Little Jonothon gets a nice, slow, loving lobotomy.
I was in a small chamber with leather padding upon all surfaces. I was wearing a skintight cotton shirt, it itched and stank like I had never stank before. I was clothed not below the hips, nought but the thin, smelly cotton covered my pert little twelve-year-old body except for a tight metal ring around my neck, covering my whole neck, very tight, making my breath gurgle a little.
Sniff. Shirt stinks. Stinks. Stinks. So smelly. So smelly. Stinks make me gurgle. Stinks make my brain spasm a little. Hands try to rip it from my body. No. No. As soon as my fingers grip the damp cotton I see a xenomorph through a small window in the cell door.
His little hands grasp a knob on the wall, his little hands turn it slightly. The metal ring around my neck begins to throb a little. Suddenly I cannot think properly. My brain feels like it is being mushed a little.
Little gasps escape my lips, oooooooohhhhh, aaaawhhhh. Hands go to the neckring, grasp, grasp, grasp. Cannot take it off. The knob is turned further. Brain begins to spasm.
I stagger around the cell, hands grasping spastically against the ring. Hands scrabble. Shirt stinks. Frothy dribble slops from juicy lips. Lips babble nonsense sounds. I can feel myself becoming brain-damaged. Brain tissue is gently being sanitized. Gently being neutered. Gentle being sterilised by the throb. Throb. Throb. Throb. Rhythmic. Rhythmic. Throb. Throb.
Dribble slops onto my twitching penis, it is already wet and frothy, it is becoming spastically erect as my brain is gently lobotomised. Head twitches. Hands still grasp and scrabble at the ring.
Grasp-grasp. Throb. Throb. Scrabble-scrabble. Throb. Throb. Hands become jerky and spastic. Throb. Throb. Hands fall to sides. Brain is being cooked. Throb. Throb. Babbling turns into long, frothy gurgles. Brain cleansed of knowledge of how to make words.
I try to beg the xenomorph, beg. Beg. Beg but my tongue can do nought but poke stiffly against my bottom lip, I go muuuuuuhhhh, muhhhhhh, muhmuhmuhuhuhmuhhhhhhh. Throb. Throb.
Eyes roll. Froth thickens. I can smell the Xenomorph’s hot leathery body now. His mighty hips rock back and forth a little, making deep rubbery squeaks. I put my hands together as if to pray, to beg, beg, beg no more brain damage. Plead. Plead. Beg. Beg. Hands spack together. Spasms. Spasms. Hips. Rock. Rubber. Squeak. Rock. Squeak. Rock. Squeak. Rock. Squeak. Rock. Squeak. Leathery alien hands turn the knob more. Throbbing gets louder and faster and stronger. THROB.THROB. Hands suddenly claw. Body stiffens. Body twitches harder. Eyes roll further. Foam begins to spurt. Body starts getting smelly. THROB. THROB.
I MUUUUUUUUH MUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUH pleading, pleading. Throb. Throb. Cannot think. Brain being pureed. Head-meat being cooked, treated. Cock stinks. Tongue thrashes.
THROB. THROB. I am on my back now. Hands spack against each other. Brain cleansed of knowledge of how to use body. Tongue thrashes about in mouth, poking bottom lip right out. Bumhole loosens. I soil myself. Brain cleansed of knowledge of how to control chocolate lips. Spastic twitches wrack my body. Body dances. Body jerks. The Xenomorph’s hand moves to his giant slime-crusted cock as I spasm about in my own faeces.
Thick foam like mousse spurts from throat. Wet green boy-soil filths cute round little boy-muffin as I thrash and jiggle in it. Violent spasms. I spasm onto my front. Face plunges into a big pile of thick poo. Head goes up, spastic, spastic, head goes down, spastic, spastic. Up. Up. Down into my nice pert soil-brownie. Again. Again. Again. THROB. THROB. Squelch. Squelch.
I am almost braindead. Brain activity has almost stopped. The Xenomorph pumps and pumps the crusted leathery hood over his mighty cock-tip as he pervs on my spastic robothrows.
Mouth is full of faeces. Lips stink of poohole. Shirt stinks. Butt-crack shitty. As he watches my eyes roll right back into my head he enters the chamber.
I am still alive, but my brain has been pulped, softened, neutered. I am a vegetable. My brain is nought but a lump of meat now. Cooked. Treated. Prepared for my Master to feast upon.
I gurgle slowly, quietly, body calm and still. The ring has performed it's wonderful work. No more throb. No more brain-thinks.
The Xenomorph picks my lifeless body up, slimy with faeces and froth, he faces it away. He continues to pump his cock into his other fist. His inner mouth pokes into the back of my sterilised head, it eats and eats and eats through the flesh and bone until it reaches the tenderised brains, my brains have been cooked and prepared like an aphrodisiac. The cooked head-meat of a preteen Boy is a great delicacy to Xenomorphs!
The Xenomorph begins to feast, feast, feast, scooping, gorging, slurping. He pulls my ragdoll body back until his wet cock-tip pokes into my slimy, sweet tight virgin little underage bumhole. Hips rock. Mouth slurps. Cock-tip thrusts. thrusts. Faeces lubricates. Penis enters bum-hole. Penis. Thrusts. Mouth. Feasts. Hips. Rock. Cock. Thrusts.
The softened, treated head-meat tastes so, so exquisite to the Xenomorph. They make the Xenomorph feel good. His feast makes his erection so, so stiff and ready and good. Makes the wrinkled leathery ball-sack bulge with slime.
Feast. Feast. Thrust. Thrust. Squelch. Squelch. Suddenly thick spurts of greasy slime pump from the wrinkled weewee-hole, there are deep, long, leathery squeaks as the slimy glistening balls squeeze and squeeze. His tongue licks into my empty head. He fills me with his love-slime.