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Glass Half

Patients don’t get admitted to this unit unless the doctors give them less than three months to live. It can be heartbreaking, working in hospice, but incredibly rewarding as well. People are grateful for small kindnesses, like a warm blanket, or just someone to sit and hold their hand. It feels good, as a nurse, to ease the transition, especially when someone is done suffering and is just ready to pass on. But the fact remains, getting a bed on my floor is pretty much a one-way ticket.

She was a lot younger than most of our patients, in her low 60s, which is always especially tough for me. It was breast cancer, metastasized.

The radiation and chemo had made her sick and pummeled her body. She was done. She wanted to live whatever she had left of life in whatever comfort she could. She didn’t have family, husband, kids. All she had was a house in the woods and a pair of big dogs. She couldn’t stay at home; she could barely walk. So she had come here.

“I’m worried that it may be spreading,” she told me after I had taken her vitals. “Can I show you?”

She lifted up her shirt. The right breast was clearly cancerous. You could see the tumors, lurking malignantly just under the skin. The entire underside of the breast was covered in an angry red rash, with raw-looking raised areas that oozed.

“The rash doesn’t look cancerous to me,” I lied. “Maybe it’s just a reaction to the radiation. We’ll see what the oncologist has to say.” I took a Sharpie and outlined the perimeter of the rash. It was big, far too big, and it was no kind of side-effect or drug reaction that I’d ever seen.

Her other breast, the one on the left, was perfect. Straight out of a teenage wet-dream: firm, pale, slightly perky, not too big. Flawless.

“I’m scared to go home,” she told me. Her shirt was still raised up, her breasts, both of them, right up in my face. “I just don’t want to be a burden to anybody.”

“You’re not a burden,” I told her. “I’m sure you’ve spent a lot of time in your life helping other people. Now it’s your turn to accept some help.”

“How long have you been a male nurse?” she asked me.

“Oh, I’ve always been a male nurse!” I told her, and we both laughed. Our eyes me, and something electric passed between us.



I was working the night shift, which is not my favorite. I had one patient on a morphine drip who wasn’t doing so well (or ‘circling the bowl’, as we say to each other when we’re well out of earshot.) I wasn’t sure he would make it through the night, and I was considering calling his family and asking them to come to the hospital. It was nearly two in the morning when her call bell went off.

“I’m so sorry to bother you,” she said. She was sitting in her vinyl hospital armchair, wearing a gown and sweatpants, reading a novel. “I have a terrible cramp. Could you rub my shoulders?”

Of course I could.

I rub patient shoulders all the time. Sometimes, when the morphine stops working, that is all I can do for them. But it doesn’t usually make my dick hard.

“Mmm,” she said, and my cock twitched involuntarily. “That feels so good. A little lower please?”

I complied.

“Would you mind rubbing around the front as well?”

“Like this?” I asked, sliding my hand inside her hospital gown and cupping her left breast in my hand.

“Yes,” she said. “Exactly like that.” My dick was now a full-on twitching erection, making a conspicuous tent in the front of my scrub bottoms. I felt her nipple stiffen under my palm. “The other one too, please.”

Somehow or other, her gown had become untied, and slipped in a crumpled mess around her lap. My right hand cupped her cancerous breast, hard and lumpy. I squeezed both her nipples between thumb and forefinger, bending over to sniff her hair.

“Yessss…” she sighed, arching her back. “Harder. Make it hurt.”

I squeezed harder, as hard as I could, and her moan electrified me. Then an alarm went off. It was room eleven, my morphine drip. I had to run, and then it was definitely time to call the family, in the wee hours of the night, and hopefully he could hang on at least until they arrived for one last goodbye. It was a long night, and I didn’t make it back to her room until shift change, where I found her asleep in her chair.



She was losing weight, weight that she couldn’t afford to lose. We put her on drugs to stimulate her appetite. We didn’t have cannabis at our hospital, that would have been so much easier.

I checked on her at lunch time. She hadn’t touched anything on her tray.

“You don’t like what you got for lunch?”

“No.” She looked at me wryly. “Would you?”

I looked at the untouched tray: mystery meat, rehydrated mashed potatoes, dubious vegetable. “Well, it is hospital food,” I said sympathetically.

“Isn’t there something else I could eat?”

“Maybe I can get the kitchen to send something else up…”

“That isn’t what I’m talking about and you know it.”

Is there a world record for going from completely flaccid to totally erect? I may have just shattered that record. “What if the doctor calls? What if another patient rings for me?”

“Well then I’ll have to be quick, won’t I? … Shut the door.”

She reclined the head of her bed so that her face was right at the level of my crotch. I undid my drawstring and dropped my scrub bottoms, letting my engorged cock pop out.

“Mmmmm,” she said, “Now that looks delicious! Bigger than I thought it would be, too. Now turn around, I want to check out your bum.”

I did as I was told. “Very nice. Spread your buns for me. I want to lick your asshole.”

Who was I to argue? Patient satisfaction is our number one goal. I spread my cheeks apart, and felt her hot breath on my most private parts. Her tongue traced its way up the back of my balls, along my taint, and up to my anus, where it slithered and circled and did its honest best to infiltrate my asshole. My dick was harder than I could ever remember it being.

She came up for air. “Mmmm… yummy. I could do that all day long. But I did say I’d be quick, now didn’t I? Turn around again, let me have that dick.”

My cock was leaking sticky clear pre-come. She kissed it right on the swollen purple glans. “Now use me,” she said. “Fuck my face.”

“If I do, will you eat your lunch afterward?”

“I’ll try.”

She opened her mouth wide, and I slipped my cock inside. How long had it been since I’d had an honest blowjob? Not in the last ten years of marriage, that was for sure! Her tongue caressed the underside of my cock, swirling around the head.

I was already pretty close. She took my hands, placed them on her breasts, one perfect, one ruinous. I started fucking her mouth. Gently at first, just sliding my cock softly in and out between her lips. She moaned onto me: “Harder.”

A call bell went off somewhere on the unit. She moaned again, something I couldn’t make out. I gripped her tits hard and started fucking her mouth in earnest. It felt amazing. She choked and gagged a little bit, but stayed with me. I felt myself slipping over the edge. I buried my cock in her mouth, it felt like I was halfway down her esophagus, my hands gripping her tits like handlebars, biting down hard on my lower lip as I came.

When she had extracted all the sticky white semen from my wilting cock, she smiled. “Thank you. Now shouldn’t you go see who’s ringing?”

I pulled up my pants. “Remember your promise,” I said. “I want that plate to be clean by the time I come back.”

“I’ll try,” she said.



The oncologist confirmed my suspicion. The rash was no side-effect, and it was spreading by the day. Cancer had riddled her body like mold in blue cheese. She took Dilaudid now and then when the pain got unbearable, but she said she hated the way it made her feel.

Despite everything, she was gaining back a little weight, and with physical therapy she could get around on her own now with a walker.

Sometimes when I worked nights, I’d come to her room and give her orgasms with my fingers while we kissed; sometimes I’d jerk off onto her tits; and sometimes we’d just sit and talk.

“I want to die at home,” she said.

I nodded. I get it. I understand.

“Will you come visit me?” she asked, “Just once?”

I never ever go see patients or their families outside of the hospital. It is a line that I don’t ever cross, the work/life barrier. I do it to protect my own sanity, to keep from being overwhelmed by the sadness of other people’s tragedy. “Yes,” I said, “Of course I’ll come see you.”



I told my wife I had to go to a training on my day off. Totally plausible, I have to attend those on a fairly regular basis. Even so, I kept glancing into the rearview mirror as I navigated the back roads through lush hills to her cabin, as if my wife might be tailing me.

No dogs barked as I pulled up the long driveway. She told me later that she’d given them to a shelter, the kind that doesn’t kill animals. She told me that was the first time in this whole experience that she’d broken down and cried.

She met me at the door, naked, leaning heavily on her walker. She had lost all the weight she’d gained at the hospital, and then some. She looked gaunt. Her cancerous tit was crusty and deformed. I hugged her close, and she kissed me hard on the lips, with surprising vigor.

“Come on in,” she said, “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?”

She led me to the bedroom. The house was weirdly quiet and bare. It didn’t feel like anyone lived there anymore. Her chest of drawers was covered in pill bottles, every color of the rainbow. On her bedside table was a handgun, a nickel-plated revolver that looked like it belonged in a cowboy movie.

I slipped out of my clothes and joined her in the big soft bed. My cock was hard and it rubbed pleasantly against the crease of her ass. We kissed again, and I slid my hand between her legs. She was wet, dripping wet and slippery.

My dick found its way inside her, and we fucked, slowly, enjoying the sensation, never wanting it to end. She humped back against my cock, wiggling her ass. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” she told me. Her voice had gotten dry and raspy.

I kept getting close, and then having to stop. I didn’t want to come so soon.

“Would you mind licking my pussy? Just a little bit?”

I didn’t mind at all. Not one little bit.

I dived between her legs, burying my face in her crotch. My tongue found her clit, my fingers toyed with her pussy and her anus. I don’t know how long I was down there, but it was far more than just a little bit. Finally, she cried out loud and her body shook, and I knew I had been successful.

She kissed me. “Thank you so much. You’ve always been so kind and patient with me.”

“It’s been my pleasure. Really and truly.”

“Would you do one more thing for me?”


“Would you fuck my ass? I’ve always wanted to feel that, and I’ve never had it.”


We rearranged ourselves. She was too weak to stay up on all fours, but lying on her stomach with a couple pillows under her hips seemed like it was going to work.

I got my head between her cheeks, inhaling the scent of her sex, and rimmed her asshole, licking her from her pussy up to the base of her spine and back down again, delighting in her sighs and the way she pressed back at me.

“Do it to me,” she whispered, “Don’t be too gentle.”

I pressed my cock against her saliva-wet anus. She groaned, and pressed back against me. Her body opened up to accept me. I shoved forward and she grunted. She was wicked tight. “Fuck me,” she said, and I did.

My cock plunged in and out of her tight, hot asshole. Every time I thrust into her, she panted and coughed. Her hands were gripping the pillow at the top of the bed, her head to one side, eyes shut tight. “Harder… harder…”

I reached under her, finding her soaking wet pussy, spreading her juices up and over the erect nub of her clit. I was losing control now, fucking her ass as hard as I could, losing myself in my own pleasure.

“Oh my God,” she called out, her voice suddenly clear and loud, “I’m going to come!”

We came at the same instant, her cunt spasming on my probing fingers as my cock exploded in her ass. We lay there for a long time, locked together, sweaty and panting, two lovers in an obscene embrace that neither one of us wanted to let go of just yet.

She had to take some pills. She needed applesauce to get them down now. After that, we fucked again. She tried being on top, but quickly got too tired, so we rolled over, and I fucked her missionary-style, kissing her lips as I came deep inside her cunt.

“I might fall asleep,” she said. My cock was still inside her. “Don’t wake me up if I do. Just leave. You’ve been an amazing nurse.”

Soon she was snoring. Her face looked relaxed and peaceful. I gently extracted myself, and crept into her shower, washing the sex smell off my body. She hadn’t moved by the time I left.



I saw her name in the newspaper the following week. I read the obituaries obsessively, for reasons that are probably obvious. The short article said that she’d died at home, after a long illness, and that she’d left all her money to an organization that rescues abused animals.

I cut her obituary out of the newsprint and put it inside my wallet, where I carried it around with me until it disintegrated.







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In retrospect, getting an apartment together may have been a mistake. We were both really damn young, what did we know about cohabitating? It all more or less worked out in the end though.

Meg had plucked my virginity the summer before like a ripe, low hanging plum, and for a while anyway, I was deeply and strenuously in love with her.

It was hard for me to believe, but the sex had started to get a little boring. Just a bit. Meg liked to fuck, and she liked it a LOT, but that was about all she liked. She had no interest whatsoever in exploring or experimenting with all of the things I was so eager to try out.

We had fucked just that morning. I woke up hard, as I usually did. I reached over, slipping my hand inside Meg’s pajama bottoms, where I found her willing, ready, and very shortly sopping wet. The thrill and novelty of readily available sex had not yet started to wear off.

I tugged her bottoms down. Her pussy was a moist, blossoming flower with ripe, swollen lips, and the cutest little bud of a clitoris. I ached to slide my head down between her voluptuous pale thighs and eat her out until she cried, lick her pussy and clit until my face was covered in her slick juices, and she pulled my hair hard as she came. Meg had never let me go down on her. She said it made her feel too self-conscious.

I climbed atop her and slid my dick up her pussy. It was always amazing to me just how good it felt to be inside her: hot and wet and tight. We kissed, she humped back against my thrusting cock, and we found a rhythm, prolonging our pleasure.

We changed positions, with her on all fours in front of me. It was easier for her to come that way. I liked the way her tits hung down and swung around while we fucked; I loved seeing her ass right there, up close and personal. I always wanted to stick my finger up her tight little butthole, but that was strictly forbidden.

We were both really excited. She came first, crying out like a songbird, and that totally set me off. I shoved my cock in hard one last time, yelled out her name, and pumped her wet pussy full of my come. Then we both showered, got dressed, and started our day.

One of the problems was that neither one of us had a car. Meg took the bus to work, I walked. After work, Meg’s mom picked me up to take me to the supermarket so that I could pick up some groceries.

The back seat was jammed full of shopping bags: a week’s worth of food, and we were headed back to the apartment. Meg’s mom was wearing a comfortable-looking t-shirt that showed off her considerable bust, and a faded pair of blue jeans. “I’m so glad that you and Meg are together,” she told me. “You two make such a cute couple. …but don’t you think she’s a bit of a prude? I bet she doesn’t even suck that cock of yours.”

At this point I realized two things simultaneously: Meg’s mom’s hand was resting on my thigh; and I had an uncomfortable erection inside my pants. And it was true: after one abortive early attempt, Meg had never again put her mouth on my dick.

“You know,” she said, running her hand up and down my inseam, “I used to give pretty awesome head. Back in the day.”

We had pulled up in front of the apartment building. Meg’s mom killed the engine. My dick was doing its god-damnedest to bust through my zipper. This was deeply, deeply fucked up. If this lady hit any harder on me, I’d have bruises. She was my goddamn girlfriend’s mother, for fuck’s sake, and at least twice my age. But for all that, she was pretty decent looking, with all kind of interesting curves on her.

Whatever. I seemed to have lost any say in the matter as she unzipped my pants, freeing my cock, which sprung immediately to full attention, thrilled to be relieved of the confines of my trousers.

“Oooh,” she cooed, “That’s a beauty! Looks de-licious too!” And she dropped her head onto my lap, opened wide, and swallowed me whole.

We were parked right in front of our apartment complex. Cars were constantly driving by, people occasionally walking past on the sidewalk. Meg would be getting home any moment.

Meg’s mom wasn’t fucking around. She wasted no time at all on subtleties. She slurped my cock deep into her mouth, lavishing her tongue all over the shaft and trying to stuff me down her throat until she gagged and coughed. She looked up at me, grinned wickedly, and pulled the front of her t-shirt down, letting her big fat cantaloupe sized tits hang out. Then she went back to work.

Some girl with green hair and a stylish leather jacket walking by on the sidewalk tapped on the car window, flashing me a smile and a big thumbs-up. I waved weakly.

Meg’s mom had her lips wrapped around the bulbous head, sucking hard. Her hand was a blur on my wet shaft, pumping up and down for all she was worth. It didn’t take long. It couldn’t have been more than a minute or two before I was lifting my butt up out of the passenger seat, humping her mouth, squirting what felt like bucketloads of semen into Meg’s mom’s hungry, voracious mouth.

The girl who’d been watching through the window winked and stuck her tongue out salaciously before moving on, while I hurriedly got zipped up and Meg’s mom looked on just like a big, self-satisfied housecat.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that to you Kiddo!” she said. Meg’s bus pulled up a couple car-lengths behind us, and Meg stepped off the bus. “My turn next… what comes around goes around!” And she helped me and Meg carry the grocery bags into our place while my sticky dick still flopped wet and drooling inside my pants.

Two days later, Friday, I had to work late and ended up walking home in the dark. And it rained on me. When I got home, Meg gave me a big hug, despite the fact that I was soaking wet.  “My mom’s coming over,” she told me. “I ordered a pizza, and we’re going to watch a movie. Sorry I didn’t give you any heads-up.”

“No worries,” I said. “I like your mother.” –gulp—

“She should be here in about half an hour,” Meg said. “Do you wanna go for a quickie?”

“Sure!” I said, and Meg was already tugging off my wet things. She didn’t even bother getting undressed, just hiked up her skirt, bent over the sofa, and pulled her panties to one side.

I slid my dick straight up inside her wet pussy. “Mmmm,” she purred, “Fuck me hard, do it to me!”

And so I did, hard and fast. It was really sexy to be fucking Meg right through her panties, and she seemed really into it, making a lot of gasping and mewing noises, and humping back against me with each thrust while she fiddled with her clit. It was pretty hot, and it was in a way the closest we’d ever gotten to ‘kinky’. I came really quickly, shooting off inside Meg’s pussy just as she climaxed, and two seconds later, while my still firm dick was still nestled inside Meg’s juicy come-slick pussy, the doorbell rang.

I extracted myself and ducked into the bedroom to put on some dry clothes while Meg got the door.

The movie was good, I guess. I was pretty distracted, and had a hard time focusing. I was sandwiched on the couch in between Meg and her mother. Meg’s mom kept playing with my cock through my pants whenever Meg wasn’t looking, and it wasn’t long before I was hard all over again. I was a little afraid that Meg would notice the bulge in my pants and wonder what was up, but when her mom got up to use the bathroom, Meg whispered in my ear “I think it’s really sexy that your come is still inside me, and it’s getting my panties really wet.” She was blushing really hard. It was cute.

When the movie was over, Meg announced that she was going to take a shower. Meg’s mom said that she was going to have another beer before she left.

As soon as the bathroom door closed and we heard the water running, Meg’s mom lifted up her skirt and spread her legs. Her pussy was plump and hairy and sexy as all hell. “I hope you’re feeling hungry,” she said, “Because this kitty ain’t gonna lick itself!”

I got down on my knees between her legs and went right to it. Her taste was strong, almost overpowering at first, but I got used to it quickly. I slurped up and down her pussy, stimulating her prominent clit, and doing my damnedest to fuck her cunt with my tongue. She guided me with her hands on my head and made nice appreciative noises. It was my first time ever licking pussy, and I’m honestly not sure I did a very good job, but she made me feel like a champion cunninlingist.

“Play with my asshole,” she instructed me, “slip a finger up inside… yeah, just like that. Now finger fuck my pussy… mmmm… yeah, now lick my clit hard!”

I did just as I was instructed, and if she faked her orgasm, she did a damn convincing job of it! I felt like a million bucks, and my cock swelled up with pride.

“You have no idea,” she said as I came up for air, panting and soaked in her slick juices, “How badly I needed that. Now come fuck me. Quick, while she’s still in the shower.” She grabbed her ankles and lifted her feet up to her ears. Those yoga classes weren’t for nothing!

I slipped my cock inside her, amazed once again at how good it felt, how similar and yet totally different it was from fucking Meg. She wasn’t tight, but she was muscular down there, I could feel her pussy grasping at my cock, and she was very, very wet. It felt amazing on my dick.

The shower water turned off, and I froze, deep inside Meg’s mother’s cunt. A moment later we heard the sound of Meg’s hairdryer turning on.

“Why don’t you finish in my ass?” she said. “I bet Meg’s never let you do that… Where I got such a prudish kid, I’ll never know… I blame her father.”

I pulled my dick out of her slippery pussy. “I’ll be gentle,” I promised. She snorfed.

“Just fuck my ass Kiddo, come on!”

My wet cock slipped easily up her butt. The sensation was only marginally different from fucking a pussy, but the situation was so wild, so nasty, so crazy and erotic that I felt myself losing it almost immediately.

Meg’s mom was grinning wolfishly and rubbing her fat pink clit in slow, lazy circles. “Go on kid, fuck that ass hard, I want to feel you come inside me!”

The hairdryer turned off. I started pounding Meg’s mom’s ass hard and fast, abandoning any semblance of gentleness. “Oh yeah, that’s the shit”, she cooed, “go on, fill my asshole full of come, you hot little stud!”

I buried my cock deep inside her, biting my lips hard so as not to cry out loud as I came.

Meg’s mom took a long pull from her beer and belched loudly.

I got my pants up and zipped just as Meg came out of the bathroom. We said our goodnights and went to bed. I slept hard that night, and did not dream.

I was woken up the next morning by Meg playing with my dick. It was already hard, and she was running her forefinger up and down the length, smiling shyly. She was topless, and her breasts jiggled pleasantly as she moved.

“Horny much?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, blinking the sleep out of my eyes.

“Me too.” She wrapped her thumb and forefinger around my shaft and started moving her hand more rapidly.

“You know how you always want to try different stuff, and I’m always too shy…?” Now Meg’s hand was moving up and down in an inescapable rhythm. I was lifting my ass up off the bed, matching her movements, straining toward her. “Well I’ve been thinking… what if we brought in someone else, someone older and more experienced, and you could try doing things with her while I watched? I think that would be sexy… Would you like that?”

“Yeah…!” I groaned, and came, splashing pearly-white semen all over my tummy and chest. Meg climbed on top of me, smearing my come all over her boobs, and we kissed for a long, long time.


















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Slave to the Barachi: an Elsiewrites Choose Your Adventure

The womb is pleasantly dark, warm and comfortable. You have no worries, no cares, hardly any thoughts at all. A choice, however, must now be made:

If you choose XX, click here.

If you choose XY, click here.

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Your parents always warned you that if you were a bad girl and misbehaved, they’d sell you to the barachi. You never really believed them though.

You knew it was bad, beyond bad, but it was so damn tempting… your mom had left her VR rig just sitting right there in her sewing room. The helmet was pink, the corresponding prong was soft-skinned, matching pink, with interesting ridges and a slight upward curve. It looked like it would be just exactly the right side for your horny little kitty.

And your kitty WAS horny. Your parents had gone to the neighborhood SETI committee meeting, leaving you to your own devices. Usually your own devices would have been a nice hot bath and the affections of your own four fingers, or possibly the shower head just for variety’s sake. Both options worked perfectly nicely, but frankly just lately they had both been getting a tiny little bit… boring. Your mom’s pink and sparkly VR rig would spice things up quite nicely!

You knew that a girl’s hymen (if not her actual virginity) was the most precious thing she owned, and that she should protect it at all costs. But you were pretty sure you could use that thing without damaging your precious maidenhead.


If you take the VR rig, click here.

If you resist temptation, click here.

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You leave the pink VR rig where it lays, and go upstairs to your bedroom, where you strip naked and turn on the shower. You ride the showerhead to a very satisfying orgasm, thinking deliciously slutty things about naked boys and the mysterious things they have between their legs. When you are all done, you towel off and get dressed, just in time to welcome your parents home from their meeting.

You graduate from high school, and start college, but never finish. You marry a nice man named Daveed who takes your virginity on your wedding night. It is neither as painful as you were afraid, nor as exciting as you hoped. You end up having two kids, a boy and a girl. You try for a third, but the pregnancies keep ending in miscarriage.

Your son is moderately successful and makes you proud. Your daughter is a bit of a problem, rebellious and promiscuous, and ends up sold to the barachi.

You live a long, fairly healthy, and unremarkable life.


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You grab the VR rig and take it upstairs with you, intending to be just a minute, to wash it off and replace it before your parents get home.

Upstairs, you strip naked and slip the pink, glittery helmet on over your head. Immediately you are greeted by a well-muscled man with gold bracelets, a distressingly uniform tan, a handlebar mustache, and a penis the size of a baseball bat. Your mother’s preferences, clearly, and not really your own, but you don’t really have time to fiddle with the settings, and anyway, he is rubbing your shoulders and you can actually feel his cock brushing up against your naked back, and what the hell, you are getting pretty turned on anyway.

He nudges your thighs apart, and your cunt is good and wet and slippery, and now seems as good a time as any to grope for the pink prong part of the rig, which is now humming pleasantly away.

You thought you’d just slip it in a little bit, just enough to itch the scratch, but once you start you find that you really can’t stop. The toy slips all the way in, just like that: a brief moment of resistance and a twinge as your hymen tears asunder, and then pure bliss. Mr. Mustache is grunting like a bear, hammering you between your legs, plunging in and out, and you are hooked, reveling in the sensation of fullness, the toy buzzing happily away deep inside you, as your virtual gigolo fucks your cunt, your clit straining out, swollen and ready to pop like an overinflated balloon…

…and then your Mom barges in, screaming her disgust. Dad is close behind, and you find yourself grabbed by the hair and dragged forcibly out of bed, down the stairs, and into the front yard, where your Dad hoses you down with the garden hose. Sobbing, shivering, and soaking wet, you are bundled naked into the back of their SUV and driven straight to the Barachi embassy.

The next few hours are a blur. You vividly remember the humiliation of standing soaking wet and naked on the sidewalk outside the embassy, trying to hide your tits and pussy from the curious stares of passers-by as your Dad negotiates entry. You are brought inside, and plastic restraints are placed on your ankles and wrists. You are given a shot of something to calm you down –at some point you had started weeping and screaming hysterically. Your patents must have left; you never see them again. You are taken to a holding cell, brightly lit and sterile, and left alone in your misery.

There was nothing particular to remember about the shuttle flight, other than the deafening noise and teeth-rattling vibration of launch, and the crushing g-forces as you arced up through the sky. Part of you hopes for an anomaly, an explosion that would end the nightmare in a brief bright flash of flames. But no such luck.

The artificial gravity makes you feel queasy, as if you had spent too much time on the whirling teacups at the amusement park. You’ll never get completely used to it, you’ll feel perpetually off-balance from here out, but the worst of the nausea passes after the first few days.

Once aboard the outpost, you are brought into some kind of operating room, where a drone is waiting for you.

You can tell he is a drone, because of his size (he isn’t much taller than you), and because he lacks wings. He hums and clicks mechanically as he secures your head between his middle appendages and paints an antiseptic gel on your lips with his upper arms, while the lower pair wields surgical tools. (You knew it was a ‘he’ because no human has ever seen a female barachi.)

Barachi don’t feel pain, so they aren’t particularly sensitive about the sensation in species who do. They do, however, have very sensitive hearing organs on their thorax; apparently human screaming is uncomfortable for them and makes them agitated. Once you are fully prepped, the drone begins wiring your jaw shut and rearranging and extracting teeth. Finally he takes a long, curved surgical needle and polymer thread, and proceeds to sew your lips together, pausing in the middle to insert a stainless-steel straw into your mouth, through which you will consume your nutrition. The pain is terrible, you would have said unbearable, except that it goes on and on and you somehow bear it: tiny careful stitches close together, sealing your mouth tight around the metal drinking tube. Almost as bad as the pain is the sounds that the needle makes as it punctures and pierces through layers of tissue.

Finally, the drone is done with his task. With a hum and a click, he wipes the blood off your face with a sani-wipe, and leaves you, sobbing silently, chest shaking, tears running down your cheeks and falling to the floor in the parabolic curve of artificial gravity.

They must have put some kind of drug into the slurry they fed you through the straw, because things go blank for a while.

You are naked. There is no need for clothing here. Your breasts are tender and swollen: your feed is laced with hormones. A drone leads you from your sleeping chamber to a large, brightly-lit room. The drone locks your ankles, wrists, and head, not uncomfortably but very securely, into a polymer frame. An instrument of some sort is inserted into your anus. You wince as the drone shoves the bullet-shaped plug in past your opening, where it stays, securely lodged. Suction cups attached to surgical tubing are placed over your nipples, quickly sucking them erect and distended.

There are other women in the room, similarly secured, in various stages of pregnancy. You can’t really look around because of the way your head is clamped in place; and in any case your attention is now focused on the thing immediately in front of you.

It is a full male barachi. He is much bigger and half again as tall as you. His exoskeleton is a livid, poisonous green. His gossamer wings are fully extended from his carapace, indicating fertility. Six small, red eyes travel up and down your body, for all the world like an ogling construction worker. His mandibles slowly open and close. An ovipositor juts out from his thorax, a wickedly sharp and oversized segmented parody of a penis. Despite yourself, you realize that your cunt is sopping wet and drooling.

The lower arms hold your knees apart. Fighting them would be like fighting a hydraulic press. The middle pair of appendages spreads your labia with surprising dexterity, the upper pair holds your midsection with pincers like tungsten-steel. His mandibles clack excitedly. He spears you, penetrating your cunt with one cruel thrust.

The pain is beyond comprehension. You scream through the straw, through sealed lips, and twist and struggle to escape. Methodically, he pushes deeper and deeper inside you. Your cunt feels as if it is being split apart. Cruel, barbed spikes project from his ovipositor, piercing your flesh, latching into your labia and vaginal walls, lodging him even more securely in your cunt.

He thrusts mechanically, in and out. His beady, multi-faceted red eyes seem to glitter with excitement. His wings rattle and quiver.

Finally, he explodes. You can feel it, deep deep inside your cunt. The barachi are a parasitic species: the queen, in a chamber somewhere on the station, gives the males eggs to fertilize. The males hold the eggs in a special internal sac until they deposit them in a host. Dozens of slimy ova, the size of fish eggs, are squirted up your cunt. Retro-enzymes and mimetic hormones go to work, coaxing your cervex open and herding the eggs up into your womb, where they latch on to the walls of your uterus.

His task done, the male barachi withdraws his spines. With a shrug reminiscent of a post-orgasmic human male, he pulls his ovipositor out of you, and tucks it back inside his exoskeleton. Red blood and greenish slime gush out of your wounded cunt. You gasp and retch, trying not to puke inside your sealed mouth.

The drone leads you back to your cell, where you pass out. Already, the young barachi are growing inside you, alien cells replicating, feasting on your body’s nutrients.

Sex play is actually encouraged between hosts. Stimulation increases blood flow to the uterus and helps with milk production. No words are ever exchanged, no licks or kisses. Three women gang up on you, one holding you by the hair while the other two boldly finger your pussy and asshole. You aren’t quite sure if it is rape, because it is actually quite enjoyable. Another, older and very pregnant women wordlessly instructs you on how to fist her. You get a huge charge out of feeling her cunt pulsate on your hand as she comes. There is another girl, about your own age, who sort of becomes a friend: you masturbate together, fingering each other’s cunts as you rub your clits.

Your belly quickly grows and swells, almost to the point of bursting. The suction tubing is now extracting milk from your breasts around the clock. Your middle is now so large that it is difficult, nearly impossible to stand upright or to walk.

Some males enjoy coupling with hosts while they are pregnant. Whether this is because they enjoy the sensations, a mating instinct gone wrong, or just out of rank cruelty, you don’t know. Sometimes they will attempt to insert their ovipositor in a woman’s ass. This can result in grave injury, infection, and if the male barachi isn’t very careful, death for the host. Fortunately, this does not happen to you during your first hosting.

The eggs gestate for about three weeks.

A drone leads you back into the insemination room. Your belly is bulging obscenely, the things inside you are squirming like a sack full of hyenas. You can actually see them wriggling inside you through your flesh. You are strapped into the rack not a moment too soon: your body convulses as a powerful contraction wracks through you. First one, then another and another and another squirms out of your vagina, falling with a plop onto the floor. The larvae are light green and limbless, each one about the size of a loaf of bread. More and more of them worm their way out of you, maybe a dozen in total.

Some combination of their texture, the wriggling action against your g-spot, the instrument in your anus, the way your cunt is stretched wide, and the cocktail of artificial hormones sets you off. You’ve never had an orgasm like this before: it is incredibly intense, and it goes on and on as the grubs squirm their way out of your body. The sensation is insidiously addictive. As soon as it is over you want more.

The larvae are herded into a special nursery room where a drone will feed them breastmilk until they pupate. Meanwhile, the male wastes no time. Even as the last larvae squirms out of your gaping vagina, he mounts you. It still hurts: the alien prong was never designed for a human cunt, and the spikes are still cruel and barbed, but as he thrusts inside you, getting ready to deposit his eggs, you begin to feel a certain twisted pleasure through the afterglow of your orgasm. You could almost learn to enjoy this.

This cycle will continue until your body is worn out. As the months pass, time seems to blur, and the days and nights blend together. Your senses dull, your mind wanders and atrophies. By the time the barachi are done with you, you are hardly even human. Not anymore.


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Your parents always warned you that if you were a bad boy and didn’t do as you were told, they would sell you to the barachi someday. You never really believed them though.

Mom was at work, dad was at SETI. You had planned on taking a shower and violating the sanctity of your body’s temple under the warm, soapy water; but something caught your eye. Your dad had left the door to his study open a crack, and there on the desk was his VR rig.

You knew that it was a mortal sin for a boy to spill his mother-of-pearl; that was why you always did it in the shower, where your horny nastiness would leave no trace. But honestly, there is only so much a guy can do with one soapy hand, and the VR rig was right there for the taking. You should have plenty of time before any came home.

If you take the VR rig, click here.

If you resist the temptation, click here.

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