Hank and the Snatch Plant

Usual warnings apply: no one under age admitted without parent or guardian, for external use only, shake well before using, slippery when wet, this end up, use no hooks, wear seat belts.

Copyright (C) 2003 by Felix Lance Falkon; you may save or make paper copies for your own use; do not post, repost, publish, or archive elsewhere without the author's express permission.

This is the opening chapter of the "Expedition" series. It's pretty self-contained as it stands. In a not-yet-keyboarded episode, they arrive back at base and get assigned duties in the upcoming Eliminations.

Hank touched his broad, bare chest with his left hand, sliding his fingers over the slab of hard pectoral muscle. He let his hand trail on down the washboard ripple of his lean stomach, and hooked his thumb in his belt, just in front of the heavy ray- gun that swung at his hip. As the muscular Space Marine strode on, a the morning breeze curled around his big body, cool against bare skin. Today, his uniform was just belt, holster, and boots, and they made the rest of his muscular body feel all the more naked in contrast.

He glanced back, over his shoulder. Well behind him now, the expedition's base camp sprawled over a low hill, all red in the early light of this planet's sun. Ahead, Hank could just make out a clump of darker green on the next ridge: the snatch-plants. He swallowed hard, looked to his right, at two naked Marines striding along a few paces ahead. He looked left; Michael, the young man from the Photography Department, was studying Hank's rigid shaft as he trotted alongside.

"Checking me out for camera angles?" asked Hank.

"I -- uh -- well -- sort of," said the lithe red-head. Michael blushed so deeply that his freckles almost disappeared. "To tell the truth, I was admiring how you're -- uh -- hung, and the way your rod sticks almost straight up."

Hank studied Michael for a moment as they walked together toward the ridge and the waiting snatch-plants. The red-head was nude, but for a pair of rugged boots and two bags of camera equipment slung over his shoulders. His stiff prong jiggled proudly with every pace.

"Seen many hard-ons?"

Michael shook his head and frowned. "N-no."

"You got a good-looking one there, kid." He put his left arm around Michael's shoulders. "If we had more time, we could . . ." He squeezed gently, let his hand drop. "Okay, I do make a pretty good model for any kind of physique shot," Hank said, sounding more relaxed than he felt, "so this photo you're doing for the cover of the expedition's report, of a stud -- well, me -- getting my prong eaten by a snatch-plant oughta come out pretty good." Hank smiled at Michael. "It better; you made me shine my boots twice."

Michael flashed Hank a quick, shy grin, then reached out and just brushed the tip of Hank's erect shaft. "Your rod -- it'll come out great in a three-quarter front shot, standing up the way it does."

Hank looked down at his hard shaft. His genitals still tingled from the erection shot he'd given himself before they left camp, especially the spot in the base of his prong where he had pushed the needle into his flesh. With his right hand, Hank bent his shaft forward and let it snap back to its near-vertical stand. Getting this hard-on, he told himself, was sure worth giving myself that shot. His sturdy shaft curved sharply upwards from his crotch; his glans quivered just in front of his belt buckle. No need to keep thinking sexy thoughts to keep me pumped up nice and stiff; this hard-on will last through the photo session and -- if I survive that -- all through Eliminations after that.

Michael skipped ahead a few paces, cocked his head as he studied Hank, then let the big Marine catch up. "With the belt and everything, you look -- well -- even nakeder than before you put them on."

"Feel nakeder, too," Hank muttered. He studied Michael's lithe body for a moment, glad that the kid had insisted on stripping, Space-Marine-style, when he took this photo assignment. It'd be fun to show Michael a few tricks, specially with Eliminations coming up, brushing inhibitions aside. Come to think of it, Michael was the one who suggested that he and the other two Marines get erection shots too.

After a few minutes of silent walking, Michael said, "Of course, if we used Lieutenant Gustine for a shot of a rod being eaten . . ."

"Did I hear my name come up in conversation?" asked a precise voice, and the naked Marine Lieutenant changed course to intersect Hank's and Michael's.

No, you fussy cock-head, Hank thought to himself, you just heard your fucking title get mentioned."

Hank glanced at the naked officer: nicely built, but not as muscular as Hank himself. The Lieutenant's prong curved up from a pair of massive balls; his only clothing was a pair of heavy leather gloves that reached almost to his elbows.

"We were trying to decide if you'd make a better model for the Report's cover than me," Hank said. "Those gold stripes on your gloves would really stand out."

"Another inspiration from our Junior Acting Assistant Space Marine?"

"Now, now," Hank growled, "there's no need to insult the kid. I know fucking good and all that you and Chief Larsson programmed this deal to do me out, just 'cause you're afraid I'll take you both in Eliminations. But if you just came out here to throw around a lot of free sneers, you can take off your fucking stripes and we'll have it out right here." He paused. "Sir."

Out of the corner of his right eye, Hank saw Chief Larsson reach slowly for his ray gun. He turned and faced the Chief, a sturdy blond, naked but for the same gear as Hank: boots, belt, and holstered gun. "Isn't any need for that and you know it, Larsson," Hank said. "You know mine's uncharged. 'Sides, you fucking well know I never hit an officer yet, 'less he said `okay' first."

"Well, I haven't the slightest intention of disgauntleting, nor would I want to usurp your chance at photographic immortality," said Lieutenant Gustine.

"But what if you'd make a better photo?" asked Michael. "Then would you -- just let the plant take you?"

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow; Hank found himself grinding his teeth as the officer said, "Would you make an impartial evaluation of our qualifications as your pictorial subjects?"

Michael stopped walking and scowled from one naked Marine to the other. Both men halted and stood for the red-headed photographer's inspection. He sighed. "It's not -- I mean -- all right, all right: Hank's the better looking model, but you're almost as good, Lieutenant." He turned to Hank, said, "I'm sorry, but . . ."

"Don't worry, kid," laughed Hank, putting his left arm around Michael's shoulders. "You can't help it if I'm the hunkiest stud around, can you?" He tightened his grip, then released Michael. "Let's get on with it."

As the four naked men strode on, Michael said, "But that ray gun --"

"You're criticizing the uncharged state of your colleague's weapon?" asked the Lieutenant. "Perhaps --"

"No, that's not it. I mean -- it looks -- Hank looks nakeder with the gun belt and stuff on; but if you guys go out t' get caught and eaten and all that, then how come you ever wear anything at all? I'm afraid the shot might be kind of fake 'cause you're wearing a belt, even though you look better with it."

The Lieutenant smiled -- a momentary flash of amusement -- then explained: "Repetitive attrition by hazards adequately documented is an unnecessary expenditure of personnel."

Realizing that Michael looked even more confused, Hank tousled Michael's red hair and said, "Kid, that just means that when a stud's been eaten, there's no reason for the rest of the team to get done out that way too. Fact, if they did, there'd be no one left to write up the report afterwards. So most of the time, we do wear boots and gun-belts, just like this. And the best way to find man-eaters is to go out looking for trouble, 'stead of just waiting for something hungry to find us. Out on patrol, the stud on point checks out anything that looks interesting, and the rest watch and take notes if anything happens. Sometimes, another stud'll see something off to the side and claim finder's takers --"

"Finder's takers?"

As they strode on, the Lieutenant said, "Marines get bored too. Since hazard-exposure is a break from routine tasks, whoever discovers a potential anthropophage can claim the right to investigate it."

"By letting it eat him?" asked Michael.

"Exactly," said Hank. "Sometimes they'll walk into something that's hungry enough to eat a whole team." He patted the solid bulk of his holstered ray gun. "That's why we wear these. But even they're not always enough. Slime-puddles, for example . . ."

Michael looked around, a worried frown on his face. "But Lieutenant Gustine . . ."

"Stable orbit, kid," Hank laughed. "This is all dry ground; and slime-puddles only live in marshy places. Besides, ordinary boots don't slow those things down; they go right though your boots and start eating you, feet-first, before you realize what's happening. Ray guns don't slow the things down either; we lost a whole team finding that out."

"I heard about that," Michael said, skipping ahead a few paces, then letting the rest of the group catch up. "And wasn't there another bunch of you guys . . . ?"

"Down south, on the sea coast. Ten studs went down to the beach for a swim. Climbed up on a big, smooth rock afterwards, to dry off and get some sun. Woke up and found the beach covered with crabs. One stud volunteered to check 'em out: climbed off the rock, went down on his knees, spread his thighs wide, and waited to see what the crabs would do."

"And . . . ?"

"Crabs ate his prong and balls first, then his legs. Gutted him next, and so on till he was just a pile of bones. When the crabs started looking for more live meat, the other studs knew what to do, so . . . they did it."

"Oh." Michael licked his lips slowly. "Yeah, I see. One at a time?"

"One at a time." Hank felt a lusty surge in his prong as he went on: "Soon as the crabs finished eating one Marine, another climbed down and let 'em start on him."

"Nobody tried t' make a run for it?"

"That's how we found out what was going on. Kim took off when the crabs started eating Marine number three; the rest stayed to see how many studs the crabs would eat." Hank slid his right hand across his taut pectorals, felt his rigid shaft jiggle with every step he took. "Found out crabs would eat lots of studs. Still . . ."

"Yes," said the Lieutenant, "and there is something erotically stimulating about a group of naked men, willingly and sequentially being eaten alive." He nodded thoughtfully, stroking his own rigid shaft. "Exploring is frequently -- but continue your narrative. You were in the recovery party?"

"Yeah. Anyway -- sir -- we went out when Kim told us what was happening. We found the crabs eating Wong, but he claimed it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it looked: the crabs have some kind of painkiller on their claws. He even said that watching himself get eaten was kind of -- interesting.

"Kim wanted to feed the crabs next, with us taking notes and everything. I think he wanted to prove to us -- and to himself -- that he was just as brave as the ones who'd already been eaten." Hank glanced at Michael, then told himself: With Eliminations sure to start in a few hours, things would be wide open; no harm in telling the kid now. "They had been taking care of each other on the rock while waiting to feed themselves to the crabs."

"Taking care of each other?" asked Michael, as the four naked men strode up the slope toward the ridge.

"You know -- sucking."

Michael frowned thoughtfully. "That could be sort of exciting . . ." He blushed suddenly, then licked his lips. "I mean, with the crabs waiting, and the next guy being eaten, and everybody naked and -- you know." He touched his own shaft, then asked, "Did you . . . ?"

"Get excited? Yeah." Hank realized he was stroking his own shaft, and shifted both hands to his belt. He glanced ahead, saw that they were nearing their destination. "We did. Of course, we were all naked too, 'cept for boots and belts; but the crabs won't touch a stud wearing boots.

"We started kidding each other -- asking if anybody was brave enough to get sucked off by a stud who was being gelded by the crabs. I said I'd try, and Kim said he'd try . . ."

Michael's eyes widened. "And -- you did?"

"Yep."

"No damage? I mean, he -- Kim didn't -- bite?"

Hank twitched his rigid shaft. "Nope. When the crabs finished eating Wong, Kim pulled off his boots and went down on his knees. I stood facing him, and Kim worked on my prong while the crabs took his. When the crabs started on Kim's balls, I felt him trying not to bite into my prong; that's when I -- I really unloaded!"

The Lieutenant asked, "The risk of imminent castration had a certain erotic effect?"

"Maybe so," Hank said. "Whatever it was, it sure worked. Anyway -- here we are."

The four naked men stopped a few meters from the deadly vegetation and studied it. The closest snatch-plant had a snake- like trunk, about Hank's own height, with half-meter-long leaves growing from short stems that branched directly from the trunk. A small, apple-like fruit hung under each leaf. As Hank watched, the leaves swiveled to point at him. Each leaf bulged in the middle; each had a pair of eyes on its upper surface, like a head.

Hank swallowed hard and stepped a pace closer. Two leaf- heads studied his face; another dipped to examine his rigid shaft. Although he was still out of reach, Hank felt a shiver run up his bare back as the leaf studying his shaft opened into an upper and a lower half, with edges that looked like teeth. He glanced to his right, at another, larger snatch-plant.

"Well, which one do you want to go to work on me? That big one could give you some great action shots, with one leaf working on each ball, and the other two fighting over my prong."

Michael was on his knees, pulling out equipment. "Let's use the smaller one," he said. "The slower it -- uh -- takes you, the more time I'll have for shots. A single snatch-plant can take a man, can't it?"

"Sure." Hank touched his shaft with his right hand, then rubbed his muscle-sheathed chest with his left. "The first day we went out Exploring, Dominick walked right up to this one. It looked him over for a moment, then grabbed his prong and fiddled with it for a few seconds. Dominick was a real horny stud; he boned up right away. Soon as he did, the plant ate his prong, both balls, and then started gutting him. Chuck, our photographer, was so excited he didn't notice how close he was to the other plant until it grabbed him too."

Hank scowled at the Lieutenant. "Chuck got lots of shots while one plant ate him and the other ate Dominick, so today's session -- with my balls as the main course -- seems . . ."

"Seems unnecessary?" the Marine officer asked. "Expedition Commander Mordecai agreed that a more strikingly composed illustration was desirable for the cover of the Expedition's Final Report. The photography of Dominick's genitalia being consumed is adequate but merely routine documentation. Admittedly, the photographer was somewhat distracted, since he was undergoing castration while he was working, but . . ."

"I suppose so," said Michael, looking up from his equipment. "Only --"

"Only what?" demanded Lieutenant Gustine.

"Only those gold stripes on your gauntlets -- and the contrast with your black hair -- they'd go real good against that shade of green." Michael glanced from the naked officer to the waiting plant and back. "Ummm -- what'll happen if the shots of Hank's balls getting eaten don't come out right?"

"Well, having persuaded the Expedition Commander that a snatch-plant photograph is required, I would be obliged to sacrifice my own genitalia -- and whatever else the thing desires to ingest. In such a case, however," he added, pulling his eyebrows down in a scowl, "would you prefer to emulate Chuck, and perform the photography while your own castration is in progress, or would you rather permit this carnivorous vegetation to castrate and eviscerate you after your photographing assignment has been completed to our satisfaction? Chief Larsson will be happy to enforce your decision, whichever it may be. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yeah, very," said Michael. "I was just wondering."

"Okay, o-kay," said Hank, breaking the silence. He moved a pace closer to the smaller snatch-plant. His hand touched his chest; the taut skin was damp with sweat, and breeze was suddenly cold as it touched his naked hide.

Michael was busy with his equipment: measuring, adjusting, carefully sighting on the waiting plant. "I'll use a flash t' fill in from below," he reported. "Otherwise your balls will be in shadow."

"What if he faces the other way?" asked Chief Larsson. "Then you can --"

"No, no. Won't work. Light'll wash out his muscles and he'll lose definition. Gotta face this way."

Hank reached down and patted his testicles. "Ready when you are."

Michael pulled a copy of the Manual of Man-Eating Plants from one of his camera bags and passed it to Hank. "Hold this so the cover shows. Now, get closer t' the plant -- keep turned the way you are now, sort of half-facing me -- that's it, that's it."

"Okay, here goes." Hank moved a pace closer to the snatch- plant. He winked at Michael, then tensed his muscles to show off his physique. The plant recoiled, fluttering its leaf-heads.

"Relax, dammit," said Michael. You look like you're expecting t' get bitten in the balls."

"But I am --" Hank stopped his protest and laughed. Relaxed now, he plucked one of the red fruits and took a cautious bite. He tasted sweetness, with just a touch of tartness. He swallowed, looking at the fruit. Michael's flash-gun flared. Hank jumped, and something brushed his shaft. Hank looked down, saw a green leaf-head swing past his prong. The head glared at Michael, then engulfed Hank's shaft from tip to base. Stubby teeth gripped the barrel of his shaft, but his balls hung free.

Being as nonchalant as he could, Hank took another bite of the fruit before looking down again. He saw the leaf-head's jaws tense; felt the cool, damp surfaces squeeze his prong, relax, squeeze harder.

"The flash must have startled it," said Michael. "It was going for your balls, but it missed.

"Right now, my prong feels like it's being squeezed by two chunks of lettuce," Hank reported. "Cold and bumpy and wet and real tight. How was the photo?"

"Great. I'm getting more while it -- you know --"

"Eats my prong? Yeah, go ahead."

"I'm sorry about the flash," said Michael. "If I hadn't, then --"

"Relax, kid." Hank tried to grin and found it was easier than he thought it would be. "I'd rather have it start on my cock anyway." The rhythmical pressure was getting stronger. "Cock's lots tougher than my balls, but the plant'll go after them eventually. It's squeezing harder all the time -- my shaft -- it'll burst pretty soon, but right now, it's really turning me on!" Another squeeze, and the muscles down in the roots of Hank's virility jerked, went tight. Another squeeze, and Hank felt his whole body go rigid. Another, and he jabbed his hips forward, then squirted, squirted, and squirted again, pumping his sperm into the leaf-head. He gasped aloud, went rigid again, and jetted out the last of his juice. Then slowly, muscle by muscle, Hank relaxed.

Hank focussed his eyes on his companions: Michael, still photographing; the Lieutenant and Chief Larsson, looking satisfied. Hank looked down at his own genitals. The leaf-head hadn't squeezed since his last squirt of semen, and the jaws seemed to be loosening their grip. A convulsion shook the snatch- plant. The leaf-head on Hank's shaft opened wide, jerked away from his organs, and began making retching motions. Hank stared for a moment, then slowly backed away from the writhing plant until he stood by the red-haired photographer.

"What happened?" asked Michael, looking up from his camera. "You rod was about t' go, and you were jerking and squirming and --"

Hank glanced down. His shaft, gleaming with semen and still sore from the snatch-plant's grip, was still intact and hard. He took another bite from the fruit, and chewed slowly, then put the rest into Michael's open mouth, tousled the youth's hair, wiped his hands on his muscle-sheathed chest, and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Simple. The cocksucker squeezed my cock till I came. I shot a real load, too. 'Parently, it didn't like the taste."

"So," the Lieutenant growled, "instead of being in the throes of castration, you were merely ejaculating? Damn!"

Michael giggled, chortled, swallowed hard, then collapsed on the ground, roaring with laughter. The Lieutenant and Chief Larsson glared at the snatch-plant. Hank knelt, sat back on his heels, then stretched out on the ground. For a moment, he relaxed, catching his breath.

Hank felt the heat of the sun drying his sweat-damp hide. He took a deep breath, relaxed his whole body, rolled onto his stomach, then propped up his shoulders with his upper arms and elbows. His balls and still-rigid shaft pressed against the mossy ground cover. He took a deep breath, catching the sharp, spicy fragrance of that vegetation, and looked around.

"The book." Chief Larsson snapped his fingers.

"This?" Hank held up the Manual of Man-Eating Plants. He tossed it to the Chief. "Won't tell you anything you don't already know."

"Why?" asked the blond Chief.

"You helped write it -- remember?"

The Lieutenant and Larsson bent over the book for a moment. After a few moments, they walked to the snatch-plant that had rejected Hank; the plant recoiled.

Hank stretched. He glanced at Michael, whose laughter had finally run out, and who was sitting up, camera in hand, watching Lieutenant Gustine and the Chief. Those two were approaching the larger snatch-plant, which was watching them too.

"What's your hypothesis?" asked the Marine officer, looking up from the Manual.

"Damned if I know," said Hank. "Sir." He squirmed, and his shaft dug into the ground vegetation. "Have to ask the botanists."

"Well, come over here and present your genitalia to this specimen for its reaction. Your sexual shaft is still --"

"Fuck you." Hank felt his muscles tense; with an effort, he relaxed again.

"Are you being insolent as well as insubordinate?"

"Sorry; I meant to say, `Fuck you, sir.' In the first place, Dominick already proved this cocksucker'll geld and gut a stud. And in the second place, Michael here's already got all the photos you said this trip's all about." Hank turned to Michael. "Right, kid?"

"Yep." Michael grinned at Hank. "A real good one -- with the flash -- when it was just about t' bite into your -- uh -- balls, and a nice series of it working on your prong." He sighted through his camera at Larsson and the Lieutenant. "Hey, that looks neat. How 'bout you two guys back up so I can get you right next to that snatch-plant?"

"But --" the Lieutenant began.

"You got no fucking reg to say I gotta try getting done out again. I didn't volunteer to play point man all day." Hank took a deep breath. "And -- and --" He realized he'd lost count, went on anyway: "In the next place, my prong's all over cream and

the other plant prob'ly won't like it any more than the first one did, and -- and if you found something new, and it was my turn, then sure, I'll see if it wants to nibble on my balls, but -- but like the regs say, `no repetitive attrition by hazards that are already adequately documented.' Sir."

"Will you guys back up a couple of paces?" Michael asked, getting to his knees. "That thing looks like it wants t' read the book over your shoulder, and it can't quite -- yeah, that's good," he added, as the two Marines glanced at each other, shrugged their shoulders, and moved closer to the snatch-plant.

"Okay?" asked the Chief.

Michael nodded, busy with his camera. Lieutenant Gustine and Chief Larsson turned their attention back to the book. One leaf- head peered over the Chief's shoulder; another reached for his outthrust cock. Two more leaf-heads closed in to inspect the Lieutenant's shaft. They looked, Hank decided, rather like a quartet of long-necked geese: cautious but hungry.

"And as for how come didn't take me," Hank said, "maybe the thing's still full from eating Dominick -- it's not all that big a plant, and remember it took days for it to finish gutting him, and -- and --" Hank groped for ideas: anything to keep the two Marines standing within reach of the bigger snatch-plant. "And come to think of it, Dominick didn't come while the thing was eating him, and -- and besides, it didn't have fruit on it, like now, and --"

Suddenly, one leaf-head clamped down on Larsson's prong, taking it from tip to base. Two more pounced on Lieutenant Gustine's shaft, one from each side, gripping the barrel and leaving his glans free.

"Perfect," Michael shouted. "Another one, please? Look at the book again."

The Lieutenant and the blond Chief exchanged startled looks. "Well, okay," said the Chief. "Come on, sir; we might as well."

The naked officer shrugged, glanced down again at the leaf- heads clamped on his shaft, then focussed on the Manual.

"Does it hurt yet?" asked Michael, looking through his camera.

"Not really," said the Lieutenant. "The compression is increasing, but --"

"Then don't make faces. Concentrate on the book -- yeah, that's it -- there." Michael's camera clicked again.

"Completed your photographic documentation? Now, rather than waiting until the plant excites us to orgasm, we shall disengage our genitalia. Chief, use your weapon."

"But -- yessir." The big blond Marine reached for his ray- gun, but the snatch-plant was quicker. He glanced down at the leaf-head clamped on the butt of his ray-gun and reported, "No launch on that countdown, sir." He looked up at Hank. "Quick, use yours. Blast us loose."

Hank shook his head. "Not according to regs, Chief, and you two know it; once something starts eating a Marine, you gotta let it finish you off, 'specially if somebody's recording what's happening to you, like Michael here's doing with his camera." He wiggled, savoring the feel of the moss-like ground cover against his naked skin. "Besides, you made sure my gun's not charged -- remember?"

"Well -- all right, but we should achieve ejaculation soon enough. Meanwhile --" The naked Lieutenant looked down at the leaf-heads clamped on his shaft, then began a slow thrust and pull with his hips. "The pressure is -- uncomfortable, but the corpora of my phallus are not stressed to rupture yet."

"I don't think it'll do you any good when you do shoot your load," said Hank. "How're you doing, Chief?"

The big blond glistened with sweat, his muscles straining as he squirmed in the snatch-plant's grip. "It's -- it's really got a grip on my prong now," he gasped. "My glans -- not much longer -- aaah!"

Hank shivered, remembering the pressure on his own shaft a few moments ago, and imagining that pressure going on and on, tighter and tighter . . .

"What do mean, it won't do me any good?" asked the Lieutenant. He expanded his taut-muscled chest, sucked in his stomach, thrust with his hips -- again -- and again. "I'm -- ejaculating -- now!" A jet of white cream shot from the Lieutenant's shaft, a pulsing jet that arched high and fell to the ground. "There!"

"That's what I mean," said Hank, suppressing a chuckle. "You dropped your load on the ground, sir, instead of feeding it to the leaf-head that's working on your prong."

The Lieutenant growled, then said, "And as a consequence -- all right, then; Larsson! Ejaculate, man, quick! Otherwise . . ."

"I don't think that's gonna work either. I sucked him dry, just before we left camp." Hank ran his tongue over his teeth, remembering the warm bulk of the blond's glans, remembering the spurting climax that filled his mouth.

"You sucked him off?" asked Michael, eyes wide.

"Twice." Hank nodded. "Sucked him dry."

Michael whooped once and fell back on the ground, laughing.

The Lieutenant asked, "Had you no apprehension that he might --"

"-- might bite? Well, sort of," said the blond Chief. "I started to tell him that when he was working on me the second time -- but that just got me going again."

"Like the Lieutenant said, `risk of imminent castration,' and so on." Hank savored the memory of the big blond's ejaculate -- salty and bitter, creamy and smooth -- and the feel of that velvety glans thrusting deep. "I touched his prong with my teeth a couple of times -- just a little nibble -- and away he went again. Really unloaded. Okay, Chief?"

"Then, yeah; you really got me going. But now . . ." The blond Marine stiffened, muscles snapping into sharp relief. "The tip -- the cap -- it's -- gone!"

Hank saw blood trickle from the leaf-head working on the Chief's shaft; he felt his own testicles shift as he imagined what was happening inside those leafy jaws. "Your cock-tip?"

The squirming blond nodded. Through clenched teeth, he gasped, "Crushed flat; I can feel the thing eating me alive, and it's rough!"

Hank rolled up to a sitting position, right arm hooked over his right knee, his left kneading his balls. Those two Marines had planned Hank's castration, but his smoldering resentment over that slowly cooled as he watched Larsson's prong being devoured. Hank groped for something to say. "Yeah, but it's -- it's a good thing you're so well hung; it'll be a while before that thing starts eating your balls."

"I don't know -- if that's any better -- it'll take longer -- working on my cock -- and when it does get to my balls," the Chief panted, "that'll be -- real rough."

"Well," Michael put in, "you did help write the book."

"This?" the Chief held up the Manual of Man-Eating Plants, tossed it to Michael, then stroked the leaf-head that was devouring his shaft. "Yeah. Most guys -- the thing's finished eating the cap, and now that it's just eating my shaft -- it's -- it's just weird. But later . . ." He slid his left hand down to cup his balls, squeezed gently, then moved both hands to his hips.

"How're you coming along, sir?" Hank asked.

"The compression is painful, yes, but none of the internal membranes have ruptured yet. The angle at which they are gripping me isn't conductive to maximum leverage." He glanced at the Chief. "Ah -- I see that the leaf-head is no longer sequestering you side-arm."

Chief Larsson glanced at his ray-gun, then at Lieutenant Gustine. "What with getting eaten alive and everything, I didn't notice."

"Quit playing games!"

"It's your fucking game that's gotten us in this mess, sir; and now we're both going to see this thing the fuck through, balls and all."

"Our testicles? But it hasn't --"

"It's gonna go after yours real soon," Hank said, as he saw the leaf-heads on the naked officer's shaft begin to move. One released its grip; the other took a deeper bite at mid-shaft and clamped down hard. The first opened its jaws wide, reached down, and closed around the Lieutenant's balls.

"My -- testicles -- it's cracking my nuts!" the Lieutenant yelped, squirming desperately as two more leaf-heads locked onto his wrists. "Crushing -- near rupture -- going -- eeeeeeYOW!"

Hank realized he was holding his breath, let it out in a long sigh as he watched the Lieutenant's struggles. He saw a ribbon of crimson pulp at the edge of the leaf-head that was crushing the naked officer's balls, and felt his own testicles shift, as if in sympathy.

The Lieutenant's other leaf-head clamped down harder -- harder -- onto his shaft until it sheared through the barrel. Hank's gaze followed the glans-tipped length of shaft that fell to the ground.

"Well, now," said Hank. He took a deep breath. "Trouble with getting your balls eaten too soon is that you hardly notice what's happening to your prong." He scrambled to his feet, brushed a few pieces of moss from his now-dry, still-rigid shaft. "If I'd of gotten eaten balls-first, I prob'ly wouldn't have half noticed when the thing ate my prong. But -- well, if there's anything to what Doctrine says about suffering to win a berth in Paradise, you're lucking out real good."

The big blond Chief growled, "If this is what you call lucking out --" He flipped open the buckle of his gun belt. "Here, before it starts working on my balls -- just in case you might need it on the way back." He tossed belt, with holster and ray-gun -- to Hank. "Less tempting, not having it on," he added, "Especially just now."

Hank saw the leaf-head that was devouring Larsson's shaft was nearing its base, closing in on his balls. Hank felt pressure on his leg, looked down; Michael was kneeling, camera focussed on Larsson.

"Careful now," Hank said, tousling Michael's hair. "Don't get too close."

"But I gotta. This'll be perfect. Hey, Chief, can you spread your thighs -- yeah, perfect!"

"What kind of expression do you want? I'll try, but I don't think I can --"

Michael said, "Don't try -- forget about me and the camera -- yeah -- just look kind of worried -- pretend your prong's almost gone and your balls are gonna be eaten next." Hank heard the camera click. "Hey," Michael added, "quit grinning; you look like you're enjoying it."

"I'm not." The big blond's muscles rippled under a sweat- gleaming skin. "But if you're going to tell jokes -- well, it sounded funny to me." He frowned. "It's taking me now -- get ready, kid."

Still on his knees, the red-head moved closer to the snatch- plant. Hank caught Michael's shoulder. "Watch it, kid, or it'll go after your meat too."

"For this shot -- we don't have anything like it in the Final Report -- it'd almost be worth --" The camera clicked, clicked again. "-- getting my balls eaten like that."

Hank knelt beside Michael, watching, fascinated, as the leaf-head gaped wide, engulfed Larsson's balls along with the last few centimeters of his shaft, and closed on them.

The Lieutenant put his right arm around Larsson's shoulders and watched as the leaf-head clamped tight, slowly crushing his balls. Larsson squirmed, twisting his hips in a slow circle, then thrust them forward.

"Still -- eating my spike -- squeezing my nuts tighter -- tighter --" Larsson drew breath with a hiss. "One -- almost -- aaah! Gone. The other -- yow!"

"Well?" asked Hank.

"That was really rough," sighed Larsson. He straightened up, took a deep breath, and looked down at the leaf-head that was castrating him. He spat, ran his tongue over his lips, spat again. "Bit my tongue just then, when my nuts cracked open." Slowly, he ran his right hand across his broad chest, on down the concave ripple of his abdominals to the base of his organs, and out onto the leaf-head that was feeding on his manhood. With his index finger, he took a bit of bloody pulp curling out from the leafy jaws and raised it to his mouth.

"Is the taste what you expected?" asked Lieutenant Gustine.

Larsson shrugged his shoulders, then looked down at the leaf-head working on the Lieutenant's virile organs. "How are you coming along, sir?"

"My own castration is essentially complete," said the naked officer as he -- and Hank and Michael -- watched the blond Chief slide his left hand down the officer's torso, pat the leaf-head feeding on the officer's manhood, then scoop up a little of the crushed testicle that was oozing from the leaf-head's jaws.

The Lieutenant shook his head when the Chief offered the bloody morsel. "Go on -- make the taste comparison of our genitalia yourself," he said. "Always in a hurry -- if you hadn't been so anxious to be fellated by our muscular model here . . ."

A thought crossed Hank's mind: what if a leaf-head, after gelding a stud and boring a hole into the roots, just quit instead of gutting him all the way? I could shove my own prong into the hole and then . . . Another thought interrupted the first. "Hey, Lieutenant -- what you wrote in the Manual -- when a stud gets his balls squashed -- does it feel anything like coming -- you know -- shooting your load?"

The blond Chief and the Lieutenant stared at each other. After a long moment, the Lieutenant growled, "It's rather late to make editorial emendations now."

Michael, still on his knees, said, "You could -- we could just put in a footnote that the author said, after a snatch-plant ate his nuts, that -- uh -- whatever it does feel like."

Chief Larsson said, "I asked Dominick and Chuck when this thing was eating their balls, but they weren't sure either."

"You mean you still don't know?" asked Michael.

"You want to perform an experiment with your own genitalia, kid?" snarled the Lieutenant.

Hank said, "I think he means he thinks so, but it's so painful, getting squashed like this, that he's not sure."

The Lieutenant nodded. "Put down: `Partial subjective confirmation of the hypothesis.' "

Hank saw Larsson nod his own blond head. "Okay, then; let's pack up and get going. How'd the shots come out?"

"I got some real neat ones of the leaf-head -- uh -- gelding the Chief." Michael pulled a handful of color prints from the developing magazine. "This one -- just before his -- his nuts popped." Hank studied the photo: a blond Marine studied the Manual, while a hungry snatch-plant clamped down on the blond's virile gonads. "And this one -- of you," Michael added. "It'll do great on the cover."

Hank took the second print: there he stood, about to take a second bite of the snatch-plant's fruit; there was the snatch- plant, about to take its first bite of Hank. A shiver ran down his spine, and his skin prickled. He touched his organs: his cock twitched, and his testicles stirred in their sack. Hank remembered the snatch-plant's grip: a cool, rough-surfaced vise trying to crush his manhood, flattening his shaft, getting ready to --

Hank blocked the thought and studied the photo again. "It's not bad, not bad at all, especially the way the light shows up my pecs and abs." He took a deep breath and patted his thick, hard chest muscles. "And you're right about the belt, Michael; I do look nakeder with it on."

"See how the flash filled in your balls?" Michael, now sitting beside his camera, reached up and hesitantly touched Hank's.

"Go ahead, kid; they're all yours. If it hadn't been for that flash . . ." He sat down beside Michael, bare butt on the mossy ground-cover, and studied the photo some more. "I really do look sexy with the belt and the hard-on and everything." He smacked his lips, felt himself grin. "I wish I were twins; I'd like to make it with me someday."

"Yeah, so would -- uh -- yeah." Michael was suddenly busy, packing his cameras and film boxes, the Manual of Man-Eating Plants and his lenses in his two equipment bags. Hank retrieved Larsson's belt, took off his own, and put on Larsson's.

Dropping to his knees beside the young photographer again, Hank looped his own belt around Michael's lean waist. "How's that? Too loose?" He tightened the black leather a notch. "There." Hank touched Michael's rigid prong, waggled it gently. "How's the erection shot holding up?"

"It doesn't sting where the needle went in, but my whole -- shaft kind of tingles a bit. It's -- great."

"And you're the only one of the four of us who hasn't been sucked off -- or eaten off -- this morning."

Michael scrambled to his feet. "But --" He studied the two snatch-plants and frowned.

"No, not them. Me." Hank felt his muscles tense. "Not 'less you're real anxious to try 'em." Hank licked his lips, took a deep breath. "I was thinking of taking you myself."

Michael's frown relaxed into a broad grin. "You mean -- right here? Wow!"

"Sure. You saved my shaft -- and you're a sexy young stud. Okay?"

"But -- but -- how do we do it?" asked Michael. "Shouldn't we . . . ?"

Hank put his hands on the young photographer's shoulders. "Just lie down, on your back. I'll do the rest."

Michael resisted Hank's downward pressure for a tense moment. Then, with his gaze locked with Hank's, Michael slowly knelt, sat back, and stretched out full length on the ground. Hank dropped to the ground beside Michael, then eased his torso onto the youth's legs.

For a moment, Hank studied the shaft that quivered in front of his nose; the shaft curved strongly at its base, less so along the barrel. A broad, reddish-purple mushroom capped that length of hard meat; the velvety skin of Michael's glans tightened as his whole shaft surged and became shiny for a moment. Hank realized he was licking his lips, licked them again deliberately, and looked up into Michael's eyes. As their gazes met, Michael propped his shoulders up on his elbows.

"Relax, kid. You're supposed to lie back and enjoy this -- you know the old saying."

Michael grinned; Hank felt the red-head's thigh muscles relax. "I want t' watch -- and see how you do it and -- and everything."

"Okay -- here goes." Hank touched nose-tip to prong tip, raised his head, and poked the shaft with his tongue. The Marine licked Michael's glans, ran his tongue up the cleft, around the sides, and up the cleft again. He probed the opening at the very tip, felt slippery wetness there; he slid his tongue down the barrel, then up to the tip again where he kissed Michael's glans. "Ready for the Main Event?" Hank asked, looking up into Michael's eyes again.

"Huh? Oh -- yeah; yes, please" Michael took a deep breath; Hank felt Michael's muscles relax. "I -- I though you were just going t' jump on me, instead of -- of working on me like this." He grinned. "This is -- wow!"

"Yeah, I can sort of tell," said Hank. Michael frowned; Hank chuckled. "You're leaking pre-come; I can taste the stuff already." Hank's own hard shaft dug into the mossy ground-cover; he raised his hips, then settled down again with his muscle- sheathed chest supported by Michael's warm thighs. Hank propped his shoulders up a little higher on his elbows and brought his hands together to steady Michael's shaft. "Like my going slow like this?"

Michael grinned again. "Make it last forever, if ya can. I sure don't need that hard-on shot now!" He looked suddenly worried. "What happens next?"

"This." Hank lowered his head, touched his lips to Michael's glans. He pushed down harder, driving his lips onto the cap at the end of Michael's shaft. When he had a comfortable mouthful, he clamped his arms around Michael's thighs, then rubbed the young photographer's prong with his tongue. After a moment more, Hank began to suck; and Michael's shaft stiffened in reply. Hank raised his head, lowered it, up and down into a smooth, hungry stroke; Michael met every stroke with a thrust of his own slim hips.

As Hank sucked Michael's cock, he wondered: How did the Lieutenant's balls and the Chief's prong taste to the snatch- plant while it was eating them? And what would it be like -- what would it taste like -- if I bit into Michael's prong? When the thing was working on me, the leaf-head felt like -- like a couple of slabs of cold lettuce, but squeezing hard -- not like being eaten with sharp teeth and grinding molars by a stud -- by Michael, even. He realized Michael was panting hard. Hank stopped sucking and raised his head.

Michael gasped aloud.

"Close?" asked Hank.

"Wow! That was -- perfect." Michael caught his breath. "I -- I was really getting there."

"Cool off a minute and then I'll go after you again"

"Sure." Michael looked back over his shoulder. "How are those guys making out?" he asked as he and Hank watched the snatch-plant start boring into its victims' crotches.

Lieutenant Gustine looked up, met Hank's gaze and raised one eyebrow. "Satisfied, you hyper-muscled serendip?"

"Well, sir -- yes."

"Aw, come on, sir," said the Chief, "we blew it, letting the kid get us close enough for the fucker to grab us." He scowled at the Lieutenant, then looked down at the leaf-head that was eating him alive.

The Lieutenant glanced at Larsson, then down at himself. "At this point, the thing's devouring the internal components of -- my -- sexual equipment. But -- watching your exhibition of fellatory prowess, I'm trying to respond, and I haven't any erectile tissue left with which to respond, but . . ." He curled his hips forward, sucking his stomach into a hard ripple of muscle.

"Still trying?" asked Hank.

"Y-yes," said the Lieutenant. He put both gauntleted hands on his hips and squirmed.

Larsson nodded. "It's just starting to dig into my guts, and -- yeah -- it's turning me on too, kind of."

"Which," asked Hank, "watching me suck off Michael, or you getting eaten like that?"

"Well -- both," sighed the naked blond.

"Yeah?" Hank shook his head, then went down onto Michael's shaft again. The wet skin was cool, but warmed quickly as Hank resumed sucking. If either one of those studs -- or both of them -- took me during Eliminations, that'd be okay, and I would of co”perated all the way. But trying to get me like this, before Eliminations . . .

Michael reached the brink quicker this time; as the youngster's muscles tensed, Hank eased off and raised his head.

"Wow again," panted Michael. "Hey, I think I know why these guys are -- almost -- enjoying themselves."

Hank glanced up; both the Lieutenant and Larsson were squirming, hips thrusting, almost as if . . .

"The plant's eating their prostate glands, right? And that's what you shoot your load with, not just your -- your shaft."

"I think the kid may have something there," Larsson panted. "I'm pumping some-fucking-thing into this cock-eater."

"Ejaculating during evisceration?" asked the Lieutenant. "But --"

"It's -- it's like getting fucked, and when the fucker's prong hits you just right inside -- only different, somehow. Pumping blood, rather than --"

"Sperm?" asked the naked Lieutenant.

Larsson nodded his blond head. "That's it, sir; I'm still trying to work up a hard while the fucker's gutting me."

"Me too; we'll both be exsanguinated by the time this carnivorous vegetation finishes consuming our entrails. Meanwhile . . ." The Marine officer's voice trailed off.

Hank started to go down onto Michael's shaft again; Michael said, "Wait -- lemme cool down some more. My safety valve needs more time t' rest." He licked his lips slowly, then asked, "Hey, Hank; what was the closest you ever came t' -- t' getting done out, anyway?"

"Lemme see -- it was well before the gulper got the Captain's balls, and we were just starting to check out the jungle on the windward side of the Western Highlands. We set up camp in a big open field so the flyers could re-supply us, and cleared a couple-three paths through the edge of the canopy- jungle so we could start out naked, going on in."

"But -- I thought you always --"

"-- went around naked when we're Exploring?" Hank grinned. "We do, but the edges of the jungle are all brush. Once past that, it's just big tree-trunks, spaced well apart. Going around naked's okay in a clearing, and okay under the canopy, but not pushing through the bushes. So, 'stead of suiting up every time we start out, and then stripping once we're past 'em --"

Michael chuckled, then said, "So, risking your lives is a clear orbit, but risking your hides . . ."

"Doesn't prove anything useful, getting scratched up. We're crazy, not dumb. Uh -- where was I?"

"Cutting holes in the bushes."

"Yeah. Soon as we opened the path we were working on, me and Wes and Risto stripped to our boots and gun-belts, left our clothes in camp, and started out on a short patrol." Hank took a deep breath, conscious of Michael's naked body under his own, remembering . . .

. . . remembering how he'd stripped off his uniform, the air suddenly cool on his sweaty body, and then the excitement of venturing into the dark hole they'd chopped in the greenery and on to the silent jungle beyond, with Wes and Risto, naked bodies like pale ghosts, stalking quietly beside Hank.

"Only, what with working up a sweat, and then being naked and in the shade, and maybe some of the dust and stuff we'd kicked up, I sneezed a couple times and began sniffling. Wes asked if I wanted to go back, see the medic; and I told him if he and Risto had something going, I wanted make it a three-way. We kidded along like that for a while, all of us about half-hard, partly from being naked with each other, mostly from being on patrol again, with Space knows what around the next tree . . ." Hank sighed and licked Michael's glans again.

"We were still deciding -- walking along with our eyes open -- who was gonna do what and with which unto whom -- when all of a sudden, Risto stopped dead and kind of jabbed with his hips, and while Wes and I watched, his prong came up hard. Risto pointed -- upwind, we figured out later -- and said, `that way.'

"Wes and I, we looked at each other. Wes took a deep breath, and his eyes got a far-away look, and he said, `Check. Let's go,' and his prong came up too, in one quick surge. Because of the sniffles, I couldn't smell a thing and I didn't try; I just followed Risto and Wes, who trotted along with their hard-ons jiggling.

"Now, 'cept for erection shots like the four of us took this morning, Marines don't go around with hard-ons all day long. We'll stiffen up for something interesting, and relax, and stiffen up again. And since we kind of liked -- you know -- showing off, we'd kind of help things along if we felt ourselves getting hard. Our Captain -- I never saw a real stud so easy- going about sex: he'd see a couple of us going at it and say `Hi,' and stop to talk about next day's work, just as if -- or he'd ask, `How is he, anyway?' and before you realized it, you'd both be telling him -- it was a bit distracting at first, but it sure got everything right out in the open, 'specially since he was up hard more than any of the rest of us."

"You really liked him," said Michael, softly.

"Fuck yes," Hank growled. "He was . . . anyway, where were we? Oh yeah, the vampire lily." He lowered his head, touched the tip of his nose to Michael's glans, then continued his story:

"Wes and Risto seemed to know where they were going, but they just shook their heads when I asked. I spotted a plant growing out of the forest floor: dark red leaves, and three long, thick stems coming out of the middle, with a big, while blossom on the end of each stem, and a thin spike growing out of the middle of each blossom.

"Those two studs knelt down, right next to the plant. I stood right behind Wes, looking over his shoulder. One of the flowers bent down -- well, its stem did -- and slid the spike into the hole in Wes's glans; and the petals wrapped themselves around his prong. A few seconds later, the second flower took Risto the same way." Hank paused, remembering: naked, muscular bodies glowing in the shadows, waiting . . .

"What happened next was that the flowers started taking Wes and Risto off, the petals squeezing and relaxing. Watching this, I got good and hard too, all the way. Wes kid of shook himself, looked up at me, and said, `Is it getting you too?'

"I told him I didn't think so -- not yet, anyway. He said he could feel the spike poking 'round inside the base of his prong, and he was turning on real fast. Risto reported the same thing was happening to him, and Wes said that anything going in that deep was up to no good.

"Risto told us he'd smelled something that made him remember he was supposed to come here, and kneel down, and -- wait. Wes agreed, and a moment or so later, they both shot their loads. And after maybe five minutes, they came again, and they both reported they could really feel themselves pumping the stuff out. We started to get a bit worried the third time: they went on and on, and we saw the blossoms were darkening from white to blood-red.

"When I suggested using my ray-gun to cut one of them loose, they both wanted to keep feeding the thing, and then Wes pointed out that if I cut one loose, the plant might let the other one go, which would spoil the whole discovery."

"Because the whole point of Exploring is t' find out what will happen to a naked Marine if something catches him?"

"Exactly. Still, it's rough, watching a couple of your buddies getting done out. Wes suggested I use the ray-gun on the third blossom, so it wouldn't take me, in case my sniffles cleared up, and I threw his argument right back at him -- I might make the thing let both of them loose. Besides, something was getting through my stopped-up nose, because I started remembering too. But -- just before I knelt down to feed that third blossom -- and I do mean just barely -- a plump little animal waddled up to us -- we hadn't noticed it till then -- looked us over, then sat up, grabbed the spare blossom with its paws, and started munching on it.

"I was supposed to let the flower-thing take me, but since it was getting eaten, I knelt and offered my prong to the little critter. It sniffed at my glans, and I scratched it behind the ears, and then it went back to the blossom. I shrugged my shoulders, stood up, and offered my prong to Wes, instead. He took me off, and then we watched the critter eat the other two blossoms right off their prongs."

"But if you're supposed t' let things go ahead and --"

"-- take us? The rule is, don't interfere. Besides, we had to find out if the critter would eat those two studs' prongs."

"And?"

"It didn't. When we left, the critter was digging up the lily's roots and eating them. Wes and Risto were weak, but they could walk okay, so we hiked on back." Hank went down onto the Michael's shaft again. Hank worked slowly, but Michael responded lustily. Soon, Hank had to stop again, raise his head, and release Michael's quivering prong.

"I thought hearing that story would -- ah -- damp me down a bit," Michael panted, "but --"

"The erotic effect of imminent castration? Even if it's mine and not yours?"

"Especially." Michael reached down, stroked Hank's wide shoulders. "Hey -- is that all? What happened next?"

"Right afterwards, Wes and Risto were pumping out a squirt of blood every few minutes, but they gradually cooled down on the way back to camp. It took three days for our erections to go down." Hank paused and sucked Michael's shaft again -- a couple of slow strokes from tip to hilt -- then went on with the story.

"We knew what the critter would do to a lily, and we knew what the lily would start doing to a stud; what we didn't know was if the lily would go all the way -- drain its prey completely, or quit after drinking its fill -- and what would happen to the lily when it did. Wes and Risto both claimed finder's takers, and they nagged the Captain till he threatened to feed 'em both to the next vampire lily that turned up. Only, the next time I sucked Wes off, he pumped more blood than cream. Wasn't bad," Hank reported, slowly licking his upper lip, "but it was kind of a surprise. A real mouthful, too. When I told the Captain, he sucked Risto off and then decided to keep one of 'em, see how long it would take to recover completely. He made 'em toss for it, and Wes lost."

"But I saw him just last night in the shower," said Michael. Wide shoulders, nice definition, and a real long . . ."

"That's him. Try him out sometime; tells funny stories -- specially when he's havin' sex -- not while he's sucking you off, but the rest of the time. He lost the toss okay; Risto won, and so he got to feed a vampire lily. Took us three days to find one; but finally he went through the stop-and-sniff countdown, hard-on and all. The Captain and I -- wearing filter-masks -- followed him to one that was just opening up.

"It was easier this time, because we knew what to expect. And Risto did enjoy it, all the way to the end. It took a long time, watching the flower work on Risto's prong, chatting quietly as he fed it. The filters weren't entirely perfect: the Captain and I got rock-hard and stayed that way, even after Risto sucked us both off. And later . . ." Hank grinned. ". . . fucking's lots more fun if you don't have to worry about keeping your prong stiff.

"After the plant finished draining Risto, the Captain used his radio to call for a couple more studs to help carry Risto back for dissection. By the time they arrived, the vampire-lily was dead too, so we figure they're not really useful."

"They're not?" asked Michael. "You mean -- all ya gotta do is send out as many guys as there are vampire-things, and you'll kill them all off? You guys are nuts. Nice nuts, sure; but still nuts."

"I never said we're not. And, from what Risto said, it's a great way to get done out. Trouble is, the things can't do out more than one stud apiece, not like some of the things we've found on this planet." Hank met Michael's gaze. "Ready?"

"Yeah -- all the way this time -- okay?"

Hank's mouth took the hard shaft to the hilt. He let his teeth touch the barrel -- gently -- then went to work with lips and tongue, sucking, rubbing, sucking harder. A dozen strokes brought Michael to the edge; he squirmed, his hips thrust, thrust again, driving his throbbing spike deeper into Hank's mouth.

"Don't stop," gasped Michael. He grabbed Hank's shoulders with both hands. "All -- the -- fucking -- waaay!" Michael's legs jerked, went rigid; his prong rammed into Hank's mouth, jerked -- and again -- and jetted a long blast of juice. Hank almost gagged, swallowed instead.

Hank sucked hard. Michael squirted twice more. Hank caught a deep breath, tightened his lips, sucked again, working the full length of the pulsing shaft with fingers and lips until he milked out another spurt of semen. Sure he had it all, Hank released Michael's prong and stood up, thoughtfully exploring his mouth for the last of Michael's slippery ejaculate.

Michael lay flat on his back, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell; his cock, still rigid, glistened wetly in the sun, jiggling gently. After a moment, while Hank watched, Michael yawned, stretched, opened his eyes, and focused them on Hank's. The youth grinned contentedly, then sat up.

"Hank, do you want me t' do -- t' suck you off now?"

The naked Marine looked down at his own rampant prong, twitched it a couple of times, and said, "Uh -- there's probably some juice from the snatch-plant's jaws on it -- so, until I've washed it off -- and besides, I just came, and -- and coming again this soon --" Hank ruffled Michael's hair. "I better not, so I can stay alert through the rest of the day. But afterwards, tonight . . ."

Michael reached up shyly and ran his right forefinger along Hank's shaft. "Okay, s-stud; we got a date. I want t' -- you know -- finish breaking us in."

Hank suddenly felt warm all over. He rumpled Michael's hair again. "We'd better start back. Need any more photos of those two getting eaten?"

"Wow -- almost forgot." Michael grabbed his camera and trotted to the snatch-plant that was gutting Lieutenant Gustine and Sergeant Larsson. Hank followed, lengthening his stride to catch up. Michael stopped just out of reach of the leaf-heads and shook his head. "It's not as interesting as when the things were -- uh -- working on their balls, but yeah, I'll take a couple more shots." He aimed, clicked, aimed again.

The Lieutenant raised his head and frowned at Hank. "Come for a report, Marine?" He took a deep breath. "Evisceration is under way and progressing very -- uh -- progressively." He glanced down at his concave belly and nodded at the leafhead that was boring into his entrails, eating him alive. He raised his head again. "My liver . . ."

"Mine too," said Chief Larsson. "Damn thing's hungry." He squirmed, sucked in his already deeply hollowed belly, and licked his lips. "Getting eaten like this -- kind of neat."

"Neat?" asked the Lieutenant.

"Not neat, meaning fun," Larsson explained, "but neat, meaning not messy. We'll make a couple of nice, clean corpses."

Michael snapped a couple more shots. "Hey, what's that leaf-

thing doing?"

Hank saw one of the snatch-plant's leaf-heads -- moving slowly, as if not to alarm Michael and him -- snake down to probe the grass. The leaf-head then rose and stretched itself towards Hank. He backed up a pace, then moved cautiously forward, ready to jump back and away. the leaf-head reached the limit of its outstretched stalk and dipped a centimeter. Hank found himself automatically raising out his right hand to take -- whatever -- the snatch-plant was offering to him. A soft weight dropped into his hand. Resisting the impulse to back up again, Hank examined what the snatch-plant had given him.

The thing was a cylinder, soft and pink. One end was ragged; the other, tipped with a blunt, mushroom-shaped cap. Hank looked up at the leaf-head; it was warily eying Hank's own prong. Hank curled his hips forward; the head recoiled, then looked up into Hank's eyes. It somehow looked complacent and well-fed. It should look well-fed, Hank told himself, after gutting two Marine-studs. He reached out slowly, patted the leaf-head, then he and Michael backed away.

"What is it?" Michael demanded.

"The Lieutenant's prong." Hank tossed it up in the air, caught it as it fell. "Remember how the leaf-head sheared it off? Well . . ."

"And the plant gave it t' you? Just how smart are those things, anyway?" Michael stared at the snatch-plant and its half-eaten prey for a moment, then turned to Hank, his face pale under his freckles. "Uh -- let's go." He slung one camera bag over his shoulder. Hank picked up the other bag, settled the strap over his own shoulder.

They walked in silence of a few moments until Michael looked sidelong at Hank and asked, "What are you going t' do with -- it?"

Hank tossed the severed prong into the air again, caught it. "You planning to enter the Eliminations? I mean, you're not going to -- to do yourself out?"

Michael nodded.

"And you've never done anybody out yourself?"

Michael shook his head.

"Look, kid; the thing that gets a lot of studs isn't nailing the other guy, but havin' to finish him off, afterwards, properly painful and all that. And then if you don't take him apart --"

"He gets t' do me. Yeah, I know."

"Worried?"

"A bit."

Hank patted Michael's bare back. "Good. Studs that aren't, they're being stupid. Now, the thing us Marines have over the others in the Expedition, come Eliminations, is that we're used to watching guys we know being done out -- and, sometimes, having to finish the job."

"Finish . . . ?"

"Marine walking point runs into some critter that starts eating him without killing him first, okay? And then the critter decides it doesn't like the taste, or it's not big enough to finish him off all by itself -- so we got a half-eaten Marine on our hands. So, rather than let him go to waste; and since field rations get pretty old a few tendays out from Base --"

"I get the idea, yeah."

"And, since we run to being pretty well-built, . . ." Hank patted his chest, slid his hand over the hard layer of muscle there. But that's not all. Here, lemme show ya." He stopped walking, faced Michael. "I grab for your balls, what happens?" He feinted with one hand, grabbed with the other; his fingers closed on Michael's hands. "See how quick you are to protect yourself down there? Now, try to grab mine -- go on, grab.

Michael grinned. "Well . . ." He grinned. ". . . okay." He stood motionless for a moment, looking off in the distance. Suddenly his right hand shot out and down, grabbed Hank's balls, squeezed, then relaxed.

"See? I didn't flinch. Try it again." Hank watched Michael's grin slowly fade into a puzzled frown.

Michael tried it again with a double feint, then again, straight in. "How come?" he asked, still holding Hank's gonads. "You didn't even twitch."

"Training," said Hank. He laughed, then put his hand over Michael's, tightening the youth's grip for a moment. "You see, a stud naturally protects himself there, which can make for problems when he's a Marine who's trying to get some critter to take a bite out of him. So -- we practice, grabbing each other and not flinching. We even make a game of it, and the stud that dodges, he has to cut trail or write up data or some other kind of boring work."

"Or have to take off the other guys -- sucking?"

Hank shook his head. "That don't count as boring, kid."

"That makes sense. A guy could get tempted, and --" Michael licked his lips. "I'm looking forward to -- to later. But what's that got to do with --"

"The Lieutenant's prong?" Hank tossed the chunk of meat into the air again, caught it. "That plant was either telling me it had caught on t' how t' castrate a stud without getting a mouthfull of sperm --" They resumed the walk back to camp. "-- or else it was thanking you for giving it two guys instead of one?"

"But it was a different -- well, anyway, a few studs'll get so shook up first time they got to go t' work on somebody that's fresh caught, they just can't go through with it, or they don't do the other stud th' way he deserves. I'm not saying you are gonna panic --"

"And I'm not saying I won't," said Michael. "Go on."

"Well, the usual place t' start t' work on a stud, Eliminating him, is with his sex organs -- burning, mashing, twisting -- you know --"

"Yeah. I've been thinking of some ideas myself."

"But no practice, getting used to the real thing."

Michael shook his head. "I watched, once, before; couple hardly feeling a thing."

"Here." Hank handed the Lieutenant's cock to Michael. The youth took it, stopped dead, paled, and almost dropped the cylinder of fresh meat. Hank stopped a couple of paces further on, looked back. "You have to pretend it's still attached to some stud. Might start by biting into the cap, trying to chew it right off, and go on from there."

Michael looked stricken for a moment, but curiosity gradually replaced shock on his freckled face. He raised the severed organ, examined it, then opened his mouth, bared his teeth, and gingerly slid the tip between his jaws. He bit, paused, began chewing slowly. Hank turned and resumed the march; Michael caught up with him after a dozen paces or so.

They walked on in silence for a while. Michael was pale at first; a few times he seemed about to gag, but he doggedly kept on chewing. At first, he took the meat out of his mouth every few bites to study the damage; soon he was munching along with the sheared end sticking out of his mouth like a cigar; finally he tucked what was left of the shaft into his mouth.

When Michael had swallowed the last and was thoughtfully picking his teeth, Hank broke the silence. "How -- how was it?"

"Tough," mumbled Michael, around a probing finger. He dropped his hand, sucked noisily at his teeth. "The cap wasn't bad, but the inside is soft and spongy and the wrapping or membrane or whatever it is, is tough. I didn't think I would, but I got it all down," he added, proudly.

Hank felt his own stomach stir uneasily. "I -- I just meant for you to chew on it for a while, not -- well, you'll do fine now, kid. How -- how did it taste, the cap, I mean?"

"You mean, you let me -- and -- have you ever --?" Michael demanded.

Hank shook his head. "Close scrapes and watching other studs getting done out, sure; lots. But I never had to eat a stud's prong, with or without him attached."

"Why you big musclehead!" Michael yelped. He snatched at Hank's balls, caught a handful, squeezed hard enough to wring a grunt from the big Marine. Still gripping Hank's testicles, Michael met Hank's eyes, glared for a moment. Hank's muscles tensed; he was afraid, not for his balls, but for the bond that had been developing with this bouncy, cheerful youth. Michael's glare broke suddenly; he chuckled, laughed aloud, gradually turned sober again. "You really handed me a glitched program then, you -- you big-balled hunk of muscle; I've been had, even if it's all for the best and -- Look, we've gotta un-train you, so you can duck when somebody shatches at your balls." Michael stepped back, releasing his grip. "Okay; when I grab, don't just stand there; fend me off. Got that?"

"But --"

"And if you don't, you get a real squeeze, not just a love- grope. Understand?"

"But --" Hank let out a sigh. "Well, at least it'll help you to -- to follow through. Okay, I think."

"No `think' about it," growled Michael, suddenly determined and serious. He feinted slowly with one hand, grabbed for Hank's balls with the other. Hank felt the old, long-suppressed instinct to protect himself. He managed to block the suppression, willed himself to jerk his hips to one side and block Michael's hand with his own.

"See? Now again." Michael, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, naked body supple and lithe, feinted, feinted, grabbed. His fingers just brushed Hank's cock this time. They tried it twice more, each time a little faster; the next time, Michael grabbed without warning; Hank hesitated an instant too long; and Michael's fingers closed on the naked Marine's balls. "You gotta be ready," said Michael, tightening his grip. "Got that?"

"Yeah." Hank nodded, trying not to squirm as the pressure on his testicles increased and a dull ache lanced up into his guts. "Hey, that hurts!"

"It's supposed to," said Michael, his voice strained. He tightened his grip still more. Hank stiffened, grunted aloud. Michael let go, stepped back, breathing hard. "Okay now?"

"No," growled Hank, gingerly rubbing his balls. "But -- it's -- I'm getting better; it's fading." He took a couple of deep breaths, looked sharply at Michael. "You okay?"

"Sort of," said Michael. "Isn't easy, knowing --" He shook his head, looking thoughtful. "Harder doing you than the Lieutenant's."

"Want to -- ?" Hank gestured downward, thrust his hips forward.

"Just squeeze?" Michael shook his head firmly. "Not unless you try to dodge. We both gotta get something out of this. Ready?"

They practiced thrice more, before Michael made contact. This time, his hand caught Hank's cock, not his balls.

"How does that count?" laughed Hank.

"Not sure, said Michael, waggling the stiff rod back and forth. "I ought to bite, but I was thinking of saving you for tonight. Do I get another chance to squeeze your nuts?"

"Nope." Hank folded his arms across his broad chest. "You grab my prong, you gotta squeeze my prong."

"Well --" Michael glanced up, trying unsuccessfully not to grin. He wrapped both hands around Hank's rigid shaft, took a deep breath, and squeezed. The grip was tight. Hank's shaft surged in response; the glans swelled and reddened. Stretched membranes and skin smarted and stung, but there was nothing like the gut-wrenching ache of testicular compression. Hank made himself yawn -- not too convincingly -- and drawled, "That all you can do, kid?"

"All? You try." Michael let go, stood back. Hank reached out, two-handed, grabbed the youth's outthrust prong, and squeezed. "I meant -- well, okay."

"Not bad?"

Michael shrugged. "We got tough prongs." He gave up trying to look unconcerned and grinned broadly. "But if you had muscles strong as that snatch plant, I'd be in trouble."

"So." Hank gave Michael's prong a final squeeze that made the muscles of his own arms bulge into hard relief, then let go. "Hey, we'd better keep moving. Lunch."

"Well, okay." Michael and Hank headed towards the camp. "We'll practice along the way."

"Huh?"

"Like this." Michael grabbed; Hank hesitated, barely managed to deflect the youth's clutching hand. They continued on for a few minutes. Michael made a couple of incomplete feints, later tried to grab Hank's balls from behind, finally caught him after several hard-pressed attacks from the front. They paused. Michael asked, "Ready?"

Hank nodded; Michael squeezed; and they resumed their walk. "Did I get you as good, that time?" Michael asked.

"Yep," said Hank. He rubbed his balls for a moment. "Why?"

"I wasn't sure; it -- Hank, it's getting easier for me to -- you know."

"Yeah?" Hank rubbed the ache out of this nuts. "I feel like I'm turning a -- a little tiger loose on the studs and gals back in Camp."

"Ummm." They walked along for a while. Hank's arm over Michael's shoulders. Michael hooked his thumbs in his belt, strode along with almost a swagger, but soon settled into his normal stride again. "Uh -- Hank, isn't there and -- what did you call it -- a gulper in the animal collection we got in Camp?"

"Same that got the Captain. You thinking of --"

"How did it happen and -- and everything? You -- you started to, but --"

Hank tightened his grip on Michael's shoulders. "Yeah. I told you, the Captain was a real stud of a guy, everything the fucking Lieutenant wasn't, 'cept for him being even blonder than the Lieutenant. Long as the Captain was there, Lieutenant wasn't bad; but afterwards -- well, you saw.

"Anyway." Hank sighed. "Lemme see. We'd been working over the highlands -- open country, a few trees, nothing exciting. Most Exploring is just hard work -- moving camp, out hiking, turning in reports on what the biologists ought t' come work over later, running more t' blisters and sore feet and getting scratched and sprained and breaking a leg now and then. It's the exciting parts -- almost getting eaten alive -- that you talk about, afterwards.

"Well, it had been that kind of week -- not enough brush t' wear clothes, but enough so you always came in with your ass scratched up -- nothing in th' way of new man-killers for somebody to get done out by, but a few of the old faithfuls, like the boring snake, flitters, now and then a hasty vulture or a gut-and-runner, so we had to be watching all the time so as not t' get done out by one of them. 'Course muscle-eaters take a bit of getting used to, but they're no problem and sometimes fun t' have around."

"No problem? Those big bob-tailed lion things?"

"No problem. They won't start on a stud -- or the browsers and grass-eaters -- 'till he's been killed by something else. Most of the killers just take the organ meat, leaving the rest -- muscle and bone -- for the muscle-eaters to work over. What takes getting used to is knowing the critter's thinking over just exactly how you'd taste, and following along in hope something'll kill you for it. The hasty vulture's the one t' watch out for." Hank grinned, remembering. "Scariest thing I ever did -- not dangerous, but I didn't know it then -- was being on point when we first ran into a family of muscle-eaters. Naturally, I was the one to walk up to 'em and see what happens. They were interested, real interested, going over me like a couple buyers in a meat market --"

"You're packing a lot of muscle for them t' be interested in, s-stud," said Michael. He touched Hank's chest, let his hand slide down the front of Hank's muscle-armored torso. Hank's hand caught Michael's just before it reached Hank's crotch.

Michael chuckled. "You're learning, stud, you're learning."

"But the hasty vulture is dangerous -- doesn't bother t' make sure something's dead before starting in -- Were was I? Oh, yeah; the highlands. Out of fresh meat, of course; they always expect Marines out on patrol to furnish most of their own."

"But -- if all the meat -- and plants -- on the planet are poisonous --"

"I didn't say catch meat, I said furnish it," said Hank. "So, with all this, we were getting pretty fucking bored, even with the Captain along, keeping things going. One evening the Lieutenant wandered into camp with this critter -- a little, fat, six-legged lizard with a wide mouth that looks like it's smiling. Captain was sitting astride a big log. Lieutenant handed the gulper to the Captain, who laughed, put it down on the log, started petting it. Lieutenant claimed it might be dangerous, throwing big words around -- you know how he was. Captain's cock was already up, his balls lying on the log. We'd been talking about the Eliminations and ways t' get done out, mostly painful ones. We always figured, Captain was a sure survivor in the Eliminations; but he claimed a stud came up with an ingenious enough torture, th' stud would get him without a struggle, and we were kicking wild ideas around. I thought of burying a stud in the ground to his crotch, with a thin stick making a bridge from the ground up to the cap of his prong, and leading a swarm of army ants to come up the stick, a few at a time, and eat the stud, real slowly, prong first."

"Ummm. Sounds --"

Hank shook his head. He dropped his arm from Michael's shoulder as they ambled along. "Won't work. No ants on this planet. Minor detail."

"Some detail," said Michael. "And the gulper?"

"Always wondered if the Lieutenant had tried the fucker out first and made it let go. No way t' tell, now. Anyhow, Captain said he didn't think it was dangerous. Somebody -- Big Eddie, I think -- said he'd seen one of these gulpers stuff a fruit into its mouth that was almost as big as it was; didn't even bother to break it off its stem first. Captain laughed, scratched the critter's back, and the little fucker crawled up to his balls and sniffed at 'em. Lieutenant said there was just one way to find out for sure; Captain said, `Might as well; mine are right here, but they might be too big for it.' Only, they weren't; the gulper opened wide, stuffed in one ball, then the other -- which filled it pretty full -- and closed its mouth around the neck of the Captain's bag without biting it off."

"And -- and it digested them -- the Captain's nuts -- like that?"

Hank nodded. "Captain said it was like dipping his balls in acid, getting eaten alive like that. Captain typed up the descriptive and the narrative reports himself, while his balls were getting digested, and you can't get much more of a first hand report than that." Hank sighed. It had been a long night, and the lusty stud of a Captain had enthusiastically savored every minute of it. "The gulper liked the balls just fine. We haven't been feeding him that, in the cages, but whatever he's getting, he's grown. Big enough to take th' whole works, now; prong, nuts, and hard on. Getting ideas?"

"What do you think?" asked Michael. He danced a few steps, circling Hank. "Now, let's have some more practice!" The first snatch almost took Hank; after three, he found his reflexes sharpening up; it took several more tries for Michael to dart through Hank's guard and grasp his testicles again. Michael squeezed quickly; Hank tried to choke down a groan; and Michael let go again, looking at Hank critically.

"You re getting there, stud, but you got a way of hesitating until almost the last minute -- almost too late, before beginning t' duck. I'm getting used to that, but it might throw off another guy, thinking you're an easy mark, and -- Hey, you haven't practiced on me, yet!"

Hank grinned, shook his head reluctantly. "After sucking off the prong of a stud that's in th' middle of having his nuts eaten, I don't guess I need any practice, ball-squeezing. And as for grabbing back -- here, let me show you."

He stopped, unslung the camera bag. Michael did the same. They crouched, moved together. Michael feinted, dodged, grabbed again. Hank hesitated, barely missed getting grabbed, then dove for Michael's crotch. Michael blocked with one hand; Hank forced Michael's guard aside and grabbed a pair of firm, warm balls.

"See? Again." They circled, pounced. This time, Michael got Hank's cock; but a second later, Hank had Michael's balls again and they were both rolling on the mossy ground. Another round, this time starting from the ground, had the two naked athletes locked in a straining tangle and, in a moment, each gripped the others' balls. They lay thus for a moment, laughing and catching their breath, then untangled and got to their feet. "Kid, I'm bigger and stronger, but you're quicker. Long as you don't get me th' first grab --"

"I feel like I turned loose a whole herd of tigers," chuckled Michael. "Okay, we concentrate on the first grab -- best practice for me, too, since the best chance with most guys is to get 'em quick." They shouldered camera bags and headed toward camp.

Almost there, they encountered a clump of vegetation, a mound of dark red tendrils. As they skirted it, Michael exclaimed, "Hey! It's seeding!"

"What is it?" asked Hank.

"Medusa plant," said Michael, ambling right up to the plant and reaching down into the tangle.

Hank moved in more cautiously; in the midst of the interwoven tendrils, he saw a pair of skeletons, one lying atop the other. "Careful there, k-- uh -- young stud."

"No danger." Michael retreated from the tangle, holding a stem. "It only does in gals, and guys fucking 'em. Didn't you hear about it?"

"On the other side of the planet at the time. You?"

"Right here, shooting the action." Michael patted his camera bag. "Una -- rangy brunette in Scheduling, couple other gals, out for a picnic."

"Playing Marine?"

"I suppose, only with their clothes on. Una says it must have been when she went into the bushes to relieve herself. However she did it, she came back with an itch that wouldn't quit. Dr Povalski -- fussy guy in the end building, keeps himself in pretty good shape -- he saw her, found a seed had lodged in her -- you know -- twat, or worked its way in, and was starting to take root in there. He was worried she wouldn't keep until we -- well, he -- I didn't come into it then -- got a Marine to mount her. She didn't want to wait either, rounded up a substitute -- remember Bolt, that guy with the big arms in Maintenance? He'd been after her tail since before we blasted off Earth."

Hank nodded. "Always working on his arms at the gym; hardly any hips, real well hung? Yeah, I remember."

"Una was -- you know -- ready to go; Bolt was ready to take her right on the lab floor. Dr Povalski managed to cool her down, actually used a chunk of ice."

Hank chuckled; Michael went on. "He called me in -- yelled for the first photographer he could get hold of, to tell the real of it -- and Una had to do her face and Bolt started out by objecting to any photos until I told him he ought to have something to remind him of this lay, in case she cut him out again, and then he spent more time on his hair than she did, got me to shave his chest while the Doc was taking another look at the seed in her twat." Michael snorted. "I'd rather work with a guy like you, somebody you have to talk into fixing himself up, 'stead of a guy you can't pull away from the mirror. Somehow, I got 'em all headed in the same direction -- Povalski would have spent all day packing his instruments and Una kept switching between hot flashes and worrying about makeup -- and we wound up here.

"There was another squabble while they were stripping for action, because there was only one comb and nobody had brought a mirror. Bolt, at least, never had any trouble staying hard. Come to think of it, I never have seen him any other way, cause he was stiff as -- as we are when he peeled. Got a good, funny shot of Bolt, with a hard on, kneeling between Una's legs, combing his hair while she powdered her nose.

"By then, Doc and I had stripped too -- Doc said it was just so Bolt and Una would feel more relaxed, but Doc came out of his clothes with a hard-on and I stiffened up watching Bolt climb on Una. I made him go real slow, which was all right with Una at first, 'cause he was big and she was stretching. Got a couple of great shots of them like that, Bolt with all his muscles rippling and most of his prong showing, just the tip inside, and her beginning to pull him into her. I take 'em out sometimes, when I'm alone, and -- you know --"

"Work on your own meat?" Hank put a cocked finger to the tip of Michael's cock and thumped it. "That how you keep th' pipes from getting rusty?"

Michael blushed, grabbed half-heartedly at Hank's balls. "Anyway, Dr Povalski had me make a set of the shots -- just the plain -- you know -- fucking ones for him too. He -- Bolt -- got to work. Una did too; she did almost as much humping and squirming as he did and made a lot more noise. Bolt was out to make it last as long as he could; he'd stop every so often and shift his legs a bit and we'd get another photo before Una started begging for more.

"Doc started kidding the two of them, telling Bolt he ought to try being the middle man in a three-way, and telling her that his -- Doc's -- extra weight would make Bolt's prong go in even deeper. But while they were talking, I noticed Bolt's strokes were getting shorter and shorter, with him in all the way and hardly moving at all. Then Bolt straightened those big arms of his, raised his torso off Una's breasts while his prong was still all the way in her, and looked down. Doc and I looked too. We saw these red tendrils mixed in with the hair down there, sprouting out of her crotch and sliding up and into the base of his prong.

"We checked Bolt's butt, and there were more tendrils back there, stretching out from around her twat and burrowing into his nuts. Well, Doc turned pale and put on his shirt in a hurry -- I never did decide if he was just kidding Bolt or if he had planned to climb on the heap and plug Bolt's ass. Bolt and Una kept right on fucking while the Medusa plant was eating them, and I kept trying to keep those tendrils from starting on my prong while I took more photos. The one that's going into the Report has Bolt's torso up again, showing off the muscles of his chest and shoulders, and just enough of the hilt of his prong to see where it's stuck in Una, and the tendrils taking root down there, and Bolt looking right at the camera with a kind of tense half-grin.

"Eventually, he and Una settled down while the the tendrils and roots and stuff kept spreading and -- and that was it." Michael looked thoughtfully at the tangle of red vegetation for a moment more.

"Those seeds. You got something in mind?" asked Hank.

Michael grinned. "We got a couple gals in Publications that said they're going into Eliminations. Just be careful if you see any women roaming the halls in the next few days, begging to get plugged. They might be seeded and ready t' sprout."

"Don't worry about me, little stud," laughed Hank. "Now, let's make trail." He clapped his hands together, took off at a trot; Michael scampered after him. "We'll be late for lunch, and I'm hungry."

"Hungry again?" Michael caught up, trotted alongside. "I already fed ya once this morning." He snatched at Hank's genitals; the big Marine hesitated, twisted away barely in time. "You're cutting it close, big stud."

"This morning?" Hank ran his tongue over his teeth. "That was just an appetizer, like the prong you chewed up and ate."

"The Lieutenant's meat? You mention that again and you get to have lunch by yourself," Michael grabbed again, squeezed hard, bounced away as Hank limped a few steps. "Come on, big tiger; we got things t' do!"

END