XXXecil's: The CockOut Bk. 02

The Cadillac had been treated with a polymer matrix that scrambled exotic frequencies of sound (He didn't know all the technical details). But it prevented the type of attacks most often used by the Siren-strain.

Subliminal suggestion.

"Dick is hard, so hard. Dick is hard..." came a ghostly voice from the passenger-side window. Outside the car, it would seem like ghostly crooning to set his nerves a-tingle, but the scrambling matrix blunted the mind-bending effects; with a result that the Siren's actual intended commands came through!

At first, January almost chuckled at the prurient innuendo. But as they continued down these side streets, her anger mounted.

"Ditch the wife, Ditch the wife, Free to Fuck!" Came an unveiled subliminal command. Sirens were lining up on the street corner, in an earlier age they might have been mistaken for hookers; but there were so many; and well - they were just too gorgeous to be human prostitutes. They could focus powerful sound waves at the vehicle even at high speed.

Even without being married to January, the brazenness of their adulterous innuendo still set his teeth on edge!

"Unzip my pants! Dick so hard! Unzip!" Shaking his head, Xavier reflected on the fact that Sirens used a different tactic than other mind-benders; A Medusa would use her mesmerizing eyes to assert her will upon the man she needed to fuck her. But Sirens operated in a roundabout way...

"Redhead in Fishnets! I wanna fuck!"

"Cum in her cunt!"

"Brunette Ponytail! She's Gorgeous! Fuck her hard!"

"Bear my seed!

The whorish alien females sang at the car window, hips swaying, breasts bulging in and out of lingerie and bikini tops, Salon-styled hair framing makeup-commercial beauty as their faces flushed with unrelenting lust for the man they could detect with their arousal senses. The seduction had to come from within; each wanted him to believe that it was his own idea to mate with her. It had to sound like his own voice, inside himself - giving him the idea to succumb to them.

From a nearby convenience store, the blond cashier scampered outside as the Cadillac neared; uniform melting away as she She-Morphed into a statuesque Italian beauty queen barely clad in fire-engine red lingerie, lean arms outstretched as she crooned of rapturous pleasures that could be his. They were taking over human jobs left and right.

"Sexier than my wife!"

"Fuck Sirens again! Again! AGAIN!"

"Oh, you sick little alien bitches!" Snarled January, clutching her pregnant belly in an unconscious expression of anxiety.

"Fuck any woman! Any woman I want! Every woman!"

"Freeeeee..." That was perhaps the biggest lie; I'd be a prisoner to pleasure, but still a prisoner.

"Orange bikini top! Need to mate with her!"

No, he didn't!

"Sire my seed! Fertile Female!" Came another unveiled innuendo. Fertile? But there would never be sons or human daughters; just more SheMorphs, each as nymphomaniacal as her parent.

"Cock too big! Zipper busting! My cock is hard! Cock is Hard! Sooo hard! Fuck them all! Power, I have power! Power to fuck! Fuck them all with my huuuge dick!" They subliminally suggested.

That was what *they* wanted; to corrupt him, infect him, until his giga-dick was too huge, horny, and hanging to do anything but ejaculate into his alien harem until his mind melted and his heart exploded from the pleasure.

Then, the hundreds of new SheMorphs spawned would just seek out more studs to start the cycle of sex-madness over again.

"Dick too big! Bigger Dick! Dump my wife! Dick too big for her!" A huge-assed brunette crooned, edging out onto the street to sing this covert message through the windshield of the Cadillac. January seethed with vein-popping rage.

"Ohh-hh... I am gonna take those bitches, and I am gonna-"

"Ignore them, it's over now, and there's too many." Xavier advised. Some reports claimed maybe a billion worldwide. Soon, there'd be enough for every man to have his own harem - it would be the end of mankind. Not with a bang, but with an orgasm. "I know better than to be tempted, so stop worrying." Xavier insisted.

Yet he still worried himself. Again, the Siren had said. Again. They could sense whether a man had... partaken before. The Medusas had known too, from the size of his dick. Not many men could hold out. Yet the technology to scramble their sound waves was well publicized; all that research on the SheMorphs did have some benefits. Yet the Siren strain was still building new seraglios. And how many more aliens would be spawned from the sperm of the Japanese Businessman? Knowing what they were really saying seemed only further enticement...

It was then that Xavier cell rang.

"Aggie? What's up?" His secretary, Agnes was indispensable. And old. Wrinkly and old. It was refreshing.

"You asked me to call you about the construction?"

"How's it going?"

"Behind schedule. Foreman says it'll take another week to get the tunnel ready. At least, we hope it's still a Foreman." Agnes added.

And not a deceitful doppelganger taking over while the real worker jack-hammers his mega-cock into a seraglio full of alien porn stars.

"All that noise and smoke and hazard tape, I think me and Jan will eat out tonight."

January grunted, arms folded with a worrisome frown.

The very necessity - much less the affordability would have been astonishing seven or eight years ago. But yes... given the nature of Xavier's new profession - it was necessary to have a controlled access tunnel installed under the streets in order to get in and out without being hounded. Back in the old days, getting City Hall to cooperate with a hair-brained scheme like that would be beyond the pale. But now?

Now he was of the opinion that his post-retirement secretary was a necessity; no temptation if some slippery SheMorph tried to double her, as they had with Jan. January herself? He had to have her.

She was proof of concept.

"It's been a long day; no more checking up on the guys - let's just... get something to eat?" January acquiesced with a reluctant nod. Xavier tried not to think about the latest pair of discarded men's dress pants that flapped in the breeze onto the hood of the Cadillac.

"Hard Cock! Hard Cock! Fuck them with my Harrrrrrd Cock!"

**********

There was a trick to ordering fast-food these days; if you were a guy. Many minimum-wage jobs once filled by young, horny men had been replaced by the SheMorphs that had seduced them out of their roles in society. Willing to work for lower, and lower wages off the books - many human women were also being edged out of low-end jobs.

Xavier knew that in such places, you had to fear the Ambrosia-strain. An offshoot of the lineage producing the Bacchanals; they were the reason a guy that relished freedom dare not order drinks at most restaurants.

Unless you wanted it with milk.

Ambrosias had (Most of the time) the biggest tits of all SheMorphs, owing to a hyper-active lactation ability they could scarcely control. But Xavier could spot them; they had the same ethnic variety that most SheMorphs did, but always with full, firm boobs at around basketball size bulging from whatever they pretended to be wearing. And restaurants; especially fast-food were their prized hunting grounds.

He didn't need the radio to warn him about the consequences of one suck. A beauty queen with midget-smothering cleavage bares her tits at you? Run. Just run. One taste of Ambrosia milk and you'd spend the next two weeks in a wonderland of narcotic ecstasy, until you awakened with an elephant-raping mega-cock, while bra-busting porn stars fawned over you - as you ejaculated your life away.

One suck of her nipples, and you'd be lost.

So no drinks as January ordered at the Mickey D's drive thru. And Xavier tried to ignore the giant-titted Latina that beamed smiles at him from the drive-thru window.

After a moment, the obviously alien worker turned, whispered something into her head set, and replied:

"Please pull to the corner, there's a slight delay with your order."

Well, not impossible, certainly. And they were hungry... Xavier tried not to think about the way one of her uniform buttons seemed to snap strategically; flashing a canyon of bronzed cleavage at him.

But he had the inns-and-outs of Planet SheMorph mostly worked out. So there seemed no problem with rolling down the windows a little early.

The alien with their order was only marginally too gorgeous to be working at a place like this. A curly-haired freckled redhead with a mega-watt smile. A bit of a Christina Hendricks likeness, but more precociously sexual. Tight uniform, but surprisingly small tits for an Ambrosia. Her nametag read "Vixen". Apt, it seemed - with a streak of piebald white through her hair, for an exotic twist.

She said something he couldn't quite hear, while humming a pleasing tune that made him feel... feel...

uh oh...

Ambrosias. They always had the same bust size. Always. Vixen's own endowments were only barely too large for him to wrap his hands around. Not much bigger than pale, overripe coconuts.

Too late, Xavier realized the dilemma -

The SheMorphs were getting smarter. Varying their routines.

Vixen was a Siren!

Apparently, the mind-altering crooning her ancestors had evolved to seduce their captors could make a man lose track of time. Xavier realized that Vixen was leaning into his car window, unlocking the door so she could slide into his lap.

It seemed she was wearing a real McDonald's uniform, not her shape-shifting powers - and her top was open, creamy breasts dangling in his face. By the time he began to wonder about January, Vixen was already kissing his forehead amidst soothing cooing, her hand down his pants to pump his aching cock.

Pack hunters.

A second siren, one of the dark-haired defaults for the breed - unbuttoned her fast-food uniform as her open mouth bombarded January with focused waves of comfort. She was trying to resist, but her face rapidly slackened as the crooning bathed her in pleasure.

The Hispanic Ambrosia from the drive-thru window appeared, giga-tits revealed - as she thrust a nipple into January's mouth. Normally, she would fight back but... amidst the orchestral arias reverberating through the Cadillac, aggression seemed impossible. The sound of their singing, the beauty... like being submerged in a sea of serenity.

"Stop fighting," Vixen suggested, stroking Xavier tenderly. "Men, and all your wars and fighting, and scheming. Just let go." She purred, rubbing his face down the valley of her freckled cleavage. "Open your pants, and let yourself cum."

"N-no..."

"Your fear is ridiculous. But we understand; you don't want to lose your wife. So keep her." Vixen turned his head towards Jan.

His pregnant business partner moaned as she unbuttoned her own blouse, nipples blatantly hard. It seemed the Ambrosia milk worked as well against women as men. Two strains working together in a deadly symbiosis: Sirens to sing you into security, so the Ambrosias can dope you with liquid lust. Bait and switch. To circumvent a freedom-loving man's defenses.

"It tastes... like rainbows... colors, pleasure... fuck." January rambled, eyelids fluttering as the devastating pleasure poisoned her mind. "Tastes... like a thousand orgasms. Like victory, like Fuck!" She shuddered, face reddening. Xavier couldn't see the Latina's name badge with her uniform thrown open, but he saw a grin of mischief as the intruder shoved a hand down January's pants.

"See how wet your wife's pussy is becoming?" Vixen noticed. "We can all be happy together. Still, Xavier struggled to shake his head. "Keep watching her! Watch how sweet it feels! See - the way her hips are bucking; those are the mini-orgasms... right now," Vixen hugged him tighter; breasts squeezing against his nose. "Her nipples are hard enough to punch leather!" The Ambrosia stroked her hair, while the dark-haired Siren slipped into January's side of the car, and her lap - for lip-smacking lesbian breast play.

She'd never shown a hint of interest in other women before, but now - she was delirious in a lusting ecstasy. Little huffs as she lip-locked with the ruby kiss of her cover-girl captor.

"Look! They're humping against each other!" Vixen alerted him. "She's going to cum, and cum again - over and over!" As she spoke, her hands pumped his own throbbing cock with increasing rhythm. "And so are youuuu!" She promised with a growl. "You get to share the joy with your wife! Both of you...*pant*... cumming together! Orgasm at the same time!" Again she pumped his dick, already moist with precum.

"Then, you can make us your harem. Suck our tits, and share in the joy!" Vixen promised.

"N-no... it's wrong,"

"But it feeels so good!" Vixen reminded him. "Just kiss me, fuck me."

Xavier struggled against the suffocating comfort, turned towards January - had to rouse her, get her to fight back!

But it was strange; it must have had something to do with the Siren's mind-bending seduction, but as January's blouse was torn open, and her creamy D-cups were revealed to lacy-cupped view, her jiggling orbs seemed to strain against their confines. The second siren gave a suckling kiss to January's breasts, tugging at the bra - which surged in a straining pulse - as if... as if January's boobs were somehow... growing? That couldn't be right, her breasts themselves weren't inflating with greater voluptuousness even as he watched?

No. The Sirens, they were tricking him. Had to be.

But then - there was a development.

A Scavenger.

The hope of a man about to be seduced attracted notice. A bikini clad Bacchanal with a figure like a breast-augmented WNBA player appeared at the windshield of the Cadillac, her platinum-blond ponytail bouncing as she panted in desperation. Her creamy skin gleamed with pheromone body oil as her wing-like eyebrows arched in desire. But the huge-titted Ambrosia moved to argue with the newcomer, as the tripartite hunting party tried to secure their new stud-prize.

But the distraction was just enough.

Xavier bolted from the car. Maybe not the best solution, but with keys in hand it was his best snap decision. They wouldn't hurt January - He was the Target. With the keys in hand, he could run - loose the pursuers on foot, come back to the car later.

"NO! I'LL FUCK YOU! I'LL SERVE YOU!!" Vixen vowed as her prize fled.

He'd been foolish. Thinking he could handle them. Thinking he could avoid them. It was just a matter of time before they got more aggressive. Fewer men on the streets now, competition would grow fiercer.

Xavier ran, barely aware of his surroundings, avoiding onlookers until he found a nearby public park. Hoping to lose himself (and them) in the trees and bushes.

Finding a likely spot, he resolved to call for help. Smart phone in hand, he decided to call Agnes... Aggie could give him a lift in a pinch. But when he opened a browser, his email service was up - and there was a message: A mass mailing from Radio Free Earth.

Fearing - yet too curious too resist, he opened the email attachment; the message claimed to offer proof that the government's latest initiative to purge the invasion was doomed to failure. He shouldn't have watched. But he had to know. Had to know for himself whether there was Hope.

The leaked footage in the video clip opened onto a dark bunker. With colorful pillows? The scene was a grim, high-tech secretive black-box base of some classified sort. Computer banks along the walls. And a mass of silky pillows in the middle of the floor space.

Even from behind, Xavier could see the problem. She was one of the Venus strain of SheMorph. Her flowing hair a sparkle of molten bronze. Rising on dainty feet, she disengaged with a wet slurp from a beefy sausage longer than a baseball bat.

The Venus shuddered, running her hands down her sumptuous body in post-coital satisfaction. Her stud was an iron-haired, wiry man who should have been commanding this facility, instead he was a prisoner of his own mega-cock. He would have known everything. A full report. But facts didn't matter. He was still a man.

Knowing full well she was an alien enemy, this General couldn't stop himself from fraternizing. Xavier could feel it himself; even through the muted medium of the digital recording. To see this goddess; that gold-dusted skin, radiant eyes, and fertile femininity so ripe with fecund promise... it would kindle an obsession beyond reason.

The men in this base; they knew what she was - were sworn to fight her kind. But that didn't mean they could stop siring their sperm into her. Because once was alright. So twice was better. Then three - then ten times. If only they'd used more women to control them.

No one understood the severity of the infection - until it was too late.

Xavier felt his guts throbbing with a raging sexual hunger simply watching the fluid walk of the Venus as she sauntered nude towards one of the controls. It wasn't just her boobs, ass, or birthing-hips; every nuance of her anatomy somehow radiated feminine seduction. The backs of her knees were sexy. Xavier tingled with an urge to fuck her navel.

The sexual parasite seemed to be taking a break from her phallic feasting to sit at a console, absorbing classified info with a look of amazement. Soon, she would sink back upon the General's cock for another dose of jizz, and when she had enough genetic material to Natalize, her offspring would know all the military secrets she'd just learned.

But the stud wouldn't have long to wait...

Seven other drop-dead stunners scampered towards the priapic general, each coated in food stuffs.

"You have a wonderful Kitchen, my Master -" Crooned a violet haired sex goddess with golden lips. "We've each prepared different appetizers to cover our bodies with from our own cooking."

"Please, suck the honey from my tits," offered a blond, gold-sparkling beauty.

"Lick the caviar from my nipples," suggested a pointy-nosed SheMorph with fire-engine red hair.

"Please lick the molasses before it sinks too deeply into my cunt," warned a jade haired supermodel as she fingered her sweetened vagina.

"We hope you'll fuck first the Sister whose offering gives you the most pleasure, Virile Master." opined a raven haired SheMorph with rainbow body glitter as she adjusted a sushi roll on her navel, all the pseudo-women adopting a crab-walk posture, bearing themselves for their stud's pleasure.

"RRRRNNNGGG... Fuck... All..." snarled the General, his epic manhood seemingly harder than before; whatever load he'd blasted into the bronzed beauty at the controls did nothing to diminish his bottomless libido.

The phony submission. The servile sex-doll attitude; just another weapon in their arsenal of attack.

The winner of this slobbery competition was a platinum blond with a pixie-cut, from her height - Xavier was able to guess that her time was near. The General's virile salvo into the depths of her willing cunt was enough, and the clip ended with the blonde's belly surging in an alien hyper-pregnancy, as the SheMorph began her Natalization cycle.

In the intervening years the sexy abominations would milk him for every last sperm cell possible; until the day his heart exploded from an escalating cascade of soul-destroying orgasms; each more addictive than the last. But he wouldn't mind; gone were the cares of a military career - nothing mattered but fucking them, cumming inside them, sucking their porn-star tits.

Then suddenly, a ray of hope entered the control room. A young, dark, African-descended corporal burst in with a pistol, shouting something that wasn't distinct enough for the recording to transmit clearly. The bald young soldier intent on his duty.

Yet shaky. Insistent on the protection of the secrets of this base. But the General barely grunted, writhing amidst his harem. The young soldier barked a command, waving the pistol - until a whisper intervened. From behind him sauntered a glittering feminine fantasy resembling a pornographic version of Scarlett Johanssen. She put a hand to his shoulder, and whispered in his ear from behind. The black soldier moaned, but shook his head in defiance. Gun drooping in shaky hands.