Two forty five in the morning was no time for people, but someone had to haul the nation’s freeze dried snacks, and that someone was Bart. And Bart needed caffeine to make it the last few hundred miles.

The Cafeteriá Corazón had caffeine, in the form of four dirty coffee pots, none of which has brewed decaf in the last decade, and a griddle that had enough soaked-in bacon grease to make even the air taste vaguely of cured pork. It was also the only stop for a few hundred miles in the South of Colorado that had diesel pumps, making it an essential stop for people like Bart.

Bart’s Peterbuilt rig, an aging relic from a time before Bart was born, wheezed to a stop in the Corazón’s parking lot, its tires screeching against the pavement. As the truck’s systems exhaled after a particularly long stretch on the highway, Bart stepped down out of the cab. The lot wasn’t completely barren, there were at least one other rig, and even a couple of cars for normal travel. Still, there were at least two dozen empty parking spots for every car, and with a thundercloud brewing overhead, no soul was in sight.

Bart never bothered with umbrellas, his worn shirt providing enough protection against the elements, but he'd been soaked through enough times to know not to tempt fate and hustled under the buzzing yellow lights toward the cafe-diner-shop. As he finally cleared the lot and managed to push open the door, dingy with time and use, the clouds above cracked open, beginning a downpour that threatened to make leaving the diner disagreeable.

Once inside, Bart couldn’t help but immediately feel like something was direly wrong. Like so many other diners, the Corazón had been built decades ago, a time when it’s neon lights were actually filled with neon gas, and its bar-service stools gleamed with actual chromium, even if today that gas had leaked out when the cursive text sign had shattered, and the stools still shined, if significantly less brightly. But it wasn’t the wear of time on the diner that raised Bart’s suspicions. It was the people in the diner, or rather, the lack of people.

Even as sparsely populated as the parking lot was, there still should have been someone, anyone, inside the diner. But inside there was only one other soul. The booths were empty, despite a few still having the remnants of the last meal served there. The stools at the bar were empty, with a few cups of half-finished coffee and even a forgotten tip visible. The kitschy truck-stop shop side was barren, its snacks and drinks and off-brand chargers hung still on racks. No one even manned the jukebox attached to the opposite end of the counter, but it still screamed out a very blown-out version of AC/DC’s 'Back in Black.’

The diner was truly empty, save for Bart, and the lone other soul, standing at attention, with a rictus smile behind the cash register. Bart had stopped in at the Corazón dozens of times over the course of the last three years, but the face smiling at him from behind the till was new, and deeply unsettling in its cheer. All of the regular staff, Mavis, Gene, Gertrude, even the frightening, almost completely non-verbal line-cook they called Yuri all seemed absent, and in their place was this fresh-faced, young, disturbingly happy woman with a brown ponytail, who regarded Bart with the intensity of mental patient regarding the needle cart. She stood behind the counter, standing at ramrod attention, with a half-smile and eyes darting from Bart  and back to the kitchen. She wore the uniform of the diner, a simple white shirt with a blank name tag.

Bart shook off what little rain had managed to fall on him before he made it into the door. He kicked off the extra moisture from his shoes. He brushed his hand through his hair. With a quick glance around, more from paranoia than really expecting to see anyone else in the diner that was still and silent save for himself, the young woman standing behind the counter, and the jukebox at the opposite end of the counter belting out warbling AC/DC.

“Hey.” Bart said, noncommittally as he arrived at the counter.

The woman behind the counter seemed almost shocked at the utterance. Her eyes were wide as though she had just seen a ghost, or at the very least an unexpected health inspector. Even odder was her stance, arms locked at her side, like waiting for a drill sergeant to bark orders.

“Greeeetings! Welcome to the dining hall!” The young woman shouted. “It is my hope that you are both hungry and interested in purchasing a meal! Or stimulants! We have chemical stimulants as well! Freshly extracted!”

“Uh, yeah, I guess…” Bart said, more than a little unnerved. “I’m hoping you mean ‘coffee’ and not something less savory. Although I guess I wouldn’t say ‘no’ to something less savory…”

“Yes! I mean the ‘coffee’!” The young woman said. “Please enjoy the coffee!”

“Sure… a cup of coffee please.” Bart said. “Heavy on the sugar, heavy on the cream, and a little bacon fat.”

The painful and awkward silence that hung between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. Bart waiting for a cup of coffee, and the woman across the counter from him standing at attention, her eyes the only thing about her seeming to move, locked onto his but occasionally darting to the right, behind her.

“So, about that cup of coffee?” Bart asked, glancing toward the pot of coffee on the warmer.

“Yes!” The young woman almost jumped.

With the same stiffness that she had stood with, she darted over to the coffee, reached for it, missed, then swung again to seize the handle. She immediately marched back over to the counter, and awkwardly set the entire carafe of coffee, a bitter, far overcooked on the burner to Bart’s nostrils, on the counter between them. Bart regarded the clearly scalded coffee, and the carafe, then the young woman. He noticed her nametag, ‘Mavis’, as he did.

“Maybe a fresh pot, Mavis?” Bart asked. “It’s weird your name is ‘Mavis’, because the other lady that works here…”

“Yes, at once!” The young woman said.

She picked the carafe back up and disappeared into the kitchen with an alarming alacrity. Bart was left standing at the counter, a bit baffled, still with waning wakefulness, and wondering if the prospect of food would be a good idea. He was still contemplating the safety of an omelet when the woman returned, right back up to the counter.

“Uh…” Bart began.

“We are preparing the coffee with the sugar and the cream and the bacon fat!” The woman almost shouted, not with any anger, just far too loud.

Before Bart could bring up her name, or the fact that the coffee maker was sitting outside of the kitchen, or even come close to the topic of food when there came a new sound from back in the kitchen. A low, prolonged groan, like someone’s grandpa standing up from their comfiest recliner after the world’s worst baseball game.

"What was that?" Bart asked.

"That was… the chef!" The young woman said bluntly.

"The 'chef'? Do you mean the 'cook'? As in, 'Yuri the cook'?" Bart asked, trying to lean slightly to the right to catch a glimpse behind the young woman into the kitchen beyond.

"Yes, Yuri, who cooks. Yuri, the cook." The woman rambled. "You know how Yuri, the cook, typically behaves."

It had been Bart’s intent to point out that Yuri never behaved that way, but he was distracted by a sensation at his foot, and the sound of a metallic ringing. He bent down and picked up what he had accidentally kicked with the toe of his shoe, a rather reflective, silvery, metallic thing that had absolutely no protrusions or faults, like a sphere that had been stretched out. As Bart picked it up, his first thought was of some kind of butt plug, but from his limited experience in Baton Rouge, those usually had some kind of base, this seemed to be simply an impossibly smooth, elongated sphere that was almost too big to fit comfortably in one hand as he stood back up. 

"What is this?" Bart asked, nodding towards the gleaming, metallic, prolate spheroid in his hand.

The awkward young woman's eyes followed his nod down to the counter and snapped wide at the sight of the thing, returning to match Bart's gaze still wide in surprise. For a brief moment, as the jukebox skipped on one of the record's numerous faults, Bart and the young woman stared at each other, their locked eyes broken only by the very clear, and loud call for help that came from somewhere in the kitchen.

The young woman’s face changed. It went from the confused, forced smile, to some kind of scowl, as she spat a series of syllables that Bart had little hope of recognizing. With the utterance of those alien sounds, the vision of the young woman in front of him shimmered, like a kind of close-range mirage. Bart was stunned enough to drop the metallic thing onto the counter.

The jukebox struggled, but finally switched over to 'Let Me Put My Love Into You.'

Gone was the awkward young woman behind the counter. In her place stood a vision of seductive horror. Standing well over Bart and casting a shadow over him, even from behind the counter, with skin a kind of brilliant and shimmering blue, black eyes, four arms each terminating in seven digits, white hair that reflected light like platinum, and, although Bart had never seen an alien reproductive organ, what was almost assuredly an alien phallus protruding from between the giantess’s legs, straining, purple, and capped by a flanged head. Bart only had a brief moment to consider the nude alien giantess in front of him before she bounded over the counter, her arms spread wide.

Once, when he’d started working the freight shipping lines, Bart had been caught beneath a falling pallet of specialty pillows. It had been, at the time, the most alarming experience of his life, watching a mountain of cloth and foam stuffing descend on him from on high. The sight of a giant blue woman dropping down on him was so much worse. Although the diner was empty, Bart screamed but didn't have a chance to make the attempt to turn and flee.

He got as far as turning his head before the alien was on him. With a speed uncharacteristic of anything her size, the alien woman seized Bart in her many arms, and spun him around, slamming him over the curved, lighted display case showcasing the diner’s many pies, pastries, pre-packaged meals, and desserts.

Before he had a chance to even breathe, both of his hands were pulled behind his back, and a hand slapped down on his head, pressing his face into the glass. The alien worked quickly, and Bart felt her long fingers slip under the waistband of his jeans. It hadn’t occurred to Bart that the denim of his jeans were in anyway insufficient to the task of staying together, but as soon as the alien woman had a grip, she braced Bart’s body with her remaining free hand at the base of his some and pulled the jeans away with a horrifyingly loud ripping sound as both the denim cloth and the seams failed in spectacular fashion.

Even as his pants were being shredded, Bart screamed and tried to free himself. With his hands bound behind him, and his head under an alien palm, however, he made no progress. Making matters worse, he was almost literally over a barrel, except this barrel was a brightly lit case with fluorescent bulbs, and contained lemon meringue, cherry, and chocolate mousse pies for sale. Bart kicked ineffectually, his legs the only part of him unrestrained by grasping alien hands.

“I apologize for the abruptness of this process.” The same voice as the young woman from behind the counter came from above him. “But I assure you, new friend, we will ensure you are well taken care of after I impregnate you, and my associate fertilizes you. For now, we need to prepare you for ovipositor, otherwise it may damage you irreparably.”

“What?” Bart screamed. “What the fuck is an ovipositor?”

Before she responded, Bart could feel the alien woman lean over. She was having absolutely no difficulty in keeping him pinned, or his arms restrained, and with her extra set of hands, she made it seem easy as she recovered the silver object from the counter that had set her off. Bart heard a pop, and then a sharp sting in his butt cheek, through the cloth of his boxers. At the same time, a hand finally gripped one of his legs, but only to pull his shoe off of him.

“It is the appendage I will use to lay an egg inside of you.” The giant blue alien woman responded. “Do not worry, while we can lay eggs clutches in excess of twelve, or even twenty in extremely fecund cases, my associate and I have undergone hormonal treatment to limit our reproductive capabilities to single eggs per copulation.”

“I don’t want to have an egg inside of…” Bart struggled to get the rest of the sentence out as the blue alien ripped his boxers from his body with even greater ease than she had with his jeans. “I don’t want your egg inside of me! Let me go!”

“I am afraid I cannot let you go.” The alien said, an unseen hand tossed his other boot away. “And your desire to remain unimpregnated is also of little consequence. If it is any consolation, our breeding process results in significantly expanded lifespans for your species. You may yet live ten or twelve times your normal expectancy, all spent helping birth healthy children for us.”

The sting in his thigh hadn’t subsided, but instead was beginning to spread. He could feel it, like a warming serum, coursing through his veins and seeping into his hips and abdomen.

"Although it is conjecture, I suspect the tissue plasticizer spreading through your circulatory system is creating some mixed physiological reactions. I should reassure you that any discomfort will subside shortly, but I must apologize for the impromptu nature of the chemical solution, we have obviously not had an opportunity to formulate one based on your personal physiology."

Bart tried to fight against her hands pinning him to the pie-case, and though he continued to struggle against her, some small part of his brain knew the truth; even if he had been at peak physical strength and dexterity, he’d be unable to break her inhuman strong grip, or slide out from her four inhumanly skilled hands.

The brief sting in his buttock had dulled into a paradoxically comforting warmth, numbing pain and discomfort without removing feeling, and was spreading from the site of the sting throughout Bart’s body, radiating out to his legs and chest.

Bart hadn't given up, but his efforts had been reduced to mostly amplifying his own pain as the alien woman solidified her grip when another voice came from the back of the diner, unseen in the kitchen.

"Please cease with your exposition, associate, we have seen what can happen in the span of a few moments, and I would like for the next breeding vessel to wander in to find this place empty, and not to find you still enjoying this one's company, conversation, and copulations."

"I am acting with as much haste as I may, associate…" the woman called back. "but I would not like any of these valuable vessels to end up like Remote Commander Syah's latest collection expedition, I have been told that they lost all seven clutches, and the Remote Commander has yet to clean the stains from either her loins or her reputation."

Bart tried to pull the giant woman’s hands from his neck, where many fingers restricted his blood and air, to the point of making his vision swim. His efforts only succeeded in another of her giant hands collecting both of his wrists and holding them above his head while she continued to work on stripping him off his clothing, working on his boots.

"Although, truthfully, I would very much like you to cease your efforts to prevent this." The deep blue skinned woman said, this time to him. "If you will simply allow me to impregnate you, my associate can fertilize you, and we can have you loaded up into a comfortable incubation bath for gestation in moments."

Although her voice was surprisingly gentle, and radiated sincere concern, her cadence didn't loosen her grip around his neck. Still dazed from his head hitting the glass pie case, and very much struggling to breathe with an alien hand gripping his throat, Bart was still disoriented by the rising sensation as the alien woman peeled him off the display case and into the air. With one hand she moved both of his hands over his head and held both his wrists aloft, the second remained secured around his neck, only allowing the bare minimum of air and blood to circulate through it, a third had secured his right leg, wrapping entirely around his thigh, and was holding the leg up while his left dangled, and her final hand had a tight grip at his hips. Although his jeans had been torn away, his boxers, or what was left of them, fell from his right ankle.

“Please excuse my hurry, new friend, we are on a very tight timetable.” The voice above Bart said. “But I will admit, I have grown to enjoy this process a great deal, and if my previous incubation vessels are to be believed, you may as well.”

Bart gave no thought to the prospect of enjoying whatever the giant, blue, alien had in mind, he was more focused with trying to free himself from her grasp, despite the fact that his strength seemed to be fading, and even before the calming warmth from the sting near his buttock had spread throughout him. As that warmth reached even his face, fingers and toes, any effort he made felt like trying to resist a tidal wave of flesh that wanted to restrain him. Worse still, the weakness did nothing to numb him. Seemingly to the contrary, he could feel everything with exceptional clarity, see every harsh light in the diner even clearer, hear the alien stripping his lower body, and even smell the diner’s pungence better than ever before.

The sudden flood of sensations and new perceptions on the world around him didn't distract him from the most pressing feeling, that of something warm, almost hot, sliding between his legs. Even though a hand remained securely wrapped around his neck, those long alien fingers threatening to asphyxiate and strangle him with just a bit more pressure, he could see the thing that he felt rub up under his testicles; a flared head and a long fleshy shaft of straining purple skin, wide enough to spread his dangling leg a bit and longer, it seemed, than one of his own forearms.

“No!” He managed to squeeze out from his constricted neck.

The phallic organ slid back from under him, rubbing along his own genitals and stopping more objections for an involuntary moan that shuddered out of Bart, much to his humiliation. Even as it brushed under his testicles it felt better than any sex he'd ever had.

"I suspect that utterance suggests that, even though they were not tailored to your specific physiology, the neurostimulants and tissue-plasticizers are beginning to take effect." The alien holding him said. "While I would have preferred your voluntary compliance, your orifices will be compliant enough."

Bart had no strength to resist, or even flail, as he felt a set of long, alien fingers spread his ass cheeks. A hot fleshy tip pressed against his rectum, Bart could feel its wetness coating his cheeks and surrounding skin, and the grip on his thigh and hip clenched down to the point of pain. A deep breath drew in behind him.

"You will come to enjoy this." The alien woman said. “In time.”

Bart was given no time to doubt, as the organ pressed against his rectum pushed through the meager resistance he could manage. Bart didn't have time to ponder the penetration, the alien holding him up, her organ having found its mark, slammed him down on the rod with an unimaginable force. His cheeks clapped against her hips as she brought him down faster than freefall.

Once, when Bart had been near Oakland with a truckload of glass-wool batting, a woman he’d met in town had sucked his dick in the back of his cab. During that fellatio, the woman had stuck a finger up Bart’s ass. This was nothing like that brief intrusion. This was more like having an angry, dripping wet, ball python being shoved inside him. He had never been aware he could feel his internal organs, or at least feel them being crushed into a smaller and smaller space to make room for the hot rod battering his guts out of the way. Even as Bart felt his intestines, kidneys, stomach, and other organs push up against his lungs, he couldn’t scream as the breath was crushed out of his lungs.

The alien holding him, however, had no such impediment, and let out a groan of pleasure as her ovipositor slid home. The groan roared in Bart's ear above him. Bart could feel her organ twitch inside him, each quiver felt more like a baseball bat being stirred around in his internals.

Her grip on his limbs, and especially around his neck, tightened more than Bart realized was possible. He could feel his leg bend at the thigh far more than was naturally possible, but did not break. His neck felt like it had been squeezed to putty in the alien's grip, and his vision began to swim as neither air nor blood circulated to his brain.

"I am almost ashamed to admit how much pleasure I derive from this oviposition." She said after more than a minute of holding Bart in painful stillness.

She seemed to come to her senses, or at least, regain control of herself. Her grip strength lessened, on all parts of him. Even though the crushing grasp on his neck relaxed, it didn't uncompact his guts from the alien phallus inside him and he could only squeak out a muted half syllable.

“You will want to breathe in time with my motions, otherwise you may lose consciousness.” She said, releasing his neck.

She shifted her grip to holding one arm in each of her upper hands for better leverage as she began to pull him up along her ovipositor. Bart couldn’t hold back a groan as the huge shaft slid too quickly out of his rectum and between his cheeks, unmashing his lungs and letting him draw in a breath as the alien lifted him. The air shuddered through his uncrumpled neck but his vision finally stabilized. Somewhere in the distance, as his head started to clear and the pounding of his own pulse was replaced with the relative quiet of the diner, he could hear the jukebox turn over to a blown out rendition of AC/DC’s 'Girls Got Rhythm.'

“Wait! Wait! Please stop!” Bart screamed as vital functions returned to his head.

“Please focus on breathing in time.” The alien said. “This will not take overly long.”

Bart wanted to object, to shake himself free of her four hands, to pull himself off of the flared tip of the shaft still stuck between his cheeks. But the alien raping him had other plans. Before he could utter another word, the alien slammed him back down on the rod, again burying the entire length of the thing inside Bart and forcing the air out of his lungs. Bart’s protests became nothing more than a non-verbal grunt.

Adding to the horror, Bart could feel his penis harden, despite everything. The injection at his thigh had started the process, making his body warm and sending a pleasurable sensation throughout his tissue, but with that same injection weakening his muscles and now an alien organ battering his prostate, he had no way of resisting his own body.

There wasn’t any pause this time as she lifted him again, sliding him almost all the way off her ovipositor. The act granted Bart’s lungs just enough time to draw in a deep, labored breath, and allowed Bart to squeak out a meager ‘no’, before she brought him back down again. Bart was left with the sensation of his insides being re-arranged, the squishing sound of his flesh making room for hers, and the undeniable building of tension in his own dick.

Again and again, she lifted him up, only to bring him crashing back down on her rod. Whatever pause, or delay, she had experienced during the initial thrust quickly melted away and the speed of her thrusting picked up dramatically. Bart had only the analogue of riding over the pot-hole plagued road in the bed of his friend’s pickup, but that pick up hadn’t been driving a fleshy baseball-bat in and out of him with every bone jarring bump. His limbs seemed elastic in her grip, helping her to bounce him up and down with unmatched frenzy.

Even as his own breathing attempted to match the cycle of his lungs’ abuse, Bart was treated to something new even under the bizarre circumstances. As he tried to adjust to each body-wracking impact with her thighs, he caught a glimpse of his gut as she dropped him down and saw his abdomen bulge with the intrusion of her rod. As she lifted him off the rod, he watched the bulge disappear, only to reappear as she drove him down on her shaft again and again and again.

Time ceased to have much relevance for Bart. The alien woman’s assurance of a brief process seemed to be relative, as he lost count of how many times he’d been functionally impaled on alien genitalia, and how long he’d spent suspended in her grasp or slammed down on her rod. The only notable difference Bart could sense was the fluid her organ was now gushing into him dripping out of him and down his legs; a viscous, hot goo that cooled as it squirted from his orifice and ran down his skin. Somewhere, in the back of his pleasure-drunk, and shocked mind, he realized that the injection he’d been given as soon as the alien had pounced on him had fundamentally changed his physiology, and was the only thing preventing the alien’s assault from ripping him to shreds as she ravaged him. Her hands pulled roughly at him each time and her grip on his leg and hip never lessened, each moment was a discombobulating explosion of rise and fall.

After what felt like hours, or maybe minutes, the first change in sensation occurred. Although abused, and stretched wider than Bart had ever considered possible, an even thicker presence pushed at the entrance to Bart’s rectum. The alien woman seemed to notice the change too, moaning as she paused in her thrusting with Bart pressed against her, leaving Bart’s mouth working wordlessly and his lungs again unable to breathe.

“We are nearing our goal.” She explained. “But this next part may be a bit intense.”

Bart couldn’t comprehend what she considered ‘intense’ if everything leading up until had not qualified, but he didn’t have long to ponder it. The alien turned around and pushed Bart forward onto the diner’s counter, and immediately pressed a hand into the back of his head. The act of bending Bart over the counter let enough of her organ slip out of him for him to shout in surprise. He was only vaguely aware of her other upper hand reaching over the counter and holding the opposite edge for extra support, while her lower hands seemed to release him entirely.

There was a brief moment, almost calm and serene compared to what preceded it, as Bart felt the alien pull herself almost out of him entirely. From above he heard a shuddering sigh, and Bart caught not only one, two, but three breaths in sequence, more than any since the assault began.

“Please…” He begged.

“I am happy to see you are enjoying this process.” She said, seeming to misunderstand his plea to stop for a request for more. “And I will oblige you.”

"No…" He managed.

Bart's objection was either unheard or unheeded, as he felt her lower hands reassert their inhumanly strong grip on his hips, signaling what was about to happen. No longer content to use gravity for assistance, the alien woman rammed her hips forward. Between her hand on the counter, her grip on his hips, and the sheet strength of throwing her whole body into the brutal thrust, the slap from her thighs hitting Bart sounded like a thunderclap, and Bart was subjected to the deepest intrusion into his rectum thus far in the evening.

The big blue woman paused, and even above the intense discomfort of her grip on him, the hand pressing his head into the counter, and, of course, the ovipositor buried inside him, was joined by a new feeling of the ovipositor's base swelling against his cheeks, seeming to grow in width.

"We are nearly complete." The alien said.

There was no more pause. The alien pulled out of Bart, his body trying against his will to hold onto the alien organ, but her grip prevented it. She slammed back into him, and then again, and again, and again. Each time, her thrust felt like getting hit by a truck, and Bart could feel his rectum weaken with each impact.

Bart knew he was fucked, but when the alien slammed into him and pulled his hips back into her as hard as she seemingly could, he understood it with renewed clarity. With her organ shoved deeper into him than it had been, the expanding base of the ovipositor finally overcame the meager resistance Bart's ass had been able to mount.

The bulge at his backside swelled up through the ovipositor and up into Bart, passing through his dilated rectum. Bart was only able to be mildly alarmed that he could feel it moving through the now shuddering ovipositor as it slid deeper into him with painful sloth. Finally, it reached the ovipositor’s head, still crammed deeper in him than anything other than a surgeon’s tools had ever been, where he felt it spurt out deep inside his body. It was accompanied by a flood of the alien lubricating goo, and to Bart's shame, his own orgasm spurting ineffectually on the front of the diner's counter. Silence lingered for a moment, save for Bart’s heavy breathing. He could feel the egg now inside him, but the ovipositor wasn’t done with him, continuing to fill him with alien fluids.

The, slowly, cautiously, the alien woman began to draw herself out of Bart. Even as she pulled out of him, splashing more of her lubricant over the linoleum flooring, Bart could feel the egg she had deposited inside of him remain behind. Her ovipositor slid out of him, offering only a brief, tugging resistance as the flared head audibly popped free of his abused ass. For a moment, she was silent, and Bart had only her hand clutching at his hips, and the one pressing into his head, to remind him she was still hovering over him.

“Associate!” The alien woman called out, enthusiasm filling her voice. “I am happy to report that the egg appears to have been deposited and set successfully.”

Bart wanted nothing more than to fade into unconsciousness. Although he took some solace in the feeling of his rectum slowly closing, it did nothing to assuage the knowledge of what had happened, or the sensation of the egg still occupying most of where he expected only his intestines to be. But even bent over a dingy diner counter, with an alien egg inside him, and alien bodily fluids flowing down his legs, and the hands of his newly found alien baby-momma still pinning him down, but at least it was finally over. Bart took solace in the fact that he would no longer have to endure being raped by an alien.

“I’m relieved to hear that.” Came a voice, from the kitchen.

Bart couldn’t move his head, still clutched in the grip of five fingers and two thumbs, but he could see another figure step from the kitchen. Still blue, still massive, still taller than Bart by what seemed to be nearly double, if shorter than the one pinning him down, still sporting four arms, and mortifyingly enough, still equipped with a phallic organ standing erect from between her legs. This straining, dribbling, purple shaft, however, didn’t look the same as the one that had splunked deep inside him, having a bulbous head instead of a flared one.

The new alien carried under each of her top arms an unconscious person. Each of the people between her arms was naked, dripping from the waist down with a pearlescent black goo that ran down their legs.

“Associate, these incubators are fully fertilized, please secure them in their pods while I fertilize this new one.” The new alien said.

She deftly laid the two unconscious bodies she carried over the pie case. Of those bodies, Bart recognized Yuri, the gruff Ukrainian immigrant who cooked for the Corazón, and what Bart guessed was some hapless motorist, both being laid, with surprising speed and care for their wellbeing, over the pie case.

“I must admit, although I was skeptical at the prospect of initially only utilizing each incubator for a single egg…” The second alien said, stepping around the counter. “It has yielded impressive results, we will be able to take back more than a dozen receptacles for breeding from this excursion alone.”

Bart didn’t know what the newly emerging alien had in mind, but nothing his adrenaline-addled mind could conjure was good. In his sudden panic, he found the energy to fight against the hands holding him down although he had no more success than before he’d been impregnated.

“Please stand aside, associate.” The new alien said, positioning herself behind Bart.

Although the hand stayed planted on his head, Bart felt himself be handed over to the new alien. The new alien was, much to Bart’s horror, much less gentle than the previous, her hands immediately seizing his ankles and spreading his legs so wide as to be fully horizontal. He yelped in shock, even as he realized the drugs in him prevented him from feeling too much pain.

“I’ll get these two secured, associate!” The first alien said. “Thank you so much, I am pleased that this process has been so well received!”

“You can’t…!” Bart started.

“Oh, I assure you… “ The new alien said as her upper hands spread his ass cheeks. “I very much can. But do not overly concern yourself.”

Bart struggled, his hands and arms slipping against the counter, but achieving very little else.

“I work much faster than my associate, so this fertilization will be quick.” The alien said.

Bart fought even harder as he felt the new alien’s phallus lay itself between his spread cheeks. She slid its length up and down over its target, spreading a new kind of fluid over him. Bart was horrified as this one felt even longer than the ovipositor that had just been pulled out of him.

“And when I’m done filling you to nearly bursting to ensure the egg inside you is properly fertilized…” She said, pressing her organ against his rectum.

Bart didn’t have time to object as she thrust forward, her hands slipping from his cheeks, but her grip on his ankles remaining strong. She uses that grip on his ankles to pull him into her thrust, causing the head of her penis to pop into him instantly. Even though he'd been ineffectual at stopping the first alien reproductive organ from penetrating him, any resistance he imagined he still possessed had already been thoroughly fucked out of him by the first alien, and the new shaft slid into him with barely any friction. The impact was abrupt, like being hit by a truck, and was jarring enough to shake the pies in the cabinet, and jar the jukebox into skipping over to 'Giving the Dog a Bone.'

“We will secure you for transport...” She said, leaning into Bart.

She reasserted her grip, like the previous alien had, on Bart's hips and began pulling out of him. True to her word, she began thrusting into Bart much faster with much shallower plunges into his guts.

“And after we've synthesized a new round of supplements tailored to your personal physiology…" The alien explained, as she continued the process of thrusting into Bart over and over again.

Bart could feel the alien shaft poking the egg the previous alien had laid inside him. Worse still, with every slap of this new alien's hips against his own, he could feel a new goo filling him up in preparation for her climax.

"We'll deposit a full clutch inside of you, once you're secured on our population-ship.” She said.

The alien's voice was beginning to strain through quickening breaths, and her pace increased with it. It almost made Bart long for the gentler nature of the first alien.

“And once you have made the journey back to our world…” The alien continued, amid the thrusting. “We will secure you in a breeding pool, for use by the general populace.”

Bart could only squeak, his breathing falling back into a familiar rhythm of being dictated by an alien organ inside of him as the jukebox in the corner skipped with every thrust, and the alien fucking him picked up speed and intensity.

With a singularly powerful impact, one that rocked the entire counter and settled the jukebox into the distorted chorus of 'Inject the Venom', the rhythmic pounding finally stopped. The sensation was unlike the previous alien's orgasm, instead of a heavy, foreign weight settling into his gut, this was like an enema from some wrathful deity. Bart groaned as he felt his abdomen swell slightly from the pressure. The alien cock buried pulsed as it spewed inside of him over and over and over again.

By the time he felt the alien’s phallus being dragged out of him, it was accompanied by a flood of warmth on his ass and thighs and a grunt from the alien filling him to gushing. The phallus pulled at his rectum until it finally escaped with an audible pop and sigh from above. Bart wanted nothing more to fade into unconsciousness, but the hands gripping his hips and legs pulled him up and the world spun as he was tossed over an alien shoulder.

“Let’s get you secured in the shuttle for the trip back to the population-ship.” The alien said. “We’ll diagram your physiology and administer a more tailored treatment so you can bear more of our young as we make the trip home.”

Bart felt the word begin to fade. Exhaustion was finally setting in, and given he was no longer being railed by alien dicks, or alien dick-like-objects, the only motion he felt was the gentle swaying of his body with the alien’s gait and the warmth of her skin. He looked up and watched as the lights from the Cafeteriá Corazón darkened in his eyes. Just before he passed out the Corazón’s jukebox spun up and switched over to a new track, playing in remarkable clarity 'Satellite Blues.'