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.
Back-story: over-crowded Earth has sent out well-manned spaceships to explore planets that orbit distant stars. Since there isn't enough fuel to bring back the big ship, just enough for a two-man courier craft, it's necessary to eliminate almost all of the crew either by a series of duels and contests, or by feeding themselves to some of the native flora and fauna.
The little flyer leveled off, its power plant settling down to a quiet hum. Whit wiggled his bare butt in the pilot's seat, savoring the rub of leather against bare skin, the firm grip of the seat-belt around his lean waist, the touch of moving air against his naked chest and arms. He relaxed his grip on the control wheel and pushed it aside as the autopilot took over.
Ahead, the sky was clear; below, whitecaps flecked the Eastern Ocean. Motion on Whit's right made him turn his head: Constantos, his chunky-muscled physique as bare as Whit's lithe frame, dropped into the co-pilot's seat and strapped himself in.
Whit twisted head and shoulders to the left and looked back over his shoulder. On the port side of the flyer's cabin floor, a slender youth -- George -- lay on his back, pumping his shaft up into Pablo, a burly man who sat astride the youth's hips, impaled on George's virile prong. Young George was buck naked, burly Pablo wore just black-leather boots and belt. And on the starboard side of the cabin floor, another naked man, Brad, lay on his back, his powerful thighs raised high and spread wide. Chang arched his lean body over Brad's and slid his shaft deep into Brad's hips. Chang looked back over his shoulder at Dirk, a wide-shouldered blond. Dirk rammed his rigid spike into Chang's butt; Chang gasped aloud, muscles snapping into etched relief. Dirk completed his impaling thrust, settled his muscular torso onto Chang's back, looked up, and grinned at Whit. A moment later, Chang started pumping his hips, alternately going deep into Brad and impaling his own butt on Dirk's shaft.
"Not long, now," said Constantos. Whit turned to the sturdy man, eyes flicking down to Constantos's rigid shaft, then back up to meet his dark eyes. "George's seed'll sprout any minute now; and both Brad and Dirk planted seeds in their prongs, so Chang'll get it from both sides."
"Didn't Chang put one in his . . . ?" asked Whit, glancing at the little bottle in Constantos's right hand.
Constantos shook his head. A twitch of his hand rattled green seeds in their bottle. "He said since Brad and Dirk planted seeds in their prongs, as long as the seeds sprout, they'll take him too."
Whit grunted and turned to the radio. He picked up the microphone, flipped the TRANSMIT switch. "Base, Base; this is Flyer Three. Anybody there?"
The radio hissed, then: "Three, this is Base. Yo, Whit; Scotty here. How's it goin'?"
"Base, Three here. Hi, Scotty," said Whit. He glanced back at the locked bodies on the flyer's deck, then turned to the microphone again. "We're about ten minutes out from shore, heading 83, elevation 200, on cruise. Auto's on and steady. Constantos handed out three drill-seeds to the five studs in back; and they're gonna sprout any minute now. And Constantos and me, we're gonna plant some in our own prongs, soon's we sign off. How are you making out?"
"Yo, Three; Base here. We rigged the spare transmitter to roast nuts and prongs okay, and then Dan and I went lookin' for somebody t' use it on. But 'fore I could nab the Explorer I was chasin' -- big stud named Hank -- you know him?"
"Base from Three. Yeah, I know him." Whit licked his lips. "Did you . . . ?"
"Nope, Three; Base here. 'Stead of me gettin' Hank, a kid from Photo got me, and then Hank grabbed Dan. Right now, Dan's roastin' his nuts and prong in our own oven, and when he's done, I gotta roast mine."
Whit heard background conversation over the radio circuit, and then Scotty's voice came again: "Dan claims it's sorta fun, gettin' hisself cooked like this."
Constantos shook his head, then said, "Some fun!" He twisted in his seat to look back. "Hey, Pablo's shooting already."
Whit turned just in time to see the last of the burly man's ejaculate arch high and fall on the slim youth under Pablo. George's muscles were taut, his hips thrusting slowly upwards, thrusting his shaft deep into Pablo.
Whit asked, "Did he -- is George -- ?"
Pablo milked a dribble of sperm from his hard prong. "Yeah -- his seed's sprouting okay -- I can feel things going up into my guts --"
"-- and into mine too," George panted.
"Got to your balls yet?" Pablo asked, as he tightened his grip on his shaft and started pumping again.
"Just -- starting on them now."
"And they'll go after mine next."
Whit shivered as he told himself what was happening inside Pablo and George: Tendrils sprouting from the tip of George's prong and growing up into Pablo's sturdy body while more tendrils spread from the seed into young George, hungry tendrils, just beginning to eat both studs alive.
He turned back to microphone. "Base, Whit here in Three. The first seed sprouted; it's taking George and Pablo."
"This fucker's a real turn-on!" shouted Pablo, then added, "It's taking root down in the base of my prong -- turning me on good and hard. Hey, this is a real wild way to go."
"Yeah?" said Chang. As Whit watched, Chang straightened his thick arms, raising his chest and shoulders while his hips kept on pumping his shaft in and out of Brad's body. Brad's own hard shaft, its tip in mid-air between Brad's body and Chang's, jiggled with Chang's every thrust. As Whit watched, green tendrils sprouted from Brad's hard shaft, branched, branched again, then lanced up into Chang's muscle-ridged stomach.
Dirk, the broad-shouldered blond mounted on Chang's back gasped aloud: "Coming -- just a few -- more -- WOW!" He rammed himself to the hilt into Chang and went rigid. Chang missed a stroke; and then he was thrusting hard into Brad, accelerating his pace, pounding toward his own climax.
Whit reported into the microphone, "Yeah, Base; Whit here. Brad's seed sprouted and got Chang from the front, and Dirk's seed's getting him in the ass." He glanced to the rear of the little flyer and saw Chang go rigid, every muscle straining as the dark-skinned youngster pumped his sperm into Brad. "There -- Chang's shot his load too."
"Sure did," panted Chang. "The tendrils from Brad's seed and from Dirk's are taking me now, front and back. It's -- it's wild, feeling the things start eating me alive like this."
"You think that's wild," said George, "you just wait'll they go after your balls."
"Yo, Whit; Three, this is Base. Count-down's comin' right along here too. Dan just finished cookin' his organs, and Hank'll start eatin' 'em soon's they cool down a bit. I'm stickin' mine into the cooker now . . . Hey, how're you and Constantos doin'?"
Whit touched the microphone to the tip of his own shaft, and felt cold metal against his glans. "Base, Whit here, in Three. Won't be long 'fore the things finish eating the guys in back and send out for more fresh meat." He glanced at Constantos, exchanged grins, then looked over his shoulder at the five naked men, their locked bodies squirming as roots and tendrils fed. Whit remembered . . .
. . . piloting one of the big flyers, with Chip as co-plot, ferrying a squad of Explorers over dense jungle to a new camp. Their passengers had boarded naked but for boots, belts, and caps -- what Explorers usually wore in the field -- so Whit and Chip had stripped down too. The Explorers had been in high spirits, looking forward to excitement -- any excitement -- after a unusually safe and boring site survey.
An Explorer Lieutenant produced a bottle of big, green seeds that he wanted checked out. Three men promptly volunteered; as Whit watched, one -- a sturdy red-head -- took a seed and, laughing, touched it to the tip of his erect prong. It seemed far too big for the hole in his glans, but seconds later, Whit heard a shout of incredulous laughter when the seed abruptly disappeared.
The red-head stubbornly insisted he had neither dropped nor palmed the seed. A moment later, he reported that something strange was happening inside his organs, then suddenly went into an ejaculatory spasm and a sheaf of green tendrils sprouted from his shaft.
A second volunteer moved in to see if the tendrils were dangerous; they immediately reached for the naked man's genitals and slid in. As the plant rooted itself in the two naked Explorers, a third volunteer grabbed a camera and recorded his comrades' fate and then his own as more tendrils slid into his own balls and stiffening prong.
While Chip and Whit searched desperately for a break in the jungle canopy below, the Explorers met the voracious tendrils with machetes. An Explorer reported that the plant had found the space between cabin floor and fuselage; from then on, Whit knew that, at any moment, tendrils might lance up into his own balls.
Another Explorer fell victim to the fast-spreading plant, taken when he stood his ground and chopped at hungry tendrils. Two more Explorers, trapped against the back wall of the flyer, put their machetes aside and calmly watched the plant take them.
The Explorer Lieutenant, his shaft up and hard, charged the spreading tangle, slashing furiously at tendrils until a dozen got him. He tossed his machete to another Explorer, then described aloud how it felt as tendrils took root in his virile organs and began to feed.
Still another naked hero dived into the writhing vegetation, retrieved the camera, snapped a series of shots of the tendrils lancing into his shaft, then tossed the camera to safety.
Whit spotted a clearing. He brought the flyer down fast, almost too fast, to a hard landing. Doors popped open. Everyone not yet taken scrambled from the flyer. Whit cleared the hatch last, barely ahead of the tendrils.
The plant then seemed to realize no one else was within reach, for they stopped spreading and settled down to devour its victims. Those who had escaped chatted quietly with those the plant was eating -- a process which, the ones being eaten reported, was definitely an interesting way to be done out. It had . . .
. . . certainly looked interesting, back then. Whit shivered, but his prong was harder than ever, eager for . . . "Uh -- yeah, Scotty. I'm still here. We -- we could just wait for the plants working on the guys in back to come and get us. But we'd rather plant seeds in our own prongs and feel 'em take us from inside. How 'bout you guys?"
"Scotty here; yo, Whit. Hank's bitin' off the end of Dan's prong. And the kid --"
"-- Mike's the name," said a new voice. "Hi, guys."
"Yeah -- Whit here -- didn't you take those photos of the Medusa seed eating Una and Bolt? Nice work."
"Mike here -- thanks. Is that what's taking you guys now?"
"Whit here -- ours is mostly like that, but lots more aggressive. A Medusa seed won't sprout till a couple starts to fuck. Ours -- it starts fast and keeps spreading till it runs out of live meat. Uh -- how's Scotty doing?"
"Whit, this is Mike. He's about half done; that cooker works real fast. His meat smells good already."
Another voice broke in: "Whit, this is Hank. Dan tastes as good as he smelled when he was cooking."
"Base, this is Whit in Flyer Three. Mike, you'll get a real mouthful of meat out of Scotty. I'll call again right after we've planted our seeds and -- and they start taking us." Whit hung up the microphone, turned to Constantos, and watched his chunky- muscled co-pilot twist open the small bottle and pour two seeds into his left hand. Whit glanced from his own rigidly erect shaft to Constantos's thicker one, from his companion's powerful musculature to his own lithe physique.
Constantos ran one hand down his muscle-armored torso to grip his massive shaft. "Want me t' plant yours?"
Whit shook his head. "Half the fun's doing it myself. I'll watch you do yours, and then I'll do mine." He glanced at the back of the flyer, at five naked men, squirming and panting as tendrils slowly devoured them alive. "You guys still doing okay?"
Dirk said, "Sure am. The thing's really going after my balls now; I think it likes the taste or something."
"Mine does too," said George, still on his back, with Pablo still impaled on George's shaft. "This is weird, feeling tendrils growing up through my shaft and into Pablo. It's almost like I'm taking root in this muscle-stud."
Whit turned to Constantos again, saw his co-pilot's big muscles tighten as Whit carefully took one seed with his left hand. Constantos picked up the other with thumb and forefinger of his right hand.
"Okay; here goes." Constantos reached down with his left hand and steadied his prong. With his right hand, he carefully brought the glossy green ovoid -- nearly the size of a finger joint -- to the opening at the tip of his broad glans. "Soon's it touches the wetness at the end, it'll get all slippery, all at once; and in it goes." He touched seed to opening. The seed was visible for a moment, green against the velvety glans -- then was abruptly gone. "Like that." Constantos clamped both hands around his shaft. A moment later, he reported, "Now, it's all the way down, and it's really turning me on!"
"Is it . . . ?" Whit asked.
" . . . taking root?" Constantos nodded. "Yeah!"
With his right hand, Whit made a fine adjustment on the automatic pilot; their course over the Eastern Ocean was set. Long before the fuel ran out, all seven naked men aboard would be dry bones in a cabin overflowing with vines. He looked down at his hard prong, jutting stiffly up, then gripped its base with his right hand, steadying his shaft as his left hand -- with the seed -- moved slowly to his glans.
"That's the way," panted Constantos. "Let it touch the -- hole, just hold it -- there a few -- seconds. Then -- yeah -- just like it took me,"
Whit felt the seed touch his glans. Was it getting slick? He shivered. Or just sweat from my fingers? And would it have been more exciting to plant a seed in Constantos's prong and then watch him plant this one in mine?
Whit's shaft was hard and hot. Just -- just knowing what's going to happen is turning me on, he told himself. His shaft twitched; a drop of fluid welled up. The seed abruptly became slippery, and then it was gone . . . and inside Whit's shaft, liquid fire slid deep into the core of his virility.
Whit groped for the microphone, found it, snapped it on. "Base, this is Three. Scotty?"
"Yo, Whit; Base here. Get your seeds planted okay?"
"Yep. Taking root. Turning us on, too. How you guys doing?"
"Hank's eaten half of Dan's shaft, and Mike just bit into my glans. Kinda fun, sittin' back and watchin' them eat us."
"Yeah? Like I told Mike, he'll get a real mouthful outa you, Scotty. By the time --"
Beside Whit, Constantos suddenly gasped, jerked, and stiffened, with every powerful muscle straining. Whit stared as three -- no, four green tendrils sprouted from the tip of the sturdy man's cock, then lengthened as they forked and forked again.
"You okay?" asked Whit, putting one hand on Constantos's near shoulder.
"WOW! Feels like I'm still coming, on and on and . . . yeah!"
"Yo, Whit; Scotty here. What was that?"
"Constantos just sprouted. Says it feels like coming, only more so."
"How 'bout you?"
"Real soon now. It's putting out roots, deep inside, and they're doing things to me." Whit tried to relax, tried to make the delicious sensation last. He wiggled his butt against the smooth leather of the seat, focused on the distant horizon that separated blue sky from bluer ocean. The seat-belt held his waist, reminding him of his nakedness. And deep in the base of his quivering, iron-hard shaft, he felt the seed begin to feed on his virility. "Beats getting cooked -- I think."
"I dunno 'bout that," said Scotty. "Dan's already come once while Hank was eatin' his prong, and I'm gettin' hot from watchin' Mike eat mine."
Constantos took the mike."Yeah? Well, hearing you talk about it is a turn-on too. How do you studs taste, anyway?"
"Yo there; Hank here. Dan's prong is pretty good, cooked like this, and I'm just about to start on his balls."
Whit heard the microphone click off, then on again, heard Scotty's voice: "Here -- I -- go -- wow! Just came. And Dan looks like he's a-gonna shoot again."
Constantos handed the mike back to Whit, then said, "Y' know those ball-crushers the machine shop guys were building -- the ones with glass tops so you could watch your organs getting mashed flat? And remember the way our flight mechanic was eying us when we came out to the flyer already stripped down? I bet he --"
"Hey!" yelped Whit, "I'm trying to make this last, you fucker, and now -- I'm gonna -- shoot!" Orgasm ignited inside the naked pilot's organs, then erupted. "Wow -- and then some," he sighed, watching tendrils sprout from his shaft. "Even though I can't see what it's doing to me, I can sure the fuck feel it eating me, way down inside."
"Hang on a minute, and you'll get to watch mine take you," said Constantos. "Some of my shoots are heading your way."
"Yeah?" Whit glanced to his right and saw a few tendrils from Constantos's shaft bend toward his own organs. As the tips neared, Whit spread his thighs wider, then watched intently as the tendrils found his balls, penetrated, and took root inside. After a moment, Whit glanced at the green shoots growing up from his own shaft: three bent to his right, toward Constantos's virile organs, forking into six as they neared their target. "Now you get to watch mine go after your balls," said Whit.
"It's -- it's kinda like -- like we're eating each other," growled the chunky-muscled co-pilot, as he and Whit watched the tendrils lance into Constantos's testicles. "Kinda --"
"Yeah!"
"-- fun."