He faces her away. Xxnx Head pushes deeper. It stinks of wet yearning for fetid, unclean Paella. Her mind has been broken. She yearns to feast. Hands fall limply to her sides. Squelch. Lips notice not. Soon she shall be fully treated. It has been specially prepared for little Shelly by the Master. He gently sniffs her for a while, smelling her head from behind, smelling her soiled mouth. Her cute ickle blonde curtains are all smelly. Lips moisten. She yearns to feast. Her fanny-lips get all slimy with it. Her brain is nought but meat now. He whispers to it. More wet, ripe farts, they advertise to the world that Shelly has gone through at the back. Shelly sits in brainwashed obedience as he comes to her. Xenomorphs love lobotomised little loli-girls. The beef curtains are so, so far apart.
