Rock. The Xenomorph pumps and pumps the crusted leathery hood over his mighty cock-tip as he pervs on my spastic robothrows. Throb. Squeak. Cock-tip thrusts. Body stiffens. The knob is turned further. THROB. Throb. Throb. Throb. Head goes up, spastic, spastic, head goes down, spastic, spastic. Claw. I soil myself. Beg but my tongue can do nought but poke stiffly against my bottom lip, I go muuuuuuhhhh, muhhhhhh, muhmuhmuhuhuhmuhhhhhhh. Brain cleansed of knowledge of how to control chocolate lips. Stinks. Throb. Hands claw at ring. Throb. Throb. Cannot. My brain is nought but a lump of meat now. Hips. Violent spasms. His feast makes his erection so, so stiff and ready and good. Squelch. As soon as my fingers grip the damp cotton I see a xenomorph through a small window in the cell door.
