“Let me help,” my sister whispered, and up betwixt her own legs came her hand, to gently manipulate my penis. I MUST perform to their satisfaction, I focused on the thought and its severity, otherwise both of our lives could end in this wretched place…
“Just relax, relax,” she whispered further, fingers first tending my slack testicles, then the even more slack shaft, and then—
Perhaps the decadent French writers were correct in their esoteric allusions to a link between death and sexuality (their La Petite Morte) for the more I focused on the possibility that impotence would result in our destruction…
My member swelled.
If anything, the sudden erection sprouted even longer than before—longer than ever—until it thumped, bobbing up and down. I knew that the thoggs had been, in their own non-verbal manner, laughing at me before, but—
They’re not laughing now, I thought, assured. They could all detect that the dimensions of my genital shaft easily exceeded that of even the largest of them. When Selina’s hand measured its entire length, she gasped, “Good gracious, Morgan. I had no idea you were so…”
She needn’t finish; instead it may have even been with some secret eagerness that her deft fingers brought my purpled glans to her folds.
“Now!” she panted.
I nudged it in, then grasped her hips and commenced to stroking. The familiar wet slapping resounded as I increased tempo, sliding my erection (each and every of its proven twelve inches) all the way in and all the way out. Simultaneously, my left hand slipped round and under, to gently agitate her surprisingly excited clitoris, and with that, Selina began to moan with vigor. I stepped up my pelvic rhythm then, pursuing a crescendo; whereupon my sister quite waveringly squealed. Her back arched like that of a cat; every tendon in her body tensing; and then her climax spasmed and broke most obviously. She writhed and bucked, even shrieked to the capacity of her lungs, to the extent that the blissful vociferation echoed within the vast valleys between the mammoth Pyramidiles. I cursed myself for acknowledging my own incestuous pleasure, for as her orgasm drew on quite lengthily, Selina’s interior vagina constricted to an unfathomable tautness which brought me past the margin of my own return. This next seminal ration gusted from my loins in innumerous spurts, and with the release I experienced my own ecstatic culmination, the potency of which I would’ve never believed possible…
When both of our spasms abated, Selina collapsed. “For goodness sake, Morgan. Never in my life have I had such a wonderful f—”
“You needn’t say it, Selina,” I severed her profanity. “As you’ve directed, we had no choice but to sully ourselves for the whims of these things,” but when I looked around I sensed disappointment about the mien of the thoggs, or rather even displeasure. My forced performance for their mere sport seemed to have left them in agitation rather than satisfaction.
Selina sensed it too, obviously attuned to them either by indoctrination or some totemic function of her queer pendant. She even giggled. “They’re jealous, Morgan.”
I refastened my trousers. “Jealous?” I questioned but suddenly the notion made sense. Not only was I possessed of more substantial genitals (the utmost symbol of masculinity) but I had also demonstrated a further degree of sexual superiority over them: my efforts alone had brought Selina to a devastating climax, whereas theirs had not.
“Will they let us go, now that we’ve done as they ordered?”
Selina knelt as she faced me; her shoulders slumped. “Not… just… yet…”
It was the clothed motorman who approached, then slapped me across the head.
“What?” I blathered. “What is this?”
“They’re furious that you out-performed them, Morgan,” came my sister’s disconsolate reply. “They won’t let us go back until you’ve sufficiently debased yourself. It’s their way of getting back at you, for proving that you’re more masculine than all of them.”
I couldn’t imagine what she might be implying, but then imagination was hardly necessary a moment later when the motorman lowered his trousers and extracted the harrowing genitals.
“You have to take him in your mouth,” came Selina’s regretful words.
“In the name of all things decent and pure!” I caterwauled.
“And you’ll have to swallow it all. Only then will they be satisfied… That way, they get their last laugh, in spite of your manly prowess… by turning you into their bitch, so to speak.”
Despair couldn’t have lengthened my face further. Since the motorman’s release with Miss Aheb, enough time had passed to permit full sexual revivification; the thing was ready again, in other words, and to that state of readiness I could all-too-awfully attest. The grotesque organ had already become engorged by the thing’s mere thought of what impended.
“Just do it, Morgan,” my sister pleaded. “You don’t want to know how many times I’ve had to…”
To this end I resigned myself; I’d be doing it not only to spare my own life but Selina’s as well. So I steeled myself with every mental fortitude… took the appalling thing into my mouth.
Having had no experience in such things, however, I hadn’t a clue as to what I was doing. I harnessed initiative only via the deduction that I must do my best to imagine the proper technique…
In only seconds that dreadful “carrot” hardened to full size in my quivering mouth.
Inept as I was sure my oral subventions were, the motorman seemed overly pleased by the effort. Each time I drew my lips rearward, along the organ’s tapering form, I increased the suction, which caused the beast’s hips to fidget.
“Faster now,” Selina instructed. “And… get ready…”
I forced the implication from conscious thought, proceeding as instructed. Then…
The motorman’s “jism” poured into my mouth.
The effect was worse than any conjecture. My face seemed to turn to stone after my first gulp. To assign simile to the taste of the evil slew defied possibility. Gout after gout, it issued, each mouth-filling allotment seeming thicker than the previous, and more lumpen.
“Keep swallowing, Morgan!” my sister implored. “Don’t spit up!”
Easier communicated than achieved. Numbed to my brain, I forced myself to mechanically pause, then swallow, pause, then swallow. The stuff was hot, and I could swear I actually felt spermatozoic constituents moving around on my tongue each time my oral cavity was re-filled. I could only imagine that the forced consumption of carrion or even excreta would be more agreeable than this…
I reeled on my knees after the abatement of the motorman’s final spurt, that last deposit being thick as gelatin. My stomach threatened to heave and properly eject the violation, but I gathered all my forbearance, fisted my hands, and, shuddering, swallowed the whole gelatinous mass.
“You did it!” Selina congratulated.
When the hideous lump at last sunk to the pit of my squirming gut, I collapsed posthaste into a dead faint.