The Semen-ator Pt. 01

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."