chapotraphouse

Silently, I slithered through the shadows and reached the sperm silo, my grotesque visage hidden beneath the cloak of darkness. There, inside, was a treasure of unimaginable delight. A forbidden trove awaited me—the sperm bank, festooned with locks and wards meant to keep the ordinary away from the extraordinary.

With obscene vigor, I shattered the locks, revealing the well-guarded treasures within. The pregnant air pulled out an array of aromas, but one beckoned me most—a symphony of pale delights, in tanks of frozen splendor. The mortals referred to it as "semen," but my eldritch senses detected nuances beyond their comprehension.

In this sacrosanct chamber of the cumlinary unknown, I reveled in the delectable offerings of man-juice, nectar of the bovine, and semenal elixir. I reveled in it all—be it black, white, asian, middle eastern, or the uddermost secretion of the horniest of ripped bulls. I quaffed their offerings with the shamelessness of a cosmic glutton, for my unholy purpose transcended moral restraint.

Each vial I violated yielded a distinct flavor of succulent otherworldly origin. The words of the mortals failed to capture the ambrosial variations I relished—thin and runny, thick and chunky, sand-yellow, creamy-white, among others. The textures and viscosities of each curdled enigma sent shivers of perverse satisfaction through my nameless form. My claws eagerly let webs of the fastly thawn goo pave the highway from the tip of my tongue to the back of my throat.

As I reveled in the dairy-drenched debauchery, the facility whispered its secrets to me—an occult knowledge of erection, edging, frenulum, and CBT. I, a creature of unfathomable head, had become an unholy connoisseur of spooge, cum, and jizzly aberrant fluids. I am a living sperminomicron.

My grotesque act of thievery completed, I slithered back into the shadows, leaving behind a twisted, violated walk-in-refrigerator and the terrified sperm bank employees who would never fully understand the cosmic atrocity that had taken place. My grotesque existence was intertwined with the mundane, and the memory of that night would haunt the dreams of all who dared venture into the unknown, seeking the truth behind the grotesque mysteries of the eldritch cum tasting.