Commander Mitch Walkers' square jaw clenched with concern. "goddammit Jae" he thought "Where the fuck are you?" He ran an oversized hand through buzz cut blonde hair, and slammed it down impotently on the control panel. Walker's hands and feet were slightly outsized, and powerful like a labrador puppy. In spite of his 29 years, this was his only less than mature feature. A natural leader from birth, Walker exuded a calm authorotarian presence earned only by a few older men. It was this quality that won him command of a nuclear submarine, younger than any who held this rank.
His men trusted his instincts, and his genuine concern for their well being. He was considered the best in the fleet.
Jason Flint was not only his best operative, he been his most trusted friend since the academy. It wasn't like his old friend to be late or report a problem. Jason was in trouble.
The orders where to move on to the next sector, but he couldn't leave Flint. He'd have to go looking for him.
His Nebraska drawl cut through the low engine rumble.
"Gianelli, take command. I'm going to suit up"
"But, sir" The dusky haired Providence tough guy, could be a bit of a hothead, but he could handle the ship while Walker did what had to be done.
"Do it!"
Walker striped of his T-shirt to unveiling a classical torso dusted lighly by blonde viking hair, and strode purposefully toward the gear to suit up. Shiny dog tags glinted against his tan naked chest.
By the time he reached the equipment chamber, he was down to small white skivvies. This cotton conformed to the effiecient musculature of his hips, and sharply dimpled ass.
He skimmed effincienly out of these, the spherical perfection of his steel glutes highlighted by the contrast of his dark tan against the viginal white of the skin never exposed to the sun's longing rays. and carefully "painted on" the legs of his snug wet suit. It took time to cover each curve with the snug nylon, he had just reached his hips when
The ships alarm sounded.
He hit the intercom button with his meaty fist.
"Walker"
"It's Flanagan, Sir"
Wil Flanagan, the youngest member of the crew had been assigned late, and wasn't even on the official roster. Depsite his deceptivley rounded baby face, the kid had promise. Clothed, one might mistake him for chubby. He was anything but. His broad shoulders, massive chest, tree trunk legs, and full round ass pulled most covering into a shape which belied his cut and tapered waist. Unclothed, it was plain that he carried nothing but muscle on his stocky 5'9 frame. In fact he prided himself on a near complete lack of unnecessary body fat. Still his youthful muscles seemed round, full, and well, ripe, like spring peaches.
"Sir, we've found something. I think you'd better get down here"
"Flint?"
"No sir, it's something I've never seen"
"I'm on my way"
Walker's habitual stoic calm was for the first time in his young life, shaken to it's core by the sight of the otherworldly bodies of the strange creatures before them. His analytic mind struggled to come to terms with the scaly humanoids oozing water and slime before him
Slighty shoter than humans, with long gangly, ape like extremities. His inner self was haunted by an instinctual sense of doom probaby caused by the bizarre reality of their disproportionatley huge finned dicks. What were these things? Where did they come from? What had killed them?
Did the have something to do with Flint's disappearance?
"Report"
"We don't know sir" Flanagan was trying to keep his voice steady. "The survelliance cameras picked up these shapes on a coral outcropping. There is no sign of trauma, Doc suspects a poision"
At 36, Doc was the oldest member of the crew, and an intimidating presence due to his shaved head, 6'3 frame, and a hard hair covered body more of a body building biker than skilled physician.
"Where is Doc?"
"Gone to sick bay, sir to prepare for the autopsey"
Walker nodded, Doc was always one step ahead.
He ordered Flanagen and two crewman to bring the bodies to sick bay
"I'll go to the bridge and report to headquarters, Flanagan remain in sick bay and assist Doc. Volpe, Waggoner, suit up after delivering the bodies, I want you out there to see if there are more of these things, or any sign of Flint"
"Yes sir!"
Still bare chested, the half worn wetsuit riding low on his hips, exposing the dimpled curve of upper buttock, he stormed onto deck, brushing past the started Gianelli, and grabbed the radio.
"This is Commander Mitchell Walker of the U.S.S Hunter. This is an urgent message"
Through static he heard a faint vocie
"Go ahead Mitch buzzzzzz... This Admir..zzzzz .."
The connection went dead "Goddammit! Gianelli I want a signal on this peice of shit NOW!"
"Yessir"
The lights went dead, only the dim emergency lighting illuminated the chamber. Red alert was sounding. The engines began to whine. They were moving!!
The intercom cut through the blaring horn. It was Doc
"Mitch, get down here those things are alive!!!!"
"They pushed me out of sick bay! The doors barred! Get security here NOW!! They've got Flanagan knocked out. They've stripped hi.. Oh God!! NO!!
"Doc, what is it?"
"They're..... eating him!!! They're cutting off his a.. AGGGHHHHH!!!"
"DOC!!!!!"
A rhythmic pounding could be heard
" AAAAHHHH unng...Ungh ug.. ung... ung....huh huh huh huh ung..."
"SECURTY TO SICK BAY!!!"
No answer came.
Walker and Gianelli rushed to the portal. Gianelli was flung back against the control panel by a single blow from the frogman's pike. There were three, waiting for them in the door, but they weren't ready for Walker's superior strength, speed, and lethal precision. The blonde, bare- chested commander learned quickly that these things were not exceptional fighters, slow, awkward, not especially strong, at least on land, and surprisingly cowardly.
Within seconds two of the monsters lay dead at his feet, the third in cowering retreat.
Gunshots fired in the gloom.
Walker, and a quickly recovered, but bleeding Gianelli followed in hot pursuit.
"Try not to shoot in here Dominic! Too risky, use your knife"
The ship was crawling with them. Where did they all come from?
They crew, was handling them ably, but there wer so many. Water was spraying in from pipes, in the thick dim confines of the sub wet muscles strived against slimy scales, Blood, both red and black coated the floor with slippery dark ooze. Walker and Gianelli fought there way through the ship, leaving awake of frogmen in thier path toward sick bay, where they found those few unfortuate enough to fall to the sudden attack, including an unconsious Doc, his body, once a walking threat, stripped naked bounced into the floor with each thrust from the invading cock of the frogman who had caught him off guard. Red blood covered the floor but there was no remaining sign of the unlucky Flanagan . Walker nearly retched at the thought of sharp fangs plunging into the young juicy muscles of the doomed crewman, and prayed Flint was still alive..
Walker quickly dispatched with the rapist. Doc, bleeding from scratches, bites, and his conquered asshole, was alive but badly hurt. He looked up at Gianelli.
"We've got to secure the airlock!"
They hacked a bloody path to the other side of the vessel to the equipment chamber. More creatures were pouring through.
Walker squared off against one particulary tenacious opponent. His dagger plunged in past it scales, at least four times, it bled, but remained standing. These ugly fuckers were getting bold, and Walker was getting tired. His breathing was becoming deep and laboured, and he became aware of a sweet pungent smell invading his nostrils, lungs, and head. His vison began to track, and his movements slowed. The monster seemed to slow with him, watching. A lizard tongue darted out and circled it's mouth, licking the fanged and lipless opening. He began to stumble as if stoned, and to his amazement, he was growing rock hard. A warm, ticklish sensation washed through him with every breath. A fuzzy tingling at the base of his neck, beneath his ribs, the back of his knees, and his armpits, making him almost laugh. It spread like two small flames into his now pointing nipples, along the base of his spine, a dull throbbing ache into his twitching asshole, shooting a painful heat into his engorged dick straining naked against the snug nylon of his low riding wetsuit.
He darted a glance toward Gianelli who had fallen to his knees, and did not resist as the frogman tore open his shirt revealing wide bronze muscle coated in black hair and sweat. Other moaning comrades undulated slowly on the wet, slimy floor as thier lustful attackers began to move in. His brow furrowed, puzzeled as if trying to work out an equation. He could not move to help them. He caught sight of a vent.
They had gotten into the venthilation system!
They were breathing some kind of narcotic gas.
The intrepid Commander took a swing at his opponent, only to fall into the monster's arms like a drunken prom date. His knife clattered to the floor. Thin, scaly arms lovingly enfolded the burnished cables of muscle, webbed hands bravely follwed the tapering trail of waistline, and began, with difficulty, to pull the wet nylon of the muscular swell of Walker's tight ass. The barely concious stud groaned as his newly freed cock pulsed against the sandpaper scales of the frogman's leg. The monster fell, wounded, onto a bench, pulling the defeated bare assed warrior over his knee, like a naughty child. The creature, froze for a moment, gaping in awe at the white dimpled globes, contrasting with the dark skin of the tapered waist above, and the black nylon which still hobbled the meaty thighs, exposed and vulnerable to it's whim.
With all of it's vengeful might, the webbed claw desended in a reign of stinging blows. The sensitve ivory skin blushed angry red under the punishment. Walker's gruff moan echoed through the chamber, as the blows pounded his dripping cock against the tiny sharp scales onto which it was pressed. His blurring eyes scanned the chamber, witness to a hellish scene of rape and carnage. A webbed fist forced it's way into Gianelli's helpless hole, and the Italian tough joined a choir of masculine moans and screams. The imapled hunk, in agony, kicked over an oxygen tank which rolled just within Walker's reach.
That's it! If only he could...
With his remaining strength, he rolledoff his assailants lap face up, cock pointing straight at the far away surface his smooth broad back seeped in ooze and seawater on the floor. The bleeding frogman knelt at his side, and gently scooped the limp stud, into the crook of one arm, the close cropped blonde head hung submissivley backward, playing freely along the beefy lines of the classical torso. It opened it's mouth exposing rows of sharp fangs. Walker dimly wondered if he was to become it's meal. But the mouth nibbled softly down the path forged by it's hand, kissing into the blonde forest at the base, and finally enveloping the helpless Commander's raging cock.
The tiny threatening fangs only added to the burning eroticism of what had to be the most intense blow job he had ever experienced. Lighting bolts of need shot through his blown mind. His ass clenched,and he began to thrust up into the all powerful vortex. He began to writhe in horrified ecstacy, and his hand brushed against his fallen knife. From somewhere within him, he found the last scrap of self control
"NO!"
He grabbed the blade and plunged it into his rapist's skull.
The creature shuddered, but still sucked, Walker shuddered with it, and released a steaming load of cum into the dead frogman's throat.
With the other creatures distracted by their own prey, he was able to reach the tank unnoticed.
He pulled the regulator into his mouth and began to breathe real, pure oxygen. His mind began to clear.
Faraway, he heard a banging and felt the ship come into a dock. All systems whirred to a stop, the alarm finally silenced. An unfamiliar pinging rang through the ship, and all the creatures stood. Each one reached down and threw a naked crewman over it's shoulder. A nightmarish procession of naked upraised buttocks, carried by the silent monsters began to exit the sub toward an unfathomable doom.
He felt more webbed hands remove the last of his wetsuit, claim his limp form, and finally pull the dead mouth, off of his still hard and sticky member.
This was the only way to get in. He cupped the blade along his wrist. He knew it wasn't his hands they were looking at.
Blood rushed to his head pointing down at the floor. His sweaty pecs presed into the hunched finback, and his cock was trapped painfully beween his own weight, and the boney scaled shoulder. He felt the humiliation of the cool air kissing his naked ass, pointed skyward. A captured prize on display.
His arms, head and legs swayed with the frogman's movement, as if oblivious to his predicament. He did not react as the webbed fingers cupped the smooth hairless gluteal curve.
He felt himself carried, out of the ship through an unfamiliar airlock, and prayed he was last in line.
He counted to ten and then sank his blade under the ribs of his captor, who thankfully, made no sound, and rode the dying form to the ground.
Walker looked up and saw Gianelli's head and forarms hanging as he was carried up a ladder. Assesing the situation quickly he pulled the dead frogman into a supply closet, and moved silently to follow his captured men.
To be continued............
Next chapter