Abigail…
The cell door slammed shut with a loud *clang*. The aliens, terrified by my demeanor, fled without retrieving the apron or paper bag.
Abigail pressed her lips together and slowly backed away.
Perhaps she feared my unusual anger, or maybe memories of the brutal treatment I'd subjected her to recently flashed before her eyes.
My mind had cooled slightly during the time it took to return here, but my body still burned with rage. Steam seemed to rise from my shoulders. The pressure she must feel is immense—more terrifying than facing a naked, starving tiger.
Abigail is completely naked. All the girls who come here are. But she's covering herself with her hands, suggesting she's still sane. Good. I'd been reflecting that I'd gone too far last time.
It's good, but now her provocative pose is torture for my eyes.
A tightening sensation slides from my heart to my lower body. Her beauty is overwhelming, and my hands tremble.
…This is bad.
If I touch her soft flesh now, I won't be able to stop. Abigail is my only potential ally, so I don't want to break her. With any other woman, I'd ruthlessly take her without hesitation.
Still wearing the paper bag and apron, I avert my eyes from Abigail's naked body and slump in the corner of the cell.
I want to stay like this until I calm down, but it's too unnatural. What should I do…?
Wait. If I stay still, the guards behind the mirror might think something's wrong and send me to solitary. Yes, that's it.
As I ponder this, our eyes meet—hers gazing up from below, hazel and wide.
Abigail. She's recklessly stepped into the den of an enraged butcher.
A naked beauty before a raging, starving wolf.
It's nothing short of foolish. Does she have a death wish?
My heart pounds heavily.
The butcher's crimson ferocity begins to consume me.
But the next moment, a cold realization washes over me.
Looking down at the tingling sensation crawling up my spine, I see the apron bulging outward. Abigail, who was standing, is gone. I'm confused for a moment.
Then I realize she's crouched beneath the apron. She's kneeling before me, hidden underneath.
I can sense it. She's performing oral sex.
Is this her plea for mercy?
True, she's skillfully stopped my outburst, but the thick, sticky magma of hunger swirling deep within me shows no sign of subsiding.
What I need now isn't just sex—it's blood and flesh.
If you fail to distract me even slightly, I'll brutally kill you. Please, just stay away.
Reluctantly, and knowing the danger, I reach out to tap her head through the apron, trying to send a Morse code message. Wait… Morse code?
I gasp, stunned.
The rhythm of her lips and tongue on my manhood is conveying a message:
*"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…"*
…Well, well.
Abigail, with her dignified beauty, has devised an obscene way to communicate. Was she inspired by my second language?
Still, it's bold of her to take the initiative before I act.
Abigail didn't hesitate to degrade herself as a woman. Even now, beneath the apron, she's offering a service as intense as any prostitute's. She's truly a professional. Elites are remarkable.
Her desperate message continues:
*"Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…"*
…Why is she apologizing so much?
Maybe she saw me standing by the cell door and thought I was still angry about last time. Like two exes, speechless at an unexpected reunion. Is that how it seemed?
Such a naive thought. As if I, now nothing but a cursed monster, could have such emotional subtlety.
…
…No, wait.
An elite spy wouldn't apologize so superficially just to save her life.
I need to uncover her true intentions. If I can't, I'll never match her as a spy. Focus, me.
She…
Abigail, through our brief previous conversation, has accepted the absurd possibility that a shred of humanity remains within the butcher. She's taking a gamble.
Given her situation, her only chance of survival is to somehow gain my help. Alone, she'll never make it. I'm the only one left who might find her personality intriguing.
She's alone. Desperate.
Imprisoned in an alien facility, terrified that the madness might begin again at any moment—she's endured those solitary days.
In that isolation, she's surely spent every moment devising a way to seize the hand this monstrous butcher randomly extended, and simultaneously, to take control of me.
The result is this all-consuming apology.
Not for any reason or logic.
Simply to appease me, to calm my temper. It's a risky strategy, throwing herself into the heart of a beast whose emotions are uncertain.
And she's won her gamble.
As I stand there, stunned by her actions, the rage within me gradually peaks and begins to subside. Enough for me to act with some freedom.
I rip off the apron.
The blonde beauty is exposed with a *whoosh*.
Her mouth gapes wide, as if her jaw might dislocate, as she looks up at me, still gripping my grotesquely large, crimson-black erection.
But in her eyes, instead of fear, there's determination.
I grab her head, holding it steady.
I act on an idea.
*"Body… won't move well… dangerous…"*
I signal by twitching my erection—the most absurd, vulgar act imaginable. But I'm desperate too. It's the best I can do to protect her.
I repeat the signal twice, then release her head.
Abigail, still gripping me, nods slightly, looking confused.
She releases my manhood, covered in frothy saliva.
I breathe a silent sigh of relief.
But then, misunderstanding something, she presses my throbbing erection between her smooth, curvaceous breasts. A soft, squishy sensation is accompanied by a firm nipple pressing against my stomach. The smooth, silky contact is ticklish.
Abigail looks up at me with a pleading gaze and begins to rub the scorching rod between her breasts, *squish-squish, slurp-slurp*.
No, no—it's the opposite.
I want you to stay away. I want you to run from me in fear.
I'll chase you, but only formally, as if my body's malfunctioning, so you'll stay out of reach. Meanwhile, I'll wait for the guards to notice something's wrong and stop me. Then I'll be sent to solitary, where the attendant can calm me down. She's the only one who can settle me now.
But it's no use. I can't convey all this.
If I thrust into your amazing flesh now, I'll never stop.
I'll devour you…
Clenching my fists in desperation, I endure Abigail's devotion.
The cell echoes with *squish-squish, slurp-slurp*.
Glancing at the mirror, I see my grotesque form towering over the blonde beauty pressed against me.
She's on her knees, her smooth, white body pressed against my lower abdomen.
Abigail's sacred white skin clings to the most obscene part of my filthy flesh. As she pushes her plump breasts together, sandwiching me, and serves me with her entire body—even as her knees scrape raw—she's beautiful.
I look down at Abigail from above.
Her breasts press tightly against me, hiding the floor. From between them, my bright red glans emerges, and Abigail eagerly kisses it.
She changes angles repeatedly, her saliva mixing as she rubs her tongue and face against the underside of my shaft. The ticklish sensation of her nipples brushing my lower abdomen adds a perfect accent, making my penis even more sensitive.
"Haa… amu…"
Her breathing grows hotter. Extending her tongue, she pants—*haa… haa…*—blowing her warm breath onto my throbbing flesh. *Lick-lick, slurp-slurp.* She moves her body up and down, still gripping me.
Her eagerness is like an excited dog clinging to its owner's leg.
Watching her degrade herself like this, I feel my turbulent emotions slowly calm.
This breast-job isn't particularly pleasurable.
But seeing my anger-filled, rigid penis gently enveloped by her bountiful breasts, I feel the butcher's aggression within me—which had reached dangerous levels—being soothed in a strange, tender way.
I surrender to the rhythm she sets, releasing my white magma. I ejaculate without much pleasure.
"Mm, ahh…! …Haa… lelo… amu… chumu…"
Her eyes closed, her body still pressed against mine, she takes the full force of my unleashed lust.
A pool of white fluid quickly forms between her breasts.
From the tip, semen gushes like a fountain, and Abigail repeatedly licks it up with her tongue, as if to show me, from the underside of the head. It's as if she's saying, *"I'm your dog."* It's a mesmerizing sight.
Each time Abigail licks up, more semen spurts from the tip. Her eyes narrowed, her face covered in semen, she meticulously continues until the white fountain runs dry.
Her devotion cools my boiling mind like an autumn breeze.