Until the Gob came in, everything had been going pretty well where taking advantage of Brooke had been concerned. She'd just told Morgo that she'd be up for anything so long as it helped her acting, and he'd had a sudden idea.
"Tell you what, then. Let's rehearse the scene in the laboratory."
"You mean the one where I'm on the exam table?" Brooke enthused. Then, without his even having to say, she wheeled on her hips and prostrated herself on the sofa, unfolding like an accordion, knees over one arm, back of her neck on the other. She laid her hands at her sides, assuming the posture she'd had during the dress rehearsal, when she'd been in the mad monster's lair.
"That's right!" Morgo was getting comfortable in his schoolmarm voice now. "Now we're going to examine your lung power, Brooke, and remember, you're tied down so you can't move."
"I know, Ms. Evars."
As though undoing the bow on his favoritest ever Christmas present, Morgo got Brooke's delicate shoulder-straps by thumb and forefinger, and slowly, relishingly, pulled them over her bony delts and down the lengths of her forearms, meanwhile ogling her spritely chest with a villainous lick of the lips. The inside hem of her negligee broke over the crest of her shapely boobs, and her bronze nipples sproinged out. Another tug and her garment slid off the bottom swells of her briskets and they jiggled milkily, bared.
"Oh, my gosh!" Brooke squeaked. She shivered. "It's chilly! You didn't say you wanted to take my nightie off!"
"If I'm supposed to coach you, we'll have to get close, my dear." Morgo went to his knees and gently anchored his palm flat on the front of Brooke's right rack of ribs. He was rubbing himself through his costume again. With an eager swallow, he spied Brooke's bobbing teat and plunged his saliva-gill on it.
Another gasp from a befuddled, hypnotized Brooke.
Feeling her fleshy button flick into his mouth, he protruded the alien proboscis of his maw and closed his inner set of grey lips around the soft spongy flesh of Brooke's nippleflat. The tips of his tongue-pair made opposite orbits around her areolae.
A moment passed in this activity.
Morgo's stimulated loins throbbed with ache for the inside of Brooke's soft flesh. Brooke Bethany. He tongued her nubile, sucked up, naked coconut and taught her what it felt like to receive oral attention from a creature with a pair of mouths, one inside the other, one up and down where the outer was horizontal.
This lesson seemed to confuse her at first—it would be odd for her to process the sensations that would be playing over her goosy titskin if she hadn't learned about Trog anatomy yet in school—but pretty soon she relaxed. He liked that once he'd stripped her, he'd sucked her slick knockers instead of running his paws on them. It had confused her further. And the breast he was mouthing, unfondled, bobbed in the free, udderlike, dangling with a pert juggle from his masticating mandible.
That had tripped his switch and he'd spent a long time sucking Brooke's perky bags all over, running his hungry fingers all over them, double-tonguing her. The works. Brooke had that full, upright rack Morgo really liked in a Earth girl like her. Mmm, he'd slobbered 'em up. He'd even fixed one of his finger-tip suckers on the underside of Brooke's quivering boob and sucked her skin into his finger a bit. She'd gotten a start and a rosy, blousebutton-sized hickey from that one.
And then he'd gone down on her. If sucking her tits had clanged him upside the head, lipping and slurping her pink oyster had driven him clinically mad. She'd sleepily asked him about it at one point, but he'd just told her he was testing her urine for drugs.
"What?" she'd said, head-lifting. "That doesn't make any sense."
"Just trust me," he'd mumbled, chinks in his womanish accent, "I'm going to need to gulp you down clitty to taint. It's the only way to improve your acting."
"Oh," she'd cooed, in a voice that she was using a lot lately. "If it helps my acting, then that's okay, then."
***
It was around then that that fucking Gob had burst in the room talking some bullshit about sparks and foreheads and whatever, and totally thrown him off his groove. Thankfully, though, he'd finally left and Morgo was once more alone with impressionable Brooke. He'd slipped her panties down to her ankle, lined her up with the edge of the sofa, and was about to serve her up something she'd never forget. Well, depending how her Dub-LM was set, anyway.
"I don't know," Brooke cooed. "What is the best way to search my Yoni?"
"Hang on. I'll show you."
Eyes riveted on Brooke's pubis and delectable chickslit, Morgo got hold of her by one hip to steady her curvaceous pelvis, gripped his filthy root with his other hand, and, with urgent deliberation, drove his own lower torso forward to plunge into her snug sex canal with a heart-stopping tingle of salacious pleasure. Her wet flesh stretched to receive his knobby, greasy member, especially at her aperture, where her flowery vulva gave to the gripping sleeve of her slick cervix. He ground her, entering her to his full length. Her bottom, resting on the sofa arm, squeezed the fronts of his gnarled upper front legs. The backs of her thighs warmed his craggly belly. Her thicket mingled with the crusty hair atop his buried loins.
He felt a pinprick of dryness at the tip of his throbbing schlong at the innermost part of passive Brooke, but aside from that, she gripped him with her firm, juicy sugarwalls, her cunt trembling with consent. The wash of pleasure that immediately spread over him set him into an instant, drooling trance of lust. The way he was dribbling horny precome into her, he'd have even her narrow depths lubed in no time.
Having plumbed his course in Brooke's tender vagina, he started in-and-outing her steadily now, already worried that he might lose it and come too fast. He was used to apple-pie pussy, given the villainous profession he was in, but this girl was something else.
"This is how you . . . you search," Brooke rambled, as she began passively rocking on her shoulders, her suckled, sticky jugs waving tidally with Morgo's fuck, "search my Yoni?" She barely managed to stammer out this last word before she started sparking and smoking again.
Rather than vacillate in and out of her soporific state, this time she got stuck there. Morgo dimly noticed this, that suddenly Brooke might as well have been a warm sex doll rather than a nude, opened college chick, however dizzy. He'd been carried off into the bliss streaming from his slimy, thrusting penis and hadn't even noticed when a rivulet of green drool trickled out of his slack, groaning mouth and landed with a splat on Brooke's bare stomach. So of course he barely registered that her face was blank. It certainly didn't stop him, and as he humped her unabated, her body rocked on the sofa like a sexy crash-test dummy. In fact, a slippery panic buttered over him as he felt his clickening, pulsing rod already surging dangerously close to the crest of spilling his joy juice in her. He was at a loss to control it. Her luscious twat, bobbing thighs, creamy waist, and voluminous chest beckoned him, dared him to find a way not to toss his tadpoles.
He'd just started fucking her; this would never do.
Just as his vision went spotty and he felt he was going to spray, the door flew open and the Gob ran back in, carrying that goddamn fucking Dub unit and a hairdryer. It immediately distracted Morgo and snatched him from the brink, which relieved him and pissed him off at the same time.
"Look!" Fuckface cried, meaning look at Brooke's sparking, smoking forehead.
