Extreme Tales of Gay Sex, Cannibalism, and Torture. Felix Lance Falcon
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.
Ungrateful Djinn
Danny trudged northwards along the beach, still furious at being rebuffed by Steve, the muscular hustler at his usual spot on the Santa Monica fishing pier. I can so afford to pay him, Danny told himself, but Steve wouldn’t even quote a price, just because I… Suddenly all too aware of his own scrawny body, Danny saw an ancient, barnacle-encrusted bottle half-buried in the sand, kicked at it, missed, and fell on his butt. He yelped, grabbed the bottle on his second try—scarcely aware of the barnacles digging into his palm—and hurled it at a boulder that poked out of the sand nearby.
Danny saw the bottle, barnacles and all, shatter to bits. He watched a puff of black smoke swirl up from the shards of glass and shell. Smoke?—yes, a dark cloud of the stuff; and now, as he watched, it shaped itself into a man-shaped, man-high pillar of smoke.
Danny fell back, felt warm sand cushion his fall, and stared at the broad-shouldered, thick-armed figure emerging from the smoke. A moment later, a powerfully muscled man stood before Danny, naked but for turban and loin-cloth.
“You aren’t—you didn’t—who are you?” Danny asked.
The last of the smoke condensed onto the big man, who now stood in sharp focus in the California sun. “I am he of the bottle, the djinn Kaliaz, released at last from durance in yonder glass prison.”
“A—a din? A jinny—a djinn? With wishes and stuff?”
“Were I grateful, yes,” said Kaliaz. “However, when considering thy tardiness—”
“Tardiness?” Danny swallowed hard and ran his tongue over his irregular teeth.
“Know, O condemnŠd one, that had thou released me from that spell-sealed prison of glass in the first thousand years of my captivity, I would have granted thrice three wishes and served thee, hand and foot, for all the days of your life.”
“A thousand—”
“But thou—but you released me not. Then, being still not incapable of gratitude, in spite of thy—of your neglect—”
“I wasn’t even thought of that far back!” Danny yelped.
“So, in spite of that neglect, had you released me during the next five hundred years, I would have granted three wishes and served you for not a moment more. But still you ignored my plight. And came you not, even in the two hundred fifty years after that, when the reward was but a quart of rubies. So now—”
Danny tried to keep from squeaking as he said, “You—you mean, just because I didn’t let you go when I wasn’t even born yet—and you and your stupid bottle were at the bottom of the ocean, I don’t get any reward?”
“Even less than that, for a mighty oath have I taken, that whosoever ends my captivity after neglecting to do so for these past millennia, so shall he—now you—serve me all the days of his—that is, your—life.”
“You ungrateful—”
“Stop interrupting, O slave. Capable of gratitude am I, but after such a delay, gratitude is unbefitting.” The djinn put his left hand to his loincloth and tore it off. “As I was saying, you shall now serve me and tend to my lusts, ever so often as