Just enough air to breathe. Just enough of him to live. Just enough pressing against me. Just enough scraping my numbed throat raw. Just enough pouring down my esophagus to remind me that I'm forced to live another day, another month, another year strapped to this, this thing. My arms weak and useless from being tied down, have lost but almost all feeling. The twitch of a finger seeming as useless to stop his advances as would be the blink of my dead, brown, eyes. At least I think they're still brown?
He moves another step. STOP! I wish to beg him, but have no actual plans for recourse. My torso wiggles as much as it can, I can feel myself dripping down his leg. That's the third time today. As he does his duties, and continues to ravage, and destroy the galaxy, I'm here. Strapped to his leg by tight leather-like bands. My collar tethered to his belt, the rope short enough that I cannot pull his member out of my mouth! Despite my best efforts, his member, even when completely flaccid, is too long for me to turn out of my gullet, and somehow, someway hasn't let me suffocate myself yet. The ropes holding me too tight, he adjusts them every day, resetting any minimal progress.
My nose, permanently damaged, I assume. As it will be scrunched against his groin forever. My retina's burned red, as his skin takes up ninety percent of my vision. He's shaved me bald, as to avoid any contact with his skin, and to better help me fit under his gown without notice. I can't be sure if anyone can hear me, can even tell I'm here. The few words I hear are in the language of another planet, I'd have to believe of several different planets.
Sometimes, if I try my absolute hardest, I can get a response from him. Though I can never be sure. The thing hasn't acknowledged me in ages. It hasn't grunted down towards me, slapped the back of my head, it hasn't rested it's heavy fist on me to push me down. It hasn't needed to, it's in complete control.
I know what happens, and why I cannot speak, why I cannot make but the menial sounds while attending to him. I know that I am no more than a jockstrap to this thing that conquered me long ago. I know that I will stay here until he replaces me. As much as I yearn for that day, I still worry of the bleakness of death.
It's beginning to throb. There is nothing I can do to stop it. It will release if it chooses. He has full control over what he does with his body. That extends from him releasing, and emptying into my flesh. He has control over if my feet can touch the ground, if my skin can see the light, and of course what terrible, awful nutrients he provides for me. The only thing I still control is this. My thoughts, useless, and unimportant. Only designed to torture me further. His stomach cannot argue with what he feeds them, and I am but the same! I can only growl and whimper, but at the end of the day I am useless. If only he took these thoughts, I would be able to take what is spilling into my throat without worry.
