Date: Mon, 1 Apr 2013 03:27:56 -0400 (EDT)
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: The Fukin Swarm

			      THE FUKIN SWARM
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
		      WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM

     Rast Formin rapped on his captain's door. "Enter!" came the sharp
answer and Rast flinched. Not his captain's fault, a difference in
customs. The captain had committed an egregious breach of politeness...by
the rituals of Rast's planet, that is. He'd done nothing wrong according to
Spacefleet protocol; followed it to the letter, in fact. Didn't make it any
more pleasant to Rast's ears. He shook himself, and walked in.

     Captain D'Tal looked up, a broad-shouldered, square-jawed,
handsome-as-hell stud of a man. Rast felt like drooling every time the man
looked at him, but the man was a thorough-going breeder. Breeders had their
place in society, Rast presumed, but not on his own world, thank the
Starmaker, they shipped them out soon as they were identified as
such. "What is it, Lieutenant Formin?"

     "All hands must report to the village before midday." Rast told him.

     "What?"

     "Orders of the Prident." Rast named the village's leader. "All men
must stand ready to protect the village."

     "Protect it from what?"

     "He called it the fukin swarm." Rast said. "I made him say the name
again, that's what the creatures are called, the fukin. I thought he was
cursing them out, and maybe that's how they got their name. Apparently they
swarm and travel in a ravenous horde, like driver ants back on Old Earth
used to do. A big wave of them running over everything and eating all they
can en route."

     "So we turn our constalasers on them."

     "Wouldn't stop them, according to the Prident." Rast went on. "I
couldn't get any images of the creature, but as I understand, it's about
the size of a squirrel, only longer and thinner, no arms or legs, just
squirms along the ground. No fangs or claws or such. Sounds harmless except
for the power of numbers."

     "So what does he want us to do?"

     "They set fires to guide the swarm away from their fields, leaving a
gap to guide it right at their village. The swarm is then guided by their
menfolk into the village itself, where it can play garbage collector and
housemaid. The swarm goes through, leaves the place polished to a
spit-shine."

     "And they want our help?"

     "According to the Prident, every hand is required to assist. Women and
children inside the fire lines to tend the fire and make sure none get
through to eat their crops, the men take care of the main swarm."

     "And they want our help? Can't they do it themselves?"

     "Tribal custom." Rast shrugged. "Only the sick and incapacitated are
exempt from attendance."

     "How long will this swarm hang about?"

     "Only a few hours."

     "Well...our ship can take care of itself for that long, I suppose."
the Captain mused and Rast again felt a surge of horniness as that handsome
face pursed its lips as if for kissing and touched a penwriter to them like
some slender penis he was about to suck. He blinked and shook his head.

     "Well, tell Corporal Cuth'Nek'i to alert the men. We'll attend this
little parade of furry critters. And sounds like we'd better move lunch
forward by a half hour so everyone will be well-fed before we
disembark. Sounds like we'll have a busy afternoon."

     The men of the Spacefleet ship, all ten of them, were duly in
attendance, but it turned out they could have all waited another hour. The
villagers were all showing up, and Rast was again struck by the incongruity
of the Lost Worlds. Men wearing only loincloths and feathers for decoration
and carrying spears (well, blunt-bladed shovels) ought to be at least
brown-skinned, or darker, but the ancestors of this planet were Nordic
blond and pale-skinned; barring a light tan from the rather cooler sun of
this world, they were nothing like the more primitive tribes of Old Earth
seen in the history books. Their own clothing was appraised by the
villagers and found inappropriate, knives converted the one-piece jumpsuit
to shorts and shirts that left their midriff bare.

     "We look like cheap tricks from Markellin. So when are are these
fucking fukins going to show up, anyhow?" Tartin wanted to know.

     Markellin was Rast's home world, and he saw what Tartin meant, the
male prostitutes of his world dressed much like this! Rast shrugged in more
ways than one. "I'm still learning their language, you know, it's Old Earth
Swedish corrupted by three centuries of divergence, the verbs are
unrecognizable and it seems to be mixed with English in some weird way. I'm
still guessing at over half of what I hear and making lots of mistakes."

     "A-tay, commanden!" came the call, and other villagers took up the
call.

     "I think that means Here they come!'" Rast guessed.

     "Right." Captain D'Tal agreed. "Everyone get ready. The job is to
steer them, not kill them."

     "The Prident said that killing one is grounds for expulsion from the
village."

     "Make that confinement to the ship." Trampy clothes or not, the
Captain looked hotter than ever to Rast, his abs showing as a six-pack
under the cut of his suit top, the hair-coated legs telling Rast, a
connoisseur of men, that the Captain shaved his upper body hair for certain
to be so hairless above and so hairy below.

     "There they are!" one of the crewmen called out. A dark wriggling mass
was coming at them, like lava only dark brown in color, and writhing in a
hundred places. My God, there were thousands of these creatures
coming. Hundreds of thousands!

     The fukins were blunt-headed, nearly featureless, hairless writhing
worm-like creatures about two inches thick and some eight to ten inches
long, they seemed to have no bones. One crewman called them "a heap of
living turds" and that was uncomfortably close to accurate. Their smell,
though, was not at all unpleasant, about the smell of a man who'd worked
hard in the fields all day, sweaty, musky, virile...but not nauseating at
all, at least not to Rast.

     The native men went into action as the creatures got close. There were
no fires other than the two lines well before the fields and they formed
nearly a V-shape. The natives WANTED these beasts to enter their village,
they just didn't want them to enter their fields! The native men were
busily scooping the creatures on the edges of the swarm, pushing them back
toward the middle.

     But they were fighting a losing battle. No doubt about it, this job
DID call for every available hand! But why not put the women and children
into this line, then, the creatures seemed mostly harmless and...

     Rast saw the villagers in the lead of the lines between which the
swarm was headed as their legs started having brown, short, fat snakes
crawling up their legs. Good Lord! Those things were crawling all over the
men, bearing them down by the sheer weight of numbers! And the men weren't
even trying to fight them off, just continuing their task of guiding the
main herd up that line which led into the village!

     "Heads up, Rast!" the Captain called at him. Rast turned and realized
what the Captain meant.

     The fukin swarm had made it to them! Rast moved in a frenzied effort
to keep those things, all those things, inside the line chosen for them. If
any of them got past, they'd crawl on past or worse, would start climbing
on Rast like they were on those other villagers!

     The Spacefleet men were at the very edge of the village, they could
see what the fukins were doing to the villagers they had clambered
upon. Rast got a clear view of one man who had a fukin well up his upper
thigh, Rast saw the head of the fukin drive into his anus and the man
raised his head, crooned, and then another one took the open mouth as an
invitation to plunge in. Others were wrapping around his arms and legs, one
had the man's penis (which was hardening as a result of his anal violation)
and Rast stared as he saw the fukin writhe in a way that stroked the man's
prick...

     "Holy shit!" he blurted out, and not about what he was seeing. One of
those damned fukins had gotten on his leg!

     He tried to use the shovel-bladed tool to scrape it off his leg, but
it somehow was able to cling tightly despite there being no sensation of
claws or barbs in his flesh. It was like the thing was a part of his leg!
And in doing this, he had ignored the other fukins around him and now he
had four of them on his other leg, and two more climbing up his leg with
the first fukin. Dear God. What would seven of these things do to
him....no, now it was nine, two more had latched hold!

     "They got me, Captain, they got me!" one crewman wailed, as he beat at
himself with his hands.

     Captain D'Tal had several on him as well. "Bear up, men!" he called
back to them. "Keep to your task as long as you can, the main body of the
swarm is already in the village. Watch for stragglers."

     "Watch for them? They got me!" a second man yelped. "C'rist-A, it's
poking its head into my....aaaaaasssssss!"

     "I know, men." the Captain went on. "They've got the natives,
too. Must be part of their ritual. We'll sort it all
out....a-HAH!...LATER!" One of the fukins had found Captain D'Tal's ass.

     Like the one that had just found his! Rast felt the bulbous head
prodding at his ass. What was it with these freaking beasts? Eating
everything in sight was sensible behavior for a herd animal, but why were
they gang-raping every man in sight?

     THAT was why the villagers had put the women and children next to the
fires, to keep them safe from the fukin swarms! But then...why weren't they
also near the fires? It didn't add up!

     The fukin had managed to worm well into his ass by now, and Rast found
out what the fukins were doing. The fukin in his ass began to vibrate
strongly, he felt the vibration throughout his body and the pleasure to his
prostate was undeniable. And the other fukins, now over a dozen all over
his body, began to vibrate as well. More, to downright wriggle around
lasciviously!

     "Formin!" came a gutteral sound nearby.

     Rast turned his head to see... "Captain D'Tal?" he gasped out.

     "Got to...get through this!" the Captain grunted out. Fukins were all
over his broad body, moving over him like several dozen horny men's
dongs. They didn't look at all like turds, not while they were doing this,
curling, wrapping, stroking.

     "I know...sir!" Rast groaned. That fukin in his ass was driving him
mad! His cock was throbbing so fucking hard, if a fukin didn't wrap it like
the one he'd seen on that native man, he was going to start pumping it for
himself!

     "Your planet...Markellin...you do things...like this?" the Captain
seemed to be having trouble concentrating. Rast didn't find his own brain
operating too well, either!

     "We're a planet...of homosexuals...yes, sir." Rast agreed.

     "I don't...want these...things to...take my...manhood!" the Captain
moaned. "Can I...please give...it to you...to...protect it?"

     "How?"

     "Suck it." the Captain groaned. "Hurry! One of them...is
getting...into my...jockstrap...now!"

     The Captain rolled onto his back and Rast saw the thick swelling at
one leg. Yes, the jock was the only thing stopping the fukin from the
Captain's cock. And his, too, he realized.

     "Please!" Captain D'Tal moaned. "Don't let them...take me...that way!"

     "Right! Captain!" Rast gasped. He barely had use of his hands now, and
fukins adorned each of his lower arms like twin bracelets. But he got the
pants (well, cut-offs) unfastened and the jock (and the fukin probing at
the elastic and the head was nearly within!) And he fished the cock out
through the other end of the jockstrap and quickly stuffed it into his
mouth!

     "Ah! Ah! Ah-hah!" the Captain gasped as Rast drove the length of it
into his mouth and down his throat. He didn't dare let it get too far away
from his interior, for fear the fukin driving for that same cock would take
the length of the shaft as an invitation to join the fray, muscle him out!
He sucked the cock while keeping it as deep inside him as possible.

     The Captain's hand wriggled at Rast's own fly, and Rast turned to make
it more available. The Captain now had a fukin in his mouth, trapping that
entrance, but he could and did try to return the attentions by reaching for
Rast's prong with his hand.

     It was going to be a photo finish, there were two fukins already in
Rast's clothing, and one of them already had the head inside of Rast's
underwear, it wasn't as tight as the Captain's jock and had offered less
resistance.

     The Captain's hand gripped Rast's prod just as a fukin coiled around
the base of it. Too late, oh, God, too late!

     But the Captain felt the fukin sharing Rast's dong with his hand, and
he clutched it tighter and began to pump it without yielding one iota of
the fleshy sheath to the looped fukin about its base.

     Rast felt the hand of his Captain jerking him and the rush of pleasure
from that cooperation from this thoroughly heterosexual man, this aid to
his joy, and he moaned, slurped on the Captain's hot pud even faster.

     Fukins were all over them now. Rast couldn't swear that any part of
his body wasn't covered with a fukin, it felt like every part of his body
was being stroked, manipulated, flexed or pumped.

     And his pleasure swirled down his cock and he moaned, the best he
could do to warn his Captain, and his cream sprayed upwards and fell upon
both of them. This had been what the fukins were searching for, for they
began to search out and scarf up the jizz as fast as Rast's cock spurted it
out.

     The Captain was moaning urgently now, and Rast knew then that he had
to hang on. If the fukins got a taste of the Captain's jizz, they would
surely force his mouth away entirely. But if the fukins didn't get
any...what would happen then?

     The Captain groaned again and the hot flow of jizz poured into Rast's
mouth. He hung on, sucking it all out as quickly as he could, gulping it
down, savoring the thick raunchy flavor of hot male spunk.

     The Captain's moans and groans and writhing did impact the fukins, but
when they found no sperm to eat as a result, they seemed to react almost
angrily. They pulsated, enough that the Captain grunted in pain, and then
they abandoned the Captain's body entirely.

     "So that's how we fend them off." Captain D'Tal said to Rast.

     "Mph-purgle!" Rast replied, a mouthful of fukin preventing him from
making clearer syllables.

     "Now we have to get you free." Captain D'Tal went on. His hand was
still holding Rast's prod, and Rast watched him, goggle-eyed, as the
Captain's face zoomed in on his dick. Those warm lips clamped upon Rast's
prong and Rast groaned. The fukins were as busy as ever on his body.

     The Captain wasn't expert in this by any means, but Rast's desire for
his hunky captain more than made up for said stud's inexperience. He
moaned, grunted, and shot a second load into the Captain's mouth. The
Captain winced at the taste, but valiantly sucked it all down.

     The fukins pulsed angrily on Rast, and then let him go. The two men
were now clear of the fukins, who fanned out over the village, finding
sustenance elsewhere than in the spunk of horny men.

     "It worked!" The Captain called out. "Men, all you have to do to make
them turn you loose is deny them your sperm when you climax. They'll turn
loose of you...."

     "But not for long!" Rast interrupted. Fukins were climbing up the
Captain's legs. "Quick, sir, lie back down and I'll save you."

     As he reclaimed the Captain's prick, he felt the Captain's mouth close
upon his own. It looked like the two of them were going to be sixty-nining
each other for a while.

     The fukins didn't let them just hold on, it wasn't until they began
sexually stimulating each other that the fukins relinquished their attempts
to substitute themselves. They continued to linger nearby, as if constantly
asking, like petulant children on a long ride, "Are you done yet? Are you
done yet?" Only by continuing their lovemaking did the fukins not
intrude. Rast could never tell how many of the crewmen had taken their
advice. It wasn't like doing so changed things that much, he mused, as he
sucked on the captain's dong. Sex was sex, whether with a hunky stud or
with a dozen or so living cocks...cancel that. Doing it with a hunky stud
is so, so much better!

     The fukin swarm lingered about the village for nearly six hours, it
was close to the local sunset before they were gone, leaving a lot of very
fucked-over men and a lot of giggling women helping them to their feet.

     The following day, Rast reported to the Captain. "Did you speak with
the Prident about our idea?"

     "You mean the one about where we volunteer to set up a guard around
their fields that would keep the fukins out entirely? Yeah, I explained all
about it. How it would use sonic guards that humans wouldn't even hear but
would keep the fukins at bay, how they could all hide behind it when the
fukins came by and avoid the gang-rapes their men suffer repeatedly,
several times a year? Yeah, it took a lot of work, but I finally got
everything across to him. And he answered me with a single sentence."

     "So what did he say?"

     "You'll remember that the Prident was right there in the thick of
things when the fukins came charging in?"

     "Yeah, he was right at the front of the line, in fact. So what was his
answer?"

     "He reached down, rubbed his crotch, and told me that if we wanted to
be friends with his people, I had better mind my own damned business."

     "Ah!" Captain D'Tal nodded. "I had wondered about that rather odd
arrangement of things, myself. I guess a person could get pretty used to
that kind of thing if he put his mind to it."

     "I know I could." Rast mused. "If you don't have a man in your life,
those fukins would be very handy to have around."

     "Lucky for you, then, that you don't need them." Captain D'Tal said,
and grinned widely, threw him a bawdy wink.

     Rast looked at him, smiled, and stepped toward him. And the door
behind him sealed into locked-mode with a sigh so very much like that of
contented lovers on their bed.

				  THE END
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