Back to Sexy

So, this probably gets asked of you a lot but I’m so tired of having all this stress, all this thinking… It’s not doing well for me.

My body’s kind of taken the brunt of it all and it’s all feeling so… not sexy. Is there anything I can do to just stop all that? Get that sexy feeling back and never lose it again?

Story Request by @bendoesntlivehereanymore
(Source: || Model: André Ziehe)

The truth is that you’ve struck on the core of the issue. You think too much. One can’t blame you, though. The world that we live in requires a lot of thinking. Thinking about yourself. Thinking about others. Thinking about how to keep food on the table and a roof over your head. If you ask me, the world could do better with a little less thinking. This world, that is.

You don’t necessarily have to stay in this world. Only say the word and I can take you to a world where thinking is optional and, you might even say, is a bit discouraged. Did I hear that right? You’re willing to do anything and everything just to get that feeling of being sexy back? I have to say, you don’t look half bad for someone that’s been buried under a mountain of stress, but it’s hardly my place to judge your decisions. So be it.


The first thing that you become aware of is the sensation of something slipping in and out of your hole. It makes you shiver with pleasure as something ribbed brushes against your prostate, making your toes curl and your back arch as your eyes flutter open.

When you try to move, you realize that you’re suspended in the middle of a large glass capsule. Your legs are spread apart by a pair of stirrups, not unlike the kind pregnant women use at birth. Only, instead of something coming out of you, something is pumping in and out, in and out, in a droning, regular rhythm that makes it hard to think, that jars your thoughts to pieces whenever you even try to have any.

A delirious pleasant fog settles over you mind as you watch your reflection, your firm pecs, your tight abs covered in a sheen of sweat as you slowly buck your hips onto the dildo that’s relentlessly pumping your prostate. You examine your new body with your fingers and let them wander up to your neck where a sleek metal collar is clasped around your skin.

You have cuffs around your wrists and ankles, made of the same silvery metal. Through the pumping of the dildo, a memory makes itself known. This is a new world. A world where aliens have taken over. Where everyday humans like you have been turned into sexual commodities for your painfully beautiful overlords. A pang of fear races up your spine, but sooner rather than later, pleasure overwhelms you.

You hear a chime as the dildo pulls out of your ass and your legs are lowered from their stirrups. The surface of the glass capsule splits and the two halves retreat into the walls. You feel unsteady on your legs as you exit, your hole still buzzing from the thorough fucking that you received. You look up over your shoulder and see printed on top of the capsule that you just walked out of, “Sleeping Pod #4472.”

The fog in your head deepens, thickening to the point of obliterating all individual thought. You stand there, slackjawed and drooling, but you can see yourself in the mirror, the way that your body has been honed, perfected, cut into the perfect shape. Your cock twitches. You feel sexy.

The door opens and an alien walks in. He looks like an angel. You feel your arousal peak. Your mind is obliterated by desire. He walks up to you, runs his hands all over your body. The last thing that you remember before descending into rapturous bliss is the phrase he whispers into your ear. “Gods, you’re beautiful…”

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