Extreme Tales of Gay Sex, Cannibalism, and Torture. Felix Lance Falcon
interesting, by their lusty erections.
“You studs on the lam?” Lou asked. “This place—” He waved at the inside of the Bar. “—is turning into a rescue vehicle for naked guys on the run.”
“Other way around,” said one of the naked men. “We’re looking for a big, lusty stud for some research work—somebody like you, if you’ve got a few minutes—let me introduce ourselves: I’m Flash Rogers—” They shook hands. “—and this is Buck Gordon.” Lou shook hands with the other man.
“Not the famous Flash—”
“No, no; our mothers thought it would be a cute idea to name us after those guys but they got the names mixed up, and—”
“Come back soon as you’re done,” called Mickey. “I gotta check the locator program before we take off again.”
* * * *
Flash and Buck hurried Lou along the street to a door that dilated to let them in, then snapped shut behind them. Inside, Lou saw a sloping bench. Before he quite realized what was going on, Buck and Flash had eased him back onto the bench and strapped him to it by his wrists, thighs, and ankles.
“What the fuck…” Lou growled as Flash connected Lou’s balls to the bench with two short, insulated wires and Buck ran a third wire from the bench to Lou’s glans.
“Now, the crucial test,” said Flash, brandishing a fourth wire—this one with an insulated electrical probe at the free end.
“And since our subject is nicely secured,” said Buck, “we can abandon these disguises.” And as Lou watched, the two naked spacemen morphed into a pair of erect, purple penises a meter and a half tall. Each had two tentacles sprouting from its sides, two webbed feet under ball-shaped bulges, and two stalked eyes that studied their captive.
One purple penis waved a tentacle at a wall, where Flash Rogers and Buck Gordon had been fastened by straps at wrists and knees. Flash’s prong was up and hard; Buck’s was limp but stiffening.
“We’re the real thing,” said Flash. “These—these Things copied our appearance after they finished testing our prongs with their electrical gear. Now—”
“—they’re working on mine. By the way, I’m Lou. You’re still…?”
“Flash Rogers and Buck Gordon,” said Flash. “As for what they’re working on…”
Lou felt a tingle in his balls, felt another from one contact on his prong-top to the other. He looked down as a third tingle rippled the length of his rigid shaft from tip to his balls. The purple penis wielding the electrical probe touched it to Lou’s shaft near the base and drew the probe’s tip slowly up toward his glans. Pulsing currents followed the probe until his shaft was throbbing from base to tip. Twice more, the probe stroked along his shaft.
Lou felt pressure build down in the roots of his prong, felt and watched his prong quiver, watched and felt it jerk once—twice—and then pump out a long jet of creamy semen that went on and on and on.
“Wow,” sighed Lou. “That was—”
“Yeah,” said Buck. “Just watching almost made me—”
“—shoot again,” said Flash.
“If this feels this good,” asked Lou, pausing to pump out another squirt, “then how come—”
“—they’ve got us strapped down like this?” asked Buck. “It’s what they’re going to do next—that’s why.”
Lou waited for the momentary pause between spurts, then tensed the muscled of his arms, chest, and legs as hard as he could. The next shock triggered another spurt, jerked his muscles even harder—and suddenly the straps holding him down burst asunder, releasing him.
The purple penises jumped back, then scuttled away through a door that slammed behind them with a solid, metallic thunk. Lou stood up, reached the two spacemen in a couple of strides, and freed them from the wall.
“Thanks,” said Flash, rubbing first his stiff cock, then his wrists.
“And likewise,” said Buck. “Which way is out?”
But in the next room, Lou saw two more muscular studs, one blond, the other black-haired, each standing behind a crotch-high pillar marked waffle-iron #1 or waffle-iron #2. Lou looked more closely; the two studs’ prongs and balls lay between the plates of the waffle-irons, which were slowly compressing those organs as he, Flash, and Buck watched. The blond’s organs were the flatter of the pair; a moment later, Lou heard the blond gasp aloud and look down as his shaft, then one testicle and—a few seconds later—the other ruptured under the crushing pressure.
“What is going on here?” Lou demanded.
The two studs glanced at each other. The blond said, “Well, we’re professional models, and this artist hired us for some g—uh gen—” He glanced at his naked companion.
“Genital torture sketches,” said the black-haired stud. “These are supposed to be—”
“Well, these things started out as artist’s props: just paper and cardboard,” said the blond, picking up the story, “only—somehow—they turned into the real things. When they started working on us—actually crushing and cooking our balls and prongs—”
“Anyway, the artist took off, saying he was going to fix it—he said something about a “Reality Generator” going out of synch, but—”
Lou imagined his own, still-rigid shaft in one of those waffle irons and shuddered. “You want us to get you loose?”
The two studs glanced at each other. The blond spoke: “Well, now that I’ve gone this far—there’s waffle batter along with my prong and my balls in this thing, and I’d kind of like to find out what I’ll taste like when I finish getting cooked like this.”
The black-haired stud said, “And as for me—well, my prong hasn’t burst yet, but it’s real close and—and I’d kind of like to find out how it’ll feel when it does, and then see how I taste after it finishes cooking me—but mostly, I want to keep my pal company while he finishes getting his balls and prong crushed and cooked into a waffle. Now, if you’d like to try getting your own organs cooked like ours…” He gestured at waffle-irons numbered 3, 4, and 5 that stood facing his own.
Lou glanced at Flash and Buck. Flash hesitated; Buck shook his head firmly and then Flash did too. Both followed Lou as he trotted to a door at the far side of the room and into another room, where he saw a man—naked but for blue cape, cowl, boots, and gauntlets—chained to a post, cock up and hard, watching a teenaged youth in boots, yellow cloak, and mask with an improbably impressive erection lying on his back, chained to a steel bench. A woman—dressed in as little as the others—cape, cown, and boots—was at the moment carefully easing herself onto the teenager’s prong.
She paused when she had impaled herself glans-deep, turned her head, and asked impatiently, “Can’t this wait?”
“Uh—s-sorry, to interrupt, Ma’am,” Lou managed to say, “but—uh—which way is out?”
“Right over there.” She pointed, then eased the teenager’s prong another two inches deeper while Lou, Flash, and Buck loped to the door she had indicated. Lou glanced back; the blue-cowled man’s prong was spurting ropy semen as he watched the woman and the teenager begin their fuck—but Buck and Flash hurried Lou through the door, which had dilated to let them escape.
“Which way now?” Flash glanced helplessly up and down the spaceport’s one street.
“That way,” said Lou, hurrying to a not-quite-out-of-place building a block down the street and into the Exotics Bar. His two naked companions followed close behind. At the bar, he found Mickey talking with a white-haired man who had spread out a sheaf of colored drawings for inspection.
“Oh, hi, Lou,”