Date: Sat, 18 Dec 2021 15:01:30 -0500
From: mr.evan.andrews@gmail.com
Subject: The Blob chapter 8 -- science fiction or fantasy

The Blob
Chapter 8: When Your Number's Up
Evan Andrews 2021


This set of stories is a change from what I've written before in that it is
not a fan fiction. To be honest, it's based off a fantasy I concocted back
in high school, updated as the passage of time required.

The story depicts males in sci-fi sexual situations with other males, oh,
and an alien. If this offends you, if you are underage, or if reading such
is illegal where you are please stop reading now. Thank you.

If you enjoy this story, or even if you hate it, please contribute to
keeping Nifty going at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html


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The crew of abducted cum-donors in the Managerie submitted to the new order
(because what choice did they really have?), and getting ass-fucked became
part of the thrice-daily ritual of feeding the blob. It hurt less each time
Gary took cock up his ass (something he definitely never mentioned to
anyone else, especially Paul, Randy, and Joey.

The blob on the other hand (having now seemingly grasped somewhat the
reality of what was going on with his donors) displayed confusion. From
what it knew about human anatomy, cum should not be found in the
ass—certainly not in the quantities it now was. Though the cum-hungry
monster was not about to look a gift-horse in the mouth, it began doing
what it could to treat the boys gently – almost as it they were lovers,
not simply as cum buckets and cum spigots (which was how the humans in
charge of the project looked on them).

Today, after Gary's guts had been filled up with cum, he walked into the
blob's embrace and surrendered himself entirely to the shared vision as he
was milked. The blob made love to his body, and Gary reflected that it was
incongruous that a monster should treat him with more compassion than other
humans. A mental caress crossed his vision, and the runner tried to catch
onto it, but to no avail. He was sure that he only an inch or two away from
slipping past the shared vision and actually communicating with the
blob. Today was not the day for that breakthrough, though, and instead he
radiated appreciation for the blob's touch.

@@@@@@@@@

On the Managerie front, the ritual of humiliation by oral rape,
continued. The guards still administered their nightly face-fuck of one of
the captives-- two, rather, because the boys in the cells upstairs now had
their own rotation through the ordeal.

Matt was flavor of the month for a few days after Gary had seen him first
get skull-fucked, and then the guards turned their attention to Mark. The
wrestler got the hang of swallowing cock right away, and he seemed even to
be getting off on it., something the guards really seemed to get into One
night, when Gary was spying on the nightly shenanigans, he caught Mark
frantically beating his hard cock as his mouth was fucked. Damn, what a
sight.

Gary cringed when he thought how his number would come up eventually. Would
he end up fagging out, too, and yanking his own crank while his throat got
reamed? Well, stranger things had happened to him since that day he got
hauled into the back of an unmarked van. But that was for the future.

The question didn't surface right away. Houston was next on the
face-fucking duty roster after Mark, the guards joking about the novelty of
fucking a black boy with impunity. Then it was Tweet's turn, then Charlie,
Randy, Joey, Tom, and Tony. In the end, though, Gary's night to get endure
the guards' abuse.

Gary, lying on his bed feigning sleep, heard the fall of the regulation
boots the minute the guards entered the Managerie. Tap. Tap. Tap – until
they stopped right in front of his cell.

"This is it," the blond thought.

The wall opened, and Gary's rapists grabbed the long blond hair on his
head, hauling the presumably sleeping captive out of his cell. They forced
the runner to his knees and pulled his head up enough that he was eye to
eye with their zippers. Zippers and something else. Despite Gary's hard-won
experience taking cock up his butt, cocksucking was outside his wheelhouse,
and he could only stare in horror at the single weeping eye of two hard
dicks, black and Latino.

"You smell that cock-snot, bitch?" the black guard demanded as he began to
slap Gary's face with his fat rod.

Gary nodded, his mouth still firmly closed. Just because he could see and
smell it didn't mean he was ready to taste it.

"Well, that means it's time for our nightly jollies. Open that mouth,
bitch!" the guard snarled.

Resigned, Gary closed his eyes and let his lower jaw fall. The black guard
then, with no further fanfare, slid his swollen cockhead into the boy's
mouth.

"Make love to my knob, bitch," the guard said, "Use that tongue."

Gary had no idea what he'd expected from taking cock in his mouth, but it
was definitely not this. The head of the guard's dick was spongy and
responsive; was this the same thing that had hurt so much when it forced
his asshole open for the first time? Gary experimentally ran his tongue
around the engorged plum.

"Fuck!" the guard moaned in pleasure.

Encouraged, Gary began to use the textured flat of his tongue, running it
over the entire glans, Then he slipped further down the helmet and teased
the corona, both the ridge of the cockhead and the shelf of flesh just
beneath that.

"Good boy," the guard prompted with a gasp. "Now go for the nerve bundle in
front."

Obediently, Gary let his tongue play over that most sensitive flesh in the
cleft of the corona. Each stroke of his increasingly-skilled tongue sent a
shudder through the guard's body and earned the blond the reward of an
additional spurt of precum.

An authoritarian hand reached down and cupped the back of Gary's head.

"Fuck, that is some hot cocksucking there!" the guard moaned as he held
Gary in place. "Now lick my piss-slit."

Gary's tongue strayed that fraction of an inch further back and began to
toy with the opening in the end of the shaft, lapping away at the flow of
cock-snot.

"Sssss," the guard hissed in satisfaction.

Gary didn't get it. He'd played with himself in the past, and his piss-slit
had never been a terribly sensitive zone. Apparently it was in some guys
– or maybe the guard was just getting off on the idea of making the
blond lick up the remains of his last piss.

That last thought was a mistake because it nearly made Gary vomit. The men
of the Managerie might be milked as cum-cows and raped anally and orally,
but nobody had yet pissed on them. Or in them. (Pessimistically, Gary
thought "Just give them time, though.")

"Now, let's find out what that hot boy-throat feels like," the black stud
said.

He thrust a few more inches of his hard dick into Gary's mouth, and the
blond captive was confronted with an unsettling discrepancy. Though the
head of the black dick was spongy and responsive, the shaft was rigid. It
really was hard as steel, and the admittedly silky skin that covered it
didn't mitigate that up in the slightest. Gary panicked as the length tried
the back of his mouth and almost committed the cardinal sin. Teeth
inadvertently brushed over the guard's dick, and Gary got a slap on the
face.

"None of that, bitch," the guard snarled. "Keep those teeth where they
belong, and open the back of your mouth for a good fucking!"

"How the hell..." Gary thought as the guard returned to running the top of
his prick over the blond's tongue again. "Maybe what worked with my ass
will work with my throat."

With each breath (now entirely through his nose) Gary tried to isolate his
throat muscles and relax them, and in a way it worked. The throat relaxed
right up until the spongy purple-brown head pressed against whatever it was
that triggered the blond's gag reflex. Gary's throat convulsed; a spasm
racked his body; his stomach tried to empty itself; and his nose and eyes
started streaming. What got the blond in real trouble, though, was his
reflexive attempt to push the guard away and, consequently, the black cock
out of his throat.

The slap this time dropped Gary to the floor.

Neither guard said a thing, but the Latino guard pulled Gary back to his
knees, and strong thumbs found the pressure points in his jaw that made it
impossible for the blond to close his mouth. The black guard slid his prick
back in Gary's drooling mouth, and, holding the boy's head in place, began
to brutally fuck his face.

"Ghagh! Ghagh! Ghagh!" Gary choked as his throat was forced open.

Gary tried to flail his arms, but coping with the reality of being
skull-fucked took up most of his mental processes. It wasn't so much pain
that was pushing Gary's buttons; it was the fact that his throat was being
forced into a new, and for it an unnatural, configuration. Unable to break
free, Gary could do nothing but pray that the guard would cum fast.

What Gary didn't realize was that his experience was, in addition to being
broadcast into his crew's brains, was finally bridging the gap to a larger
mind. That gossamer touch ran over his vision, but Gary was too busy to pay
it the attention it deserved.

Gary's pathetic struggles turned the black guard on just enough that he
spewed a pint of man's finest into the boy's stomach after only a few more
minutes fucking. Then he pulled out and, bending down, spat into Gary's
still gaping mouth.

"Ready for my buddy?" the black top sneered.

Buddy?

The word seared itself into Gary's mind. Fuck. He was going to have to
endure this whole thing again. And what if the guards decided to make him
their nightly stop for a few days? Or a week?! Could he stand having his
throat reamed, or would his mind snap?

"Enjoy yourself, Diego," the black man said.

Gary sobbed as the Latino guard's shaft penetrated his mouth. Again he
tried to control himself and accept the violation, but again he failed. The
black guard's fingers forced Gary's mouth open wide again, and the Latino
guard's strong hands grabbed the blond's head to hold it in place. It was
all over, then, except for the actual fucking.

As the thick brown shaft forced its way into his throat, though, Gary felt
the presence. It was like what he felt when he shared the blob's vision of
a milking session, but it went beyond that. This wasn't Gary sharing what
the blob sensed; rather, the blob was trying the reverse.

"Help me!" Gary tried to think through the connection.

The emotion behind the touch, at first quizzing now took on a different
– well, tone was the best that Gary could come up with. It was similar
to what the blob had felt when it had discovered for the first time how
Gary (and the rest of that session's cum-donors) had been
ass-fucked. Confused.

But Gary didn't remain alone in the contact. Paul sat up all of a sudden,
and Gary felt his fellow blond drawn into the contact. Gary rode along in
the vision as the blob took in the Managerie (from Paul's point of view)
and went from confused to -- shocked? For the first time the blob watched
as the Latino guard's dick choked one of the blob's boys. Now understanding
dawned, and it understood why it had found cum in the boys' assholes. Gary
could tell the blob had expected something else. The cells, the restraints,
the compulsion — not to mention the non-consensual sex that was part of
it — apparently the monster had believed his cum donors were being
housed and treated differently. It definitely expected them to having been
treated better.

Fuck, Gary realized. The blob thought that the guys in the Managerie were
some corps of noble volunteers at best. Willing sacrifices at worst. If
Gary could have seen the blob's emotions reflected in Paul's face, he would
have recognized the slow, deliberate change from confusion to anger. But
the blob hadn't reached rage -- not yet at least.

An eerie calm now forced its way into Gary's mind and took control. This
was all that the blob could do to help his — friend? lover? – cope
with what he was enduring. The control didn't force acceptance of the
guard's violation of the blond, nor did it encourage submission to the
guards' sadistic game. Instead it offered the opposite of panic, helping
Gary ride the wave and come out the other side emotionally intact. What
helped most, though, was Gary's certain realization that he was no longer
alone in his suffering, and that made all the difference. The fat cockhead
scraping at Gary's uvula and the steely rod seeking to rearrange his throat
became nothing to him, and together Gary and his new ally mastered the
necessary muscles to give the rigid intruder the access it demanded.

While the blob helped Gary endure his face-rape, Paul watched and started
jerking himself off. He stroked as fast as he could without doing damage,
hoping against all odds that he might manage to catch up and cum at the
same time Gary did. (That Gary's own cock was just as hard as the guard's
and that it was getting ready to blow was something the runner didn't
realize until he compared notes with Paul later.) Meanwhile in every other
cell, the sleeping captives' cocks grew long and hard as their minds were
filled with the images and feelings from Gary's face-rape.

The Latino hunk, at last, seeded Gary's mouth, filling it with his hot load
and causing the blond's own cock to explode. Paul grunted and at the same
time felt his shaft throb as it poured out his own thick load. In the rest
of the Managerie, twenty-two other sets of balls emptied themselves with
dreamy sighs.

"Lookit that, Rufus," Diego said, gesturing at Greg and then at the other
captives on the first floor as he pulled his diminishing erection out of
Gary's defiled mouth. "Creepy, how they all came at once, ain't it?"

"I'll say," Rufus, the black guard, agreed as he shoved his dick back into
his pants – not that he looked unduly concerned.

"Should we report it, do you think? The captain told us to keep an eye out
for stuff like that."

"What? And have that twatwaddle with a severe case of brass-poisoning ask
how it was that we were in the Managerie to see it in the first place?"

"You've got a point. Okay, back into the cell with you, bitch," the Latino
rapist told his victim.

As Gary crawled back into his cell and up onto his bed, the blob disengaged
withdrew from the boys' minds. As it withdrew, though, there was a final
touch on Gary's mind. Something intimate. Something like – a kiss? Yes,
that was it. A mental kiss -- and a promise. And the angry promise of a
person who finds out that someone has Goldilocksed his shit.

<This ends now>