Men of Antarctica

Reply-To: hazemaster@aol.com (HazeMaster)

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode #13, by HazeMaster@aol.com

Sitting on a stone ledge, Duke watched the Starship decompose.

Dazed and disoriented, he'd staggered from the sacked Bazaar.

Stampeding crowds.

Rampaging Drodes.

Bellowing animals.

Exploding bombs.

Shrieking voices in many foreign tongues.

The stench of burning flesh.

Somehow Duke tottered through the chaos, freed himself from the trampling mob, and broke clear to the open plains of ochre clay.

Three miles away the hills began, and Duke saw trees upon the higher slopes. Without a backward glance, Duke marched east with the solar disk behind him. The cries of men and livestock faded in the open countryside. The stink of fiery canvas evaporated as Duke put distance between him and the wreckage.

The hills began their gentle, rolling ascent towards the distant purple mountains. Tall grass appeared. Then shrubs. Then trees slightly higher than Duke.

Duke ate handfuls of plump, dark berries. Their sweet juice streamed along his beard. The trees grew taller, casting shadows on the foot paths. Duke found a rushing brook and lay down on its bank. He lapped the cooling water like a pussycat.

Stretching out on a boulder, Duke examined the remains of his jumpsuit, the cloth ripped, filthy, threadbare. The Hermanutas meant the fabric for the Starship's climate controlled ecosystem. In the mountains the suit offered scant protection. And Duke's light indoor boots were fraying from his march across the plains. Still, what was Duke to do except resume his upward hike.

A mile further along the trail, an open rock shelf formed a ledge overlooking the countryside. Here Duke surveyed the damage from the Drodes' assault. Wisps of grey smoke curled upward from the dead Bazaar. Deep gashes in the ochre clay denoted hasty departures of merchant starships. And in the center of the wide deserted field that only hours before had been an inter-stellar parking lot, the metal struts of Starship 69's incinerated hull leaned in upon each other like orphans wailing for their vanished parents.

Duke wondered if the Drodes captured the entire crew. Were they now prisoners of Xyla'anta? Were some survivors hiding here on Planet Nadjz? Or had some made their way to Hermanuta Serenissima?

Duke munched fruit that he'd plucked hiking the higher slopes. His purple snack was rich and sugary and full of pulp. He'd had a good breakfast of protein paste. He'd sampled skewered meats and vegetables at the Bazaar. Duke guessed that he would be all right for the time being. And tomorrow was still a day away.

Duke examined the chain around his neck. The aeons old golden cylinder. An inscription circled the amulet, but age had worn it indecipherable. Duke unstoppered the cylinder, and then unrolled the soft animal hide that lined the vial. Millennia ago a hand using a calligraphic brush had inscribed Hermanuta glyphs upon the inner lining of the suede-like hide. A pictogram indicated three planets circling a common star. Hermanuta Serenissima. Ahrkimaggeo. Vosaquatus.

The second panel displayed broad winged soaring birds. The third an ugly dragon followed by a nasty, sharp tusked monster rearing up on its hind legs. The fourth panel depicted hordes of spear wielding savages sacrificing a maiden to a phallic idol. And in the fifth panel, a mountain summit with Imaggae Crystals dazzling in the solar light.

Some unknown hand had burnt the suede-like hide along a jagged edge below the fifth panel's border. Duke intuited a deliberate severing.

The scenes inscribed on the lower panels must remain mysteries for supplicants till they obtained Ahrkimaggeo's Crystals.

Rolled in the hide a miniature utility belt contained tiny bronze implements. A sword. A knife. A pike. An ax. An awl. Were these the tools with which the pilgrim could obtain the Crystals? Duke yawned, too tired to consider such things now. The wide red solar disk sank downward towards the far horizon. Already the chill breezes nipped the air. Duke rose and surveyed the terrain. The taller trees provided better shelter for the night. Duke rose and headed towards the upper slopes.

Caw! Caw! Caw!

High overhead circling birds called to each other.

Large, broad winged birds.

Duke yawned and put one foot before the other. For he had miles to go before he slept.

Within the forest, as the last light faded from the sky, Duke found a giant tree blasted by lightening centuries ago. Ten feet above the ground, a knot hole gaped where the lightening had struck. Here Duke could safely spend the night. The astronomer shimmied up the rough barked trunk and found a man made nest awaiting him. Clearly other hikers had used this space for sanctuary. Duke stretched out on the bed of pine needles and covered himself in the weave of branches.

Darkness enveloped Duke within his woodland bower. He sniffed the scents of many different men and many different beasts. Meat had been eaten here, some cooked, some raw. Millennia of men had performed sex beneath this woven quilt of pine branches. Duke smelled the cum, the sweat, the rut.

Duke perceived solitary wanderers like himself, masturbating to keep their fears at bay. Perceived the lovers fleeing angry fathers through the woods. Perceived young boys hunting the wild beasts for the first time. Perceived fathers and sons, brothers and brothers. Savage rapes, tender caresses, midnight rituals when the thick branched forest completely blackened out the sky

Hoo! Hoo! Hoo!

The night birds called to one another from the tree tops.

Below Duke heard the prowling nightbeasts stalking prey.

Sleep taunted Duke, eluding him within the darkness of the night till the exhausted astronomer sacrificed his seed, adding his offering of cum to sediments built up by centuries of men who shared a common bed.

Then Zodp'doq invaded the Duke's dreams.

The Master of the Five Drodai'ic Realms assaulted Duke in the night's darkest hour.

Zodp'doq leered at Duke, taunting Duke with a jagged, sharp toothed sneer.

Cold winds ripped through Duke's fragile nest, chilling him to the bone.

Zodp'doq spread open his cloak, revealing California Buddy. A black metal collar encircled the computer wizard's neck. A metal chain ran from the collar to a loop on Zodp'doq's codpiece. Buddy was Zodp'doq's sex slave.

Duke saw his naked lover on display for public entertainment. Duke saw his lover's shaven flesh, saw Zodp'doq's marks on his exposed genitals.

Duke shuddered as the Procurator of Xyla'anta's Brothel of Ten Thousand Inter-Galactic Sexual Pleasures jammed his long riding crop up Buddy's pussy hole.

Duke quivered as the Progenitor of Mass Vastation flipped Buddy's genitals with a leather flail.

Nausea churned Duke's stomach as he acknowledged that Buddy freely elected his new Master. That Zodp'doq's rough degradations aroused Buddy more than Duke's tender caresses.

"Buddy! Buddy! Buddy! Hold on, junior, till I rescue you!"

Zodp'doq stretched his fingers out through time and space, jeering at the tormented astronomer.

"Buddy! Buddy! Buddy!" the Dark Lord of the Inter-Stella Sex Pirates taunted in a high pitched cackle. "Buddy! Buddy! Buddy! Hold on till I cum watching your ass auctioned off to every horny camel driver in the altiverse! Buddy! Buddy! Buddy! Buddy!"

Zodp'doq's laughter overflowed Duke's head. The cackle pierced the secret places of Duke's heart, polluting them, leaving the Duke no sanctuary in his soul.

"Buddy! Buddy! Buddy! Buddy!"

Duke sat up shivering and sweat drenched.

Night's blackest hour shrouded the wilderness in utter darkness.

Duke clutched the ancient cylinder hanging between his pectorals.

"Help me, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, help me!

"Help me become a warrior!

"Help me become a hero!

"Help me to pass the ordeals of my Quest!

"Help me to rescue my people from bondage!"

An unseen hand squeezed Duke's shoulder.

And then Duke fell into a deep, untroubled sleep.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode #14, by HazeMaster@aol.com

Dawn’s first grey light awoke Duke from his dreamless slumbers.

In the high mountains day birds sang to one another.

Duke stretched and rubbed night's remnants from his eyes.

He jerked off in the bed of pine needles, sharing communion with millennia of men who found this nest before and after him.

Duke pissed down on the forest floor, propitiation to the woodland spirits that his newborn Quest might prosper and succeed.

Duke carefully remade the coverlet of woven branches, preparing the nest for whatever future pilgrims journeyed through this forest.

And then Duke leapt out of the tree and landed smoothly in a pile of piss drenched leaves.

The forest branches rustled in the wind.

The rising daystar gilded the high treetops.

Duke listened to the morning birds, inhaled the clean, crisp air scented with pine and resin.

Once more the unseen hand squeezed Duke's shoulder.

Shafts of light falling through the tangled branches marked a woodland trail.

Duke fished a fallen branch out of the undergrowth.

"Thank you, Kare'enyi, Na'aklyi, thank you!"

Duke's shout reverberated through the forest.

Overhead soaring birds called boldly to their comrades.

Duke pushed himself off with his wooden staff and marched into the unknown wilderness.

The daystar climbed into the sky as Duke ascended towards the mountaintops. His feet throbbed and his body ached. Duke could not reckon hours or miles, but only knew that he had journeyed far in time and space, putting great distances between himself and the Planet Which He Called Earth.

The path widened. White light flooded the tunnel expanding before the Duke. He hastened forward as the trees parted to reveal a shimmering lake, and beyond that the ice girt summits of a towering mountain range.

Duke thrust his head beneath the snow chilled lake, guzzling the waters like the hounds of Ahkre'eyon after the chase for tall horned Re'eme'ediyah has been concluded and the huntsmen have devoured the sacrificial stag.

Duke stripped out of his sweat drenched jumpsuit and his tattered boots. He stretched himself as if to plunge into the lake. And then the image of his naked body gave him pause.

At forty-four, Duke was completely bald save for a close cropped fringe about the sides and back. His bearded face betrayed a softness echoed in his love handles and peasant woman's hips. His thighs and buttocks had succumbed to blowzy flab. His only claim to fame, the source of his enduring nickname, was his nine inch cock and heavy, low slung sack. For in his freshman year, when the geeks in his dorm at MIT had finally gotten drunk enough to have a shower room circle jerk, all had bestowed the title of Sir Duke upon the knight wielding the longest, thickest lance.

Duke raised his arms above his head and called out to the pale white sky:

"Help me, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, help me!

"Help me become a warrior!

"Help me become a hero!

"Help me to pass the ordeals of my Quest!"

"Help me to rescue my people from bondage!"

The soaring birds circled above his head, cawing to one another as they gyred and swooped.

Once more the unseen hand squeezed Duke's shoulder.

Duke boomed, "Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi," as he dove into the lake.

The placid waters chilled Duke to the bone.

The astronomer hurled himself downward as darkness swallowed the solar light.

Seeking the calm lake's floor Duke dove lower and lower till an icy current seized his body. Gaining control of his momentum, the swiftly flowing current carried the Duke across the lake's silent underbelly. Enveloped in the flood, Duke only knew that wise Kare'enyi Na'aklyi oversaw his destiny, and he himself was powerless to change it at this point in time.

WHAAA!

Duke's body slammed into a tall rock face.

His hands groped upward, following the surging waters.

Duke climbed the wall like a plebe at the Lykanthine Academy.

WHOA!

Duke's fingers flailed about, seeking their grip.

A fissure opened in the rock.

Swift water flowed into the gap. The Duke released control, surrendering to the current.

At first the wide breach let Duke pass easily through.

But soon the fissure narrowed and the jagged stone tore at Duke's flesh.

Duke could not longer swim. Instead he hauled himself hand over hand through the sharp, jutting granite teeth.

The crevice narrowed further and Duke barely found the space to slither between the closely lipped rocks.

WHOA!

Pinpoints of light shimmered beyond the rock slit.

His body flayed and bloodied, Duke propelled himself the final hundred yards, bursting forth from the rockface through an orifice no larger than a Lykanthine's asshole.

The light of day flooded Duke's eyes.

The brilliant solar disk stood poised above a secret lake. The waters shimmered with a thousand dazzling prisms. The ice girt mountains encircled the lake like an impenetrable citadel.

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

Huge broadwinged birds gyred and swooped above the lake.

The pictogram within the golden cylinder!

These fearsome birds would carry Duke to Ahrkimaggeo.

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

Duke raised his arms above his head and shouted to the orange daystar.

"Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi!

"Thank you for granting me safe passage through the wilderness!

"Thank you for guiding me into a new found altiverse!

"To you I offer my respect, my reverence, my gratitude!

"To you I owe whatever offering you name in homage for your guiding hand and as propitiation for support in my future endeavors in the Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies!"

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The astronomer gaped as the herds ambled down the mountainside, grazing on tall, coarse grass and long stemmed prickly burrs. As Lykanthines loom over earthly men, so these herds towered over earthly cattle.

The graceful Arvh'yah possessed the form of swift gazelles, but sprouted slender horns of twisted ivory between their eyes. The massive Monnyimonn resembled elk, but sported three pair of wide spanned moose antlers on their monumental heads.

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Duke's eyes popped as colossal Tauromitra drank the waters of the secret lake. Though similar to earthly bulls, the Tauromitra bore the spiral rams horns of wild Rocky Mountain sheep.

Duke understood at once the sacrifice he owed Kare'enyi Na'aklyi.

Diving beneath the water, Duke swam briskly to the shore and clambered atop a formation of five boulders. He unstoppered the golden cylinder. From the rolled suede he chose the tiny knife of bronze. And in that instant the knife bloomed to its full length and weight.

"Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi," whispered Duke.

The Duke leapt off the boulder

mounted the Tauromitra with the greatest bulk

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

seized the thick brass ring through its nose

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

pulled back the Tauromitra's head

and slashed its lowing throat.

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

The dying bull crashed to the ground.

It's gushing blood covered Duke's arms till they were carapaced in sticky maroon syrup.

Duke seized the horns, flipping the bull on to its back.

Kneeling upon the Tauromitra's ribs, he drank the hot, swift running blood.

The bull's blood spilled over Duke's beard, sluicing along his chest and abdomen and genitals until it trickled down his thighs.

Filled with a fierce vitality, Duke dug a roasting pit, gathered dry wood to make a fire, and built a grill to hold the sacrificial meats.

Wielding the knife, Duke slashed open the belly of the beast.

He sacrificed the beef and sinews, stomach and entrails to honor Kare'enyi Na'aklyi.

He grilled the heart, lungs, liver, both kidneys, and genitalia, ripped the meat apart with his hands, and avidly devoured the Tauromitra's inner organs.

And when the great beast's flesh was thus consumed, Duke the astronomer brandished the ax within the golden cylinder.

The Duke felled every dead tree standing within a three mile perimeter, stacking the wood in an enormous pyre.

And as the roaring flames leapt up to meet the sky, Duke danced around the bonfire, naked body crusted with blood and gore, pounding his chest and bellowing into the wilderness:

"Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, thank you!

"Thank you for highlighting the heroism in my soul!

"Thank you wakening the courage in my heart!

"Thank you for quickening the boldness in my loins!

"To you I dedicate my brave Heroic Quest!

"To liberate myself from fear and shame!

"To liberate the Captive Prince Kochya-bar-Qoq!

"To gather up the scattered Men of Antarctica!

"And to return to Planet Earth to liberate my Brothers!

"To you I dedicate fierce deeds!

"To you I dedicate majestic sacrifices!

"Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, thank you!"

Naked and caked with blood and gore, Duke beat his chest and danced around the blazing pyre. The nightbeasts slunk, abashed, into the wilderness. The nightbirds, too ashamed to sing, gazed on in silence as the spirit of the mountainside possessed the Duke.

And when the pyre at last consumed itself, collapsing in a thunderous crash reverberating through the night, sweat drenched and exhausted, Duke climbed in the Tauromitra's hollowed ribs, pulled closed the leather flaps about the belly of the beast, and slept with a clear head and heart, slumbers untroubled by the nightfiend's dreams.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode #15, by HazeMaster@aol.com

"CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!"

Aquillas awakened the Duke to a fresh morning.

He threw aside his bedclothes, stretched, and dived into the lake.

The cold, deep, waters pricked to life Duke's senses, rinsing away the Tauromitra's gore. But as Duke sunned himself atop the five boulders, he saw the Tauromitra's blood had seeped into his flesh, dying his skin a deep maroon, marking the first step on a journey towards a distant goal.

"CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!"

Aquillas gyred across the sky, their broad, black wings like feathered kites.

Using the tools Kare'enyi Na'aklyi had bequeathed to him, Duke skinned the Tauromitra's hide off the beast's skeleton, flayed off long laces from the leather, and stitched himself leather trousers and tunic. Then Duke diligently sewed a pair of knee high, stout soled, leather boots.

From underneath the smoldering pyre, Duke found a branch the fire had not consumed. Wielding his knife, Duke whittled down one end until it came to a sharp point. The astronomer now possessed both staff and spear.

Duke took the remnants of the Tauromitra's butchered carcass and interred them all beneath the sacrificial pyre.

"CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!"

Aquillas soared above the mountainside.

Duke shook his staff at the great birds and shouted boldly to them:

"Fly, my eagles, fly!

"I will gain mastery over you!

"Your wings shall bear me to the Silver Planet Ahrkimaggeo!"

Clad in his new raiment, the Duke hiked upward towards the mountaintops.

His wooden staff supported him.

He drank the cold waters of rushing streams.

He ate berries and plucked fruit from the trees.

He slew an Arvh'yah, roasting its succulent, sweet tasting flesh over an open fire.

Duke lost count of the days he hiked the mountainside. He passed beyond the tree line and he marched across snow covered stone. The sharp winds chilled his flesh. The Duke dared not slumber, fearing that he might freeze before he woke. As glaciers loomed before him, awesome and majestic, the Duke topped one last ridge and found the nesting place of the Aquillas.

The birds appeared much larger at close range, and Duke beheld for the first time their brazen beaks and claws.

Duke watched his breath smoke out before his face.

"Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi," he whispered. "Inspire my courage now to do the task at hand."

Duke unstoppered the cylinder and fished amongst his tools. His fingers tangled round a flimsy leather string. Duke brought it to his eyes--and now he held a long, thick leather rope.

"Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, thank you!"

Duke looped the rope into a wide lasso.

He slithered on his belly through the snow until he crouched upon a ledge above the nesting birds.

"Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, guide me!"

Leaping upon the largest bird, Duke flipped the lasso around its proud head

CAW! CAW!

and the Aquilla spread its wings and swept into the air.

Duke cinched the noose about the sky bird's neck, then looped the other end tightly about his waist.

CAW! CAW!

The Aquilla soared high and then swooped low, spiraling in great somersaults across the spinning sky.

Duke locked his arms about the bird's white throat, digging his boots into its feathered flanks.

CAW! CAW!

The Aquilla barnstormed the glacial range, scraping the Duke against the jagged ice.

An unseen hand squeezed Duke's shoulder.

Duke stretched one arm over the bird's broad wing, plucking a jet black feather with his open hand.

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

Subjugated, the Aquilla now banked and flew a level course.

Duke gazed down on the mountain range, the black smoke rising from the smoldering pyre beside the lake. The fire had not consumed the Tauromitra's bones.

The Aquilla cruised over barren ochre plains. Planet Nadjz had obliterated every trace of the Bazaar, and of the Starship that had carried Duke so far from Planet Earth.

The Aquilla ascended and the others of his flock rose from their nests to join him.

Duke watched Planet Nadjz dwindle into a small speck.

The Aquilla bore Duke across the altiverse. The sky bird sailed through galaxies and asteroid belts and solar systems such as men on Planet Earth never dared imagine.

And Duke remembered a young boy in Iowa, dreaming of studying the heavens on an inter-planetary expedition.

Duke realized that his most cherished childhood dream had been achieved and then surpassed beyond his heart's fondest conjectures.

Edward "Duke" Jones, openly gay astronomer and astronaut!

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

Rushing to meet them up ahead, a white star with three planets circling. The first glyph brushstroked on the lining of the suede-like hide. Hermanuta Serenissima. Ahrkimaggeo. Vosaquatus. Duke had achieved the next step of his Quest

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

The Aquilla accelerated. Duke clearly distinguished multi-colored Hermanuta Serenissima's alternating land and water masses; Turquoise Vosaquatus, completely shrouded beneath vaporous clouds; and Silver Ahrkimaggeo, cold, lifeless stone without a hint of vegetation.

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

The Aquilla drew back its wings to slow its flight. Ahrkimaggeo loomed before the Duke.

Flashes of piercing light.

The Duke looked down.

Bright crystals dazzling on a mountaintop.

Yes, these were surely magick stones, worthy goals of Heroic Quests!

The Aquilla banked. Duke uncinched the lasso round the sky bird's neck. Arms spread apart, Duke gripped the bird's plucked feather with both hands. Gently the astronomer floated downward towards the slate grey stones.

With just a gentle bump, Duke touched down on the planet's surface. The first earthman to set his boot on Ahrkimaggeo.

CAW! CAW! CAW! CAW!

Duke gazed at the Aquilla flock circling overhead. He raised the plundered feather in salute.

And then the sky birds flew into formation, outlining a bold letter D against the starless altiverse.

"Thank you, Kare'enyi Na'aklyi, thank you!"

"Guide me to courage, boldness, liberation," the Duke murmured as he knelt to kiss the dust of this new station on his inter-galactic adventures.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode #16, by HazeMaster@aol.com

The fugitive remnant of Starship 69's crew disappeared among the Cha'aztroz.

Free floating through uncharted sectors of the altiverse, Cha'aztroz belonged to no galaxy or planetary system. In the days of Kaduma Masters, the Hermanutas exiled incorrigible offenders to the "Wandering Rocks." With the collapse of the Ma'asatt Flotilla, the planetoids became the altiverse dumpster, a sanctuary for whatever outcasts fitted no communities within the Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies.

Composed of red, yellow, and orange stone, the "Wandering Rock" the crew colonized possessed a thin layer of topsoil barely supporting vegetation. Gigantic petrified fingers soared upward towards the ink black sky, grasping at passing life forms.

Mimicking these natural formations, the Cha'aztroz boasted weird dolmens created millennia before Hermanutas settled on Serenissima. Forgotten masterbuilders carved these sixteen foot high megaliths with glyphs not even Kaduma Masters could decipher. Unknown artisans painted the topstone of each dolmen black, the base stones hot flamingo pink, and random stones between indigo, blue, magenta.

Sited among these prehistoric monuments, generations of alienated "artists" created "modern" dolmens from scrap metal, discarded furnishings, deconstructed machinery, and disemboweled telecommunications devices.

And in a shanty town as randomly constructed as these bizarre artifacts, the SZoids, Krugkopfs, Hermanutas, and Lykanthines established base camp.

Using scrap metal and cyclone fencing, the Lykanthines constructed breezeways connecting several neighboring caves. Within the caves they hammered wooden dormitories and stored gear rescued from Planet Nadjz.

Erecting four astral powered windmills, the SZoids drilled through bedrock till they struck fresh well water. On soil no race had tilled for five millennia, the Krugkopfs cultivated organic beans, peas, and carrots.

They flooded fields and planted rice paddies. They bartered with their neighbors, trading sweat labor for scrawny chickens.

The Hermanutas built a solar powered grist mill, grinding the coarse corn which they grew down into flour. Outside their caves they laid down cement patios roofed with brightly painted corrugated metal. And they constructed barbecues to roast their chickens, bake tortillas, and simmer huge crocks of rice and beans.

The only earthman rescued from the Planet Nadjz conflagration, Borsa worked apart from his crew mates, electing the most arduous labors from the daystar's rising to the daystar's setting. Respecting Borsa's mourning for his slain Brother, the SZoids and Krugkopfs allowed the Marine wide berth.

But Borsa could not escape his private demons. Sweat drenched beneath a harsh white daystar, Borsa remembered how he worked beside Big Brother Leonardis on the vanquished Starship. The jarhead's muscles ached, but Leonardis did not rub his shoulders. Leonardis did not fill his cheeks with kourab juice and spray it into Little Brother's mouth. Leonardis did not devour rich pastries and order Little Brother to lick cream, jelly, and syrup from his fingers.

Every evening Borsa collapsed, exhausted, on his bunk. But sleep refused to grant the Marine sweet deliverance. Borsa lay, wide eyed, recollecting nights that Leonardis stretched beside him.

Borsa remembered Leonardis' early morning scent, the ever present mansweat enhanced with the rut of his unwashed crotch and armpits.

Borsa recalled the textures of his Brother's naked flesh against his own, their bodies fused together by dried cum. The smooth, mahogany black skin. The coarse hairs of his pubic bush. The thickly tangled nests within his armpits.

The lion's head, the golden bouffant mane cascading down his shoulders, soft as baby's hair. The moist black nose. The long, wide tongue covered with tickling cilia. All this Borsa remembered.

The thick, long neck. The squared shoulders. The erect posture that denoted self-assurance, and the easy, rolling stride bespeaking true empowerment.

Borsa remembered suckling Leonardis' erect, salty nipples after workouts. Eating his musky armpits just before they showered together. Licking his sweaty sack and savoring every silky hair. Slurping his Brother's asscrack until every shitball was consumed. Drinking his Brother's hot and pungent piss, like an infusion of the strongest teas from Ka'andia.

Sucking his Brother's dick, the Marine's jaws strained to encompass all the fourteen inches. Watching the veins swell as they snaked around the shaft. The cockhead exploding, glob after glob of thick, hot cum, tasting of rich spices, like curried stews seasoned with blazing chili peppers from Aranchya. All this Borsa remembered.

But most of all, his mind's eye captured Leonardis' teasing smile, running the tongue across his lips to signal that another goof was being pulled on Vinnie Borsa. But the hazing was gonna end just fine cause Leonardis looked after his Little Brother.

And when he recognized that smile, the jarhead clutched his pillow to his face and sobbed until at last he fell asleep.

As Vinnie Borsa slept, his Brother climbed into his bunk. Skin against naked skin they lay together. The Lykanthine's enormous cock stroked Borsa's asscrack. Strong hands pried Borsa's cheeks apart. The cockshaft slid into the jarhead's waiting hole, barreling down the Marine's road to glory. And then his Brother's cock throbbed deep inside him, pulsing, churning, pounding, shooting, shooting, shooting, scalding globs of cum against the jarhead's yearning prostate.

"We will never leave each other, Little Brother. I will always stand beside you."

And in the morning when he woke, his body drenched with a familiar scent and a familiar stickiness, young Borsa knew his night guest was no phantom and that he was not alone here in the altiverse.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode #17, by HazeMaster@aol.com

Besides its compliment of rag-tag misfits, the Cha'aztroz shanty town offered safe harbor to the orphan boys prowling the altiverse.

Arriving by tramp freighter, the po'boys scavenged food and competed for scarce odd jobs. Either some "artists' commune" adopted a boy as its "apprentice," or he departed by the next freighter.

One orphan boy, a native of the Altra Nirah Planetary System, loitered around the Ma'asatt refugees' encampment.

The po'boy looked about fifteen, standing five foot ten with a rangy frame and thick black hair that fell across his deep brown eyes. And he made himself useful in varieties of ways.

After some days spent running errands, helping out with chores, and doing hard labor, the Ma'asatt crew invited the tan hued orphan to join them on the patio for barbecue. A few days later, they invited the lad to spend the night.

Ever guarded and foxy, the orphan became Flostim and Westrim's pet. But other crew members had their ideas of share and share alike.

One blazing afternoon, while the orphan was working waist deep in an irrigation ditch, two SZoids opened a sluice, flooding the ditch with organic fertilizers.

"Great fucking shit!" the orphan exploded.

"Yo, help him out!"

"Get the kid out!"

"Give him a hand!"

Lykanthines, SZoids, Krugkopfs, and Hermanutas scrambled from the planting fields to haul the orphan from the putrid water. The fertilizer drenched the po'boy's coveralls up to his chest.

"Hey, get the kid out of those filthy duds!"

"Yo, put the kid under the showers before he gets infected!"

"No! No! No! I'll be all right! I'll doss down by myself! Let me alone! I'll be all right!"

The orphan's shouts brought Borsa from his solitary labors.

By then the crew had shredded the boy's coveralls, hoisted him high above their heads, and carried him to an outdoor shower platform.

"Let me alone! Let me alone!"

Borsa watched the po'boy's face redden as he fought his "rescuers."

"Let me alone! Let me alone!"

"Two days work in the fields says this kid's all dark meat!"

"My butt hole for the night says the kid's got a tan line!"

"Let me alone! Let me alone!"

"A week on KP duty says his ass is lite n brite!"

"My mouth for three days as a pussy hole says that the kid's sepia monochrome!"

"Let me alone! Let me alone!"

All bets were placed. The crew pinned the boy down and ripped his undergarments off. The orphan's man sized hardon fluttered in the breeze.

"The kid's a whitie!"

"Man, you suck my dick tonight but good!"

"Let me go, motherfuckers! Let me go!"

Though held down by four Lykanthines, the po'boy struggled to break free from his tormentors.

"Yo, dudes, let's see what junior's butt looks like!"

"Ya motherfucking bastards! I'll kill every cocksucking one of ya!"

Chanting "One, two, three, alley oop!" the Lykanthines flipped the po'boy over on his stomach.

"Well, will ya fucking take a look at that!"

Borsa stood on his toes, craning to see the captive youth.

The orphan's high, round butt sported a much paler shade of beige than the boy's swarthy torso. And the tattoo of an eagle winged chicken decorated each asscheek.

"I'm gonna fucking kill ya fucking motherfuckers!"

Thick purple veins swelled out along the orphan's neck and temples.

"The kid's street scuz!"

"A sex toy from the Bazaar of the Caravans!"

"A Zodp'doq reject!"

"A hotrod lickin chicken!"

"Ya motherfucking pigs! I'm gonna fucking kill every damn one a ya!"

"Yeah, sure! But first ya better clean ya act up, dude!"

Lykanthines yanked the orphan to his feet.

Krugkopfs turned on the outdoor showers full blast.

"Ya motherfucking turds! Ya fucking camel shit eaters!"

The boy kicked out at his tormentors.

But Lykanthines held the boy under the icy, stinging showers. Krugkopfs doused his body with industrial strength cleanser, while SZoids scoured his naked flesh with coarse wire brushes.

"Ya motherfucking shits! Ya fucking asshole eaters!"

The Hermanutas grabbed the boy's ankles, flipped him feet up, head down, and rammed the nozzle of a thick, high pressure hose into his pussy hole.

"YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

Borsa covered his ears and turned away.

The boy's screams rang out through the planting fields. His body bucked and twisted from the water surging up his glory road.

The Hermanutas, Lykanthines, Krugkopfs, and SZoids roared their fool heads off, cracking jokes, talking trash. The Hermanutas did not power the hose off till water bilged out of the orphan's puking mouth.

"Well look at old Flostim and Westrim's pet boy now!"

"Two days sweat labor in the fields says the kid hides the cucumber!"

"That ain't no fucking bet! My mouth as pussy for a week says the kid takes two cucumbers!"

"You prissy sissy girl! My ass for ten nights as a twat says the kid's hole eats three cucumbers!"

"Ya're on!"

"Ya're on!"

"Ya're on!"

Never on earth had Borsa seen vegetables as huge as those grown in the Ma'asatt crew's organic gardens.

The orphan's rectum swiftly swallowed up the first humongous cucumber.

"Score one for the SZoid in the lace panties!"

The second cucumber looked long as a man's forearm and thick as a wrist. The orphan's pussy hole eagerly glommed it down.

"Score two for the Lykanthine in the pink nightie!"

The Marine gasped when the Hermanutas produced an emerald green cucumber the size of a wine carafe. The boy would surely burst if the Ma'asatt crew forced his rectum to encompass this monstrosity.

Borsa's stomach twisted in knots--and then the po'boy's asshole gobbled up the gargantuan vegetable.

"Score three!"

"Score three!"

"Score three!"

The Ma'asatt crew pranced round the lucky winner.

"I plough your ass, and yours and yours and yours and yours--and as for you, Flostim and Westrim's little pussy boy--"

The gloating winner raised the sobbing boy into the air and hurled him head first in the irrigation ditch brimming with organic fertilizers.

"Fan-fucking-tastic sport!"

Trading high fives, the whistling crew marched off towards dinner on the patio.

When the last man strode out of sight, the Marine rushed down to the ditch and fished the orphan from the filthy waters. Using his CPR training, the jarhead pounded water from the boy's lungs, kissing the breath of life into his mouth.

A hot wind surged through Marine Private Vinnie Borsa's lips. He squatted on his heels and smelled Big Brother Leonardis' scents.

"We'll never leave each other, Little Brother. I will always stand right beside you."

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode #18, by HazeMaster@aol.com

"I am called Na'achum. My people dwelled in Altra Nirah. We followed simple, peaceful lives, tending our fields, orchards, and vineyards."

Borsa and the orphan sat around a campfire three miles from the planting fields. Borsa had cleansed the boy and given him fresh coveralls he had sewn for himself. The jarhead prepared roasted goat with rice and peas and carrots from his private larder stockpiled in a cave. Now, in the late hour, when the nightbeasts called to one another in the wilderness, the boy recited his grim story to the Marine.

"When I was still vermishte, not yet marked by manhood, Drodes ravaged Altra Nirah. The Pirates slew my father and grandfather, abducted my four older brothers to Xyla'anta, burnt our village to the ground, and plowed our fields with salt. Drodes visited the Great Vastation upon every Altra Nirah planet.

"And so my mother, sisters, younger brothers, and myself became vanderein, the nomads of the freighter routes, trekking from planet to planet scrounging subsistence from the kindnesses of strangers."

Beyond the waning campfire, darkness enveloped both speaker and listener. Chill winds blew from the deserts. The refugees wrapped themselves in wool blankets. Na'achum continued his narration in a flat, low voice, staring directly into Borsa's eyes.

"My people roamed the altiverse, and even in vermishte I became protector of the vanderein from Altra Nirah. I negotiated with freighter captains and bargained extra concessions from crew members. When our tribe arrived at a new destination, I sought out the Good Mothers who pleaded our cause with their menfolk so we were taken in and not sent back aboard the freighter.

"The seasons passed, and in our journeying I learned to haggle in six languages. I could not read or write my name in any tongue.

"Abruptly, like wild beasts pouncing on bewildered travelers in the forests of N'yadine, charna'atzah fell upon me. Nightly this demon wrestled me into submission, leaving me drained and chagrined, thighs and belly plastered with the sticky cream the nightfiend drew from me.

"Confusion gripped me, for I had only company of boys and women in our vanderein. I thought the demon had assailed me with grave forms of madness. I dared not question the Good Mothers concerning my new affliction, and shame constrained me from addressing their menfolk."

The night grew cold. The fire died down. Huge armored lizards crawled from rock to rock, tongues flicking in and out. Sharply beaked birds with leather wings circled above the campsite. Na'achum huddled between the jarhead's legs, while Borsa wrapped his arms about the orphan's shoulders.

"Before I unraveled charna'atzah's curse, Drodes descended upon our fragile place of refuge. Once more the Great Vastation struck. This time I was among the hapless boys abducted to Xyla'anta. The voyage proved to be unending torment.

"The Inter-Stella Sex Pirates stripped us naked, locking black metal collars round our necks. Binding us spreadeagled, the Drodes screwed metal clamps onto our nipples. Raping our modesty, they thrust black chromium rods into our holes of shame, stretching our road to desolation wider and still wider as the voyage progressed.

"Throughout the day, Drodes milked us like the cattle grazing on the Fields of Vya'acha, mocking us for the inexhaustible thick loads that they extracted. But charna'atzah mortified me still more, leaving my staff of shame erect and firm time without end in tribute to the demon's potency.

"Then, as the voyage lengthened season after season, thick hair sprouted upon my mound of shame and in my armpits. Stubble grew on my cheeks which the Drodes plucked with singeing tweezers. And in between my thighs charna'atzah gloated over his triumphant victory, enlarging my staff of shame like a farmer training his vines over a trellis."

By now cold winds had overwhelmed the sleepless refugees. The pair retreated to the cave. They climbed together, fully clothed, in Borsa's bunk, huddling under thick fur quilts.

"After countless seasons the Pirate ship arrived at Xyla'anta. The Brothel of the Ten Thousand Inter-Galactic Sexual Pleasures reigns as the largest structure in the altiverse, vaster by far than any ruined city in the Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies. Enthroned upon its towering mount of bakelite, Zodp'doq's Palace of Black Crystal looms above the Brothel.

"The Drodes penned the new boy toys bare assed naked in the Brothel's enormous forecourt. Thousands of pirates, freighter crews, outlaws, ruffians, and renegades packed the square plaza smoking, drinking, laughing, gambling, and above all marking "quotes" on the tipsheets predicting the price each new boy would yield when Zodp'doq auctioned his cherry off. Indeed, the noise, the stench, the jostling crowds resembled the stockyards at Na'arsha when the brokers auctioned off cattle from Vya'acha.

"Amidst tumultuous cheering Zodp'doq leapt on a raised wood platform. The demon charna'atzah paid instant tribute to The Master of the Five Drodai'ic Realms, snapping my staff of shame into a full salute.

"Clad in black leather boots, black leather pants, and a black leather vest, Zodp'doq spread his legs apart and commanded the men by his supreme self-confidence. His short, compactly muscled, hairy body radiated the Drode Lord's powerful manhood. His dark eyes dazzled with a cruel delight and the most evil leer twisted across his lips.

"One by one the Drodes hauled each new boy toy to the platform where the Dark Lord of the Inter-Stella Sex Pirates scrupulously examined the fresh meat to the delight of loudly taunting spectators.

"The manly men, the SZoids, Krugkopfs, Hermanutas, and Lykanthines, Zodp'doq consigned to the Brothel where the wealthiest property holders in the altiverse bid against one another for fresh cherries. Occasionally, Zodp'doq assigned to the Black Crystal Palace a Hermanuta who combined exceptional handsomeness with strong self-assurance. The drunken crowd fell silent at such moments, wondering what dark fate awaited Zodp'doq's new plaything.

"Zodp'doq selected a few older boys for service in the Brothel, rarely as sex toys, more often as handmaids, attendants, choristers, or living statues. But the majority of boys the Progenitor of Mass Vastation consigned to Verkauffah merchants. At each allocation the boisterous crowd roared and stamped lustily. We cherry chickens were priced well within their range."

The wind howled through the darkness. Na'achum snuggled against the Marine's furry chest. Borsa locked his strong arms around the shivering boy to keep the nightfiends from him.

"That first night on Xyla'anta remains the most degrading hours of my life.

"When Zodp'doq completed selecting his sex toys, Verkauffah merchants herded the cherry chicken from the Brothel courtyard. The frenzied crowd pressed themselves close upon us. The drunken revelers pinched our nipples, slapped our buttocks, squeezed our hot sacs, yanked our staffs of shame, and overwhelmed us with the stench upon their unwashed, hairy flesh, the reek of garlic, curry, and tobacco on their breaths. Never had I felt so exposed and so humiliated.

"Using electric prods, the merchants drove us out the Brothel's iron gates and down the hill to Bust'em Town, the cesspool for the scum and riffraff of the altiverse, a sewer contaminating all who tumble into it.

"Ramshackle sheds of wood leaned drunkenly against each other, roofs almost touching across narrow, twisted alley ways. Garbage and wasted bodies filled the hard packed dirt lanes. Only light filtering through the shutters of the sex sheds showed the way to pirates and haulers seeking joy in exchange for money."

Borsa's fingers explored Na'achum's face. Gently he kissed away the tears spilling across the po'boy's face.

"When the fresh cherries descended to Bust'em Town, the Verkauffah herded us into open sheds and sheared the new hair from our chests and pubic mounds. The merchants spared our armpit hair to cultivate its aphrodisiac sweat. The Verkauffah bent us over wooden horses and tattooed the emblems of our shame on both asscheeks. A chicken with an eagle's wings and the tongue of a dragon.

"Charna'atzah overwhelmed my body and betrayed me to the Sex Pirates. And now this everlasting symbol on my buttocks brands me as a toy for any man with strength enough to ravage me. Aeons ago I lived in joy with my people on Altra Nirah. Today I am a piece of fruit, taken and tossed away when all the juice has been sucked out."

Borsa pressed Na'achum to his chest and kissed the boy, thrusting his tongue between the orphan wanderer's lips.

"How can you honor one unable to defend himself?"

Na'achum shuddered, his body convulsed by a palsied shaking.

"Beneath the flickering light of torches Verkauffah auctioned their merchandise. A freighter pilot bought my cherry for 300 zlod. He bent me at the waist and raped me standing up so he could bid on other boys. Then he resold my carcass for 200 zlod. A one-eyed, scarfaced assassin forced his enormous, filthy, putrid cockshaft down my throat, and after he exploded, used me for his urinal. Next, for 100 zlod, a monstrously fat bandit lay my rump across his thighs and spanked me till he shot his scalding load across my butt.

"For a time without end any hoodlum with 50 zlod could rape me in a close packed sex shed. Nightly, over twenty customers rented my body for their rough pleasures. My hole of shame stretched wide enough to swallow any cock, or any fist. Zodp'doq sealed my fate. Ever to be a chicken boy. Never to know the strength and pride of manhood.

"My freshness faded even here and I was turned into the streets. The hard men caught me, raped me, beat me, kicked me in the gutter with the other refuse. A freighter captain kidnapped me to be his ship's boy on an inter-planetary voyage--till he found a younger toy to take my place.

"So now I wander with the hordes of orphan boys from galaxy to galaxy. Perpetual nomads roaming through the altiverse."

Borsa stroked Na'achum's naked back. The jarhead marveled at the smoothness of the young boy's skin. Borsa kissed both shoulders and lapped the neck beneath Na'achum's thick shag of hair.

"But I see something in your eyes, Na'achum. Some glow in every orphan's eye. You are all seeking something, some one, some place."

Na'achum rocked against Borsa's chest.

"All orphans seek the Pentagonal Convent of the Healing Sisters. There we may learn to find our plundered manhood."

"What planet is this Convent found on?"

"The location is kept a secret by the Healing Sisters. The orphans ramble through the altiverse until we find a manly man to give us true direction."

"And you have found--"

"False friends, like your Flostim and Westrim. They trick joy from us but do not know the way themselves."

A rustling shadow flicked on the cave's ceiling.

Borsa knew who entered, and why.

"I do not know the road you seek. But if you stand by me, we can both find the way together."

"Big Brother Borsa, I bestow my trust on you. Whichever way you lead me is the path I follow."

So the three Brothers slept together through the long night's darkest hours.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode #19, by HazeMaster@aol.com

Next morning Borsa and Na'achum re-appeared in the planting fields. All day they labored beneath the daystar, returning to the base camp for the evening barbecue.

The pair joined the chow line. Ladling out rice, beans, tomatoes, and shredded lettuce, they folded the fillings into a burrito, then sat at the communal table with the crew.

"Na'achum, we stayed up all night worrying about you," declaimed Captain Flotstim.

"We thought you'd ditched us for the freighter routes, and so we found ourselves a new ship's boy."

Sitting beside Westrim, the new boy blushed, sheepishly grinning at the crew. Slim, dark skinned, dark haired, he looked to be about fourteen. Pride in supplanting Na'achum mingled with nervousness.

"But Na'achum, we're so glad that you've returned. In fact, we've assigned you a high priority mission. And we have every confidence that you can carry out your new responsibilites.

"Lately supplies have started disappearing from the stockroom. We need a night watch for the depot. You can sack out in the Green Cave. Only don't fall asleep because . . . . "

Suddenly the entire crew fell silent.

" . . . because you might get fucked and eaten by the Khropzhie Monster."

"OOOOOOOOOOO."

A collective gasp suspired from the Ma'asatt crew.

"Flotstim, I never heard tell of this Crapsie monster."

Borsa confronted Flotstim down the table's length.

"Well there's good reason for that, Little Brother The tale's too horrible and blood curdling for boys. The story makes ya pussy hair stand up on end and turn white overnight the first time that a baby hears it tole."

"I'd like to hear this epic," challenged Borsa.

The daystar sunk behind the red stone hills. Chill breezes blew in from the desert. Silently the crew passed the wine sack round the table, raptly attending to the Captain's tale of terror.

"Hundreds of years ago, before Koqp'qoq united the Five Drodai'ic Realms, a vicious Sex Pirate named Khropzhie roamed the galaxies. Bigger than any Lykanthine and meaner than the meanest Drode, Sir Colonel Khropzhie terrorized the altiverse.

"On moonless nights his blood red starship swooped down on defenseless planets. The heartless Colonel kidnapped sleeping boys out of their parents' homes."

"OOOOOOOOOOOOO."

The crew shuddered in horror at this vile deed.

"The wicked Khropzhie sold the lads as sex toys to Verkauffah merchants. The po'boys never saw their families again. Before each youngster left the ship, evil Sir Khropzhie sat the little guy upon his lap--so he could fuck the tender youth with his humongous shaft!"

The crew gasped as the SZoid Captain brandished a gargantuan carrot high above his head.

"The Colonel's dick was long as any Hermanuta's arm up to the elbow. The shaft was wide as a SZoid's wrist and the head . . . broad as a Drode's fist inside his leather gauntlets."

Flotstim's voice dropped down to a whisper.

The ship's crew strained to hear the Captain's tale as nightbirds called to one another in the darkness.

"Now every youth the Colonel kidnapped from his warm, snug bed had to sit on the Colonel's lap and take the monster cockmeat up his cherry hole.

"Some boys were split open and bled to death, their entrails hanging out their shit holes. Other lads went plumb mad, their hair standing on end and turning white as snow. You can still hear their screams echoing through the altiverse on nights as dark and cold as this one.

"And the kids who survived Sir Colonel Khropzhie's cherry plucking ceremony . . . walked bowlegged for their entire lives."

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

Thoroughly mesmerized, the crew hung on their Captain's every word.

"Generations passed. The Colonel grew older and meaner, but he didn't die . . . and thousands of bowlegged, angry dudes waddled around the altiverse seeking revenge on Colonel Khropzhie.

"A secret army formed. Named themselves Plucked Cherry Brigade. Trained in the Five Drodai'ic Realms. Became mean motherfuckers. And scoured the altiverse in search of Colonel Khropzhie. Thousands of hostile dudes, swearing blood oaths of vengeance, sliced off their little toe and finger, tossed em in vats of steaming mash, and passed the brew around so every brother got to drink his brothers' blood and suck his bones."

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

Night winds howled from the desert.

The new ship's boy huddled beneath the wooden table, quavering arms clasped tight above his head.

Borsa stared at Flotstim, goading him to continue his inter-galactic saga.

"Decades passed by. The Plucked Cherry Brigade increased its numbers. And evil Colonel Khropzhie kidnapped little lads and fucked them with his monster manmeat.

"But then, when Koqp'qoq was but a youth and Xyla'anta consisted of mud villages, the Plucked Cherry Brigade cornered the Colonel here in the Cha'aztroz. Sir Khropzhie vowed never to surrender, never be taken prisoner, never allow the Brigade to defile his body. The Colonel swore he was immortal and the battle raged.

"Five starships circled Colonel Khropzhie's blood red mothership. The Colonel's missiles took out two and disabled two more. Meanwhile the Colonel's ship suffered so many direct hits the engines caught on fire. Half the crew burnt to death, the other half evacuated.

"So the crazed Colonel piloted his burning, corpse filled ship, pursued by one last Brigade starship.

A battle royal raged across the altiverse. The Brigade’s last starship was also strewn with deadmen, also blazing. A sight awesomely gruesome to behold."

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Na'achum gaped at Flotstim.

"The insane Colonel heard his fuel tanks blow. He knew his vessel'd soon explode in smithereens. But Colonel Khropzhie stayed upon the bridge, piloting his doomed starship towards its final destination.

"Smoke filled the mothership. Flames shimmied up the walls from deck to deck. Fumes from escaping hydro-chloral-floride fuels smothered the Colonel's breath and blinded him. The stench of burning corpses circulated through the ducts. The Colonel threw his head back, cackling wildly, swearing he would never die."

The new ship's boy scampered out from beneath the wooden table. Trembling, he raced back towards the shanty town. Better to take one's chances on the freighter routes than stay with these weird wired sky jocks.

Borsa wrapped a strong arm round Na'chum's shoulders. The po'boy gazed at Flotstim's glittering eyes.

"The Colonel heard the blazing ship break up. Laughing dementedly, he forced the dying starship into full acceleration. The last pursuing starship of the Plucked Cherry Brigade chivvied its prey between the Wandering Rocks."

The night winds shrieked. The Ma'asatt crew gazed at the SZoid Captain in rapt attention.

"Mad Colonel Khropzhie slammed his blazing mothership smack into this Cha'aztroz. The explosion ignited the Cha'aztroz, killing off every living plant and critter. The flash was recorded by Kaduma Masters at their Pentagonal Observatory. The shock waves rocked the altiverse, toppling palaces on Planet Nadjz and collapsing the mud huts on Xyla'anta.

"The Brigade starship split apart, scattering corpses all across the Cha'aztroz' scorched terrain. The surviving crew members escaped in three landing pods. They searched the wreckage of the Colonel's burnt out ship. His corpse was no where to be found . . . .

"Then, late one night, they heard mad, cackling laughter echoing from deep inside a cave."

The crew listened wide eyed and open mouthed.

Na'achum sat between Borsa's legs, enfolded in the Marine's arms.

"Cautiously the Plucked Cherry Brigade's last surviving members crept inside the pitch black cave. Silently they slipped towards the lower depths until they saw a flickering light deep down within the cavern's subterranean bowels. Crawling along the damp, cold floor, they slid along their bellies till they saw--

"Sir Colonel Khropzhie!"

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

"The flames had hideously scarred his body, completely peeling off the Colonel's skin and singeing his exposed sinews a blazing red. His face was totally disfigured by a mass of purple blisters. And his cock, the Colonel's monster tool, had swollen up till it resembled an enormous purple gourd."

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."

"The terrified Brigade survivors scurried back to their campsite. Laughter caterwauled through the night, and in the morning one less man appeared for breakfast."

Flotstim paused, surveying his awestruck crew.

"When an exploratory ship from Hermanuta Serenissima reached the Cha'aztroz to investigate the explosion, the Hermanutas found one sole survivor, plumb out of his mind, his white hair standing up on end as he babbled stories about his lost crewmates.

"The Hermanutas probed the entire Cha'aztroz. They found the charred, decayed remains of corpses that rained down from the exploding starship.

"Eventually they reached the cave where we stockpile our stores. Even the Hermanutas shuddered when they beamed their lamps into the darkness. Hideous corpses lay about the cavern. The dead men's chests had been slashed open and their hearts, livers, and kidneys all ripped out. Their skulls had been smashed and their brains plucked out. And their intestines had been pulled out through their gaping assholes, assholes stretched wide enough to stuff an arm all they way to the shoulder."

Far away in the desert nightbeasts bayed to one another. Sharply beaked birds with leather wings circled above the campsite. Nobody stirred. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared even to breathe.

"And from the deepest bowels of the cavern, the Hermanutas sniffed the smell of grilling meats and heard an insane cackling that reverberated in their dreams forever after."

"And now you want Na'achum to stand the night watch in that very cave?"

Borsa spoke calmly, softly, flatly.

"It is an opportunity to volunteer for a highly sensitive mission of invaluable service to the fleet."

"May I stand by the boy to help him keep awake?"

"You aren't afraid of the Khropzhie Monster, Little Brother?"

"Na'achum will give me courage me to stay out the watch."

Flotstim and Westrim laughed.

And Borsa spent the night with Na'achum in the haunted cave.

"You know what's gonna happen, don't you, Na'achum?"

With the practiced eye of a United States Marine, Borsa surveyed the supply depot. Tall wooden racks supported shelves of construction materials and non-perishables like canvas tenting, wool blankets, and clothing consignments. Against the walls stood wooden bins of nails and hooks and hand tools.

Na'achum said nothing as he spread a plastic sheet upon the ground and unrolled the two sleeping bags.

Borsa held the lamp high above his head and watched the flame as it moved in the draft.

"The air current flows from behind the stockroom. This cave connects with other caverns further back. So while we guard the entrance here, marauders will be infiltrating from the rear. I wonder where Flotstim and Westrim went to Boy Scout Camp?"

Na'achum paused as he erected a canopy above the sleeping bags.

"Big Brother Borsa, you are a brave man and a soldier. I am a little boy, completely ignorant of manhood's secrets. Why do you choose to share the shame of a dishonored plaything such as I?"

"Because I was a frightened little puppy not too long ago. I was a stranger in a strange land and a strong warrior stooped to guide me through the mysteries of manhood. And now I'm here to help you through your rites of passage."

Borsa reached out and tousled Na'achum's thick, brown hair.

"Besides, I think you've got a lot of guts. You're a survivor and a fighter. And it would be a hoot to bust Flotstim and Westrim."

So the two refugees pursued their tasks. Communicating with hand signs they set their snares and extinguished their lanterns.

The chill winds penetrated deep inside the cave. The long night passed, dark hour after hour--till suddenly Borsa nudged Na'achum, touching the orphan wanderer's lips with a warm, warning finger.

Two black clad figures slipped into the stockroom from the rear. Their thick soled boots and padded shoulders lent the pair gigantic proportions. Grotesque make up and putty disfigured their heads. Softly they crept towards the two sleeping bags. Silently they bent over to unzip--

"YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWW!"

"YIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!"

Borsa sprang.

Stuffed a jockstrap in Flotstim's mouth.

Na'achum gagged Westrim with two dirty socks.

"Mmmmngh!"

"Nnnghmm!"

Na'achum pulled off their boots.

Borsa zipped down their jumpsuits.

The two intruders struggled in the darkness, flailing helplessly in their snares.

Borsa stripped the invaders naked.

Bound their wrists with wide, strong duct tape.

Na'achum feathered Flotstim and Westrim's armpits.

"Mmmmngh!"

"Nnnghmm!"

The SZoid and Krugkopf wriggled in their snares.

But they were tightly caught and could not free themselves.

Na'achum rubbed liniment onto their balls and asscracks.

"MMMMMNGH!"

"NNNNGHMM!"

Borsa whipped the dudes' butts with rubber hosing.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNGH!"

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHMM!"

Flotstim and Westrim shimmied in their snares like little girls with goldfish down their backs.

Borsa rammed three lubed fingers up each stinging asshole.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNGH!"

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHMM!"

Na'achum milked both officers like a herdsman tending cattle on the Fields of Vya'acha.

Draining them till their enflamed ballsacks held no joy juice.

Then Na'achum fucked SZoid Captain Flotstim and Krugkopf Lieutenant Westrim.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNGH!"

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHMM!"

Again.

And again.

And again.

Private Vinnie Borsa, USMC, hardballed the officers and gentlemen.

All the way to the shoulder.

"MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMNGH!"

"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGHMM!"

In the last hour before the dawn, Borsa and Na'achum escaped through the cavern's rear entrance.

The Ma'asatt crew entered the supply cave through the front gate early the next morning.

They found Flotstim and Westrim dangling in harnesses suspended from the canopy above the sleeping bags.

Chromed metal construction clamps grasped their nipples and their scrotums.

Duct tape distended their ball sacks down towards their knees.

Thin wires protruded from their piss holes.

Thick wooden hammer shafts projected from their ass holes.

Glowing red paint decorated their erect cockshafts, their ramrods locked in metal vises.

And the officers' chests and abdomens and pubes and balls and brightly purple welted buttocks were completely hairless.

By the time the Ma'asatt crew had discovered Borsa's secret cave, the jarhead and the orphan boy were on a freighter outward bound across the altiverse.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA, Episode 20, by HazeMaster@aol.com

Young Buddy reigned as Bitch Queen in Xyla'anta.

From the Favourite's Chamber in the topmost quarters of the Harem Tower, Buddy surveyed himself and his domains. The full length oval mirror gave Lady Lovely back an affirming reflection.

Lord Zodp'doq preferred brunettes. Overnight Buddy's hair turned raven black. A fetishist in all his tastes, Zodp'doq viewed hair as a sexual organ. Buddy's locks spilled down past his rump, but on those evenings when The Master supped at home, The Favourite combed his tresses into two thick braids, criss-crossing them into a crown atop his head. Handmaidens studded the coiffeur with precious gems from every galaxy and planetary system, encasing the confection in a dark blue velvet snood.

Zodp'doq tweezed off Buddy's eyebrows, penciling in the new peaked arches over Buddy's eyes. Mascara lined the Californian's eyes and the long lashes curling up above them. Zodp'doq colored Buddy's lips and eyelids deepest purple. The nails of Buddy's toes and fingers matched this shade exactly, but Zodp'doq applied a pale indigo blush upon his Favourite's cheeks.

Huge ruby pendants dangled from each earlobe. Rubies adorned the middle three fingers of Buddy's hands. Five strands of pearls encircled Buddy's neck cinched by a pentagonal ruby set in platinum, while ruby studded platinum bracelets clasped the gloves that climbed to Buddy's elbows.

Zodp'doq designed all the Favourite's formal gowns. Tonight Young Buddy sheathed himself in clinging pale mauve satin. Every evening frock accentuated Buddy's broad, square shoulders, massive, bulked up chest, high, rounded ass, and narrow, tapered waist. Standing beside the Lord of Mass Vastation, 5'5" Buddy resembled a Prom Queen with her football hero date.

Sprawling upon the divan Buddy gazed about the Favourite's Boudoir. Purple silk hangings draped the four poster bed. Bedchamber Boys reclined in languid poses on satin throw cushions scattered about the white fur quilt. Mirrored armoires of highly polished wood consumed four of the octagonal chamber's walls. Could Buddy ever wear this many frocks?

Would Zodp'doq every weary of abducting seamstresses to toil over his Harem Women's garments?

Friezes of crystal lightening bolts ornamented the walls between the four tall windows. Buddy arched his long neck, peering up at the high black crystal arches soaring twenty feet above his head.

Zodp'doq plundered the altiverse erecting his Palace of Black Crystal. The Master of the Five Drodai'ic Realms strip mined three planets into extinction constructing the bakelite base supporting the Palace infrastructure.

What dreams had possessed Zodp'doq when he designed his Imperial Palace? What dreams possessed Zodp'doq when the Master used his Favourite for his royal pleasures?

Young Buddy shut his eyes and thought about his Lord and Master.

The voyage to Xyla'anta proved as horrendous as the Californian hoped it would. Nightly the Drodes lined up to rape and ravish their new plaything. Their unwashed hairy bodies and their reeking breaths. Their immense, unclean, uncut, cheese smeared cocks. Their filthy asscracks lined with shitballs tangled up in tight curled hairs. Their rank and rancid armpits. The stench of them was overwhelming as they fucked his ass and fucked his mouth and used young Buddy as their urinal and squatted on his face and blew out farts and drove their arms deep in his glory hole.

Buddy's head swam with tender memories. The endless rapes driving him wilder and still wilder for more throbbing mancock. The gang rapes transformed Buddy to a writhing animal in heat. Zodp'doq knew, as poor infatuated Duke could not, that Buddy's vast, insatiable appetites would only be enflamed by this succession of unending violation. Men and more men. Cock and more cock. Rolling through Buddy like a tidal wave.

The Drodes sensitized Buddy's skin till it became seamless erectile tissue. Clamps and weights never left his nipples, scrotum, cockhead. Whippings covered his rump with purple welts. Hot wax dripped on his chest, abdomen, sides, and inner thighs.

Today the slightest puff of breath upon his neck could trigger Buddy into orgasm.

The brutal pre-nuptial rituals surpassed Buddy's fondest dreams. Zodp'doq depilated Buddy's pubic bush, then tattooed his insignia on Buddy's pubic mound, penis, and testicles. The ceremony lasted thirty-six hours. Exhausted, sweat drenched, Zodp'doq collapsed in a hallucinogenic trance state. Searing pain split apart the Californian's crotch, after shocks rippling through his flesh. Buddy's shrieks produced no alleviation. His burning sinews drove Buddy towards madness. Hour after hour young Buddy screamed, his erect cockshaft firing off barrages of hot, steaming mancum.

Slowly the night wore by. Zodp'doq writhed upon the floor, babbling in strange tongues, calling to vanished ancestors to guide him through a wilderness of inescapable nightmares. Buddy hung from the rack and listened to his breathing deepening and lengthening. Pain became part of him forevermore. Zodp'doq wedded him to pain, the bridegroom's nuptial gift to his intended. Drained and exhausted Buddy fell asleep, serene and happy.

The formal wedding ceremony. Zodp'doq pierced young Buddy's nipples with thick, chromed steel rings. Zodp'doq pierced a ring through Buddy's cockhead and three rings through his cockshaft. Zodp'doq now possessed his Queen for all eternity.

The wedding banquet followed. Zodp'doq bound Buddy spread eagled on the festive table. The Dark Lord stuffed the Californian's rectum with minced meat and vegetables. Buddy's guts swelled to bursting. The Drodes feasted and drank and belched and farted through the night. If their aim held steady the Drodes pissed in Buddy's mouth. Otherwise they just pissed all over him.

At last the wedding guests led in the captives from the Ross Ice Station. One by one Zodp'doq forced each man to kneel . . . and eat his wedding dinner out of Buddy's asshole. The scientists and sailors puked their guts out. Zodp'doq compelled them to lap their piss drenched vomit up. Zodp'doq severed Buddy from his former comrades. After the feast he belonged solely to the Drodes, his only kinsmen in the brave new altiverse.

Buddy sprung up from the divan.

"His Lordship is not due till after nine. I will return before the couriers arrive."

Bedchamber Boys salaamed as Buddy flounced out of the Favourite's Quarters.

Although Zodp'doq's pet and slave, Buddy's commands were obeyed throughout the palace.

Wrapping a cloak of marabou around his bare shoulders, the Bitch Queen strode across the highly polished floor. His high heeled, sharp toed, satin pumps enhanced the undulating waves of Buddy's tight, round rump. The Bitch Queen flung open the silver elevator grill. Of all the pleasures of Xyla'anta, the ride from the towers to the dungeons gave Buddy the greatest joy.

The ornately scrolled silver elevator slowly descended level by level through the Palace of Black Crystal. Silversmiths had crafted the elevator like a jewel box. Buddy became the royal jewel set out for all to see, admire, and lust after.

Buddy gazed through the open grillwork at the marvels of Xyla'anta's Palace. The soaring, high peaked arches cut in the crystal by legions of kidnapped mastercraftsmen. Crystal friezes of lightening bolts.

Crystal friezes of Drodes destroying the Ma'asatt Flotilla. Crystal friezes of Drode victory celebrations: plundering flaming cities, raping helpless women, sodomizing proud old men, impregnating virgin girls, abducting nubile boys.

The silver elevator descended into the over decorated lobbies with their sculpture gardens, noisy waterfalls, lily ponds stocked with sated fish, high entablature reliefs of great historic Drode tableaux, memorial obelisks of polished purple marble, and the hordes of wealthy tourists gaping, gasping, gawking, purchasing expensive souvenirs, and recording historic moments on computer aided cameras.

The palace lobbies were too fucking much.

The palace dungeons something else again.

Every sub-basement smells alike, no matter what the universe.

The musty stagnant air. Fumes of industrial strength detergents. Fragrance of endless rows of cardboard cartons bound by thick hemp ropes stored underground from time immemorial. Buddy's heels clattered on the concrete floor. The Bitch Queen pulled his cape of marabou around his broad, squared shoulders and descended to the lower dungeons.

Subtly the smells changed to those of locker rooms and hospitals. Man musk hung everywhere throughout the air. The rut of unwashed sweat drenched workout clothes. Harsh nostril stinging antiseptics. And then the volume mounted. Clanging weights dropping into racks. Leather balls bouncing off wood floors. Feet racing round an indoor track suspended from the ceiling. Deep booming shouts of bull like men. And then the screams and cries of Buddy's former comrades from the Ross Ice Station.

Buddy stepped out on a black metal balcony overlooking the dungeon workout room. Hall, Santucci, Vasquez, and Henderson hung spreadeagled from racks. The flyers from Jim Armmstrong's squadron. Zodp'doq's nuptial offering to his new Bitch Queen.

The quartet's memorable first night on Xyla'anta. Zodp'doq shaved the men completely hairless, except for their armpits. The superstitious Drodes revere armpit hair as a pagan fetish. Then Zodp'doq tattooed the flyers' shaven skulls. Spiraling outward from the four men's crowns, mystic symbols flowed below their necks and shoulders linked by latticework designs. Young Buddy marveled as his bridegroom labored, sweat drenched, possessed, hours on end, disdaining sleep and nourishment.

Young Buddy watched, entranced, unblinking, as the Dark Lord's needle never faltered. Did this toil prove the bridegroom worthy of his new found Queen? Or Buddy's worthiness to reign with Zodp'doq? Or did it consecrate the sacrificial quartet for the nuptial altar? Young Buddy never learned the riddle's answer.

Next morning Zodp'doq strode into the Palace courtyard clad in leather boots and trousers, his monumental, furry chest thoroughly oiled and glistening. The bridegroom carried golden yellow sheaves of tall stalked cereal grains. The Drode Sex Pirates pounded drums, shook tambourines and rattles, stomped their black boots, and chanted in full throated chorus:

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Zodp'doq flogged the quartet with the golden sheaves. The bridegroom strained and panted as he whipped the flyers' backs, buttocks, and thighs, their pectorals, abdominals, and crotches. Frenzy possessed the groom as the roaring chorus accelerated in tempo and increased in volume.

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Thick veins stood out along the necks and arms of Zodp'doq and his four bridal offerings.

Understanding crept subtly into Buddy's brain. The ritual flogging burned bright color into the four airmen's flesh. For as Lieutenants Hall, Henderson, Vasquez, and Santucci screamed and shrieked, their skins glowed baby pink, then lobster red. At last bright purple welts bloomed on their stinging thighs, buttocks, and abdomens. Their nipples stood erect and hard, their flaming cocks upright at full attention. Zodp’doq ravaged them with pain until their gonads overwhelmed their minds.

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Buddy remembered the four airmen from the old days in Antarctica. The quartet's rolling gait, thick necks, and meaty buttocks. Standing at ease in their jumpsuits, leaning against the hangers drinking classic coke, one arm planted firmly upon a hip, their rumps thrust out so Buddy could determine who wore plain white jockeys and who preferred the colored designer briefs.

Buddy hated the flyers' self-assurance, their self-confident presumption they would always make the A-team. Buddy lusted to smash their ever smiling faces into bloody pulp.

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Koqp'qoq! Kodp'qoq! Zodp'doq!

Now and forevermore these men belonged to Bitch Queen Buddy. The Californian turned their lives into unending nightmares. Daily, Drodes whipped the men to keep their glowing flesh bright red. Each Drode squad fucked the flyers' mouths and assholes. Drodes hardballed Hall, Santucci, Henderson, and Vasquez till their assholes gaped like throughway tunnels. Drodes used the airmen as their urinals and forced their tongues to serve as toilet paper.

Buddy the Queen Bitch stood upon the metal balcony and carefully observed the men's expressions. Puzzlement. Bafflement. Uncomprehending indignation. How in the world could this be happening to four butch heterosexual navy lieutenants? But Zodp'doq transported the quartet into another altiverse. And the unthinkable was happening to them.

Buddy smiled at the shame contorting the four flyers' purple faces. The shame of once proud sky jocks now demeaned as sexual playthings. The shame because the quartet lacked sufficient strength to salvage their lost manhood. The shame because Zodp’doq raped their self-control and they could not subdue their aroused bodies.

Queen Buddy shot his load four times within his satin evening gown. But the Bitch Queen could not perceive the determined resistance growing within the airmen.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA,

Episode #21,

by HazeMaster@aol.com

The Brothel of The Ten Thousand Inter-Galactic Sexual Pleasures sprawled across the plains below Xyla'anta's Palace of Black Crystal.

Begun two dynasties before Koqp'qoq's birth, the Drodes augmented the complex over the centuries with stones and styles pillaged from all the altiverse. The superstitious Drodes never dismantled the old wings. Drode lore proclaimed that if the structure ever lost a single brick, the Five Drodai'ic Realms would soon collapse and all their borrowed glory wither into dust.

Zodp'doq constructed a monumental entry portico of red Hermanuta Serenissima sandstone approached by a curving flight of twenty-four black Vardisari granite stairs.

Every night gentlemen callers passed between the fluted columns with their lotus capitals, lured onward by the Brothel's fabled history.

The spacious vestibule rose four stories above its patterned marble floor. The cloakroom occupied the left front quadrant.

Clad in a red brocaded velvet gown trimmed out with bugle beads and satin ribbons, Lieutenant Commander Armstrong, Annapolis, 1988, received gentlemen's hats and evening capes and walking sticks and scabbards. Beauticians piled his Rhonda Flemming wig into a pompadour, then teased the curls into five dozen ringlets bound with black jet beads.

Handmaidens tightly cinched Jim Armstrong's waist, encouraging gentlemen to slip gratuities between his puffed out pectorals. As Jim leaned over to accept a proffered hat, his richly perfumed bosom enraptured his patrons.

"Why thank you kindly, Sir. You are a generous and gallant gentleman."

Graciously smiling, Armstrong sustained his comrades with his tip money.

Beyond the vestibule, lofty red mahogany arches admitted visitors to Lord Zodp'doq's masterpiece--the Brothel's central courtyard transformed into a winter garden, now the marvel of the altiverse. Richly scented Vosaquatus palms ascended from spacious tubs until they nearly touched the roof of frosted glass. Humongous white and purple Unaclyffe orchids shimmered under artificial light, the Brothel's customers delighting as the gorgeous blossoms fed on baby rabbits.

Hundreds of men from every galaxy thronged through the winter garden, smoking cigars while murmuring expectantly in many tongues.

"Is it not wondrous!"

"Marvelous!"

"Enchanting!"

"Gentlemen, may I show you to your table?"

Garbed in a pleated crimson satin gown bolstered by rustling petticoats, the Ross Ice Station's former Chaplain now the Brothel's Hostess Dowager, escorted distinguished guests to the Brothel's gambling halls, dining rooms, theatres, and salons. Sparkling with gold and silver glitter dust, the Chaplain's bold red coiffeur towered above his forehead.

Beneath its trim of black velvet, the Chaplain's neckline plunged to show his tightly corseted cleavage.

Nicknamed Madame Regalia by the Brothel's favored customers, the Chaplain conversed with his gentlemen in a seductively low voice. Famed for his expertise, the Chaplain knowingly detailed the concerts, exhibitions, and theatrical events presented nightly in the Brothel's salons.

"Gentlemen, note the charming tortellini marble sculpture of a Monnomonn raping four shepherd boys. This enchanting Planet Nadjz Twelfth Dynasty conversation piece was plundered by Lord Zodp'doq himself to grace the Brothel's ante-chambers."

Beneath his face powder, dark red lip gloss, rouge, eyeliner, mascara, false lashes, and purple eye lids, the Chaplain smiled graciously at his gentlemen. Appreciative guests slipped generous gratuities into the Chaplain's beaded evening bag.

The Chaplain's tips ransomed the young Cadets imprisoned in the Brothel, sparing them from the degradations of the working life.

"Gentlemen, La Maria Divina sings a recital here tomorrow night. If you desire it, I can obtain tickets for you."

The Chaplain's high heeled, sharp toed satin pumps pattered across the marble floors. Music reverberated down the endless corridors, floating beneath the richly molded cornices and high coved, frescoed ceilings.

"Gentlemen, do enjoy your dinner with us," purred the Chaplain.

Footmen snapped to attention, flinging open tall wooden doors. Men's laughter and cigar smoke spilled out of the dining salon, as the Chaplain bid his gentleman callers fond adieu.

"Why thank you kindly, Sir. You are a generous and gallant gentleman."

Separated by banks of Vosaquatus fronds, the Imperial Dining Salon’s sixty tables created a checkered pattern on the marble floor.

The maitre d' escorted the men to their reserved table. The bus boy served them bread and crudities and mineral water. The waiter recited the list of tonight's specials. The Cigarette Girl approached, a lacquered tray of tobaccos and pungent weeds suspended from a velvet cord hooked to a leather collar.

Feet shod in high heeled, open toed ankle straped pumps, legs encased in fishnet stockings exposed by a skirt that fell below the buttocks in the rear but rose to more than half way up the thighs in front, Navy Airman Mike Scott sauntered through the Brothel's restaurants and gambling halls. The sky jock's hair swooped down across one eye before cascading over t-squared shoulders.

"Fraulein, they told me you were the most beautiful woman to ever visit Xyla'anta--that is a gross understatement."

"Would the gentlemen care to smoke? Cigars. Cigarettes. Cigarillos."

Airman Scott loathed Martin Borman and his Wehrmacht buddies. Most patrons slipped their banknotes into Scott's red satin garters. But the Luftwaffe officers hiked up the flyer's velvet hem and rolled their banknotes in the crotch of Mike Scott's black lace panties.

Borman laughed coarsely, drawing on his cigar.

"The Fraulein from America detests us when we use her for our manly pleasures."

Borman pinched Scott's thigh until the flesh turned purple.

Scott pouted like the California girls he used to date in high school. His pink lip gloss and rouge made him resemble Tuesday Weld on "Dobie Gillis."

"Would the gentlemen care to smoke? Cigars. Cigarettes. Cigarillos."

Scott's husky whisper resonated from his throat. A woman's voice, but powerful and dangerous.

"The Fraulein from America must learn to smile more at her customers."

Borman drew on his thick cigar and thrust his middle finger deep inside Scott's ass hole.

"Is everything all right here, gentlemen?"

The maitre d's menacing calmness clearly showed everything to be not all right. The black tuxedoed Drode stared directly into Martin Borman's eyes.

"Five thousand Deutschemarks for the Fraulein's cherry."

The orchestra played on as conversation ceased at every table.

"Reichsfuhrer Borman, this lady is not a Brothel Girl."

"Ten thousand Deutschemarks to Prince Zodp'doq, a thousand Deutschemarks for yourself."

"Excuse me please, Reichsfuhrer Borman, I am not a pimp."

Borman wriggled his finger as he massaged Scott's prostate.

"Two thousand Deutschemarks if you carry my message to the Prince Zodp'doq."

"Is everything all right here, Louie?"

Zodp'doq stood beside the maitre d'.

Terrible silence filled the air.

Zodp'doq stared, deadly and calm, through Borman.

Reichsfuhrer Martin Borman rose and clicked his heels.

"Your Excellence, Prince Zodp'doq, I wish to make an offer for the charming Fraulein from America."

Zodp'doq sneered at Borman, his grotesque smirk taunting the exiled Reichsfuhrer.

Zodp'doq wore tall leather boots, tight fitting leather chaps, a silver studded leather jockstrap, and a tapered leather vest. Zodp'doq puffed cigar smoke into Borman's face.

"The charming Fraulein from America is not for rent. The charming Fraulein is a member of the working class. Her earnings purchase food, shelter, and medicines for all her comrades in captivity. She also pays substantial sums to ransom young Cadets so that they can enjoy their youth before they need to earn a living for themselves.

"And even more importantly, Reichsfuhrer Borman, the charming Fraulein needs her wages here to purchase armaments to lead a mass rebellion of the Brothel working girls."

Buddy and Airman Scott exchanged hate looks.

"So if you don't object, Herr Reichsfuhrer, the charming American Fraulein still has many miles to go before she sleeps."

Reichsfuhrer Martin Borman slowly slipped his finger out of Scott's ass hole.

"Twenty thousand Deutschemarks for the Fraulein to escort me to the lavatory."

"You're a big boy now, Marty, you can find the men's room for yourself. Or if you're too drunk, Marty, one of your pretty Luftwaffe boys can unzip your fly and pull your cock out for you."

Reichsfuhrer Martin Borman clicked his heels and sat down at his table.

Airman Scott dropped a deep curtsey and kissed the floor between Zodp'doq's boots.

Zodp'doq stretched his hand out, allowing Scott to kiss his ring.

Rising to his full height, Scott caught smoldering fury from the Bitch Queen's eyes and fired back daggers at his fellow Californian.

Zodp'doq sneered at Buddy.

"You know I don't want you dolled up like a tramp. Give me those surplus rubies from your fingers."

Glowering like a thwarted Prom Queen, Buddy dropped the rings in Zodp'doq's broad outstretched palm.

"Here, junior, use these to do more good works. And listen, kiddo, take a tip from Papa. Stay away from Israeli arms dealers. They overcharge, then turn around and betray your pals to my Secret Service. Use Drode renegades, they know how to keep their mouths shut. And forget about buying Uzis. Those toys won't get you passed the Harem Sentries. Get good stuff from the old Ma'asatt guerrillas down in Bust'em Town. Khochya-bar-Qoq knows who to trade with. Listen to him and get a bigger bang per buck."

Airman Scott once again curtseyed and kissed the floor.

Buddy barely restrained the urge to ram his satin pumps into the flyer's mouth.

Folding his fingers beneath Mike Scott's chin, Zodp'doq raised the kneeling airman from the floor and tongued his mouth.

Zodp'doq sneered at Borman, offered Buddy his left arm, and swept to his ringside table.

Footmen flung the doors open wide.

Laughter and conversation filled the room.

Airman Scott sauntered towards the corridor in high heeled, open toed ankle straped pumps.

Martin Borman had stuffed a thousand Deutschemark note deep in his rectum. He could provision a SWAT team once the bill had been cleaned and pressed.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA,

Episode 22,

by HazeMaster@aol.com

"We're fucking getting outta here and going home!"

Airman Scott strode across the floor, puffing a pungent cigarette of Va'adenva'ahr leaves. Brown smoke rings spewed from Scott's mouth when he exhaled.

"Can you dudes fucking understanding me? We are still US Navy flyers, not fucking Zodp'doq's whipped pussy boys!"

Garbed in their Brothel "working gear," the Chaplain, Scott, and Armstrong sipped caffeine rich Mohka'andento and shared gooey Vladaventah pastries in the dungeon chambers of the Captive Prince, Khochya-bar-Qoq.

Jim Armstrong stirred the steaming beverage with a thin Bzhuhroook citron peel.

"Zodp'doq knows we're buying arms--"

"But makes no move to stop you."

Khochya-bar-Qoq reclined on furs covering his enormous, rack framed bed.

"Zodp'doq is a fucking pussy and is fucking scared shitless!"

Still pacing, Airman Scott rolled a fresh cigarette, lighting it off the fag end of the smoldering butt.

The Chaplain tamped aromatic Zhinde'egah in his pipe.

"What makes you think Zodp'doq is afraid, Mike?"

"Because the mother fucker doesn't act. He sits here like a fucking spider while he bides his time. The man knows we're stockpiling arms. He knows that out there in the altiverse other Ross dudes are getting their own shit together.

"A real man acts! And fucking Zodp'doq just sneers and waits."

"Because he's playing with us, Mike!"

Jim Armstrong, sitting, eyed the standing Airman.

"Zodp'doq is a master sadist. He lets us have our fantasy that we can raise rebellion with the Brothel girls. Zodp'doq sneers at us because he knows we'll never train sufficient manpower to mount a strike force that can overthrow him. Zodp'doq lets us play our little games with Mattel toys, and laughs at us because to him we are bunch of naive children."

"Begging the Lieutenant Commander's pardon, SIR. The United States Naval Academy did not train Lieutenant Commander James S. Armstrong III to be a negative strategist."

Puffing his cigarette, Scott glowered directly into Armstrong's eyes.

Pride in rank shoved aside Jim Armstrong's shame. The Lieutenant Commander rose to full attention and faced down his subordinate.

"At ease, Airman, at ease. Every man from the Ross Ice Station will return to Planet Earth. Let's put aside emotions and plan strategy with cool deliberation."

"Yes, SIR, Commander Armstrong!"

Scott snapped to attention and saluted. Then he sat on the divan while Jim Armstrong paced.

Zodp'doq had designed Khochya-bar-Qoq's prison to resemble a true brothel. Fur throws from all the altiverse lay scattered on the tiled floor. Thick furs upholstered the divans, loveseats, and ottomans. Censors hung from the ceiling and rich fabrics canopied the room. A dozen cats from every galaxy haunted the chambers.

Clad in a pale peach satin negligee, the Captive Prince sprawled barefoot on the king sized bed. His parted hair rose in twin widow's peaks above his head, and then cascaded down his back until it nearly reached his butt. Zodp'doq streaked Khochya-bar-Qoq's hair salt n peppa.

"Forgive me, gentlemen. I have deliberately encouraged you to stockpile arms, believing you can start a rebellion inside the Brothel. Zodp'doq's troops would crush an insurrection in a moment and then ravage every Brothel Girl who tried to gain her freedom."

Armstrong stood still and stared at Khochya-bar-Qoq.

"Then we are trapped here in Xyla'anta--"

The Lieutenant Commander caught a look from Airman Scott.

"No--we are returning to Planet Earth. All of the men from Ross are returning to Planet Earth!"

Scott flashed Armstrong the thumbs up sign and winked.

Khochya-bar-Qoq missed nothing in the interchange.

"There is another road to liberation. But . . . ."

All three men stared at the recumbent Prince.

"But what Your Highness?" asked the Chaplain.

Khochya-bar-Qoq sat up, tucking his heels beneath his rump in seiza.

"Below the oldest section of the Brothel lies a tunnel excavated millennia before Koqp'qoq's ascendancy. The tunnel leads into the Caves of Jyllian beneath the Mountains of Taboullallou. That tunnel is your path to freedom.

"Beyond the Mountains of Taboullallou you'll find the Pentagonal Convent of the Healing Sisters. The Noble Warrior Kare'enyi Na'aklyi awaits you. Duke the Astronomer commands an army--"

"That fat old closet queen!" spat Airman Scott.

Jim Armstrong cringed.

The Chaplain caught the look and winced.

Khochya-bar-Qoq continued unperturbed.

"Duke the Astronomer and one whose name I do not know will lead an army of true lovers back to Xyla'anta. Then all the Brothel Girls will take up arms, joining forces with the invading Brother Lovers. Combined assaults from within and without the Brothel will overthrow Drode dominion and exterminate the House of Koqp'qoq."

Scott sprang to up his feet.

"How do we find the entrance to this secret passage?"

"Ask the Old Men of Bust'em Town. But I must warn you, gentlemen.

The road to freedom is an arduous journey filled with many fearsome monsters. Good intentions will not suffice to survive the transit. Pilgrims require discipline, fortitude, and courage to confront all dangers and surmount them."

Airman Scott glowed with energy.

"Count me in, Prince! Anything on the road to freedom is a better risk than staying as Zodp'doq's pussy girl."

Fear throttled Lieutenant Commander Armstrong's stomach. But military pride overcame terror and he clasped Scott's hand.

"Let's do it, Airman!"

"Yes, SIR!"

Scott embraced his commanding officer and hugged the startled Armstrong to his chest.

Regret and envy burned inside the Chaplain's breast.

"I am too old and soft for such a journey--"

"NO!"

Khochya-bar-Qoq leapt off the king sized bed.

"When Zodp'doq finds where these men have fled, his wrath will be tremendous. You will become another one of Bitch Queen Buddy's playthings."

"Dear God!" The Chaplain crossed himself.

"C'mon Padre. We'll whip you into shape. A month of boot camp training and we'll have you ready for the road to freedom."

Airman Scott grinned and wrapped his arm around the Chaplain's shoulders.

The nervous Chaplain turned to Khochya-bar-Qoq.

"And what about the young Cadets when we no longer pay their ransom price?"

"Lord Zodp'doq will turn them out to Bust'em Town."

"Then we must train those boys and take them with us!"

At that moment Lieutenant Commander Armstrong, Annapolis, 1988, became the true leader of men he always longed to be.

"We'll need three months. To get our men in shape. To stockpile provisions. To consult the Bust'em Town Sages. And to train a Brothel core team who can raise other SWAT teams so when we return with Duke's army--"

"Every fucking Brothel Girl will be a fucking combat warrior!"

Scott traded high fives with Jim Armstrong.

Stomach heaving, the Chaplain splayed on a divan and unlaced his corset.

"And what about Your Royal Highness?"

Armstrong and Scott swiveled to look at Khochya-bar-Qoq.

"Zodp'doq dares not torment me more than he does now. I am the last Prince of the House of Antemodes Ahrkantepodes. The superstitious Drodes are slaves to fearsome sayings. Drode legends tell that if they do not slay both Brother Lovers in a single battle, when the surviving Brother Lover dies, the Five Drodai'ic Realms will crumble into dust.

"My lover Aasalar went mad and slew himself. Zodp'doq is too filled with fear to bring me close enough to death."

The Captive Prince took up a golden dagger and silver goblet from a marble endtable.

"My Brother Lover Comrades, shall we swear an oath?"

Armstrong half filled the goblet from a skin of Hermanuta Serenissima sweet wine.

Jim Armstrong slit his fuck finger, dribbling warm blood in the purple wine.

Airman Scott slashed his left arm.

The pilots smiled as their blood mingled in the chalice.

The Chaplain rose on shaky feet and crossed himself. He held his bare arm out to Khochya-bar-Qoq.

The Captive Prince pricked the Chaplain's right thumb and squeezed droplets of blood into the Brothers' brew.

Then Khochya-bar-Qoq rent his right palm, letting his blood flow in the silver goblet.

The warm brew filled the chalice to the brim.

The four men raised the beaker up above their heads.

"To Liberation!"

"Liberation!"

"Liberation!"

"Liberation!"

Four mouths drained the vessel.

The chamber shuddered and the candles flickered out.

Locking their arms about each other's shoulders, four men chanted in the darkness.

"Liberation!"

The candles flamed to life.

The silver goblet and the golden knife no longer sat upon the marble table.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA,

Episode 23,

by HazeMaster@aol.com

Steam enveloped the Harem Baths.

Handmaidens had already douched the Brothel Girls, irrigating their colons with warm water from sulfur springs. Nightly Handmaidens shaved the flyers' bodies smooth. Then a massage, their bodies kneaded with warm aromatic oils, each man assigned his private scent by Zodp'doq.

As dawn prepared a new day for Xyla'anta, Armstrong and Scott lay immersed in a metal tub. Vaporous clouds surrounded the two men, screening them from the other bathers.

Armstrong studied Scott's body, compact, tightly muscled, glowing pink within the bubbling water. On Planet Earth Scott was a runner, swimmer, light weight wrestler. On Xyla'anta a Brothel Cigarette Girl.

Armstrong squeezed Scott's left thigh between his legs, letting sensation flow through him and mingle with the aromatic salts. Scott's handsome, square jawed face looked like a high school athlete's after winning three gold medals in the all state meet.

"Mike . . . ."

"Yeah, Bro?"

"Do you blame me for everything that's happened to us?"

"Sure thing, Bro. You punched the bung hole in the ozone layer. You let the Ma'asatt Starship penetrate the space time warp. You were responsible for Zodp'doq abducting us from Planet Nadjz. This whole fucking fiasco is Jim Armstrong's fault, and when we get our asses back to Planet Earth, I'm gonna fucking see you fucking court martialed and put away for ninety fucking years."

Scott jammed his foot into his comrade's crotch, pressing Jim Armstrong's nuts till the Commander screamed.

Handmaidens giggled behind clouds of mist.

"You're such a fucking doofus, Jimbo. Only Annapolis could twist a dood as bent as you."

"Yeah, Mike, but look . . . Zodp'doq smelled corruption on Padre and me. He turned us into Brothel Ladies cause he knows we're femmes. You aren't one of us. But Zodp'doq treats you like you were just another queer."

Scott dumped a bucket of hot water over Armstrong's head.

"Bro, you are such a fucking asshole! Before the Starship crossed Mha'atita'ah's Girdle did you ever do the nasty with another squid?"

"On Planet Earth I honored my oath as a United States Navy officer. I pledged to never bring disgrace upon the uniform which I was proud to wear."

"And all those days and months and years when we worked out and jogged together on the ice?"

"I couldn't let myself admit how much I . . ."

Handmaidens drifted through the swirling mists, pouring more aromatic salts into the baths, adding more charcoal to the water heaters.

Scott slid forward, locking his legs round Armstrong's waist.

"Bro, did you ever make it with another dude on Planet Earth?"

Jim Armstrong whispered softly, "No, not ever."

"So that makes you a fag, right?"

"Yes, in my heart I was a fraud and even though I married Peggy and had--"

Scott shoved his fingers into Armstrong's throat and gagged the Lieutenant Commander.

"Listen up, Bro, and learn the facts of life. Every Sunday for three years back at Ross the Padre sucked my cock. And when I got a major case of blue balls, Vic Santucci and I "wrestled" just like kids in high school. And I am still the fucking dude who fucking flew those fourteen fucking combat missions over Baghdad.

"Am I a faggot, Mr. Armstrong? Am I a queer, Commander, and is my life in the Brothel punishment for my impure deeds? I want to fucking hear your answer, Mr. Armstrong?"

Armstrong rested against the metal tub, his naked torso immersed in the scalding water. The scented steam billowed around his head. Decades of confusion oozed from his pores and sluiced away in the hot tub.

Jim Armstrong slid on his knees, thrusting his face in Mike Scott's crotch. Bobbing his head, Armstrong took Scott's hard, uncut shaft into his mouth. Wrapping his tongue around Scott's pulsing rod, he sucked the Airman's cock until its head exploded, firing gobs and gobs of thick cum down the Commander's gullet.

After the Airman shot his load, the Lieutenant Commander showed no mercy. Armstrong rolled Scott back on his haunches and spread open his asscheeks. Sliding his tongue into Scott's glory hole, Jim Armstrong lapped and slurped and licked until he had ingested all of Mike Scott's anal essence. Then Armstrong's mouth attacked Scott's balls, sucking on them till Scott's moans filled the Harem Baths, echoed by rounds of giggles from the Handmaidens.

Scott's cockmeat stiffened and snapped back to life, disappearing in Armstrong's mouth. Armstrong's lips enveloped Scott's throbbing rod, sliding along the shaft as his tongue licked its underside and flicked the tip of Mike Scott's cockhead.

Airman Scott threw his handsome head all the way back, moaning like Tauromitra bulls at the season of their blood's quickening.

Once more Scott's shaft erupted, showering scalding jizm down Commander Armstrong's throat.

The two men broke apart, collapsed against the metal tub while the tiled Bath House walls reverberated to the shouts of "Bravi! Bravi! Bravi!"

Scott grinned at Armstrong, grabbed the Commander's foot, and flung him down onto the wooden slatted floor between the tubs.

Scott sprung on Armstrong, gripping his head in a half nelson.

Armstrong broke loose, seizing Scott by the legs and taking down his man.

Handmaidens shrieked and flew about the Bath House.

The Bathing Beauties wagered last nights tips on the combatants.

"Miss Scott's in better shape and younger! Two hundred fifty zlod!"

"Miss Armstrong's taller, heavier! Three hundred zlod!"

The two men grappled on the slippery wooden slats.

"Go for it, Missy Jim!"

"Go for it, Missy Mike!"

Armstrong slung Scott over his shoulders, carried him into a open space by the massage tables.

Handmaidens screamed and flung their hands into the air.

Armstrong dumped Scott onto a pile of crumpled towels, and quickly pinned Mike's shoulders.

"Fuck 'em!"

"Plough 'em!"

"Plant 'em!

"Rape 'em!"

Armstrong locked Scott's legs round his neck and rammed his drooling cockshaft up the Airman's glory hole. Hauling Scott up till his head rested on the dirty linen, Armstrong snapped his hips back and forth as his rod ground into Scott's prostate.

"O Lordy, them two girls is down n dirty fucking!"

Churning his pelvis, Armstrong ploughed his swollen cockmeat deep in Mike Scott's butt hole.

Suddenly Armstrong's body shuddered. The veins stood out along his neck as Armstrong roared like Monnyimonn in heat.

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Armstrong's shaft fired it's load, flooding Scott's road to glory with thick globs of steaming mancum.

The daystar rose over Xyla'anta, filtering through the Bath House frosted glass ceiling.

Wrapped in each other's arms, the two men lay entangled on the soiled laundry.

Up on the balcony Zodp'doq grinned and puffed his thick cigar.

And Queen Bitch Buddy glowered in fury.

MEN OF ANTARCTICA,

Episode #24,

by HazeMaster@aol.com

"My Dear, you're absolutely Xyla'anta's doyenne salon hostess! La creme de l'altiverse chats chez toi."

A gown of plum velvet sheathed Buddy's figure, the deep cut cleavage accenting the Californian's bulked up pectorals and deltoids.

Khochya-bar-Qoq stared down the Bitch Queen.

"Lord Zodp'doq is quite aware of what transpires within his Palace and his Brothel. If the Master desires to halt my meetings with your former colleagues, Zodp'doq surely could and would."

"Insolent twat!"

Buddy slapped Khochya-bar-Qoq's face.

The Captive Prince hung from the rack in his bedchamber. But the Bitch Queen did not intimidate him.

"Zodp'doq floods your body with his seed. His wisdom does not penetrate your heart."

The Bitch Queen slashed the Prince's cockmeat with a leather flail. Iron weights dangled from the ring piercing the Prince's cockhead.

"Zodp'doq is a proud Drode Warrior, the sole surviving manchild of the House of Koqp'qoq. The Master of the Five Drodai'ic Realms annihilated the Ma'asatt Flotilla, demolished the Pentagonal Kaduma Sanctuaries, ravaged Hermanuta Serenissima, and subjugated the Forty-Nine Hypostic Galaxies. The Dark Lord longs to overcome a greater challenge."

Face flushed bright red, Buddy twisted his fist within Khochya-bar-Qoq's rectum. His arm disappeared to the elbow in the Prince's butt hole.

"You Hermanutas never tire of your own voices. But all you own is talk, without the force to back up empty words."

His body drenched in sweat, Khochya-bar-Qoq writhed on the rack.

"Superstition enslaves the Drodes. Zodp'doq burns to test himself against their direst prophecy."

The Bitch Queen signaled the Drode guards to flog Khochya-bar-Qoq's back with broader whips.

"The fairy tale about the Brother Lovers, you and your sad, mad Aasalar?"

Khochya-bar-Qoq refused to scream.

"No, Lady Heartless, Zodp'doq pays Drode bedtime stories no account. The Dark Lord waits upon the Children's Army long foretold to rise out of the Mountains of Taboullallou and vanquish the Drodai'ic Realms."

"The army led by Our Miss Duke?"

The Bitch Queen clipped heavier metal weights upon the rings piercing the Prince's nipples.

The Prince's body bucked and heaved.

"If Zodp'doq can vanquish Duke, he will become immortal."

"Miss Duke is lost in space. The Drodes can snuff him in an instant."

"Enlightened Warriors respect their Fate and meet each challenge face to face. Zodp'doq must confront the Force of Destiny.

"When the Dark Lord learned Aasalar destroyed himself, he joined me in my mourning as if we were kindred. Zodp'doq shared immense wisdom with me--a wisdom he does not squander on Lady Heartless."

Buddy twisted the Prince's balls, cinching the leather thongs that forced his nuts low in his scrotum.

Khochya-bar-Qoq's hips snapped, his erect cockshaft firing loads of steaming joy juice on the fur bedspread.

Buddy collapsed on a divan. Shit and blood smeared his gown of purple velvet.

"I hate you fucking twat . . . . I fucking hate your fucking attitude you fucking . . . . cunt! I'm . . . going to . . . break you . . . humiliate you . . . torture you till you crack up like your fucking boy friend . . . and then . . . and then . . . and then . . . ."

The Bitch Queen gasped. His body twitched, convulsive spasms shooting through the California surfer.

Drode guards gazed impassively at captor and captive.

Buddy's arms whipped the air. His legs buckled within his gown. His cockshaft strained to pierce his satin slip. His pupils rolled up in his head. Saliva slobbered from his mouth.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!"

The Bitch Queen's body jerked into the air. Buddy spun like a ceiling fan suspended high above the floor. The Californian shot his load.

And crashed on to the Prince's bed.

"I . . . fucking . . . hate . . . you . . . twat!"

The Monnomonn stood eight feet tall on uncut hooves.

Enormous spiral ram's horns sprouted from its head, the monster's bull snout betraying it's almost manlike face.

Coarse, curly, red hair covered the beast's naked body. Three hundred pounds of muscle distributed itself along the Monnomonn's thick neck, huge shoulders, pumped biceps, monumental chest, tightly sinewed buttocks, and fiercely sculpted calves.

Twelve silver rings pierced the Monnomonn's cockshaft. Wide as a Drode's wrist, the erect member stretched long as a SZoid's forearm.

Drode guards had strung the Bitch Queen's playthings, US Navy Lieutenants Hall, Santucci, Henderson, and Vasquez, spreadeagled in the Palace dungeon. Khochya-bar-Qoq and every captured Hermanuta, Krugkopf, SZoid, and Lykanthine sat along wooden bleachers with the captives from the Ross Ice Station.

The Drodes bound Vic Santucci with his rump thrust in the air. Ramming a grease gun up his pussy hole, they lubed his road to glory using viscous, hot machine oil.

The Monnomonn mounted the Navy flyer. The monster's cockmeat ploughed Lieutenant Santucci.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

The sky jock's pain contorted face glowed vivid purple as sweat poured from every orifice.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

The Monnomonn shattered Santucci's pride and confidence, transforming the Desert Storm pilot to a passive pussy girl. The monster cockshaft pounding at Santucci's prostate pulverized the self-assurance of the play ground, sports field, flying school, and combat mission.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

The Hermanutas, Krugkopfs, SZoids, and Lykanthines sat in stoic silence.

Armstrong and Scott sobbed, hugging one another.

The Chaplain puked his guts up.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

The Drodes discharged their grease guns up the other flyers' assholes.

Still fucking Santucci, the Monnomonn hardballed Lieutenants Henderson and Vasquez.

The captive sailors gasped watching the monster's fists vanish beyond the sky jocks' sphincters.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

The flyers shrieked, their bodies writhing as the beast's huge forearm slowly corkscrewed up their guts. Faces now drenched in snot, sweat, blood, and tears, the airmen mourned their ravaged manhood.

The Drodes strung Bobby Hall, the youngest flyer, face to face with the rough beast. Twin cock heads crowned the monster's ring pierced, six inches nipples. The Monnomonn shoved its left titty in the sky jock's mouth. Bobby forced his jaws open to embrace the erect boob, swollen long as a king sized cockshaft back on Planet Earth.

Sheathed in a jumpsuit of black leather Buddy stroked his crotch, his eyes devouring the action. Pacing along the sidelines like a yell leader, the Bitch Queen fired his load four times, reveling in the clammy jizm pressed between the leather and his skin.

The Hermanutas, Krugkopfs, SZoids, and Lykanthines silently watched the Bitch Queen strutting back and forth, his pumped up arms and chest, his narrow, tapered waist, and tight, high, rounded butt flouncing before the bleachers.

Kaduma Masters taught: To those who bide their time, all things will be delivered.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

Saliva frothed from Buddy's mouth. His body quivered and dark veins stood out along his temples.

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

Santucci, Henderson, Vasquez and Hall lay tangled in a heap of shit and vomit. The Monnomonn snorted and pawed the concrete floor with its uncloven hooves. Throwing back its rams horn crowned head, the wild beast gurgled and then roared triumphantly.

"LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The monster loosed a stream of steaming piss over the shattered sky jocks.

"LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The Bitch Queen gasped for breath. Buddy's arms trembled like Zharquoya branches when Rra'anzychya's storms blast the Fair Isles of Ooolandrou.

"All of you in the pit . . . all of you . . . all of you . . . wallow in the piss pool!"

Drode guards drove captive Hermanutas, SZoids, Krugkopfs, and Lykanthines from the grandstand benches.

"LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The monster bellowed as he hosed the Ma'asatt crew with scalding piss.

"All of you . . . all of you . . . down and wallow!"

Weeping and puking, Men of Antarctica clutched comrades for support and stumbled towards the piss pool.

"LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Bastard! Bastard! Fucking little sicko bastard!"

Nineteen year old Chuck Nelson screamed into Buddy's face.

"You fucking little pervert! You think the altiverse is fucking sick as you are! Fucking bastard!"

The Bitch Queen slashed young Nelson with his riding crop.

"Tie him down in the pit! All of you . . . take a piss! Anyone holds his manpiss in, the Monnomonn fucks all his buddies!"

"LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The monster's uncut hooves pawed at the ground.

The Bitch Queen shrieked commands, his body shaking uncontrollably.

The Monnomonn released an endless scalding piss stream on the inter-planetary captives.

The Ma'asatt and Ross Station crews, defeated, pissed on one another.

While from an iron balcony, Zodp'doq's smoldering eyes surveyed the spectacle.

***** To Be Continued *****

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