her body up on her elbows and he reached under her and began to heft her ripe breasts, squeezing them as he pushed in and out, making her moan, but finally coming to a point where he could hold back no longer. He grunted, rammed in and shot his load and they collapsed on each other, panting. Much more relaxed he went back to the bus stop just in time to see the next bus arriving. The bus, a carefully reconstructed Twentieth Century vehicle, complete with belching diesel fumes, slashed seats and graffiti, rounded the corner and rumbled to a stop several car lengths from the waiting men then began to move off, slowly, teasingly, even as they made a desperate sprint for the thing. The trouble was, he reflected as they sped unsteadily along, that Earth now relied entirely on the tourist trade for its livelihood. Most of its resources, mineral and agricultural, were firmly in the hands of the big inter-Galactic companies and the only means of subsistence left to the earthlings was tourism. Fortunately the natives of Earth were quite good at setting up tourist traps though the literal-mindedness of the visitors meant that these were not content with plywood cut-outs and hired actors. If Old Earth were to sell, then the concept had to include all earthling life everywhere and 24 hours a day. Fortunately his own city had been zoned early Twentieth Century, so things were not too bad here, but he shuddered to think of those communities now forced to live in the Upper Paleolithic. When they came to the Perth Safari Park (formerly the Perth Zoo) he pulled the greasy leather cord that was looped along the roof of the bus. In response this vehicle spun round a corner and rocked to a stop opposite a large double iron gate set in a high concrete wall and Jim wrestled his way to the back door, pushed out just as the bus gathered speed again. Once inside the gates Jim flashed his I.D. and made for the low metal building that housed the change rooms and the Reception Centre. There he hung his suit, shirt and trousers in a locker and put on a safari jacket, baggy shorts, long socks and stout boots. A pith helmet and a large hunting knife completed the outfit. "My lot here yet Mike?" he said as the man behind the cage checked out a rifle and handed it through the aperture. Mike looked casually across at the Entrance Lounge, where several tall tanned men and two tall, buxom women milled about in confused fashion. "Yup," he said, taking the cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it out forcefully in an old tin can. Smoking, in some positions, was now compulsory. "That lot at Number Three Door. Syrians I'd say, from the look." Jim consulted his clip board. "Yes," he said, unenthusiastically. "Syrians." "Never mind" said the other sympathetically. "They 've ordered a Fugitive Hunt. Female. That should brighten up the day." Jim considered. On the one hand he had had many of these tall strangers before and knew how difficult they were. The Syrians were, for instance, all armed with laser guns and had hair-trigger tempers. They also considered it highly insulting to be spoken to directly. This meant that the guide had to attract attention to himself in some innocuous way, and then address a nearby rock. On the other hand, if they were occupied with the Fugitive for a large part of the tour…. Soon after, they were trekking off into the jungle that stretched, surprisingly, from this point onward. Actually, if you looked closely, it wasn't that surprising, because you could see the occasional brick or tile, vestiges of the Perth suburbs that had been demolished, and here and there sprouted the little plastic nozzles that provided the moisture necessary for this lush growth. Yet the animals themselves were real enough. The morning wore on and then it was time for the Hunt. Jim assembled them on a low grassy rise and pointed to a little concrete bunker, off into the distance. He explained explained the rules of the game. They had to wait till the Fugitive was well clear of the bunker, and then get to her on foot. After that they could do what they wanted to, since she was a woman who had volunteered for this task for the enormous pay. Since Syrians were fast runners, he did not think the girl had much of a chance of reaching the distant line of trees that held another bunker, and safety. Suddenly one of the strangers gave a cry and pointed. The woman, quite naked, had appeared beyond the bunker and the aliens gave chase. She did not stand a chance and when Jim walked up some time later, the men had already begun enjoying her. She had laid herself face obediently down over a broad rock as one after the other the men enjoyed her from behind, their baggy trousers dropped round their ankles and their long thick tools plunging in and out with surprising rapidity. There were five of them who were males and they were soon finished, though the woman was still writhing about on the rock, as though in acute sexual arousal. Then the two females came up, to do what with the unfortunate woman he could only guess. The Fugitive was now pulled roughly over on her back, still bucking up with her hips, and Jim was surprised to see that she had a pretty face. Her body, still leaking the green semen of these strange men, was stout and middle aged, but her eyes were very attractive. She looked in silent shame at Jim, who shrugged. "Wait!" said one of the aliens, stopping the two women in that mocking tone they had. "The Earth guide perhaps wants to mate with her! Let us watch!" The others grunted their assent, especially the females, who seemed quite excited, and who began to undress. With their heavy thighs and long, pointed tits they were starting to get him arouse alreay. Knowing that he could not refuse to tup the earth woman, Jim came slowly forward and took off his pants and shirt and, naked above the knees, he stood between the woman's stout legs, leant over her, ran his tip up and down her slit to lubricate it, then pushed in. He learnt later that Syrian semen was a strong aphrodisiac, but now his sudden lust came as a shock. Soon he was pounding into the woman faster and faster, and then he climaxed and spent his seed in her. He pulled out, still puzzled, for his tool was as hard as a rock. The woman too was still in a state of extreme arousal, pushing her hips up and crying out for more. One of the alien men obliged her, but then the two women came to Jim and pulled him away, lay him on his back and began to fondle his body, probing his anus and stroking his dick, their big tits moving seductively over him. Jim looked at them stunned but still needing relief, so he made no objection when one of them squatted on him and lowered her love slit onto his upright tool. Without effort she simply squatted here and moved athletically up and down his member, milking him with the wonderful muscles of her cunt, making her long pointed tits jiggle up and down and sending him into the most exquisite orgasm he had ever had. When they had all finished they left the Fugitive to her own devices and walked on, the Syrians chattering loudly and excitedly about the experience. They were now quite far from the entrance building and could indeed have been in the heart of Africa. The land, away from the nurturing little nozzles, had now turned to savannah and they had seen a zebra, a herd of those funny antelopes and a vulture. Cameras had whirred and things had gone smoothly enough, apart from a slight misunderstanding about the vulture, which one of the Syrians had blown into a shower of blood and feathers out of sheer exhilaration. Finally they came to the water hole. Jim consulted a sweat-stained map he kept in his jacket pocket and nodded in satisfaction. This was their lunch stop. Here they would find a cache of food, shade, and the opportunity to watch the wild life from the comfort and safety of a tree platform. But even before they arrived at the base of the massive old tree, Jim's sharp eyes had caught the shadows moving around its base. "What in Tarnation!" he growled and hurried his steps, oblivious to the remarks of his charges about the character of his sister and where she conceived her children. Once they were close enough, he broke into a jog, leaving the jeering aliens behind. The last of the little green humanoids were just disappearing up the ladder and Martin Ferdman was standing at its foot, hands on hips, in a proprietorial way, as he panted up. "Look here!" Jim began, once he had caught his breath. "Sorry old man," said the other, with a broad smile on his bearded face. "We had to avoid a pride of lions. They were right in our path, and you know the rules." He turned. Jim glared at him, unable to reply for sheer rage. Yes. He knew the rules all right. He also knew that Ferdman was taking a short cut that had nothing to do with the rules and that no one would ever bother to question his story about the lions. Routes Two and Three came close together here and it was an old trick to finish the Two trail on the Three. It cut a good hour's trekking off your day, and Jim himself had done it once or twice, but not when another group was on Three! "Oh, for Pete's sake!" he fumed. "Sorry, my friend," smiled the bearded giant, and he began climbing the ladder with studied care. Jim was about to suggest that they share the platform and the food, but he knew what the rules said about that too, as he knew what the result would be if the Syrians mixed with the little green humanoids. What is more, Darcy played golf with Ferdman, the manager of the Park. Jim trudged back to the waiting Syrians and wondered how the hell he was going to explain this one to them. As it happened, he did not have to. Even before he came up to the group he could see them waving their arms about in a way that betokened great excitement. Cameras of unnatural design appeared and howls of rage greeted the safari guide as he approached. "Out of the way, scum!" spat the large male who had elected himself spokesman of the band. Jim obediently moved out of camera line and turned. What he saw froze the blood in his veins. Several huge grey shapes had appeared beside the tree platform and as he watched, several more materialized, soundless, wraithlike. The elephants, apparently attracted by the smell of the food, were trying in vain to reach up onto the platform. More grey forms appeared then one of the bulls, this thwarting of his legitimate appetite, began to lean against the trunk of the old tree with his massive head. Another joined him. Just then a little bearded figure appeared on the balustrade and a pop sounded. Jim cursed. Didn't the fool know that their rifles were deliberately underpowered? No one wanted valuable wild life destroyed. The elephants, now in a killing frenzy, surged around the tree. It rocked hideously to and fro, like a tooth about to be pulled, then crashed to the ground. For a few moments clouds of dust and the surging grey bodies hid the scene, then one of the bulls held aloft a little human figure. There was a lot of red on it. "Run!" screamed Jim, forgetting protocol and looking directly at his charges. "Run, you idiots!" The nearest Syrian went grey at the insult, but already the herd of pachyderms, having trampled everything they could in the vicinity of the tree, was starting to move in their direction. Fortunately they were able to make it to a lion-watching bunker and could contact the rescue service. Jim received the expected dressing-down. "At least you could have come to his assistance!" roared Darcy, pacing up and down in the office, his gut bobbing up and down over the tight belt, his pudgy pink hands clasped in anguish behind his back. The two rescue pilots stood against one wall, embarrassed by the whole show, but grinning none the less to see Jim's discomfort. Jim, knowing what his rights were (none) nodded and said "Yes, Mr. Darcy." "Yes? Yes? Is that all you can say?" Darcy spluttered into silence. "Oh, get out of my office!" he finally hissed. Jim did so. He showered, noticing that his organ was still half tumescent, and began thinking of that Syrian woman and seeing those long tits….He started to pump his tool till it was rigid and gaping at the end, but then he remembered Madge. He stopped, stepped out of the shower, toweled himself off and changed and just as the siren on the roof of the building howled out the end of the day, he walked out the iron gate onto the street. He was humming a happy little tune as the bus pulled up. It was the first time in ages he had been able to get the 5.05. Suddenly he felt great, like a kid going home after school. Then he realized that he was starting to engorge again. He stepped off the bus and jogged to a walk as the vehicle sped off. They never slowed to a complete stop for just one passenger. It would have been an insult to the driver's virility. When he stepped through the front door Madge hugged him, after wiping her hands on her apron, and poured him a double Scotch. "Well?" she said. "How was work today?" But the Syrian aphrodisiac was still in his veins and he grabbed her roughly. She struggled, dropping the glass of Scotch. "Damn!" she said, trying to break free to pick it up, but then he kissed her. Their saliva mingled and suddenly she too was aroused. She clung to him and clawed his head against her own as their tongues probed . "Fuck me!" she muttered. "Fuck me hard, Jim. Poke me like a slut!" They tore off their clothes and made passionate and violent love on the floor, her fat little body with its big sagging tits and its big slack belly quivering beneath him as he rammed in again and again, her mouth open and uttering hoarse oaths and screams of climax. Later he discovered that he had somehow been infected, if that is the word, with the Syrian semen, and he need only rub a little of his saliva on the hand or arm or neck of a woman and she became willing and even desperate to fuck. His life at this point became extremely interesting.