Last Man On Earth

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It aint all that it's cracked up to be.
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My name is John Morgan and I'm the last man on Earth.

A year ago, something happened. A plague, meteorite, killer goats, I don't know, I was fucking asleep in a country cabin when a damn chopper full of female soldiers came down and told me that I was urgently needed to save the world. Big honor, you might say. I call it the worst fucking wake up call I've ever received.

I was marched out of the house, still clad in my boxer shorts and taken immediately to some governmental building nearby. Still don't know what it is, but they put me in a nice room with a bed and explained the situation.

All the men are dead, you're the last one. We need you to have sex with as many women as you can to repopulate the species. Fucking A, I had thought at the time, gritty little me getting as many beautiful women as I want. God, I had been a putz then.

The first thing they don't tell you in fantasies about being the last man on Earth is that fucking as many women as you can is not the same as fucking as many as you want. The second is that the women with money get preference over the ones who don't have it. A thousand fat rich biddies later, I'm contemplating suicide.

Every day, I'm woken up at 4 in the morning to swallow specially engineered food to increase my sexual stamina and sperm production and potency. It has not once failed to taste like crap since the day I was brought here. It's done its job though. I can come about 150 times a day, and the general at the facilities makes sure I hit this limit every single day. In fact, I'm not allowed to sleep until I have.

So every day, I'm walking like a zombie. Well not actually walking, more like thrusting or after the 50th cum, laying, sobbing my eyes out, on my back. For their credit, they have a huge selection of beautiful women trained by the sexual experts to bring a man to climax as quickly as possible to help me reach my required output. Exotic beauties of every type and shape, they are. Ebony beauties with tongues like cats that can spiral a man's dick completely around without moving a muscle, Asian sluts as lithe as faeries who can give a complete sensual hand massage of the dick with their ass, and White girls with natural boobs as big as supermodels who can make their breasts a perfect impression of a pussy.

Still with all the action I now receive I'm too sore to enjoy it too much, though my treacherous dick keeps responding to it. They also have begun using anal stimulants on me to help get me to rise to action even faster. My prostrate has been massaged so many times that the once enjoyable act of sitting brings pain. Not to mention what the invasions have done to my bowel movements.

I've started praying for impotency, but unfortunately Viagra pills have been a part of my daily meal for quite some time now. I tried to kill myself a month ago and now they've started posting guards in my bedchambers at all hours. This has only made things worse because most of the guards aren't on the sex list and so have started clandestinely doing me in my sleep. That's right my four hours or so of actual rest time that I get in a day is spent deep in the snatch of some hot MP whose horny as a fox. Poor fucking baby, you say, well screw you punk.

Today has been a busy day. Fifteen minutes ago I came in the prime minister of the Netherlands, a strictly conservative woman of 40 who insisted on keeping most of her clothes on during the exchange. Leila and Mimi kept me hard with a double rim-job as I did my job. She made no sound for the exchange, but I was used to that. They keep my rotation too stiff for me to actually help any of these ladies to orgasm. I've started living for the ones who are worked up enough for me to bring to cum. All of the blank faces I've seen have made me feel like a living sybian machine.

Currently I'm working into a blonde supermodel from the states. She'd just made enough money to get on the docket through a tour circuit for the burgeoning lesbian market. She seems to be excited by the chance and is determined to enjoy it as much as possible. I feel a bit sorry for her as she twists her nipples and furiously jerks her ass to create my strokes. This being my 35th job of the day, I'm standing with assistance from Jeanine, a burly bull dyke with more muscles than I could hope for in my life. As for the act itself, Mimi is hard at work shoving my ass around to simulate thrusts. I don't know when I'll reach my orgasm. My nuts have been so swollen with the drugs and action that I can't even feel when they tighten for orgasm any more.

So here I am, living the greatest male fantasy and hating every goddamn second of it.

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9 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 3 years ago
Escape

Sounds like it’s time for an escape story living underground running from place to place with a select group of protective hot woman

AnonymousAnonymousover 4 years ago
WHY?

Why would anyone want to read about someone being tortured?

I did not enjoy it.

There is too much unpleasantness in real life.

Manufactured unpleasantness is not my choice for fiction.

Paul in Oklahoma

thedemonIxthedemonIxover 7 years ago
HA!

No.. That was actually tragic... Poor bastard needs a sandwich....

akilfinchakilfinchover 8 years ago
awesome

Short and sweet, damn good

fanfarefanfareabout 10 years ago
the seventh level of hell

this flash story makes me cringe......good job L_C!

Though once you start nitpicking. Producing more semen does not produce more sperm. All those bragging Alpha Bulls, who confuse quantity with quality are basically Oxen shooting blanks.

Whether you like it or not. Whether, eh, eh? Yes, whether, damn it! Come on, these are the Old Farmer jokes, folks.

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