Summary of this Story:
They snatched me off a Reno sidewalk, heading downtown, and dragged me aboard their gleaming ship orbiting Earth over the Atlantic. Ghost-white giants, seven feet tall, controlled my muscles with puppet tech, leaving me hazy, horny, drifting in their labs. Emily, that’s me, endured probes, fuckbot drills, and their ridged cocks in endurance tests on vinyl tables and treadmills. Boss plowed deepest, his monster girth splitting me wide. New quarters brought the violet blob. Tendrils pinned me, sucked tits raw, throat-fucked banana-sweet cream, then seeded my womb with corkscrewing shaft. Days later, bloated in the foam birthing pit, I squatted out eight matte eggs amid savage climaxes. Crew scooped them gently. Afterglow lingers under Egyptian sheets, teddy bear watching blue Earth glow.
Here is your Story: Captive Drift: The Slow Seeding Builds
Emily figured it’d been about a month. Maybe two. Stuff from before blurred together. She remembered them snatching her off the sidewalk, probably heading to stir up shit downtown, and hauling her aboard. Their ship. Gleaming chrome panels everywhere, harsh fluorescents buzzing overhead, monitors blinking like slot machines at the Bellagio. Out the wide portholes, Earth hung there, a blue marble spinning lazy ten thousand miles below as they skimmed low orbit over the Atlantic.
The guys who’d nabbed her passed for human. Kinda. But they towered seven feet easy. Ghost-white skin. Barely a whisker between them. When she first came to in here, her body’s wiring was fucked. Eyes worked fine. Ears too. But they pulled the strings on her muscles. Some days she roamed loose. Others she locked up stiff. Plenty times she sagged like wet laundry. No clue on the tech. Way off in the back of her head, fear or rage should’ve kicked in. Didn’t. She drifted in this weird haze instead. Fuzzy ideas. Dick-hard horniness round the clock. Blame the puppet gear. Or the slop they fed her, tasteless goop from those silver trays. Or hell, she owned it: starting to dig life as their fuck puppet.
Probe and Train
Sex. That’s what they craved. Kicked off with a full-body checkup. Prodded every inch, speculum cold against her thighs. Then the real fun: endurance tests. Yeah, they stuffed her holes. Pussy. Ass. Throat. Every angle. Tests wrapped, she stood frozen while two of them hunched over glowing consoles in the lab. Next stop: a suite. Lock clicked like a jail, but inside? Penthouse vibes. 85-inch flatscreen mounted on the wall. King bed with Egyptian cotton sheets. Fluffy teddy bears piled on the pillows. Just missing a key to the door. And any damn answers.
No threads on her skin. Place stayed balmy, 72 degrees steady. Back in Reno she’d rocked miniskirts and tank tops anyway. They babied her like a Derby filly. Treadmill sprints on the humming belt. Weekly weigh-ins. Steak and kale smoothies blended fresh. Sex marathons. Not random bangs, drills. Basic dildos first. Realistic, six inches. Then monster veiny ones, foot-longs. Knotty spirals. They mounted her reverse cowgirl. Double-teamed her holes. She bounced on their laps. Deepthroated till spit trailed. Handjobs till they blew. Cameras rolled constant. Scores flashed on screens. Greenlit? Probes hosed her guts with synthetic jizz. Goopy white ropes, vanilla-scented, pint after pint.
Whole setup soaked her pussy nonstop. Drills left her slick, thighs quaking on the vinyl exam table. She took whatever they dished. Hormones jacked? Or just her inner slut blooming? She’d hustled corners near the truck stops off I-80. Probably why they tagged her.
Prime workout: the fuckbot. Ripped from some Vegas peepshow catalog she’d jerked to online. Telescoping arm. Heads swapped out, ribbed, flared, whatever. They’d strap her knees wide in the harness. Fire it up. Tease mode first, inching the silicone cock past her lips, rubbery drag electric. Full throttle? Jackhammered her spine straight. She bit her cheek not to grin when they rolled the cart over.
Alien Cocks and Egg Dreams
Didn’t stop at toys. Gauges tracked her squirms. Dialed her wetness like a thermostat. Kept her dripping 24/7. Plugged. Twisted. Tongue-fucked by vibrating pads. She blew loads constant. Climaxes ripped harder, stretched minutes long, nothing like fumbling dudes from the Peppermill bar. Endurance jacked too. They’d blue-ball her for shifts, pussy clenching air over the cold steel bench. Or chain orgasms till her voice cracked raw.
Routine sculpted her. Decent shape before. Now ripped. Abs cut under the ship lights. Lungs burned sweet on ten-mile runs. Crashed hard each night. Tits swelled two cup sizes, perky as hell. Cunt gripped like a virgin’s, even after the stretching.
Package this gym back stateside, she’d joked once, and they’d print money hand over fist.
Then the crew took direct turns. Their dicks, whatever they named ’em, ridged like chained anal beads, bumpy as hell. Stretched her pussy divine, nodules popping past her G-spot. The boss plowed her most. His monster took weeks to swallow whole, girth splitting her wide on the padded bench. He unloaded quarts, musky batter sloshing out her folds. Rest rotated. Gangbangs too, spitroast till sweat pooled. Always maxing her out. She adapted quick.
Now they buzzed like they’d hit bingo. Hauled her to fresh quarters. Not sterile labs or sweat-soaked gyms. Midnight-blue walls sucking light. Floor seams glowed faint purple. Low thrum vibrated her bare soles. Far wall: throbbing violet blob, jelly-thick.
They eased her onto it supine. Bailed. Gooey pad cradled her like memory foam, toasty 98 degrees. She sprawled, mind wandering. Pad rippled beneath. She jackknifed up. Slick weight dragged her navel.
Peeked. Thick gray-green tendril spanned her gut. Glossy hide. Corded muscle. Dry as skin. Elbows dug in. More snaked out, coiled her biceps, pinned wrists. Ankles next. Under her shoulder blades. Hoisted her kicking six feet up. Waist lassoed. Throat collared loose. She bucked. Just skin slapping air. No footing. Muscles flexed useless. Probes kneaded her quads. Pokey belly fat. Trimmed bush.
Thinner arms flanked her rack. Cinched tit roots balloon-tight. Cupping suckers ringed purple welts down sides, spine. Nudged dark circles. Needles pricked. Vacuumed nipples stiff. She yelped. Tug pulsed steady, vacuum seals popping faint. Outdid any bar pickup’s mouth. Lust crashed fresh. Tendrils pumping pheromones? Thought drowned in the pull. Breath rasped. Groans leaked.
Conditioning won. She went limp. Yielded. Craned neck. Fat one reared between spread thighs. Pointed end, slit gaping. Bumped mons lazy. Haze dulled the math. Twin slid to her jawline. Traced lips. Jaw pried. Half shoved, half her drooling welcome. Dove esophagus-deep. No retch, months of throat work paid off. She nursed hungry. It flexed. Gushed pudding-thick cream. Gulped automatic, banana-sweet, no burn. Overflowed anyway. Rivulets tracked chin. Gush wouldn’t quit.
Face burned. Thighs splayed wider on command. Hips rolled up. Pussy winked, drool stringing to ass. Main tendril chased the trail to her gape. She twisted. Iron hold. Tip kissed. Rammed home. Corkscrewed her pro holes wide. Bud-sucker latched pearl. Vacuum hummed. Shaft ballooned. Fucked root-deep. Nudged cervix new angles. Bliss stabbed core. Walls milked. Quake orgasm shattered.
Convinced she’d burst. Goo oozed hot. Pussy wept globs. Main arm idled, testing seal. Eased free. Litter stroked her flanks lazy minutes. Peeled back. Dropped her feather-light. She sprawled panting. Hole gaped empty but packed. Ache-pleasure low, womb heavy. Bloated alien. Clear now: they’d seeded her. Kicked womb into overdrive.
Day later, hair gleamed under the LEDs. Skin dewed fresh. Hips plumped fist-thick. Thighs rubbed sticky. Tits ballooned, nips thumb-fat, cola-dark, leaking pear drops. Libido scorched nonstop. They’d edged her cruel before, this scorched raw. Clit throbbed hoodless. Fingers chafed folds bloody. No peak. Swollen meat wept.
Day three, gut knotted. Bloat cramped sharp. Need clawed deeper. Handlers grinned. Wheeled her to birthing den. Waist-deep foam pit, womb-shaped. Muggy 90 degrees, cinnamon haze from vents. She squatted. Backed to rim. Palm cupped dome belly. Fingers plucked leaky nips. Brain soup, pure rut fog. Head lolled. Pressure built.
Contraction gripped. Abs rippled. Fullness crowned low. Glanced. Labia ballooned. Pupils blew. Hole yawned. Matte egg nosed out. Lodged wide. Ripples peaked. Matte oval plopped wet, schlop echo off walls. Amnio gushed puddle.
Pangs reset. Bliss synced. Contractions crushed, throbs matched beat for beat. Pressure rebuilt. Egg two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Peaks stacked savage. Final one rocketed with squirt. Climax detonated. Howl tore raw. All that pent-up storm broke loose. God-tier.
Flopped fetal in the nest. Curled over the clutch. Time smeared. Crew scooped eggs gentle, pearl-glow in palms. First real warmth from them, not just scans. Washed her ginger in the sonic tub. Tucked back in suite.
Emily stirred under the comforter. No clue what round two held. Breed her out? Trophy whore forever? Broodmare champ? Afterglow hummed proud. Eyes drooped heavy. Fingers twitched once on the teddy bear’s ear. Its button eye caught the porthole’s blue Earth-glow.
