A boy named Jonothon lies face down on a stone table. He is only fourteen. He wears nothing but a short, tight, thin, white little cotton nightshirt. The shirt is almost skin tight around his body, damp with sweat. It is buttoned right up to his neck, forming a tight seal around his neck. It has very short sleeves and comes to just above the cheeks of his rectum. He wears nothing else but a pair of thin cotton ankle warmers. His body is strapped down to the table with thick strands of slime across his shins and thighs. The legs are spread wide. Jonothon no longer struggles. His body is weak. He has been shaved of all hair. His skin is smooth, and supple. There is a groove in the table for him to slide his little penis into. His rectum cheeks are stiff and smooth. They are perfect and round. They quiver gently, separated and exposing his tight, pink little bumhole. Sweat glistens over the skin, and trickles down into the crack. Gently the sweat trickles over the tight, pink lips of the bumhole. He knows nothing of sex. His bumhole is for pooing only. But the master will show Jonothon a new and better use for it. He is an innocent boy. Every night he must sleep in the tight shirt. He must never take it off. He is a smelly little boy. He is damp with sweat. In his fear he has twitched himself until he stinks of warm, moist BO. His body is slimy with it. He is afraid. He can smell his stink. His eyes are wide and staring. His breathing is fast and his mouth is open. He knows his fate. The wall in front of him is mirrored, and he stares at himself, but his eyes do not see. He is too scared. Jonothon stinks in the hot room as thick beads of sweat trickle over his skin. He sniffs his stink. He waits in terror.
Behind him, a low sucking noise gradually becomes louder. Jonothon’s eyes widen. He tries to escape. His penis wanks gently as Jonothon twitches forwards, futilely trying to free himself of the slime. It becomes stiff with sexual excitement, hard and slimy. Gently, spunk pumps from the stiff, horny penis. But Jonothon does not notice his orgasm as the jism sticks to his shirt. His brain is soft and prepared. He thinks only fear. The brain bug slowly approaches behind him. Jonothon watches in the mirror. Slowly, a long, semi-transparent tube erects from the brain bug’s puckered bumhole-like mouth with a gentle, wet skwidging. It erects above his rectum. A huge spike bends down from the front. The pipe has a thick, meaty stink. Droplets of thick, stinking slime drip from it, onto his purt bottom cheeks, trickling down the crack and making it smelly. Jonothon watches the spike, mesmerised by it. His breathing becomes very fast. Suddenly, the brain bug slams the spike down. Jonothon screams in pain as the spike thrusts deep into his hole. The front of his body twitches into the air in pain, supported by the arms, in a spasm of obedience. Slime from the spike collects around the lips of the bumhole as the spike slides inside, and trickles slowly down the crack. The cheeks are pushed apart by the thick, wet pipe. For a few agonising seconds the spike is slowly pushed deeper up Jonothon’s sweet, tight, pink lickle bumhole with a slow, wet squeak. The boy’s eyes roll in his head as he squeals. His hole becomes wider, and wider. But his real suffering begins as the brain bug begins to suck through the hollow organic tube. Jonothon’s eyes slowly begin to bulge. His breathing becomes loud and slow. A gentle sucking noise begins as Jonothon’s brain is slowly, gently sucked from his head. The brain is sucked out as a thick meaty soup as it is sucked up the pipe. Small chunks of brain can also be seen as Jonothon’s head is scooped clean of meat. His eyes roll up into his head, leaving only the white balls glistening in his head. Foam pumps from his open mouth, thick white foam like chocolate mousse. There is no hope for him now. Froth. He froths. His body steams as he stinks, wracked with spasms. It twitches and spasms rhythmically. He gurgles gently in a continuous stream. He can no longer breathe. He can no longer think. There is not enough brain left to think. Slowly he dies. His brain is almost all gone. The pipe sucks harder and harder and pushes slowly deeper. His body spasms. His penis spunks as it wanks to a spasm.
Then it is over. Jonothon’s head is clean. His body twitches upwards with the suction. His eyes are rolled into his head. The foam still pumps. Only the spike in the lips of his rectum keep him animated. The rest is spasm. Then the pipe twitches up, out of the rectum, it steams and stinks of hot brains and slime and faeces. Jonothon flops back to the table, dead. His body still twitches slowly. The brain bug places a piece of toilet paper between the still-quivering butt cheeks, over the open, steaming bumhole and wipes it clean of slime and B.O. and brain. Gently he wipes Jonothon’s mouth clean of foam, and then wipes the smelly mixture onto Jonothon’s tongue. Jonothon is now pure. But the Master is not finished with Jonothon yet. The brown soup of Jonothon’s brain is pumped down a pipe from the Master’s bumhole, into the brain bug which controls the Master. The brain bug begins to cook Jonothon’s sludgy brain, conditioning it until it is a thick green slime. The brain bug pumps the slime back down the pipe into the master’s bumhole, into his testicles. The master’s penis erects, the leathery skin squeaky. He mounts Jonothon’s body. His thick, leathery penis pushes slowly into Jonothon’s wide, steaming butt hole. It is lubricated by the liquid brains sticking to Jonothon’s bumhole. He begins to thrust. He pushes until the whole mighty shaft slides inside, and the tight, wrinkled, leathery testicles gently bounce and jiggle underneath Jonothon’s open bumhole. They bulge with the slime for Jonothon. The hot, slimy bumhole hugs the master’s cock tightly. There are soft, wet slaps and skwidges as the cock thrusts in and out, filling Jonothon’s hole with stiff wet leather. The balls jiggle and dance in triumph. The Master thrusts long and hard. His penis feels good up Jonothon. Gently he presses close to Jonothon, his tight buttocks pushing so hard, the muscles rippling across the erotic butt as it pumps up, and down in such dominating strokes. Suddenly he orgasms, pumping the thick, warm slime into Jonothon in long, hard spurts. His tight, sweaty, dripping balls clench tightly with a gentle leathery squeek as they push the slime up to be pumped out the bell end. He orgasms long and slow, enjoying the orgasmic feel of tight and wet, the juice dripping from my hole. Jonothon twitches as he is given the Master’s slime. More froth. More stinks. Slowly the thick sludge fills his head, his new brain. Gently it begins to take control of Jonothon’s body, burbling slowly down his spinal cord. He will think only what the master wants him to think. He will do only what the Master commands. He is a robotised slave. He shall obay. He shall obay.

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