Commander Mitch Walker allowed himself to slide to the floor next to the dead frogman, resting his head heavily into his shaking meaty hand, and tried to clear his head. He had to pull it together. Only he could save his men. He tried to take stock He was alone in enemy headquarters, God only knows how many meters under the sea. His ship had been captured and all hands not eaten were taken and.. oh God.. raped, by strange creatures whose only apparent motive was the sexual enslavement of young human males. He could not recover for the experience of the bizarre, repugnant creature, pawing his perfectly shaped muscles, like a whore, turning him over it's knee an beating his dimpled round ass like a child, and finally his helpless cock exploding his seed into the spiky vortex that was it's mouth. And what they had done to poor Flanagan devouring his flawless muscled flesh, like a side of beef.
How many of these monsters were there? What did they want, apart from young, juicy manflesh? How had they built this compound? How could he save his men? Still groggy from the strange gas, he was naked, and to make matters worse, his dick was still rock hard, and showed no signs of relaxing. This vapor seemed designed to weaken human males by intense erotic excitement His swollen member made it very hard to concentrate. Not much to take on an unknown and very powerful foe. His reverie was broken by the sound of very angry, very human shouting, coming from a vent near the ceiling of the closet. His men had no time for him to deliberate. Blade between his teeth, he silently removed the screen, and muscles straining raised him self into the duct.
Silent and graceful, Walker moved like a stalking panther on all fours through the confined space. The muscles on his naked thighs rippled as they worked, the round curve of his buttocks raised up enticingly pushing him toward the languid, effeminate voice which seemed to bellow his name.
"Walker!!!! Where is he?????!!!!!" Walker peered through a vent onto a surprisingly elegant banquet table. Decorating the walls beyond he recognized photographs of his crewman, marked with numbers as if for sale. Each man on the ship's roster was cataloged with a number, and a price. Covered chafing dishes were being laid on the long table by more of the bizarre frogmen.
In the soft glow of torchlight, he made out familiar faces of international terrorists and yes, international oil men. There, beating his fists at the head of the table, and squealing like spoiled schoolgirl, was Qube.
Of course, Qube was behind this!
The dainty claw of the spindly arch-villian encircled the gills of the nearest frogman. "There is one prize missing. WHERE IS HE???? WHERE IS MY WALKER???? !!!!!!!" The frightened creature nodded toward a chafing dish. Qube paused wide-eyed and lifted the silver dome. Walker tried not to retch There, steaming from the ovens, on a bed of seaweed lay a pair of round perfectly formed gluteal muscles .. what was left of Flanagan. The hapless crewman's cock lay threateningly below the curve which separated them long and fully engorged. "NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" came the high-pitched wail as Qube seemed to crumple at the sight. Rocking with apparent grief he clutched at the creature. "He ...was.. to.. have been... MIIIINNEE!!! You could have chosen ANY of the other crewman, but you sunk you filthy fangs INTO MY PROPERTY!!!!! How do I repay disobedience? HOW!!!!??"
The monster as already sinking to the floor, it's own weapon lodged between his ribs. With tear filled eyes, Qube turned back to the grisly dish before him, gently touching the round curves like a grieving lover. "Oh my beautiful Commander, you were to have been my treasure. I would have possessed you so completely. From the soft blonde hairs covering your broad chest, your powerful cock. These peerless muscles were to have writhed before me in unwilling supplication as I tore them apart with my insatiable dick and listened to the music of your violated screams" He wiped a tear from his eye. "Now I must take you in the only manner I have left" Pulling himself together he surveyed his stunned dinner companions. "Gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption. I hope it has not affected your appetite. You see I will tolerate no insubordination. No matter, as you see we have left an entire crew of exquisite Navy SEALS to satisfy your wildest desires. Let us finish our dinner where we will join our new friends.. and ..um ..negotiate." He raised a goblet of blood red wine. "Here's to our delicious Navy SEALS, and their heroic stamina. They're going to need it" A ripple of laughter, and tinkling crystal circled the table, and the rest of the dishes were revealed containing other parts of the unfortunate Wil Flanagan. Walker did not turn away in time to see them raise his silverware and spear his fork into the left flank of the slaughtered youth, and even has he closed his eyes, he could hear the bastards begin to chew. He would never forget.
Choking on bile, he could not stop his head from spinning. Flanagan... oh God.. poor Flanagan.. He remembered the open, boyish face, contrasting with his massive, stocky build. His easy laugh and constant push to better himself, Wil was always striving to be stronger, leaner, faster. The young stud was a promising young soldier on the threshold of perfection. The faggot would PAY. Qube's word still rang in his head describing what he meant to do to him; Commander Mitch Walker: "his treasure..His possesion".. His breathing had grown labored as he listened to these repulsive words "writhing in unwilling supplication" the gas still fogged his mind, his dick throbbed, dripping into the duct and sticking on his stomach. Filled with rage, exhaustion, and hatred. His heart pounded so wildly he feared his enemies could hear it's thunder. Unable to find his breath he fell into blackness, powerful muscles relaxed into stillness. With only the murky darkness of his confine to cover his hard rounded muscles, he lay naked and alone only feet above the heads of the ruthless cannibals who feasted on innocent flesh they thought was his, pre cum drying on his breadbasket abdominals.
A shrill giggle woke him, he heard Qube comment on the strong gamey taste of the meat. Another creature had found him, and was nursing on his cock. He dispatched it easily. His dick still throbbed, but he could think more clearly now. Flanagan had joined up late. His name wasn't published on the roster. Of course, that's why Qube mistakenly believed him dead. Poor Wil may not have died entirely in vain. He had left him one gift. Mitch no longer existed. He was a ghost. He could move silently through this compound and sabotage the command centre.
By the time that sick fuck realized what was going wrong he would have freed his men, and orders be dammed he would kill that cannibal faggot himself. The repulsive party began to rise and move toward a larger room, and with renewed hope, Walker replaced the blade between his teeth, the embodiment of predatory stalking revenge, and followed them into a nightmare he could not have imagined.
To be continued........Next page