Actions

Work Header

the mikell bright kfc fic

Work Text:

Mikell Bright, Overseer Six, Hand Sinister of the SCP Foundation, kneels with his ankles in a spreader bar, wrists tied to the stick to make his back arch perfectly for the duration of this exercise. His white suit jacket had been pulled down to the lower arms, his black vest and white shirt unbuttoned to reveal olive-toned skin. Toned muscles. Perked up nipples, reacting to the air-conditioned room.

His belt is unbuckled and he had chosen that morning to go commando for the event— something he doesn't entirely regret, but it was a bit chilly and more coverage is welcome in this situation. Regardless, his cock sat heavy against his white trousers' gold-plated zipper, slowly sliding it down with every impatient twitch. His hat is mercifully still on his head, as to be at least a little tidy for when people start arriving. His red bandana, however, had been lost in the set-up, which saddens him a little bit, but isn't the end of the world.

Soon enough, the door creaks open and the sound of a crowd filters through the gap. A desperate moan escapes his lips, both at the erotic nature of the soon-to-be-completed scene, and the smell of finger-lickin' good fried chicken filtering through the air. He's been hungry for the last hour of so of waiting, and above that, he had always been ravenous for anything KFC. People came in and gave Mikell appreciative pets on the head, and a few cooed at how good he had been while he waited for his treats. The praise was thick and intoxicating, and if he were stimulated any more than this he would cum from it alone.

Not that he would dare risk losing the delicious meal that made his stomach rumble with every passing moment. He wouldn't dare pass on food that's Colonel Quality, Guaranteed. So he'll be a good boy... for now.

"I have to say," a male voice, muffled by a red wooden mask is heard, "Our dear boy must be rather peckish by now. Let's start with the appetizers, shall we?"

Mikell couldn't suppress what could only be described as a splendid whine. The man in the mask steps behind him and carefully positions his hat to show more face but still perch neatly on his head, before kneeling down to hold his mouth open by two fingers inside his cheek, and the other two nestled on his stubbly chin.

About a dozen plastic containers of coleslaw pop open around Mikell, followed with the cacophonous clicking of about the equal number of foldable plastic forks. One by one, they feed Mikell the goods. White, creamy, tangy. Crunch of vegetables and perfect mouthfeel to start a feast. More and more he asked for— sticking his tongue out to beg for it. His cock strains more and more against his pants the more he's given the goods, and one of them especially let the fork linger on his tongue, coaxing him to lick it wantonly while looking upwards to the crowd.

"How eager," one of them says, plopping a heap of the coleslaw on Mikell's face. Soon, many follow, painting his face with runny, slightly salty mayonnaise. Some dribbles down his chin and onto his chest, and it looks absolutely erotic. The coldness also adds sensations to Mikell's skin, and he shivers and shudders and moans as the vegetables slide down his shoulders and chest, before some of it splats to the floor.

The muffled voice behind him asks, "Colour?"
Mikell replies, "Hreen."

"Need water or anything?"
"Need you to take my dick out, ple-AH!"

The man unceremoniously stuffs his hand down Mikell's pants, pressing down on the hardness and holding his balls between two fingers.

"Colour?"
"Green- greehhhh- fuck, fuck, please—"

The man's thumb comfortingly caresses Mikell's cheek before the hand moves to shimmy off the white trousers. The lack of fingers in his mouth is both freeing and a bit embarrassing, as now his moans were fully wide-mouthed. The crowd doesn't seem to mind, however.

Methodically, finger by finger, Mikell's shaft is held. It pulses and filles and gradually gets more and more hard, and then it twitches when a piece of fabric is drawn over it.

"Sorry for stealing your bandana, chickadee, but your cock looks so cute all ribboned up like this♡"
"Fffffuuuuuuck- please-"

The man looks at one of the other guests, and calls, "Hey. Get the nine piece bucket over here."

The person called on awkwardly tucks himself back into his pants and grabs said bucket. Mikell's eyes train on the morsel peeking from the plastic container, but catches a glimpse of people enjoying the show with hands on their cocks. A twinge of envy is felt, as his own cock is bound and at the mercy of the dom behind him.

"Now, does the good boy want to be fed?"

Mikell nods.

"Then open your mouth. Go on."

Mikell looks up towards the man above him, who's in a white wooden mask with the Colonel drawn on it. He holds up a drumstick. Mikell's mouth waters, his appetite whet and gluttony thrumming in his veins. The drumstick is inserted straight in, and the desperate man almost bit down if not for the following command:

"I want to see how patient you are, darling. No biting. Only licking, tasting, thinking of how the meat fucks your mouth. Can you do that for me?"

With that sweet voice and splendid request, he complies, feeling the crackly and peppery treat with his sensitive tastebuds. Swirling around it like it's a cock being pleasured, his eyes blank out and imagine the visage of a man in a white suit with wrinkly hands pulling copper-coloured hair, sweetly careening words laced in secret spices that would make him come back for more and more and more—

"Good boy. You can eat now."

Mikell convulses as the juicy chicken meat pulls apart between his teeth. The flavour positively filled his mouth, aromas stabbing his olfactories in the most gentle of executions. He goes through one of the hardest dry orgasms of his life, drool dripping from his lips and chin, with strings of it connecting to the fried chicken as it's pulled away. He chews, savours, and swallows. A few people come forward to cum on his face, painting another layer of white above the remnants of the coleslaw.

"Do you wanna suck that dick in front of you, baby? Or do you want another bite to eat?"

Mikell finds difficulty in deciding, so he comes up with a solution:

"I- nnnnm~ want his cum on the chicken. I wanna eat Colonel's special sauce and be a good boy for him, eating and not wasting anything. Please?"

The dom smiles behind the mask, and it's almost painfully audible in his next sentence; "Then, dear colonel, give our good boy some service with a smile."

Mikell feels the man's hard cock pass his lips, and lolls it around in his mouth for a little bit before he stroked himself and came all over the bitten drumstick. Mikell's pupils dilate and his saliva drips even more than it had been already, ready to satiate his appetite.

"Mmnhmmm...."

Mikell closes his eyes and fully savours the salty addition to his meal, and bucks his hips to meet the dom's hand to add to the pleasure. A chuckle is heard behind him and the hand on his cock grips and strokes up and down the shaft.

The stimulation is maddening, to say the least. He cums, wet and stringy and satisfied, before passing out.