As You Like It


By Brantley Thompson Elkins



“You’re the plant manager, right?” she asks the man who answers her buzz at the front gate of Hammond Industries.

“Plant manager? That’s a laugh. Nothing left to manage but the bankruptcy sale. Who the hell wants to know?”

The young woman presents a business card.

“Sheryl Hollander. Forge of Industry magazine.”

“You’re about a week late for the story. I already told it to the regular papers and the tabloids. They wouldn’t have believed me, or any of us, except—“

“Right, a serious outbreak of alien superwomen.”

“Not that it matters. This place is finished. We’re just keeping an eye on things until they sort it out in bankruptcy court.”

“Never say die,” Sheryl ventures.

The plant manager, whose name is Andrew Desmond, takes a closer look at her.

Cute young black woman. Gorgeous, actually. Café au lait, actually. And working for a steel industry trade journal? Must be some affirmative action thing. Doesn’t she have eyes, for Christ’s sake? Can’t she see what a mess that superwoman from hell made of the intake yard?

“Lady, you must be pretty new on the job,” Andrew says. “I can’t believe your editor didn’t lay it out for you.”

But she wants to see the rest, so Andrew decides to humor her, and takes her inside the mill. The conveyor is a wreck, the supports shattered, with cold billets of steel strewn every which way. The rollers, too, are scattered about; the place looks like a tornado hit it.

“I figure it’d take weeks to get things up and running again,” Andrew says. “That’s if we had the money. Which we don’t; our insurers decided they weren’t going to pay off on acts of God and extraterrestrials. And we haven’t got weeks, either. We have orders to fill—rails and I-beams and sheet metal. We can’t fill them, we’re out of business. We’re heading straight for Chapter 11. It was hard enough already, competing with the Chinese; we couldn’t have made it then if we weren’t strictly a recycling operation.”

Ever wonder where the steel from those scrapped cars ends up after they go through the E-Z Crusher at the junkyard? Hammond Industries is one of the places. It has a mountain of scrap steel piled at the intake yard. Ugliest looking thing you ever saw, but every ton of recycled steel saves 2,500 pounds of iron ore, 1,400 pounds of coal—and 74% of the energy needed to make new steel.

Here’s the drill: a crane with a huge electromagnet picks up the bales of steel and convey them to an electric arc furnace where electrodes that look like spark plugs but are bigger than a man melt down the steel, which flows into a cauldron. The cauldron tips the molten steel into huge molds, which form it into billets—those six-inch square, 50-foot long bars are shaped into other forms at the rolling mill.

“That bitch did more than tear up the mill,” Andrew complains. “You can see what she did to the housings. You can see how the rollers are nearly all bent out of shape, dinged at least.”

“I can help,” Sheryl says.

“Right. A feature in a monthly magazine that won’t come out until after the sheriff has knocked off whatever’s left to be knocked off.”

“I mean, I can help fix this place up.”

Andrew looks at her like she must have a screw loose.

“I’ll have to explain in your office, though, in private.”

Andrew’s office is strictly a workplace, nothing fancy. Basic desk, basic file cabinets, basic computer, basic wooden chairs, Andrew gestures to one of them and, without being asked to, starts firing up some coffee. Basic hospitality.

“Lady, if there were any work going on here, I wouldn’t waste a minute on you,” Andrew says frankly. “But it’s pretty boring right now, and you’re easy on the eyes. So say whatever you have to say. Maybe I’ll get a laugh out of it.”

With that, Sheryl starts taking her clothes off. Andrew’s jaw drops.

“You see, I’m not really a journalist.”

“You could have fooled me,” the plant manager says sarcastically. “I’ve heard of media whores but… Oh, I see, the guys must have chipped in to… they shouldn’t have, though. I mean, their prospects are even worse than mine.”

Sheryl just smiles, and keeps undressing. Andrew blushes with embarrassment, but he can’t stop looking. Especially after her breasts come into view—the most beautiful breasts he’s ever seen. He stands there mesmerized at the sight of her tawny flesh, which gleams like burnished bronze.

At that very moment, there’s a whistle from the coffeemaker. Faster than Andrew can follow, the half-naked woman grabs the pot and pours the scalding liquid on her chest.

She smiles again. She’s obviously unharmed, although the same can’t be said for her pants, stained by the black coffee that has run between her breasts and down her belly to soak her crotch.

“I could have just told you I’m a superwoman. But seeing is believing. And we have a bad rep on this planet right now. I didn’t want to show off in front of your men; they might have gotten the wrong idea and called in the military—much good that would have done. But I think I can trust you. And I think you can explain things to the others.”

Andrew is still taking things in.

“By the way, my name’s really Coffee. I hope you like my body.”


“I may not look it, but I’m just as strong as that bad supergirl. You’ll see.”

Andrew’s gaze is obviously lustful. But he hasn’t let that shut down his mind.

“What I can’t see is why you’re doing this. And why those others…”

“Boredom—for the others, I mean. Even where we come from, the Devil seems to find work for idle hands. And then they discovered Earth. There’s a story some guy in England actually invited them in, but we’ve never been able to confirm it. We only just found out about all the murder and mayhem they’ve committed here; we’re trying to round them up. And we’re going to try to make it up to you.”

“I never believed in Santa Claus.”

“It’s not charity; it’s a matter of pride for us. But we expect other rewards. Nothing you can’t pay, or be glad to pay. By your standards, we’re all billionaires, but we have other needs….”

Andrew is wondering how to put this to the men.

“Tell them I’ll make it entertaining for them,” she says. “Very entertaining.”

Entertaining for herself too, she muses. Back home, she's the princess of a great estate, known for her nobility and her good works. Here, she knows, she'll be an absolute goddess, also known for her good works -- but not necessarily the kind that are honored as such on this primitive world!




“Let’s start with the supports,” says Coffee. “That’s the easy part. But first, I’ve got to get the billets and rollers out of the way.”

She starts picking up the huge billets as if they were toothpicks, taking care not to let them hit anything, and stacks them neatly against the nearest wall. Andrew and the others can see that she’s not even breaking a sweat, but they love to watch her in motion, watch the flow of her muscles.

She pauses a couple of times to give the watchers a thrill, pressing one of the billets against her breast, which leaves the clear imprint of her nipple in the steel; then rubbing the edge of another against her pussy, which soon takes the edge off. Yet all the while she’s careful not to let her play endanger either the men or the structure.

She’s even more careful with the rollers, wanting to salvage as many as possible.

Now it’s time to reassemble the housings of the conveyor. This is indeed the easy part, for all she has to do is pick up the beams and girders, straighten them out where necessary, and hold them in place while the work crew welds them together. She could do the welding herself with her heat vision, but there’s a line-of-sight problem.

As the welders get on with their work, droplets of hot metal fall harmlessly on her body, They feel good, but she doesn’t react to them. Even so, other mill workers are going crazy at the sight, especially when the droplets hit her breasts—which is much of the time, those breasts being so large.

By mid-morning, the work on the housings is finished, thanks to Coffee's superhuman strength and the hard work of the welders, whom she rewards by letting them play their flames on her breasts, heating them until her nipples are bright red cherries. There probably isn't a dry fly in the house, and she is happy to have given them a few moments of joyous release after they have labored so faithfully.

But Andrew, who has missed that display, isn't optimistic about getting the rolling mill back on line.

“It’s going to take a week to get new rollers,” he says. “There’s no way we can get any of the work done with these.”

“Maybe I could unbend them, smooth them out,” Coffee suggests.

“These are precision rollers, lady. At least they were. Molded to precise tolerances. I don’t think you’ll be able to match those. It takes more than brute strength.”

Coffee considers the matter for a few moments.

“Let me try another idea,” she says.

She quickly gathers clay from a nearby river, and molds it around an intact roller. It’s good clay, and holds its shape. With her heat vision, she fuses the clay into a ceramic mold. The first attempt doesn’t quite work; the mold cracks when she extracts the original roller. But she tries a couple of more times, adjusting her heat vision until she gets it right.

Andrew, seeing what’s she’s up to, orders a crew to bring up more clay, seeing that these are going to be single-use molds, cracked open on purpose once the steel of the new rollers has cooled.

“We can get by with these for a while,” he says. “Kind of like you can drive a car for a while on the small spare. They won’t be like titanium. But hopefully they’ll last just long enough, till we can get the real thing. And we can make a stock of spares, although that will mean downtime when we have to change them. At least the steel won’t give out.”

Pepper—that was the name of the superbitch, Coffee has told hem—left the cauldron undamaged, having used it for recreational purposes. And even with the crane damaged, she can easily carry baled scrap steel to the arc furnace that feeds the cauldron. But it’s going to be awkward trying to get steel from the cauldron into the roller molds; the whole setup is designed to feed the billet molds.

Since Coffee’s a superwoman, she has an alternative: just dive into the cauldron with the roller molds, fill them up like pitchers and bring them back out.

Such a delightful alternative, she muses, as the white-hot metal caresses her invulnerable body. She wishes she could stay longer, but she has a job to do. Still, as she emerges from her first dive, the men—even from a safe distance—can see that her incredible breasts have grown yet larger. As rivulets of steel run between her legs, there is a burst of steam….

Ignoring her body’s demands in the name of professional zeal, she sets down the mold to cool, shapes and fuses another, and returns to the job at hand. Men in heat suits continue to do their part by bringing up additional clay for the molds on motorized sleds. They too ignore their body’s demands in the name of professional zeal, even when they see Coffee emerging from the cauldron like Venus on the half-shell, molten steel dripping from her luscious curves….

By the time she has a dozen new rollers cast, Coffee, can’t stand it any more.

“Oh God,” she cries. “I’ve got to take a break.”

The men don’t say anything, but they’ve come to understand.

Forgetting her duty for the moment, she frolics in the molten steel, letting the white-hot liquid caress her entire body.

The men try to avert their eyes, but can’t help peeking through their safety goggles as Coffee dives beneath the surface, then emerges to float on her back as she luxuriates in the heat that would have killed them in a second.

“Oh!” she cries as she caresses her nipples with one hand. The other plunges between her legs and moves back and forth furiously. “Oh yes, yes, yes, YES.” Her body shudders as she climaxes again and again. Finally, her face, which had been mad with desire and then with ecstasy, takes on a look of calm and contentment.

“Oh, that was good,” she sighs. Then gazing at the men as if noticing them for the first time, she adds, “Hope you liked the show.”

Some of Andrew’s men have missed the show because they were out on yet another run to collect clay. But they can watch now as young superwomen, with the perfection of practice, forms new molds efficiently and dives again and again into the fiery cauidron to fill them. There are still a few bad lots, but the number of good rollers is growing steadily.

Coffee works quickly, and before long she’s running out of steel. Not to worry; the crew working the oven can melt up another batch from scratch. Not to worry; Coffee can give that crew another show. She screams in ecstasy as tons of molten steel cascade down her body, splashing against her awesome breasts, running down between her legs. Soon she is waist deep, then vanishes entirely, only to pop out of the cauldron long enough to grab another mold. So it goes.

Andrew turns his head away; he can’t take it any more.

They’re making progress, anyway.




Coffee and the Hammond Industries crew have finally gotten the new rollers installed. It’s been grueling work for the men, even with the help of a superwoman, and they’re due a break before they get to work on new billets. In fact, Andrew has told them to take the next day off.

“If the rollers work, we’re back in business,” he tells Coffee. “If they don’t, there isn’t much any of us can do.”

He hopes the men have pleasant dreams. Coffee has certainly given them inspiration.

“If they aren’t too tired, their wives or girlfriends will get the benefit,”

“I don’t think they’d want to know that.”

“Another reason for your men to be discreet.”

“They would be anyway. They know what you told them. That this is a demonstration project. An earnest of what your people mean to do elsewhere. We have to have something to show the world, so that the world will believe.”

“Of course, we won’t want to replace the missiles and warships. Several governments won’t be happy with that.”

“But the men manning them…”

“We can’t bring them back. Some things are beyond our power.”

The lights are still on in the office and the rolling mill. And there is suddenly a shout from outside.

“What the hell’s going on here?”

Coffee recognizes the voice.

“Stay here,” she warns Andrew before stepping outside.

Pepper looks at Coffee and her handiwork in disbelief.

“Why do you have to spoil the fun?” she asks.

“You’ve really been making a pest of yourself, Pepper. Why should I have to clean up your messes?”

“Why clean them up at all? You’re such a wuss. Putting yourself out for these frails.”

“None of the men here think I’m a wuss.”

“Lover Boy thinks you’re a wuss.”

Coffee notices Pepper’s pathetic boyfriend lurking some yards away.

“He is a wuss. Is he the best you can do?”

Lover Boy glares at Coffee, but says nothing.

“He’s got a great cock,” Pepper boasts.

“And the brains of a rooster.”

“I’ve got a gang of muscles, and I know how to use them.”

“You’re in a gang of trouble, and you don’t know squat.”

Yet she starts backing away from Pepper, towards the intake yard. Has the savior of the Hammond plant met her match? Is all her work—all the men’s work—come to naught?

Andrew is afraid, very afraid. So is Coffee—but it’s him she’s afraid for. She knows she has to divert her rival’s attention from the plant manager. Nothing much to hurt in the intake yard—just scrap metal.

Coffee retreats towards the mountain of baled car carcasses, assuming a wrestler’s stance. Pepper continues her advance. She is shorter and stockier than Coffee, and far more muscular. She grabs her rival about the waist, tries to crush her or at least throw her to the ground.

But Coffee won’t be crushed, won’t be thrown. She stands there immovable, like a rock. Pepper’s feet start slipping; she can’t get traction against the packed dirt of the yard—hard to humans, but soft as cotton candy to a superwoman. Pepper loses her balance, and Coffee takes advantage of that to gain leverage, grabbing hold of her and swinging her like a hammer to send her flying into the pile of junked car bodies.

Coffee jumps back as a landslide of junked cars buries Pepper.

Pepper’s entombment won’t last, she knows. But she thinks she has Pepper’s number, and there’s a plan forming in her mind as she comes bursting from the jumble of scrap metal.

“Lucky break!” Pepper snarls.

“Don’t you wish!” Coffee taunts.

“Time to get serious,” Pepper challenges.

She opens up with her heat vision, expecting to intimidate her opponent. But Coffee just stands there, hands on hips, taking everything Pepper’s got.

Her body begins to glow turning red-hot and then yellow-hot. Lover boy has fled the scene, and nearly bales of scrap steel begin to melt. But Coffee is completely unharmed; her bathing repeatedly in molten steel earlier in the day has enhanced her invulnerability.

Whereas she’s sure Pepper hasn’t done anything during the last week besides pose for Lover Boy.  Maybe smashing a few cars and gyms here and there. Her internal batteries must be running down, too; her heat vision has begun to falter.

When Coffee strikes back with her own heat vision, a depleted Pepper screams in pain, then tries to flee. But Coffee catches her and deals a knockout blow. She’ll be out until the security people from her world arrive to retrieve her, but just to be on the safe side she forms a crude but effective prison vault from scrap steel and seals the bad supergirl inside.

“It’s all right now,” Coffee shouts. “Come on down!”

Dusk has fallen by now, but her body still glows dark red from the residual heat of the battle, allowing Andrew to admire every curve.

“I’m not safe to touch—yet,” she warns him. “But, like I said this morning, I do want a reward from you. Nothing you can’t give. Nothing you won’t be glad to give. I’ve reserved a VIP suite at the local Marriott, and once I cool down we can retire there and heat things up.”

Andrew is speechless. But his eyes speak volumes.

“I love the way you’re looking at me,” Coffee says. “And tonight you’ll get to do more than look. You’ll get to touch, and touch and touch… “




Coffee sits on the edge of the bed in their suite. Her panties have fluttered to the floor only a moment earlier, and she is now naked but for her shoes and a necklace.

Such incredible beauty could have fired a dying hermit, and Andrew is no dying hermit. Now the bronze goddess poses and turns slowly for him, giving him a sensual preview of every square inch of her luscious flesh. He can feel her heat; like a radiator—her body temperature must be five or ten degrees above the human norm.

“Am I driving you crazy?” she asks. “Because that’s the big turn-on for me. Sex back home is fun, but it’s no big deal—we’re all super. But to be a goddess, to see the worship in your eyes, to see your aching need…”

When he finally dares touch her, he is amazed at how soft and smooth her tan skin is. Sliding his hand on her is like sliding it on the rarest silk. It feels so delicate—and yet he knows that no power on Earth can harm it.

“It’s completely invulnerable,” she reminds him. “Every part of my body is invulnerable to pain and harm. But not to pleasure—never to pleasure. You could pleasure me with a gun or a welding torch, but that’s not what I want tonight. Bullets and flames can pleasure me, but they don’t know it. You will. You’re about to learn what it means to pleasure a goddess, to be pleasured by a goddess.”

Andrew’s explorations are tentative at first, as he traces her arms and legs and belly. Yet her tawny flesh responds to his caresses; Coffee moans softly as his hands roam, feeling the incredible heat of her flesh, admiring her soft yet invulnerable femininity.

He’s already on the verge of coming, and he hasn’t even reached her breasts or pussy.

“Don’t worry,” she tells him “You’ll be good for another round. Several rounds. And I love to watch a man come, to watch his love juice shoot from his prick-tip, to know how hot I’ve made him.”

She steps back just enough to give him a clear view.

“I can’t stand it,” Andrew cries, as his cock explodes.

Droplets of cum splatter against Coffee, dappling her breasts and running down her belly. She dips her hand into the cum and conveys it to her lips.

“Mmmm, good,” she coos, “I love to make a man come, and I love to taste his cum. And you’re going to love the taste of me."

She seats herself and spreads her legs, inviting Andrew to drink his fill of her juices.

Which taste like… café latte?

Andrew is surprised, but too busily engaged to comment except by mumbling.

“It doesn’t just taste good, it’s good for you,” she tells him when he comes up for air a few moments later. “It puts lead in your pencil. High-grade steel, actually. You’re going to need it to penetrate me, and penetration is the name of the game.”

Andrew had already noticed he was still hard, and thought: How could any man go soft in the presence of such beauty? But now, oh God, now….

Coffee takes him in her arms and kisses him. Her lips feel soft against his, her tongue darts in and out of his mouth. She holds him in a liplock for several minutes, grinding her body again his. He senses her breasts pressing against his chest, hot and huge. He feels his cock against the entrance to her pussy, aching to enter it.

To feel the entire length of her body against his, to feel her divine heat, to feel the steely muscles beneath her silky skin, to feel her magnificent breasts against his chest, to know that the paradise between her legs lies within reach—it’s just too much.

Coffee knows what he wants. The same thing she wants.

“Fuck me! Oh fuck me,” she yells.

His cock feels as hard as steel as he plunges it into her cunt of steel. Her cunt grips him like a vise—but a velvet vise, and her heavenly fuck creams give him all the lubrication he needs. Yet she can clamp down on him just enough to keep him from coming prematurely. There’s nothing to be afraid of; he can’t hurt her, and she won’t hurt him—she’s so good! Oh God, she’s so good!

Andrew fucks Coffee as hard as he can, harder than he’s ever fucked a woman before, slamming his cock into her over and over. She wraps her legs around him to pull him in even deeper. With her words as well as her motions, she urges him on.

He feels his orgasm building, an explosion to end all explosions. But she won’t let him explode—not yet. It’s torture, but such sweet torture.

And then, finally, the word he’s been waiting for.


COFFEE!” he shouts as he pours his love into her, as he feels the convulsions of her cunt, squeezing him again and again, hungrily extracting every drop of cum left to him. He feels her body shake uncontrollably, he feels his own body shake just as uncontrollably with the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced.

Only it’s just the beginning…. Her every wish becomes his command, but her every wish is his every wish.

“Suck my breasts!”

“Bite my nipples. Hard, harder!”

“Eat me out, oh yes, nibble my clit.”

After bringing her to climax after climax with his ministrations, the bronze goddess lays him on his back and gazes lovingly at his erection. Then, facing him, looking him in the eye, she slowly impales herself on him, so he can watch his cock disappear slowly, oh so slowly into her loving pussy.

Coffee invites him by turns to stroke her perfect ass, to squeeze her perfect breasts as she rides him. And every stroke, every squeeze is answered by a delicious contraction of her internal muscles. Andrew is delirious with the knowledge that he is actually giving as well as receiving ultimate pleasure, that this goddess loves fucking him as much as he loves being fucked. Her words from before become his now.

Oh fuck me, Coffee!” he screams. “Fuck me hard!”

Her face is a mask of lust as she answers his plea, slamming him into the bed again and again until he erupts deep inside her. Her spasms tell him that she has felt him come, as he has felt her come.

They hug and kiss each other tenderly for a while, basking in the afterglow, Then it’s time for another round. And another….

Tomorrow, we'll roll some orders, Andrew thinks when he finally becomes aware of the world again. But he knows that he will never forget this day, this night—the day that a superwoman saved his business and the night she took him to heaven!