By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
[AUTHOR'S NOTE: Malacology is the study of, among other things, snails and slugs.]
Through the vast blue plain of water that was the Pacific Ocean, featureless save for the faint shadows the waves created in their rise and fall, so many that this blended into the blue, there was only water and sky, one pale blue, the other richer blue, ocean and sky, the only clouds making a vague white pattern around the distant horizon. At other times, these waters and sky would be turned gray and tempestuous by a storm, but for now, it was as if one were looking at a not-so-interesting bit of art by an artist in a "blue period." Not even a gull or albatross was about to break this featureless bit of Earth's beauty.
The noise of the boat slowly grew and a white dot on the horizon began to grow. One can see so far on such a day that the form took forever to become more than the dot, slowly becoming a short line, then fattening up into a small blob, which grew as the sound grew until, after considerable time, the noise was the most prominent thing on the water, and the white form could be seen to be a not-so-large boat steadily churning its way through the waters.
It was only when the boat got close enough that one could distinguish the men on the boat, hear their voices in laughter and their features could be seen. This was a boat containing young men, strong men, handsome men, carefree men, wearing only colorful swim trunks and an occasional t-shirt, their muscled golden bodies claiming the sun's rays to glow even more radiantly masculine in the open, free waters of the equatorial Pacific. The winds stirred their hair of blond, pale brown, an occasional black, to whip ineffectually around in the breeze, too short to reach any point on the head to require notice, the sun draining the color of the strands even more as it bleached them in their sensual dance in the wind and air.
On the opposite end of the horizon of this boat's approach, another line slowly appeared on the waters, this one darker toned, it stretched out as it grew in size, becoming longer so slowly that one could not see this growth, only if you noted it and then turned away and waited to look again could you see how this dark line was showing itself finally to be a not-large island, even as the eye could begin to distinguish the trees and beach and small mountain of dormant volcano that had given it birth, the island still did not dominate the entire horizon until the boat grew within a few hundred meters of the beach and began to slow on its journey toward the small bit of dry land in this enormous, water-dominated world.
The boat at last stopped and dropped anchor, and a smaller boat was lowered from it and then filled with the men and their belongings which then completed the journey. Only once the boat was pulled ashore and the men could be counted did you see that there were seven of them, and six disembarked with their belongings, the seventh returning to the boat at anchor in waters deep enough to permit it to remain safely afloat. He returned soon after with the rest of their supplies; their boat at anchor was now unoccupied.
The men moved about, laying out their belongings, and establishing their base. "We're going to need firewood!" one of them called out, he was digging the firepit.
"I'll get it." one golden-haired Adonis answered, he wore only a yellow tanktop and pink floral swimtrunks that only a handsome stud of a man can pull off and not look effeminate. "I got to go drain the goose anyhow."
"Too much beer, man." a third one chided him.
"No such thing as too much beer." the Adonis answered. "Besides, I want to see if I can find why this island is taboo to the natives."
"Pacific Islanders, Gregg." a fourth man corrected him.
"The locals." Gregg conceded amiably. He didn't really care, if "natives" pissed them off, he'd call them something else, no big deal. He wore sandals which protected his feet when they left the relative safety of the beach sand and turned to dirt and rock. He wasn't looking to cut down any trees or brush, not on this trip. He planned to find the small branches and broken bits of wood that any forest generates over the years and if that wasn't enough, then they would have to resort to plundering the living flora.
But first things first, he had business of his own to attend to. Out of sight of the group, he found a likely tree and untied his swimtrunks, pushed them down to knee level and gripped his lordly nine inches of virile manhood and pointed it at the tree trunk and began to flood it with a sparkling river of pale yellow urine. "Ahhhhhh!" he sighed. This was going to take some time!
As he micturated, the small sounds of the forest were around him, but he didn't know the forest well enough to discern which sounds meant what. The small rustling behind him made no mark on his senses.
Gregg was down to his last bursts of liquid to drain the last of his bladder's contents when it happened. Looking around rather than down at his dong, he felt it rather than saw it, the sticky feel of something warm gripping his nuts and wrapping them in a firm but gentle hold. "What the hell?" he said and looked down then.
A pair of long stalks were peering back at him, if they'd had eyes on the end, what he saw was one stalk elongating and beginning to wrap itself around the base of his dong and the other forming a concave at its tip. He grabbed that one and gave it a yank, but that proved to be futile, the creature was actually as tough as a piece of leather. He would have yanked it again but he gasped before he could.
Something was poking up at his asshole. He yawped, but then the damnedest feelings began to bubble up in his nuts. They felt...bathed in delight. As if a million fingers of soft mischief were stroking him, fondling him, playing with his balls, and he moaned, and threw a major hardon. As it did, he saw the stalk not in his hand begin to snake in loops around his growing cock, and as it did, he felt the stalk begin to pulse in a way that made him croon.
"Oh, mother fucking Jesus!" he gasped out, and reached out to grasp with both hands the trunk of the tree he'd been peeing against, and the second stalk with the concave at the top slid promptly onto the tip of his cock and fastened on tightly. The first stalk now had his prick in a half-dozen coils and it began to pulse those coil in tandem in a way that jerked his meat rapidly.
Gregg moaned as his body was assailed this way, feeling his butthole being poked at by the other end of this...whatever it was, and he groaned as it managed to stick that tip into his ass' sphincter and moved into him, as it moved, the girth of the thing expanded, and soon he had a major column of the thing's length stuffed up his ass. To make it worse, or better, it also began to pulse along with the stalk around his prick.
Moaning, he looked and saw more of the things. Creeping along the forest floor and along the trunks of the trees, they were creatures about the shape of a snake, less than a foot long, and their bulges in the middle were too big for the long vertebrae of the snake, and they moved as well in a way that denied them any bones at all (how well he knew that!). They were some sort of slugs.
His sex-besotted brain fished out this much information before the creeping fingers of climax began to assail his brain and drown out all thought. Clutching the tree trunk like a lover, he moaned and his cock gushed out his spooge, right into the end of the slug's stalk perched there.
And was absorbed as quickly as he squirted it. He moaned, jetting hot wads of immense quantity that only a young man can deliver, his gasps of glory resounding into the brush...and more of the slugs crawled toward him. His passion releasing him from its thrall, his broad chest heaving as his lungs clawed for air, he groaned as he saw them, would they surround him in their eagerness to get some of the alabaster treasure of his loins?
But they ignored the brawny, god-like body of the man already in one of their numbers' clutches, and he saw them sliding toward his friends. He wanted to go warn them, but he was still in the thrall of the one wrapped around his manhood, it still stimulated his scrotum, toying with his testicles, clamped onto his cock, milking his manhood, it would not be sated with a single amount of his load. This was far from over yet. A man of his years is in his sexual prime, his balls had a tremendous bounty of sperm in reserve, and he realized this thing would not be happy until it had drained out every last microscopic tadpole of his virility from him.
He got down onto all fours, all he could manage, and began to crawl toward his comrades, the thing still attached to his nuts, his cock and his ass. It was like it was waiting for him to get ready for more!
He had to get to his buddies. He would be too late to help, but he didn't want to be alone in this.
* * * * * *
"Hey, Missy!" yelled Brian from the tent. "Get over here and hold this!"
"He can't help, he's too weak." sneered Derek from the other side. "The tent pole weighs more'n he does!"
The pair of jocks snorted as Misha walked over to do his part in setting up the camp. He had no illusions about why the fraternity had sought him and admitted him, scrawny and unathletic as he was. He was there to help them pass their classes, by tutoring when they didn't demand less ethical answers to their issues. He obliged them, because you have to pick and choose your battles when faced with foes that weigh as much as twice your own one hundred and eight pounds and tower over you by eight or ten inches in height. He grasped the tent pole and held it in place while the jocks pulled and tied the cords to form the tent under which they'd sleep and probably spend more time under it as the day grew hotter, it was already well into the eighties and would probably hit the hundreds by mid-afternoon. He intended to be well into those trees by that time, he knew if these frat jocks didn't that the trees would shield his body from the unrelenting rays of the sun.
"Okay, nerd, we're done with you, now go classify some ferns or whatever the hell you want to do on this trip." Derek declared.
"Maybe he was hoping for a local girl to pluck his cherry!" snorted Brian and the two laughed again. So did one of the other two guys who were done with their unpacking (if setting out ice chests and beach towels was considered unpacking) and had taken to sitting on their asses and passing around beers.
"Hey, go easy on him, guys." said Block. Block was the only one that was ever even slightly nice to Misha, the broad and none-too-bright football jock depended heavily on him to coach him through his classes. "Misha can't help being thin and weak, lighten up on him, okay?"
"Okay, Block." Frank said. "We'll leave your boyfriend alone." The other guy, Chet, chuckled at that and Misha couldn't help but flush. He and Block had done it, once, in bed on a Sunday afternoon when the other jocks had been elsewhere, just jacked each other off, and it hadn't happened again, but there you had it, as much of a friend as a football jock and a science nerd can ever manage to be.
"I do need to go gather some samples." Misha said. His hope was to find and gather specimens that didn't appear easily classifiable, if he could identify a hereunto unidentified new species of tree or plant, he could name it and even write his doctoral thesis on the plant. These days, a botanist's only hope for such a find lay in these isolated islands where natural selection was askew and smaller species had a better chance of surviving or even thriving. He gathered up his pack and tramped out into the forest in another direction than Gregg. Gregg was another tormentor, he didn't want the man to do something like startle him while he was distracted.
The bushes were thinner inside the canopy of the trees, and he saw the smaller plants that would possibly make his salvation. He saw one flower that he didn't recognize from his classes and he stooped, cursed his choice of the floral swimtrunks he'd brought to this island adventure. But the others were wearing them and he had felt that dressing like them would help him not stand out. How as he to know that the trunks which hung so macho-like on the jock's slender waists would balloon out on him like a dress, a whadayacallum, cullotes. Shorts that looked like skirts? And the t-shirt that wasn't much better, it drooped on him and accented his slim arms and sunken chest. The jocks had found and discarded his briefs on him the night before, he wore nothing under the trunks but his family jewels. Only Block knew that this was the one part of his anatomy he didn't have to be ashamed of, he was packing an eleven-inch dong in there, it was why Block had gasped and then grabbed him that one afternoon....
He needed one of his books from his pack, he set it on the ground and began to rummage through it, found it and began to leaf the pages. This flower had five petals arranged almost like a man with one large one at top, and two pairs lower down in a formation that was somewhat pansy-like, but with the four lower petals separated and more elongated like a daisy's petals, such an odd shape, this could be the find he was searching for.
He was deep in the categories of genus and species of Pacific Island flora when he first felt it, a soft brushing feel along his balls. At first he thought it was a vagrant breeze slipping up his trunks, more than once on the trip to this island he had felt that, the winds reaching up inside his trunks and tickling his nuts. So he let it pass, kept looking.
Except it got stronger, the feeling, like his nuts were being cradled and stroked, and he grunted, moaned at how good it felt! He reached down to feel his balls and froze where he squatted. His nuts weren't alone in those trunks!
His cock was stiffening and he felt the brushing feeling climbing after the extending glans atop it. He had to figure this out, he stood up and undid the tie at his waist and let the trunks fall to his ankles. He saw it then, the tube-like attachment over his cockhead, the other tube wrapped around his shaft, the tail of the thing dangling beneath, twitching and trying to grow further, but not succeeding. The slug had expended itself on wrapping his cock, he thought with a vague sense of pride. The slug that had wrapped his cock was busily pulsing away as were the part of it on his balls, playing and fondling and making them feel tremendous! The sensations he was feeling were overpowering him and he surrendered to the pleasure, the joy of having someone, something, besides his own hand to work his thick, fat cock. It should have had a group of hunks around him, admiring his major equipment, groaning for the chance to take it, touch it, stroke it, just for the sheer glory of holding briefly the majestic dong, the scepter of manhood, the Titan among mere mortal cocks, he deserved that, instead of the dismissive scorn of the body builders, the mesomorphic males, who think they are masters of the world, while ectomorphic Misha was merely to be used when the need arose, scorned at all other times.
So he let the weird beast have its way with him, let it milk his massive pud and when it was done, he groaned in his joy and exploded his body's seed into the hungrily clutching tube it had placed on him to receive it, and he sighed, his joy ecstatic, his bliss tremendous, his joy of life in being.
Finished, he lay and let it decide what it wanted to do. Perhaps, being fed, it would depart. Instead, he saw with gratitude that the creature had decided to keep clinging to his body.
He saw other such shapes now near him and considered this. The slug was, he was certain, unknown to Mankind, and must be native to this one island only, no wonder the Pacific Islander peoples had chosen to avoid this island entirely. He had intended to be a botanist but a malacology career was just as good.
* * * * *
The other five men were now in a circle of men and beer and drink. "Where the fuck is Gregg with the firewood?" Derek complained. "I'm getting hungry."
"Have another beer." Chet offered him. "He'll be back soon. Give him some time, he had to find the wood, not to mention draining that goose of his."
"Maybe he's stuck yo-yo-ing a turd." guffawed Frank. "I warned him about eating the native cuisine, it can really bind you up if you aren't careful."
"Watch it, or Missy will correct you on that word." cautioned Derek as he took the beer. "You have to be P.C. these days, you know."
"Fuck that." sneered Frank. "I grew up in California, and I call myself a native Californian, it's not like the "n" word."
"Whatever." Derek conceded.
"Hey, what's that?" asked Brian.
"What's what?" asked Chet.
"Over there." Brian pointed.
It looked like the darker forest ground was reaching out fingers toward them. A black series of lines swarming their way.
"It's over there, too." pointed Block. "See?" His simple face was gaping in innocent confusion.
They looked and saw that the black shapes were approaching from their left side (left as looking inland from the ocean), and a look right showed the same thing. They were being enclosed.
"But what the fuck is it?" asked Frank. "It's...it's a bunch of weird blobs and..." He and two others had stood to see and that had triggered the horde approaching them.
The slugs (which was what they could now see clearly in the midday sun) had sped up to a speed no slug had ever attained before, their eyeless stalks swaying as they approached at what could be a man's walking pace.
The other three now stood and the slugs sped up more now, so that the men couldn't react further before the slugs were upon them.
Swift as cheetahs, the slugs reached the men and darted up their legs, disappearing into the swimtrunks. Other slugs grasped their arms and legs and held him in place while the first slugs enfolded their balls, gripped their dongs, slid their tails up their asses, and clutched their cockheads en masse. Once captured totally, the other slugs withdrew as if disappointed and the men were left, each clamped on by a hungry, feeding slug that had them moaning in despair and pleasure.
"What are they doing?" Block grunted as the slug stuffed his tight athletic asshole with its tail. "It's not going to hurt us, is it?"
"How the fuck should I know?" grunted Derek to his left-hand side. Derek had gotten onto his hands and knees and was moaning, unable to go further for the slugs had his prick being jerked at high speed now.
"I wish Misha was here." Block groaned. "He always knows the answer."
"Fuck Missy." grunted Chet. He was at Block's left, lying on his back, his legs raised as the slug worked his dong so fast the front of his swimtrunks was dancing madly.
Brian was fighting with two of the slugs he still held clutched in his broad, athletic arms, the slugs wriggling furiously. They now only wanted to flee but he wouldn't let him go. No matter, a third slug had his goodies firmly in thrall.
In their own ways and at their own times, the five men gave way to their lust and began to struggle less. As each reached his climax, he was allowed to rest, but nothing more. Gregg joined them a bit later, just in time for his own second assault to begin and the others moaned to see their fate as the slugs in their trunks continued to play with them. Seeing all of them captured but modest, Gregg surrendered to his fate and pulled his trunks back up (they had ridden the long crawl on his thighs and concealed his indignity.) Nothing of his family jewels, neither orbs nor scepter, could be seen, for the slugs had them all covered, but the exposure like this to their pulsating actions were blushworthy.
"Aw, fuck, what can we do?" Derek moaned as he watched Gregg beginning to writhe anew. He had expended his first load and recovered his breath, now the thing just played with his nuts almost idly as if saying that it would be patient, we'll milk you again when you're ready. He and others had already tried to pull them loose, but found like Gregg had that the things were too tough to be yanked apart as would a normal slug, all you could do when trying that was cause the wrapping around your nuts and balls to tighten, it relaxed again when you let go, so after a ball-squeeze or two, everyone had stopped trying.
"Maybe Misha can tell us." Block again offered. "He knows everything." He paused, and repeated, "I wish Misha were here."
"Me, too, Block." sighed Gregg. "Me, too." His passion was growing and he knew he was about to jizz in front of his buddies. But he had approached them as they had just finished squirting themselves, they would forgive him.
Sure enough, when Gregg began to orgasm, moaning and thrusting his groin at nothingness, the other jocks couldn't help but be excited by that, and soon their own balls and cocks were being jacked by the slugs, all six of them lying or standing shakily or kneeling or leaning, their joy being wrenched from them by the ever-hungry slugs.
At the age of these men, a man can reach climax approximately once an hour, and can endure a fair number of such ejaculations, his production will be less, but his body can attain climax over and over during this time.
Their misery continued until the sun began to set behind the dormant volcano and the slugs seemed to note the change of sunlight. Letting go of the men, they slid down and out of the trunks of the men, now showing in their shape that they had feasted mightily this day, and they crept back toward the forest.
"What the hell do we do?" Chet moaned. "My poor nuts are so fucking empty, I couldn't come again if Tracy the Queen of Sluts were riding my dong." He was talking of a girl from their campus with an inflated and possibly legendary eagerness for hot sex.
"Let's get the fuck out of here." advised Brian.
"Pack up the gear and shit." Frank advised.
"Fuck that, let's just go!" moaned Chet again. The slugs had managed to milk him two more times than the others, he was properly weaker.
"Yeah, let's just go." Derek chimed in.
"We have to find Misha." Block asserted. He had also come twice more than the others, but had kept that private. His dreams as he had climaxed were of Misha, the slender dude with a big brain and bigger cock had managed to insert himself into Block's dreams, something he had kept secret. Maybe not any longer.
They were about to set out over Block's reluctance when they heard a call and saw Misha coming from the forest, burdened by his pack. He stumbled and called out when he saw them in the boat. "Wait for me, wait for me!"
"Leave the asshole." declared Gregg.
"No, we wait." Block said, and rising up in his mass, he cowed the others and they waited until Misha could get to them. The sun was now nearly down, it would set entirely by the time they got back to their boat.
"God, I see why that island was taboo." Gregg declared. "I am never going near that place again!"
The others agreed, and Block sat next to Misha on the small boat and in a way that the others couldn't see, put his hand around Misha's waist. Cupping the guy under his broad, brawny arm.
Night fell and the boat traveled less than a mile, leaving the island about a mile behind them, it could still be seen vaguely in the moonlight and starlight.
Misha was stowing his pack in one of the lockers when Block came over. "They got you, too, didn't they?" he asked the nerdy guy.
"Yeah." Misha said. "I was in the forest until a few moments before you saw me coming."
"I...I was afraid I'd lost you." Block cried out and the burly man hugged him hard. "I couldn't lose you, I...I just can't."
"It's okay, it's okay." Misha patted the brawny man's back, surprised and pleased about this.
"Can I sleep with you tonight?" Block asked.
The bunk was so small. "We'd have to sleep on top of each other."
"That's okay." Block said. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
"All right." Misha agreed.
A little later, his head resting on Block's broad chest, rising and falling as the big jock slumbered, beginning to think that this old world wasn't as nasty as he had begun to fear in his senior year of high school.
Inside his pack, a total of fifteen slugs slept, as they always did in darkness. Kept inside his backpack inside that locker, they would sleep until they made it back to civilization. Misha had noticed that about their nature when he'd taken his first sample, so he'd caught more as they returned from ravaging the men on the beach.
Malacology was about to become much more important to the world, and it would involve this slug, which was of a new genus or even a new phylum. And he would be the one who brought it to Mankind.
He could get a Nobel prize out of this!
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