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