Fall of Saitama

  "Squelch. Slap. Gasp."

 The sounds echoed through the ruins of the city, a rhythmic, wet percussion that drowned out the distant crackle of fire. Saitama was pinned flat on his back, his yellow suit shredded and soaked in a cocktail of blood and translucent slime. Melzargard’s tentacles were coiled around his limbs like living iron bands, pulling his arms and legs wide, exposing his trembling torso and the raw, pulsing heat between his thighs.

 "Look at him! The 'One Punch Man' is shaking like a leaf!" 

 Black Sperm’s voice was a jagged chorus of a thousand mocking tones. A dozen clones were swarming Saitama’s groin, their small, slippery hands kneading his testicles with a focused, rhythmic cruelty. They weren't fighting him; they were harvesting him. Saitama’s cock was a swollen, purple rod of meat, throbbing violently, leaking thick strings of pre-cum that coated the clones' fingers in a sticky, pearlescent glaze.

 "Ngh... stop... get... off..." 

 Saitama’s voice was a broken rasp. He tried to flex his muscles, to summon that world-shattering strength, but every time he attempted to focus, a sharp, electric jolt snapped through his prostate. 

 "Don't bother struggling, Saitama," Dr. Genus said, stepping closer, his lab coat fluttering in the wind. He looked down at the hero with a gaze of clinical detachment. "The neural-stimulants are working perfectly. Every time you attempt to activate your muscular system, the energy is diverted. It's being funneled directly into your reproductive organs. You aren't fighting us; you're fueling your own arousal."

 "What the hell... did you... do to me?" 

 "I discovered the secret, you bald idiot," Genus sneered, leaning down to watch a Black Sperm clone flick the sensitive rim of Saitama's glans. "Your strength isn't in your muscles. It's in your vitality—your virility. Your body stores its immeasurable power as a concentrated seminal essence. You've been a walking reservoir of god-tier protein for years. But the reservoir has a leak, and we've found the plug."

 "I'm... not... a... battery..." 

 "Oh, you are now!" Black Sperm shrieked. One clone suddenly lunged forward, opening its mouth wide and sliding over the head of Saitama's cock with a loud, wet *shlick*. 

 Saitama’s back arched violently, his heels digging into the concrete. The suction was immense, a vacuum-like pressure that felt as if it were pulling the very soul out of his marrow. The clone’s tongue swirled around the corona, tasting the salt and the power, creating a disgusting, slurping sound that echoed in the silence.

 "He's so thick!" the clone muffled around the meat. "He's practically bursting! He's been holding this in for years, hasn't he, Doc?"

 "Indeed," Genus replied, his eyes wide with academic greed. "The pressure must be astronomical. The tension in his prostate is reaching a critical mass. Now, let us trigger the collapse."

 Genus pressed a button on a handheld remote. A high-frequency sonic pulse rippled through the air, striking Saitama’s pelvic region with pinpoint accuracy. 

 "OH! OH GOD! NO!" 

 Saitama’s scream wasn't one of pain, but a guttural, primal roar of forced release. His cock surged, the veins popping under the skin as a massive, violent jet of thick, white cum erupted from his tip. It hit Black Sperm's face with the force of a firehose, splashing across the monster's eyes and chest in huge, gloppy clumps. 

 *SPLAT! SQUELCH! SHLICK!*

 The orgasm was so powerful it felt like a physical explosion. Saitama’s vision went white, his toes curling, his entire body stiffening into a rigid arc. He felt the energy—the very essence of his invincibility—being ripped out of him in great, rhythmic pulses. He cummed for seconds, then minutes, the fluid pouring out of him in an endless, viscous stream that coated the concrete and the monsters alike.

 "Yes! Look at it!" Genus shouted, practically dancing. "The volume! The viscosity! He's draining! He's actually draining!"

 Saitama slumped back, his chest heaving, his eyes glazed and unfocused. For the first time in his adult life, he felt something terrifying: weakness. His limbs felt like lead. The world seemed to tilt and blur.

 "I... I can't... move..."

 "Of course you can't," Genus sneered, stepping forward and delivering a hard, stinging slap across Saitama's cheek. The blow snapped Saitama's head to the side, leaving a bright red handprint on his pale skin. "The energy that maintained your invulnerability has been spent in a single, pathetic spurt. You're just a man now, Saitama. A very, very fragile man."

 "My turn," Geryuganshoop whispered.

 The crystalline monster descended, his jagged claws digging into Saitama's shoulders. He didn't kill him; he simply tore long, weeping strips of skin from Saitama's chest. 

 "AGH!" Saitama shrieked, the pain sudden and searing.

 "Does it hurt?" Geryuganshoop asked, his voice a cold hiss. "The 'One Punch Man' can feel pain? How exquisite. I wonder how much more you can take before you break."

 Black Sperm, now covered in drying, sticky cum, began to pummel Saitama's stomach. Each punch landed with a sickening thud, knocking the wind out of him. Saitama tried to block, but his arms were slow, his reactions sluggish. He was being beaten like a dog, his face swelling, blood spraying from his lips with every hit.

 "Look at him!" Black Sperm mocked, landing a heavy blow to Saitama's jaw. "The great hero! Reduced to a punching bag! You're nothing! You're just a bald, pathetic little cum-dumpster!"

 "Wait," Genus interrupted. "Don't kill him yet. The first release was only the surface. He has deeper reservoirs. We must keep him in a state of perpetual arousal and agony. The trauma will force the body to produce more essence to compensate. We will milk him dry, and then we will milk him again."

 "What... why..." Saitama wheezed, blood bubbling in his throat.

 "Because you are the ultimate resource, Saitama," Genus whispered, leaning down to lick a drop of blood from Saitama's cheek. "Your body is a factory of god-tier protein. Why waste it on a boring life of shopping and boredom? You will serve a higher purpose. You will be the fuel for my new empire."

 "Get... away..."

 "Oh, we're not going anywhere," Black Sperm chuckled. He split into a hundred clones again, but this time, they didn't just touch him. They began to manhandle him, lifting his legs high into the air, exposing his bruised and leaking cock once more.

 "Let's get him hard again, boys! Who wants to help?"

 The clones descended in a frenzy. Some used their tongues, others used their small, rough hands, and others used a mixture of chemical stimulants and physical torture. They pinched his nipples until they bled, slapped his balls until they were red and swollen, and sucked his cock with a violent, starving intensity.

 "NGH! STOP! PLEASE!" Saitama sobbed, his pride shattering alongside his body.

 "Please? The hero is begging!" Black Sperm laughed, his tongue swirling around the head of Saitama's cock, creating a wet, slurping sound that echoed in the ruins. "Come on, Baldy! Give us more! Give us that sweet, powerful juice!"

 The cycle repeated. The stimulation built up, fueled by the pain of the beatings. Every time Saitama began to drift into unconsciousness, Genus would shock him back to awareness, forcing him to feel every sensation.

 "Again!" Genus commanded.

 Another sonic pulse. Another explosion of cum.

 *SQUELCH! SPLAT!*

 Saitama’s body jerked violently, his throat letting out a high-pitched, broken moan. He was cumming again, but this time, it wasn't a roar of power. It was a pathetic, leaking stream, the fluid thinner, mixed with streaks of blood from the internal trauma.

 "He's starting to flag," Geryuganshoop observed, his claws digging into Saitama's thighs, leaving deep, weeping gouges. "The quality is dropping."

 "Then we increase the stimulus," Genus replied. "Black Sperm, use the 'Cluster-Suck' technique. Melzargard, use your acidic slime to irritate the shaft. We want him in a state of hyper-sensitivity. I want every nerve ending in his groin to be screaming for release even as he's being torn apart."

 "On it, Doc!"

 The desecration became an art form. Melzargard coated Saitama's cock in a stinging, caustic slime that made the skin raw and hypersensitive. Every touch now felt like an electric shock. Black Sperm's clones formed a living tube of mouths and tongues, sliding over Saitama's shaft in a synchronized, undulating motion.

 "AHHH! NO! STOP! IT HURTS! IT FEELS TOO MUCH!"

 Saitama was weeping now, his face a mask of blood, tears, and snot. He was no longer a warrior; he was a broken toy. His cock was a swollen, red mess, leaking pre-cum and blood in a constant, sticky drip.

 "Look at him," Genus mused, walking around the shivering man. "The transition is almost complete. The ego is gone. The strength is depleted. Now, he is ready for the final stage."

 "The machine?" Black Sperm asked, pausing his sucking to look up, a string of cum hanging from his lip.

 "Yes. The Bio-Extractor. Why waste time with manual labor when we can automate the process? We will turn this specimen into a permanent protein dispenser."

 They dragged Saitama's limp body across the concrete, his heels scraping, leaving a trail of blood and semen behind him. They threw him into a massive, metallic contraption—a vertical rack of pipes, needles, and pulsing pumps.

 "Wait... no... please..." Saitama whispered, his voice a ghost of its former self.

 "Quiet, livestock," Genus snapped.

 They strapped him in. Heavy steel clamps locked around his wrists, ankles, and waist. A wide, metallic collar snapped around his neck, forcing his head up. But the most horrific part was the pelvic harness. A large, transparent cylinder slid over his cock and balls, sealing them in a vacuum-tight grip. Small, needle-like probes pierced through the skin of his scrotum, sinking deep into his testicles.

 "This is the 'Milking Engine'," Genus explained, his voice filled with pride. "It doesn't rely on pleasure. It uses direct neural stimulation to force the prostate to contract. It will trigger an orgasm every ten minutes, twenty-four hours a day. And the probes? They will inject a cocktail of growth hormones and regenerative serums. Your body will be forced to produce sperm at ten times the normal rate, just so the machine can rip it out."

 "I... I'll... kill... you..."

 "With what strength, Saitama?" Genus laughed. "You can't even lift your finger. You are no longer a man. You are a battery. A human protein drink dispenser."

 Genus flipped a switch.

 Saitama's body slammed against the restraints. The machine hummed to life, a low, vibrating thrum that resonated through his entire skeleton. Inside the cylinder, his cock suddenly surged, swelling to its maximum size, the skin stretching until it was nearly translucent.

 *SHLICK! SQUELCH!*

 The vacuum engaged. A sudden, violent suction pulled the cum from his body with a force that made Saitama's eyes bulge. He didn't just cum; he was emptied. The thick, white fluid spiraled through the transparent pipes, flowing into large collection vats below.

 "AGHHHHHH!"

 Saitama's scream was cut short as the machine triggered a second orgasm immediately after the first. Then a third. Then a fourth. The rhythm was mechanical, merciless.

 "Look at the flow!" Black Sperm cheered, watching the vats fill. "He's like a fountain! A bald, pathetic little fountain of juice!"

 "The protein density is incredible," Genus noted, taking a sample of the fluid in a test tube. He held it up to the light, admiring the pearlescent glow. "This is the essence of a god. Once we process this into a supplement, my army will be invincible. We will create a thousand Saitamas, all loyal to me, all powered by the desecrated remains of the original."

 Days passed. Time lost all meaning for Saitama. His world became a cycle of white noise, searing pain, and forced, hollow orgasms. He stopped fighting. He stopped screaming. He simply existed as a biological pump.

 He could feel his mind fracturing. He remembered the supermarket. He remembered Genos. He remembered the feeling of a punch that actually mattered. But those memories were fading, replaced by the constant, rhythmic throb of the machine and the mocking voices of his captors.

 "How's our cow doing today?" Black Sperm asked, walking up to the machine. He reached through a small access port and flicked Saitama's swollen, raw nipple.

 Saitama didn't react. He just stared ahead with empty, sunken eyes, his mouth hanging open, a thin string of saliva dripping from his lip.

 "He's barely conscious," Geryuganshoop observed. "The regenerative serums are keeping his heart beating, but his spirit is gone."

 "Good," Genus replied. "The spirit only gets in the way of production. I've noticed a slight dip in the volume of the latest batches. I think it's time to increase the voltage on the neural probes."

 "You'll kill him, Doc," Black Sperm cautioned, though he was grinning.

 "Not kill him. Just push him to the absolute limit. I want to see exactly how much a human body can give before it completely collapses. We are in the endgame now. The final harvest."

 Genus turned a dial.

 The machine roared. The vibration became a scream. Saitama's body began to shake violently, his muscles snapping under the tension of the restraints. Inside the cylinder, his cock pulsed with a frantic, desperate energy, the skin turning a deep, bruised purple.

 *SHLICK! SQUELCH! SLURP!*

 The cum didn't just flow now; it sprayed, hitting the walls of the cylinder in violent bursts. Saitama's back arched so hard that his spine made a sickening popping sound. His eyes rolled back, showing only the whites, as his brain was flooded with an overload of pleasure and pain that surpassed any biological threshold.

 "Yes! Yes! Give it all to me!" Genus shouted, his face twisted in a manic grin. "Empty yourself, Saitama! Give me every last drop of your strength! Every single cell of your vitality!"

 Saitama felt something snap inside him. Not a bone, but something deeper. He felt the very last of his essence being dragged out of his marrow, out of his organs, out of his very soul. He was being hollowed out.

 "He's peaking!" Black Sperm yelled. "Look at the pressure gauge! It's in the red!"

 The machine began to smoke. The pipes vibrated with the sheer volume of fluid being forced through them. Saitama's body was no longer shaking; it was vibrating, a blur of pale skin and red bruises.

 *SQUELCH! SPLAT! SHLICK!*

 One final, titanic orgasm ripped through him. It was a convulsion that lasted for minutes, a continuous, agonizing release that felt like his entire lower body was being turned inside out. The fluid pouring into the vats was no longer pearlescent; it was clear, thin, and tinged with a dark, brownish hue.

 "He's... he's dry," Geryuganshoop whispered.

 The machine suddenly went silent. The humming stopped. The vibration ceased.

 Saitama slumped forward in the restraints, his head hanging limp. His cock, once a symbol of his hidden power, was now a shriveled, grey piece of meat, clinging pathetically to his bruised groin.

 Genus stepped forward, his expression one of disappointment. He looked at the vats, then at the broken man in the machine.

 "It seems we have reached the limit," Genus sighed. "The biological reservoir is completely depleted. There is nothing left to harvest. The regenerative serums can no longer keep up with the rate of extraction."

 "So, what now?" Black Sperm asked, looking bored. "Do we let him go?"

 "Let him go?" Genus laughed, a cold, final sound. "Why would I release a broken tool? He is useless to me now. But his death can still be productive. The final surge of adrenaline during a total system collapse produces a unique enzyme. I want that."

 "How do we get it?"

 "Simple," Genus said, reaching for a large, red lever on the side of the machine. "We trigger a total neural overload. We force one last, impossible orgasm that will literally burn out his nervous system and stop his heart."

 Saitama heard the words. He wanted to scream, to fight, to move. But he was a shell. He was just a ghost inhabiting a ruin of a body.

 "Goodbye, Saitama," Genus whispered. "Thank you for your contribution to science."

 The lever clicked.

 A bolt of pure, white electricity surged through the probes. Saitama's body didn't just arch; it locked. His eyes snapped open, pupils dilating until they disappeared.

 "AGHHHHHHHHHH!"

 It was the loudest sound he had ever made. A final, guttural scream of pure, unadulterated ecstasy and agony. His cock gave one last, pathetic twitch, a single drop of clear fluid leaking out as his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

 Then, with a wet, slapping sound, his head fell forward.

 The silence that followed was absolute.

 "Well," Black Sperm said, poking Saitama's limp arm. "He finally stopped moving."

 "A successful experiment," Genus concluded, turning away from the corpse. "Collect the fluids. Burn the body. We have an empire to build."

 As they walked away, the vats of stolen strength shimmered in the dim light, the only remnants of the man who had once been the strongest in the world, now reduced to a few thousand gallons of protein and a memory of desecration.