The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

6

Some time later—I couldn’t tell how long—I heard footsteps, and Runt appeared from behind me again. She stood in front of me, still naked and not very attractive, and began to question me.

“Do you like to see me naked?”

I tried to shake my head no.

“Would you like to see me play with myself?”

I made what I hoped would be interpreted as negative noises. Runt either didn’t understand, didn’t care, or was determined to annoy me as usual, as she loosened the clamps that held the metal rods in position, rotated them around the edge of the frame until the needles were pointing away from me, and began to rub crotch against one of my thighs. It didn’t do much for me—and she probably didn’t mean for it to—but she seemed to enjoy it, almost as much as she’d enjoyed humping me through my clothes whenever she got a chance, back before I stopped talking to her entirely. She apparently decided that more stimulation was needed, and began using one of her odd little three-fingered hands to stroke herself as well. I was relieved that that the frame suspended me above her easy reach, but that relief gave way quickly when she grasped my shoulders and pulled herself up on me, wrapped her legs around my hips, and began rubbing against my aching penis. She kept at it for a while, maybe an hour or two, I don’t know. Eventually, she worked her way to an orgasm, or perhaps it was just one of her seizures. Either way, it certainly didn’t do anything for me. Then she put the rods and needles back in place, gave my scrotum a sharp yank, and walked out of the room. I couldn’t make any sense of it.

As soon as she was gone, I heard footsteps again. This time, Tammy appeared. Her questions were the same, but I didn’t dissent this time, since I figured it wouldn’t get me anywhere. At least she didn’t hump my leg like some sort of golden retriever puppy. Instead, she stood in front of me and spent a considerable amount of time stroking herself to a series of staggering orgasms, eventually ending up on her knees. After regaining her breath, she too advantage of her position to deliver an uppercut just behind my testicles, leaving the flesh below my prostate aching. I noticed a line flicker on a computer screen across the room as she did this, and wondered what it signified. I knew it had to relate to some electrode somewhere on my body, but I couldn’t guess which one. She walked out of the room, leaving me to think it over.

A few minutes later, I heard more footsteps. This time, it was Christy, carrying some sort of small vibrating dildo. She moved several controls and the rack slowly rotated until I was lying horizontally in space, suspended by my arms, legs, hair, and the rod in my rectum. She rotated the needles around my upper body out of the way, then straddled my face, not actually making contact. She inserted the vibrator in her vagina, and turned it on. I didn’t have any leverage to move my head, and my mouth was taped shut, so I couldn’t really do anything but watch as she buzzed her way to several prolonged orgasms. At the end, though, I was glad my mouth was taped shut, as she urinated on my face during her last orgasm. At least she wiped it off with a wet towel, before walking out of the room silently.

This continued for what I guess was at least several hours. Seven more women entered, pleasured themselves in various ways, caused me discomfort in various ways, then left. The rack was rotated so that I was standing, lying, and hanging upside-down. No one gave me any indication of their motives, and although I found most of the interludes arousing to some degree, none of them did anything which would actually cause me to reach any sort of pleasure plateau, let alone orgasm. By the tenth one, my genitals were beginning to ache again. The eleventh woman to enter was Lisa. I remembered her well from our brief relationship—she was easily one of the most sexual, and most sexually expressive, women I had ever known, and I had experienced things with her that I had never before known were possible. She had seemed apathetic since then, but now I could at least hope for some sort of relief. Strangely, though, she was clothed—a loose blouse and a short skirt—and didn’t make any advances. Instead, she brought with her a banana, which she proceeded to feed to me, after removing the tape from my mouth. Putting the freudian imagery aside, I tried to view it practically—what good is a captive if you don’t keep him alive? While I ate, she began to explain.

“I can’t say whose idea this was. Basically, each of us has been dated, licked, or fucked by you, and we’ve all got a lot more in common than you think.”

I looked bewildered.

“You’ll see. Anyway, we all decided that you owed us each quite a few orgasms for the amount of pleasure we’ve given you over the years, some of us in spite of not enjoying it ourselves. And we do have some other uses for you, as well.”

With that, she replaced the tape, and pulled off her blouse. Her breasts were as perky as ever, and she began to rub them lightly against my aching penis.

“Do you like that?”

I nodded vehemently.

She stopped—showing, much to my disappointment, an enormous amount of restraint for someone of her nature—and slipped off her skirt, but not before taking a small black cylindrical object out of a pocket. She stood before me naked, and inserted it into her vagina, pushing it in with a finger. It wasn’t very large, and must have ended up all the way inside. Then she glanced at me.

“Let’s just say it’s a remote control.”

I nodded, confused. She rotated the rack to a horizontal position, and straddled me, sliding my penis inside her. I could feel it bumping against the alien object, but there was still enough room for me to go all the way in. She leaned forward and sucked on my nipples, and I could feel my penis aching as it hardened inside her. She began to ride me, slowly at first, then faster. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see two flickering lines on one of the computer screens, gradually moving upward. I could guess what these meant—some sort of gauge of sexual arousal—but I wasn’t sure how it was being measured. My only theory was that the electrodes wired to my brain were picking up my information. Maybe that little device was transmitting hers. I kept glancing at the screen, and was surprised after a short time to see that one of the lines leveled off, and the other one continued to rise. I felt a strange tingling in my skull that I couldn’t explain, probably something to do with the electrodes. As she continued to ride me, I didn’t feel myself getting more aroused, and decided that the flat line was mine. I tried thinking about what was happening to me to see if it would arouse me, but I could barely think clearly, and the line stayed where it was, as did my state—erect, but nowhere near orgasm, and very frustrated. Her line, though, continued to climb, and she seemed to be rapidly approaching orgasm. Finally, I felt her bear down and squeeze her vaginal muscles as tightly as she could. There was another strange tingling in my skull, and somehow, completely without willing it, I lost control and ejaculated inside her. I tried to hold back, but continued to orgasm, and after several minutes, lapsed into semi-consciousness. I do not know how long our shared orgasm lasted, nor do I remember her leaving the room. All I know is that when I regained full awareness, I had been returned to an upright position, and a small clock had been hung on a wall. The clock read midnight.

Throughout the next few days—at least I think they were days; I had no way of knowing whether the clock was actually geared to progress at a normal speed—I became acquainted with a schedule. Every morning, ten women would have their way with me, for an hour each, doing whatever they wished, no matter what it might be, but never allowing me to orgasm. The eleventh woman would enter fully clothed, allow me to use the bathroom and feed me. She would then spend the remainder of her two hours naked, and would not allow me to orgasm, but rather, would force me to do so on her own schedule. Throughout every afternoon and evening, another ten women would torment me, and again the eleventh would have two hours to control me. I was allowed to fall asleep when I could no longer stay awake, but the eleventh would always wake me up, and sometimes others would become annoyed and slap me awake if I didn’t watch their performances. I began to look forward to the two-hour sessions, not only for the sexual relief, but also for the food and what little conversation I was allowed to participate in during them. The sequence of women fluctuated so that I was never quite sure who I would be faced with at any given time, but Stef took the mid-day period most often—further surprising me by doing more things that she had never shown interest in while we were dating—and Lisa usually handled the late night session. I no longer thought as frequently of wishing to escape, although I did wish I had more mobility, especially during the two-hour sessions. I was thankful that at least events requiring the use of needles were now few and far between.

7

One morning, Lisa remained in the room after forcing me to my midnight orgasm. From what I had discerned of the scheduling, I had expected to be visited either by Runt, Christy, Tammy, Beth, or Laurel, as they were usually the ones to arrive early in the morning. To my surprise, none of them came, but Stef entered. Unfortunately, she brought with her another needle, and I was subjected most unceremoniously to yet another period of separation from my consciousness. When I awoke some time later, I realized—in the midst of vomiting—that I was no longer suspended in the frame, but was instead lying on my back, strapped to a gurney and making quite a mess of it. Lisa and Stef were no longer there. I finished vomiting, and raised my head to look around, realizing that I was no longer connected to any electrodes, and that my skull felt intact once again. Beth walked over to clean up the mess I’d made, but something seemed different about her. I finally put my finger on it—her eyes weren’t human any more. Instead they were black, with yellow irises and slit pupils, almost reptilian. She released my hands, one at a time to keep me from getting overly grabby, and re-fastened them near my knees, putting me into a sitting position. I checked the clock, and saw that our session had started several minutes earlier, while I was still out cold.

“Do you like to see me naked like this?” I nodded mutely.

“Would you like to watch me play with myself?” I nodded again.

Beth began running her hands over her body, caressing herself, touching herself, pulling gently on her nipple ring. I had grown accustomed to the sight, and viewed it as almost mundane now—it no longer mattered whether I found it arousing, since I knew that I would not be allowed to orgasm until later, and then not by any choice of mine. I watched silently, staring at her strange inhuman eyes and her skin, which suddenly seemed terribly dry. Then, as she continued rubbing, the skin began to flake slowly away and fall to the floor. But instead of fresh new skin underneath, there were small overlapping scales, the same color as her flesh had been. She reached several orgasms, but I was paying no attention, dumbfounded by the strange metamorphosis she was undergoing. By the time she reached her last one, I could still recognize her as Beth, but recognizing her as human was a bit of a challenge. The outside of her body was covered with small scales, which from a distance looked very much like flesh. Her hair was more reptilian, with long coarse strands growing out from between the scales on her head. Her eyes remained yellow, and the scales on the lobes of her ears formed downward points. Her fingers and toes were pointed, and her nails looked more like claws. Her breasts still bulged, though more firmly than they had when enclosed in soft skin, and she flicked a long snakelike tongue out to play with her nipple-ring. I glanced at her crotch, and noticed that it was now completely hairless. The scales on her inner thighs were glistening with moisture, I could see the pink-white lining of her smooth vagina, free of labia, and there was something horrifying slithering down there. As I watched, I realized that was it not another creature, but a part of her body—her clitoris had extended into a scaly, prehensile tail-like extension, and she was using it as it were a long, thin penis, inserting it into her vagina. She smiled, showing fangs neatly folded back.

“Do you like what you see?”

I stared, my mouth taped shut.

She looked at the clock on the wall, and realized that her time was nearly up. She quickly put me back in a horizontal position and made sure I was properly restrained. She flicked her tongue at my nipples, then left the room. I glanced at the clock—five minutes to ten. I lay back and waited, wondering who the eleventh would be today. For the first time since my capture, it was Laurel. I could see from her face that there wouldn’t be any metamorphosis this time—she was already covered with scales. I hadn’t really expected her to take responsibility for forcing me to orgasm—knowing her distaste for me, the idea of her giving me pleasure seemed a little illogical. She allowed me to use the bathroom, as was typical, and gave me some food—this time, segments of some citrus fruit. Then she slowly removed her clothes, revealing another smoothly scaled, hairless body. Her next move surprised me—she unfastened my restraints.

“You’re free to go, now.”

I swung my feet over the edge of the gurney onto the floor, and began to stagger toward the hatch through which they’d brought me in. I could hardly believe that she was letting me leave, and in retrospect, I should have known better. I only made it halfway to the door.

“Just kidding!”

I saw her tense slightly, and something tingled in my head. I couldn’t remember what I was doing, or why I was standing there, or anything else. She walked over, grasped my penis with one scaly hand, and led me back to the center of the room, where she pushed me roughly to the floor, then dropped to her knees atop me. Her clitoris whipped out and wrapped around the base of my penis and my testicles, guiding me into her vagina. I expected to bump into another “remote control,” surprisingly, I didn’t feel any objects inside. The lining was soft and smooth and moist, almost gelatinous, yet very muscular, and it gripped me tightly as she rode. After a while, she unwound her clitoris from around me, and snaked it upward. First it prodded at my nipples, then it reached for my mouth. Cautiously, I stuck my tongue out to lick it, and she growled encouragingly. Sucking on the tip and nibbling it also seemed appreciated, though the feel of scales against my mouth made me wonder if this was what it felt like to suck on the tail of an armadillo. I’m warped, yes, but I’ve never done anything with an armadillo—yet. She continued to ride me, with her clitoris snaking over both our bodies as if it had a mind of its own, sometimes reaching up to her own breasts, where it would be joined by her long reptilian tongue. I noticed that although my electrodes were gone, and she had no control device, a computer screen on the wall was displaying flickering lines again, as it always did during these sessions. Perhaps it was only showing a recorded version of a previous session, but when the line leveled off, I felt myself hit the anticipated barrier before orgasm. Laurel’s line continued to rise, then peaked and dipped four times as she climaxed. The walls of her vagina seemed to suck me in further and stick to me, refusing to let me go. Then her clitoris whipped into one of my hands, and I began to stroke it. Within seconds, her line shot off the top of the display, and she writhed, snakelike, as another orgasm arrived. This time, I felt a tingling in my skull again, and lost control. I felt four sharp fangs piercing the base of my penis, and a numbness quickly spread outward through my body. Once again, I lost consciousness—much to my disappointment—as my own orgasm arrived.

8

I don’t know how long I was out, but my subconscious had plenty of time to bring me up to date on things—not that I particularly wanted to have the facts of the matter given a rehash, mind you. My thoughts are always somewhat disjointed when I’m unconscious—well, they’re always somewhat disjointed, but more so when I’m unconscious. I did manage to piece together a few primary points.

One—at this rate, I wouldn’t be home for Christmas. But on the other hand, I’d be having a sex life that most men wouldn’t believe. Of course, most men probably wouldn’t find the idea of being gang-raped by alien reptilian bimbo sex-fiends with prehensile clitorides at all arousing, but then, I’m warped.

Two—my exes did seem to have a lot more in common than I had previously believed, and in some ways that I really hadn’t expected. Admittedly, I had regarded them as nymphs, but I always thought it more in the mythological sense, and less in the zoological. Their post-metamorphosis adult forms were certainly no less interesting than their former bodies, but they did take a little getting used to.

Three—apparently humans weren’t the only andromorphous species on the planet after all. I couldn’t say which one I preferred, though, as I was still getting used to whatever species my captors were.

Four—these girls, if that’s the right term to use for them after metamorphosis, gave new meaning to the term “love bites.” I didn’t think I was particularly looking forward to having neurotoxin-bearing fangs sunk into my penis every time I got laid. Maybe I would get used to it eventually, but it made for an awful lot of down time, as far as my consciousness was concerned.

I was about halfway through contemplating a fifth point—something about armadillos and cannon ammunition, I think—when I was rudely awakened by liquid dripping onto my face. I hadn’t been out very long after all, and Laurel was making sure I didn’t stay out any longer, by standing over me and urinating. Like that of most reptiles, her bladder capacity was prodigious, and I rolled over quickly to avoid getting drenched. She kicked me in the side, then in the groin. As I curled into a ball, whimpering with pain, she moved her hips slightly, and I felt another orgasm hit me. This time, I didn’t pass out, but I wished I could have—having an orgasm when you’ve just been kicked in the balls isn’t a joyous experience. Her next kick hit me in the face, and the claws on her toes raked across my left cheek. Fortunately for me, at that point Ankh walked in to let Laurel know that her turn was up and it was time to let someone else have their fun. Laurel growled slightly, and exited in a bit of a huff, leaving me alone with Ankh. Ankh helped me back to the gurney and begin to tend to the cuts on my face as best she could, then Lisa and Stef entered. I wasn’t sure what was going on that would require all three of them to be present with me at the same time, but thought perhaps they were going to triple-team me to make sure I didn’t leave, or were just going to put me back in the restraining rack to be safe.

Neither guess was anywhere near right. While Ankh continued to patch me up and make sure I hadn’t been damaged too much by Laurel, Lisa walked behind me, then reached around and grasped my penis, which she begin stroking slightly while Stef talked to me.

“I know you’re probably a little bit upset about this whole situation, especially the needles.”

I grimaced.

“As you might have guessed, we’re not what you thought we were when you dated us. We’re not even mammalian, actually, as you’d probably guessed from Beth’s interlude with you a few hours ago. We’re descendants of Homeosaurus, and if your scientists even knew we existed, they’d classify us as Sphenodon sapiens, or something silly like that. We call ourselves Gynosaurians. If you’re familiar with the Tuataras, we’re distant cousins of them, but much more evolved. We had the good sense to leave the planet while the leaving was good, before twenty-two species related to us were extincted. Now we only come back to pick up the raw materials that are of use to us—in particular, reproductive materials. We long ago ensured that our society would remain peaceful by doing away with all our males, but not before using genetic engineering to appropriate all the useful traits of humans, and to arrange reproductive compatibility with human males.”

I began to understand what was going on here. Why they’d have captured me didn’t make sense, though, and why they didn’t capture me sooner was beyond me. They’d all known me long enough, they could have gotten me years ago. I realized Lisa had begun to speak.

“We—and other members of the Ryncocephalian order—differ from most reptiles in that our reproductive systems take a long time to properly mature. In fact, even longer than you humans. Until we reach approximately twenty years of age, we’re incapable of reproduction.” Ah—so that was how I’d managed to avoid becoming a father. Few of the girls, or rather, Gynosaurians, had been that old when they’d first dated me. All of them were now, though.

Stef again. “Each generation of females is sent back to earth briefly—we spend most of our time at colonies we’ve constructed in the asteroid belt—to acquire resources for reproduction. The group are sent when they’re roughly fifteen years old. Not old enough to reproduce, mind you, but old enough and strong enough to remove members of human society and take their place, before their final molt into adulthood. A few years are spent finding potential mates, and then selections are made. Some of us reach adulthood during this time, and simply disguise our true nature. To avoid detection, we only select a single mate for several of us. Human males account for the disappearance of many young females, so when we leave, everyone simply assumes their daughters have been dragged off and murdered.”

Lisa cut in. “Of course, they have been, but several years ago now, and not by human males. And, of course, no one notices when a young human male disappears—they’re just written off as a runaway. So it doesn’t really matter if we remove a couple dozen every twenty years or so, as long as we’re careful not to take anyone particularly well-known. Our last generation made the mistake of taking someone named Presley, and caused a great uproar here. At least he turned out to be a half-decent mate.”

Now everything made sense. I was going to be used as a walking sperm-bank, for a couple dozen lady lizards with fangs in low places, whose biological alarm clocks had begun to ring. I didn’t remember being voted “most likely to be kidnapped by aliens” in my high-school yearbook—but then again, if we’d had that category, I probably would have gotten it. The idea of an extended vacation to the asteroid belt was also something I’d never given much thought. I noticed Stef was talking again.

“...implanted in your head, so that we don’t have to worry about you being uncooperative or unable to perform, except when you’ve secreted all the reproductive fluids you’re capable of, at which point you’ll be relieved of your duties.”

This wasn’t sounding very productive. They had control over my mind and my body, and once they fucked me dry, they’d fire me—but how? If their society didn’t have any males in it, obviously they couldn’t keep me around the colony until the next generation came back, so I figured I’d either be jettisoned into space, sent back to Earth in a capsule—without a parachute—or turned into baby food for the next generation. None of these options appealed to me greatly—but the extracurricular activities were difficult to turn down. Besides, Elvis made it back in one piece from his alien captivity, didn’t he? Okay, maybe not.

9

For the next day, I didn’t pay much attention to any of the displays put on for me by my captors. Nothing particularly new was shown, aside from one menagerie a trois between Laurel, Eve and Kathy, which involved lots of clitoral tricks and culminated with the three of them tying themselves together with their prehensile members and sharing an orgasm. I spent most of my time watching the computer screens on the edges of the chamber. One screen displayed a combined graph of the arousal levels of everyone in the room, and other screens displayed the arousal levels of individuals, whether they were in the room or not. Apparently there was quite a bit of activity elsewhere in this underground labyrinth as well, as I could see lines on the other screens rising and falling, sometimes in parallel with each other. I figured that each of them must have some sort of implant with wireless capabilities that allowed the computers to monitor their arousal, and maybe even somehow control it—and of course, I’d now been fitted with one too, to make me a more efficient reproductive machine.

Wendy had her turn as the Eleventh. After the usual brief period of care and feeding, she disrobed, the bright red of her hair contrasting nicely with her white scales.

“Your schedule will be slightly accelerated for the next day, and may seem a little rigorous. We’re preparing to return to our colony, and just in case you don’t take well to interplanetary travel, we’d like to make sure that we’ve gotten your reproductive materials into our systems. Of course, we’d much prefer that you survive long enough for us to return to the colony and properly mate there, but I’m sure you’ll understand our desire to not take unnecessary chances.”

I nodded, and she continued.

“Each of us will mate with you, in order, beginning with me. Since you’re much less cooperative when you’re unconscious, we’ll be restricting our own responses slightly, so you won’t have to worry about our lower fangs. We’ll also do our best to heighten our arousal before mating with you, so that there will be sufficient lubrication to prevent needless damage to your penis—we may want it to be in good condition for the journey home.”

She walked to one of the wall-mounted computer screens, which was displaying a slowly rising line. Flanking it on the wall, there were two vertical slide controls, with switches below them. I’d seen the controls before, but had never seen them used, and therefore thought they were of no great importance. The switches were pointed down, and I presumed they were in the off position. The slides were also all the way down. I noticed that my the switches beside the screen that displayed my own flickering line were both pointed up, and that the left slide was all the way up, while the right one was in the middle. I guess the control devices my captors sometimes inserted in themselves could adjust these controls from a distance, or something. As Wendy flipped the first switch, the line on the screen dropped rapidly, but then she moved the slide control below it upward, and the line soared toward the top of the screen once again. She moaned slightly, and I could see beads of moisture trickling down the insides of her thighs. As she flipped the right switch on, the line leveled off just below the top of the screen, but she moved the slide control three-fourths of the way up and began to have a string of small orgasms, the line peaking and dipping rhythmically. She swayed over to my screen, and shoved the left-hand control all the way up. Suddenly, I felt fully aroused. Apparently we were both now under computer control to an extent, and of course she had more control over the computer than I did.

Wendy lay back, and I entered her, having a bit of difficulty with it, due to the rapid orgasmic contractions of her vaginal walls. Once I was inside her though, the sensations were exquisite. Her clitoris snaked its way up to my mouth, and I licked the tip, holding the scaly shaft gently between my teeth. She moaned loudly, and her vaginal movements rapidly caused me to experience a counterpart to the orgasm she was experiencing, though certainly more minor. Fortunately, her fangs stayed out of the way, and I was able to remain fully conscious, for a change. Apparently the fangs were only a factor in the most intense orgasms, and the computer control wouldn’t allow her to experience an orgasm of that magnitude unless the right-hand slide were set for maximum—and if that were the case, she’d have no choice. No wonder these Gynosaurians kept their own bodies on manual control whenever possible. The whole process had taken only a few minutes, and I wasn’t left the least bit sore by her wonderfully smooth, wet vagina. I rolled off to one side, still aroused thanks to that pesky computer, and she staggered back to the wall, flipping the switches by her screen back off as the line on the screen began to fall. She remained in the room for a few minutes to make sure I recovered properly, then left.

Tammy was next, and things went similarly—except for her being on top. She was more careful than Wendy, though, and only slid her orgasm control halfway up, thus managing to only have one minor orgasm in the process of milking me for my reproductive fluids.

Stef was a good deal more experimental, and not nearly as cautious. At first, she slid my orgasm control all the way down, and hers most of the way up, then slid both our arousal controls to maximum. She tackled me onto the floor, and we sixty-nined, giving me my first real taste of Gynosaurian—not bad, though I couldn’t tell you what color wine would go with it. Her whip-like clitoris slid into her vagina, then doubled back out so that the tip was within reach of my mouth. I took the invitation and sucked on it, and she climaxed beautifully. Her oral efforts also felt spectacularly good, but my computer-controlled body was unable to orgasm, which of course was the whole idea. After some time, Stef left me gasping on the floor and moved the slide controlling my response back up to midpoint, then impaled herself on me. I hardly had time to think about what was happening before she rode me to an orgasm.

I still wasn’t at all sore in terms of friction, but I was growing concerned about my ability to ejaculate once every half hour. Somehow, I managed to hold up under this new form of torture, though I was sure my testicles would shrivel up and die by the end of it. Staci (taken from behind, on all fours), Runt (atop me), Nim (taken from behind, on our sides), Nicki (under me), Myrna (atop me), and Lynn (sixty-nine, then taken on all fours) each took their turn obtaining their desired “resource” from me.

Like Stef, Lisa was creative, and it befit her well in her role as apparent assistant leader of the group. First she set herself for maximum arousal and near-maximum response, and snaked her clitoris down my throat, climaxing strongly all the while, as I probed her vagina with my tongue. Fortunately I’d swallowed lots of small objects whole as a child, and was able to control my gag reflex, despite quite a bit of tickling from the motion of the clitoris during her orgasms. For an encore, she rode me, but snaked the clitoris down between our legs and further up into my anus than anything had ever been before, leaving it there throughout my orgasm. That done, she crawled back to her monitor and flipped her control switches back off, breathing deeply.

I had grown wary of Laurel’s temper, and was surprised to see her enter with Kathy. I knew Kathy was bisexual, though not practicing—she’d apparently gotten it right already—and that Laurel had done her share of swinging in all available directions, but I hadn’t expected the two of them to involve me in their play. I must say that Gynosaurian clitorides were much more accessible than their human counterparts. They intertwined theirs and I licked them both at once, then we mated. First I entered Kathy while their intertwined clitorides entered Laurel. After we had all climaxed, we switched places, the clitorides fucking Kathy while Laurel’s vagina further drained me. Two orgasms in short order wasn’t an easy request for me to meet, and I began to get the feeling everyone was in a bit more of a hurry than I had thought.

Fortunately, Judi (atop me), Jen (under me), Janie (a thorough clitoris-licking, then under me), Holli (on all fours, with her clitoris in one of my hands), Eve (under me, with her clitoris in my mouth), and Clare (atop me) had relatively straightforward goals. By this time, more than nine hours had passed, and I was feeling a little fatigued. Any soreness was still minimal, but ejaculations had become a chore, and not particularly pleasurable. Those who had already had their turns with me occasionally walked quickly in and out of the room, and all signs indicated that they were preparing to launch us all into the asteroid belt. It suddenly hit me that this whole chamber must be part of a spaceship of some sort, probably buried concealed beneath a thin layer of dirt—so maybe the ground in the clearing hadn’t been scorched by a forest fire years ago after all.

Christy brought with her a vibrator, which she inserted in her anus. She then stood, bent over, while I took her from behind, her clitoris wrapping around her long legs and stroking her thighs, and sometimes reaching back to stroke my testicles. As we reached orgasm, she backed against me, pushing my penis and the vibrator deeper into their respective orifices.

As usual, Beth made good use of her nipple ring, reaching down with her tongue to tug on it as she rode me. She coiled her clitoris around my penis, providing her vagina with a thick, ribbed invader that seemed much more to her liking than my thoroughly average offering. When she climaxed, the entire clitoris tensed and constricted around me, as if it were a snake trying to squeeze a small animal to death.

By the time Ankh, my final conqueror, arrived, it was clear that we were preparing to depart. Stef and Lisa were seated at control panels across the room from the monitoring screens, and everyone else had passed through the inner hatch into the living quarters. Apparently all that remained before lift-off was for Ankh to get her share of my semen. She came well prepared for the task, bringing nothing but her own infinitely talented body. A lengthy session of fellatio (with my response totally disabled) was followed by an equally lengthy session of cunnilingus and clitoris-licking (with her response set nearly to maximum) which left us both drenched in her copious fluids. For her final act, she turned off the computer controls on both of us, and mounted me, riding with an energy none of the others could muster. I felt small orgasms ripple through her, and felt myself building toward one of my own, as Stef and Lisa began the launch procedure. As I passed the point of no return, I felt her tense slightly, and I knew her fangs would be in me in seconds. I pushed her away, ejaculating as I slid out of her vagina, and saw it contract almost as soon as I was out. She dove at me, her growling drowned out by the roar of rocket engines straining to move the ship, but her fangs had sunk home in the walls of her own vagina, and before she could do me any damage, she went limp.

As quickly as I could, I staggered to the monitors. All the switches were off, so the computer had no control over me or anyone else, but all the others had left their slide controls in whatever position they had them in for mating. Lisa and Stef noticed my freedom with what seemed to be great alarm. Stef tensed slightly, as if squeezing a control device, but with my switches off, nothing happened. She motioned to Lisa, who lunged at me, but I flipped both her switches on and shoved the slide controls all the way up, breaking the tips off in my urgency. She screamed as her fangs closed in orgasm, and dropped to the floor in front of me, knocked out like Ankh by her body’s own toxins.

Stef pressed some sort of an alarm button, and I heard footsteps in the living quarters. Working as fast as I could, I set each of the other crew members for maximum arousal and near-maximum orgasmic response, then dashed for the exit hatch. As I passed Stef’s control, I flipped her arousal setting all the way up, but put her response at zero—now she could know how it felt to be constantly aroused without any relief. I opened the hatch just as the ship cleared the treetops, looked behind me, saw nineteen reptilian female hormone-fiends from the asteroid belt charging at me in a state of sexual frenzy, and jumped into the smoke and fire of the exhausts.

10

I woke up several days later, in Memorial Hospital. Fortunately for me, one of the nurses took a liking to me and explained what they knew of events. Apparently a couple little old ladies in town had heard loud noises and seen flashes of light, and called 9-1-1. When the cops got there, they found me lying naked in the middle of a hole about twenty feet deep and fifty feet across, with everything for at least two hundred feet in any direction pretty much charred. I hadn’t been burned too badly—mostly first degree and a few spots of second degree—but my fifty-foot fall had left me with a couple fractured ribs, a broken arm and enough scrapes and bruises to outfit an Australian rules football team for a year. They brought the local ambulance squad out, and I was carted off to the intensive care unit to be patched up.

The explanation that was given to the media was that I was some kind of religious nut who had been stockpiling explosives and burying them back in the forest, preparing for Armageddon or something like that. They said that I’d accidentally set the whole batch off somehow, and that it was a miracle I hadn’t blown myself to quarks. As soon as I was able to move decently again, I was carted off for a court-ordered mental evaluation. I told the doctor that there weren’t really any explosives, and that it was all the work of a bunch of sex-crazed lizard women from the asteroid belt. He didn’t believe me, but at least I only got a three-month visit to a minimum-security “hospital” for being a loony, instead of paying a truckload of fines and being Bubba’s girlfriend in the big house, which I’d probably have gotten otherwise. After all, they were pretty sure I’d blown up a good-sized chunk of their forest.

I didn’t fare too badly in the mental ward—after all, when they’re trying to make you sane and you already are sane, they usually think they’re making good progress. They gave me crayons and I drew large-breasted reptile women with their tails in front. They frowned and gave me more crayons; I drew flying saucers. They frowned some more and gave me still more crayons, and I drew flowers and birds. At this point, they decided I was coming along nicely, and that the entire thing was some sort of post traumatic stress disorder brought on my unpleasant early childhood experiences involving toy rockets and pet lizards, or something like that. I actually got out about a month early, since I was—or so they thought—completely rehabilitated now, and at least as sane as the average man on the street.

I moved a couple states away—strangely, my local relatives and my old neighbors didn’t seem very comfortable having someone around who they were sure would blow himself to smithereens sooner or later—and found a new job at a place that didn’t pay too exorbitantly, but also didn’t ask a lot of questions about whether I’d ever been abducted by aliens, whether I’d ever blown up a large chunk of forest, whether I had any sociopathic tendencies, or whether I was a human time bomb. I never thought I’d fit in so well at the Postal Service, but I’m getting used to it.

Of course, I made the round of the usual media outlets. The Weekly World News gave me a few hundred bucks for the story, but got annoyed that I didn’t have any pictures—after all, they said, if I had orgies with these lizard women for two weeks, why didn’t I take any pictures?—and ended up running it at the bottom of a page near the back. Howard Stern was more cordial, since you can’t show a picture on the radio, but the entire line of questioning focused on whether alien lizard women are good in bed or not. I told him they’re a little demanding, but otherwise real knockouts, and wished him luck with his run for Governor, but the only remotely consensual sex I’d had with one was that last session with Ankh, and I don’t usually remember sexual episodes favorably if they’re followed by a 50-foot fall and a visit to the hospital. As far as TV talk shows, nobody seemed to be able to come up with a decent line-up of “People Abducted by Horny Reptilian Bimbos from the Asteroid Belt,”—apparently Elvis wasn’t available—but eventually I got to tell my story on a couple general-purpose “People Abducted by a UFO” episodes.

It’s been almost a year now since the whole thing happened, and this is the first time I’ve written it down in full. Even spending a few weeks in the hospital didn’t cure me of my dislike for needles. I’m haggling with a couple of cable networks over selling the rights to my story to one of those “Weird Unexplained Things” shows, but I’m starting to get tired of the media. I’m still working as a mailman, and I’ve settled down pretty in a quiet midwestern town—you know, the kind of place where everyone’s actually in the Federal Witness Protection Program, but acts normal to blend in with their neighbors, not realizing that the neighbors aren’t normal either. I fit in just fine, thanks. I’ve made a few friends, even some female ones—after all, I figure Earth should be safe now until sometime around the year 2,015. By that point in time, I hope I’ll be a less desirable candidate for any breeding programs. I burned all the pictures I had of my exes, to avoid having to answer any questions from the neighborhood kids, but I still sometimes wonder whether there are a bunch of little baby lizard-people out there at some colony in the asteroid belt, hearing their father referred to as “the one that got away.” I almost hope they were all males, just so I’d have turned out to actually be of no use to them. Sure, they’d have other donors from elsewhere on the planet, but at least I’d have been a waste of their time. Oh, and I’ve read up on the Tuatara, a strange primitive reptile found only on some islands off New Zealand. It looks like a lizard, but anatomically isn’t one, and unlike the Gynosaurians, it’s got no fangs, and is harmless to mankind. I don’t know whether it’s possible to get one—the islands are sanctuaries—but if it is, I’m going to try to buy one for a pet. I think I’ll name it Stef. But I’ll make sure it’s not female!