Not Just a Blob

This story follows the short descriptive tales of the Blob, a fictional alien character, based in a post-wartime, nineteen-sixties' themed civilisation. Miranda, an American-irish red-head of tall physique and busty, bulging form, is best friends with Jane, a small, firm-formed dark haired woman of natural beauty. The two are nurses in an expansive medical facility, assistants to occupying doctors, full-time live-on-site medical professionals with life-long career skills in surgical procedures. Devoid of social recess and completely lacking any recreational facilities at work, their only respite from the constant demand for immediate medical attention from the inhabitants of the rebuilding city all around is sexual interaction with the women they work with. The culture of the time is a biased one, paternally dominated through tradition and through feminine minority, the female species having come off the worse of the two after the fallout of a globe-gripping war.

For their part, the women of the world must shut up and put up, serving the wishes of their male counterparts. Indeed, Miranda and Jane has been spending the best part of their adult lives as nurses -- professional, skilled attendants, talented and beautiful -- and as prostitutes without pay. They almost never go home, instead spending their nights in the residence of men, entertaining their desires and engaging them in their every sexual pleasure just so that they may return to work the next day and not end up as true prostitutes in dirty, radiation-soaked backwater locales, or worse, as food for the starves mutants of the empty world outside the city.

The city is their only salvation, its medical buildings the only places shielded well enough from the weapons of war to harbour untouched life. But it is also their doom, their only destiny, saving their lives only for those lives to be lived out serving men.

Our girls, Miranda and Jane, were last seen frolicking in one suck abandoned city street in one of the few times they'd been able to escape the hospital to their homes nearby, and in turn from their homes to the deserted suburbia around. Together they'd played, pretended to shop in the stores and see movies in the theatre, exploring the hotels and sitting in the vehicles abandoned in car parks. Before long, they'd stumbled upon a heavily damaged part of the city, covered in unusual damage and strewn with stacked barrels. Falling into a leaking material from one of these barrels, Miranda had been overcome with an overwhelming desire, eradicating all thoughts from her brain and replacing them with one, single, irresistible desire; the need to procreate. Her body invaded by the alien fluid, she was quickly submitted to its superior will, feeding on the primal human programming buried deep within our very DNA, she turned instantly on her friend, taking her by shock and tearing her skin as she burned to mate with her.

Although her fate had been sealed the moment their lips met, indeed the moment a single cell of the alien fluid entered her skin from underneath Miranda's nail in the gashes her grip had inflicted she had been locked to the destiny of submission to the alien force, Miranda had continued to force herself upon her friend Jane, their skin firmly pressed together, their vaginas crashing together, natural human fluids intermixed with the alien being's essence freely flowing, nay, streaming from them, in a convergence of all of the alien's remaining being the two had been consumed, their very DNA, their memories and intelligence, their humanity itself copied in completion into a third, completely synthetic being. Endowed with the task of being the harbinger for humanity's demise, he would bring about the downfall of man's control, decimating them and turning their females into his servants, submissive slaves completely lacking of free will, vessels for future generations of human-alien hybrids until he had, inevitably, eventually bred out their traces all together, keeping only the genetic code they carried that would define his species' ability to survive on this oxygen-hydrogen rich world.

In our last episode, Miranda had left her home alone to visit a nearby pub, finding her drinking mates there and besting the biggest, bulkiest male in the room in pure drinking prowess. Having won, she 'repaid' him with sex, engorging herself with his cock. Although she was mostly unaware of it, her alien control embedded in every part of her being had been dictating her actions, directing her to find a resilient man, eliminating the alcohol from her blood as she consumed it and driving her to mate wetly and intimately with him. When they had both been engorged in the throes of sexual climax, some of the alien fluid had left her pores, ears, eyes and other open orifices, streaming onto his body and burrowing into his skin, deep inside his nervous system. By the time he was cumming, his mind was no longer his. Completely engulfed in a layer of the alien being that had seeped out of her body, covering him like a glass mould around a statue, like a fly in clear amber, the two had stood, completely disabled. Signals, desires, commands streamed through their minds in unison, his reprogramming clean and seamless and almost instantaneous.

They had both cum standing completely still, a simultaneous command passed between them both, his cock standing proudly before him, an enormous seven inches with a bulbous thick head and a veiny, pulsing shaft, thick squirts of his semen jetting forth and landing with a slop on the dirty hotel carpet at his feet, Miranda beside him, her pussy visibly opening and closing as waves of female semen burst from her in popping mini-explosions of orgasm, splattering down her legs and onto the floor underneath her, her hairless pucker opening and closing, her breasts rising and falling as she panted. Even her erect nipples gently leaked clear fluid, dribbling down her voluptuous breasts.

The hive had acquired a new slave; and with it, vital genetic coding.

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PART 3

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Stephen stood, staring at the hospital. In his mind's eye he could see inside it, a view provided to his altered being from the source that controlled him, manifested in the shape of a handsome, muscular man currently residing inside the water tanks behind the facility. Looking about, he took in the different floors, the numerous people moving about their tasks on the various levels, observing the countless surgeries and even more countless rooms, each with their own little group of humans performing their tasks.

His Master, the alien being in the water tank, was slowly compromising their water supply, a fresh water reservoir of sixty thousand gallons situated behind the hospital. Although even the tiniest hint of his fluidic essence inside a human was enough to render them controllable, the effects were short lived and wore off quickly once exposure ceased, something that was only worsened by the fact that water was only consumed in small quantities by human kind. Instead of attempting to utilise short, fleeting bursts of randomised control over the inhabitants of the hospital, potentially causing suspicion and unrest amongst the staff and patients there, he would ignore their minds as they opened unwillingly, unknowingly to him, choosing instead to slowly and carefully saturate the water supply with his being until enough of him was in it that he could safely guarantee a solid and reliable control over a majority of the building. It would take time, as his cellular structure could only produce more of the naturally occurring, all-purpose fluid at a constant and invariable rate, but it would eventually work.

This was where Stephen would come in. Assuming the role of a surgeon, he would enter the hospital and begin working as a human inside, performing the infinitely easy surgery necessary to maintain his guise as needed and taking full advantage of the male dominant sexual culture the humans inside engaged in. It would also be a slow task, but one that would prove to be much more valuable in the short term, providing his Master with complete control over more slaves inside the building whilst also expanding the nest in the process. It would also open the further option of forceful take over to their kind, once enough inside had been assimilated, he could use whomever he had minor influence over through his water supply method, combined with his enslaved force, to overrun and imprison the rest of the resistant humankind until he could enter himself and begin mass physical assimilation.

Stephen approached the doors of the hospital in Miranda's uniform. His master had been unaware of the different dress codes for each sex, given that it had not been of importance to Jane or Miranda; it had meant little to him. Stephen, a vessel only, was unbothered by his incredibly tight women's blouse and heels, striding straight-backed and clenched fists towards the entrance.

It didn't take long.

Within moments of entering the bright white reception room, two males in long white uniform were laughing at him, one slamming his palm into the desk as spittle burst from his lips. The outburst attracted attention and before long everyone in the room was staring at him and laughing. Some women, in the far corner, stared in unreadable emotions at him, the emotions of confusion and disgust, while the men variously laughed, gawked, or just hurried past. Stephen remained blank and impassive, staring at the two leaning on the reception desk counter. He turned.

'Are you fuckin' kidding me, mate,' the taller one said, his Australian accent lacy and very apparent. 'Who'd you lose a bet to? McFoster? Don't fucking tell me it was McFoster, that motherfucker would absolutely pull this shit! Oh mate!' he fell into another round of hysterics.

The second man, a short, bald figure with cancers and the remnants of them covering his scalp, wiggled his cupped hands under his upper chest and jibed,

'Your tits are nearly bursting outta that thing, what is it, about six sizes too small? How'd you even get it on, are you wearing a goddamn corset under there or something?' His speech was ever so slightly impeded, as though he could be ever so slightly drunk.

Stephen awaited commands to define his reactions to the two incoming phrases, but as none came, he made use of his programmed intelligence and improvised.

'I am a sexy female, and I await impending penetration.'

Perhaps not the most ideal response, but it had been a thought Miranda had given him among many, and, since he was apparently believed by the others to have breasts, a feature exclusive to the females of this race, perhaps something that would help endear him to his colleagues. His words worked, but not for the reason he had hoped they would.

'Oh fuck me,' the Australian laughed in between uncontrollable gasps, 'definitely a fucking bet loser from McFoster. Fuck me silly you must have really tousled his daughter's fu-fu or something as bad for him to make ya come here dressed as a nurse! Ho, fuck!'

The pair laughed their way to the lift after a few moments of exchanged jokes, gestures to Stephen's body, more lewd indications, and, once they'd settled somewhat, a quick whisper to the receptionist. Stephen didn't move.

A few moments after the ruckus had settled, a tap on Stephen's shoulder attracted his attention and he turned. A petite young blonde, with three bobby pony tails and neat, flawlessly pressed uniform was standing behind him. While neither short nor tall, by female averages she was dwarfed by Stephen's trucker build height.

'Whatever you did, I think you're pretty brave for taking your dare like a man.' She offered him the gentle compliment meekly, blinked once or twice, and then stepped away, the books she was carrying still clasped tightly to her chest. In an instant she was gone.

This entire time Stephen had been lacking any commands from his Source, and so had limited independence in his decision making. He knew his goal; to spread his Essence to other inhabitants of the hospital, but his methods were unclear and he knew that he had to be subtle and unsuspected, blending in with the staff in his disguise. He wasn't sure how to do that, and had been made even more so by his immediate and very vocal calling out earlier by the men. It was as he was beginning to realise that he needed a male uniform that his instructions came streaming into his mind like the soothing balm of cool reassurance he needed. Instantly his mind calmed and he relaxed completely into submission once more. Master was back with him.

//Find a man your size and subdue him.//

His order was as crisp in his brain as the chiming of a church bell and his pathing fell instantly into place before him like a sunlight path. Ahead of him was a recreational room, and, off springing from it were restrooms, two of them, identical in formation but that one featured long metal troughs and the other only small, lightly enclosed spaces with tubular paths leading out of the building and underneath the surface of the ground below the hospital. These, he was informed promptly, were urinals and toilets respectively and would be places he could find members of both sexes segregated from each other. They were places to perform acts of cleanliness, excreting necessary wastes and engaging in vanity exercises to improve their appearance to the other humans. He could not, however, utilise this neat avenue for assimilating secluded females as there was a strict code in using each room, and would be reprimanded if he accessed the wrong one.

Armed with his knowledge of human washrooms, Stephen entered the coffee lounge, six or seven people variously sitting slumped in their chairs with instant coffee in Styrofoam cups clasped in their hands. He strode to the entrances to the toilets and paused. Each was marked with a sign for depicting which sex should enter which, but while he waited to be told by his Master, he received no signals. His Master, engorged with the task of channelling his energy into generating fluid to fill the water reserves with, would be slipping in and out of consciousness as he rested in the tank. Not needing oxygen, he would be quite safe there, unless the tanks were flushed, but it took much strength to maintain the output he was and would not always be there to communicate with his slaves.

Stephen took a gamble -- another trick he had learned from his human mates -- and turned for the left door. As he entered, he passed a male, who glared at him in amazement being still dressed in his tightly fitting nurses uniform. Even Miranda's bra was clasped around his chest. Thankfully for him, she was very amply bosomed and so had enough space to encompass his wide bust.

Now inside he was met with another problem. The urinals and cubicles he identified, but he was unsure of what to do to fit in until a sole male entered for him to prey on, one of his size. He analysed the urinal, identifying the layer of urine in its base, and noting the drain pipe under it. He did the math with his own anatomy in mind and concluded that one excreted urine into the trough, standing. He attempted the act and found he could mimic what he imagined it would look like rather accurately.

As he lowered his skirt again, tucking his member out of sight just in time, he looked up to see a target enter. An average height but of substantial width, he was an overweight doctor known to the other humans as McFoster. Stephen didn't know this, but in moments he had taken in the man's full length white overcoat, his plain and modest tank top and shorts underneath and the double-layered pair of underwear around his crotch. His should be an adequate fit.

'Fuck you looking at?' the man spat into the urinal and let fly, letting eight hours of stale piss flow loosely in one hand while he planted the other flat on the wall, bloke style. Stephen stared at him. He looked up again, saw the man staring, and grimaced.

'Fucking perv or what? There's enough twats in this place to fuck, don't let the radiation get to your head and get any funny ideas. I only fuck chicks with big tits, so come within six feet of me and I'll have your neck under my scalpel, emergency or no.' He spat again, in doing so turning his head to target the urinal. Stephen moved.

Within a second he was on the man, straddling him, the shorter man's dick still dripping as his hands flew out trying to break his fall. He landed hard, winded, as Stephen's mass dropped firmly onto his centre of gravity. A muffled "Oi!" escaped his lips on the way down, but before he could speak again Stephen had his neck. Stifled, he grasped at the trucker's arm, but the hairy limb was unyielding at his throat. It only took him eleven seconds to rob the surgeon of his consciousness, a further three to completely knock him out, and seven more to haul him up and pin his lifeless form against the wall. Efficiently, he stripped off the coat, and tackled the undergarments. As he did so, he felt his Master's being flood back over him, soothing his brain in an instant. Waves of approval soaked down his skin and he felt his cock stir, erecting itself proudly, pushing against the fabric of Miranda's tight skirt around his thighs. As McFoster's shorts came off he brushed the man's penis, and a thought touched his Master, watching through Stephen's eyes.

A few minutes later, Stephen was dressed in McFoster's clothes, a little short for him but plenty wide enough to hide his under clothes. McFoster lay on the tiled floor, naked, his penis tied around the testicles with a string of thread from Miranda's no longer useful blouse. Already they were beginning to go blue from lack of blood flow. As a natural reaction to the pressure, his cock had begun to raise, and Stephen's Master had delivered his reward to Stephen for a job well done, a powerful climax, to him, once he had carefully positioned his length over McFoster's crotch. His sweet release jetted his semen against McFoster's rear entrance where it seeped inside almost as though it had a mind of its own, before he added a little to the tip of his cock, wiping the last of it about the man's lips. Within moments, almost all traces of the hybridised cum was gone into the older man, and already Stephen could feel his being sucked into their nest, into his Master's control.

His job done, he left his discarded blouse next to McFoster and left the toilets. Thirty seconds later, an impulse inside the wet dream McFoster was having sent him shooting awake, and he looked about himself confusedly, looking for the beautiful woman who had been riding his cock like a warrior. Instead he found himself naked in the toilets with an erection and the sorest balls he'd ever felt.

It wasn't until Miranda was reporting to surgery at the start of her shift two hours later that she saw McFoster in the hallway, looking very unhappy, dressed in her old blouse, his middle-aged bulk having already burst two of the buttons at its front and a section of the bottom of her skirt torn. She, of course, knew, and in a way he did too, unconsciously so. She smiled a wicked, sexy smile as she passed him, her hips swinging, her gloriously amble breasts bouncing. One could almost see the twinkle of evil in her dark, fiery eyes.

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The Blob series is a short story series inspired by a fan. The tales of the last two stories have been recounted in summarised form to account for writing errors and lack of proper descriptive vernacular. Designed to be bite sized both for writing and for reading, the Blob series focuses less on narrative and more or sexual exploration, incorporating a different theme in each episode and intended to branch across many kinks and fetishes. For a similar, more finished series, I recommend the Venus De Milo series, and, for a better, but still short read, the Pleasure of Being Emily, and Bliss of Being Shana series, my most proud works. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed -- leave a positive comment, some constructive ideas or a rate if you liked this, especially if it helped you cum!