PENIS-SNAKES ON A PLANE
Part One: The Invasion of First Class
By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM
[Full disclosure: First, I have NOT seen the movie "Snakes on a Plane" and that was partially deliberate when I came up with the idea after hearing its title and seeing those snakes sliding out of the vents like so many long penises. Second, I have never flown a commercial flight in my life (one trip on a small chartered plane is my sole experience in the air), and I have no clue about how a plane is laid out and such, other than looking at a seating layout of a Boeing 767 airplane which I downloaded for reference work. I have probably made some rather elementary mistakes for that reason, but as this story is intended to be at least partially nonsensical in nature, I hope my readers will forgive it.]
Mark Hardesty stood watching the passengers embarking on the flights. Time after time, he would shake his head and walk away. But it had to be today, it had to be. If he couldn't spot the right flight....
Hollywood would have loved to have Mark Hardesty for the hero of their latest action movie. Large, strong, broad-chested and slim-waisted, with dark hair shaded with gray at the temples, his eyes a light gray to match the hair, his face handsome with lines on each cheek to accent his features as his face broadcast his emotions. A smile that would melt your heart in a moment...but he wasn't smiling now.
A group of Marines on shore leave caught his eye, a dozen or so strong young men talking and laughing as they strode toward Gate 12. Hardesty's eyes flicked up to the board. Flight 283 to Minneapolis. All right. This many men had to catch the eyes of the terrorists he was out to capture and break up their cell for good, then track it back to the source....
The rest of the load was looking good. A baseball team heading home, a mixed bag of vacationers, all male so far. Good, good!
And then the squad of nuns appeared. Nuns! Nuns! Not on any plane he was looking for!
He turned his head just in time to see another group of Marines walking to Gate 14, Flight 427 heading toward Atlanta. That flight was only beginning to board.
He watched it. Another sports team, this one of soccer players, more young men on vacation, these heading to the warmer climates of Florida (you can't fly to Heaven without changing at Atlanta), another group of soldiers, these sailors. Yeah, shit, yeah!
And a couple of women were at the gate arguing with the ticket-taker. "But we're on this flight!" one of them protested. "See, it says right here on my ticket!"
"Sorry, ma'am." the ticketman responded. "Your ticket has been changed to the next flight which leaves in..." He pecked at his computer console keyboard and peered at the results. "...six hours."
"Six hours!" the woman exploded. "But...."
Hardesty didn't wait for more, he raced for Gate 14 and the ticket-taker's protestations didn't even slow him down as he passed him up. To the steward at the plane door (of course it was a male, this plane would hold only men), he showed his badge and said, "National security. I have to be on this plane!"
"I'll have to speak with the captain." the steward said. But Hardesty took that as a yes and went on in. Another steward showed him to a vacant seat, the last one in business class and as good a central point as he was going to get. Hardesty looked around. So many passengers on board this flight, this plane could hold over a hundred and fifty passengers in all classes. And one of them...just one...was a terrorist out to commit the most heinous act in history.
Men, men, men! was Paul's reaction as he looked out over first class. All of them young, all of them hunky. Oh, momma! Don't bother to wrap them up, I'll eat them all here! Line forms to the right and....
The call light binged and he went to answer it. Leaning over these endless rows of men, breathing in their cologne and brushing their hands as he hands them their drinks. Slender and short, but cute in a boutonniere sort of way, dark-toned, dark eyes, elvin features, Paul was in many ways the perfect male steward, made to serve the bigger, stronger men who wielded the reins of the world in all their needs. Including, if they wished, in their beds.
It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it.
"Aw, man, not a chick on this plane!" griped Chad as he looked around.
"You didn't get laid enough during the semester?" George asked him with a grin.
"Can anyone get laid enough?" Chad was blond-haired and George sandy-haired, but they were otherwise much alike as if they'd been brothers rather than college-aged friends, both strong, lean, young and virile as only a barely-twenty-year-old man can be.
"Good point, dude!" George agreed. "But I agree that we seem to be light on the women on this plane." He looked around coach class himself. "We'll have to hope that Palm Beach has a better percentage than this plane. Meanwhile, I suggest we take a nap. We won't want to sleep all the time we're in Palm Beach."
"You got that right." Chad agreed and the two settled back to rest. On George's right, their fellow traveler Carl already slept.
Piotr Katerinsky looked around. So this was business class. Much like coach, only two seats to a row instead of three, with correspondingly more room. He and his fellow Marines, by buying their tickets in a group, had managed a discount that had let them all upgrade a travel class. It also meant better food and better snacks. A work table was built into the seat ahead of him, with ports for a computer and a cell phone charger and all sorts of other things no grunt would use. But the extra room was nice. Hoped he had a cute stewardess.
He was handed a drink. A male steward. Rats! Oh, well, he was bound for Miami and those beaches ought to carry plenty of bikini-clad beauties with eyes that would glaze over as they gazed upon his jarhead hard-bodied form.
Beside him, Clarence Carver, a big brawny black fellow Marine, stretched out his seat into a reclining position and settled down for a nap. That didn't sound all that bad, actually. Nothing to do until this flight got into Atlanta six hours from now. On the other hand, those beers the steward was bringing were free. Having a few of them before he napped sounded even better than a nap alone! He stayed up.
Mark Hardesty waited impatiently for the flight to reach cruising altitude. Until it did, the seat belt light wouldn't go out, and if he tried to get up, the stewards would automatically chase him back to his seat. He had to get up and look around. Hope to find that one person in the passenger list who was out to wreak an unknown but awful vengeance upon his fellow passengers. He'd have to enlist the stewards to help him weed out the possibles....
But Hardesty was missing out on one important fact. The person he was looking for wasn't among the passengers.
Flight 427 had a pressurized cargo section immediately aft of the rear-most passenger compartment and shared the air of the human-occupied sections. The air was a trifle used and a touch heavy with oils and other machine smells from the various equipment that vented their exhausts into the ducts that fed this compartment...but a human could live in it if he had to. Or chose to.
Within one box, Charles Fogarth waited for the plane to level off. His only clue would be the change in engine tone, but he knew what to listen for and about when it would happen. In fact, the two occured within five seconds of each other, the expectation and the change. Now!...and then a short space of time later, the engines eased their noise and pitch.
Now was the time. A few well-placed kicks knocked the side from the box he was in and let him out into the compartment. The vents were not far away and it was the work of a few minutes with a screwdriver to remove the grilles from two of them. Then, with a smile, from a pouch in his coat, he withdrew a fair-sized syringe and bared his buttocks and jabbed himself with the syringe. Two fingers that had done this a dozen times in practice let him inject the concotion within into his gluteus maximus muscles. His ass was sore with the multiple injections he'd taken in practice and the real thing burned like hell.
But he didn't care. This was going to be worth it.
He didn't pull his pants back up. His cock was going to need a lot of room, if the syringe contained what the scientists had promised.
It worked. Charles smiled as he watched the effects as they reached down and out and into the vents. It was like what his cock had become had minds of their own, and they knew what to do, he didn't have to help them. Seeking out men and the other side of these vents had lots of men!
Hardesty was arguing with the stewards. "You have to understand me. One of the men on this plane is a terrorist. He's armed with some sort of biochemical weapon that he's going to use on the passengers. This whole plane is in mortal danger! We have to find this terrorist and now!"
"But how are we supposed to know who he is?"
"If you wait until he acts, it'll be too late!" Hardesty rolled his eyes at their denseness. "Look, let's go over the passenger list and try to narrow down the suspects. After we do that...."
Exclamations arose from the seats of first class.
"Ah, hell." Hardesty grunted. "It's started."
Paul had set his sights on a rather gorgeous young executive in Row 8. "You need another pillow?" he offered from his tray of goodies. "Perhaps a selection from our fruit tray?"
"No thank you, I'm fine." the man assured him.
"Well, if you need anything at all." Paul went on. "All you have to do is...shit!"
The man blinked, looked up at him in surprise. But Paul wasn't looking at him. Above these seats was one of the vents that kept the compartment aerated. And from it was sprouting...cocks! Multiple cocks that stretched out and reached down like so many one-eyed snakes seeking their prey. Their movements showed them to be prehensile and self-guided; they reached down and caught the man seated next to Paul's prey. This man, a slightly older, brown-skinned man, looked around as cocks crawled down over his body and began to wrap him up. Two took his arms and began to encircle them, a third began to stab itself at his mouth while others wended their way into his clothes. Crying out, the man thrashed about, but he'd left his seatbelt on and in the tangle of pricks down around him, his hands couldn't make their way to the fastener.
Paul backed up and the man who'd been Paul's intended prey was scrabbling up after him. "What the hell is that?" the man demanded.
The man captured by the cocks opened his mouth to call out and the dick at his face promptly stabbed itself into the opened orifice. The man moved his head the slightest amount to try to extricate himself from this facile invader, and suddenly was choking and spewing come around the cock from his lips. This snake-like cock had come in his mouth. And the man was perforce made to swallow some of it, despite the wads flying out of his mouth and his choking sounds as the spunk wended its way into his unwillling esophagus.
Paul and the fellow passenger were enthralled at the sight. Stupefied beyond response, they simply goggled and watched, as did the other passengers. Had the man been attacked by animals of some kind, it would have been different perhaps, but this attack was of a lot of immensely long human cocks wrapping themselves around their hapless victim who was squirming about helplessly, one of them stuck into his mouth which dripped come from both its shaft and its victim's chin.
The cocks had him totally in thrall now. The clothes were tearing from within now and soon Paul and his companion could see that the man had one of the long cocks stabbed up his ass and others wrapped around his legs and one around the man's own cock which was erect and weeping from the coiling, writhing caresses it was enduring. Both hands now held pricks in them and the man began to stroke them. The cock in his ass squirted, with spunk again spraying around and out of his ass. The other cocks spewed their wads up and over the captured man, drenching him in white sprigs of pearl-colored spunk, as his fellow passengers stared in amazement.
"How many of those things are there?" Paul wondered out loud. He counted them, eight of them had encircled the man, was holding and violating him. As one prong would squirt into the man, either mouth or ass, it would withdraw and replace one of the others, while the freed prong took over holding the man captive, violating him repeatedly at both his orifices.
"What the hell are they?" Paul's friend was saying.
"I don't know, sir, but we'd better get you away from this and I'll call the captain...."
"Oh, my God!"
Paul looked where the man was looking. From the captive man's crotch, more of the prehensile penises were reaching out, their color unmistakably that of the man being fucked by the cocks. These things were contagious and multiplying! They stretched out from the center of the man's crotch like a spider's web.
Paul and his intended target backed up across the aisle. And from behind them, other penis-snakes raced up their pants' legs. Before they could react, the pricks had caught their legs firmly.
"Someone hit the call button!" Paul called out. But everyone in first class was too busy fending off cocks to do that, for they seemed to be sprouting up all over the place! And the cocks of the first captured man were snaking in to join the fray. It was every man for himself! Paul himself had a cock going up his trousers and one trying to wrap his waist, while one of the dark-skinned passenger's cocks wended its way through the air towards his face.
Paul shouted for help, but his voice was only one of the chorus. Once one man began to shout, everyone joined in, those that didn't not dare due to a prick trying to gain entrance.
Hardesty threw open the curtain to first class to view hysteria. Every man in the compartment, which held 10 first-class seats, was busily fending off cocks, being fucked by cocks, forced to suck cocks, a few jerking cocks, while around their bodies were wrapped even more of the vicious creatures. Every man that the cocks violated were injected with the same virus that had spawned them, and the communication of the infection's effects was nearly instantaneous, the man's own cock began to split and grow into eight more of the long, prehensile, man-hungry kind. Ten times eight (make that eleven times eight, a steward was among the men being gang-fucked, if that remnant of uniform on him was what Hardesty thought it was), and that would make eighty. The captain and flight crew were safe in their front cabin at least, but how the hell did they keep those prongs from...
From doing what they were, which was crawling out toward business class, and the thirty-plus passengers there. With only curtains to shield business class from them! "We have to barricade those entrances!" he called out.
"What about the first class passengers? What about Paul?" the steward with him, John, responded.
"Too late for us to help them! They'll already be infected. We'll have to save those we can!" Hardesty said. "We'll have to block off these entrances!" There were two, one on each side of the center pair of seats of business class. Five rows of six seats, all of whom carried men, more fodder for the penis-snakes. Many of these (fourteen) were Marines and sailors on leave, handsome, virile men. "Everybody who can, help me close this off!"
They were busily trying to unfasten some of the seats to backstop the rolling trays they'd tipped over to make a makeshift barricade when Hardesty realized the noises from first class had stopped. He shifted a tray to look inside.
Men lay about, clothes torn, splattered with come, violated at every opening they had.
But no penis-snakes, either on the men or coming out of the vents. The penis-snakes had vanished just as they had come, quietly and inexplicably.
Hardesty shook his head as he surveyed the damage. If only it were that simple. But it wouldn't be. He could feel it in his bones.
THE END OF PART ONE
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E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
WWW.TOMMYHAWKSFANTASYWORLD.COM