Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts

Monday, March 03, 2014

New Story - "A Real-Life Goo Girl"

As mentioned earlier, here's "A Real-Life Goo Girl".  Originally I was intending to synch this to come out at the same time as the version on Literotica, but they were a bit quicker at posting than usual and it came out yesterday instead.  This was useful as one of the comments made me realise the ending needed a tweak.

Here's one for the slime girl fans anyway:


A Real-Life Goo Girl

“I’m telling you, it’s a real fetish,” John Sanjust said.

John and Mario Vailati stood on a metal gantry overlooking a large, circular glass tank.

“Nah, you’re yanking my chain,” Vailati said.

“Rule 34.  If it exists, there is porn of it somewhere on the internet.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Google it,” John said.  “You’ll find tons of pictures.”

“I don’t get it.  What’s the appeal in having sex with what’s basically a giant amoeba?”

Below them, Subject HA-001 moved around the inside of the tank in a series of undulating waves.

John shrugged.  “Beats me.  It’s out there though.”

“I mean, think about it,” Vailati said.  “It would probably feel like shoving your cock into a beaker of cold snot.  How is that sexy?”

“I bet there are websites for that as well,” John said.

Subject HA-001’s upper body pressed up against the lid of the tank.  Twin bulges of what were perfect facsimiles of human breasts, right down to the perky nipples, squashed up against the glass.  She stared up at them and kissed the glass with full, bee-stung lips.

John would have thought the mimicry incredible . . . if there was any subject being copied.  Subject HA-001 had taken on the body shape of a typical male fantasy—tall and busty, ridiculously well-stacked, like a Pamela Anderson or Kim Kardashian—and no-one knew how or why.  Well, the top half of her was a male fantasy.  The bottom half swelled out into a soft, undifferentiated blob of protoplasm.  She was a human-sized amoeba with transparent light-blue skin.  John didn’t need to possess a PhD to know she—it—shouldn’t exist.

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mind shoving your dick up between those puppies,” he said.

“Language!” Danielle Sullivan shouted up from the monitors below.  “This is a place of serious work.  I will not have potty mouths in my laboratory.”

“Sorry, Mom,” John said.

It was a team joke.  Danielle Sullivan was middle-aged and chunky.  Blonde curls framed a round, homely face.  She was from the American Midwest and about as conservative as they came.  Until he’d met her, John hadn’t thought people like Sullivan existed outside of lazy parodies of American culture.  He’d even made an ill-advised quip about it not long after they’d been introduced.

“I didn’t think it possible for biologists to come out of your neck of the woods.  I thought they were still having problems accepting the Theory of Evolution,” he’d joked, poorly.

“We’re not all gun-toting crazy whahoos,” she’d said.  “And where’s your top hat and tails—left them back in London did you.”


Sullivan might have sounded like she was more at home baking apple pies, but she was a fastidious and highly efficient researcher, if a little unimaginative.  That was both the positive and negative of her military background.  John suspected that was why he’d been brought in.  It was easy to joke about that classic oxymoron, American Intelligence, but they knew enough to seek out someone who could think outside of the box.

Unfortunately, this little problem required being able to think a little further than outside of the box.  A lot further . . .

* * * *

The lab went into lockdown at 9:45pm on a Tuesday evening.  John was working late and the only person in the lab.  He was studying images from the electron microscope when a warning flashed up on his monitor screen informing him of a containment breach and that the lab was entering lockdown mode.

If this was a film or videogame there would have been flashing lights and wailing sirens.  That was because films and videogames were designed to generate excitement.  In a dangerous lab environment excitement was a bad thing.  Personnel needed to think clearly and fast, and flashing lights and blaring alarms were not conducive to clear and rational thought.  No doubt an alarm was going off somewhere and highly trained personnel were springing into action, but John, despite being in the lab, was superfluous now.  The breach had been detected and the doors would have been locked and sealed the moment it was detected.

John sat in eerie silence and looked at the polite warning message flashing on his computer screen.  He wondered if they’d let him compose a final email to his mother back in London.

* * * *

John had been in Miami for a conference on protists when the US military had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.  It was his first paper since receiving his PhD and he wasn’t sure what interest the US military had in “Cytoskeletal Features that aid Oxygen Diffusion in Large Protists”.  Some amoeba, like the infamous brain-eating amoeba, Naegleria fowleri, were hazardous to human health, but John’s area of expertise was the giant amoeba, Chaos carolinensis, and they were harmless . . . unless you happened to be a diatom or similarly microscopic organism.

He’d assumed there’d been a mistake and told them so.

“You are an expert in gaseous absorption and transfer in single-celled organisms?” Vailati had asked him.  This was before John knew who Dr Mario Vailati was.  Back then he’d been another nondescript man with thinning grey hair and a lab coat.

“Well, yes”

He had been studying it for the past three and a half years.

Then you’re exactly the person we want.

“Why not Professor Robert Feldherr?  He’s the expert in this field and he lives in this state.”

“Professor Feldherr doesn’t have the requisite personality traits for this project.”

That was from the military type in the smart uniform who looked as stiff as a shop mannequin.  Translated from military-speak what he really meant was:  Professor Feldherr is old, knows his own mind, and is far less likely to follow orders without question than a fresh-faced young limey.  That was John Sanjust.  They wanted him for his expertise, but also because they knew he’d be easier to control than an irascible old professor.

* * * *

John hoped it was a false alarm.  He would have prayed as well, but he was an atheist and couldn’t see the point.

He knew there were two critical fail-safes.  The first pumped super-cooled gas into the room, dropping the temperature down to around -190 °C in a few seconds and turning the whole lab into a giant ice box.  That was if they wanted to preserve and retrieve any of the samples.

If they weren’t interested in retaining anything, or were really scared of further breaches, the second system was set up to incinerate the contents of the lab.

He’d thought it sounded excessive when they’d described the system to him.  This was before he’d seen Subject HA-001 . . .

* * * *

“What kind of experiment is this?”  John’s voice had been full of awe, and fear.

Part of Subject HA-001 clearly resembled a young woman.  Blue, transparent, but unmistakably a young woman.  Initially he’d wondered if a horrific accident had taken place, or—worse—equally horrific human experimentation.

He wasn’t on the right planet.

“That information is classified,” the young soldier escorting them said.

“She’s from another world,” Vailati said.

The younger soldier looked at Vailati and was about to say something.

“Oh shut it,” Vailati said.  “Dr Sanjust is here to carry out research on our behalf.  He can’t do that effectively if he isn’t aware of all the facts.”

Chastened, the young soldier stepped back out of the conversation.

“From another dimension, to be more specific,” Vailati continued.  “I’m sure you’ve already noticed the excessive security at this facility.  You’ll be happy to know it’s not because we’re manufacturing weapons of mass destruction.”

“That’s a relief,” Vailati said.

“Our physicists found a way to punch a hole between dimensions.  On the other side of the complex is a stable gateway to another world.  We’ve been sending people through for the past few months.  They’ve even established bases on the other side.”

John’s jaw dropped open.

“This is a little unexpected,” he said.  “I guess that means we’ve just gone past the opportunity for me to turn this job down.”

“Sorry, kiddo.  Once you’re in, you’re in.  None of the people we asked ever wanted out at this point anyway,” Vailati said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Who would,” John said.  “What scientist would turn down an opportunity like this?  Have you been through?” he asked.

Vailati shook his head.

“I was scheduled to, and then something happened.  We found life.”

* * * *

John stared at the computer monitor.  His hands trembled and his palms felt moist.

Cut it out, he thought.  They were not going to freeze him into an icicle—or nuke him into a pile of ashes—unless they were absolutely sure there had been a hazardous containment breach.  And then only as an absolute last resort.

He checked the internal messaging system.  He messaged the first name on duty.  They didn’t get back to him and neither did the next five names he tried.

Presumably that was protocol.  Don’t speak to the poor sucker you might have to incinerate.

Stop it!  It was probably a false alarm.  No one was replying because they were too busy running diagnostic checks and hunting for whatever software glitch had flipped the alarm.

John left messages asking for clarification.  Then he tapped an icon and brought up the feed from the internal lab cams.  He knew CCTV covered the whole of the interior of the lab.  One lunch break he and Vailati had laughed while watching the prim and proper Sullivan pick her nose when she thought no one was watching.  Sometimes the littlest of things pleased the biggest of minds.  John cycled through the images until he found a camera with a view of the tank.


John’s blood turned to icy slush.  It wasn’t a software glitch.  The circular tank with walls of reinforced glass was empty.

Subject HA-001 was out.

* * * *

Gaseous exchange, John had pedantically told his fellow students during a Student Union screening of The Blob.  That was the reason why The Blob, Caltiki or any other B-movie blob monster couldn’t possibly exist.  Single-celled amoebae never grew larger than a few microns for a good reason.  Any bigger and oxygen wouldn’t be able to penetrate the tissues fast enough to keep the organism alive.  This was why complex organisms had complex circulatory systems.

It was also why human beings tended to die when they were shot full of holes and all the red stuff leaked out.

“I know, it shouldn’t be alive,” Vailati said as they’d studied Subject HA-001 for the first time.  “From what I’ve heard there are quite a few shouldn’t be’s over in H-space.  The physicists postulated the laws of physics work slightly differently on the other side of the gate.  None of our electronics function properly when we take them through.

“But wouldn’t the same apply for alien life forms brought back into our world?” John said.

“That’s one theory.  Professor Michel and Doctor Pendleton were firmly opposed to bringing Subject HA-001 back.  They thought it would disintegrate into a puddle of goo the moment it entered our universe.  As you can see, they were wrong.”

John could see.  Subject HA-001 stood—if such a word could be used—up against the reinforced wall of the tank.  Her palms and large round breasts were pressed up against the glass.

* * * *

John accessed the environmental controls from his computer.  He couldn’t override lockdown and wouldn’t if he could.

That surprised him.  He’d thought of himself and Vailati as a pair of lovable goofballs in a world full of straight-arrow stiffs.  He hadn’t really thought of himself as a sacrifice-for-the-greater-good sort of bloke.  Sullivan, yes, he could see it.  She’d happily pour petrol over herself and light a match while singing “The Star-Spangled Banner” if she thought it would aid her country.

This wasn’t even his country.

It didn’t matter.  They couldn’t risk HA-001 escaping.  He knew all about invasive species.  If it got out, made it down into the sewers and started to reproduce they might never be able to eradicate it.  He wasn’t exactly relishing the prospect of being flash-frozen into an ice cube—or incinerated—but he saw the logic of it.  One life versus the lives of many was a simple equation.  He’d make the same call if it was him outside.

It didn’t have to come to that anyway.  Not if he could take control of the situation in here first.

He accessed the environmental controls and turned the lights down as low as they would go while still providing him enough illumination to see by.  Subject HA-001 was mildly phosphorescent.  It glowed blue in the dark.  Turning the lights down would give him the best chance of spotting it before . . .

* * * *

No one knew what Subject HA-001 had done to PFC Trey Sandoval in the fifteen minutes or so between her surprising and overwhelming him, and her eventual capture at the hands of PFC Sandoval’s squad.  The eyewitness reports were conflicting and confused.  One had sworn Subject HA-001 was trying to eat PFC Sandoval.  Another was convinced she was trying to mate with him.  The facts shorn of conjecture were this:  They’d found Sandoval naked and lying on his back with his body partially engulfed by Subject HA-001.  Thinking there still might be a chance to save him his squad-mates had resisted the trigger impulse to start blasting away.  Instead, one of them, CPL Rutan, had taken careful aim and put a bullet through what they thought was Subject HA-001’s head.  The bullet passed straight through and didn’t do anything other than attract Subject HA-001’s attention.

“She turned and gave me a look like the one my ex-wife used to give me every night I came back home late and drunk,” Rutan told them.

It had been SFC Cederlund’s idea to use a fire extinguisher.

“Worked in The Blob,” he’d told them afterwards.

It worked here as well.  Subject HA-001 did not like cold.  It caused her to contract, slow down, and finally become dormant.

At first they’d thought they’d saved PFC Sandoval.  Outwardly his tissues and exposed skin showed no signs of damage from being surrounded by Subject HA-001.  They’d even joked about PFC Sandoval’s large and noticeable erection.

This was before the other reports of aggressive sexual behaviour from H-space life forms had started to come in.

Apparently it took two hours for Sandoval’s erection to subside.  Most of the ribald jokes had faded away by then.  Sandoval was still out cold and nothing anyone did was able to revive him.  He was alive and breathing, but appeared to be in some kind of coma.  The doctors didn’t know how to wake him because they couldn’t understand how HA-001 had induced the coma in the first place.  They’d scanned Sandoval’s brain back on Earth and it looked perfectly healthy.  Sandoval should have woken with no ill-effects at all.  That was a few weeks ago.  As far as John was aware, PFC Sandoval was still in the same coma somewhere on the base.

* * * *

John stared at the screen.  No reply back from anyone in Security.  That was a bad sign.  Maybe the decision to flip the switch had already been made and they didn’t want the psychological awkwardness of speaking to the condemned man.

He cycled through the internal cameras.  No sign of Subject HA-001.  The tank was still empty and the moment Security saw that they would have confirmation the alarms going off wasn’t a glitch.

He had to act first.

John picked up a fire extinguisher and moved cautiously through the lab.  The room was completely silent.  Red warning messages blinked on monitor screens.  He reached the big glass tank at the centre of the lab.  He saw no sign of blue phosphorescence.  So much for hoping Subject HA-001 had left behind a slime trail.

He advanced to the back of the lab with the fire extinguisher held out before him like a gun.

They didn’t know how smart Subject HA-001 was.  John hoped he was wrong, but he suspected the reason they didn’t know how smart HA-001 was because HA-001 didn’t want them to know how smart HA-001 was.  This was not a thought that comforted him as he picked his way between the workbenches.  Neither was the knowledge he was a single button press away from instantaneous obliteration.

He felt something splatter on his right hand.

* * * *

They’d brought in John because they thought HA-001 was a giant amoeba with an uncanny ability to mimic the human form, and he was the amoeba guy.

HA-001 wasn’t an amoeba.  John and Vailati didn’t know what she was.  The samples they took from Subject HA-001’s body didn’t help either.  They didn’t seem to know what they were either.  Sometimes John saw highly complex protein structures he’d never seen before, sometimes he saw strange inorganic compounds, and other times it was just water.

John and Vailati weren’t even sure if HA-001 was alive, at least in the conventional sense.

He couldn’t remember how the incident with his semen in a Petri dish had come about.  It had probably been a stupid bet or dare with Vailati.  That was how most of these things started.

Vailati had a theory that HA-001’s protean nature indicated she had an unstable genome and needed a constant supply of genetic material in order to replenish herself.  As theories went it was wild and woolly, but given they’d spent a solid week in the lab and determined nothing, it was about as good as any other conjecture.

John had gone into one of the cupboards and jacked off onto a Petri dish.  They’d placed the Petri dish in the tank and had briefly been excited when HA-001 had sucked it up with a pseudopod.  Then they’d felt a little foolish as they realised it didn’t prove anything.  She’d have probably done the same with a saucer of milk.

Sullivan had been livid.  She thought it was immature hi-jinks and had no place in a serious lab.  She’d been even less happy about Vailati’s next proposal.

God knows where Vailati had found his volunteer.  John knew the killbot factory training must be hardcore, but this was devotion bordering on the insane.  There was no way John would put his naked dick anywhere near HA-001.  Somehow Vailati had managed to find a man blindly obedient enough to be willing to do that.

At least Vailati gave some thought to the man’s safety.  They partitioned the tank with the volunteer, PV2 Vinnie George, on one side and Subject HA-001 on the other.  The only way for her to reach George was by extruding a pseudopod through a small hole in the partition wall.  Suspended above that aperture—guillotine-like—was a sharp blade.  If they started to lose control of the experiment they would bring the blade down, slicing off HA-001’s appendage.  Based on previous experiments, any part of HA-001 separated from the main body quickly liquefied.

Privately John still thought PV2 Vinnie George was less brave than stark-raving bonkers.

HA-001 went straight for the naked man’s cock.  She sent a feeler through the aperture and it wrapped around and then enveloped the volunteer soldier’s penis.

“If you feel numbness, a burning sensation or any other kind of discomfort let us know immediately and we’ll terminate the experiment.”

“It feels okay,” George said, looking down at his engulfed member with a degree of stoicism that amazed John.  “Kind of nice actually, like she’s—Oh!—”  His mouth dropped open in surprise.  “—trying to tug me off.”

John saw it as well.  Through the transparent blue skin of HA-001’s pseudopod he saw George’s foreskin move back and forth.  HA-001’s appendage bunched up as it manipulated George’s cock.  She was clearly masturbating him.

He also noted—with some envy—that George was hung like the proverbial horse.

“Oh that feels really good.”  George turned to Vailati with a broad grin.  “Is she supposed to be jerking me off?”

“If you feel uncomfortable we can terminate the experiment at any time,” Vailati said.

“No no.  It’s fine,” George said.  “More than fine.”

HA-001 extruded more protoplasm through the aperture and her pseudopod formed a thick, pulsing cuff around George’s erection.  John watched the man’s foreskin move back and forth as HA-001 continued to wank the naked soldier.  George closed his eyes and started to moan in pleasure.

This was the moment when Sullivan stormed off in a huff.

“Probably more sexual arousal than she gets to see in a year,” John joked with Vailati.

“Uh, I think I’m going to . . .”  George didn’t get a chance to finish.  His body shuddered and he spurted thick ropes of white semen into HA-001’s slime sheath.  She sucked it down, using her pseudopod as if it was a pipe.  HA-001 sent more of her body through the aperture, thickening the tentacle connecting her to George’s crotch.

John watched as structures formed within her pseudopod.  He frowned.  This was something they hadn’t seen before.  HA-001’s body was best described as a bag of transparent blue fluid moulded into the shape of a woman.  They hadn’t seen any evidence of organelles at either the macro or micro level.  They hadn’t even found anything resembling a nucleus.

John watched as colourless rings formed within the clear blue slime.  They were plump like transparent doughnuts and slowly pulsed.  They settled around George’s cock like a hoops on a post.  The volunteer gave a loud gasp.  He was hung like a horse, but still, there was no way the explosion of white cum that erupted from the end of his cock could be natural.  George shuddered and shivered on the spot.  His hips swung loosely back and forth as a river of milky-white cum flowed down the transparent tentacle to HA-001.  There was no way a person could produce that much cum, even if they’d been gifted the sex organs of a satyr.

“Shut it,” John said.

Vailati agreed with him.  He closed the aperture, slicing off HA-001’s appendage.  Separated from the main mass, the pseudopod liquefied and splashed onto the floor of the tank.  HA-001 gave a silent sigh of disappointment.

“Whoa, dear fucking Jesus,” George said.  He looked about as steady on his feet as a newborn deer.  This was a six-foot-plus ogre of a man with a barrel for a chest.

“What did it feel like?” Vailati asked.

“Fucking awesome, doc, if you’ll excuse the language,” George said, a shit-eating grin on his face.  “Like the best fucking blowjob ever.”

They did some tests on George afterwards.  There seemed to be no ill effects apart from some strange, purely cosmetic, markings on the man’s penis.  John had wondered if those transparent doughnut organelles had been in the process of bonding with the man in some way, a process that had been interrupted when they’d terminated the experiment.

“You need me again?” George asked, hopeful, as he’d left the lab area.  “I’ll do it again, no problem.  Hell, once word gets around you’ll have a big line of grunts outside the door wanting to volunteer.”

That was yesterday.

* * * *

John felt something splatter on his right hand.  Like water dripping from the ceiling . . . only he knew it wasn’t water.

He knew how this went.  He’d seen it before in countless horror films.  He’d look up and there would be the blob, clinging to the ceiling above him.  He’d open his mouth to scream, but it would be too late as the blob flopped down on top of him.

John was smarter than that.

He was already diving to his right as a wet mass detached from the ceiling and landed with a splat right where he’d been standing mere moments before.

Unfortunately John was a lab rat who’d never had much time for the exercise field.  He was no action-movie gymnast.  Action-movie gymnasts also had the advantage of multiple takes.  They didn’t have to use the one where they collided with a lab bench, jarred their knee and dropped the one weapon that could save them.

He wasn’t sure it would have done him much good in any case.  HA-001 was fast.  She sprang back from her fall and was already gushing towards him.  His body was lifted up as a surge of protoplasm flowed under him.  The soft substance, more solid than the liquid it resembled, bulged up and formed a natural pillow for his head.  It happened so fast he didn’t realise he was caught until she was dragging him back to the jiggling main mass of her body.

And he was caught.  Just like an insect stuck in amber before it set.  He moved his arms and legs back and forth to no discernible effect, like an ungainly frog trying to swim in thick jelly.  HA-001 reared up above him and then flopped down on top of him.  His sodden clothes were torn off him like wet tissue paper.  Breasts like quivering bowls of jelly rested on his chest as she looked down at him and smiled.

“I’ve been looking forward to this moment ever since you gave me a taste of your seed.”

Her speaking didn’t come as much of a surprise to John.  He’d suspected for a while she was intelligent enough to hide that intelligence from them.  It also gave him a sliver of hope—unlike a mindless amoeboid, she could be reasoned with.

“The whole lab is being monitored,” he said.  “If you don’t stop this and go back to your tank they’ll torch the both of us.”

HA-001 shook her head.

“No they won’t,” she said.  “I’m too valuable a specimen.”

“Doesn’t matter,” John said.  “They won’t risk you escaping.  They’ll incinerate everything in here.”

“Who said anything about escaping,” HA-001 said, pursing her lips in an insouciant pout.  “After I’ve had my fun with you I’m going to go back to my little tank and continue to play the good little test subject . . . until the time is right.”

Smart enough to reason with, but also smart enough to think several moves ahead.

“What do you mean by fun?” he asked.

HA-001 traced a little circle around his exposed nipple with a molten finger, leaving behind a glistening blue trail that glowed in the gloom.

“Fun,” she said.  Her lips plumped up in a suggestive pout.  “And I know you want to have fun with me as well.  I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way those naughty eyes of yours get stuck on my gooey breasts.”

She sat up until it looked like she was straddling him, but instead of legs her upper body flowed down into an undifferentiated pile of glowing blue jelly.  She cupped hands under her enormous boobs like a greengrocer weighing melons.

“Come, touch them.  I know you’ve wanted to put your hands on them for a while.”

She plucked his hands out of her sticky mass.  John felt curiously non-resistive, as if her glowing body emitted a radiation that sapped away all his energy.  He didn’t struggle as she took his hands and pressed them palm-flat against the swell of her breasts.

This was a little weird and not all that unpleasant.  In truth he had wondered what it would feel like and wasn’t disappointed as he felt the pressure of her soft boobs against his hand.  It reminded him of a conference in Montreal.  His colleagues had dragged him off to a strip club afterwards and a statuesque brunette had taken him up to a little cubicle and forced him to put his hands on boobs as big as milk jugs.  HA-001 had even larger breasts and there was something about her skin—smooth, soft, warm—that made his own skin crave contact.

John didn’t even mind as his fingers started to sink beneath the surface.  It meant more surface area could come into contact with her.  His hands sank into the transparent bulge of her breasts until they were embedded up to his wrists.  Now her warmth was all around his fingers.  He felt quiet pulses run through her gelatinous body, a gentle beat he longed to share.

HA-001 flowed over and around him in delicious little ripples.  She straddled him and he was partially engulfed by her gelatinous form.  Rather than being a source of terror John found it surprisingly erotic.  His cock swelled up in an impressive erection, helped along by HA-001.  Her hand felt like it was dripping with warm lubricant as it stroked up and down John’s hard-on.

“I knew you were up for some fun,” she said with a suggestive smile.

John wondered if Security was watching the camera feeds and what they’d make of this.  It must look like they were shagging.  Of course it would look like they were shagging.  She was astride him and he had his hands on—okay, in—her tits.  What else would it look like?

Were they fucking?

HA-001 settled in his lap and John’s cock was enveloped by the moist protoplasm of her body.  Oh wow.  It felt like oil-covered hands with countless fingers slithering up and down his shaft.  Or countless warm mouths filled with a multitude of tickling tongues.  HA-001 moved up and down on top of him and her motions sent waves undulating through the bed of jelly she’d piled up under John’s naked body.  He floated within her and felt like he was drowning in sensual sensation.

Yeah, definitely fucking.

For science, he told himself.  Not that pleasure like this needed any excuses.

“I don’t understand,” he said as she rocked and rolled on top of him.  “You’re a different species, from a different dimension.  This can’t be for procreation.”

“This isn’t for procreation,” HA-001 said.  She threw back her head and sighed as she pressed gelatinous hips down on John’s lap.  “This is how I feed.”

Okay, so that wasn’t the most romantic of answers, but it did give validity to one of Vailati’s theories.

“The semen?” he said.

They thought HA-001’s genome was unstable and as a result she sought fresh DNA to maintain her own.  Semen was packed with sperm and sperm were a delivery mechanism to pass on an organism’s DNA.  Semen must be like high-grade oil to her and as a result her species must have evolved to be adept at harvesting semen from other organisms.

Or something like that.  It was probably a bollocks theory, but H-space was not exactly conducive to sensible scientific theory.  The physicists had it even worse.

Fuck it, who cared when it felt like a hundred willing harlots were all kissing his naked flesh at the same time.

HA-001 rose up and down on top of him and her gelid breasts wobbled around his engulfed hands.  Her skin was translucent and John could see his erection sticking up inside her.  It was weird seeing it engulfed within her protoplasm.  It would have been frightening had it not felt so good.  The only melting sensation he felt was the relaxation of really satisfying sex.

Structures started to form within her protoplasm.  He’d seen this before in the experiment with PV2 Vinnie George, where she’d produced some kind of intracellular organelles, but at the macro level.

A sliver of concern flittered into John’s thoughts and roosted.  No one had been able to rouse PFC Sandoval from the coma his body had fallen into after his encounter with HA-001.

“Listen,” John said.  “I don’t mind you sucking up some of my semen, but you need to be careful.  The first man you fed off is still in a coma.  Something in your biochemistry might have an adverse effect on our physiology.”

HA-001 continued to rise up and down with languid bobs.  Her motions caused John to rock and sway within her gelatinous body.

“He didn’t complain,” HA-001 said, “and neither will you.”

Like before, the organelles resembled transparent puffy doughnuts.  John’s protests were forestalled as one of them settled over his cock.  His mouth dropped open and he quivered uncontrollably in pleasure as the ring stretched to accommodate his glans and then rolled down his twitching shaft.  It felt like his cock had just plunged up into a soft, tight orifice.  The ring settled down around his root and throbbed pleasurably.


John managed that far before a second translucent doughnut settled over his cock and rolled down the shaft.  Smiling, HA-001 slowly bobbed up and down on top of him.  She puffed another elastic ring around John’s throbbing hard-on while he squirmed and writhed in helpless pleasure.

They’d seen her do this to PV2 George.  No wonder he’d been so eager to volunteer again.

A fourth ring wrapped around his cock and little spurt of precum escaped his urethral opening.  HA-001 used her protoplasm to suck it off his glans with a contented sigh.

A fifth and sixth ring settled around John’s cock.  Only the tip was visible now—half of the mushroom head sticking up out of the top ring.  The soft doughnuts contracted and squeezed his whole cock as she masturbated him with a precision that shouldn’t be possible for two species that had never encountered each other throughout their entire evolutionary history.

John really wanted to come.  This was too much.  He writhed and rocked on her cushion of protoplasm and desperately wanted to jet great torrents of spunk into her molten centre.  But he couldn’t come.  He didn’t understand it.  At this point George had been pissing streams of white stuff into her protoplasm.  John felt stuck.  Was it those weird doughnut organelles?  They contracted in rhythmic undulations around his cock, pumping him like an expert hooker wanking him off.

And still he couldn’t come.  Like there was a blockage in there.

HA-001 rubbed his naked sides with her hands.  The moist protoplasm of her body followed her motions and slid against his skin in a sensual massage.

“Your sex organs are mine now,” HA-001 said.

She sighed.  John’s cock was enveloped by a pleasant feeling of warmth.  It felt like the transparent doughnut structures were melting into him, or he melting into them—becoming one single organ.

“I’m bonded to you,” HA-001 said, giving out another little erotic gasp.  “Now I control how much pleasure you receive and when you can come.”

Too reinforce the point she gave her rings a little squeeze.  Pleasure throbbed through John’s body, but still he couldn’t find the release he craved.


They’d stopped the experiment with PV2 George at this point.  Afterwards they’d noticed some markings on the man’s penis, but they hadn’t looked serious and George hadn’t complained of any discomfort.

John’s body flexed and arched on the bouncy bed of protoplasm.  The structures within HA-001’s body stroked and squeezed, stimulating him to far past the point of climax while simultaneously denying him release.  His hands, still buried within her jelly breasts, clenched and he felt the warm protoplasm of her body squish between his fingers.

HA-001 pouted sexily down at him.  Another structure began to form within her body, about where the stomach would be on a human.  It started out as a silvery little bubble or vesicle, and then expanded until it was the size of a small melon.

They hadn’t seen this before.  An ominous feeling of fear punctured his pleasure.  He remembered the original victim, PFC Sandoval.  He was still in a hospital bed, little more than a vegetable.

“It’s not compatible with my biochemistry,” he said as the bubble drifted down towards his cock like a spherical jellyfish.  “You’re going to put me in a coma.”

HA-001 didn’t seem to care.  She swayed up and down on top of him.  The transparent rings squeezed and pumped his cock with increasing speed and force.  Still John couldn’t come.  It was like the bottom ring had pinched his urethra shut and nothing could get past.  The pressure in his balls grew and grew.

“I’ll scream and yell out if you don’t stop this,” John warned.  “They’ll incinerate the lab if they think there’s no chance of saving me.”

HA-001 said nothing, simply smiled.  Her gelatinous breasts pulled his hands in deeper.  The molten interior of her body slithered around his fingertips and triggered memories of hands sliding over breasts, of fingers passing over the aroused bumps of nipples, of palms against the smooth skin of a round ass, of digits exploring the moist folds of a lover’s sex.  The sensations sprang from his fingertips—memories of pleasures past and wishes of pleasures desired.

The other organelle, the transparent silvery bubble, settled around the head of his cock.

John didn’t scream or yell out.

The gossamer membrane enveloped his glans and a warm, shivery sensation of pleasure flowed into him.  He could see his foreskin through the semi-transparent rings.  It moved up and down with the motions of HA-001’s body.  HA-001 quickened her motions as John’s cock was drawn up into the silvery vesicle.  His glans became magnified—distorted—by the bubble’s surface.

It felt like John’s pleasures were magnified as well.  He wanted to come.  Needed to come.  His balls felt on the verge of bursting.  If only he could get past that . . .

And then the obstruction was gone.  John’s whole body sang with relief as his hips bucked and he ejaculated.  His milky-white semen puffed out in a dense white cloud within the silvery bubble.  It wasn’t enough for the slime girl.  The bubble expanded and throbbed like the bell of a jellyfish around the end of his cock.  The rings bounced up and down as if milking him.

“Now I feed,” HA-001 sighed, her eyes half-closed.

The stimulus was too much.  The ejaculation kept going.  John was helpless to resist as he poured semen into her.

Poured everything.

It was a torrent uprooting everything in its path, including John.  His mind felt like it had come adrift from his body.  It spun and swirled as if caught in a great whirlpool, turning round and round until John felt completely discombobulated.  For a moment he felt as though he existed in two places simultaneously.  There he was, lying on a bed of blue protoplasm and looking up at a girl made of the same substance straddling his body.  Within her body he saw an expanding silvery bubble and on its surface was a distorted, funhouse-mirror reflection of his face.  And there he was, floating in a giant bubble and looking down at a naked man lying in a mass of transparent blue jelly.  The man’s body trembled as if volcanic activity was rumbling away beneath the surface of its quivering form.

The disorientation passed and John realised with horror he’d been stranded in the wrong existence.  He was no longer looking up at the gelatinous body of the slime girl; he was staring out from a jelly prison at a naked body that slowly ceased movement.

His body.

He was staring at his naked body as it lay limply within her like a toy with all the batteries pulled out.

He understood then.  They were wrong.  It wasn’t the semen she sought but what could be loosened and sucked out with it.  He’d been wrong about a great many things.  They all had.

The bubble began to shrink around him.

* * * *

The experimental subject designated HA-001 sighed in satisfaction.  She oozed back to her tank and climbed back inside.

She was in no hurry to escape.  Not yet.  It wasn’t the right time.

She settled inside, closed her eyes and rested in blissful torpor as she digested the soul inside her.

No, she would be patient.  They’d let her know when the moment was right.  And then she would feast.

She did wonder why the other human had left her tank open though.

* * * *

Danielle Sullivan presented the agent with a flash drive containing the camera footage from the lab between 21:30 and 23:00.  The man plugged it into his computer and checked the footage.  He nodded.

“He’s in a vegetative state, just like the other one,” Sullivan said.

The agent nodded.  “We thought that might happen.”

“It’s unfortunate,” Sullivan said.  “But better him than an American citizen.”

The man nodded.  He fast forwarded through the footage, checking everything was present.

“The film should be everything our scientists need,” Sullivan said.  “I’m assuming they’re going to study it in order to work out how we can best combat Subject HA-001 and others like it.”

The agent looked up at her.  “Oh no.  The commander has a huge goo girl fetish.  As soon as he found out about Subject HA-001 he demanded we make a tape of her in action.”

Sullivan’s mouth fell open.

The agent said nothing more as he finished checking the footage.  He unplugged the flash drive and walked away with it.  Sullivan watched him go.

He was yanking her chain with a silly joke, same as those stupid boys.  That’s what it was.

Wasn’t it?



As per the usual plug, if you enjoyed this story there are some books I can recommend for you.  There will not be a new collection out this month as it's not complete to a standard I'm happy with (see post below).  The rest of those stories will come out a little later when I've had a chance to get more on top of things.

Monday, February 10, 2014

New Story - "Busted Bankster"

Time to tally up votes.  I make 11 for "Busted Bankster", 3 for "A Special Tube of Lube", and 10 for "A Real Life Goo Girl".  So "Busted Bankster" it is.

Not to worry if you wanted one of the other two.  All three will be in the next collection.  I'm aiming to put that out next month if possible, so you shouldn't have to wait too long.

Time for a succubus cage fight.  This story was inspired by a scene in a computer game I liked.  Should be easy to guess which one.  I hope you all enjoy anyway.


Busted Bankster

Last night Ken Shigenori had gone to bed secure with his lot in the world.  He’d gone to the right school, worked hard, been admitted to the right university, worked hard, took a job at the right city firm, worked hard, and while he wasn’t one of those ‘Masters of the Universe’ the papers liked to bang on about, after successfully closing out the DiMaggio deal he could expect to add a cool seven figures to his bank account once bonus season rolled around.

He’d thought about phoning up an escort, or two, to celebrate, but the even more lucrative Pontac deal had kept him in the office until past midnight.

“What do you think coke was invented for,” a colleague had joked with him a while back.

The joke was on the colleague.  His desk was abruptly cleared out a couple of months later, a consequence of taking the wrong position on a multi-million pound deal.

The city could be ruthless, but her rewards for the savvy and fast-thinking were considerable.  Ken was the cream of his generation.  He had a well-paid career with stellar prospects.  He had a swish apartment in a fashionable district of London.  He could retire to his bed, pull the covers over his head and sleep soundly with the knowledge his future was a fast motorway to riches and luxury.

Life was good.

* * * *

Today . . .

They’d snatched him off the streets of the capitol, in broad daylight, as he’d been returning to his office from an expensive lunch.  Al-Qaeda?  Anarchists?  Criminal gangsters?  Ken had no idea.  His captors had shoved a black hood over his head and bundled him into a car.  That hood had remained on his head as they’d drove and drove to a place where the hustle and bustle of city activity had faded away.

Hours later and still blindfolded, Ken was standing with his hands tied behind his back.  He didn’t know where they were, but from the cool damp air and the echoes his footfalls made off a hard stone floor he guessed it to be underground somewhere.

A roar erupted around him as his captors prodded him through into a larger opening.  It sounded like a raucous crowd at an illegal dog fight.  Ken’s anxiety grew.

He heard a rattling sound in front of him, like a chain-link gate clanking open.  Someone sawed through the rope around his wrists and then roughly shoved him forwards.  Ken lost his balance and went down to one knee.  At least with his hands free he could finally tear this bloody hood off.

Ken did that and looked around in time to see a wire-mesh cage door swing shut behind him.  He heard the metallic clank as bolts were slid across.  Behind the wire-mesh door dirty faces twisted into hate-filled masks glared at him.

He turned around and saw similar snarling faces pressed up against chain-link fence all around him.  They spat and screamed obscenities at him.  Ken was in a cage and surrounded by a mob baying for his blood.  They were underground.  Naked torches burned in brackets on the walls and in a chandelier far above his head.

What the hell was happening?  Where was he?  It looked like a gladiatorial arena from a post-apocalyptic road-warrior film.  The baying mob didn’t look quite that unkempt, but their shouts and jeers were just as barbaric.  Fists rattled against the fencing as Ken spun around.

“Fucking bankster scum!” a black man with dreads shouted at him.

Was that what this was about—more of that ninety-nine percent versus the one percent bollocks?  Yeah, Ken was in the one percent.  He was smart and had fucking worked his ass off to get there.  Any of those around him could do the same if they weren’t too busy moaning and looking for someone to blame for the tawdry ruins of their lives.  Fuck, if they wanted someone to blame they could start with the moron politicians they elected.  They were the people that kept setting the rules in favour of the elite.

He’d read plenty of the ‘hang ‘em from the lampposts’ comments on the mainstream news sites.  He’d dismissed them as the rabid frothing of people too lazy to move their fat asses out from behind their keyboards and do something constructive with their lives.  Had someone finally found enough of a spine to do something?

They wouldn’t get away with it.  The city was too important to the country.  She looked after her own.  The police would baton-charge this scum back into the slime where they belonged.

The noise, already a ferocious cacophony of hurled obscenities and rattling fences, ratcheted up a notch and changed in nature.  Cheers and whoops replaced the jeers as a tremor of excitement thrummed around the cage.  A door on the far side opened.  Ken’s opponent was entering the arena.

He was expecting a tattooed thug and instead they sent in a statuesque woman dressed in a flowing, glossy black cape and skimpy fetishwear.

Who the fuck was she?

She was tall enough to be imposing.  Ken reckoned she had a couple of inches on him and he was over six foot.  If that height had been backed up with the muscular physique of a wrestler he might have been concerned.  It wasn’t.  She was all soft curves, including a ridiculously over-inflated pair of tits.  She looked more like one of those wrestling divas that never actually wrestles and were only there as eye candy to keep the dads from getting bored.

And she definitely was eye candy.  Her costume, little more than a series of shiny black straps to hold her mammoth tits in place, looked more appropriate for the streets behind Kings Cross Station in the early hours of the morning.  Her glossy black leggings even had a zipper over the crotch.

She posed seductively and blew kisses to the enraptured crowd.  She courted their adoration like a gothic vampire queen with her pale skin, flowing raven hair and black cape.

“Eh-ry-zu!  Eh-ry-zu!  Eh-ry-zu!” the crowd chanted.

“Suck the leech dry!” someone yelled.

She must be the warm-up girl, someone to whip the crowd up like the Vegas showgirls that paraded a number around the ring before the start of each round of a boxing match.


“Fuck him up, Eryzu!”

“Batter the bankster scum!”

They couldn’t be serious.  Just look at her figure.  Breast-obsessed perma-adolescent game developers could add voluptuous bodies like this into their fighting games to appeal to their equally breast-obsessed perma-adoloscent audience, but real fighters had actual physics to worry about.  Look at those breasts for starters.  They were ludicrous.  There must be about a football’s worth of silicone in each one.  It was not a body practical for fighting in.

Ken could think of plenty of other things that body was practical for.  And plenty of those things he’d pay good money to do with her.

But no, she turned, gave him a haughty stare and settled into what he assumed was some kind of fancy martial arts stance.

Ken shook his head.  If those morons thought they were going to derive some entertainment from watching  an over-inflated dominatrix beat the shit out of a pathetic, desk-bound banker they were about to get a shock.

He held up his fists and assumed a textbook boxer’s stance.

He wasn’t some flabby, overweight desk jockey.  He’d boxed for his university and still worked out regularly at the gym.

The girl, Eryzu, smiled at him.  She looked amused.

Ken suspected she wouldn’t be smiling so much after he’d worked her face over.  Or planted a solid body blow right in the centre of one of those big, fluffy white tits.  Normally he wouldn’t have relished messing up a girl’s face, especially one as fine-looking as hers, but he’d been abducted, blindfolded and thrown into an illegal fighting ring fuck knows where.  The gloves were off.

Still, it would be a shame to smash up a work of art like that.

“I’m not like the other nine-to-five slobs,” Ken warned.  “I boxed a lot at amateur level.  Stay in here and you’re going to get hurt.”

“I don’t think so,” the woman said, her dark eyes twinkling.

“I’m not going to go easy on you because you’re a woman,” Ken said.

“Do your best,” Eryzu said.  Her bee-stung lips turned up in smile of amused contempt.

“Eh-ry-zu!  Eh-ry-zu!  Eh-ry-zu!” the mob bayed.

She circled Ken.  Her movements were fluid . . . easy.  Despite her impractical figure, she moved gracefully.  Like a big cat.  She must know a martial art, Ken thought.  He wasn’t intimidated.  For all their flashy moves, most martial arts were about as effective as dancing when up against a trained boxer.

Let’s see how good you really are, Ken thought.  He fired out a piston jab at the white, flawless mask of her face.

Pretty good, as it happened.  Good enough to glide to the side with an amused little smirk on her lips and see his jab pass through empty air.

So she could dodge.  But for how long?

He’d fought slick operators before.  Puffed up on their own arrogance, they slid around the ring like oil.  All it took was one good clip and they fell down like a sack of spuds.

Ken kept his shape and kept firing out piston jabs.  Eryzu glided out of reach of his fist like a wraith, but was unable to get close enough to counterattack.

Ken was hoping she’d see he meant business—that he wasn’t a tubby overweight desk jockey—and call a halt to this ridiculous farce.  He didn’t relish the prospect of messing up her elegant face, or that bombshell of a body, but he would if she left him no other choice.

Eryzu kept dodging and Ken kept pressing.  She could duck and weave with the best, but she was running out of cage.  Ken was inexorably herding her to the corner.  Once trapped there, Ken intended to fully show her the folly of getting in a cage with one of the big boys.

Then she pulled off a move he would have sworn was a carefully choreographed wire stunt from a Kung Fu film if he hadn’t been right in the middle of it.  Even with the frontest of front row seats he still had trouble believing what he saw.  She vaulted his punch.  He put out a jab he felt certain would connect and the next moment she was on top of his outstretched arm and somersaulting over him like a capricious spring breeze.  So fast and graceful.  Ken felt like he was a golem made out of lead throwing punches in a tar pit by comparison.

He was still blinking in astonishment as Eryzu planted a kick in the small of his back and propelled him into the cage wall.  Faces twisted in hatred screamed at him.  One hawked a thick glob of phlegm into his face and Ken felt the cold slime slide down his cheek.

“Bloodsucking cunt!” a face with far too much hair screamed at him.

Fucking wasters, Ken thought.  No better than animals.

Rage rising to engulf him, Ken turned and charged the costumed fighter with his fists flailing.  Fuck playing nice.  He was going to pound that haughty face into hamburger.

Stupid.  Stupid.

He was a blind stupid bull and she a twirling matador.  She sidestepped his charge and swung him right back into the spit and insults of the mob pressed up against the cage wall.  She even had time to reach between his legs and give his balls a teasing squeeze.

Ken lashed behind him, but she was already gone, evaporated like mist.  He turned and saw her showboating in the centre of the cage.  His anger flared.

No.  Cool it.

He wasn’t some stupid bull to be led a merry dance around a ring until it expired from exhaustion.  He was one of the elite, the one percent.  This skank with big hooters was in no way his equal.  Ken brushed the red mist aside, put up his fists in a guard and advanced on her.  Eryzu’s full lips curled up in amusement and she goaded him on with a beckoning finger.

Fuck the Marquis de Queensbury shit, Ken thought.  If it was good enough for Holyfield, it was good enough for him.  He grabbed both her arms and attempted to plant a headbutt on her picture-perfect face.

Eryzu brought her arms together to block and they grappled in the centre of the ring.  Those soft curves that looked more suitable for the bedroom masked a wiry frame.  Ken couldn’t tug her off balance and had to expend a lot of energy to keep on his own feet.  Ridiculous cloak and slick dancing moves aside, Eryzu clearly wasn’t averse to mixing it up at close range as well.  Ken was a man and stronger though.  He started to lever her arms apart and away from her pretty face.

And tits.

As Eryzu’s arms opened up like curtains, the large bulges of her bosom came into view like moons rising above the horizon.  Ken’s gaze fell upon them, slid over the creamy curves and slipped down into the dusky cleft of her cleavage like water spiralling down a drain.  Eryzu knew the effect her body had on men.  She smirked and pushed her chest out.  Ken saw her jiggling boobs advance towards him until they filled his vision.

They were massive—enormous.  Larger even than the considerable round breasts of the grand-a-night escort he’d hired to celebrate the first time his bonus had cracked six figures.  Memories of that hedonistic night sent a throb of pleasure down to his crotch.

He could recall that night vividly.  A thousand pounds and worth every penny.  The girl had enormous tits.  Double-Ds and real.  They were soft and squeezable rather than the frozen-in-place bad boob jobs that looked okay until you got close enough to put your hands on them.  Ken had put his hands on them and played with them all night.  The hooker really knew how to use them.  She’d rubbed them all over his body and even let him blow his load between them to finish off in the morning.  Top night.

Ken’s dick stirred in his trousers at the memory.

The girl had been fantastic.  It was the closest he’d come to breaking his strict rules.  No repeat bookings.  That was his mantra.  Don’t give them a sniff of encouragement.  Don’t let them think they’re more than what they are.  Don’t get attached.  Don’t let them get a claw in you.  Don’t get romantic.  They might seem like the nicest, sexiest girl in the world, but in the end they all sucked a man’s bank account dry.

Ken blinked, lost in recollections of a sweaty night of pleasure.  Eryzu’s bust filled his vision.  If the escort’s breasts had been double-Ds, what did that make these?  They were enormous—creamy-white and fluffy.  A single black strap belted across her chest was all that held them in place.  The pale flesh quivered and strained against its restraint.  Eryzu pushed her chest out further and Ken’s head ducked lower and lower.

He was still staring into the endless chasm of her cleavage when Eryzu suddenly switched direction and went the way he was trying to tug her.  Caught off balance, Ken lost his footing.  Eryzu pulled away and Ken came toppling with her.  He fell forward and Eryzu’s bosom caught his face like a pair of air bags.

She twisted her wrists out of his slackened grip and wrapped her arms around his head.  Ken’s face was wedged right into the narrow space between her enormous boobs and trapped there.  Soft like pillows, her breasts pressed tightly around the sides of his head.

They could also smother him as effectively as a pillow pressed over his face, Ken realised numbly.

He knew this.  He could feel her warm skin pressed tightly up against his nose and mouth, blocking his air passages.  He could feel it in the pangs of lungs starved of fresh oxygen.  He knew he couldn’t breathe, that she was suffocating him.  He knew it, and yet he struggled to accept the reality—and gravity—of his predicament.

Smother him in her tits . . . don’t be ridiculous.

All he needed to do was twist his head free.

Ken thrashed and squirmed to no avail as Eryzu crossed her arms behind his head in an unbreakable bear hug that kept his face buried in the airless gap between her breasts.

Body blows.  That would work.  While she held his head there was nothing protecting her soft, vulnerable midriff.  Work her hard enough and she’d have to let his head go.

Ken worked her.  He unloaded body blow after body blow, slamming his fists into her unprotected stomach like he was working his punchbag back home.

That’s when he knew something was badly—seriously—wrong.  He was hitting flesh.  He felt his fists hit flesh.  It was soft flesh as well.  Womanly flesh.  There were no rock-hard abs to deflect his blows and make him feel like he was punching a wall.  Just soft flesh.  And he hit it again, and again, again, and again, and nothing happened.

Ken’s lungs were burning.  There was no air.  His face was filled with her overflowing breasts.

His punches grew weaker and weaker.  He felt like he was winding down.  Slowing down like a clockwork toy.  Even his thoughts felt like they were wading through thick mud.

He was suffocating.  In her cleavage.

This couldn’t be happening.  Not to him.  He was someone.  He was important.  He earned seven figures a year.  He was . . .

Ken’s hands dropped to his sides.  He blacked out.

* * * *

Ken came to with the crowd baying around him.  He was lying on the floor of the cage.  He saw the primitive chandelier hanging above him.  Over to the left he saw some kind of dim balcony.  Were those shapes people?

Eryzu was standing over him and blowing kisses to the mob.  She’d knocked him out.

With her tits.

Fuck.  Some Master of the Universe he was, fucking knocked out by a hooker with mutant tits.  He tried to move but his head felt like it had just been released from a vice.  His limbs didn’t feel like they were connected to the rest of his nervous system and he wanted to throw up.

“Drain him!” the crowd chanted.  “Drain him!  Drain him!”

“Suck the leech dry!”

Eryzu turned to look down at him, a smile on her voluptuous lips.  She opened her legs and bent her knees.  Ken saw she’d pulled his trousers down while he’d been unconscious.  His penis stood upright in an erection that mystified him until he recalled asphyxiation had that effect on most men.

Still smiling, Eryzu pulled down the zipper at her crotch.  The crowd roared in anticipation.  Ken’s brow furrowed as she exposed the pink lips of her sex to him.

The fuck?  She was going to fuck him?

Eryzu lowered her hips.  Ken felt the pressure of her sex against the swollen head of his erection.  Then the pressure eased and her heat was spilling down his shaft as he slid up inside her.

Without a condom, he realised numbly.

In other circumstances Ken would fuck a girl like this without a moment’s hesitation.  If she’d been an escort he’d have dialled her up and fucked her in a heartbeat, maybe even dropped a cool grand on those big round titties.  He’d have driven his cock up inside her tight snatch for as long as he could keep it hard and coming.

But never without a condom.

That was dirty.

He didn’t have any say in the matter.  She lowered her hips and the fleshy pole of his cock vanished up inside her.  She was tight.  Really . . .

Ken sucked in a breath as muscles clenched around her.  It felt like she’d vacuum-packed him in her vagina.

. . . tight.

Something wasn’t right.  This wasn’t sex.  It felt wrong.  Just like when he’d buried body blow after body blow into her soft midriff and she hadn’t even flinched.

“What are you?” he asked.

“Drain him!  Drain him!” the crowd bellowed.

Eryzu smiled.  It wasn’t seductive.  The eyes were wrong.  Flat, black and hungry.  A shark’s eyes.

Ken tried to push her off, but his strength had gone.  Feebly, he pawed at her breasts like an invalid.

She grabbed his wrists and forced his hands behind his back.  She wrapped her legs around him and used her calves to pin his arms in place.  It was like a weird cross of tantric yoga and judo.  Once she locked her ankles together Ken was held as securely as if she’d bound his wrists behind his back.

He knew she couldn’t be human when her pussy started to suck on him like a mouth sucking on a lollipop.

It felt like sex, but sex where all the motions were internal.  Eryzu gasped in pleasure.  She squeezed his body between her thighs.  All the friction was generated within her vagina as the walls wrapped around his member, squeezed and tugged.  Less a sex organ and more like a mouth, a warm wet mouth administering a blowjob beyond anything Ken had experienced from the best and most expensive escort agencies in the city.  Sucking.  Sucking.  Tight hoops of flesh contracting around the base of his penis and then tugging up the shaft.  Sucking and sucking while Eryzu panted in erotic abandon.

“What are you doing?” Ken asked.

Twin strands of pleasure and fear spiralled up through his body.  What she was doing down there, doing to his cock, felt intensely pleasurable.  But it also felt wrong.  Horribly, abhorrently wrong.  He tried to squirm out of her grip.  She squeezed him tighter with her legs and pressed her sex down on him.  The soft wet walls within her vagina continued to suck on his manhood, tugging him deeper inside.

“Normally I would drain you slowly and pleasantly over the course of a night,” Eryzu said.

Again that word drain.

“But the crowd are impatient tonight.”

Eryzu unhooked the strap holding her breasts in place and the large white globes, pale beneath the candlelight, fell free.  Her chest expanded and she sucked in deep breaths.  Her abdomen tensed and Ken felt ripples of force wash through his body.  Her warm sex contracted around his penis and tugged slower and deeper.  Moist flesh slid up his shaft like silk soaked in expensive oils as her vagina sucked and sucked.  Ken trembled as pleasure vibrated down his shaft and ricocheted up his spine.  He’d been blown by the best and most exclusive, and they might as well have been common street trash compared to what she was doing to him.

Ken screwed his eyes shut.  Ragged breaths hissed out between his teeth.  Oh fuck.  He couldn’t hold back.  The pleasure was welling up from his balls.  It overwhelmed the pain in his pinned arms.  It overwhelmed the feel of the hard stone floor beneath him.  It blotted out the crude yells of the crowd around them.  It came up against the fear of the creature—for creature she had to be—wrapped around it and squashed it down into a tight ball.

“Mmm yes, baby,” Eryzu crooned.  “Spurt your cum inside me.  Fill me.”

“Hah!” Ken spluttered.

The sucking tugs of her pussy were too much.  His cock throbbed and he erupted up into the moist clutch of her sex.

“Yesss!” Eryzu hissed.

Her chest rose up and down, as did her flat midriff.  It was like she was flexing muscles beneath, muscles that flexed in concert until it felt like the whole of her body was sucking on his dick.  Sucking on it like a straw.  Sucking . . . and gulping, gulping down his semen as his body tensed and trembled in the grip of an unnatural orgasm.

Gulping.  That’s what the little motions of her body looked like.  A girl gulping down a drink, but wrong . . . upside down.  Horribly wrong.

Ken groaned.  He felt violent tremors run through his cock and balls as muscles squeezed and pumped more semen into her gulping sex.

“Pour it all inside me,” Eryzu sighed.

“Stop it!” Ken said when he realised his body wouldn’t, couldn’t. 

“It’s what the crowd wants.”

The muscles of her abdomen clenched and unclenched.  The gulping maw of her sex pulled more semen out of Ken’s shuddering body . . . and something else.

“Fuck the crowd,” Ken wheezed.  “I’m worth twice as much as all of them combined.  I’ll pay you twice whatever they’re paying you.  Four times.  Just don’t . . .”  He hadn’t wanted to think it, but could deny it no more.  Pleasure wrapped his body in a comfortable sheet, but beneath it he felt like he was coming apart, hollowing out.  “. . . kill me.”

Eryzu smiled.  Her black lips pouted in an obscene mockery of a kiss.  “They’re not the ones paying me.”

She exhaled and squeezed her thighs tighter around Ken.  Her chest—those swollen great tits—rose up and down as her whole body gripped Ken and pumped the semen from him.  Her pussy squeezed and tugged and pumped the fluids from his body as the flow became a gush.  He was emptying into her.  Not just his balls, but the whole of his body.

His soul.

Eryzu hissed in triumph.  Great bat wings the colour of midnight unfurled from her back.  Her head went back in an erotic sigh and when it came back Ken saw she had horns and her eyes were endless black abysses.  He was locked into sex with a devil, and through sex she was draining his life—and soul—away.  The crowd roared.

No.  This couldn’t be happening.  Not to him.

His head fell to the side.  He was collapsing, crumbling from within.  He looked up and saw the shadowy balcony.  Silent figures clothed in sable darkness looked down on him.  Oh god, he knew who they were.  That was Jean Pierre Graff, Ken’s boss at Jefferson Varrigan.  Next to him was Gordon Douglas.  He sat on the board of PJ Korgan, another of the big London investment banks.  And behind him was the owner of Silverman Jacks.  What were they doing here?

“Why?” he croaked as stared up at Graff.

He didn’t understand.  He was a good worker.  Loyal.  Valued.  Invaluable.  He made millions for the company.

He was one of them!

“Men have always sought goats to sacrifice in times of strife,” Eryzu said.

She pressed plush lips against Ken’s and sucked.  He came apart in a fountain of ecstatic bliss.  Eryzu held him tight while his skin wrinkled and shrunk around his bones.  His body grew emaciated and shrivelled as the succubus sucked the life out of it.  She finally released him with a satisfied sigh and little more than skin and bones collapsed onto the floor.

The crowd roared.

“Fucking bloodsucker.  Got what he deserved.”

“Ha ha, the leech sucked dry.”

“She sucked that bankster scum up good and proper.”

Eryzu stood up and milked their roars of appreciation.  She blew them kisses and jiggled the full swell of her breasts.  The men on the balcony nodded their approval.  That would keep the mob happy . . . for now.  They melted back into the shadows.  Eryzu watched them go and smiled.  They thought they were her masters, but in time she knew she’d devour them all.



If you liked that and want more, please feel free to check out my books.  This and the other two stories will be in the next collection.  I'll post more details on that nearer the time (I still have a couple of stories left to finish off and don't want to repeat the mad panic I had with A Succubus for Remembrance.)

Tuesday, January 21, 2014

New Story - "The High-School Sweetheart Removal Agency"

Time to insert a brief writing interlude.

Literotica's annual Valentine's Day story competition kicked off today.  I'm not eligible to win anything (as "Street-walking with a Succubus" picked up 3rd place two contests ago), but I threw in a new tale anyway as these contests are good showcases to pick up new readers.

Not being eligible means I don't have to worry about the score, and not having to worry about the score means I can have fun and enter one of my darker tales.  And the theme is slushy, sentimentally pappy Valentine's Day.  What black-hearted demon wouldn't want to stomp a big hoof right through that heart-shaped box of confectionary?

Yep, this is very much an Anti-Valentine's Day tale.  There are succubi and sex, and it's considerably darker than the opening few paragraphs might imply.

Here it is - "The High-School Sweetheart Removal Agency".  I hope you enjoy.

(Hehe, there's already been one comment about thwocking me in the balls with a baseball bat.  I think they're joking, though.)

Sunday, November 04, 2012

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-9 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

And finally we reach an end.  Fifi finishes Jackson off.

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-9 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

“Now where were we?” Fifi asked.  Her hand caressed the back of DaBigBoom’s neck.  She stared at him, her eyes bright.  And hard.  Like precious stones.  “Oh yes.  Who are you, really?”

DaBigBoom tried again to tell her his real name.  “I’m Da—”

Her tail came down and took in his whole length with a wet schlub.  Jackson twitched as his cock was once again sheathed in soft, pliable flesh.  The tail attached itself to his groin and began to pulse and suck obscenely.  Warm juices were exuded over his helpless member and lascivious flesh wriggled up and down his shaft.  He moaned and writhed as Fifi expertly used her tail to suck him up through higher planes of pleasure.

“The name isn’t important.  It’s just a label.”

Her moist eyes seemed to expand large enough to swallow him whole.  The tail worked up and down like a piston, making lewd squelches as it sucked and squeezed him into paroxysms of ecstasy.  His hips were already responding with sympathetic twitches.

“Tell me who you are and how you came to be here,” Fifi asked, light yet irresistible.

“I don’t know,” Jackson moaned.  He writhed in pleasure as her tail continued to pleasure him.  “I was playing a game, a computer game, and I got sucked in.  I think.  I can’t remember exactly.  All I know was one moment I was living a normal life in the real world and the next I was in the game.  Not just this game.  Other games too.”

Fifi’s tail slowed down and began to gently pulsate around his cock, teasing him with soft, insistent tugs.  She rubbed her leg against his.  A gurgling sound travelled down her tail and Jackson shivered as his cock was flooded with a slithery, licentious liquid.  The bulbous jar massaged it into the stretched skin of his erection with lewd pulses.

“I play them,” he continued.  “I thought if I completed the game I’d get back to the real world, but it doesn’t happen.  I keep getting moved on from game to game before I can get near the end.”

“Fascinating,” Fifi said.

Jackson groaned.  Her tail had sucked him to orgasm.  His muscles bunched and spasmed as he sprayed cum right up into the cloying grip of her tail.

“A gamer from the human world, the real one.  And not just an avatar, here in the flesh.  How can that be?”

She leaned over and pressed her soft lips against his in a kiss.  Jackson came again.  Or maybe it was a continuation of the last orgasm.  The succubus had him completely in the palm of her hand.  She reinforced the point by cupping his overworked balls in her hand and tickling the flesh behind with the points of her nails.

“No wonder you taste so delectable,” Fifi said with a contented sigh.

Jackson was starting to get afraid.  A steady stream of single digit numbers floated up from his body as her tail milked semen from him.  That didn’t concern him so much.  It was part of the game.  Pixels.  It was what the succubus was doing to him and how it made him feel inside that was worrying him.  He felt weird—tugged about and twisted around.

“Please,” Jackson said.  “I just want to get out and get back home.”

Pink sparks crackled around the end of her tail.  Jackson felt it grow warm around his cock, but pleasantly so.  Electricity sparkled across Jackson’s nerve endings.  His cock stayed hard and throbbing, eager to disgorge another load.  Fifi continued to squeeze and suck on him with her tail.

“Who welcomed . . .”

She paused while Jackson bucked and thrashed in the throes of another orgasm.

“Who welcomed you to the game?  The first one?” she asked.

Her tail continued to pulse with slow throbs.

“Welcome?  No one, I think,” Jackson said.  The inside of his innermost jacket was soaked with sweat.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Fifi said.  “There are rules.  Someone should have been there to meet you and give you your quest.  A gamer must always have a quest.  Oh well.”

Numbers continued to stream up into the sky.  Jackson screwed up his eyes as the channel within her tail contracted around him.  Soft flesh squeezed up against his swollen glans in a wet kiss.  The bulb squeezed right down, preparing for one last, final suck.

A loud cheer went up from the direction of the castle.  Fifi lifted her head, glanced over and tsked.

“That fat pile of blubber always was a most unimpressive boss,” she said.

Her tail detached from him with a noisy wet squelch.  Sickly white streams of cum dribbled down his shaft for a few moments before the flow dried up.

“Pihanga’s—your—forces have won this level.  This battle is over.”

She stood up.  She was about to turn and walk away when she looked down at DaBigBoom’s jackets and mmmed.  She reached down, pulled the outermost one off him and tried it on.  It was blue with yellow trim, with broad shoulders and long like a cape.  It looked good on her, which was stating the obvious; her supernatural sexiness meant she could wear anything and make it look good.

“Wait,” he called out as she was about to leave.  “What’s this quest I’m supposed to complete?  Where—how—do I find it?”

Fifi shrugged.  “I’m sure it will become apparent.  These things usually do.”

Her hair changed colour.  Violet flowed out from her scalp and down her silky long hair, washing the black away.  Her skin lightened in colour and a spiralling black tattoo blossomed on the left side of her body like twisted ivy.  She struck a sexy pose for DaBigBoom.

“It’s been most enjoyable, but I’m needed in another game.”

The sexiness of her body was breathtaking.  DaBigBoom felt like he’d just gone thirty rounds with Lennox Lewis, but a glance from her sultry eyes, a glimpse of the creamy white bulges underneath her jacket, the hairless folds of her sex, and his body wanted to do it all over again.  She knew it and her eyes glittered with amusement.  The orifice at the end of her tail dilated.  DaBigBoom thought it was winking at him.

“It’s a hentai game,” Fifi said, her eyes lighting up with lust.  “If I beat the hero I get to do whatever I want to him.”

And this wasn’t a hentai game? DaBigBoom thought.  He looked down at the slimy mess of his crotch.  Sure seemed perverted enough.

“Maybe it’ll be you,” she giggled.

She put a hand to her lips and blew him a kiss that took the form of a sparkly red heart.  It floated through the air and burst against his skin with a sound like silvery bells.

A 1 appeared above DaBigBoom’s head.  He popped and vanished from the game board in a puff of smoke.

* * * *

DaBigBoom opened his eyes.  Three faces were looking down at him.  Pihanga and Fiore were already familiar to him.  The third wasn’t as familiar, but DaBigBoom remembered seeing her outside the hospital tent back at the castle.  She smiled and looked down at him with wide blue eyes that held a smidgeon too much crazy for DaBigBoom’s comfort.

“Good as new,” the girl with long black hair and unsettling eyes said.

“We won,” Fiore said.  “You held off the succubus long enough for us to kick Wally’s flabby ass.”

“In recognition I hereby promote you to the rank of sergeant,” Pihanga said.  “Now get out of bed and follow me.  We’ve the next level to complete.”

“Ahem,” the girl—DaBigBoom assumed doctor or nurse despite her wearing a costume that looked more suited to a shrine maiden from Medieval Japan—said.  She held out a hand.

Pihanga tossed her a coin.

The girl looked down at the single coin in her palm and frowned.  “Hey.  Resurrection and full HP restore.  This isn’t enough.”

Pihanga pointed to DaBigBoom’s yellow baseball cap.  “K’winny,” she said.

The girl looked dubiously at DaBigBoom but didn’t push it further.  DaBigBoom shrugged apologetically and followed Pihanga and Fiore out of the hospital.

Jackson in HRPG-World: 2 End

As some have already guessed, the main game being parodied is the complete lunacy of DisgaeaDisgaea (there are four main games in the series, although I've only played the first on a DS emulator) is a tactical RPG that also spawned an anime series.  It's great fun to play and has plenty of moments of wicked humour.  The other game I spliced in is an old arcade classic: The New Zealand Story.

Neither are adult games.  Disgaea does have a succubus monster type and while she has plenty of "bounce", she's harmless innuendo at best.  Harmless . . . unless you have a cesspool for an imagination like me.

If you enjoyed this series, please support my writing by picking up one of my books (which I'm sure you'll also enjoy).
I'm going to give the series a break for a couple of weeks while I continue to work on Succubus Summoning 201.  Jackson will return in "A Sticky Starting Scrap."

Sunday, October 28, 2012

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-8 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

Part 8 actually on schedule for a change.

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-8 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions.

Fifi looked down at him and her big eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re still going?”

DaBigBoom could just about move his arms and legs.  He wasn’t sure that qualified as still going.

“How intriguing,” Fifi said.  Her lips turned up in a wicked smile.

DaBigBoom wasn’t so sure he liked that smile.  He pulled up his knees and started to get back to his feet.  He was unsteady, like a punch-drunk boxer in the tenth round.

Fifi held her tail in her arms like a rifle again.  DaBigBoom liked that even less.  The bulbous end swelled up as if inhaling a deep breath and then puffed out a thick cloud of sparkling pink dust and shimmering red hearts.  DaBigBoom was enveloped.  He breathed in and inhaled a powerful, sultry perfume that smelt like something an expensive escort would wear when entertaining exclusive clientele.  The scent set his heart racing and caused his brain to throb with sexual excitement.

It also made his arms and legs feel like sacks of wet cement.

“Don’t get up,” Fifi said with a smile.

Not that it was needed.  DaBigBoom was already falling back to the floor.  The cloud wrapped around him like a comfortable duvet.  Ephemeral hearts collided with his skin and popped like wet kisses.  The dust covered him and set pleasure receptors sparking all across his body.

“I surrender,” DaBigBoom said.  “I give in.  You’ve beaten me.”  Even his dick had decided it’d had enough.

“I thought I had,” Fifi said, “And yet you’re still here on the game board.  Most intriguing.”

She grabbed his ankles and pulled his body off the rocky path and onto the softer dirt or ash making up the verge.  DaBigBoom noticed he was now lying at the intersection of four board squares with Fifi lying on her elbow next to him.

“What about the game rules?” he asked.  “Shouldn’t we be staying within our own squares?”

“Rules, feh,” Fifi said dismissively.  “I’m more interested in you.”

She tip-toed up his exposed chest on long fingernails and flicked the bottom of DaBigBoom’s chin.

“You’re clearly not a k’winny, but what are you?  Even with the stat boost from these,” she tugged one of the three jackets he was still wearing, “you still have far too many HP for any character class of your level.”

“I’m DaBigBoom.”

For once he was glad that stupid word fell out of his mouth rather than his real name.  A cold calculating spark had appeared at the heart of her big bright eyes.  DaBigBoom had a disconcerting feeling the over-sexed demonic ditz with a magical tail was just a costume and now he was glimpsing the actress beneath.

“That’s the name Pihanga gave you.  She behaves as though she’s the main character, the player, but she’s just another piece in this game.  Her role is to attempt to usurp the starring role for comedic effect.  That’s all.”

Fifi’s long nails tickled lightly around his nipple.  They looked a little too pointed and sharp for DaBigBoom to be entirely comfortable with them being where they were.

“You, however, are something entirely different.”

DaBigBoom didn’t need to be told that.  He was human.  Real.  Everything apart from him was a collection of pixels—nothing more than 1s and 0s within the memory of a computer.

At least that’s what he’d thought.

Fifi’s hand, her fingers tipped with those wickedly sharp nails, tickled down to DaBigBoom’s crotch.

“I’m DaBigBoom,” he blurted out.  Again getting the word wrong.

DaBigBoom’s penis lay on a nest of pubic hair matted down with a combination of both his and the succubus’s sexual fluids.  Like all dicks after sex, it looked sorry for itself.  Fifi placed a thumb and forefinger around his flaccid manhood and began to rub up and down in an attempt to bring his sex back to life.  DaBigBoom never would have thought he’d be unable to get erect in the presence of a hot girl until he was at least ninety-five, and definitely never would have thought that inability would make him feel relieved.

“Tsk, males,” Fifi said.  “No stamina for sex at all.”

Fifi’s tail curled over his prone body.  The three triangular flanges opened out to reveal the puckered orifice at the heart of the jar-like structure.  Like a gun to his head, was DaBigBoom’s uncomfortable thought.

“That’s not going to help,” he said.  “It’s making me nervous.  And nerves are kryptonite to erections.”

The bulbous jar at the end of her tail expanded and then contracted to whoosh a cloud of pink gas into his face.  His head was completely enveloped.  The strong scent—a melange of sleazy perfume, sexual perspiration and the forbidden musk between a woman’s thighs—overwhelmed his senses.  His head fell back and his brain throbbed.  Countless memories of illicitly-watched porn films and eager fumbles with old girlfriends poured forth.  Pornographic images—slutty eyes, long silky hair, bulging boobs, lasciviously long legs and vaginas held agape—flooded his eyeballs in a slick of sexual depravity.  His ears were plugged with sighs of passion and the quiet squelches of coupling bodies.  And the smell—it was like Fifi was sitting right on top of his face, her wet cunt dripping juice onto him.

“Aphrodisiac, keyed directly to your physiology,” Fifi said.  “We succubi never accept ‘No’.”

The pleasurable throbs passed down DaBigBoom’s spine and collected in his balls.  There they grew in strength and frequency.  Blood stampeded back down to his groin.

“Much better,” Fifi said.

Her tail contracted again and puffed another cloud of sensual odours into DaBigBoom’s face.  It encompassed his head and this time he inhaled eagerly, lost in his appreciation of the exciting fragrances.

“And now with a little encouragement . . .”

DaBigBoom’s cock started to rise in Fifi’s hand.  Through a pink haze he watched as she bent over and pressed her considerable boobs together around his swelling erection.  Nestled between her warm and soft pillows, his cock quickly swelled back to a hardness that tugged at his crotch and caused his balls to ache.  Fifi dipped her head down into her cleavage and lapped up a droplet of pre-cum from the tip of his penis with her tongue.

“Much much better,” she said.

The cloud of perfume dissipated and DaBigBoom recovered enough of his senses to realise Fifi was now lying alongside him.  The soft bulges of her breasts rested against his side.  One of her legs was crossed over his.  One arm was slid underneath his neck while the fingernails of her other hand twiddled with his chest hair.  His erection stuck up like a pole.  The fleshy bulge at the end of Fifi’s tail hovered above it.  The orifice at the end opened out and a little stream of slimy lubricant drooled down onto his lap.

“Now where were we?” Fifi asked.  Her hand caressed the back of DaBigBoom’s neck.  She stared at him, her eyes bright.  And hard.  Like precious stones.  “Oh yes.  Who are you, really?”

to be concluded . . .

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-7 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

A little later than planned, but still going.  Fifi gets well and truly XXX-rated.

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-7 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

“I can take triple of this,” DaBigBoom said.

“Mmm, that’s good to hear,” Fifi said, “then let’s begin.”

Begin?  Weren’t they already beginning?

Her hips came back down and this time DaBigBoom felt his cock plunge into something soft, warm and sinful.  Sinful.  That was the best word for it.  Like he’d just plunged into a cushion of congealed sin.  It puffed up inside her and smothered the swollen tip of his cock.  A pleasant little tickle crawled across his engorged glans.  Fifi pressed downwards and that warm something engulfed the whole of his member, right to the root.

Fuck.  He felt like his dick was soaking in every dirty little immoral thought given physical form, every filthy little perverted desire.

“Oh yes,” Fifi sighed.

 A gentle little rippling squeeze ran along the length of DaBigBoom’s shaft from the root to the tip.  It felt like a soft little tug from a hand entirely made out of honey.  DaBigBoom lasted about as long as every perpetually horny teen presented with the real thing for the first time.  At least he didn’t feel guilty this time.

“Coming,” he said with a grunt.

He squeezed her ass between his hands and pressed his hips forward.  A column of semen rushed up his shaft and erupted into the soft sticky tissue enveloping his twitching manhood.  It absorbed his seed like a sponge, like a black hole absorbing light. The sinful organ wriggled and pulsed leisurely around DaBigBoom’s swollen penis while Fifi moaned in delight.  DaBigBoom’s cock responded with a series of slow, steady throbs as he emptied his balls into her devilish body.

“That was one,” Fifi said with a smile.

A ghostly red heart bloomed in the air between them and floated upwards into the sky on a spray of smaller spinning red hearts.  One hundred and forty appeared above her head in green numerals.

That was one? DaBigBoom thought.  His knees were trembling and his fringe was wet with perspiration.

Fifi relaxed her legs and shifted position.  She leant forward and let a flap of her wings pull their conjoined hips apart.  DaBigBoom’s cock was released from the cushion of super-soft sinful tissue.  She nearly let him slide all the way out before her pliable labia squeezed down around the mushroom head of his cock, keeping it inside her heat.

The bulbous tip of her tail pressed up between his arse cheeks.  The flanges stuck to his buttocks.  The orifice at the centre of her tail nudged against and began to suck on his anus in a sensation that was unexpected but surprisingly pleasant.

Fifi rubbed the tip of her nose against DaBigBoom’s.  “Two,” she said.

Her legs folded tightly around his waist.  She slid back down his pole and once again DaBigBoom was pushing up against that moist, perversely pliable bulge of tissue at the back of her vagina.  His cock never even had a chance to go down before its head was wrapped in a clingy membrane that drew him back into a glob of congealed depravity.  Fifi closed her eyes and pulled in her taut midriff.  She sucked.

Forbidden pleasures whispered up DaBigBoom’s shaft.  His body tensed and he groaned in pleasure as he erupted again.  Once again she thoroughly absorbed his issue.  The black hole pull of her sex extended down his urethra and into his crotch until DaBigBoom was no longer sure if he was pumping his seed into her, or she pumping it out of him.

Another spectral red heart bloomed in the air between them.  A +1 floated up into the sky together with two lots of 220, one green and one white.

That sounded like a lot, DaBigBoom thought.  It felt like a lot.  His breath came out in ragged gasps.  Sweat ran down his body and stained the inside of his jackets.  His hair was a soaking mop.  Wasn’t he supposed to be a level one k’winny or something?  How come he had so many HP?

Fifi shifted her body again.  Her internal cushion released DaBigBoom’s cock, but this time not so far.  He was still deep inside her, his still-engorged cock pressing lightly against the pliant membrane of the mysterious organ at the end of her pussy.

“Are you okay there?” she asked.  Her voice was all light and breezy as if this was just a bit of fun rather than a series of brutal bashes to DaBigBoom’s HP total.

“I’d be enjoying it a lot more if it didn’t take so much out of me,” DaBigBoom panted.

“Oh quit complaining,” Fifi said.  “You’ve still got plenty to give.”

Her tail wormed up against his ass.  The orifice kissed and sucked on his sphincter in a way that sent shivers of pleasure running up his spine.

Then DaBigBoom heard a crackle.  Like static electricity.  The flanges of her tail grew warm—hot—against his soft ass cheeks.

DaBigBoom’s eyes widened.

Fifi laughed at his expression.

“I’m not going to blast you,” she said.  “That would be gross.”

DaBigBoom was trying not to picture several thousand volts of electricity jolting up into his ass, or imagine what that would do to his colon.

“Men are such fragile little things when it comes to sex.  A couple of pops and you’re done.  Totally unacceptable.  I still have an attack left.”

Her tail orifice sucked his anus open.  The bulbous tip of her tail contracted.  A warm crackle of energy zinged up his rectal wall and enveloped his prostate gland in a warm glow.

“There, a little help for your prostate,” Fifi said.

DaBigBoom’s mouth fell open.  His cock, which had just started to soften, twitched back to aching fullness and nudged up against the sticky trap at the base of Fifi’s vagina.

“Three,” Fifi said.

Back down she came, and back into that soft bubble of concentrated degeneracy DaBigBoom plunged.  It felt like the moist organ was whispering indecent suggestions right to his cells, murmurings he could not resist.

Fifi took her hands off DaBigBoom’s sides and brought them back to her own body.  She sighed and massaged her heavy boobs as they bobbed back and forth with each thrust of her body.  He wasn’t even sure who was supporting who now.  Her body tugged and pushed him while her wings flapped harder and faster, working to keep both of them upright.

DaBigBoom had thought he had nothing left.  Fifi had other ideas.  Her tail continued to pulse pleasant little crackles of energy into DaBigBoom until his prostate—then his balls—felt like they were lit up and glowing.

“Oh yes!” Fifi cried.

Her sex clenched around him, smooshing that soft sinful something against his over-sensitised penis.  DaBigBoom groaned and let fly with the biggest ejaculation of the three.  Fifi drew the torrents of cum from his body and absorbed it all.

Then she released him.  Her tail detached from his ass, her legs uncrossed from behind his buttocks and her vagina dilated.  DaBigBoom toppled backwards and fell flat on his back.

Fifi continued to hover for a few moments before elegantly landing back on her naked feet.

“Mmm, that was most enjoyable,” she said to no one in particular.

DaBigBoom gave a loud groan.  How could something that felt so good leave him feeling so shit.  He looked up.  Two 400s, a +2 and another stupid red heart.  That must be it.  She’d knocked him out, incapacitated him, or whatever this game treated zero HP as.

Fifi looked down at him and her big eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re still going?”

DaBigBoom could just about move his arms and legs.  He wasn’t sure that qualified as still going.

“How intriguing,” Fifi said.  Her lips turned up in a wicked smile.

Oh Fifi, haven't you already done enough to the poor lad.
Next week: Nope, she hasn't.