Читать книгу Extreme Tales of Gay Sex, Cannibalism, and Torture - Felix Lance Falcon - Страница 4

The Succubus

Virk looked up from the bench beside his small house at the approach of an outworlder, a big, broad-chested man in the uniform cap, belt, and boots of a Space Patrolman—but otherwise naked, like everyone else on planet, visitors and natives alike.

The visitor announced, “I am Research Officer Third-Class Rafe Johnson. I understand you are the succubus who was a member of a hiking group that some of the men from my ship—”

“Yes indeed.” The young succubus stood up, aware that the visitor was taller and more powerfully muscled than himself. “Three Space Patrolmen: Jeff and Danny and Lance, and two Space Marines: Ben and Pete.”

“And then all of them—”

“Yes. And then they fed the rest of the hiking party? One by one, they fed the rest of us. They were delicious, too.”

“You made them—”

“Certainly not; they all volunteered. Each asked me to fix him so he could generate enough semen—ball-cream—to feed all the others in the hiking party. They said that you yourself told them to explore our planet and study our customs, especially this one; and so they did.”

“You didn’t—”

“Force them? No need. Two of our people were the first to feed the other hikers—and to feed your Patrolmen and Marines too. When your people saw how much fun those two had, feeding the other hikers, they wanted to do it too. They even argued about who would get to feed his ball-cream to the party next when the previous feeder had been sucked dry and then cooked and eaten.” Virk licked his lips, remembering the five lusty outworlders, remembering how he had fixed them, one at a time, and then—along with the rest of the hiking party—how he had sucked breakfast, lunch, and dinner from their prongs. “But let us not stand when we can sit, Research Officer Third Class Rafe Johnson.” He gestured at the bench next to his home.

“Uh—just call me Rafe,” the muscular outworlder said as he seated himself. “Well, as long as it was their idea—look, uh—Mr Virk—”

“Just Virk.”

“Uh—yes. Well, anyway, since my men all volunteered to feed you and the rest of the party, none of them came back to report on—well, just how by Arcturus and Alderban do you you fix guys—studs, if you will, to feed themselves like—like—”

“You have asked; I will explain.” Virk sat down beside Rafe and put out his tongue, then slid out his centimeter-thick tendril from the tip. He waved the tendril for a moment, then withdrew both tongue and tendril. “To fix someone to feed others, I slide the tendril into a volunteer’s glans and down into the organs that are in the roots of his shaft. Inside, that tendril changes—it fixes those organs so that they produce more and more and still more semen, enough to feed a dozen men or more for days and days. And each squirt of that semen is just as much fun as when a buddy sucks you off or you fuck a woman, only there’s so much more of it, and you can go on and on and on. Eventually, you run dry.”

“And—and then—”

“Then, since you have converted all your fat and your guts except your heart and lungs into the nourishing semen you’ve been pumping out, what’s left is good, lean muscle, all ready to be cooked and eaten.”

“Eaten! Then my three Patrolmen and two Marines—”

“Have been cooked and eaten, along with the two from our own planet. And of course, your people ate them too.” Virk saw a familiar young man approach, one whose prong was up and hard. “Hi, Wendo; this is Rafe, one of the visiting outworlders.” He and Rafe stood up. “He’s studying how I fix studs. Rafe, this is Wendo. I fixed him a tenday and a half ago.”

“Uh—how much longer—”

Wendo said, “That depends on how much feeding I get in—mostly, I’ve been takin’ care o’ Virk and a few of his pals, but just now, I was workin’ the refreshment stand down by the gym. Nice thing about gettin’ fixed; your prong gets bigger, along with stayin’ hard.” He stroked his impressive erection, then turned to Rafe and asked, “Can I feed you a few shots of ball-cream before I feed Virk his afternoon snack?”

“But—”

“Go on, Rafe,” said Virk. “He’ll have plenty left for me.”

“But—”

“And you are supposed to be finding out about how my fellows and I fix men like Wendo and your five studs to feed other men, are you not?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“C’mon, guy,” said Wendo. “You’re nice ’n’ hard too—got a nice, big one, you do—that’s it, just close your mouth on the end of my prong and—here—the—fuck—I go!”

Virk watched the big Space Patrol Officer kneel, take Wendo’s shaft deep in his mouth, almost choke, then begin sucking with growing eagerness. After several minutes, Wendo eased Rafe up and off his prong. “There—that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Virk said.

“Not—not bad at all,” sighed Rafe. He swallowed hard, licked his lips. “Kid, you really shot me a mouthful, you did.”

Wendo grinned shyly. He patted Rafe’s shoulders, then—as Rafe stood up—let one hand slide across Rafe’s broad chest and then on down to squeeze his prong. “If you think that’s a lot, you oughta see what you’ll do when you let Virk here turn you on. And as big as you are all over, you’d really shoot a load after he fixed you up.” He turned to Virk and steadied his shaft as Virk knelt, closed his lips onto Wendo’s glans, and sucked.

Wendo responded with a mouth-filling gush of cream. Virk gulped it all down and sucked for more. Several mouthfulls later, he relaxed his suction. Wendo’s flow slowed, then stpped with one final spurt. Virk scrambled to his feet.

“Want some more, Rafe?” Wendo asked. “No? See ya.” The youth trotted off, his prong jiggling before him.

“Well,” sighed Rafe. He licked his lips again. “That was—”

“He’s really enthusiastic about feeding people,” said Virk. “Some feeders try to make themselves last; others want to be shooting their cream every waking minute. He’s striking a good compromise—getting in plenty of fun sex without draining himself too soon.”

“Was he just trying to be polite, talking about how much I’d shoot, or was he—?”

“Telling what he really thought?” Virk gripped big Space Patrol officer’s upper arms, feeling powerful muscles tense under his fingers. Virk shifted both hands to Rafe’s chest, stroked the firm sweep of pectoral muscle, then reached down to steady Rafe’s stiff prong with his right hand while gently squeezing Rafe’s balls with his left. “Look, stud; if you want to do a complete report, you have to know what it feels like to get fixed—to get turned on. And as soon as I’ve fixed you up, you can go back to the ship and show your people what happens. That’s what you wanted your studs who you sent on that hike to do, wasn’t it?”

“Well—yes.” Rafe nibbled his lower lip. “So—” He gestured invitingly at his stiff prong.

“Okay—here goes.” Virk knelt, opened his mouth, extended his tendril from the tip of his tongue and slid it into the tip of the Research Officer’s glans and on down the length of Rafe’s prong and into its base—and on into his prostate gland. Virk curled the tip of that tendril to penetrate the meat of that gland, then injected semen-stimulating hormones. Virk’s hands—now gripping Rafe’s hips—felt the big man squirm, relax, squirm again. Virk shifted his tendril, injected three more spots along the passage. He slid deeper, found the entrance to the seminal vesicles, entered, and flooded that gland with another stimulating hormone.

“Wow,” sighed Rafe as Virk slowly pulled back his tendril and stood up. “That—that really did something inside, like nothing I ever felt before, almost like—”

“Well, whatever it feels like to you, I sure found plenty to work on inside you,” said Virk. “Sit down and relax—this won’t take long now.”

“Well, okay.” Rafe settled down, glancing now and again from his still-rigid shaft to Virk’s own erection. “This is a dumb time to be asking this question but—can I—I mean, if I don’t feed every hot hunk that comes by, then will I still—?”

“Pump yourself dry? In theory, no. But feeding yourself to a hungry mouth is such fun; and since you can go on and on, then you’re almost certainly doomed.”

“What about you? If another succubus went after you—”

“—and turned me on? That happens. And since I already know how much fun it is to be turned on, from watching studs that I’ve fixed, it is a temptation.”

“Yeah. But if I just wanted to—you know—”

“Suck me off?” Virk felt himself grin. “Help yourself.” He watched Rafe lower his head onto Virk’s shaft, felt awkward yet hungry suction take his glans and work its way down to the hilt of his shaft. Climax came soon—a quick, hard squirt of ball-juice, then another and another, on down to a slow dribble, which Rafe eagerly licked off and swallowed. “Okay—my turn.”

Rafe sat up straight; Virk settled down onto Rafe’s lap, gulped down Rafe’s shaft to the hilt, and sucked hard. The Research Officer’s first climax was slow to build, but intense when it hit, leaving both men breathless. The second came sooner and lasted longer; the third went on and on until Virk stopped sucking and finished swallowing what had already spurted forth.

“Well?” asked Virk, straightening up at meeting Rafe’s worried gaze.

“There is no fucking way that I can stop now,” he sighed. “It—it feels too good. I just don’t care if I drain myself all the way; I’m going to feed anybody who looks the least bit hungry until—”

“Just remember you have to report back to the spaceship and tell them what you found out.”

“Tell them? Better I show them,” Rafe laughed, stood up, and loped away.