Date: Mon, 27 Aug 2012 04:30:45 -0400 (EDT)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Penis-Snakes on a Plane, Part One of Three
PENIS-SNAKES ON A PLANE
Part One: The Invasion of First Class
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
[Full disclosure: First, I have NOT seen the movie "Snakes on a Plane" and
that was partially deliberate when I came up with the idea after hearing
its title and seeing those snakes sliding out of the vents like so many
long penises. Second, I have never flown a commercial flight in my life
(one trip on a small chartered plane is my sole experience in the air), and
I have no clue about how a plane is laid out and such, other than looking
at a seating layout of a Boeing 767 airplane which I downloaded for
reference work. I have probably made some rather elementary mistakes for
that reason, but as this story is intended to be at least partially
nonsensical in nature, I hope my readers will forgive it.]
* * * * *
Mark Hardesty stood watching the passengers embarking on the
flights. Time after time, he would shake his head and walk away. But it had
to be today, it had to be. If he couldn't spot the right flight....
Hollywood would have loved to have Mark Hardesty for the hero of their
latest action movie. Large, strong, broad-chested and slim-waisted, with
dark hair shaded with gray at the temples, his eyes a light gray to match
the hair, his face handsome with lines on each cheek to accent his features
as his face broadcast his emotions. A smile that would melt your heart in a
moment...but he wasn't smiling now.
A group of Marines on shore leave caught his eye, a dozen or so strong
young men talking and laughing as they strode toward Gate 12. Hardesty's
eyes flicked up to the board. Flight 283 to Minneapolis. All right. This
many men had to catch the eyes of the terrorists he was out to capture and
break up their cell for good, then track it back to the source....
The rest of the load was looking good. A baseball team heading home, a
mixed bag of vacationers, all male so far. Good, good!
And then the squad of nuns appeared. Nuns! Nuns! Not on any plane he
was looking for!
He turned his head just in time to see another group of Marines
walking to Gate 14, Flight 427 heading toward Atlanta. That flight was only
beginning to board.
He watched it. Another sports team, this one of soccer players, more
young men on vacation, these heading to the warmer climates of Florida (you
can't fly to Heaven without changing at Atlanta), another group of
soldiers, these sailors. Yeah, shit, yeah!
And a couple of women were at the gate arguing with the
ticket-taker. "But we're on this flight!" one of them protested. "See, it
says right here on my ticket!"
"Sorry, ma'am." the ticketman responded. "Your ticket has been changed
to the next flight which leaves in..." He pecked at his computer console
keyboard and peered at the results. "...six hours."
"Six hours!" the woman exploded. "But...."
Hardesty didn't wait for more, he raced for Gate 14 and the
ticket-taker's protestations didn't even slow him down as he passed him
up. To the steward at the plane door (of course it was a male, this plane
would hold only men), he showed his badge and said, "National security. I
have to be on this plane!"
"I'll have to speak with the captain." the steward said. But Hardesty
took that as a yes and went on in. Another steward showed him to a vacant
seat, the last one in business class and as good a central point as he was
going to get. Hardesty looked around. So many passengers on board this
flight, this plane could hold over a hundred and fifty passengers in all
classes. And one of them...just one...was a terrorist out to commit the
most heinous act in history.
* * * * *
Men, men, men! was Paul's reaction as he looked out over first
class. All of them young, all of them hunky. Oh, momma! Don't bother to
wrap them up, I'll eat them all here! Line forms to the right and....
The call light binged and he went to answer it. Leaning over these
endless rows of men, breathing in their cologne and brushing their hands as
he hands them their drinks. Slender and short, but cute in a boutonniere
sort of way, dark-toned, dark eyes, elvin features, Paul was in many ways
the perfect male steward, made to serve the bigger, stronger men who
wielded the reins of the world in all their needs. Including, if they
wished, in their beds.
It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.
* * * * *
"Aw, man, not a chick on this plane!" griped Chad as he looked around.
"You didn't get laid enough during the semester?" George asked him
with a grin.
"Can anyone get laid enough?" Chad was blond-haired and George
sandy-haired, but they were otherwise much alike as if they'd been brothers
rather than college-aged friends, both strong, lean, young and virile as
only a barely-twenty-year-old man can be.
"Good point, dude!" George agreed. "But I agree that we seem to be
light on the women on this plane." He looked around coach class
himself. "We'll have to hope that Palm Beach has a better percentage than
this plane. Meanwhile, I suggest we take a nap. We won't want to sleep all
the time we're in Palm Beach."
"You got that right." Chad agreed and the two settled back to rest. On
George's right, their fellow traveler Carl already slept.
* * * * *
Piotr Katerinsky looked around. So this was business class. Much like
coach, only two seats to a row instead of three, with correspondingly more
room. He and his fellow Marines, by buying their tickets in a group, had
managed a discount that had let them all upgrade a travel class. It also
meant better food and better snacks. A work table was built into the seat
ahead of him, with ports for a computer and a cell phone charger and all
sorts of other things no grunt would use. But the extra room was
nice. Hoped he had a cute stewardess.
He was handed a drink. A male steward. Rats! Oh, well, he was bound
for Miami and those beaches ought to carry plenty of bikini-clad beauties
with eyes that would glaze over as they gazed upon his jarhead hard-bodied
form.
Beside him, Clarence Carver, a big brawny black fellow Marine,
stretched out his seat into a reclining position and settled down for a
nap. That didn't sound all that bad, actually. Nothing to do until this
flight got into Atlanta six hours from now. On the other hand, those beers
the steward was bringing were free. Having a few of them before he napped
sounded even better than a nap alone! He stayed up.
* * * * *
Mark Hardesty waited impatiently for the flight to reach cruising
altitude. Until it did, the seat belt light wouldn't go out, and if he
tried to get up, the stewards would automatically chase him back to his
seat. He had to get up and look around. Hope to find that one person in the
passenger list who was out to wreak an unknown but awful vengeance upon his
fellow passengers. He'd have to enlist the stewards to help him weed out
the possibles....
But Hardesty was missing out on one important fact. The person he was
looking for wasn't among the passengers.
* * * * *
Flight 427 had a pressurized cargo section immediately aft of the
rear-most passenger compartment and shared the air of the human-occupied
sections. The air was a trifle used and a touch heavy with oils and other
machine smells from the various equipment that vented their exhausts into
the ducts that fed this compartment...but a human could live in it if he
had to. Or chose to.
Within one box, Charles Fogarth waited for the plane to level off. His
only clue would be the change in engine tone, but he knew what to listen
for and about when it would happen. In fact, the two occured within five
seconds of each other, the expectation and the change. Now!...and then a
short space of time later, the engines eased their noise and pitch.
Now was the time. A few well-placed kicks knocked the side from the
box he was in and let him out into the compartment. The vents were not far
away and it was the work of a few minutes with a screwdriver to remove the
grilles from two of them. Then, with a smile, from a pouch in his coat, he
withdrew a fair-sized syringe and bared his buttocks and jabbed himself
with the syringe. Two fingers that had done this a dozen times in practice
let him inject the concotion within into his gluteus maximus muscles. His
ass was sore with the multiple injections he'd taken in practice and the
real thing burned like hell.
But he didn't care. This was going to be worth it.
He didn't pull his pants back up. His cock was going to need a lot of
room, if the syringe contained what the scientists had promised.
It worked. Charles smiled as he watched the effects as they reached
down and out and into the vents. It was like what his cock had become had
minds of their own, and they knew what to do, he didn't have to help
them. Seeking out men and the other side of these vents had lots of men!
* * * * *
Hardesty was arguing with the stewards. "You have to understand
me. One of the men on this plane is a terrorist. He's armed with some sort
of biochemical weapon that he's going to use on the passengers. This whole
plane is in mortal danger! We have to find this terrorist and now!"
"But how are we supposed to know who he is?"
"If you wait until he acts, it'll be too late!" Hardesty rolled his
eyes at their denseness. "Look, let's go over the passenger list and try to
narrow down the suspects. After we do that...."
Exclamations arose from the seats of first class.
"Ah, hell." Hardesty grunted. "It's started."
* * * * *
Paul had set his sights on a rather gorgeous young executive in Row
8. "You need another pillow?" he offered from his tray of goodies. "Perhaps
a selection from our fruit tray?"
"No thank you, I'm fine." the man assured him.
"Well, if you need anything at all." Paul went on. "All you have to do
is...shit!"
The man blinked, looked up at him in surprise. But Paul wasn't looking
at him. Above these seats was one of the vents that kept the compartment
aerated. And from it was sprouting...cocks! Multiple cocks that stretched
out and reached down like so many one-eyed snakes seeking their prey. Their
movements showed them to be prehensile and self-guided; they reached down
and caught the man seated next to Paul's prey. This man, a slightly older,
brown-skinned man, looked around as cocks crawled down over his body and
began to wrap him up. Two took his arms and began to encircle them, a third
began to stab itself at his mouth while others wended their way into his
clothes. Crying out, the man thrashed about, but he'd left his seatbelt on
and in the tangle of pricks down around him, his hands couldn't make their
way to the fastener.
Paul backed up and the man who'd been Paul's intended prey was
scrabbling up after him. "What the hell is that?" the man demanded.
The man captured by the cocks opened his mouth to call out and the
dick at his face promptly stabbed itself into the opened orifice. The man
moved his head the slightest amount to try to extricate himself from this
facile invader, and suddenly was choking and spewing come around the cock
from his lips. This snake-like cock had come in his mouth. And the man was
perforce made to swallow some of it, despite the wads flying out of his
mouth and his choking sounds as the spunk wended its way into his
unwillling esophagus.
Paul and the fellow passenger were enthralled at the sight. Stupefied
beyond response, they simply goggled and watched, as did the other
passengers. Had the man been attacked by animals of some kind, it would
have been different perhaps, but this attack was of a lot of immensely long
human cocks wrapping themselves around their hapless victim who was
squirming about helplessly, one of them stuck into his mouth which dripped
come from both its shaft and its victim's chin.
The cocks had him totally in thrall now. The clothes were tearing from
within now and soon Paul and his companion could see that the man had one
of the long cocks stabbed up his ass and others wrapped around his legs and
one around the man's own cock which was erect and weeping from the coiling,
writhing caresses it was enduring. Both hands now held pricks in them and
the man began to stroke them. The cock in his ass squirted, with spunk
again spraying around and out of his ass. The other cocks spewed their wads
up and over the captured man, drenching him in white sprigs of
pearl-colored spunk, as his fellow passengers stared in amazement.
"How many of those things are there?" Paul wondered out loud. He
counted them, eight of them had encircled the man, was holding and
violating him. As one prong would squirt into the man, either mouth or ass,
it would withdraw and replace one of the others, while the freed prong took
over holding the man captive, violating him repeatedly at both his
orifices.
"What the hell are they?" Paul's friend was saying.
"I don't know, sir, but we'd better get you away from this and I'll
call the captain...."
"Oh, my God!"
Paul looked where the man was looking. From the captive man's crotch,
more of the prehensile penises were reaching out, their color unmistakably
that of the man being fucked by the cocks. These things were contagious and
multiplying! They stretched out from the center of the man's crotch like a
spider's web.
Paul and his intended target backed up across the aisle. And from
behind them, other penis-snakes raced up their pants' legs. Before they
could react, the pricks had caught their legs firmly.
"Someone hit the call button!" Paul called out. But everyone in first
class was too busy fending off cocks to do that, for they seemed to be
sprouting up all over the place! And the cocks of the first captured man
were snaking in to join the fray. It was every man for himself! Paul
himself had a cock going up his trousers and one trying to wrap his waist,
while one of the dark-skinned passenger's cocks wended its way through the
air towards his face.
Paul shouted for help, but his voice was only one of the chorus. Once
one man began to shout, everyone joined in, those that didn't not dare due
to a prick trying to gain entrance.
* * * * *
Hardesty threw open the curtain to first class to view hysteria. Every
man in the compartment, which held 10 first-class seats, was busily fending
off cocks, being fucked by cocks, forced to suck cocks, a few jerking
cocks, while around their bodies were wrapped even more of the vicious
creatures. Every man that the cocks violated were injected with the same
virus that had spawned them, and the communication of the infection's
effects was nearly instantaneous, the man's own cock began to split and
grow into eight more of the long, prehensile, man-hungry kind. Ten times
eight (make that eleven times eight, a steward was among the men being
gang-fucked, if that remnant of uniform on him was what Hardesty thought it
was), and that would make eighty. The captain and flight crew were safe in
their front cabin at least, but how the hell did they keep those prongs
from...
From doing what they were, which was crawling out toward business
class, and the thirty-plus passengers there. With only curtains to shield
business class from them! "We have to barricade those entrances!" he called
out.
"What about the first class passengers? What about Paul?" the steward
with him, John, responded.
"Too late for us to help them! They'll already be infected. We'll have
to save those we can!" Hardesty said. "We'll have to block off these
entrances!" There were two, one on each side of the center pair of seats of
business class. Five rows of six seats, all of whom carried men, more
fodder for the penis-snakes. Many of these (fourteen) were Marines and
sailors on leave, handsome, virile men. "Everybody who can, help me close
this off!"
They were busily trying to unfasten some of the seats to backstop the
rolling trays they'd tipped over to make a makeshift barricade when
Hardesty realized the noises from first class had stopped. He shifted a
tray to look inside.
Men lay about, clothes torn, splattered with come, violated at every
opening they had.
But no penis-snakes, either on the men or coming out of the vents. The
penis-snakes had vanished just as they had come, quietly and inexplicably.
Hardesty shook his head as he surveyed the damage. If only it were
that simple. But it wouldn't be. He could feel it in his bones.
THE END OF PART ONE
Comments, complaints or suggestions?
E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM