Shelly is clothed not below her hips, except for a pair of nice, tight, slutty red leather high-heeled boots which come halfway up her calves. The rest of her legs are smooth, and pink, and shiny. Her nice round butt-cheeks are all uncovered and vulnerable upon the moist leather seat. Before her is a very big plate of paella, it is the Master’s special paella made of slime and robomeat and special lobotising rice. It rises from the plate in a tall, glistening, juicy, smelly tower. It rises to just above her head, it is so close to her face, she has but to lean forward to touch it. It stinks. It stinks like fish and faeces pit slime and unwashed Xenomorph bodies.
Shelly takes delicate lickle sniffs. It stinks in her innocent ickle upturned nostrils. It stinks up her pretty blonde head. It stinks real bad to her. But she sniffs, and sniffs, and sniffs, her sniffs become deeper, and deeper. Her lips pout a little. She oohhhhhhhs softly. The smelliness is making her vulnerable little mind think strange, un-girly thoughts.
Sniff. Sniff. It stinks. It Stinks. She is beginning to want the stinks. It stinks like cravings. It stinks of wet yearning for fetid, unclean Paella. It stinks like a delicacy. The paella deeply, deeply disgusts innocent lickle Shelly. She knows that it is wicked. She knows it will destroy her brain. She hates it so, so much. But it stinks so, so good to her.
The cravings begin to work upon her. She tries to resist. She tries so, so hard. Lips part slightly. Lips moisten. Wet tongue laps at lips. Hands claw. Lips whisper no, no, must not eat. Must not. Must not. Must not. But the hot raw stinks of the Paella work upon her, whispering, seducing the delicate lickle flower. Body becomes all twitchy. Lips dribble. She does not want to. She does not want to. But she longs so, so deeply to feast.
Suddenly she cannot resist what the stinks have forced her to crave. Wet lips giggle with brainless ecstasy. Shelly has cracked. Her mind has been broken. Shelly surrenders to her smelly urges. Wet lips make a big slack smile for Shelly is so, so so delighted. She desires the hot, impure smelliness of the Paella filling her, all slimy and horrid upon her tongue, making her mouth smelly. She needs it. She yearns to feast. Feast. Feast. Feast.
Her eyes flutter. Lickle oooohs and phwooooahs come from her juicy lips like she’s moist over the Paella. She breathes yesssss, yesssssssssssssssssss as she thrusts her head into the thick ripe smelly Paella. Her lips and tongue work and work, they lick and chew and suck upon the filth, her fingers caress the horrid Paella delicately. Head pushes deeper. Her cute ickle blonde curtains are all smelly. Eyes are rolled upwards like she’s having an exquisite orgasm.
Shirt squeaks. Hips rock back and forth upon the chair. Red leather high heels jig and dance on the end of her smooth, naked legs off the deep ecstasy as she gorges, gorges, gorges. Lips smack and slurp. She breathes but so rarely, her breaths all full of deep, wet, kinky pleasure. Face is pushed right into the Paella. Face is wet and slimy. She is getting all juicy between her naked hips, lickle Shelly’s having her first fadge-wetting over the Paella like it’s a smelly lover!
Her belly fills. Her tongue lavishly works every thick, wet, filthy mouthful, she relishes the moist squelch, squelch, squelch as she works her smellied lips, swallowing and swallowing like a little slut who’s just given a nice deep, wet blowjob right down her throat. Shelly is so deeply aroused over the Paella. Shelly has been seduced by her smelly cravings. Chunks of Paella slop between her thighs with moist squidges. Her fanny-lips get all slimy with it. Her pussy stinks like Paella. Her lickle Hymen aches. The Paella makes Shelly want no more hymen. Shelly has found her perfect love.
Her body becomes a lickle bit twitchy. She is becoming brain-damaged. Her mind is gently being neutered by the horrid, wicked things in the Paella. It controls her desires. It slowly lobotomises her. It will not let lickle Shelly stop feasting until she is a vegetable. Shelly knows it is destroying her brain, gently sterilising her brain cells until she is nothing but vegetable. But she cares not. She is ruled by nought but her smelly destiny. She knows nought but the need to feed, and feed, and feed. Her mind is sealed deeply into the Master’s world. Her mind has been made to think nought but what he wishes it to think.
This is kinky perfection to the Xenomorph who has made Shelly go through this smelly, commanding banquet. The thought that he is fully-lobotomising a little girl by making her crave so, so deeply to fill herself with the special juices and slimes and sputums which she knows will cook and sterilize her brain is good to the Master. It makes the Master’s Xenomorph shlong poke stiffly into the air when he makes a weak, puny, vulnerable little preteen girls willingly, joyfully lobotomise themselves. Especially when they’re all horny off the treatment as well. Xenomorphs love lobotomised little loli-girls. The Master strokes his wet cock over this kinky lickle thought. He watches his little victim as she feasts, and stinks and lobotomises.
Shelly is almost brain-dead. Nought but her smelly passion works her now. Mouth pumps without thought, lips sloppy with Paella as it continues to obey its hot, smelly instinct. Body jigs and dances in spastic lobo-throws. Shirt gives off wet rubbery squeaks in a jerky rhythm as her body goes twitch-twitch.
Squeaky-squeaky-twitch-twitch, squeaky-squeaky-twitch-twitch, squeaky-squeaky-twitch-twitch, squeaky-squeaky-twitch-twitch!
Shelly’s beautiful face spasms about in the Paella. Tongue is erect, tongue pokes between the soiled lips, deep-kissing the wet mountain in spastic erotic devotion. Hands thrash. Hand claw. Not enough unspoiled brain left.
Body stinks. Body confused without brain. Long wet farts ripple and slop, the air stinks of Paella which has given its ingredients to Shelly. Shelly’s B.O. stinks of Paella. The Paella sludging up her hot sweaty pussy stinks off it. Foam begins to spurt from Shelly’s once beautiful mouth, the thick white foam of a body robbed of the commanding touch of a brain.
Paella becomes flecked with foam and sputum. Lips notice not. Shelly is no longer a little girl. Her brain is nought but meat now. It has been marinated and jellied with the horrid juices of the Paella. Shelly has been brain-washed. Her brain-meat is almost completely useless now.
Her fadge is wet. The leather of her seat is extra juicy and hot off it. The beef curtains are so, so far apart. Her eyes are wide. They have rolled right up so that only glistening white balls can be seen.
Her body is full of Paella. Her bum-hole is all confused without the brain to rule it, suddenly her sweet pink little bum-hole opens with a long, sloppy squelch. Shelly death-soils. Long, thick, rich logs of nightsoil slide wetly from her open poo-hole, slurping, squidging, sloppy and steamy and smelly.
More wet, ripe farts, they advertise to the world that Shelly has gone through at the back. Shelly stinks like nobody’s business. Nobody’s but her own! She has eaten so much, and it all must come back out! Thank heavens she can no longer smell herself! It stinks as it fills her butt-crack, it collects thickly beneath where her cheeks are raised off the leather so she could lean forward to gorge upon her beloved Paella. It fills the seat. It slops between her legs and thighs. Her little fanny lips get all shitty. It slops a little bit into her open coose. It makes her still-twitching legs and thighs get slimy and stink. It dribbles off the edge of the seat, it collects upon the floor with delicate plapping sounds, it dribbles down the backs of her legs, it slides down the backs of her shiny leather high-heels.
My goodness, Shelly has made a lot of dukie today! What a filthy bum-hole she must now have! The Master’s tongue slides all wet over his lips like a filthy perv. His molesting-pole aches and twitches at the thought of how slimy and nice that virgin preteen will be to it. His hand moves to his erection as he watches her squirm gentle death-twitches in her own faeces. He stokes it. He whispers to it. Soon, my precious. Soon she shall be fully treated. Soon Shelly shall be perfect.
Slowly Shelly’s twitchy body calms from its spastic panic over the sudden loss of the brain’s dominance. Shelly becomes still. Her tongue stays poked out into the Paella, her tongue is all stiff and frothed and slimed. Lips hang limply open. The mouth is filled with half-chewed Paella and sputum and froth and dribble.
Shelly no longer breathes. The squeaking of her shirt quietens. Hands fall limply to her sides. Body rocks back upright, her perfect cute round pink ickle tushy nestles more intimately into the thick layer of her own girl-brownie. The face withdraws from the loving caress of the Paella with a gentle squelch.
The lips are a wide O shape. They have been very good. They have worked right up until the end of Shelly’s brain. The face is slimed with a thick coat of Paella. It dribbles from Shelly’s lips and tongue. It dribbles down the slippery latex. The face stares blankly. Shelly sits upright upon her leather chair. All is calm, and still, and silent. Her poonanny is still all wide and juicy. Her body stinks. Her head-meat has been spoiled and chemically destroyed. It has been washed of all Shelly’s thoughts and personality.
Now she is nought but a fit, soiled, latex-coated mannequin. She sits in her own faeces. Shelly has been processed. Her body and brain have been made perfect for the Master. The Master pumps the slimy hood over the tip of his leathery cock as he enters the chamber. He is so horny over what he has willed to happen.
Shelly sits in brainwashed obedience as he comes to her. She stinks like sex. He gently sniffs her for a while, smelling her head from behind, smelling her soiled mouth. He sucks her erect, smelly tongue a little, softly and delicately.
He sniffs her hot fishy coose. He works his nose over her sweaty body. He is getting hot over her. Suddenly he picks her limp body up like a rag-doll. He faces her away. His twitchy shlong nestles into her shitty bum-crack. He licks and kisses her ear, he whispers sweet ickle nothings to her vegetable brain, he caresses her so, so lovingly.
Then he pushes her face into the Paella so she is bent over the table. Cock pushes. Bum-hole is slippery. Nightsoil pleasures the head. It hugs his long manhood so, so good. Thrust. Thrust. Squelch. Squelch. Pump. Cock. All the way up her nice, virgin chocolate lips. Balls get shitty as they bounce against hot preteen shitty crack. Master grunts. Hips thrust. Squelch. Squelch. Pump. Pump. So good. So, so good.
The Master works and works Shelly’s bum-hole in hot, intimate erotic bliss. Suddenly he pumps thick spurts of love-slime right up Shelly’s bum-hole. Yes. Yessss. He makes love to her fadge. He makes love to her mouth. He eats out the back of her head and thrusts into her nice cooked head-meat. Though the brain matter is tenderised, it still makes for a warm, tight, exquisite treat for a thrusting cock. She is nought but a love-doll to the Master. It was so, so kinky to Lobotomise her to satisfy his spoiled pedophile cock. She stinks of his love-slime. He loves her again. Again. Again. Again.
