Long Trip To Foodcourtia



Zim tried in vain to lift himself out from the heap of empty Shloogie-pieTM cartons that he’d been tossed into, but it truly was a massive pile and he couldn’t even manage to get himself to his feet before Sizz-Lor lifted him up by his pak, dangling him over the huge mound.

“I ate nothing but that horrible slop for twenty years because I didn’t have time to get anything else.” Growled Sizz-Lor.

“From what I remember you never eat anything but junk food anyways.” Observed Zim.

Sizz-Lor lifted Zim up to look him in the face, his lip curling into the deadly snarl that only ever appeared when one of his employees insulted him or when the Sloogie-shake machine broke down.

Zim looked around blankly. “What? Is the sloogie-shake machine busted again?”

With a growl Sizz-Lor hurled Zim across the room into a stacked pile of company hats. Sizz-Lor stomped across the room and picked Zim back up by his head before he could get away.

Sizz-Lor scowled into Zim's blank face. “For twenty years I was in hell, Zim. No decent kind of food or drink. No air except air that was foul with the smell of grease and sweaty customers. No friends. No help. No rest. You can't even imagine it - you don't even care. But I'm going to take you back there and you'll see. You'll live it. And by Irk you'll pay."

Noting the traces of fear that were beginning to seep through Zim's mask of apathy, Sizz-Lor allowed a smirk to creep onto his face.

"You know what else I haven't done in awhile, Zim?"

Sizz-Lor lowered Zim down to the ground, still maintaining a firm grip on his head with one hand, while his other hand travelled down underneath his work apron to the pant fastenings at his crotch.

"Um. . ."

Not even giving Zim a chance to guess or make a sarcastic comment, Sizz-Lor pulled his work apron aside, shoved Zim's face into his crotch, and settled the apron back over the smaller Irken, leaving Zim to settle with the thick smell of his semi-soft member.

"I assume you remember how to do this." Said Sizz-Lor as he pried open Zim's mouth and then guided himself into it. Zim could only make a few mmmph mmph noises as Sizz-Lor's member became harder once inside the moist warmth of his mouth.

And he did indeed remember, sucking steadily on the tip of the member in hopes that Sizz-Lor's wouldn't choke him this time by shoving the entire length of his down his throat. It looked like he would have no such luck. Sizz-Lor's hips were already making small thrusts that pushed his member deeper into Zim's mouth each time. It had been a long time for Sizz-Lor. By the time he got over having this sheer, mind-numbing pleasure back after so many years, he found that he was already thrusting himself as far down Zim's throat as he could go. Zim was gagging and sputtering around his thick member and he was already nearing release.

Swiftly pulling himself out, Sizz-Lor lifted Zim out from under his apron and carried him over to the nearest control panel. Here Zim was bent over face down onto the panel, his head pressed onto the control buttons.

“Did you really think you could escape that easily? Escape ME that easily?”

Zim felt his leggings being torn as they were shoved down to his ankles. The uniform he wore with so much pride was bunched up around his waist.

“Nobody escapes me. . .”

Sizz-Lor kicked Zim’s legs apart, rending his black legging to tatters. One finger was shoved rudely up inside of him, twisting and stretching until another finger could be added.

“. . .Nobody who’s mine.”

Sizz-Lor stepped closer behind Zim. Zim felt his wet, blunt member brush up against his entrance as the large Irken readied himself for the first thrust. It took a few moments of maneuvering to account for their difference in height before Sizz-Lor actually managed to urge the tip of his member inside the other Irken’s body.

Zim was almost painfully tight – it took his flesh a few moments to adjust after not having had to accommodate the large member for so long. And large it was – lucky for Zim the Irken body is designed to be malleable enough to withstand such abuse, and more, or else he literally may have been torn in half.

Once in, Sizz-Lor pushed his member forward until he was fully seated inside of Zim, then proceeded to slide in and out leisurely, enjoying the satisfaction of having regained his former slave.

Zim grunted and did his best to adjust his head so that the buttons and knobs on the panel against which he was pressed didn’t dig into his face as much. Sizz-Lor’s hand lent him a bit of slack as the rest of him was preoccupied with the rhythm of his pelvis.

“So. . .you traveled a long way to find me, did you?” Zim lamely tried to make conversation to distract himself from the unpleasantness of the situation.

Sizz-Lor’s hand bore back down on Zim’s head. “Shut up.” He said.

The larger Irken was starting to breath a bit heavier now, and his thrusts increased in pace and force.

Zim was lucky to have been born an invader-class member of his society. He was privilege to all of the bio-technological advances that had modified the Irken body to be the perfect machine that it was – designed solely for combat and endurance. No messing about with the reproductive process when there were large facilities on Irk that took care of maintaining population levels.

Lower-class Irkens, the genetic dregs of the species that were born into menial labour positions, sometimes retained some of the traits that had been largely bred out of the rest of their society. So it was that Sizz-Lor had the urge to regularly corner each of his employees in a dark corner of the snack facility, remove their clothes, and shove his member into them over and over in an ineffectual attempt to breed.

Zim had no such urge. It wasn’t a painful process to him, but he did find that being stretched like a balloon from the inside and being pounded roughly against a cold metal counter vaguely uncomfortable. He was better off than Gashloog, whose squeals of pleasure could be heard even out in the counter area whenever Sizz-Lor took him.

Sizz-Lor was heating up now. The natural lubrication that was secreted from his member was starting to drip out of Zim’s tight opening, down his legs and even onto the floor. The sound of their flesh slapping wetly together was becoming louder and more frantic.

“You’re mine. . .say it.” Hissed Sizz-Lor, stroking Zim’s head roughly. His other hand had begun to wander under Zim’s clothes, wherever it could find flesh to paw.

“. . .Urg. . .I’m yours.”

“You’re mine WHAT?”

“. . .I’m yours, my Frylord.”

“Yes. . .yesss. . .” Sizz-Lor grabbed Zim’s waist and begun to pound as hard as he could into the smaller Irken. Zim gritted his teeth and grunted with each deep thrust.

It didn’t take much longer after that. Sizz-Lor moaned and bucked erratically against Zim’s body as his member spewed his seed deep inside of the invader.

The floor beneath them was now slick with sex-fluids, and Zim had to be careful not to slip and fall when Sizz-Lor finally pulled out and let him stand up straight.

Zim tugged his uniform down and tried to sort out the mess that used to be his leggings. Sizz-Lor pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and proceeded to wipe himself off. After he was done with the handkerchief he tossed it over to Zim, who brushed it away from himself in distaste and let it fall to the floor.

Finding a nearby chair, Sizz-Lor seated himself, leaned back, and sighed in contentment.

“Damaged?” He asked of Zim.

After a cursory check, Zim replied, “No.”

Sizz-Lor nodded. “Good. You always were rather. . .durable. This ship takes awhile to get back to Foodcourtia, and I’m going to have to find something to do with my time.” The frycook leered.

Zim shuddered. He wouldn’t be surprised to find that Sizz-Lor set the controls to take the scenic route – it would likely be a long trip indeed. But no matter. He’d find a way out of this. Soonish, he hoped.

Sizz-Lor chuckled contentedly.

End.

FICTIONS: RATING AUTHOR