The Blob Chapter 4: Sloppy Seconds 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.
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Gary woke with evidence of a wet dream on his crotch. Or maybe it hadn't been a wet dream. When he checked out the other cells to see if anyone else was splattered with cum (they all were), he noticed that they'd been joined by a new brother in affliction. In the cell just beyond Matt's, a lanky black guy with close-cut hair lay in the relaxed state that came from the drugs they'd pumped into him during his medical exam. Now he thought about it, Gary remembered that he had had a dream. A dream about the blob having its way with a black guy. That black guy. His brown muscles had glistened gorgeously in the dim light of the chamber as his big cock was milked. Fuck even remembering that much got Gary's dick growling for action. Fucking sex prison!
One by one the rest of the crew woke, sat up, and rubbed their eyes. Mark, who was taking to this all better than the rest took a morning piss.
"Happy morning to your faces," the wrestler said genially. Gary wanted to slap him.
Shortly, the keepers and a different pair of guards arrived with breakfast, and the same drama was played out as had last night.
"Eat up, boys," the first guard said as the keepers distributed more of the paste in trays meals, "And then go to the bathroom."
Everybody but Greg picked up a tray and began to finger the paste into their mouths. The new kid, though, watched as the guards turned to look at Paul.
"You ready to play ball, boy?" the second guard taunted.
Paul apparently was not. He spat out some succinct observations as to the guards' likely descent and a choice litany of their sexual practices. As the reward for continuing to be a "bad boy" the blond was once again force-fed, to Greg's obvious horror, a meal of paste and piss gruel.
Gary, by this time, had wolfed down all his grub.
"You should eat," he said to Greg, "Unless you want to be force-fed too." He turned away and left basketball stud to it. Whatever course of action Greg might choose it had to be him making it. Unsurprisingly, Greg decided to eat.
After that Gary got a drink from the revolting spiggot and turned round to relieve his bowels and bladder. Piss and shit filled Gary's commode, and the runner's ass-crack was then assaulted by the strange feeling on water shooting out under pressure, sluicing his butt clean. Weird, but it did the job on any stray shit. Once clean, the blond stepped away from the wall, and the commode slipped back to wherever it had come from. Then the stank assailed him; Gary might have a clean ass, but the rest of his body smelled of B.O and stale cum.
"Yo, dude, I stink," Gary called over to the guards who were feeding Paul the last of his "gourmet" meal.
"You'll get a chance at a shower," the second guard yelled back as he pulled the feeding tube out of Paul's throat, "Eventually."
"Eventually? Why not now?"
"Why not?" the guard laughed. "Because you, boy, have a second date with destiny. You all do."
"Except Houston," the first guard corrected, pointing to the black stud.
"Yeah, that one gets a reprieve. At least for now. Okay, everybody on your feet."
Gary wasn't surprised by the command, though Greg looked shocked. If the MIBs had only meant them to volunteer one juicy load, they'd have been returned to their lives already. Clearly the crews balls had been involuntarily inducted into national service. The crew all stood up and stepped towards the door.
"Good," the guard said, "All of you turn your backs to the door and hold your hands behind you, wrists together."
Gary felt the change in air temperature when the guards derezzed a slot in his door and slipped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists. The other five captives were similarly cuffed, one at a time, leaving only Paul.
"Now turn back around," the second guard said as four more guards entered the Managerie.
With a touch on a handheld device, the guard made the front wall of each cell disappear before pointing to the middle of the space between the cells.
"Make a straight line there and standing still until told to do otherwise."
The first guard looked back at Paul and said, "You gonna be a good boy today, blondie?"
Paul's response took a while to deliver, but it boiled down to "No".
"Okay, if that's how you want to play it." The guard looked to line of prisoners and said, "You all saw that. We offered, and he refused."
The captives watched as the guards removed the wall and entered Paul's cell. The blond stud was struggling against his straps, futilely as he must have known, as they kicked out a set of wheels attached to the legs of the restraint bench. Rolling Paul out of his cell, they led the parade of naked young men down a dim corridor back to the chambers.
"Back there," the second guard said, gesturing to the far corner of the lobby. The boys pressed back against back wall and waited. "We're not giving you to the blob yet because you all need to watch this. Paul is about to find out what being a bad boy gets you down here."
As he said this, the first guard was busy greasing Paul's ass crack.
"What the fuck, dude?! What are you doing?!"
The second guard shook his head.
"Boys, the blob doesn't care where the jizz comes from. It just wants as much of it as it can get, preferably hot and fresh, so Paul here is about to be a substitute delivery system."
"Fuck," Gary gasped. Did he really mean...?
"Exactly," the second guard said, glancing at Gary with an evil leer on his face. "Paul here's gonna get fucked up the ass until he has a half dozen loads filling his guts."
If Paul had been struggling before, now he was fighting – if not for his life then for his sexual identity.
"No, you can't! I'm not a fag!" Paul protested.
All the guards, massaging the crotches of their pants, grinned at the panicked blond.
"Like we give a damn. Get ready to get fucked full of my cum, boy," the first guard said as he pulled his fat cock out of the fly of his pants.
"Please, no! Not that! I can't! I'm straight! Nobody's ever..."
The second guard cut him off with an open-handed slap to the face.
"Oh, shut up. You had the chance to be good, but you decided not to. Now you have to make up for all the time and trouble you put us to. We're going to make up for your keeping us from quality time with our wives and girlfriends by throwing some mean fucks into your tight butthole. And when we're done, the blob can use one of those tentacles to go fishing up your ass for all that man-goo."
Gary remembered the gay tentacle porn he had seen. Remembered the looks on the cartoon faces as thick writing members invaded their bodies. Yeah, Paul was in for an all-around devastating experience, first out here and later in the chambers.
With an apparent lack of concern for the virgin status of his victim, the first guard forced his length and girth through the protesting muscle and into Paul's virgin hole. The blond screamed like a red-hot poker was searing his guts, and then the guard actually started fucking him. Fucking him hard. While the captives watched in horror, the other guards pulled their own erections out of their pants and stroked them as they waited for their turns.
The reality of one of their brothers being brutally raped in front of them put everything else into stark contrast. Even Gary was glad he had opted to be a "good boy". The whole sexual assault took a little over a half hour. The guards, clearly, were eager and desperate to cum, and at the end of the half hour of grunting and screaming, the last guard shot his load up the beleaguered blond's butt. Gary had heard the term "fucked into submission" but he never thought he'd see a man who had been. Paul, as the guards unstrapped from the bench, clearly had been. Opening the door, they roughly shoved the devastated blond stud into Chamber 1 before turning to the other captives.
"One at a time," the first guard said.
"You," the second said, pointing at Matt.
The youngest captive stepped forward like he was in a dream, a bad dream you might think until you saw he had half a hard-on already. They let him walk into Chamber 2 and shut the door. Charlie went into Chamber 3, Mark Chamber 4, and Greg into Chamber 5. That left Gary. The guards had clearly enjoyed their hands-on experience, so they grabbed Gary, running their hands on the blond's naked flesh (one even cupped his balls) and propelled him into Chamber 6, which was eerily similar to Chamber 4 where he'd first met the blob.
Gary listened at door after it closed, hoping he might be able to hear what was happening to his fellows, but the soundproofing was too good. A tentacle gently caressed Gary's shoulder, and he turned to face the glowing green alien monstrosity. Unlike his first time, Gary submitted to the tentacles' touch and allowed them to pull him dick-first into the blob's sci-fi embrace. His cock reacted immediately to the chemical stimulation, and Gary, remembering, pressed his lips to the wall whence a pud emerged to fill his mouth with alien flesh and alien goo.
As Gary sucked on the pud, surrendering himself to the blob's control, he slowly realized he could "see" what was happening to the other guys in their chambers. Each of them was being held against the wall, just as he was, while their hard cocks endured the exquisite horror of being chemically milked. Paul was not only being held against the wall and milked, but was also enduring a tentacle invading his ass, sniffing out and apparently ingesting the guards' cum. His was the only mouth not suckling at a pud. Instead he was screaming again as the tentacle invaded his ass.
"Seeing", though, was not the right word for what he was experiencing. Gary was sensing what the blob was sensing, but at a remove. The blob didn't have eyes to see with, but it had some sort of echo-location that was fine enough to read the features on the boys' faces, and it could sense heat and scents, like the pheromones emanating from the boys' naked bodies.
Fuck, Gary thought, he had a connection of some sort to the alien horror, telepathy or something. And his brain was processing what it was receiving in a way that would make sense to the young man. He also caught an echo of the blob's emotions. A desperate gluttony was being addressed, in part, and the blob was riding the feeling towards an unearthly satiation.
And yet the blob was feeding him more than just that. A primal command came through the kink. Not words, but Gary still knew the blob was urging him (and presumably the other boys) to be calm. To submit to the experience. To go along with their captors.
A feeling of "I'll take care of you," appeared in Gary's mind as he felt the inevitability of orgasm run up his dick. He didn't know if the blob meant that it would get them off or if it meant something else.
A second later, he blew his wad and decided it didn't matter in the slightest.