A Fetish Most Foul

He wakes in a small, bare room. Pale light falls through the high window just below the featureless ceiling. The walls are blue-gray, stone, and in the center of the floor is, what he believes to be, a mattress covered by a sheet. A woman in the fetal position is in the corner, wearing only white panties and a plain, black bra. She has short-cropped blonde hair and a suntan complexion. Gregory realizes that he, too, is only wearing striped boxer shorts. His slight gut and untoned limbs on display.

After glancing around once more, as though something would change, he says across the room: "Hey, wake up."

No response.

"Wake up!"

She jolts awake, her blue eyes bleary. It takes her a moment to sit up, a redden mark across her cheek from where her arm was. "Who are you?" she says, then realizing where she is: "Where the fuck am I?"

"I don't know, do you remember anything before waking up?"

Her eyes move as if she's reading text he can't see. "No, nothing. I don't remember anything at all."

"Same here."

His words hang in the cool air.

"Is this your fault?" she asks. "Is this some kind of fucked-up prank you're pulling? Is there a camera?"

He clenches his teeth. "No, this has nothing to do with me. I don't have a fucking clue, like you. I just woke up here."

"Uh huh..." She stands, now realizing she's only in her underwear. "Where's my clothes?"

He shrugs. "Mine's gone, too."

Like it's the least important thing, she walks to the window. She grabs the bottom edge and jumps, pulling her head over the lip. From the angle, he notices she's wearing cheeky panties, the cusp of her ass showing.

"See anything?" he says, still not moving from where he sits.

When she comes down, she shakes her head. "Just fucking grass and trees." Striding around the bed, she goes to the opposite wall, running her hand over the edges, the corners...

"What're you doing?"

"Shit like this happens in movies all the time." She bends over, running fingers along the floor. "Sometimes there are secret switches." Straightening, she sighs. "There ain't shit here, though."

"Figured as much."

She turns to him, hands on hips. "Why aren't you doing anything? You're stuck here, too."

"True, but if whoever managed to get both of us in here, I can't imagine them being stupid enough to have a way out from the inside."

"You're correct, Greg," a distorted, deep voice says from nowhere. They both look at the ceiling. "The room you're in has only an entrance, no exit."

"Why?" she asks. "What's the point of this?"

"Experimentation, Tiffany," the voice says. "Honestly, that's all. I needed a male and female to test a mechanism I created."

"What kind of mechanism?" Gregory says, standing. "There's nothing in here but us and a fucking bed."

"That's not a bed."

They both look at the sheet covered thing. What else could it be? Flat. Square. Mattress shaped. Instinctively they step back.

"What is it?" Gregory says.

"Lift the sheet and find out," the voice says. "If you choose not to, you'll only delay the possibility of leaving here."

"Fuck that," Tiffany spits. "I'm not touching whatever that is." She leans against the wall. "I'll wait until my friend's come looking for me. They'll know something's up once I don't show up to class tomorrow."

"They won't, because I've already taken care of that. You too, Greg. No one will suspect anything's amiss for at least ten days. By that time, you'll have died from dehydration."

Fear churns in his gut. He glances at Tiffany, then the not-bed. The voice's right. They're fucked either way, so why not get a jump start? Greg crouches by the corner of the sheet, pinches and yanks it away.

"What the fuck."

*

A plexiglass box the size of a twin size mattress, a drain in the center leads to God knows where.

"What're we supposed to do with that?" Tiffany says, tossing her hand at it. "It's a fish tank."

"It's a feeder," the voice says. "The drain goes down to the true experiment, which can only live off of bodily fluids."

"Bullshit." Greg eyes the tank. "Nothing can live on just sweat and blood; tears, piss, maybe, but..."

"Specifically semen. It can only properly digest semen from both sexes, but gets more nutrients from men."

"What the fuck," Tiffany says again. "What kind of shit is this? We're not food. We're people. If whatever this thing lives on cum, then you fucking jerk off into this thing and let us out!"

"A third party's required for further testing, and I have yet to test coupling feeding. So, here we are."

Tiffany glances at Greg. "I'm not fucking him--I don't even know him."

Greg is in the same boat, yet he wasn't ever one to turn down a one-night stand. Sex is sex, but the circumstances they are in made it less appealing than just a random hook-up from the bar.

"Then you'll die."

"Can't he just, I don't know, just jerk off there, and we can be done?"

"Fluids must mix for a proper test," the voice says, "and it's not only once. Enough will need produced to be satisfactory."

"And how much is that?" he asks.

"I'll tell you when we reach that point."

The voice goes quiet, and they both look at each other. Greg's not Tiffany's type; she's more into the athletic type, height doesn't matter, weight either, but she prefers less chub than what Greg has. Also, he's so pale, she thinks. And, Greg doesn't have a preference, as long as they're consenting and adults--all women are welcome.

"So should we...?" He waves at the plexiglass.

She laughs, arms crossed. "Do you even have a condom?"

His brow furrows. "Where would I keep one, if I did? Are you on the pill?"

"Who isn't?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry," he blurts. "I'm really trying not to make this awkward as it is, but if we have to fuck to get out of here, then let's just get it over with. I'll be as fast as possible."

Tiffany sighs. "You're right, but it's still really weird."

"Don't have to tell me twice."

She steps into the basin, pulls down her panties, leaving it hanging from one ankle, and positions her groin right before the drain. Her ass squeaks on the plexiglass, and goosebumps stand over her legs from its cold exterior. Greg follows and pulls down his boxers. He shivers as though they provided any sort of warmth.

Slowly he gets down onto his knees, and wraps his arms around her thighs to scooch her close. Finally glancing down, he notices she's shaved, and she has large vagina lips. Immediately his dick goes hard and the tip of it presses against her pussy. Greg leans in for a kiss, but she moves her head away.

"Not into kissing with hook-ups, if that's alright."

"Whatever works for you," he says, spitting into his palm and stroking his dick. "Do you want any foreplay to get going, or are you good?"

"I don't think there's any sort of foreplay that'll be going on in this fucking place." She looks over the room again. "Just go slow."

He nods, watching his cock slowly press into her pussy, her lips soft and warm around him. It takes another handful of spit, and a few small thrusts, but he completely enters her. She gasps, putting her hand on his chest.

"You good?"

"Yeah."

Slowly, he pumps into her. She bites on her lower lip, and wraps her arms around the nape of his neck. "You can go faster, if you want."

He does. Little by little her hips become in-sync with his, and her ass grinds on the glass. Her pussy gets wetter, fluids dripping out from the crevices Greg's cock doesn't fill. They dribble down the drain. She lays back, her legs around his waist, his hands tearing her bouncing tits out of her bra. He sucks on her nipple, and the cold of the room is replaced by the heat exuding from their bodies.

"I'm coming," he quickly mutters, grabbing his cock as he pulls out and spurts warm cum over her belly, pussy, and the drain. When his balls are empty, he sits back on his feet, breathing heavily.

Tiffany's breath's the same as she sits up. She adjusts her bra and slides her panties back on. With her palm, she cleans the cum from herself and wipes it on the rim of the drain. Greg does the same. Then, they get out of the tub.

"Okay, we did," Tiffany says, groin pleasantly throbbing.

Slobbering echoes from the drain, as if someone furiously laps at the pipe. Greg shivers at the image. "Yeah, so can we leave now?"

Laughter. "No, no. You've only given one serving."

"Only?"

"To be blunt, it's not enough. If I only needed one, I could've done this myself."

Tiffany glances at Greg. "So how many 'servings' do you need?"

"At least six, seven to be safe."

"Seven!" Greg shouts.

"That or you can die," the voice says.

He runs his hand through his hair, looking at the window. It feels like they've been there for hours, but the beam of moonlight hasn't moved at all. If he was younger, yeah, maybe he can pump out eight, but now... He's lucky if he gets eight in two weeks, a month if college and work aren't hell.

"Well, if that's what we need," Tiffany says, unsnapping her bra, nipples still hard from his tongue. "Then let's get to it."

He laughs. "Really? You're good with this?"

"What else am I supposed to be?" Her panties come off. "If you have to cum seven more times before we can fucking leave, then let's get it done. I got shit to do."

The strangest situation he's ever been in, yet he yanks off his boxers all the same. "All right."

*

The second time was more enjoyable than the first. Tiffany had been on all fours, legs spread over the drain, while he fucked her from behind. She demanded him to pull her hair, which he quickly did. He pounded her harder each time she shouted for him to. Then, he came again, cum splashing across her round, doughy ass, thighs, and drain.

They didn't bother to wait, jumping back into it. He slipped his overly sensitive, cum covered cock back into her and pumped until he was hard again. The back of her legs and ass reddened, and his hips became sore. It had been years since he went for seconds right afterwards, but he focused on her delicious peach, long, toned back, the hair he held in his grasp, her moaning. She shuttered, legs quivered, and she let out of a heavy groan, "Fuck!" and it was so fucking hot, he came again. Much less than before, but it was cum.

The fourth time his dick wouldn't get erect enough, so Tiffany had him sit in the tub, and she blew him. Licking his balls all the way to the tip then back down; putting just the head in her mouth while her tongue wrote Os around it; jerking him while sucking on the tip. It was amazing. He didn't want it to end. He came eventually.

Fifth time, she allowed him to face-fuck her by holding her hair while he thrusted into her agape mouth. Saliva and pre-cum spilled from her lips, her sweaty face beat red, but eventually he came once more while still in her throat. Tiffany spit it all down the drain. After they both lay on the cold cement outside the glass, catching their breath, genitals throbbing in pain, Tiffany's mouth dry and throat sore.

It wasn't until then the slurping below began, the frenzied licking and moaning of whatever it was sucking down their juices. As abruptly it would happen, it would end.

"Two," Tiffany huffs, rolling over. "Two more and we're outta' here."

"I don't think I can do it," he says. "Maybe if we take a break for an hour, two, I'll be good."

"No, no, no." She shakes her head, moving to him. "Longer we stay, the more time's wasted."

"What do you have going on that's so time sensitive that you can't wait an hour?"

Tiffany lays against him, stroking his flaccid dick. "I have a little sister, and I'm supposed to be watching her while our mother goes out and fucks the dudes at the firehall." She sighs. "But I'm here, jerking you off for the whatever-the-fuck time, trapped by some asshole who's probably jerking himself off to us."

"Ah, shit, sorry," he says, playing with her nipple absentmindedly. "I didn't know."

"No worries." Tears form in her eyes, and unexpectedly, Greg's cock hardens. She smirks. "You into girls crying?"

"Apparently?"

She keeps stroking him. "So what about you? Anything going on outside this?"

"Not much, honestly." He groped her breast. "School, work; boring stuff, mostly."

"Any girlfriends?"

"Nah... Why, you single?"

"This is so ass-backwards." She laughs. "Take me out after this bullshit and we'll see how it goes."

"Sounds good to m--shit, I'm about to cum." Greg jumps to his feet and goes to the drain, and wincing, milks his cock until there's nothing left. Barely a few drops leave him. His skin red and raw, he returns to Tiffany on the floor.

"One more," she says, yawning.

"Now I really don't think I have much in me; my dick hurts." They both look at his member, the foreskin flaking. His eyelids begin to droop. "And I'm tired as hell."

"Me, too."

He sighs, staring out the window. Tiffany leans against him. Slowly, both drift off to sleep.

*

When they wake, the moonlight's gone, melancholy coming through. Slowly they stand, their groins, legs, hips aching. Tiffany has to stretch out her neck, and Greg's ass is sore.

"What's something that you wanted to do with someone, but never had the chance?" Tiffany asks, rotating her arms. "Like, porn-level shit."

"Why?" His eyes wide, cracking his back.

"Because I want this done fast, so whatever gets you done, I'm down."

"You sure? You don't even know the type of porn I watch."

She laughs. "Honestly, I've heard more fucked-up stories from my friends after parties than you could imagine. Just do whatever--use me." Smiling, she finishes: "This is your only chance."

"If you insist." He grins, shrugging. "On your knees, in the tub."

She listens and he stands before her, hair entangled in his fingers. He shoves his dick into her mouth and slowly throat-fucks her until he's hard. It burns, but he ignores the pain, the chaffing. Gradually he goes faster, ramming his hips against her face. Her eyes tear-up, snot runs down her nose. He rips her face from him, drool taut and dripping.

"All fours."

With his own spit in the mix, he slides his cock into her ass. Its tight muscles squeeze him until he's entirely through, her anal cavity empty. He wraps his arms around her legs, picks her up, and holds her legs in the air while his hands are behind her head. Pulling her up and bringing her down in-sync with his movements. Over and over, her ass widening ever-so-much with each round until his dick slides easily in and out. His grip tightens, fingers digging into her scalp.

Tiffany moans, groaning, grunting. Her face is bluing yet she says nothing. When his cock pulses, he quickly sets her down, taking it out, then shoves it into her mouth again, forcing her to lap up her inner fluids until he's about to cum and like before, rams his dick to the back of her mouth, the tip touching the rear, and bursts.

Gagging, hacking, she pushes him back, and vomits into the drain; cum, drool, bile. Then she sits back, body wrecked, and does a thumbs up. "We're outta here."

Greg lifts and carries her out of the tub, setting her against the wall. "Sorry if I got carried away." He grabs her clothes and brings them to her.

"It's fine. I enjoyed it, more than I thought I would."

He grins. "I'll have to remember that next time."

"Yeah, yeah." She laughs. "But we're done, eight down the drain."

A section of the door slides away, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

"Exit?"

"Guess so."

After getting dressed, they cautiously leave the room. There are no other doors or rooms. At the end is a set of twindoors. Pushing them open, they step out onto dewy grass swaying in a cold morning breeze. Trees stretch as far as the eye can see, but a footpath weaves through. On the ground is a trash bag and, opening it, it's filled with their clothes.

As Greg slides on jeans and a t-shirt, and Tiffany black leggings and a band tee, they take in where they had been held overnight. A rickety cabin exterior, but knowing what it looks on the inside, they can't understand why someone would go through all this trouble to refit a building like it out in the middle of the woods.

Starting for the trail, Tiffany grabs Greg by the arm. "Hey, wait. I want to see what the fuck this was all for."

"Why?" he says. "Who cares? Let's get out of here."

Her gaze bores into his. "I just like you fuck me in the ass. I feel like you owe me a lot after tonight."

"Got me there."

Taking him by the hand, they rush into the thickets and hide behind an oak tree. Crouching, he whispers: "How long you plan for us to wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"Really?" he sighs.

She gives him the, 'Really, again?' look and he shuts up.

A metallic whine sounds from the opposite side of the building, then a squat man with a patchy stubble wearing sweatpants and a crewneck comes around the side. His face glistens in the newborn sun, and dry, some partially wet, white stains cover his clothes. His hair doesn't seem slicked back from gel or mousse but something entirely, awfully, else. Silently they watch him pass by down the path, and after a couple minutes they break the silence.

"Jesus Christ..."

"You think?"

"No... Really?"

"What about the machine?"

"All bullshit?"

"Seriously?"

Tiffany laughs. "Wanna go check out his room?"

"Fuck no."

"This time, I'll let you off the hook. Let's get the hell home."

"Still on for that date?" He pats her ass.

"We'll see." She does the same.