0 comments/ 13964 views/ 4 favorites The Semen-ator Pt. 01 By: mindingutter This story takes a completely different track from my other series. Sorry no femdom this time. Author's content warning: Please be aware that this Fetish/Bisexual/Non-Consent/Voyeur story eventually contains explicit, graphic descriptions of Science Fiction. The Semen-ator This stranger knew all his secret, perverted fantasies - How? 1 Green Arbor Chase Condominiums, Fairfax, Va. Thursday, 3:13 AM The cell phone on the kitchen counter repeated an obnoxious disco ring tone, waking the young blonde woman. She didn't attempt to answer, but forced her large brown eyes open. Her foggy mind had become preoccupied with figuring out what the hell happened. The lights were on, and she knew she was in her own condo, but lying on the sofa, legs askew, very chilled and very naked. Her head hurt, her nipples and vagina throbbed, and the shapely woman's rectum felt stretched and diarrhea raw. A salty smell permeated the air. Of course she had known that scent since ninth grade; it was semen. Sex. She had rough sex with someone, and anal sex as well. That was an act she, trying to maintain the façade of a conservative assistant bank vice president, hadn't consented to in quite a while. Her fiance must have come over and things had finally gotten crazy; that must have been the answer. Hopefully there was little danger of conceiving, since her suddenly zealous lover was nice enough to leave his jizz, as he called it, and much more than usual, all over her face and toss the used condom, reeking of latex and her vaginal scent, onto her forehead. None of this was like uptight Brandon at all. He was a stable guy, but he had always been kind of boring in bed. Oh no. She suddenly remembered meeting several members of a visiting college soccer team from Italy in the neighborhood bar a few hours before. They were all cute, freshly showered, terrific smelling, celebrating a victory, and she got a little flirtatious with a couple of them. Oh no! Did she cheat on her Fiance? She had stopped at the bar to have a quick Appletini out of boredom, since her husband-to-be was working late again, but didn't recall drinking nearly enough to black out. But, there she was, naked, well fucked, cold and...wet. Had they played with some kind of food? She felt sticky trails like melted, drying ice cream in many places. It was draining down her sides from her breasts, stomach, inner thighs and filled her navel. She ran a finger through a puddle, then held it to her nose; then another, and another. The woman's stomach churned as she realized all the liquid coating and dripping from her was cooled, fragrant semen. It was separating into sticky spermatozoa, which clung to her skin, and the thinner seminal fluid making the trails toward the sofa cushions. The amount she was splattered with was way, way too much for even two men to produce, even if they both climaxed twice. Had Ms. Ass-istant Vice President become simply Ms. Ass Nice to Penises, slipped back to her narcissistic high school persona, and invited the whole athletic team to fuck and shoot all over her? Suddenly she felt like puking, and stiffly rose to stagger toward the bathroom. It was only now that she realized she was still wearing the high-heeled platform shoes that she had worn to the bar. The panicky blonde began to think of a cover story to tell her husband-to-be. That must have been him calling her cell. The moving, cooled, watery remains of multiple ejaculations now tickled fresh areas of her gooseflesh-covered skin, adding to her misery. She peeled the sticky used condom off her forehead, then her pulse immediately raced as she heard her front door quickly open and shut. A keychain jingled. "Babe?" Brandon called out from the foyer. "Are you okay? Why don't you answer your...Lisa! What the fuck?" he screamed, veins at his temples bulging, as she stood naked, except for her designer shoes, frozen in shock, still holding the condom. A long drop of sperm hung from her stiffened pink nipple. Shiny white splatters and trails crisscrossed the girl's faded tan lines from knees to cheekbones as she stood next to a coffee table laden with half a case of empty beer bottles. A dripping, used green condom was tied into her messy, matted, honey-colored hair on the top of her head like ribbon. Nearly a dozen more, colorful but used and shriveled, were scattered on the table and carpet near a crumpled skirt. Her bra, panties, and camisole were hanging from the gently whirring ceiling fan. 2 Javamania Coffee Shop, Ocean City, Maryland A Few Weeks Later 11:47 PM Dark-haired Connor Johnson grabbed an empty brown box from the back room. He would use it to transfer the unsold biscotti, cakes and cookies out of the glass display case and into his car. They were supposed to be tossed into the dumpster every night, but most of the closing shift employees took them home, since their jobs at the coffee shop weren't making them millionaires. The twenty-three year old once imagined himself making a million, and so did most of his teachers. Despite being abandoned as a baby, then moving through several foster homes after loosing his adoptive parents to a plane crash, Connor was a so-called Asian 'whiz kid'. Graduating near the top of his classes, He got scholarships and obtained his Masters degree by age twenty-one and had begun a promising career at a government aerospace contractor near Washington. Awkward and shy, he was also the 'weird kid' however, and his social skills were minimal at best. He got tongue-tied and blurted out inappropriate comments, especially around intimidating men or attractive girls, trying to be funny, but missing the mark. His former employer tolerated his idiosyncrasies, due to his genius, until threats of a lawsuit forced their hand. Someone found video cameras placed in the ceiling vents of the women's showers and locker room in the company's basement gym, and traced their network connections back to Connor. So, after his abrupt departure, he took the Javamania job, and was trying to get his life back together, one cappuccino at a time. There hadn't been any customers in an hour, but in walked a pair of yellow shorts. That was all Connor could see from his vantage point, crouched down behind the pastry counter. He could see the customer was a white male, based on his hairy legs. Soon he stood and took the order for a regular coffee from the stoic, thirty-something stranger. Dressed in a gray hoodie, the guy looked military, Connor thought. The stranger had an out-of state, nasal accent, short brown hair, narrow blue eyes, and a square jaw, the kind the girls all wanted, and would talk about pursuing. He never heard a girl gush about pursuing a slightly built Filipino guy, that was certain. The stranger paid in cash, left no tip, and the door to the outside banged shut as Connor reentered the back room. No more customers arrived. The front door was locked and the lights were out precisely at midnight. Connor took a piss, then heard three loud slams next door in the ladies' room. He knew everyone was gone, so he thought a pipe broke or something. As he stepped into the other bathroom and flipped the lights on to investigate, he suddenly sensed another person. A gray hoodie sleeve put him in a choke hold from behind as he began to flail his arms in a fruitless attempt to fight back. Connor tried to remember the company procedures to take during a robbery. The assailant forced him to his knees as he struggled to breathe and voice a protest. The guy was way taller and strong as hell. A moment later Connor was on flat on the floor, his stomach on the tile and head facing sideways, a large hand holding his ear to the floor. His view was of the base of the toilet as he assumed he would be left there, tied up, while the robber ransacked the registers. Suddenly the assailant spoke. "This is your lucky night!" The voice was that of the yellow shorts guy. Apparently he faked his exit from the building. He had looked too clean cut to commit a robbery, and the lucky night comment was confusing. Suddenly Connor felt knuckles dig into his lower back and his khakis being violently yanked down. Damn! This psycho is gonna rape me! Connor thought as the struggle continued, widening his thighs to try and prevent the removal of his pants and briefs. His efforts failed and their downward progress continued. "Yum! Smooth!" the stranger mumbled, apparently pleased with his victim's hairless light brown ass cheeks. The stranger's hands and knees continued to grip and control Connor's body, moving quickly to counter any attempts the young man made to escape. Expecting a painful, dry penetration, he tried to bribe his way out of being assaulted. "I can open the safe! There's over seven hundred ..." "I'm not here for money," came the reply. Now stripped bare, except for his polo shirt and socks, the smaller man kept struggling against the hand on his neck and the knee in his back. Suddenly a slap echoed through the tiled room and a painful sting registered on his ass cheek. The guy was spanking Connor with the sole of his own shoe. "Let's get that hole nice and tight!" the stranger said. Connor realized he did clench his rectum after the slap and tried to relax his muscle. The chance never came, as he cried out from several hard whacks to both cheeks. He could feel the heat on his skin. The dark-haired young man was surprised by the next sensation. The guy's cock, which felt like a kielbasa, was slippery and making a few test thrusts in his crack between his throbbing cheeks. A glance to the side revealed a couple crushed, emptied butter tubs; the ones they gave away with the bagels. In the midst of his relief that at least there was some lube involved, Connor cried out as the head of the stranger's dick forced his sphincter open painfully fast and sunk deeply into his rectum. Within seconds the yellow shorts guy was pumping hard and quick, making a slapping noise as his pelvis made contact with Connor's round, sore, reddened, ass cheeks. The rapist's long, loose, heavy scrotum bounced painfully into his victim's gathered, wrinkled sack, pressed against the tile floor. The dark-haired young man squirmed around, hitting and kicking the floor, sweating, tears flowing from his eyes, chills from his colon darting through his body as his assailant vigorously pounded away. After several minutes of rapidly plowing into his overwhelmed victim's asshole, the stranger pulled out, leaving a stretched, shining ring of reddened flesh, dripping with melted butter that contained small, dark lumps of fecal matter. It encircled a deep, dark, round opening large enough to admit a golf ball. Connor suddenly felt a hand grip his arm as he was spun quickly around onto his back. The movement in his hips and distended anal muscles caused him to grunt in pain as he realized the guy was going to cum on his face. As the stroking assailant, shorts around his thighs, knelt over his chin, Connor got his first view of the reddish, glistening, buttered meat stick that had just expanded his asshole, and driven balls deep into him on nearly every stroke. The yellow shorts guy was circumcised, and his dickhead was the size of the end of a cucumber and had a deep pee hole. The thick shaft, now being stroked by a large hand that was flinging a spray of light brown butter all over, was perfectly straight and crisscrossed with bulging veins. The length was hard to guess from his point of view on the floor, but to Connor it seemed like at least seven inches from the tip to the neatly trimmed pubes that surrounded the base. More liquid butter rained off the flailing, lime-sized nuts between the stranger's thighs; the smell of it and his own colon filled his nostrils, but not for long. A moment later a grunt echoed through the room and several long, thick ribbons of sperm splattered into out-of-breath Connor's eyes, all over his nose, cheeks and into his partially open mouth. "I know where your shitty little apartment is. Don't even think about calling the cops." the exiting assailant said as the door to the restroom swung shut. The attacker's full cup of coffee sat on the edge of the sink, steam rising from the hole in the lid. 3 A couple weeks passed. Connor told no one, kept working as usual, and didn't change his routine, for fear of exposing the incident. It was just a random assault, and the rapist was probably a thousand miles away by now, he thought. The stranger may have been bluffing about knowing where he lived, or it may just have just been a logical guess. Connor did live by himself in a rundown small apartment several blocks off the beach. The second shift was becoming quieter, as winter set in on the Maryland coast. Having sold his laptop, he was only able to spend time on the web at one of the coffee shop's internet kiosks, and even saw that one of his few old friends, now only a Facebook picture, was no longer engaged to her rich boyfriend. He began to type a message to her. "Hey Leezuh gurl, glad to hear ur free. R U ready 2 accept my 2 hour offer?" Seeing the message made Connor smile, but he deleted and didn't send it. He was sure he had offended her with the drunken voice mail he left about how he would 'love to lick her pussy for two straight hours', the night after she implied her boyfriend was neglectful in that area. After closing one cool night, Connor's car battery was dead. He got out to check under the hood, his vision hampered by the dark shadows cast by the storage container he was parked next to behind the strip mall. He liked that spot because it backed to a motel, and he hoped he could catch a glimpse of a couple fucking or a girl showering through a partially open curtain. But this time of year the motel was closed and unlit as he popped open the hood of his old Civic. Connor leaned over to see the battery cable completely disconnected. A coworker's prank, he thought. Suddenly the hood slammed into his head and closed down, pressing him from the waist up between its rigid braces and the dull, grimy filth of the engine. Sharp objects pressed into his chest, stomach and pinned arms. He yelled an angry protest and kicked backwards at who he thought was a coworker, escalating the practical joke, until he felt four fingers digging their way under his belt above his crack. Almost instantly, Connor's pants and briefs were again on their way to his ankles. The yellow shorts guy was back. "No! Not out here!" the young man yelled in shock as he felt the cool night air on his cheeks, thighs and nuts, in disbelief that the guy was going to fuck him right there, nearly in public. He panicked and his pulse raced. Although the view of his car was mostly blocked, and the other businesses were all closed at the moment, delivery trucks showed up at all hours and school kids drove back there late at night to smoke pot and use the alley as a restroom. "No! Wait!" the young man pleaded as the stranger used a foot to push his prey's pants and briefs to the asphalt pavement. Next they were pulled completely off over his Vans sneakers. Connor felt his feet being kicked to the side to widen his legs, and his ass cheeks being fondled and pinched harshly. A slick finger pressed into him, and he gasped in response, but was grateful the guy at least lubed before a rape. The edge of the hood dug into Connor's lower back as the downward pressure continued. "Another lucky night!" the stranger said just before lining up and forcing his dick into Connor's puckered, hairless brown hole, causing a long, loud outcry that echoed from beneath the Civic's dirty hood. "Shutup," the rapist said, thumping the hood with his fist before mercilessly violating the grunting Asian man's anus, using both hands to hold the car hood down and keep his prey captive. The car itself began to move in rhythm, the suspension and open door hinge squeaking softly in unison. The young man's weight became centered over the car's radiator, and his feet were now airborne, shoes still on. His knees knocked randomly against the Civic's grille, and his semi-soft dick roved around, collecting dead bugs and road grit that coated the front of the car. Again the assailants sack collided with his victim's. After what seemed like an eternity mashed into the engine compartment with a stiff cock relentlessly pummeling his asshole, the hood lifted and Connor was grabbed by the collar and forced to the side. He looked up to see the moving hand and shiny head of the rapist's cock, but only for a moment as several arcing bursts of sperm sprayed onto his horizontal face. It immediately began dripping out of the young man's ear, off his cheeks and lips down onto the fender below with hollow, audible thumps like the start of a heavy rain. Connor remained motionless as it dripped, catching his breath, sweating heavily, wide open, stinging asshole throbbing, and intestinal chills still coursing through his body. Connor then looked up to see the rapist, his deflating but still outwardly curved dick tucked into white sweat pants, toss a rusty pair of pliers onto the ground, jog around the corner and disappear into the night. 4 Three evenings later, the young man was again closing the coffee shop at midnight. He was tired, having not slept well, wondering when the stranger would make another appearance, and if so, where. Connor was carrying a single bag of trash, mostly paper towels and empty cups, to the dumpster, nearly at the far end of the alley, in a cluster of shedding trees behind the darkened strip mall, its businesses done for the night. Illuminated by a streetlight, 'KEEP LIDS CLOSED' read the sticker on the side of the stinking, rusted green cube, an instruction that everyone ignored, allowing lightweight trash to be tossed into the top. Heavier objects, usually the food-laden bags from the adjacent seafood bistro, required the use of the sliding doors on the upper side, set into rusty tracks above the hollow square side channels that were used to lift the container into trucks. Connor completed his free-throw of the bag and turned around. There was the rapist two feet away, in a pair of thin light blue shorts, a partially hard cock pressing outward against the material. He was clutching a rusted metal rake. The old garden tool, left anonymously near the dumpster, was used to coax the garbage further into the box, especially during the busy tourist season when it filled daily. Almost instantly, the young man was pinned against the dumpster with the worn wooden handle across his throat. Connor, looking the expressionless rapist in the eyes for the first time, then looked down at the bulging shorts. Assuming what was next, he reached down and voluntarily unbuckled his belt and black jeans. His hole was still sore from the invasion earlier that week, but hoped that concession would avoid a serious beating. In no time at all the attacker had yanked the jeans off and literally tore Connor's red polo shirt from his body, rendering him completely naked, except for his shoes and socks. Soon he was pressed up against the dumpster, facing it, the end of the rake handle pressed uncomfortably into the small of his back. The young man was trembling and nervous, since things seemed to be escalating. There was no way to tell what this deranged psycho was thinking. After several seconds, Connor jumped, startled by the noise as the sliding door opened, revealing the nasty contents of the half-filled dumpster. He was nauseated by the first word uttered by the stranger. "Inside," he said, as the young man felt the position of the rake handle shift down to his rectum. "unless you want an embarrassing trip to the emergency room." The Semen-ator Pt. 01 Connor tried to ignore the smell as he boosted himself up on the side channel, stuck his head through the opening and paused, bent at the waist, his upper half inside the metal cube. He widened his legs to submit to another buttfuck, this time while enduring the stench of the garbage, but then wondered how, since his hole was now too high off the ground. Suddenly his arms were yanked behind his back and his wrists quickly tied with the ripped shirt. His face was suspended about two feet above the layer of trash, but unable to brace himself with his arms tied, he began to descend. Connor felt his calves gripped by the assailant as he was upended and did a forward flip onto the soft trash bags, landing on his back, legs in the air. Hundreds of flies swarmed, disturbed by the intruder. The smell was bad, but was mostly from the residue on the rusted sides and the two inch-deep water in one corner. Pooled there due to the uneven surface on which the container sat, the cola-brown swill was laced with bacteria-rich, multicolored remnants of a season's garbage, baked daily in the summer heat. The bags cushioned his fall, but Connor wandered what fate awaited him. Was the guy going to join him in the nasty semi-darkness? He looked up to see the stranger, standing on the side channel, his cock bulging in the shorts. Suddenly the rake appeared, tines down and heading straight at the young man's stomach. The dark-haired, naked young man recoiled as the rake hit its target, luckily a bag of trash right next to his hip. The rusty garden tool ripped the bag open and flung it in the air, sending a cascade of rotting food all over Connor's bare thighs and stomach as his tormentor shook it out. A second strike on another bag had the same effect. The next minute was a chaotic, dimly lit hell as Connor rolled and stumbled around in the dumpster, avoiding the garbage being flung at him as the rake tripped him, pushed him, and pierced bag after bag, coating the young man's bare, light brown skin with greasy chicken skin, fish entrails, blobs of butter, potato peels, wilted lettuce, pasta noodles, spoiled raw hamburger, and coffee grounds. The young man got occasional glimpses of his attacker as he wielded the tool like a gladiator, his semi-hard dick roving around beneath the thin shorts. The rake's onslaught finally ceased and it retrieved a heavy wooden produce crate. Expecting it to be flung at him, Connor ducked but then saw the assailant pull the crate out to himself and step off the side rail and down to stand on it. The tormentor's pelvic area appeared in the sliding door opening, and the rest of his body above. The stranger then lowered his waistband and tucked it under his scrotum. "Get over here." the attacker commanded, still holding the rake. "You're lucky I know what you want." Connor arose, arms still tied, covered in dripping, putrid muck, and waded toward the wagging, nearly stiff, veiny cock projecting into the dumpster. His own dick, draped with pasta noodles, soggy endive and peppered with wiggling maggots, was rock hard. The young man, who was about to suck a penis for the first time, had been keeping a secret. 5 Most of the time, Connor liked girls. Pretty, good smelling, bouncy, jiggly, skinny or curvy, fourteen to forty. He enjoyed cleavage, peeks of bras or panties, up skirt or ass crack, girls in lingerie, wet t-shirts, and especially braless women. Despite his awkward social skills he had made out several times during college, and loved the titty feels, mouthfuls of nipple, and even a brief cunnilingus he was able to manage. He hoped to loose his virginity someday if he could get beyond being a 'like a little brother' or 'good friend'. But, sometimes his mood shifted, often when he was truly alone or feeling depressed, he also secretly liked...dicks. And semen. Not men, just their genitals, bouncing or stiffened, the spurting, forbidden fruit that a hetero male was supposed to be indifferent about. He liked up-close internet pictures of penises, hard or not. But he didn't care about their owners' bodies, faces or personalities. No dating, kissing, snuggling, or pride parades, he just wanted to sneak giving blowjobs or be fucked, and as a bonus, cum on and abused. The secrecy was part of the appeal for him. Even though he could have hooked up on the internet, he had never attempted anything, afraid he couldn't admit his cravings to anyone in person, or paranoid that it would be a blackmail trap. Until recent events, he had only fantasies, playing the 'bottom' role, sometimes using a banana or carving up a carrot to look like a dick, far from satisfactory. Connor had gone home and jerked off twice after the assault that first night, recalling its events as he pumped feverishly, beginning with the stranger's arrival at Javamania, when the young man was crouched down, scavenging pastries from the glass case. He was sure the yellow shorts guy couldn't see him staring at his crotch, so Connor took in the sight coming closer. The customer must have worn no underwear. The thin, shiny shorts clung to a curved ridge nearly two inches wide that defined the mushroom head of the circumcised meat swaying and hopping as the customer stepped toward the counter. As a bonus the guy scratched his nuts, momentarily pushing the shaft forward, creating a detailed, flaccid but four inch-long impression in the shiny material and in Connor's brain. He remembered the subsequent helpless feeling, the controlling holds and weight of the stranger on top of him, the spanking, and how great that real dick felt, combined with some pain, plowing into his ass. Connor recalled the degradation and amazing volume of the guy's creamy load covering his face and the taste as he lay on the floor alone and used his fingers to push as much of it as possible past his lips until there was a nice mouthful to play with on his tongue in front of the mirror, dick stiff, before swallowing it and washing up. Connor was totally flattered by the guy's return for another vigorous plummet into his ass, although he would have preferred an indoor location. Ultimately, the risk of getting caught outdoors only added to the thrill of the surprise buttfuck. It was another chance for him to satisfy that beautiful, real cock and balls that lurked between the stranger's legs. He went home after fixing his car and jacked off into the wee hours on that night as well, leaving a sticky mess in and around his sparse pubic hair. 6 Now the stranger had returned yet again, stripped him naked and totally, disgustingly degraded him in the stinking dumpster, and demanded a blowjob. Connor, although he enjoyed struggling against the assailant, no longer offered any resistance and approached the jiggling, swollen cock with his jaw open, and chased the head around as the stranger teasingly avoided the attempts to envelope it. Finally the young man's mouth surrounded the shaft and he descended to about half its length before drawing his lips tight and inhaling, caving his cheeks in as he moved his jaw backwards. His first complete stroke ended with a pop as the guy's engorged head quickly emerged. After a few slow paced repetitions, Connor was bobbing quickly back and forth on a completely erect rod, enjoying every second of the solid, actual penis in his mouth, despite the horrific, fly-attracting slime he was coated with. The head of his own dick, which had grown rock hard as he was stripped naked, rubbed up against the rough, rusted inside of the metal container as he sucked madly. He wished his hands were free, so he could grasp the guy's meat and feel the skin slide along the muscle beneath it and play with his big nuts. Out of nowhere, headlights appeared and a large car roared down the alley, illuminating them fully. Then flashing police lights burst into the night as well. Just terrific. Caught naked and giving a guy head after the first five minutes, he thought. Connor once again felt like puking. His arrest and name would be in the crime section of the papers and in public records used in background searches. Any hope of getting a real job was ruined. The stranger calmly stepped down. "Don't move. I'll handle this." he said, stuffing his boner into his sweats. At that moment, every light on the police car went completely out, and the officer could be heard cursing. The stranger hopped off the crate and walked to the car. Connor couldn't see what transpired, but after several seconds, the headlights only came back on. "He wants to watch." The guy said, returning to his previous position but shifting to the side so the view for the occupant of the car was better. "You'd better do a good job." In disbelief, Connor, in the spotlight for any passerby to see, opened wide and felt the stiff dick dive deeply into his throat, pushing his head back violently and causing an involuntary gulping noise. The rusty sliding door closed in on his neck, leaving only his head protruding from the green metal box. Fingers grasped his black hair and the rhythmic gulping grew louder as the stranger face fucked the young man harshly. After several minutes of noisy, jolting, eye watering, sinus clearing gags on the guy's thrusting meat, it pulled out, shiny and dripping. Sticky trails of thick, cloudy saliva and phlegm hung from Connor's nose and chin as he coughed, and he knew he looked like one of the internet videos where some hapless girl gets her tonsils slammed in a hotel room. His cock throbbed from the thrill of showing off his clandestine passion for a willing audience as he opened wide for another squirting load of semen. He savored the large, silky load, squinting at the bright lights but opening his mouth to show off his dripping cheeks, nose and coated tongue before swallowing. The assailant pushed his victim violently back into fetid garbage, and slammed the door shut. By the time Connor wriggled his wrists loose, wiped himself off with the ruined shirt and climbed out of the dumpster, the stranger was gone and the police car had driven away. Images floated in Connor's mind as he frantically washed up as best he could, squatting naked, dick still hard, at a faucet in the alley. Several cops routinely visited Javamania. Maybe the patrol car voyeur was one of them, and would recognize and ask him for the same favor. The young man pictured himself at a small gathering of naked, older men, sucking each one off in turn as his face and chest dripped with sperm. Luckily he had some extra clothes in his messy car, and was dressed and driving away as two more police cars passed him in the other direction, sirens on and lights flashing as they rushed to an Officer Not Responding situation. Those patrol cars pulled quickly into a gift shop parking lot a block away. They spotlighted the idling cruiser, and saw their fellow officer unconscious at the wheel, and called to him, fearing he had been shot. "Huh? I musta blacked out. I don't remember anything," the awakened, confused veteran officer explained to his coworkers moment later as they all stood by the car. "Not even pulling in here. The last thing I remember was turning into the strip mall down there, the one with the crappy coffee shop." he said, gesturing toward it and shrugging. Connor smiled on the way home, ready for a long hot shower and satisfying, stomach splattering jack off session, his first as a certified, official cocksucker. 7 Another week or so passed, and Connor found himself disappointed when no stranger or off-duty cop showed up to have his dick serviced. The dark-haired young man even stayed late to tempt visitors, surfing the sanitized version of the web at the Javamania kiosk. He saw that his old friend Lisa the bank big shot had released her Facebook pictures to friends once again, as her now ex-boyfriend had not wanted the beach poses and stiff-nippled, braless, damp t-shirt shot available for public consumption. In that photo, she was among a group of half-dressed drunk girls disguised by sunglasses and hats, but after meticulous research of other pictures taken that day, he knew which one was Lisa, based on the bikini bottom and her jewelry. Of course Connor had saved a copy of the pictures on disk, buried somewhere in his storage unit. He finally sent her a message, timidly saying only 'Hi.' Giving up on a visit from the anonymous assailant, Connor headed for an all-night Laundromat after two AM. When he returned from buying a can of soda from the machine outside, someone was sitting in the back, facing away. He was slouching and his black hoodie drooped as if he was asleep. There were no other machines running beneath the bluish florescent lights, so the guy was probably a drunk. Connor ignored the man, and began reading a scientific magazine, trying to keep a shred of his former self alive as his clothes tumbled in the dryer. A few minutes later, the new arrival said Connor's name. "Get over here, you lucky little shit!" It was the stranger, who must have followed him. Connor stepped over and saw him slouching in his orange fiberglass chair, a semi-stiff cock arching out over his lowered sweats. The dark haired young man looked up to see the wires sticking out of the wall, where the security camera had never been replaced, and dropped down to his knees, putting his face within inches of the reddish dick that he had daydreamed about since it nearly bloodied his asshole that first time. The stranger held the base of the shaft and shook it all around, making it stiffen as Connor's mouth watered and his own dick grew. This was the best lit, most unobstructed view of the muscular erection so far. Jagged veins traveled randomly beneath the skin that was stretched around the elliptical base, which gradually took cylindrical shape before disappearing beneath the broad head, a lighter shade of red, but with large pores, giving it a more menacing, reptilian look. The young man reached up and held the warm meat in his hands and felt the blood pulse through it. His thumb and forefinger could not completely encircle it, but Connor stroked vigorously, getting no reaction from the nameless man. One hand then fondled his heavy nuts, loose and hanging inside the sweats. Connor was enjoying these new sensations, and almost didn't want to begin sucking it, because then he couldn't stare at it or hold it at the same time. The dilemma was resolved for the moment as the stranger barked another command. "Pull yours out and rub them together." The grinning, dark-haired young man excitedly rose and stepped forward, straddling a stranger's leg and lowered his pants, allowing his stiffened meat to pop out. He realized he could be seen from the parking lot, but couldn't resist the chance to slide his dick against a much bigger, real one for the first time. Maybe he would stroke his own meat while he sucked this time, or maybe they would go back to his apartment and he could get fucked nice and hard, Connor thought. Just as the two heated erections began to touch, a shrieking female voice echoed through the room, even over the noise of chrome-trimmed clothes drier. "You people are sick! I'm calling the police!" Connor looked up to see two strangely-dressed bleached blonde women in their early thirties, both toting large plastic bags full of clothes. Standing just inside the front door, they wore heavy cosmetics and their hair was done as if they had been out to a club, but had forgone a night of spontaneous romance to throw on a ratty outfit and go wash their clothes. One had dropped her bag and was red-faced and quaking with rage, extracting her cell phone from her purse. The stranger quickly pushed Connor aside and turned around, yanking his sweats up. The second woman, still holding her bag, widened her eyes at the sight of the bulge in his pants. Suddenly both women's phones began cycling through an endless chain of ring tones, the volume fluctuating wildly. Connor stood stunned as the next series of events unfolded. He watched the stranger rush over to the confused women, who began to back away, yelling threats and insults. He leaned in and grabbed one as if to kiss her, and then held her neck as she passed out, placing her limp body on the floor. The horrified, screaming second woman tried to run. The stranger quickly caught and restrained her, and she slid downward as well, unconscious. Connor had no idea what the hell had just happened, but he thought he had just witnessed two murders. Evidence of his presence was all over, the clothes, soda and magazine, fingerprints on the machines. He needed to tell the police the killer was this new acquaintance, and fast. No amount of sexual thrill was worth having to explain two women with broken necks and the prison that would follow. He ran for the door to escape and find a cop while the stranger was busy dragging the two bodies to the back of the Laundromat. "Wait," the stranger said stoically. "this can be explained." Before Connor made it to his car but before he could start it, the stranger almost instantly appeared, put his fist through the side window and shattered it. The Semen-ator Pt. 02 I apologize that this series is a bit all over the place thematically. Fans of geeks and nerds that win in the end, read on. In the previous chapter, science nerd Connor met a mysterious stranger, who had fulfilled his darkest bi cock fantasies. Still, he wanted to finally fuck a girl, and was considering asking out an old friend, an out-of-his-league woman from his high school past, who had coincidently just become single. His optimism had switched to fear, however, as the new acquaintance suddenly seemed to have a violent streak. The story resumes the morning after the laundromat incident. The Semen-ator Pt. 02 "Each Stan is a modified military cyborg. Yes, we have those now, just like the movies predicted. Under my direction, the Mars Orbiter program developed ST models Stans, Steves and female models Stef and Stella, out of the public eye, from CIA Covert Infiltration Drone cyborgss. His name, S,T,A,N stands for 'Sexual Trainer Aggressive Non-emotional'. All are available in different ethnicities. Steves are Very Emotional, Stefs are Feminine, Stellas are Lesbian, and so on. Anyway, they are normally used as sexual surrogates and no-strings companions during the long confinement periods on transport ships and space stations. Rather than have them lie in a box until needed, I've enhanced some of their talents and added a couple surprises." The screen then showed a slowly spinning cutaway of a human-looking machine with a steel skeleton and a human brain dotted with microchips. Ballooned captions pointed out a few features, mostly technical. "An ST model is able to read and manipulate any 2010's era digital device, encrypted or not, wirelessly from a distance of ten meters or so. One of them is streaming this video onto this laptop right now, since its content is extremely dangerous and will never be stored externally. Since there is no way for me to tell their progress on other activities, I'll let one of them update you on what they've been up to." One of the Stans emerged from the kitchen began to speak, but Lisa began convulsing and screaming at him to release her. Lisa's breasts jiggled in the thin, sheer bra she wore for the date, made more for looks than support. The cyborg leaned down, and the tearful blonde wrinkled her nose for a moment, then moaned, almost with pleasure. "A mild tranquilizer." Stan gently wiped the woman's face with several tissues. As Lisa's eyelids drooped slightly, the stranger continued speaking. Using their remote access to any computer, the Stans had cleared Connor's credit rating, removed the four speeding violations from the young man's MVA record, and lowered his insurance payments. One Stan also took a custodial job at Connor's former aerospace employer. The close proximity to their network enabled the cyborg to delete all the computer records and e-mail involving the women's locker room video incident, including all the pirated copies of the wet, naked women that the executives who fired Connor had hidden on their personal drives. The cyborg then explained that he and his counterpart had traveled south several months ago and had removed all digitized legal records of Lisa's arrest and conviction in Florida for indecent exposure, public intoxication, cocaine possession, and resisting arrest. She had lied about her police record on her job application at the bank and feared her employer would eventually find out about the suspended sentence, fine and probation she received for her topless spring break antics back in 2006. "That was my incident! You're late, Commander Data!" Lisa said. At least her reference to science fiction seemed to be progress, Connor thought. "The incident I referred to," Stan said, "was two months ago, more serious, and was averted. The man sitting beside you dedicated most of his life, well the first version of it, the first timeline, 1.0, we'll call it, to sending us back and indirectly saving your life." "Oh bullshit!" Lisa moaned, "C.J., you're a great guy, but this isn't going to work out. You don't need to do all this! Just let me go and we'll talk later, okay?" she sounded a little drunk from the tranquilizer. Connor realized, due to the blonde's blackout and memory loss the night of the soccer team 'party', he must have had the cyborgs stage the multi-player fuck scene so she would loose her boyfriend and Connor could have Lisa for himself. It would have explained everything, except the multiple jizz loads sprayed all over her. Although Connor had enjoyed a nice, big, thick loads, from the cyborg each time, the amount of fluid Lisa had described was much greater. The strangers must have stolen samples from a sperm bank and flung them onto the unconscious girl after fucking her, changing condoms frequently. It would explain her sore anus as well, since the young man also knew just how raw one of Stan's drillings could make an orifice. "Did Lisa really fuck the soccer team?" he blurted out. "No, that scene at the condominium was staged," Stan began as Lisa cursed and screamed. "She did not cheat on Brandon. But the primary reason for the deception was not so you could date her. You assigned me the mission due to what happened in the 1.0 timeline. The opportunity taken was based on a comment she made to you on a visiting day about wishing she had taken the whole soccer team home for sex, since that was her last chance with any men for six years." "Huh?" Connor was confused. "Visiting day?" "Visiting day at prison." "I went to prison?" Connor asked. "No, Lisa did." "Oh bullshit!" Lisa said. "When does all this happen?" "Remember, now it won't, because Connor had me change your future. In timeline 1.0, you did go to the bar and flirt a little with the soccer team, but you faithfully left alone and returned home. You went to your boyfriend's office building at ten p.m. wearing only shoes and a raincoat to surprise him with sex, since he said he was working late and alone again." "Oh my God," Lisa said, "How did you know that? I did think about doing that, at least before one of the soccer team guys started buying me drinks. After that I was thinking I wanted the whole team to fuck me like animals, not just one dude. My hormones must have been raging that night." Stan continued. "You walked into Brandon's office naked, but it turned out he was cheating with a co-worker, having sex on top of his desk." "Okay, this has got to be a joke." Lisa said, becoming angry again. "Who was he cheating with, spaceman?" The laptop began streaming video from Stan. "Her name is Kimber McManus." "Here is video from a hidden camera I placed in Brandon's office the week before the incident was to have occurred. Notice the date and time. This is what was happening while you were at the bar socializing with the soccer team." The images on the screen showed a young brunette woman walking into his office at 9:22 PM, and sliding clothes down her pantyless hips to reveal a garter belt and stockings. As her skirt fell to the carpet, she unbuttoned her blouse and left it open as Brandon stood and walked over to her with a glass of wine. "I met her! She's an intern, the little whore!" Let me out of here! I'll go kill them both!" Lisa yelled, angry despite the tranquilizer. "Yesterday I heard he was dating some new slut. I bet it's her." There was a long silence as they watched the two people in the video kiss. "Hell, she can have him. He'll just fuck around on her eventually. He didn't listen. I told the dumbass I would do a threesome if he wanted some side action." "You almost did kill them." Stan said as the girl on the screen dropped to her knees, unzipped Brandon and began sucking him. The intern's shirt slid off and she reached back and unhooked her bra while her head pumped back and forth. "What? I did almost kill them?" the blonde asked, her eyelids drooping. "Yes. After you saw he was unfaithful, you returned with one of the office softball team's aluminum bats, and attacked them in mid-intercourse, beating them nearly comatose and leaving the small end of the bat embedded in the woman's vagina. What you will see now is archive commercial video of what occurred that night, in timeline 1.0" Still in disbelief, Lisa began laughing and cheering for herself. "Alrrrright! Go girl! Go Leez!" Silent security video from Brandon's office building, released after the trial and used by the media, appeared. It distantly showed curvy Lisa removing her raincoat and tossing it over her shoulder before strutting naked into Brandon's office in high-heeled shoes. Next she is rushing out with a hand over her mouth, dropping the coat, her bouncing breasts and pelvic area tantalizingly pixilated to a blur. A few moments later she is shown running back into the office, still nude, with the aluminum bat. More hallway scenes show her slowly walking toward the elevator, smears of blood on her body, breasts still obscured just enough for prime time television tabloid shows. In a daze, she walked right past the building's shocked security guard, who could be seen trying ask if she needed assistance, then calling 911. Poor quality police dashboard video appeared next, where a naked Lisa, well-illuminated by several patrol cars, was being handcuffed by a female officer in a fast food parking lot. Dozens of bystanders were gawking and the men in the crowd booed amid the police radio chatter when she was covered with a blanket and whisked into the back seat of one of the cars. It was strange watching terrible events he knew he had prevented from actually happening, Connor realized. Lisa began singing a TV police show theme song, her voice off key due to the tranquilizer. A short slideshow began, with evidence photos labeled 'Alexandria PD' of Brandon and the girl, both in hospital beds, upper bodies naked, their faces swollen and crossed by stitches in a few spots. The girl's breasts apparently took a few swings from Lisa, based on the multi-hued bruises they exhibited. "Ouch!" Lisa commented, wincing. Of course the story had been viral nearly worldwide, as images of tabloid newspaper pages appeared, with titles such as 'Nude Bride-To-Be Holds Batting Practice at Site of Tryst', 'Beating Victims of Jilted, Naked 'Bat Girl' Recovering', and 'Final Inning: Scorned, Bare Beauty Queen Slugger Sentenced in Plea Deal'. Connor was making a mental note to never, ever piss Lisa off, as Stan continued. "Charged with attempted murder and rape with a foreign object, Lisa pled guilty to malicious wounding, and was to spend six years in prison. You visited her nearly every weekend until she was accidentally stabbed and died in 2017, trying to stop a gang fight." "Understand," Stan said to Lisa, "the timeline I just showed you will now not occur, as I was able to intercept you beforehand, begin timeline 2.0, and create the soccer team scenario. At minimum it prevented the assaults and prison, but Connor hoped you would break the engagement yourself out of a realization that you could do better. The fact that your fiancé encountered you naked with reproductive fluid applied in multiple places made the illusion even more effective. I was monitoring you from the adjacent condo to ensure no violence occurred." Lisa challenged Stan with several questions about the color of the shoes, skirt, her underwear, the number of used rubbers she later discovered tossed behind the couch, and other details, all of which he answered correctly. "So did you strip and fuck me while I was knocked out?" Lisa asked Connor, with an unexpected smirk. They had recently talked about how she had given boyfriends permission to randomly violate her when she was drunk or asleep, provided they videoed some of it and used lubricant. She had also confessed to Connor a deeper fantasy of suddenly waking up with a total stranger already in the midst of fucking her. Of course boring Brandon never tried it himself, and was too possessive to arrange for a friend to fuck his sleeping girlfriend. "No! I didn't know about all this until just now," he shrugged, but wished he had been there to finally see her naked. "Well, what the fuck ever," she said, then sighed with frustration. "I guess I've gone totally insane, but I'm actually starting to buy this load of crap ya'll are feeding me. It's only because you're the only one smart enough and also sick-minded enough to do something like this!" The blonde's soft brown eyes were red and glassy, but she smiled as she looked into Connor's eyes. "So, what really happened that night?" Lisa asked with her Southern drawl. "Was I at least a good passed out fuck?" "There was no penile intercourse. For the 2.0 timeline," one of the Stans began, now sitting rigidly, acting and sounding more like a robot, "Hiding in the back seat of your car, I rendered you unconscious..." "Yeah you're good at that," Lisa said, rolling her eyes. "... after you left the pub, then drove to your apartment, stopping on the way for a case of beer. Once inside, I poured seventeen of the beers down the sink, leaving small random amounts in nine of the bottles. I then emitted the equivalent of four separate orgasms onto your face and upper body while you were dressed, to simulate oral sex. I then rendered you naked, except for your shoes. Your nipples were subjected to excessive upward pressure and friction and I used condoms and two to three fingers with accelerated strokes to penetrate your vagina and rectum, to simulate multiple partners. The used condoms were distributed randomly around the living space and on your person. I then released nine more orgasms randomly on your body as instructed. I left your purse, phone and car keys on the counter. Some clothing was placed on the ceiling fan, to suggest a celebratory event, per Doctor Johnson's parameters." "So I'm Doctor Johnson now?" Connor asked. "No more 'lucky little shit'? "Since our true functions have been revealed, there is no reason to continue the aggressive dominant male scenario," the cyborg replied, "unless requested." On the laptop, the elderly Connor again appeared on the screen. "Lisa, once I learned there was a way to travel to the past, I made it my life's work to send cyborgs back to try to change our history, or at least yours. After missing you terribly the last fifty-six years, it gives me the greatest joy that there is a glimmer of hope that you are alive as you watch this, your heart beating and your beautiful face smiling. I hope you are happy, and please go out and live your life however you desire. Please know that the young man next to you is already madly in love with you, and has been for years, and if you give him a chance, he will try to make you the happiest woman in the world. Even if you part ways, his resources will always be available to you." The old man's eyes were wet with tears and sparkled for a moment, then he reached toward the keyboard and the screen went dark. "Excuse me, dinner is ready," the other cyborg interrupted the serious moment while his counterpart began cutting the tape loose from Lisa's wrists. The Semen-ator Pt. 02 "You were worth the wait," he said, grinning. "Thank you honey pie! Best first date ever!" Lisa said, "Most bizarre, and longest, since it's still technically going on! Join me in the shower?" she asked, placing a foot on the bed and unzipping a boot. Connor stared at the pussy that he had licked for two hours, finally able to make good on the obscene voicemail he left a couple years earlier. There were more revelations Friday night after dinner. In addition to the facts that the cyborgs from the future were walking on-demand sperm factories, and that they prevented Lisa from beating the hell out of cheating Brandon, it was disclosed that Connor was the richest coffee barista in the world. The two Stans had arrived nearly three years earlier and had not been just sitting in a sparse apartment waiting to prevent Lisa's big night with the softball bat. Each had assumed multiple identities and was working several jobs simultaneously and nearly twenty four hours a day as home-based programmers or ironically, network security analysts. Since they only required house current to recharge and a liquid nutrient diet to sustain their human tissue and organs, their expenses were minimal. The money they made from the various jobs was invested in the stock market. The cyborgs had files of ten years' worth of future results, as well as some lottery jackpot numbers. They occasionally made loosing trades to avoid suspicion, much like Connor had Lisa miss a few high school exam questions back when he supplied her with the answers in advance, obtained by hacking into the school's network. The cyborgs quietly built a high eight-digit offshore fortune for Connor, which was continuing to grow. What was unforeseen, even by Connor from the future, was the young man's spontaneous proposal on one knee to Lisa, with the promise she would never be bored. He asked her to stay with him for one year, and if she wasn't ecstatic, they would part peacefully, with half the assets going to her, and strangely, joint custody of the cyborgs. Lisa tearfully accepted and since there was no better town for a shotgun wedding than Las Vegas, they were on their way Saturday morning. Lisa's parents were both deceased, but her two sisters were invited to the impromptu ceremony with her new boyfriend, an 'internet millionaire', they were told. The group took a hastily chartered Learjet, since there was no way the twin cyborgs, introduced to the siblings as Connor's 'bodyguards and assistants', could pass through regular airport security. The rest of the weekend prior to the ceremony was filled with shopping, drinking, and a rowdy Saturday night bachelorette party. While Connor wandered around the casinos with one of the Stans, who made several of the digital slot and poker machines pay out for random people who looked like they needed the money, a half-dozen male strippers visited Shelly and Rachel's suite. The muscular men swung their big dicks around and dry humped the three women who surrendered their bras, provided liberal tit flashes and skilled hand jobs before the party ended. They were the first squirts of jizz for Lisa's new life, but far from the last.