From: hazemaster@aol.com (HazeMaster)
Subject: Men of Antarctica: Part 1: The Voyage Out (M/M)
Date: 13 May 1995 10:56:31 -0400
Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364)
Reply-To: hazemaster@aol.com (HazeMaster)
MEN OF ANTARCTICA
Episode #1
Because of Duke's in depth knowledge of astronomy and Buddy's
expertise with client server networks, President Clinton requested the two
scientists to participate in the US Navy's expedition to Antarctica.
The National Academy of Science chartered the high level, top
secret mission to investigate the hole in the ozone layer over Antarctica
and measure the effects of global warming on the melting polar ice caps.
The icebreaker carrying Duke and Buddy reached the Ross Ice
Station on October 21, in time for the south polar summer of 24 hour
daylight. The two scientists immediately set up their laboratories and
began making detailed observations of their new environment.
The men worked diligently ten hours every day. In the sunlit
"evening" they made friends with the boisterous Navy crew who lived year
round on the Antarctic ice cap, getting to know their new companions very
well. The rowdy sailors unwound from their grueling work assignments
through rough horseplay during their off duty hours.
On October 31 the Ross Ice Station crew hosted a "party" for the
scientists. The squid welcomed the newbies with the traditional Navy
initiation to the south polar ice station. Duke and Buddy were stripped
bare assed naked, tossed outside the compound, rolled through snowbanks,
and pelted with snowballs.
Fortunately their thick fur and high spirits kept the pair warm at
heart.
Suddenly a fierce shudder shook the ice.
Before anyone realized what happened, an enormous ice slab broke
off from the main ice shelf and started drifting out into the ocean--with
naked Duke and Buddy as passengers.
An awesome roaring rent the air.
Fifty foot tall penguins, their DNA mutated by the radiation
seeping through the shattered ozone layer, emerged from the waters and
swam furiously after Duke and Buddy.
The frantic crew rushed for their rescue gear.
Aboard the breakaway ice floe, Duke and Buddy stared at the vast
expanse of frozen whiteness. Towering cliffs and gaping crevices and
awesome caves held keys to many secrets and surprises.
"Aawk! Aawk! Aawk!"
The mutant penguins swam in relentless pursuit of the escaping ice
floe.
Buddy grabbed the Duke's hand and ran naked across the ice,
climbing between the ledges of the highest cliff. The two men nestled
close together to preserve their body heat
Buddy looked into the Duke's deep green eyes and thrust his tongue
between the astronomer's lips. The men embraced, their arms and legs
entwined together.
In a moment Duke flipped Buddy's ankles over his shoulders,
thrusting his swollen cockmeat into Buddy's hole. Buddy moaned as his
pent up passion shuddered through his loins.
Heat emanated from the gladiators as they tumbled cross the ice,
Duke's throbbing cock jammed into Buddy's tight, warm hole. Concentric
waves of energy spread out from the two men as Duke rammed his hard,
purple shaft all the way up his Buddy's road to glory.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"
Buddy's ecstatic gasp reverberated over the immense ice floe as he
surrendered to the joy of being fully taken by another man.
"Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!"
Duke's roar sailed out across the ocean has he shot his load and
bombarded Buddy's prostate.
The two men lay together, spent and wasted. About them rings of
pale blue light created a force field that warmed and shielded them.
Beyond the field of light the mutant penguins stood and starred in silent
wonder at the naked men.
Men of Antarctica: Episode #2 (M/M)
Gradually Duke and Buddy grew aware of the increasing pale blue
light surrounding them, and of the warmth that emanated towards them.
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!
Both men looked up and saw a slit tear open in the sky. The mutant
penguins flapped their wings in wild confusion. A glowing disk, like a
wide, silver frisbee, dropped down thru the time/space fissure and hovered
twenty feet above the ice floe. Faintly, Buddy and Duke could hear the
voices of the sailors calling from their rescue craft.
Suddenly all went dark.
Duke awoke many hours later. The astronomer opened his eyes and
blinked them several times before his fuddled brain could process what he
saw around him.
The inter-planetary visitors had installed Duke and Buddy and the
entire crew of American sailors from the Ross Ice Station in a gigantic
baby nursery. Enclosed by glass on every side, like an enormous Winter
Garden at a mall, each man lay sleeping in a full sized incubator.
The temperature was kept at 90 degrees Fahrenheit and the humidity
at 0%, so the nursery felt just like a sauna bath.
Duke could not help but notice that every American had
been stripped completely naked before being placed into
his incubator and hooked up with 4 IV lines, 2 in the arms,
2 in the legs. Electric sensors monitored each sleeping
Yank's nipples and forehead. Duke heard a humming noise and
sensed a pleasant buzzing in his rectum. Glancing at his
companions the astonished astronomer realized that long,
thick, black vibrating chromium rods had been inserted up
each sailor's rectum. Duke looked between his legs and
saw a thin black metal catheter protrude from his urethra.
What were these inter-stellar travelers up to?
Almost unconsciously, Duke's eyes sought out the
incubator where his fellow man of science slumbered.
Buddy smiled like a happy camper. How many nights had Duke
furtively gazed at the computer techie fifteen years his junior on the
long trans-Pacific voyage from San Diego to Antarctica? Buddy slept
across the aisle from Duke, but even on the warmest nights a sheet tangled
around his loins.
Now Duke could stare at young Bud to his heart's
content.
The handsome face. The long blond hair the sun had burnished with
a golden sheen. The deep bronzed skin with just the slightest tan line
from a thong bikini. The squared shoulders. The nicely defined arms.
The chestnut nipples clamped by metal sensors. The firm, flat abdomen.
The cut articulated calves and thighs. The curly bush of light brown
pubic hair. The proud, firm cockshaft with the catheter protruding like a
strand of black metallic cum.
How Duke had yearned for Buddy during the long months
at sea voyaging towards Antarctica.
The day the ship crossed the Equator became ecstasy for the Duke.
The pollywogs who never crossed the line before, including Duke and Buddy,
were stripped naked by the Royal Shellbacks. Heaven had granted Duke an
entire day to view Bud's splendid body in the all together underneath the
hot, bright sun. To view Bud doubled over as he grabbed his ankles and
his full, heavily weighted ballsack swung between his thighs. To view
Bud's tight round ass glow baby pink, then lobster red under the
Shellbacks' paddling.
By evening both men's bodies had been shaved completely
hairless and "baptized" from head to toe with thick, sticky
machine oil.
Then, as the sun set, the hazing segued into a carnival. Huge
tubs of ice cold beer appeared throughout the ship. Music blared from the
ship's loud speakers. Buffet tables laden with barbecued ribs, smothered
chicken, grits, and black eyed peas materialized on the top deck. The
pollywogs were forbidden to shower or dress, but they were welcome to
partake of the festivities, including dancing on the quarter-deck for
those uninhibited wogs who didn't mind twisting and fuging in their
birthday suits.
Buddy danced gracefully, with a Californian's laid
back attitude. He needed just a beer or two to limber up
and shake his booties. Although uptight about his lack of dancing skills,
Duke could pass up this great opportunity. He partnered Buddy in watusis
and boogaloos, and as a wide, round, golden moon arose from the Pacific's
still black waters, Duke was just drunk enough to try a little hug and
then a little . . . .
Even now thinking of that night in Paradise made Duke's
rod snap to attention. The black chrome catheter pronged his urethra like
a pitchfork.
Suddenly the doors to the observation deck above the
nursery swung open.
Just at that moment Buddy awakened and the young man took in this
new situation. Gazing up at the balcony, Buddy's mouth gaped in shock.
Following his companion's stare, Duke looked up and beheld the "aliens
from outer space."
The inter-stellar voyagers stood at least 6'4" with broad
shouldered and firmly bulked up torsos. Different colored uniforms
denoted differed services, or maybe different planetary systems.
Officers dressed in midnight blue with bright red trim wore long
thick curls cascading down their shoulders. Officers clad in black with
sliver trim had close cropped "high, tight" buzz cuts. Officers garbed in
green with golden trim had shaven heads tattooed with fabulous designs and
thick gold rings in both their earlobes.
And officers in pure white uniforms sprouted the heads of lions,
panthers, and bears atop their muscled bodies.
Buddy and Duke just gazed in awestruck silence at these
inter-planetary visitors.
The aliens exuded a tremendous sense of strength and power and
self-assurance. And in between their legs Buddy and Duke both noted
stiff, thick rods at least twelve inches long straining against the
officers tight uniforms.
Duke felt his own meat rise excitedly, and noticed Buddy's
cockshaft go erect as well.
What was the mission of these officers from beyond time and space?
What was the secret of their virile potency and bold self-confidence?
And what were their intentions towards the sailors stirring awake in their
incubators?
Men of Antarctica: Episode #3 (M/M)
The hum of pulsing dynamos swelled through the nursery.
Soft amber lights glowed on the incubators' control panels.
One by one the Ross Ice Station crew stirred awake and tried to
find their bearings.
Silently, swiftly, hairless white clad dwarves swarmed down the
aisles between the incubators. With well trained, precise movements of
their velvet textured hands, the dwarves disengaged catheters from men's
urethras. Marshaling more strength than their size and slim physiques
would indicate, the dwarves lifted the scientists and sailors from their
incubators. With minimalist gestures, the flame eyed dwarves extracted the
thick, black chromium rods from the well massaged sphincters. Not
uttering a sound, the pallid, translucent skinned dwarves zipped the
sailors and scientists into body adhering jumpsuits and ushered the ice
station crew out of the nursery.
Against Duke's naked skin, his jumpsuit felt like soft, crushed
flannel. The pale beige fabric clung to his flesh, caressing the Duke's
nipples like a lover's tongue. Duke slowly surveyed all the men
perambulating through the spacecraft. Jumpsuits cleaved to well rounded
butts, riding up ass cracks to define the cheeks as separated spheres.
The thin, adhesive fabric outlined every sailor's churning basket.
Instinctively Duke looked for Buddy. So much pre-cum moistened the young
computer guru's crotch, Buddy's cockhead was clearly visible in vivid
purple through the fabric.
The astronomer felt his own shaft surge and strain against the
fabric. Glances passed between smirking sailors told Duke his "secret
crush" was public knowledge. Somehow the Duke no longer gave a flying
fuck. Aboard a spacecraft, who the Duke had the hots for didn't count for
shit. A fantastic adventure was unfolding in his life. Did throwing a
rod for his humpy crew mate make a difference on an inter-planetary
journey?
The Duke caught Buddy's eye and flashed the cyber-technician a
wink. Buddy grinned back and gave the Duke a thumbs up sign. Today was
the first day of both their lives.
The silent dwarves herded the scientists and sailors to a glassed
in atrium suspended from the belly of the silver spacecraft.
The men crowded against the slanting windows and gazed,
astonished, at their home planet 2,000 feet below them. An immense armada
of ice floes transported the mutant penguins northward. Duke's jaw fell
open as he gaped in mute incomprehension. When the first ice floe broke
away from the Antarctic shelf, perhaps a dozen fifty foot tall penguins
pursued him and Buddy. Now literally hundreds of the mutant birds barked
salutations to their comrades. Flocks of eight foot tall babies waddled
to and fro, while serene mothers nested atop mounds of pale blue eggs the
size of watermelons.
"Gentlemen, gaze at The Vastation which now grips your native
planet!"
Startled, the Ross Ice Station crew spun about and looked upward
at a black metallic balcony.
Blue-gold iridescent hair shimmered as it curled over the
shoulders of the officer addressing them. He wore a red trimmed midnight
blue uniform, and appeared to be about 35 earth years old. His large,
square jaw bespoke a sense of mission Duke had only known in 1940's war
movies.
"Gentlemen, gaze at The Vastation which now grips your native
planet!"
The officer's deep voice resounded like an old time radio
announcer's.
"I am Commander Ari Ben-Ami, Chief Officer of Starship 69. Permit
me to welcome the first inductees from the Planet Which You Call Earth to
join the remnants of the Ma'asatt Flotilla."
Duke felt a premonition shudder through him. His life was being
transformed into an adventure he had only dared to dream about when he was
growing up on an Iowa farmstead. His life . . . and Buddy's too. An
image flashed. The Duke and Buddy, inter-planetary explorers!
"The Vastation which gripped the Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies
aeons before your ancestors carved their first crude stone tools has
erupted forth through the space/time continuum to ravage your corrupt,
doomed planet.
"You gentlemen have been our guests aboard this Starship for just
30 days. In one month those penguins, their DNA mutated by the radiation
seeping through your shattered ozone layer, have bred so promiscuously
that their appetites have devastated the Southern Pacific fisheries.
"Behold the penguins now, furious and determined, sailing ever
northward upon their ice girt armada. Those penguins have a mission and
they will not be diverted! Within a year as your time reckons it, the
penguin armada will arrive at its destination--New York City!"
Starship Commander Ari Ben-Ami stood with his legs spread wide
apart, his booted feet firmly anchored to the metallic balcony. The
Commander's tight fitting uniform outlined his broad, squared shoulders,
massive, bulked up chest, and washboard abdomen.
Duke felt the pre-cum dribbling from his tumid cock. He was again
a fourteen year old boy back home in Iowa. In silent adoration he would
watch Larry Fitzpatrick, the captain of the high school softball team.
Watch Larry's dirt smeared uniform as the big guy thundered around the
bases.
"Those mutant penguins have embarked on a righteous crusade to
present their injustices before the United Nations General Assembly.
"Those mutant penguins will denounce the ecologically unsound
policies of your planet's late industrial economy and the corrupt
politicians purchased with tainted yen and dollars.
"Your political-military-industrial complex has not only ravaged
the Antarctic ozone layer, but doomed every penguin family to extinction
by polluting the oceans' shoals till no fish remain for these birds to
feed upon."
Commander Ben-Ami's long, iridescent hair glowed with a fiery red
gold hue. The officer's taut uniform outlined a stiff, thick rod that
Duke calculated to be fourteen inches with a fat mushroom head.
Larry Fitzpatrick in his dirt smeared baseball pants. Larry
Fitzpatrick toweling off after his post-game shower. One foot up on the
locker room bench as he dried his legs, his ballsack hanging unobstructed
from his buttocks.
Duke's bicycle sped to an abandoned stable out on his folks' back
forty. Duke lay a top the straw and furiously beat his meat thinking of
humpy Larry in the locker room. Three times at least, the young Duke had
to fire his load before he could calm down enough to start the evening
chores.
And Duke knew that his "shameful secret" would constrain him from
achieving his young heart's desire: to be an astronaut astronomer on the
first space probe past the outer reaches of the solar system.
"And do you think that once the penguins are extinct your
self-deluded species will have much more time remaining on your
deteriorating ecosphere? Two generations at the most and your destructive
species will be food for worms!
"Gentlemen, gaze at The Vastation which now grips your planet!
Aeons ago ravages of even more calamitous dimensions assaulted the Forty
Nine Hypostic Galaxies. Learn from our history which is millennia more
ancient than your oldest cave paintings. Train yourselves to be
Enlightened Warriors while there is still time to preserve your
infrastructure!"
Cum surged through the Duke's throbbing cockshaft while the
crisply articulated words reverberated in his spinning head. And as the
jiz erupted from Duke's shaft in fierce volcanic spasms, the astronomer
saw himself participating on a trans-galactic quest. A trans-galactic
quest with Buddy as his lover and comrade in arms!
MEN OF ANTARCTICA
Episode #4,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
"Look, guys! Look at that dude up there!"
Before the scientists' and sailors' eyes, Commander Ben-Ami's
physique decomposed into a grey cloud.
Then the cloud re-assembled as a warrior whose likes the men had
never seen before. The face was blasted, scarred, and shattered from
decades of fiery combat. But his eyes blazed with an intensity that
knotted the Duke's stomach.
The officer wore a red uniform, plain, without any decoration.
"Gentlemen From the Planet You Call Earth, let me repeat our young
Commander's welcome to the Starship 69. We are sharing a long voyage
through time and space, and we shall have the opportunity to get to know
each other very well."
The veteran's words reverberated in a gravely rasp that raised an
instant hardon in Duke's jumpsuit. Pre-cum gushed from Duke's cockhead in
a fluid tribute to the grizzled warrior.
"I am Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, the last surviving crewman privileged to
serve under Admiral Antemodes Ahrkantepodes in the Third Drodai'ic War.
The Admiral commanded a Ma'asatt Flotilla boasting 72 Starships and 288
attack fighters. And now, now . . . "
Kare'enyi Na'aklyi shrugged and gestured at the air above his
head.
"Now only Starship 69 remains of the mightiest fleet that ever
sailed from Hermanuta Serenissima. The squadrons of our brave, heroic
warriors were one by one annihilated by the Master of the Five Drodai'ic
Realms, the Dark Lord of the Inter-Stella Sex Pirates, the Procurator of
Xyla'anta's Brothel of Ten Thousand Inter-Galactic Sexual Pleasures--
"ZODP'DOQ!
"Zodp'doq, Progenitor of Mass Vastation."
As the veteran pronounced his arch-enemy's name, the atrium's
glass walls became opaque and colored light glowed from their surfaces.
With subtle gradients in hue and brightness, the amorphous light wheels
coalesced into an image of--
"The Ravager of the Kaduma Sanctuaries. The Violator of Princess
Tondaleyah Rebekka. The Traducer of Lady Aylawisa Rachel. The Captor of
the Orphan Prince Khochya-bar-Qoq."
The veteran's whispered words singed every scientist and sailor
from the Ross Ice Station. The men stood transfixed by the apparition of
the Master of the Five Drodai'ic Realms.
Lord Zodp'doq possessed a large, square head, as massive as a
block of chiseled granite. A sneer spread out in ripples from his leering
lips till it contorted every muscle in his face. Sharp, jagged lines,
like lightning bolts, cut through both cheeks. Midnight black eyes blazed
with volcanic hatred from the leathery pouches of their wrinkled sockets.
Thin swirls of long, black, greasy hair draped the Drodai'ic Warlord's
near bald scalp.
Now, like a camera pulling back, the walls revealed Lord
Zodp'doq's full figure. Though no longer a young man in his prime, the
Master of the Drode Sex Pirates kept his body hard and muscled. A vest of
black animal hides revealed a firm, well defined torso, with only hints of
flab peeking around the waist. Black boots enclosed articulated, bulked
up calves, and chaps of the same hide contained powerfully sculpted
thighs. A silver studded codpiece silhouetted a fat, mushroom headed
cockshaft whose length Duke estimated must exceed fourteen earth inches.
Silver studded gauntlets of black animal hide extending half way
to his elbows sheathed the snarling Brothel Procurator's hands. Zodp'doq
held a long black riding crop. With nervous energy, the Master slid his
fingers up and down the crop's long shaft, as if he were about to play a
clarinet.
Abruptly Zodp'doq barked an unheard command and pointed brusquely
with his crop. The "camera" panned, following the Drode's gesture to
reveal--
"The Orphan Prince Khochya-bar-Qoq, beloved of Aasalar, grandson
of Admiral Antemodes Ahrkantepodes."
Kare'enyi Na'aklyi's rasping whisper quivered with emotion. The
men of the Ross Ice Station gasped at the sight of Zodp'doq's captive.
Khochya-bar-Qoq could not have been more than fourteen earth
years, and yet the boy's taut body boasted well articulated muscle groups.
The Drodes had stripped the prisoner completely nude, shaving his body
from the neck down, sparing his furry, sweat drenched armpits in which
loathsome worms nested and feasted.
The Drodes impaled the Prince's butt hole on a tall, black onyx
shaft, which spread the prisoner's sphincters open wider than a man's fist
ever could. Pain contorted the adolescent's face, but he refused to weep
for the amusement of his tormentors.
The better to display the Orphan Prince's budding manhood, the
Drodes had greased his body with thick, black machine oil. His firm, hard
nipples stood up from his pectorals like the summits of mountains.
Long metal cords looped through the welded restraints on his
wrists and ankles, stretching the boy's arms and legs into a straining X.
A wide black metal collar compelled Khochya-bar-Qoq to hold his head
erect. A wide, black metal ring around his sack forced the boy's
testicles to hang low and exposed within his heavy scrotum.
Three silver loops pierced the prisoner's cockshaft. A metal cord
clipped to the silver ring piercing his cockhead extended to a hook beyond
the basin's outer lip, stretching his penis out to ten full inches.
With fiendish ingenuity, Zodp'doq had transformed Khochya-bar-Qoq
into a living statue in a living fountain. Standing upon concentric tiers
ranging the full height of the high domed room, Drodes showered hot gold
streams of piss down on the prisoner. The Drodes had forced a bridle bit
between the captive's jaws, so that the Prince's gaping mouth stayed open
as a constant target to the banks of pissing Pirates.
Piss glistened on Khochya-bar-Qoq's thick black curls. Piss
dribbled down his face, his arms, his back and shoulders, chest and calves
and thighs. The Drodes had plugged the fountain basin so the Sex Pirates'
piss puddled up over the boy's anchored ankles. The Prince's face
revealed his deep humiliation, but also his determination that the Drodes
would never crush his spirit.
With a sixth sense Duke turned to look at Buddy. The young
computer wizard's knees were buckling under him and he could barely keep
himself from swooning. Buddy's face flushed bright red as his breath came
in short, sharp gasps. While Duke ran to assist his fellow scientist,
Khochya-bar-Qoq's image faded to grey and the atrium walls again became
transparent.
"PREPARE FOR THE SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE!
"PREPARE FOR THE SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE!"
A voice resonated from the sensuround public address speakers.
White clad dwarves re-appeared to guide the scientists and sailors
to their quarters. The Duke grabbed Buddy just in time to keep the
Californian from toppling over.
"PREPARE FOR THE SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE!
"PREPARE FOR THE SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE!"
Alarms sounded from loudspeakers throughout the Starship.
In the confusion the Duke carried Buddy to a cushioned bench set
in the glass wall of the atrium. The hairless dwarves scurried about
herding the Ross Ice Station crew out of the atrium, but in their haste
they failed to notice Duke and Buddy.
"PREPARE FOR THE SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE!
"PREPARE FOR THE SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE!"
Alarms reverberated from the sensuround loud speakers in dissonant
pitches and keys.
Duke unzipped Buddy's jumpsuit and stood back to give his young
comrade breathing space.
Once more Duke marveled at the sun bronzed Californian. His flat,
hard abdomen rising and falling slowly with each breath. His brown firm
nipples blooming from his muscled pecs like chocolate kisses. His golden
hairs matting his arms and legs. His curling pubic bush. His stiff,
tall, cockshaft standing fully at attention.
Mumbling incoherent syllables Buddy stirred awake.
"Daddy," he whispered, "Daddy, please fuck my face."
Buddy reached up and unzipped Duke's jumpsuit.
"Daddy, please fuck my pig face, Daddy."
Buddy sat up and kissed Duke's drooling cockhead.
Duke gasped, not believing a hundred JO fantasies had come to
life.
Buddy's lips slid up the whole length of Duke's tumescent
cockshaft.
"SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE STARTING NOW!
"SPACE/TIME WARP PASSAGE STARTING NOW!"
Duke moaned, steadying himself against the glass wall as the
golden Californian's tongue massaged his engorged cockshaft.
Outside the Starship the surrounding universe glowed a dim red.
Buddy dropped to his knees and took Duke's ballsack in his mouth.
Duke wept, as decades of self discipline evaporated through the
young computer techie's ministration.
The universe glowed reddish-orange.
"Fuck my face, Daddy.
"Fuck my face, Daddy, please."
Duke grabbed the kneeling Buddy's head, thrusting his hips as he
had only see men do in rented videos.
Buddy's mouth stretched to take in Duke's cockshaft and balls.
Duke's head spun round as the universe glowed a brighter shade of
orange.
Buddy released Duke's jewels, then swiftly flicked his tongue over
Duke's cockhead.
"O God, I love it! God, I love it!" Duke cried out for the first
time to listening ears.
Outside the atrium, the dazzling golden-orange universe pulsated
with expanding energy.
"Fuck my face, Daddy.
"Fuck my face, Daddy, please."
Duke pushed Buddy on to the floor, straddling him, Duke's knees
pressing down Buddy's shoulders.
Buddy's tongue lapped Duke's furry ballsack.
Flashes of violet lightening surged through the pulsing orange
universe.
Sweat drenched the Duke's flushed face and dribbled down his
sides. Duke's crotch and armpits stank of men in rut.
The universe became unstable, the molten yellow light dissolving
into time.
Buddy's tongue played along the underside of Duke's empurpled,
fattened shaft.
Duke's head spun and his breathing quickened has his gonads
overwhelmed his mind.
Brilliant blue lightening ripped apart the molten yellow light.
"Fuck my face, Daddy.
"Fuck my face, Daddy, please."
"O God I love it! O God it feels so good!"
Shafts of blue lightening rent the universe.
The molten yellow light scrolled back.
Thick purple and magenta clouds spilled through the fissure
between space and time.
Space became time. Time became space.
The Duke rocked forward on his haunches shooting, shooting,
shooting, thick hot globs of mancum into his Buddy's eager mouth.
"Fuck my face, Daddy."
"O God I love it!"
Shooting, shooting, shooting.
Bolts of dazzling bright blue lightening in a molten yellow
universe.
Shooting, shooting, shooting.
And as the purple and magenta clouds enveloped Starship 69 within
their shimmering glow, the Duke collapsed on top of Buddy and the lovers
cuddled in each other's arms, their panting bodies drenched with sweat and
reeking with the smells of men in heat.
And up above them on the black metallic balcony, smoldering eyes
gazed down and knew an ancient prophecy had been fulfilled.
MEN OF ANTARCTICA
Episode #5,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
Cyan, yellow, and magenta, planets orbited red, green, and blue
stars. Luminous clouds of cosmic matter pulsed with the energy of
compressed nebulas. Starship 69 had reentered the Forty-Nine Hypostic
Galaxies.
The men of the Ross Ice Station starred in wonderment at the sky
show endlessly spinning before them.
An officer materialized on the black metallic bridge.
The tallest warrior the crew had seen so far, he stood at least
seven earth feet. Massively bulked up traps and delts defined his broad
square shoulders. Enormous pectorals strained through his pure white
uniform, then tapered to a flat abdomen. A narrow waist flared out to
curved, firm muscled buttocks supported by powerfully sculpted calves and
thighs. Atop his thick, long neck, a lion's head addressed the scientists
and sailors.
"Gentlemen from the Planet You Call Earth, allow yet one more
officer to welcome you to Starship 69. I am Commander Leonardis from the
Lykanthine Planetary System. As the ship's Executive Officer, I am also
your liaison with the Ma'asatt Flotilla."
Commander Leonardis' voice rumbled like thunder from his firm,
hard belly.
Again the atrium's glass walls became opaque, and colored lights
glowed on their surfaces. The sounds of falling waters soon engulfed the
atrium. Then the amorphous lights coalesced into veils of steam and mist,
which parted to reveal a lagoon enclosed in grotto.
Cataracts cascaded down from high ledges while hot steam spiraled
up from the lagoon. The grotto's rock walls glowed bluish-green, with
mica-like chips sparkling from the stones.
As the "camera" panned back, the panoramic view disclosed the
entire grotto set within the cone of an extinct volcano, the summit
opening to reveal a sky illuminated by two moons, one brilliant silver and
one shrouded in turquoise clouds.
"Behold the Pools of Jyllian beneath the Mountains of
Taboullallou. Since untold aeons before your first ancestors began to
paint their dreams upon the walls of caves, the Pools of Jyllian have
healed the bodies, minds, and spirits of Enlightened Warriors."
Sweat glistened on Commander Leonardis' ebony skin.
Duke's shaft stood at attention, oozing pre-cum in his jumpsuit.
The astronomer wrapped his arm around young Buddy's shoulders, and did not
give a shit who saw them.
"Gentlemen, the Noble Warrior Kare'enyi Na'aklyi has given you a
vision the dire present. Permit me to unfold a vision of the not too
distant past."
The "camera" panned down and close to focus on a large turtle
shaped boulder in the center of the steaming lake.
A boy burst from beneath the surface of the waters. He seemed
about fourteen earth years of age, possessing spectacular beauty. Honey
gold hair tumbled over his shoulder blades. Vigorous exercise defined the
muscles of his slim, tall gymnast's body The adolescent had no hips. A
tight round ass rode high and proud above his runner's muscled legs.
Except for golden tufts within his armpits and a golden triangle above his
eight inch cock, his body was completely smooth and hairless. Two pale
blue eyes sparkled within the swimmer's radiant face, and a square jaw
spoke of determination and persistence.
"Gentlemen, please observe Prince Aasalar, grandson of Admiral
Antemodes Ahrkantepodes, the boldest strategist ever to command the
Ma'asatt Flotilla."
Another head burst from the steaming waters. The men whispered,
recognizing Khochya-bar-Qoq, Zodp'doq's captive in Xyla'anta's Brothel of
the Ten Thousand Inter-Galactic Sexual Pleasures.
But now they saw a free and happy boy. Black curls matted his
abdomen and torso, and a thick bush sprouted atop his pubes. Exuberantly
Khochya-bar-Qoq leapt upon the rock and tackled Aasalar. As steaming
vapors spiraled from the waters, the two boys wrestled, laughing, till the
Dark Orphan pinned Aasalar's shoulders.
Khochya-bar-Qoq claimed Aasalar's first "forfeit": a lingering and
deeply taken kiss. Then the boys wrestled until Aasalar pinned
Khochya-bar-Qoq. Aasalar claimed the Orphan's "forfeit", and
Khochya-bar-Qoq slowly sucked Aasalar's cockmeat.
The Duke breathed deeply as he watched Khochya-bar-Qoq's lips
engulf Aasalar's tumid shaft. Duke's hand slid down from Buddy's shoulder
and massaged the Californian's butt. Buddy responded, rubbing his leg
between the astronomer's thighs.
Once more the Dark Prince and the Light Prince wrestled. The two
boys fought in earnest now, straining their muscles to claim final
victory. Aasalar knocked Khochya-bar-Qoq's legs out from under him. The
two boys grappled, breaking head locks, arm locks. Aasalar spun around
Khochya-bar-Qoq, seizing his head in a full nelson. But Khochya-bar-Qoq
flipped off his opponent, pinned his shoulders to the mat, and flung
Aasalar's legs over his shoulders.
Buddy fondled Duke's crotch as Khochya-bar-Qoq rammed his fat
throbbing shaft into Aasalar's butt hole. The two boys writhed together.
Duke and Buddy pulled each other off inside their jumpsuits. The Dark
Prince bent Aasalar's legs back till his feet were flat upon the rock
beside his head. The Dark Prince thrust his hips. Aasalar moaned. The
Dark Prince panted. Buddy suspired. The Duke's whole body quivered.
And as the Cataracts of Jyllian thundered downward from the summit
of Taboullallou, Aasalar, Buddy, Duke, and Khochya-bar-Qoq shouted out
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" and shot their loads and collapsed into one
another's arms.
While the boys nestled together Duke noticed for the first time
that around their necks they wore leather thongs. From those thongs hung
pendants of dazzling crystal. The gems emitted purer, sharper light than
any crystal Duke had ever seen on earth. And even in the dim, mist
shrouded grotto, the gems pulsed with ever-changing rainbow hues.
"Behold the fabled Vosaquatus crystals. Kaduma Masters used the
crystals both to heal and to protect Enlightened Warriors."
Commander Leonardis' voice drawled like the sound of lowing bulls.
The image of the grotto faded. Aasalar stood alone amidst a
desolate landscape of tumbling battlements and arid, endless desert. The
boy seemed older now, his body bruised by sun and wind and battle, his
long hair seared a darker bronze. His muscles had grown harder, tauter,
and his face bore lines of care beyond his years. Aasalar held a wooden
staff as tall as he, and wore a jerkin of fur pelts lashed together with
leather lacings. The crystal talisman no longer hung about his neck.
"Gentlemen, behold Aasalar as he is now: alone, abandoned, lost.
Zodp'doq keeps Khochya-bar-Qoq as a pet within the Brothel of the Ten
Thousand Inter-Galactic Sexual Pleasures. Drode Pirates have extinguished
the light of the Vosaquatus crystals. And the Kaduma Masters' wisdom has
been lost to Hermanuta Serenissima."
Aasalar howled like some wild animal in pain. The barren
wilderness mockingly echoed back the Prince's anguish.
"Gentlemen, once great cities flourished on these fallow plains.
Once commerce with all Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies flowed through the
bazaars of the Inter-Stella caravans."
Aasalar flung his head back, wailing at the empty sky.
Far, far away, a scavenging beast answered with its own blood
curdling call.
"Gentlemen, once the Ma'asatt Flotilla defended the Forty-Nine
Hypostic Galaxies. And once Kaduma Masters taught their wisdom in
academies beside the banks of flowing rivers."
Zodp'doq's sneering features overlaid the harsh white sun. The
Master of the Five Drodai'ic Realms gazed down at Aasalar and leered, as
the Procurator of Brothels stroked his riding crop.
"Zodp'doq rules all from Xyla'anta. Zodp'doq mocks Kaduma Wisdom
as he vows to extinguish Aasalar and our weak remnant of the old Ma'asatt
Flotilla. The Reverend Mothers call out for a new Enlightened Warrior. A
new Enlightened Warrior to regain the lost crystals of Vosaquatus. To
fight beside Prince Aasalar and rescue Khochya-bar-Qoq from the Brothel of
the Ten Thousand Inter-Galactic Sexual Pleasures. To restore the Kaduma
Wisdom to the Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies."
Commander Leonardis' deep voice blazed with passion as sweat
drenched his onyx torso. Zodp'doq's lips spread in an evil grin. His
black gloved fingers fluttered in the air and reached through time and
space towards Aasalar.
"The Reverend Mothers have foretold that generations of
Enlightened Warriors will sprout from the Men of Antarctica. Will you
accept the call to a Heroic Quest before the Great Vastation overwhelms
the Planet You Call Earth?"
The images of Aasalar and Zodp'doq faded to a transparency above
a view of fifty foot tall mutant penguins rampaging through Manhattan's
Flatiron District.
Commander Leonardis pleaded with the scientists and sailors.
"The Reverend Mothers have foretold that the Men of Antarctica
bear seeds of new Enlightened Warriors--"
"And so they do!"
The Ross Ice Station crew gasped as the Duke thrust his way to the
fore.
"Yes, Leonardis! I shall fight for you! I shall join Aasalar's
crusade! I shall accept your call to a Heroic Quest! I shall restore
Kaduma Wisdom to the Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies!"
Leonardis leapt from the balcony and embraced Duke, crushing the
astronomer to this massive chest.
The scientists and sailors murmured that a fortysomething, paunchy
stargazer was unlikely Enlightened Warrior material.
And locked in Leonardis' powerful grip, Duke failed to realize
that Buddy had slinked backwards to stand in the last row of the Ross Ice
Station crew.
MEN OF ANTARCTICA
Episode #6,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
The crew's gymnasium sprawled across Starship 69's top decks.
Thick glass buttressed by heavy metal struts upheld a high, metal
ribbed dome that soared forty earth feet above the health spa's highest
tier.
Here the crew exercised and socialized.
Borsa worked out with the Lykanthine watch.
Commander Leonardis' team, the Lykanthines, towered above the Ross
Ice Station scientists and sailors. With their enormous delts and traps,
handsomely bulked up lats, and wide, firm muscled rumps, the Lykanthines
excelled at wrestling and power lifting. Their silk smooth skins ranged
from Leonardis' midnight ebony, through a spectrum of chocolate brown,
hand burnished bronze, to subtle sepia hues. Atop their long, thick
muscled necks, each Lykanthine sprouted a lion's, tiger's, bear's, or
panther's head.
Linked to computer terminals, the chrome exercise machines allowed
finer weight calibration that any equipment on earth. From electrodes
attached to the weightlifter's skin, the computers monitored heartbeat,
breathing, and muscle contraction.
Borsa noted that the machines were scaled to match the height and
bulk of the Ma'asatt Flotilla crew. But for each muscle group, one
machine had been scaled to fit an earth sized body.
"Who exercises on these small machines?" Borsa asked Leonardis.
"The workshop hand tooled them for our ship's boys," Leonardis
answered.
"But you don't have any boys on this ship."
"We do now that you've come aboard, Little Brother."
Leonardis rumpled Borsa's thick, curly locks and winked.
At eighteen Borsa knocked his girlfriend up and joined the Marine
Corps. He re-upped twice and served in the Ross Ice Station's radio
shack.
The monitor electrodes fascinated the jarhead. But he was much
too shy to try them out until Leonardis asked him point blank, "Hey Little
Brother, want me to hook you up so we can track your sets?"
Familiar butterflies flapped inside Borsa's stomach.
Ever since adolescence hit him in the seventh grade, Borsa had
been the tallest, biggest kid in school. He played first string football,
but somehow Borsa always found himself the butt of jokes he was unable to
anticipate. How many times had other boys humiliated him because his
gullibility left him wide open to their pranks? How many times had a
hardon betrayed him to his tormentors?
At the Ice Station, each new Marine's rat fuck initiation required
him to pull some gross out stunt on Borsa, and then suffer in silence
while the big dude beat the living shit out of the newbie.
Would Leonardis and the Lykanthines haze Borsa like the guys did
back on earth?
"What'sa matter, Little Brother? Think that I'm gonna wire ya up
and then electrocute ya till ya nuts get fried?"
Borsa blushed pretty pink because indeed those were his thoughts.
"Relax and stretch out on the bench. Just close your eyes and
breathe in deep and slow. Borsa is Leonardis boy. And little boys, they
have to learn to trust their brothers."
Borsa obeyed, and Leonardis sat at the console behind him.
"You have beautiful calves and thighs, Little Brother," purred
Leonardis as he massaged a cool, sweet smelling jell into the Marine's cut
and sculpted legs.
Borsa unwound into the soothing touch of Leonardis' fingers.
"Ahhhhhhhhh, Little Brother has big muscles for a boy."
Leonardis' purr caressed Borsa's ears as the Commander hooked
electrodes to each thigh.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Little Brother, Little Brother."
Borsa relaxed as the cool, sticky jelly kneaded his hard nipples.
Borsa inhaled Leonardis' rich mansmells. The spices on his breath
from lunch. The sweat that rolled along his side and dripped on Borsa's
chest. The rankness in his crotch, mixture of piss and cum and unwashed
gym suit.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Little Brother what a hairy bod you have. I
think your Mama made it with a SZoid while Papa Borsa was off fighting in
Viet Nam."
Borsa blushed pretty pink and said nothing. Borsa's cock stirred
as Leonardis clamped electrodes to his tits.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, here we go," the Lykanthine
commander purred. "Now lets just see if we can get a reading . . . ."
Before the Marine saw him move, the Lykanthine Commander
squirreled Borsa's nuts.
The display monitor lit up.
Green, orange and magenta lines soared over graphs scrolling
across the CRT.
Borsa blushed lobster red. The electrodes monitored his reactions
all too accurately. He had a boner in his workout suit that wouldn't
quit. Pre-cum oozed from his cockhead. And every laughing Lykanthine
could see the dark stain spreading on his crotch.
Leonardis squatted down on his haunches. The Lykanthine Commander
kissed the Marine's forehead.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Little Brother, Little Brother. Welcome
into our watch. Will you join us in fellowship, or do I have to sacrifice
my ass to receive my brother's forgiveness?"
Borsa sat up and looked straight into Leonardis' eyes.
"You heard me correct, Little Brother. My ass is yours to do with
as your heart desires if you feel I betrayed you. The laws of hospitality
govern the Lykanthines from generation unto generation. It is for you to
say if we have violated our own laws."
Borsa's head spun with confused and conflicting scenes.
Leonardis' magnificent round butt . . .
The smell of sweat and piss and cum and grunge . . .
His big cock drooling pre-cum . . .
Trust me . . .
Fuck me . . .
Trust me . . .
Fuck me . . .
Borsa opened his arms out wide and embraced Leonardis.
As the Lykanthines cheered, Leonardis crushed the Marine against
his massive chest.
And Borsa knew without a doubt that he had made the right
decision.
Schnuffler spent every waking hour at the gym.
The Starship's crews exercised wearing black workout suits that
hugged the contours of their pumped physiques. The adhesive fabric
started halfway up the thighs, clung to the crotch and buttocks, crawled
half way up the chest and back, then swooped to a low neckline fore and
aft, joined by two slender shoulder straps.
The Krugkopfs and the SZoids engaged in fierce rivalry to capture
every team sport trophy. Shorter than Lykanthines, the SZoids and
Krugkopfs averaged 6'8". To compensate, the crews gave themselves the
most artificially sculpted physiques aboard Starship 69.
Massively bulked up chests and shoulders, arms and legs,
contrasted with narrow, tapered waists and high tight butts. The clean cut
Krugkopfs waxed their bodies smooth and buzz cut one another's hair. The
SZoids wore long thick beards, tattooed their shaven skulls, and sported
thick gold rings in their earlobes and nipples.
Schnuffler felt comforted to be surrounded by such masculinity.
After their four hour daily workouts, the crews sprawled out
between the whirlpool bath and splash pool in the middle tier. Naked and
unembarrassed, the athletes drank thick shakes extracted from pulverized
raw vegetables. And while they joked and let their 14" cocks dangle in
between their widespread thighs, the SZoids and Krugkopfs grabbed and
groped each other.
"O man," the Ross Ice Station's Data Metricist exclaimed at least
twice daily, "If this place had a wet bar with a stash of weed and lots of
foxy barmaids, I would be in hog heaven."
"This Starship don't need barmaids, Sister Schnuffler," SZoid
Captain Flotstim replied. "As long as you're aboard, the crew's got all
the pussy it can handle."
"Yeah, Flotstim," Schnuffler growled, "I never spread my cheeks
for nobody."
"Not back on earth," Krugkopf Lieutenant Westrim laughed, "but
wait until the Starship passes through Mha'atita'ah's Girdle."
Whenever Westrim said those words, Krugkopfs and SZoids guffawed
and fondled their ballsacks.
"Yeah Westrim," Schnuffler snarled, "and what the fuck is that
supposed to mean?"
"It means we got an extra special party planned to crown Miss
Schnuffler Starship 69's official little sister."
"Well fuck you, Flotstim," 5'6", 165 lb. Schnuffler barked,
"nobody's gonna mess with Schnuffler's ass--and that's a promise!"
The naked athletes howled and sprawled out with their legs spread
wide apart. They punched their comrades' arms, and tweaked their rivals'
firm brown nipples. SZoids dicked unsuspecting Krugkopfs in the ear.
Four Krugkopfs grabbed a SZoid, slammed his butt on the hard tile floor,
and tossed him in the freezing splash pool.
The naked athletes giggled secrets to each other. A SZoid sprayed
stinging alum on a sleeping Krugkopf's nuts. Two Krugkopfs smacked a
SZoid's bare ass and chased him round the tier with soaking towels. And
four SZoids pinned a Krugkopf down and tickle tortured him until he shot
his load.
Schnuffler the Data Metricist studied these antics like an
anthropologist. He spent his every waking hour at the gym. At the end of
the day, Schnuffler congratulated himself that the Ma'asatt Flotilla
harbored no fags and slept secure surrounded by such blatant masculinity.
************************************************************
Armstrong sighed as he watch yet another of his pilots
participating in a sauna circle jerk. An Annapolis graduate, Armstrong
commanded all the Navy pilots at the Ross Ice Station. But on board
Starship 69, his flyers self-restraint had totally evaporated.
Because he felt a strong affinity between himself and the
Starship's commanding officer, Armstrong ordered his flyers to exercise
with Commander's Ben-Ami's watch.
The Original Hermanutas seemed almost earthly compared with other
crews. Standing no more than 6'4", the tightly muscled Hermanutas
excelled in running, swimming, and gymnastics. The Hermanutas' blue-gold
iridescent hair shimmered as it tumbled over their shoulders. Their
squared jawed heads gave forth an air of self-assurance.
Armstrong wanted to speak to Ari Ben-Ami, but did not wish the
Commander to view him as a prude. Though nowhere near as sleazy as the
SZoids and Krugkopfs, the Hermanutas jerked each other off under the
showers, in the steaming whirlpool, and most especially within the sauna.
Armstrong had no idea how many earth length days had passed since their
departure from Antarctica, but he admitted that by now every one of his
pilots had become an enthusiastic celebrant of public onanistic rituals.
Except, of course, himself, who masturbated in the head while
thinking either of his wife or any of his high school girlfriends.
"Do you notice how much the Hermanutas touch each other?" the
Chaplain had asked Armstrong late one evening. "Whenever they work out,
they always stroke their partner's rump or cup his groin."
The Chaplain sucked his pipe and looked straight into Armstrong's
eyes.
"The Hermanutas are like pagans with no sense of shame. Perhaps
they can teach us a different way of helping one another on our joint
voyage."
Armstrong felt his head throb and had excused him. And now he
watched the Chaplain masturbating in the center of a circle jerk.
"My, friend, I fear you find our pleasures unappealing."
Armstrong awakened from his reverie as Commander Ben-Ami wrapped
an arm about his shoulder.
Armstrong suspected that Ben-Ami read his thoughts, but he would
never ask a fellow officer so personal a question.
The two men sat on molded plastic deck chairs facing the sauna's
floor to ceiling window.
"My friend, do you believe my crew to be effeminate?"
The direct question startled Armstrong. Navy officers practiced a
polite circumlocution at all times, and Armstrong found himself unprepared
for direct questions.
"No, ABBA, not effeminate . . ."
Ben-Ami had insisted Armstrong address him by his cadet nickname.
"Perhaps degenerate then?"
Armstrong began to sweat, and heard the blood pulse in his
temples. First he berated himself for not speaking to Ari Ben-Ami. But
when the Starship Commander now broached the subject in a forthright, open
manner, Armstrong could only feel completely undefended.
"No, not degenerate . . . On The Planet Which We Call Earth, our
family values are quite different from yours."
Ben-Ami gestured towards the circle jerk beyond the plate glass
window. Every pilot from Armstrong's old command had joined the party.
"These celebrations are unknown on your home planet?"
"Not unknown, ABBA, just not practiced . . . by men with high
degrees of self-respect."
"The Hermanutas are the finest warriors in all the Forty-Nine
Hypostic Galaxies!" Ben-Ami snapped. "These celebrations are unheard of
in your armed forces and service academies?"
Armstrong flushed, knowing he had fallen right into Ben-Ami's
trap. Armstrong's fierce sense of duty would not permit him to
prevaricate directly.
"No, ABBA. They are just not practiced openly."
"So you do not object to your crew joining my crew in our rites of
fellowship. You merely object that we honor what on The Planet You Call
Earth is practiced shamefully in dark secluded places."
Armstrong buried his face between his hands. His headache
throbbed. He sensed his skull would momentarily split open. Armstrong
detested facts that contradicted policies commanding officers endorsed but
violated privately. He wanted ABBA to withdraw so he could puke his guts
out on the molded plastic deck chair.
Instead Commander Ben-Ami massaged his shoulders till the
tightness in his neck relaxed.
"Armstrong, my friend, this Starship has to undertake a long, long
voyage to fulfill our mission. A long, long odyssey that brings us into
contact with a multitude of galaxies. I hope that you will join us as a
brother on our journey to discovery."
Armstrong could barely whisper.
"So I will have a choice?"
"A choice to follow freely what you know is good. Or to deny the
truth and seek refuge underneath hollow rules."
Armstrong lurched forward as his guts retched out.
Beyond the plate glass window the celebratory rites of Navy pilots
and Hermanutas continued without interruption.
Five headed shower carousels dotted the middle tier of the
Starship's gymnasium.
Borsa noted that on each carousel the central head sat too low for
the Ma'asatt crew, but just right for an earthman.
"Who showers underneath the lower nozzles?" Borsa asked Leonardis
as they cleaned up after their workout.
"The workshop fitted them for our ship's boys," Leonardis
answered.
"But you don't have any boys on this ship."
"We do now that you've come aboard, Little Brother."
Leonardis fired a cold spray of water at the Marine.
"You haul your furry ass over here, and I'll show my Little
Brother how to be a Starship boy."
Borsa blushed pretty pink. Borsa took care to shower underneath a
carousel away from Leonardis' watch. The Lykanthines joked that he feared
some day they'd pop his cherry. But Borsa dreaded that he'd throw a rod,
or worse, fire off a load, in front of all his new found friends.
Now the Marine padded over to Leonardis. The Lykanthine Commander
grinned and pointed to the ledge of tiles encircling the shower pipes.
Stepping up on the ledge, Borsa reached Leonardis' shoulders.
"Now Little Brother," Leonardis purred, "be nice and scrub Big
Brother's back."
Leonardis winked and pointed at the shower strop.
Borsa's stomach twisted in knots.
Though Leonardis always plugged the electrodes on Borsa's skin and
spotted him during workouts, Borsa never touched the Commander.
"What kind of Starship boy are you? A man gave you an order and
you stand there like a little girl. Hop to it, Little Brother, or I'll
really make you jump!"
Leonardis' deep voice rumbled up from his diaphragm.
Borsa began to scour the onyx shoulders with the pumice textured
strop.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, that feels so goood, Little Brother. Work that
strop down my spine, and work it nice and hard."
Borsa obeyed, knowing that Leonardis felt the boner he could not
suppress. The two stood tight together, nuts to butts. The Marine's
surging cockshaft wedged itself beneath Leonardis' rump.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that feels so goood, Little Brother. You
make a damn fine ship's boy and I'm gonna sign you on for the duration of
this tour."
"How long is that?" the jarhead panted as he struggled with his
breath.
"In your time, back on earth, not less than twenty years. Think
we can turn a boy into a man by then?"
Borsa blushed lobster red. He thought, he hoped, he didn't dare
believe he knew what Leonardis meant. His head was spinning much too fast
for him to follow conversation.
"C'mon boy, work that strop all the way down my spine. And I mean
right down to the sitbones!"
Borsa scrubbed Leonardis' silk smooth rump. The Commander's hard
muscled cheeks formed two broad hemispheres split by a dark, moist
fissure. Borsa scoured the monumental lobes, then stopped in reverence at
the iron gates.
"What's bugging you, boy?" chuckled Leonardis. "Don't you want
Leonardis' thunder hole?"
"No, Sir," the Marine whispered, "But I want you to fuck my ass."
"Why you old hairy SZoid faced inter-stellar mongrel!"
Leonardis pivoted about face, smacked Borsa on the rump, and
hugged the Marine to his chest.
Borsa could not believe that he uttered those words. His nose was
broken in two places. One ear lay flat against his head. A scar sundered
his face, and many more covered his arms and chest. Borsa had fought with
fists and knives and broken bottles just to prove he was a man and not a
fag.
On earth he was the biggest, meanest mother fucker, and nobody
called him queer and walked away with all his parts in tact. But here on
Starship 69, the Marine wanted to be ship's boy for the Lykanthines.
Leonardis slid his slippery tongue deep into Borsa's mouth.
Borsa dropped to his knees, and as the shower water splattered in
his eyes, he clasped the Lykanthine Commander's cockhead in his lips.
Leonardis' shaft swelled to over fourteen inches length and three
inches diameter.
Borsa's tongue flicked across the piss slit as he dreamed of doing
on so many, many nights. Those nights were harsh and shame filled.
Borsa's dreams of a big brother to teach a boy the ways of love
reverberated with echoes of words that seared his soul.
Cocksucking little faggot pussy!
Now Borsa spread his jaws and took the tip of Leonardis' rod into
his mouth.
The Marine saw for the first time how thick veins curved around a
shaft like clinging vines. He slurped the pre-cum dripping from Big
Brother's golden eye and knew at once he liked the taste and wanted more.
His tongue lapped it's way up the cockshaft's underside. He smelled the
odors hidden in between the furry ballsack and the thunder hole, and knew
he wanted twenty years at least to wallow in them.
He felt the huge shaft throb and watched the engorged veins swell
out.
The jarhead rocked back on his haunches underneath the pelting
shower. The Lykanthine Commander tilted back Borsa's head and slipped his
rod between the Marine's supplicating lips. And as the jarhead swallowed
globs and globs of scalding, thick, rich cum, tears flooded from his eyes
because he had come home at last, and come to stay.
MEN OF ANTARCTICA,
Episode #7,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
Buddy perceived the light before the others.
The young computer whiz and the astronomer lay naked in each
other's arms. While scientists and sailors slumbered through the
Lykanthine watch, the pair would sneak down to the atrium and revisit the
cushioned bench where they shared their first inter-stellar sex.
As galaxies spun past outside the high glass walls, the men
engaged in torrid wrestling matches. To the victor belonged the loser.
Then, spent and drained, the lovers snuggled tight, Duke's hairy
chest fused into Buddy's skin by sweat and cum.
Their pillow talk followed a predictable course. Buddy whispered
dirty words, proposing raunchy new techniques for him and Duke. Duke
waxed romantic, babbling about "couplehood," orating about the Heroic
Quest the pair would undertake to restore the Kaduma Wisdom . . . .
"Look, Duke, lighten up, will ya!" Buddy disentangled himself and
stalked about the atrium, gesticulating.
"I'm only 26. I'm not ready to settle down. I think you're hot.
I think you're sweet. I dig the sex. But we are not a couple. I make it
with a lot of other dudes."
"You suck the Chaplain off."
"I suck the Chaplain off. I take it up the ass from both Flostim
and Westrim. I get hardballed by all the SZoids. I drink hot piss from
all the Krugkopfs. Nobody gets me as turned on as you. But I am not a
one man boy!"
"I love you--"
"You're forty-four. You've never made it with another man. You
want to live like William Powell and Myrna Loy. But lighten up for once.
There's so much hot cock on this ship--have you seen Leonardis' rod? Use
your imagination, man, and get yourself some hot Lykanthine dick! This
voyage is a golden opportunity. Why don't you just relax and make the
most of it?"
His face flushed red, the Californian spun about and stared beyond
the tall glass walls.
Duke sighed.
"You think that my Heroic Quest's a crock of shit."
"You and I, we travel to the beat of a different drum."
Duke rose, stood behind Buddy, and massaged his shoulders.
"It isn't me who turns you on. It's Zodp'doq."
Silently Buddy hung his head.
"Zodp'doq comes to me at night. Zodp'doq calls to me."
"Just like a vampire."
"Yes. He invades my dreams. He fucks me in my dreams. And when
I wake up I can feel the heat left from his shaft burning my glory hole.
And when I finger fuck myself Zodp'doq's cum's lubing my asscrack."
Duke wrapped his arms around the Californian's chest.
"Zodp'doq has possessed you! Zodp'doq's raped your soul!"
Without speaking, the two men clung to one another, lost in space.
Then Buddy raised his eyes and saw the light.
"Look! Look, Duke! Look!"
A band of dazzling light stretched wide across the altiverse in
the far distance. Pulsating with high energy, the light band cycled
through the spectrum: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet,
red . . . .
The lovers stared in wonder at the light.
"Duke, we are gonna fucking cruise right through that band of
light!"
The light band widened as the ship sped towards it. Colored light
flashed on the atrium's floor and ceiling.
Buddy could feel the light pulse through him.
"Please fuck me, Duke. Please fuck me like a dog. Please fuck me
like the dog you know I am."
Buddy dropped on his hands and knees. He wagged his butt at Duke
just like a puppy begging for attention.
"Please fuck me, Duke. The SZoids and Krugkopfs fuck me. So can
you."
Buddy wagged his puppy butt to the rhythm of the pulsing light.
"You fucking piece of shit!"
Duke slapped the Californian's rump. Then slapped it harder till
a pink blush spread across both asscheeks.
"Please fuck me, Daddy!."
Starship 69 sped on direct course to the band of light.
"You fucking piece of shit!"
Buddy's rump glowed bright red.
"Please fuck me, Daddy!"
The spectrum pulsed outside the atrium.
"You fucking sleazy little pig!"
Duke paddled Buddy's asscheeks to the rhythm of the light waves
surging through his blood stream.
"Fuck me!"
Purple welts bloomed on Buddy's rump.
"Please fuck me, Daddy!"
Red orange yellow light
The Duke kicked Buddy's legs apart.
Yellow green blue
Opened his asscheeks cheeks wide.
"Please fuck me!"
Mounted him.
"Fuck me!"
Rammed his shaft way down Buddy's glory road.
"Fuck me!"
Indigo violet red
Pounded his prostate.
Speeding towards light rushing to meet them.
"Fuck me!"
Orange yellow green
Grinding his hips in rhythm.
Blue indigo
Speeding.
Orange yellow
Speeding.
Green blue
Shooting, shooting, shooting.
As the Ross Ice Station crew filled the atrium to observe the band
of light rushing to meet Starship 69 as Duke and Buddy toppled in a sweat
drenched heap as colored lights pulsed on the floor and ceiling.
MEN OF ANTARCTICA,
Episode #8,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
"Yo, Little Brother, haul your furry butt and run an errand!"
Borsa scurried to Leonardis. The Lykanthines were standing watch.
Commander Leonardis allowed Borsa to serve as the Starship's Bridge Boy.
"Hey, Little Brother, can you read these glyphs?"
Leonardis handed Borsa a computer printout written in the
Universal Glyph Language (UGL) common to all Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies.
Borsa studied the glyphs. Leonardis had been teaching him the
symbols during their off watch cycles. Borsa would not admit he found the
glyphs difficult to comprehend. But he deciphered enough to understand
that Leonardis wanted tool Qu'ua363 from storeroom Be'ele127 on Supply
Depot Level Blue. Borsa had memorized the GUL sequencing set and knew the
Starship's layout cold.
"Now Little Brother knows what Whyzhywha'ags look like, don't he?"
"Sure thing!" lied Borsa.
"Well just make sure you get an extra large sized green tool. And
don't go jerking yourself off down in the Supply Depot. I want you back
here on the double, Mister."
"Yes, Sir!" Borsa snapped to attention and saluted.
Leonardis squirreled the Marine's nuts and winked.
The pneumatic elevator whizzed Borsa to the Starship's Depot. The
security droids beeped, flashed their green lights, and let the Marine
pass. Borsa felt proud that Leonardis granted him System 2.6 clearance.
All other earthmen rated System 1.4.
The Supply Depot consumed so much core, the color coded tiers
occupied self-contained entities in the ship's ecosphere.
Borsa clambered up metal ladders towards the top blue tier.
Sector Be'ele sat in the glyph sequence set's highest range. But Borsa
knew the drill, and soon unlocked the metal door to storeroom 127.
Once in the room, the sequence set of shelves became a piece of
cake. Borsa sauntered through towering aisles of metal shelves, found
Sector Qu'au, then rolled a metal ladder into place and climbed to the 300
range.
358, 359, 360, 361, 362, 363.
Borsa unlocked the metal bin and looked inside. Instead of tools,
he found another printout. The first four lines of UGL proved totally
incomprehensible. But Borsa could decipher Depot Level Orange, storeroom
Zha'ad255, tool Bha'a511.
"Fuck!"
Level Orange occupied the opposite core from Level Blue.
"Yo, Little Brother! You got that Whyzhywha'ag yet?"
Leonardis' voice boomed over the PA speakers.
"No, Sir! The tool's been relocated to another bin."
"Well haul your furry mongrel ass and fetch it, boy!"
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
Borsa hustled off the pneumatic elevator on the Orange Level.
Breathing in quick, short bursts, he scampered up the metal ladder to the
Zha'ade tier. Borsa wanted to be the best little boy in the altiverse.
He constantly feared disappointing Leonardis.
Heart pounding in his chest, he found the metal door to storeroom
255. The lock required a System 2.8 clearance. Borsa could not waste
time requesting higher ratings. Leonardis was pissed enough already.
He pushed open the door and jogged along the aisles of metal
shelves towards Sector Bha'a. By the time Borsa reached the storeroom's
furthest end, sweat drenched his jumpsuit and his mouth felt dehydrated.
Once more he rolled a metal ladder into place and climbed up to
the highest range.
250, 251, 252, 253, 254, 255.
The metal bin required a System 3.0 clearance.
Borsa said "Fuck!" and pulled open the lid.
"Now what the fucking shit is going down here!"
Instead of tools, he found another printout. The top eight lines
of glyphs made no sense whatsoever. But Borsa found the address Depot
Level Yellow, storeroom Mma'alyi767, tool Bouru'u239.
"Oh fuck! Way the fuck down the fucking Depot--"
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
The shock startled Borsa more than it pained him.
A 24" high security droid had climbed the metal ladder behind
Borsa. Its metal pincers now encircled Borsa's leg above his ankle.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
This time the shock carried a stronger charge, and Borsa smelt the
smoldering fabric of his jumpsuit.
The jarhead jumped to the ground, heading towards the door.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
The droid began to climb his leg, and with each shock more of the
jumpsuit burnt to cinders.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Borsa grasped the droid's two antennae, snapping them in half.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
The red lights flashing on its face, the droid's head spun about
in circles. But the shocks still intensified as the droid climbed the
Marine's leg.
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Flames consumed the entire right leg of the Marine's jumpsuit as
the droid climbed towards his crotch.
Enraged by pain released endorphins, Borsa seized the droid's
rotating head.
"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
The pain seared through his hand, but Borsa did not loose his
grip. Focusing all his energy, the Marine twisted the droid's head until
the robot policeman snapped in two.
Pitching the severed head against the storeroom's wall, Borsa felt
the pincers relax around his upper thigh.
The defunct torso crashed against the concrete floor, exploding
into sparks and flares and whirring metal parts.
The jarhead surveyed the encounter's damage.
The droid had fried his right hand to a mass of bright red
blisters. The right leg of his jumpsuit had been burnt away, leaving his
butt exposed and his nuts dangling in the breeze. And all the hair on his
right leg and asscheek had been singed away.
The jarhead wanted to crawl into bed and stay there for a month.
"Yo, Little Brother! Will you quit playing with yourself! Where
the fuck is that extra large green Whyzhywha'ag I sent you for the watch
before the watch before this watch?"
Severe and righteous, Leonardis' voice reverberated over the PA
loudspeakers.
The Marine gasped and coughed his words out.
"Commander Leonardis, Sir. The tool's been relocated to another
bin. Starship's Boy Borsa is in transit to retrieve it, Sir."
"You mongrel SZoid faced mutt! You better haul your furry butt
and find that extra large green Whyzhywha'ag before your pussy ass is in
the brig for dereliction."
"Sir, yes, Sir!"
On a good day, the Marine disliked running errands down to Depot
Level Yellow. The Krugkopfs had salvaged the ancient yellow tiers from a
disabled starship floundering between galaxies. The jarhead feared its
slippery floors and mildewed concrete walls.
But he was Leonardis' boy, and his Commander's orders had to be
obeyed.
No security droids awaited him at the pneumatic elevator. Did
Leonardis know what happened? Borsa did not consider the ramifications of
his taking out the droid. His mission had to be completed. His mission
was the only thing that mattered.
Borsa unlocked the door to storeroom Mma'alyi767.
Red bulbs emitted scant illumination. The fetid stench of rank, decaying
vegetation filled the jarhead's nostrils.
Sector Bouru'u paralleled the furthermost wall. For once the
sequence set of bins followed along the floor.
762, 763, 764, 765, 766, 767.
Borsa opened the metal lid and peered inside.
The dim lights did not penetrate into this corner. Borsa had lost
his flash in the encounter with the droid. But he could feel something
large and slimy inside the bin. At least he did not find a printout
sending him to yet another destination.
Now to just take the extra large green Whyzhywha'ag and get the
fuck back to the bridge.
Borsa groped in the darkness for a handhold. Whatever lay inside
the bin felt soft and squishy and familiar. The Marine ran his hands
along the unseen object, trying to gauge its length. It seemed to be some
sort of long stemmed plant protected by an outer husk.
And then he felt the thing begin to stir.
Borsa leapt backwards with a start. Bad dreams from horror films
and comic books assaulted him. He was alone with something evil in the
Crypt.
Borsa slammed down the metal lid and tore ass for the door.
The Marine slid along the mold slicked floors and slammed into the
metal shelves.
From the dark corner of the storeroom he distinctly heard the
metal lid clang open and reverberate against the concrete wall.
The jarhead reached the metal door--
--but it was locked!
The Marine heard the Monster slithering along the floor.
He heard a weird, unearthly sound, like a bull lowing, only deeper
and more sinister.
And then he saw a shadow on the wall.
It was the neck of an enormous serpent.
Panic surged through the jarhead's veins.
Borsa raced down an aisle of shelves, turning right and then left
at every other corner. If The Thing was too large and slow he could
escape its grasp.
The Marine catapulted up a ladder to the highest tier.
If he could hide himself within a metal bin, Leonardis would send
a squad of Lykanthines to rescue him.
If he could only reach--
"What the fuck?"
Borsa felt something moist and soft lapping his asscrack.
Something just like a kitten's tongue only much, much more bigger.
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The Marine spun about in horror.
The eyeless Monster grinned up at him.
"Great Holy Motherfucking Christ!"
The Monster from the Crypt exposed itself as a nine foot long
bright green penis plant propelled by balls the size of Volkswagens
mounted on caterpillar treads.
"Great Holy Motherfucking Jesus!"
The Monster's foreskin rolled back to expose a cockhead wide as a
hassock. A long, broad tongue flicked in and out the Monster's piss hole,
tickling Borsa's asscrack. Gold cilia, the length of a man's arm, extended
from the green tongue like antennae seeking quarry.
Borsa had come face to face with the extra large green
Whyzhywha'ag.
And it wanted to fuck him shitless.
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
"PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The Whyzhywha'ag's piss hole spread open in a leering grin.
The furry tongue flicked into Borsa's asscrack.
"PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The Monster's cockhead nosed apart the Marine's asscheeks.
The Monster's piss hole puckered up, infiltrating between the
Marine's quivering cheeks.
Just like a rubber suction ring, the lips around the Monster's
piss hole glommed on to the Marine's pussy hole as the Monster's green
tongue flicked up the jarhead's road to glory.
"PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The Monster's hairy tongue massaged the Marine's prostate.
The extra large green penis rose, lifting the jarhead off the
metal ladder.
The cockhead burrowed between Borsa's cheeks till the Marine was
firmly enthroned on the Whyzhywha'ag.
"PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The Whyzhywha'ag extended itself to its fullest length, rising up
towards the storeroom ceiling as the haplessly impaled Marine flailed his
arms and legs.
"PAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
And then the upper hatch snapped open and the Whyzhywha'ag passed
upward to a higher tier and all the hatches opened wide to let the
Whyzhywha'ag ascend till Sergeant Borsa saw a dazzling band of colored
light outside the atrium and the Duke fucking California Buddy like a dog.
"It's about time you got your ass here, boy!"
A wide grin spread across Commander Leonardis' face.
"Now sissy pussy boy can cross Mha'atita'ah's Girdle with the real
men!"
MEN OF ANTARCTICA,
Episode #9,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
Duke the astronomer studied Mha'atita'ah's Girdle.
Duke viewed large fiery spheres generating bright light but
neither heat nor gravity. Inter-stellar adhesiveness bonded the globes in
300 mile color segments that comprised the light band's iterating
spectrum: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. The Starship
hung suspended in Mha'atita'ah's force field, vibrating to the light
spheres' rhythmic beat.
After accepting his jumpsuit as a "security deposit," the SZoids
loaned Duke a telescope-camera-spectrograph to observe the phenomena.
Duke realized at once that the spheres' molecular particles were as yet
uncataloged by scientists on earth. Or was the universe known to his
Harvard colleagues just one altiverse of many?
The stellar rhythm grew percussive, the Duke's hips rocking to
celestial music. Duke captured close ups of the spheres. To his
amazement, the core of each globe resolved into holographs of Hermanutas
fucking.
Something moist and warm slithered up Duke's asscrack.
Instinctively he recognized young Buddy's tongue. Still snapping
photographs, Duke rolled his hips back, thrusting his butt smack into
Buddy's face.
"Mmmmm Good! Mmmmm Good!
"Mr. Duke's shit hole tastes
"Mmmmm Good!"
Young Buddy stood erect and dry humped Duke while tonguing out his
ears.
"You little sleazeball!"
Duke spun around--then jumped back, startled and amused.
Some one had body painted Buddy. Large green rings encircled his
eyes. His nose glowed blue indigo, and his lips shone high gloss orange
yellow. Magenta circles outlined both his pecs, and a red arrow pointed
downward from his breastbone to his cockhead The total effect resembled a
child attending a most festive birthday party.
"Hey, junior, is this Vogue's hot new make up look for spring?"
"Nyaah! Don't be such a wise ass, Mr. Big Shot NASA Astronomer
Doode. Ya look a pretty sight ya self. The SZoids done booby trapped ya
little toy here. Ya schnoz is blue, ya eyes got nice green circles round
'em. All ya need is the lipstick and voilą, ya're a Principal Girl!"
"What I need, Sonny, is a California blow job." Duke lewdly
snapped his pelvis to Mha'atita'ah's rhythm. "Why doesn't puppy boy get
on his knees and see how much of Queen Helene's Pumpkin Glow #5 he can
schmear on his Daddy's stiff, hard, throbbing cockmeat."
"Ya know, Mr. Astronomer Doode, Sir, ya may be a real square and
an easy mark for a Pink SZoid set up, but ya sure are one fucking hot shot
stud."
*****
Borsa relaxed in Leonardis' arms. The Lykanthine Commander slid
his fourteen inch rod up the Marine's bung hole. The jarhead had arrived
in Semper Heaven.
After the body painting, Leonardis led Borsa to the gymnasium's
first tier. The Starship's crew unwound in the splash pool and whirlpool
bath, both brimming with warm, soothing manpiss. As soon as Borsa
stretched out in the piss, the blisters on his hand evaporated, the burns
on his leg vanished.
The Hermanutas drained the swimming pool. The Hermanutas sliced
and diced the Whyzhywha'ag, chopping the large green pieces into pulp
leavened with kitchen scrapings, meat grease, machine oil, and manpiss.
The Hermanutas also pulverized the Whyzhywha'ag's remains into a health
food thick shake which they passed to the crew. Borsa was not sure what
shake's taste reminded him of (something with mint, or lime, or parsley
maybe?). But the Marine knew that he liked it fine, and after two tall
glasses he no longer worried why the ooze in the swimming pool kept
heaving like the Whyzhywha'ag was still alive or wondered what the rainbow
bridge arching across the pool was meant to be.
The jarhead just felt very happy floating up to his neck in warm
manpiss with brother Lykanthines, sipping his third thick shake as
Leonardis' fourteen inch rod fucked him up the ass.
*****
Armstrong stood with his arms folded across his chest, his back
erect against the tile wall.
No thank you, he did not care for body painting.
No thank you, he did not care to relax in manpiss.
No thank you, he did not care for a Whyzhywha'ag thick shake.
Surprisingly, the Hermanutas offered no coercion. They simply
smiled, indicating the earthman could change his mind any time, and did
not bother him again.
Armstrong expected to be pressured into "being a good sport"--his
classmates always used that as their last resort at Annapolis, and on
every tour of duty ever after. To get along, you go along. But here the
Hermanutas could care less if he joined in the "fun and games," and
Armstrong found their attitude both disturbing and disconcerting.
A drum roll sounded.
Cymbals crashed.
The lights dimmed.
A disembodied deep base voice announced: "Gentlemen of the
Ma'asatt Flotilla and esteemed visitors from the Planet Which You Call
Earth, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Starship 69's Commanding
Officer, recipient of two Distinguished Service Stars and youngest officer
in the Grand Order of Antemodes Ahrkantepodes, please welcome Commander
Ari Ben-Ami!"
Drum roll.
Cymbals.
Blue spotlight on the apex of the rainbow bridge crossing the
swimming pool.
Thunderous applause from Lykanthines and Hermanutas.
Loud whistles, hoots, and hollers from Krugkopfs and SZoids.
Armstrong's stomach churned like a cement mixer.
Commander Ari Ben-Ami stood in the blue spotlight.
His blue gold iridescent hair powdered with glitter dust and piled
atop his head just like a Barbie doll.
His eyes outlined in kohl, his eyelids tinted deepest purple,
shadowed by butterfly sized false eyelashes.
His cheeks rouged (badly) and his lips sloppily smeared fire
engine red.
Long black gloves snaking up his arms right to the elbows.
A black baby doll nightie flecked with gold glitter dust.
Black silk textured bikini panties much, much too small to contain
the Commander's artillery.
Black fishnet stockings secured by a garter belt.
And three inch black stiletto high heeled pumps.
The crew's applause for their Commander continued in wave after
wave of cheers and whistles.
Armstrong puked in a darkened corner of the tier, hoping no pilot
from his squad had seen him.
Commander Ben-Ami raised a glove to his lips and blew his men a
torrid kiss.
Pitching his voice into a woman's sultry whisper, Commander
Ben-Ami addressed his crew.
"Gentlemen (and boys) of Starship 69, the Original Hermanuta's
Inter-Galactic Anthem!"
The drumming from the spheres crescendoed, its rhythm growing more
pronounced, and more familiar.
Commander Ben-Ami shimmied in the blue spotlight, surrendering to
the rhythm as it overcame him.
And then the sultry whisper sang:
"I want you under my skin.
"I want you so deep in the hide of me.
"So deep in my twat, you're really inside of me.
"I want you under my skin."
The crew watched in enraptured silence as their ship's commander
wriggled to Mha'atita'ah's music.
"I've had you under my skin.
"I've had you so deep in the hide of me.
"So far up my cooze, you're way, way inside of me.
"I've had you under my skin."
Casually, almost as if his thoughts were elsewhere, Commander
Ben-Ami lowered his nightie's shoulder straps and stepped out of the baby
doll.
Armstrong's heart hammered in his chest, a pounding louder than
Mha'atita'ah's drums.
Eyes veiled beneath butterfly lashes, Ben-Ami undid his bikini
panty's strings and slipped the silky garment off.
Armstrong puked up again. A Navy career officer, he had, from a
discrete distance, observed many a shipboard drag show. But never had he
seen a ranking officer participate so shamelessly.
"The Hermanutas are like pagans with no sense of guilt," the
Chaplain told him once. "Perhaps they can teach us a different way of
helping one another on our voyage."
Sashaying in his three inch heels, Commander Ben-Ami approached
his audience, followed by the blue spotlight.
Standing on the rim of one piss pool, Commander Ben-Ami pivoted on
his stilettos, gyrating his high, rounded buttocks at his enthralled
audience.
"I need you under my skin.
"I neeed you so deep in the hide of me.
"So far up my cunt, you're poking out my belly.
"I neeeed you under my skin."
Mincing with dainty baby steps, Ben-Ami shimmied to the other piss
pool.
This time he faced his audience, thrusting his hips out so the
multi-colored glitter dust sparkled in his golden bronze pubic bush.
Grinding his hips in rhythm to the music, Commander Ben-Ami's ten inch
hardon spun perfect circles glorified by phosphors painted on his
cockhead.
"Please let me under your skin.
"Please let me cum deep in the hide of you.
"So far up your ass, I've become a part of you.
"Please let me under your skin."
The ship's crew watched enchanted, silent, as Commander Ben-Ami
pranced back up to the apex of the rainbow bridge.
Ari Ben-Ami shut his eyes, completely overtaken by Ma'atita'ah's
music.
The ship's commander kicked off both his high heeled shoes and
took a flying leap into the churning pool of diced, sliced Whyzhywha'ag
enhanced with kitchen scrapings, meat grease, machine oil, and manpiss.
The lights came up.
The crew exploded in a thunderous ovation, surpassing in length
and volume the Commander's greeting on his first entrance. War hoops,
whistles, rebel yells, and applause reverberated off the gym's forty foot
dome, continuing ecstatically as the Commander bobbed up and down in the
slime pit waving his long black gloves over his head.
Suddenly Leonardis' voice rung out.
"C'mon guys! Go for it!"
With a wild cheer the Starship's crew vaulted out of the piss
pools and flung themselves in the slime pit.
Leonardis carried Boy Borsa in his arms and tossed him in the
churning slime.
Buddy, Duke, and the Chaplain did not need a second invitation.
Arms folded across his chest, back anchored to the cool tile wall,
Armstrong observed it all, knowing that he was missing something.
"Nyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! Fill up ya snout with slime, ya little
sissy!"
Schnuffler gleefully dunked his fellow Marines in the ooze,
holding their heads under the surface till they barfed.
"Nyaaaah! Nyaaaah! Ya little prissy pussy!"
Lieutenant Westrim dived beneath the slime and knocked distracted
Sergeant Schnuffler off his feet.
The Krugkopf wrestled Schnuffler underneath the heaving slime,
holding the Marine down till he lost his breath and had to swallow ooze.
When gasping Sergeant Schnuffler poked his head above the slime,
SZoid Captain Flostim pinned Schnuffler's arms behind his back, inviting
every sailor and Marine from the Ice Station to give Schnuffler's belly
their best shot. Many men required several warm up punches.
The Krugkopfs showed their skills, kick boxing Sergeant Schnuffler
in the nuts. The SZoids were much less couth, squeezing the Sergeant's
balls until he screamed and Westrim dumped another load of slime and piss
down Schnuffler's throat.
All through the ordeal Sergeant Schnuffler took it like a man.
Only a sissy faggot cries or begs for mercy in a test of manhood. These
SZoids and Krugkopfs were real men, and so was Marine Sergeant Schnuffler.
Besides, soon as he proved himself again a man, Schnuffler'd help
the big guys round up every last Marine for their turn in the barrel.
*****
After his fourth, or maybe fifth, health food thick shake, Borsa
relaxed enough to take every Lykanthine cockshaft up his ass.
After his tenth, or maybe twelfth thick shake, the Duke relaxed
enough to let a Krugkopf hardball him. (He loved it!)
After his first thick shake, the Chaplain sucked the cock of every
Hermanuta officer.
Before his first thick shake, young Buddy fucked every Marine from
the Ice Station crew (except Sergeants Borsa and Schnuffler who were
otherwise engaged).
*****
Four burly Krugkopfs climbed up on the rainbow bridge.
As if on cue lights dimmed, drums rolled, and cymbals clashed.
Swaying together, arms about each others' shoulders, the Krugkopfs
shut their eyes, snapping their fingers till they got Mha'atita'ah's beat.
The inter-stellar drumming took a faster tempo.
The Krugkopfs formed a chorus line, kicking their heels up as
their cocks flapped back and forth.
For massive, large boned men, the Krugkopf kick line moved with
exemplary grace.
In perfect time the Krugkopfs spun about, wagging their wide,
thick muscled buttocks at the slime smeared spectators.
Drums. Cymbals. The unseen announcer's deep base voice.
"Gentlemen of the Ma'asatt Flotilla and esteemed visitors from the
Planet Which You Call Earth, please welcome the Four Twats to sing the
Krugkopf Inter-Stella Anthem!"
The Krugkopfs swung their butts in syncopated rhythm.
Shaking their rumps, the Krugkopfs bent over, grabbing their
calves above their ankles.
Eight asscheeks spread wide open and four bright lipsticked glory
holes began to sing:
"I need a cock like you,
"To make my dreams cum true!
"I need a cock!"
To add special effects to an already classy act, bubbles flew out
of the four singing assholes.
"I need a cock like you,
"To make wet dreams cum true!"
"I need a hot, hot cock!"
*****
Armstrong observed the cabaret while sitting on the railing of the
middle health club tier overlooking the piss pools and the slime pit.
He realized that he could go to bed, and no one from the
Starship's crew would molest or disturb his slumbers. But Armstrong
rejected the accepted way's cowardice.
"Sir, I am a deep sleeper. I didn't hear a thing until the squad
assembled for inspection the next morning."
Yeah, sure, the Navy officer's official code of silence.
But Captain Armstrong was too honor bound to take a scoundrel's
easy refuge. And so he watched the show, watched four muscular 6'8"
Krugkopfs shaking their meaty rumps in rhythm as their butt holes sang:
"I need a cock like you,
"To fuck me through and through!
"I need your cock!"
Whose cock did Captain Armstrong need?
Sweet Billy Hastings from St. Paul.
Every summer Sweet Billy spent July and August with his Hastings
cousins on the farm adjoining Armstrong's. After their chores were done,
the boys skinny dipped and hung out beside the pond.
Their fourteenth summer Armstrong noticed a decided change in
Billy. His muscles had filled out. He had good definition in his chest
and arms and legs. He had a thatch of golden hair where he was smooth the
year before. And in between his legs Sweet Billy Hastings had a man's
equipment.
Armstrong modestly averted his eyes in the locker room after
football practice. But he knew every other freshman on the squad was
checking out his teammates.
During their skinny dips Armstrong could not help checking Billy
Hastings out. After the other boys returned to their farms to prepare for
dinner, Billy Hastings spread out bare assed naked on a boulder to catch
the sun's last rays.
Ever discreet, Armstrong reclined on an adjoining boulder. He was
embarrassed to be naked and not in the water. But if some farmer came and
made trouble for Billy, Armstrong would swear that they were both in it
together, and thus protect the city boy's good name.
August was hot that year in Minnesota. Temperatures rose above
100 and the boys napped while lying on the rocks. Armstrong dreamed
something furry glided up his thigh, glided along his leg and tickled his
ballsack. Armstrong rolled over and dreamed something furry tickled his
asscrack.
After the second day Armstrong admitted to himself he was not
dreaming. Billy Hastings was "messing with him." Armstrong knew this was
wrong, and he avoided staying over at his team mates' farms because he
heard stories of what went on after the parents went to bed.
Armstrong knew he should go back with the other boys and ignore
Billy Hastings from St. Paul. Armstrong knew what was right and what was
wrong. And still he stayed, day after day, alone and naked on the rocks
with Billy Hastings.
He stayed the day after he felt cold, sticky gook splatter his
asscheeks. He stayed the day after he felt cold, sticky gook splatter his
newly sprouted chestnut pubic bush. He even stayed the day after he felt
cold, sticky gook splattering his crew cut. But on the day after he
tasted Billy Hastings' salty cum splatter his lips (his tongue lapping the
joy juice), young Armstrong studied at the library, never returning to the
swimming hole. And Armstrong never again spoke to Billy Hastings.
*****
Four Lykanthines now climbed the rainbow bridge.
The astute Chaplain noted that even for Lykanthines the quartet
were spectacularly hung, their cocks averaging out at 16".
Borsa's heart pounded as his team went up to bat.
Drums. Cymbals. The announcer's voice.
"Gentlemen of the Ma'asatt Flotilla and esteemed visitors from the
Planet Which You Call Earth, please welcome the Four Hot Rods to sing the
Lykanthine Inter-Galactic Anthem!"
That silent moment as the quartet got the beat from
Mha'atita'ah's.
Then spotlight up. Go for it girls. The quartet kicked their
heels up in the air and sang:
"Looking for some hot twat, baby, this evening!
"Looking for some hot twat, baby, tonight!
"Gotta get some hot twat, baby, this evening!
"Gotta get some hot twat!
"Gotta get some twat tonight!"
The Duke sipped thick shake number twenty-two and marveled at the
hot rods swinging back and forth in perfect syncopation. How long, he
wondered, did it take these dudes to get their act together? Did they
have to audition against other acts? Was this co-ordination taught at
Lykanthine Service Academies? Duke signaled for his twenty-third thick
shake.
Borsa's eyes glowed just like a kid at Christmas. The quartet
kicked their legs up, their hot rods rotating in perfect circles.
"Looking for some cool cooze, baby, this evening!
"Looking for some cool cooze, baby, tonight!
"Gotta get some cool cooze, baby, this evening!
"Gotta get some cool cooze!
"Gotta get some cooze tonight!"
Schnuffler's ears perked up at the quartet's lyrics. These guys
were real butch men pulling a goof and not a bunch of sissy faggots.
"Oh man, if this place had a wet bar with a stash of weed and lots
of foxy barmaids, I would be in hog heaven."
Flostim and Westrim merely rolled their eyes.
The quartet speeded up their tempo as their foreskins drew back
and their piss holes puckered in delicious pink lipped grins and sang:
"Looking for some pussy, baby, this evening!
"Looking for some pussy, baby, tonight!
"Gotta get some pussy, baby, this evening!
"Gotta get some pussy!
"Gotta get pussy tonight!"
Armstrong watched the performance, remembering hot rods he had
known.
Dan Rivoglio undoubtedly possessed the biggest. Armstrong's
Annapolis classmate, the Bay Ridge Italian-American received much ribbing
about hairy shoulders, a foreskin loaded with head cheese, and the
dimensions of his cockshaft. But Dan suffered from no embarrassment,
parading naked to and from the head, letting it all hang out, unlike the
prissy WASPS who always wore bathrobes and slippers.
One time Armstrong returned to quarters after a midnight ten mile
run around the cinder track. Exhausted but not sleepy, he dropped off his
sweats and hit the head. He heard the water running but the room was
dark. He flipped the lights on by the sinks and slumped into the shower
room.
Big Dan Rivoglio was jerking off the senior classes' two top
ranking officers.
Armstrong fell back into the shadows but he could not take his
eyes off the three masturbators. He knew the two seniors would recommend
Rivoglio for consideration in the next year's class officers' roster. One
of them soaped Dan's monster cock, the other stroked his balls in silent
adoration. Was this the Navy way to earn promotions?
Armstrong wanted to leave, but he could not withdraw his gaze from
the unholy trio. The graduating seniors plain ignored him, knowing
straight arrow Armstrong dared not break the Annapolis code of silence.
But Dan Rivoglio's huge brown eyes sent Armstrong the most
dazzling invitation he'd receive in his entire life.
That scintillating smile shattered the spell.
Armstrong picked up his sweats, shut off the light, and spent a
sleepless night trying to conjure up his girlfriend.
*****
Four Hermanutas climbed the rainbow bridge.
Elegantly coiffured, their iridescent hair piled high atop their
heads, the quartet wore three inch stiletto heels, elbow length gloves,
and hot pink lipstick.
"Gentlemen of the Ma'asatt Flotilla and esteemed visitors from the
Planet Which You Call Earth, please welcome the Four Dolls to sing the
Inter-Stella Anthem of our own beloved Ma'asatt Starship Academy."
Like football players back on planet earth, the quartet huddled
with their arms about each others' shoulders, hairdos caressing one
another. As one they got Mha'atita'ah's rhythm, pivoted on their heels,
and sang:
"I have so much meat to beat!
"I have so much ass to eat!
"I will REVIVE!"
Nestled in the Duke's arms, young Buddy watched the show with
fascination.
The Four Dolls paired off as couples into abusive sex.
"Walk out that door!
"Don't want you hanging round my cooze
"Cause you can't fuck me anymore!
"I will REVIVE!"
The Dolls switched partners, mimicking four consoling sisters.
"I have so much ass to give!
"I have so much life to live!
"I will REVIVE!"
And then, before the Californian's astonished eyes, the Four
Dolls' pectorals expanded into full blown breasts, dicks and ballsacks
contracted into pelvic cavities, asscheeks spread wide apart, assholes
sprouted pubic bushes and morphed into vaginas.
The audience erupted into thunderous rebel yells and hoots and
shouts and whistles.
"Walk out that door!
"Don't need you hanging round my cooze!
"I'm fucking better than before!
"I have REVIVED!"
The Four Dolls finger fucked each other into orgasm and in a flash
the Californian realized how babies got made in the Forty-Nine Hypostic
Galaxies.
*****
"Pussy! At last this dump has got itself some pussy! Now I can
get my rocks off with a foxy lady!"
Schnuffler was bombed out of his mind on thick shakes--naturally
his fancy turned to thoughts of heterosexual lust.
"Yeah, Schnuffler, guess again," Lieutenant Westrim grinned, "Open
yer eyes and take a good look at what's goin' down here!"
Starship 69's crew formed one humongous daisy chain, every man
humping the butt of the dude in front of him.
"Faggots!" shrieked Sergeant Schnuffler, his voice cracking like a
terrified twelve year old. "You're all a bunch of fucking faggots!"
"Damn right we are, girl!" Captain Flostim laughed. "And we are
gonna fucking break your tight assed pussy in, Miss Prissy Sissy Girl!"
SZoids and Krugkopfs surrounded Sergeant Schnuffler.
Up on the rainbow bridge two dozen Hermanutas finger fucked each
other's newly REVIVED pussys.
Down in the slime pit, each dude in the daisy chain switched
places, fucking the stud who had been fucking him.
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
Schnuffler screamed as he dove into the slime.
The SZoids and Krugkopfs held him under, walloping his buttocks.
Like spermatozoa seeking eggs to fertilize, sliced and diced
Whyzhywha'ag fragments swarmed into Schnuffler's asshole
"Walk out that door!
"Don't want you hanging round my cooze!
"I'm fucking better than before!
"I have REVIVED!"
The SZoids and Krugkopfs forced Schnuffler to crawl between the
legs of Marines fucking one another.
The Whyzhywha'ag fragments packed Schnuffler's rectum from his
bung hole to his prostate, wriggling like dancers at a disco.
"I have so much sperm to give!
"I have so much life to live!
"I have REVIVED!"
Schnuffler clambered out of the slime pit, tottered across the
slippery tiles, staggered into a piss pool, and plumb passed out cold.
*****
Perched on the tier above, Armstrong observed the daisy chain.
His willpower weakened by the cabaret, Armstrong surrendered to
the memories of ignored opportunities.
Joel Levi, with his thick curly hair and roguish smile, sharing
quarters their second Annapolis summer cruise, sleeping every night in the
nude.
Rusty Stewart, his San Diego squash partner, soaping his crotch
and making jokes about which lieutenant could shoot the furthest, cum the
most times, keep his rod stiff the longest. All the young officers
guffawed, except for Armstrong.
Julio Rico, flight mechanic on his Mediterranean tour of duty.
His dark inviting eyes. His tongue rolling across his lips. His fingers
playing with his crotch. Armstrong pretending not to notice.
"Walk out that door!
"Don't want you hanging round my butt!
"I'm fucking better than before!
"I have REVIVED!"
Armstrong looked down into the slime pit at the daisy chain
snaking around the heaving ooze.
He recognized the Chaplain fucking Flostim, getting fucked by
Westrim.
Then his eyes picked out Airman Scott, the finest flyer at the
Ross Ice Station. Veteran of fourteen combat missions over Iraq.
Recruiting poster handsome, six foot two, Scott worked out with Armstrong
two hours daily at the Station's gym, the pair jogging 10k across the ice
during the sun lit season.
Scott had been assigned to Armstrong's flight crew for three years
in Antarctica--
And suddenly Armstrong burst into tears admitting just how much he
desired Airman Scott.
A pair of waiting arms hugged the sobbing officer to a warm,
welcoming chest.
"Relax, my friend. Relax and let the loneliness pour out of you.
Relax and let the loneliness be emptied from you so you may receive the
love that waits to fill the vacant space. Relax, and know that as your
childhood ends, so your manhood begins within Mha'atita'ah's Girdle."
Commander Ben-Ami's soft voice soothed Armstrong's ears but not
his aching heart.
"ABBA, I want to suck your cock. ABBA, I am a cocksucker, a
faggot. I want to suck your cock. I want to suck the Chaplain's cock. I
want to suck Flostim and Westrim's cocks. I want to suck off Airman Scott
while Leonardis fucks my butt. ABBA, I am a fucking faggot cocksucker. I
want to suck off every hot rod on this ship."
Commander Ben-Ami cradled the sobbing Armstrong to his chest and
stroked his close cropped hair.
"My friend, my friend, such a journey awaits as you cannot
imagine. But, here, nestled within Mha'atita'ah's Girdle, do not
pronounce angry words. Do not rebuke your heart with boyhood taunts or
seek to bring down shame upon your head. Open your heart to bliss. Open
your heart to bliss and joy and healing. Open your heart to bliss and a
Heroic Quest. Open your heart to bliss and listen to the music of
Mha'atita'ah's Girdle."
"I have so much life to live!
"I have so much love to give!
"I have REVIVED!
"I have REVIVED!
"I HAVE REVIVED!"
*****
Many, many earth hours later, after the music stopped, after the
daisy chain collapsed from sheer exhaustion, lovers and brothers lay
together in the soothing piss pools, entangled in each others' arms,
slumbering with the smiles of children glowing from their countenances.
The Duke and Buddy.
Leonardis and Borsa.
Flostim and Westrim and the Chaplain.
Commander Ari Ben-Ami, Armstrong, and Airman Scott.
And down in the Depot Level Yellow, deep in the Starship's lowest
core, in storeroom Mma'alyi767, Schnuffler lay curled up in a ball within
bin Bouru'u239, his body caked with slime, his rectum packed with dancing
ooze, wrapped in the extra large green Whyzhywha'ag's dry husks, dreaming
that boys will stay boys in the crazy, mixed up altiverse of the
Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies.
MEN OF ANTARCTICA,
Episode #10,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
BRAAT!
Drode attack!
"All stations alert!"
Scramble!
BRAATATAT!
"Drodes 0300!"
BRAATATATA!
"Drodes 0600!"
Raise deflectors!
"Drodes 0900!"
BRAATATATA!
"Drodes 12 o'clock high!"
BRAATATAT! BRAATATATA!
Drodes attacking all quadrants!
"Suit up! We're going cruising!"
Ben-Ami to Scott and Armstrong.
"Haul ass to turret D!"
Leonardis to Borsa.
Scramble!
Stations!
Fighters launching!
Turrets loading!
Shields up!
BRAATATAT! BRAATATAT! BRAATATATATA!
The fighter soared off the launch pad.
Ben-Ami swerved wide from the Starship, his SZoid bombardier
firing with both barrels.
Armstrong a kid at the movies.
Inter-galactic dogfights!
Scott smiled at Armstrong's wide hot rodder's grin, kissing him on
the lips.
BRAATATAT! BRAATATATA!
Drode fighters swarming round the Starship.
Drodes outnumbering Ma'asatt fighters four to one.
Ben-Ami swooped down under.
Gunner took two Drodes out.
"Leonardis! Look! Nine o'clock!"
Borsa, frozen, pissing himself.
"Fuck! Drode Death Ship!"
Materializing from nothing.
"Turrets ready! Turrets ready!"
Black, thick plated, enormous spheroid.
"Fire C turret! Fire D turret!"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Borsa bouncing off walls.
"Baby Bro, grab yaself a handle!"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Turrets discharging missiles at the Drode Ship.
Death Ship showering down rockets.
Fighters swooping.
"Ya got six now!"
Scott and Armstrong's hands squeezed together.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
Sirens!
"Shield breech! Shield breech!"
"Fire! Blue Sector! 0300!"
"Fire! Green Sector! 0400!"
Krugkopfs launching assault pods.
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
"Fire! Sector Yellow! 0500!"
"Fire! Sector Orange! 0600!"
"Ya got eight! Ya got nine!"
Swooping through space.
Hot dogging it.
Two boys' Saturday adventure.
Hugging.
SMAAAAAAAAT!
Pods attaching to Drode Ship.
"Watch, Little Brother!"
Krugkopfs ejecting.
Tumbling. Freefalling.
Somersaulting through space.
Mini-boosters on backpacks.
DRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUMMMM!
Drode Death Ship plates exploding!
"Fire those missiles! Fire you pussies!"
BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
Long yellow flaming arms!
"We zapped 'er! We zapped 'er!"
Red orange fireballs spiraling.
Death Ship ablaze.
Drooling hardon for Borsa.
"Ya got ten! Ya got twelve!"
Hot dogging it.
Pods detonating.
Krugkopfs tumbling.
Somersaulting through space.
Death Ship incinerating.
Drode fighters retreating.
Outnumbered two to one by Ma'asatt crews.
Ma'asatt fighters return victorious.
"Fire! Red Sector! 0600!"
"Fire! Blue Sector! 0800!"
"Fire! Green Sector! 12 o'clock high!"
WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!
MEN OF ANTARCTICA,
Episode #11,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
To repair the damaged Starship, Commander Ben-Ami landed on the
first habitable planet in their quadrant of the altiverse.
A semi-desolate pit stop on the inter-galactic trade routes, Nadjz
offered minute amenities.
Atop a 1,000 foot escarpment, crumbling red stone battlements
failed to defend the sprawling ruins of a deceased metropolis. Spread on
the red clay plains below, dozens of diverse starships squatted in an
inter-stellar parking lot. At the foot of the precipice, the Bazaar of
the Caravans. With trepidation the Ross Ice Station scientists and sailors
explored Planet Nadjz.
Schnuffler detached himself, eager to escape Starship 69's fag
ridden crew. The Marine hustled along rows of canvas tents, sampling
exotic fruit juices and sticky, creamy pastries.
Scantily veiled women gyrated their hips to foreign rhythms played
on pipes, drums, and tambourines. Schnuffler glanced at the dancers and
then hurried on. Who knew if they were really slits, or just a bunch of
Hermanuta faggots waiting to entrap him? Who knew whether these bimbos
carried inter-planetary viruses? Who knew what Mickey Finns awaited
unsuspecting jarheads? Some knock out drops, then shanghaied to some
whorehouse as a sex slave for some twisted faggots.
Schnuffler ignored the smiling dancers' tantalizing gestures.
Instead he lingered by Verkauffah merchants' leather tents. Arrays of
weapons, uniforms, survival gear, and telecom equipment sat atop tables
outside each tent's entry way. Seven foot tall, massively bulked up dudes
with close cropped hair presided at the tables. The vendors wore black
combat boots, loose camouflage pants, and tight black guinea t-shirts
scooped low font and back displaying powerful delts and lats and pecs and
biceps.
Schnuffler felt in his element among these manly men, unlike the
faggots aboard Starship 69. And so he lingered with Verkauffah merchants,
stroking the many guns and missile launchers, bartering with his eyes for
the big dudes to demonstrate each toy for his delighted gaze.
*****
Buddy separated himself from the Ross Station crew. On his first
encounter with aliens beyond Ma'asatt Flotilla teams, Buddy did not want
Duke cramping his style.
The Californian strolled along rows of canvas tents, sampling many
unknown foods and drinks. He savored the rich smells of sizzling meats,
flowering plants, pounded red clay, hardworking men, horses with curving
horns beside their ears, and hunting dogs with fangs like saber toothed
tigers. He gazed across the ochre plains and watched the wide red sun
tinting the distant mountain tops luminous indigos and purples. He
lingered to observe the black smoke curling towards the cloudless, pale
white sky, and listened to the caws of broad winged scavenging birds
circling above the Bazaar of the Caravans.
Buddy lost track of time as he wandered deeper and deeper through
the market place. So much to discover, so much to comprehend. Buddy
rejoiced at his freedom from Duke's paternal obsessions.
And then he froze before a high black leather tent. Impaled upon
a three foot wooden dildo, ankles bound to the foot wide shaft, wrists
cuffed behind his head and locked onto his metal collar, Buddy confronted
Khochya-bar-Qoq, the Captive Prince
In a flash Buddy realized his destiny. He understood what awaited
him in the tent. He understood that if he pivoted about face now,
returned to Duke and the Ma'asatt Flotilla, somebody's scripted future
would become a meaningless white noise. And yet he also understood that
if he fared forward, accepting the full consequences of his act, a
second, hidden, magick script waited to blossom from the buds already
latent in the Black Enchanter's schemes.
Indifferent men fondled the Captive Prince, like merchants
examining bolts of cloth. Buddy drew near the Prince, waiting for the
bored men to finish sampling. Kochya-bar-Qoq's mahogany brown eyes burned
into Buddy's baby blues.
"Approach me, Brother, without apprehension. Do not hold back.
Do what your instinct urges you to do, so that your actions may impart new
knowledge to your mind, new understanding to your heart."
The Prince's low voiced words sounded with musical accents. Buddy
reached up and stroked the Prince's brown hard nipples. Kochya-bar-Qoq
responded instantly, his shaft springing to life and dripping pre-cum.
Buddy twisted the Prince's silver tit rings, tugged at the silver
chain linking the rings together.
Kochya-bar-Qoq moaned as sweat poured down his sides, and his
abdomen quivered as his breath came in short gasps.
"Take me, my Brother! Have me, my Lover! Take me, have me,
Brother Lover!"
Buddy fondled the Prince's shaven ballsack. A metal ring
compelled his testicles to hang low and exposed within the Prince's heavy
scrotum. Buddy squeezed each nut sharply in his hands.
"Whuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu! Yesssssssssssss!"
Kochya-bar-Qoq panted as pre-cum poured out of his cockhead.
Buddy took up a spider whip hooked to the wooden dildo. Lightly
he flogged the Prince across his balls and cockhead.
"Yessssssssssssssssss!
"Whuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!
"Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssss!
The Prince's hips snapped back and forth. His cockshaft stood
erect, engorged, empurpled.
The Californian whipped the Prince's balls, veins swelling on his
forehead from the fierce exertion.
"Yes, take me, Brother! Take me, Lover!
"Take me! Take me! Take me!
"Whuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!"
Kochya-bar-Qoq shot thick, white, scalding cum all over Buddy's
jumpsuit. The Captive Prince fired and fired and fired his load till he
moaned one last time and collapsed from exhaustion
Buddy jammed his tongue deep into the Captive Prince's mouth.
The boys kissed passionately, urgently, a kiss to mark a cosmic
end and a beginning, a kiss to unlock hidden mysteries, a kiss to embark
bold Enlightened Warriors on their heroic quest.
"Now, Brother Lover, bravely go inside the tent where Zodp'doq
awaits. The Master of the Five Drodai'ic Realms already fears you as he
fears me, as he fears Prince Aasalar, and as he fears your beloved Duke.
"The Dark Lord of the Inter-Stella Sex Pirates dares not slay us
until our Brother Lovers are imprisoned in Xyla'anta's Palace of Black
Crystal. Remember this, and understand that the Progenitor of Mass
Vastation sows a whirlwind of empty threats.
"And one last thing, remember always, Brother Lover. The
Procurator of Xyla'anta's Brothel of the Ten Thousand Inter-Galactic
Sexual Pleasures yearns for his own death more than he lusts for you or me
or Duke or Aasalar. Zodp'doq's line is blasted, withered, barren. The
crimes of the benighted House of Koqp'qoq lay heavy on his head. Zodp'doq
dreams of his annihilation. He understood the instant that Commander
Ben-Ami returned with you and Duke that his finale had begun.
"Zodp'doq lacks Kaduma Wisdom, fears the unknown beyond the Gates
of Life. And so he struggles on, warring against the Hermanutas,
destroying Ma'asatt Starships, capturing me and now you, combing the
altiverse in fruitless searches for my Brother Lover Aasalar and our
teacher, the Noble Warrior Kare'enyi Na'aklyi.
"Zodp'doq's curse is to play out his script when in his heart he
only longs for death, oblivion, and the annihilation of Koqp'qoq's House.
Go to the Dark Lord without fear, and know the moment you submit to him
marks the beginning of the Master's downfall."
Kochya-bar-Qoq slid his tongue between Buddy's lips. High
overhead the soaring wide winged birds cawed prophesies to one another.
On open grills the richly seasoned meats sent aromatic smoke circling
upward towards the broad, red solar disk. An epoch ended and a new era
commenced as Buddy thrust open the leather flap and boldly marched inside
Zodp'doq's tent.
Shadows engulfed the Californian as the tent shut out the light of
day.
Candles flickered upon low tables, stifling the tent in thick
incense. Across the richly woven carpet stood the Master of the Five
Drodai'ic Realms.
A high collared black leather cape and a broad brimmed black
leather hat shrouded Lord Zodp'doq except for two sharp piercing deep
black eyes that stabbed at Buddy through the darkness.
Instinctively young Buddy understood the ritual.
Stripping naked, the Californian prostrated himself and slithered
on his belly as he crossed the carpet.
Reaching his Lord and Master, Buddy locked his arms around the
tall left boot and slowly lapped the leather with his eager tongue.
Surrender, absolute surrender, was the drill.
When Buddy licked the boot all the way to the Master's knee, the
Californian's teeth unknotted the long leather laces. Crawling his way
back down the Master's calf, young Buddy's teeth freed leather laces from
twelve pairs of silver hooks binding them to the Master's boot.
Stuffing the lace inside his mouth, Buddy now tongued the entire
boot, then tongue washed Zodp'doq's black leather chaps.
His sun bronzed hardon swelled and throbbed against the Master's
leg. Young Buddy knew at last the total ecstasy that he had failed to
find with Duke.
Reaching the Master's silver studded codpiece, Buddy gazed up like
an eager puppy.
The Dark Lord of the Inter-Stella Sex Pirates unveiled himself.
Sharp, jagged lines, like lightning bolts, cut through Zodp'doq's
war singed cheeks. Deep furrows wrinkled Zodp'doq's high forehead, and
his eyes blazed from the leathery pouches of their wrinkled sockets.
Slowly the Master slid the leather lace from Buddy's mouth.
Tugging on Buddy's sun bleached hair, the Master brusquely pulled him to
his feet.
Zodp'doq spat a glob of thick cold phlegm in Buddy's face.
The Californian opened his mouth wide. Zodp'doq fired another
glob down Buddy's puppy throat.
Sneering in triumph, Zodp'doq crisscrossed the laces tightly over
Buddy's swollen shaft, then looped the leather strip around the
Californian's sack until his balls were forced down low into his scrotum.
Zodp'doq flipped the Californian, binding his feet to metal hooks
suspended from the ceiling. Removing his left glove, Zodp'doq slapped
Buddy across his nuts. Slapped Buddy's ballsack harder, faster, harder,
faster, harder, faster till purple welts glowed on his skin and Buddy's
screams reverberated through the tent.
Zodp'doq unbound Buddy's feet and sniggered as the Californian
tumbled to the carpet. A vicious leer distorted the Lord's ravaged face.
Illuminated by guttering candle light, the Master seemed completely
bestial.
As Buddy cowered, trembling, on the carpet, Zodp'doq removed his
right glove, then popped open the sliver snaps around his leather
codpiece.
The Master's cockshaft sprung erect. Fifteen inches in length,
packed firm with juicy meat, the Master's oozing shaft sported the tattoo
of a wide winged bird encaged by purple veins that twined around
Zodp'doq's rod like clinging vines. A silver ring pierced the foreskin.
Roughly Zodp'doq tugged on Buddy's hair, forcing his head back and
his mouth open.
Zodp'doq thrust his entire shaft in Buddy's gaping mouth.
Buddy gagged and almost threw up. Never had he encountered such
vile smelling, putrid tasting cockmeat.
The Californian found his rhythm and began to suck the Master's
meat. In Buddy's mouth Zodp'doq's rod grew longer, thicker, the cockshaft
sprouting a huge mushroom head.
Buddy surrendered to the Master's grinding hips, losing himself
completely to the throbbing monster cockshaft ravaging his mouth.
Time and space disappeared. Buddy's awareness focused on the fat
cock pulsing, throbbing, swelling, bursting, shooting, shooting, shooting,
thick hot globs of rancid cum that scorched the Californian's throat
leaving a bitter after taste.
Zodp'doq laughed, unleashing a hot stream of pungent manpiss down
his sex slave's lips.
Buddy collapsed upon the rug. Zodp'doq now owned him completely.
Now he was bound like a Brother to Kochya-bar-Qoq. Now Duke must start
his bold heroic quest to rescue them as an Enlightened Warrior.
MEN OF ANTARCTICA,
Episode #12,
by HazeMaster@aol.com
The Ross Ice Station Flight Crew toured the Bazaar on Planet
Nadjz.
Armstrong light heartedly observed his pilots, noting Hall's
rolling gait and Sanders' meaty buttocks; cataloging Henderson's pumped up
lats and Williams' thick, strong neck. But most of all he studied Airman
Scott. The self-confident stride. Straight-backed posture. Tapered,
gymnast's waist and high, tight, rounded buttocks.
Armstrong observed all this in broad daylight, and recognized
himself to be one happy dude.
*****
Borsa worked six hours straight repairing Starship 69 with the
Lykanthines.
The wide, red solar disk baked the ochre clay plains, drenching
Borsa's fatigues and black t-shirt with sweat.
Borsa's heart burst with pride. He alone of the Ross Ice Station
scientists and sailors labored with the Starship's crew, wearing their
gear instead of white jumpsuits.
Leonardis shared the same platform as Little Brother. Borsa
luxuriated in the Lyanthine's rich, musky scent, the swelling veins along
his cut, articulated arms, the rippling bulked up muscle groups beneath
his scoop necked, thin strapped, black t-shirt.
Most of all, Borsa delighted in Leonardis training of his Little
Brother.
When the fresh water jugs were passed down from the ship's galley,
Leonardis forbade Borsa to handle them. Instead, the Lykanthine Commander
filled his cheeks with cool liquid and spat it into Borsa's throat or
sprayed it over the Marine to chill him out. Likewise, during their
breaks, Leonardis sliced slivers of fresh fruit, stuffed them inside his
mouth, and feed them one by one to Borsa's panting lips. And when the
mess crew brought around large cans of concentrated protein paste,
Leonardis smeared some on his funky armpits, thick furred balls, or moist
and pungent asscrack so Little Brother could lap up this tasty snack.
Never on earth had Sergeant Borsa been so happy.
After six hours of strenuous repairs, Commander Ben-Ami pronounced
the Starship flightworthy.
A lengthy, raucous waterfight followed beneath the shower
carousels. Then Leonardis and his Little Brother dressed in fresh
fatigues.
"C'mon Li'l Bro! Nadjz here's the first new planet you've touched
down on. No fair that all the gyrines took shore leave while you got
stuck on work detail. Nadjz is the armpit of the altiverse, but you're a
pitty dude yaself, so let's go sightseeing!"
Borsa thrilled to be strolling through the Bazaar with Big Brother
at his side. At every tent merchants offered the enormous Lykanthine
complimentary food, drinks, merchandise, even boys for the Commander's
delectation.
The sex bazaar captivated the jarhead.
Would Leonardis ever rent out Borsa as some camel driver's boy
toy? Was that the punishment for screwing up in this new altiverse?
The joy toy girls frightened and fascinated Borsa. Though dressed
and curled and painted up like perfect living dolls, Borsa instinctively
perceived that these "maidens" were men or once were men . . . . One
crinolined and flounced little lady cast her long lashed eyes to the
ground as Borsa passed with Leonardis. Was that? No, no it couldn't--
WHAAA!
Leonardis groped Borsa's crotch and laughed.
"Yo, Little Brother, ya'll do got one hard and slimy dick between
ya legs! Ya'll wanna be a little lady in the Bazaar of the Caravans?"
Borsa blushed lobster red. Leonardis read Borsa's thoughts and
sensed the most minute gradations of his cockshaft.
Leonardis smacked Borsa on the rump, wrapping his arm around the
Marine's shoulders.
"We gotta hit the road, Li'l Bro! But maybe at a Bazaar on
another planet, if you are very good or very bad, I'll let a pack of camel
drivers have a go at ya!"
Leonardis tweaked Borsa's erect nipples, and the contented Marine
snuggled under Leonardis' muscled arm and sucked the Lykanthine
Commander's thumb.
Never on earth had Sergeant Borsa been so happy.
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