Verion,a night creature, explores a shipwreck under the sea. What he finds under there is something he would never expect – they look exactly like face huggers from that one show, you know, the one with aliens. But these face-huggers, they don’t hug faces, they go for the butt! Enter stage left, BUTTHUGGERS.
Alterations: Change pokemon context, so No Lugia mention or pokemon mention.
“Let’s see… northeast of the reef and half a kilometer past the dropoff… Should be right there!”
Verion ran a hand over his crest and looked out over the pristine ocean, calculating the distance he’d have to cover. The cold of the open ocean didn’t bother an anthro creature such as himself, but it would be nice to finish up the sweep before sunset.
His duffel bag crunched against the seashells littering the beach, the sound soft from the lightness of a day’s dive yet to begin. It would be louder, heavier, once he’d loaded it up with the first of his cuts. The wreck of the Frederick III was supposed to be brimming with scrap, not to mention the shipment of jewels that had been lost for years. Skycoins ahoy!
He unzipped the bag and pulled out a black skinsuit, shaking the sand from his digitigrade feet as he unfolded it. It wouldn’t do to get sand in something so tight.
And tight it was. The suit clung to him as if painted, the lycra hugging every muscle and crevice. His blue-and-white muscles flexed and bulged beneath the fabric as he strode into the surf. His powerful swimmer’s legs slipped deeper beneath the waves, and a chill prickled his spine as the water lapped at the bulge that crowned his thighs. He relished the water swallowing him piece by piece, wrapping him in its weight, carrying him forward with the sensation and the promise of adventure.
When his waist dipped into the ocean, he slung the duffel bag over his back, bent at the knees, and launched forward, slipping beneath the waves.
It was only a twenty-minute swim to the wreck. The Frederick III sat black and squat on the seabed, half a kilometer below the surface, and Verion squeezed some extra juice out of his muscles as he neared the half-buried hulk.
He alighted on a figurehead worn featureless by time, and wiped some imaginary sweat from his brow. A moment’s rest felt like ages – longer, once he happened to get a glimpse of the door on the far side of the deck. What treasures did the ships hold… hold?
He chuckled at the thought, sauntering across the deck to find out. Hydrodynamic, tall, and lean, he was across in just a few strides. Verion tugged at the door – gently at first, harder when it stuck – only to hop back as it pulled free, the rotting hinges giving way.
Verion looked at the door in his hand and shrugged. At least it would be easy to enter and leave.
His body filled the ship’s interior almost deck to ceiling, making it a tighter squeeze than he’d anticipated. He tucked his tail behind him as he moved carefully onward, peeking into the rooms that lined the corridor.
And there it was, down a shaft of mossy, broken planks that must once have been a stairwell. Enclosed it may have been, save for a small hull breach, but the large ship’s hold was even more promising than the open ocean had been. Like any Night Creature, Verion could see in the dark, and the space positively brimmed with large crates.
He swam down to the closest one. His tail flicked back and forth as he reached a shaking hand for the crate, feeling along the barnacle-encrusted exterior for–There! An opening!
Cracking the lid was slightly more effort than the door had been, but Verion’s strength had it off in short order. He grinned. There, as neatly preserved as the day they’d first been packed, were transparent cases of jewels – dim in the murk of the hold, but promising to glimmer mightily in the light of day.
At precisely that moment, Verion noticed something else glimmering just out of sight. A ray of dim light filtered down through the hull breach – just enough to illuminate a dark, roundish shape–Which moved. Verion froze.
It was slightly smaller than one of his large hands. It looked like a stingray except for the legs, six of them – no, eight – that held disconcertingly still as the thing… watched him? He couldn’t tell. Where the hell was its eyes? Did it have eyes?
What it did have was some kind of extra appendage, curling up from its back like a Skorupi’s tail. But instead of a claw, it terminated in what looked like some sort of mouth.
Verion lifted the crate lid slowly, keeping his eyes on the thing all the while. Just like a bug around the house.If he moved quickly, he could crush it before it went anywhere.
What he didn’t expect was for it to jump.
Verion screamed, soundless in the depths, whipping up bubbles in the cool water as the thing leaped onto his thigh. The lid floated back down onto the crate, forgotten in Verion’s sudden panic. The thing felt like a strong-fingered hand, clinging to his leg and skittering around faster than–Oh, Celestius. It was going for his ass.
Verion slammed his back against the bulkhead, but the thing was too quick for him, skittering around as he rolled to try and crush it. Whatever it was, it was much better adapted to the water than he was, slipping and skittering and sliding around his suited hips…
And if that weren’t enough, another clambered in through the breach in the hull. Verion hesitated only a moment at this, but a moment was enough. A muted ripping sound and a sickening pressure at the center of his ass heralded disaster.
The thing had found the seam on his suit and ripped it apart with some horrible mandibles. And if it could chew through lycra, it could chew through flesh.
Worse than that, it slid through the hole in his suit and deftly parted his cheeks.
Verion’s eyes crossed at the sensation of something sliding into his asshole. Now it was clear what the thing’s tail was for. He slapped at the creature clinging to his hips, which only seemed to make it dig in tighter. Thank goodness he could breathe underwater, or it would weigh him down until drowning.
But the creatures seemed determined to steal his breath away nonetheless. While he was struggling with the butthugger at his hips, Verion’s focus was broken just long enough for another to wrap around his face. The instinct to cry out betrayed him, allowing the rapist arthropod to force its tail-cock down his throat. Verion gagged at the girth of it as it drove down his throat, racing as if to catch up with its companion in his ass.
The Lugia stumbled blindly through the darkened ship’s hold, banging his knees and his tail on the filthy crates, his asshole clenching around the invader. He found he could breathe, that the thing on his face wasn’t blocking his airways, but it was just as pointless to try and rip it off. Numbness was spreading through his limbs as if they were leeching some deadening agent into him.
Verion’s world tumbled around him, struck him, fucked him in the blackness as the things started to pulse in his ass, and his throat, and he felt something hot and thick pour into him.
Fuck. It felt like he was shitting in reverse.
Poison? Acid? No, he thought, it wasn’t hurting him – but it kindled a heat in his abdomen, spreading a warm numbness through his core to merge with that in his limbs, making his cock grow, harden, strain against the skinsuit–And something stroked it.
Sick with terror, with arousal he hadn’t wanted, helpless on his hands and knees, Verion bucked his hips into whatever it was. He was rewarded with a ripping sensation from his ass, down and around up to his crotch where his cock was stirring. His balls were hit with the shock of the seawater chill, making him twitch as the thing on his crotch cupped him fully, interlacing its legs with that of its ass brother.
He felt something at the tip of his cock, pressing around it, massaging the head. If he just thrust his hips forward, it would be over. He wanted it to be over. He wanted it to be over.
He wanted it.
Verion’s cock throbbed with want, the extra foreskin on its length shifting back, pulled along by the embracing tail of the butthugger – cockhugger? – and doubling the sheathing, the rubbing, the stroking of his member. He could feel himself leak a steady stream of precum into the thing, his muscles twitching again and again as its tail reached his balls, enveloping his cock completely.
There in the hold of the Frederick III, Verion knelt on hands and knees as if bowing to his rapists, hips rolling in the air, huggers pulsing merrily on his ass, his face, his cock, pumping their mind-numbing juice into him. Warmth surged through his colon, his stomach, the fluids of the one mixing with those of the other in his belly and carrying the pleasure up from his crotch into his core, radiating through the rest of his body.
Time ceased to have meaning. The coolness of the ocean depths was washed away, a volcano of pleasure building inside him as his insides were bathed in hot cum. He answered with some of his own at long last, the agonizing need to cum finally granted, rope after rope of semen his reward for the cock-thing’s service.
It gulped his seed greedily down, quivering along his length as if cheering him on.
The tightening of Verion’s balls didn’t subside, even as he came down from his peak. He came again in seconds, his cock throbbing in time with the beast’s rhythm. Even his arms and legs tingled with sensation, the orgasms lengthening, bleeding one into the other until Verion was reduced to a writhing, half-conscious mass of cumming on the ocean floor.
Though the peaks came fewer and further between, the constant orgasm the cockhugger had induced lulled Verion into a quivering drowse, his hips gently bucking with the guidance of the huggers, his mouth and his ass leaking strange globs of fluid that floated in the water around him.
He was vaguely aware of his asshole stretching, widening to accept something large and round, and then his perception vanished completely.
Daylight jabbed its fingers into Verion’s eyes. He blinked back the onslaught until his vision accepted it.
The world swam into focus around him, his head pounding, his limbs aching, his cock cold and shrunken in the chill air.
Air. He was on land.
The realization drove him to sit up too suddenly. His hand flew to his forehead to massage away the hateful searing. Placing himself back into the real world was the work of several minutes, desperately focusing on one sensation at a time.
He could feel the cool air where his suit had been ripped away; he could see his cock spent and soft in its mass of foreskin; he could hear the crash of waves just beyond where he lay on the beach, his ass sore and gritty with sand.
Verion winced. He felt open, gaping, empty down there. His throat was raw with the memory of the heat of what those things had pumped into him. And his stomach… he felt full, like he’d eaten something down on the ocean floor he couldn’t remember.
Dread crept over him as he put one hand to his stomach, and felt the bulge that his abs were just barely visible over. Whatever his hosts had been, they’d left something inside him. Made him a host, he thought dimly, as he felt his guts smolder with lingering warmth, his body cushioning its quarry, comforting it… nurturing it.
He’d found something in that shipwreck, all right – and it had found him. Fucked him. Left him with aches and stretch marks, a hole in his memory, a vague recollection of what had filled that hole, of what had filled his holes, a dream rendered all the more blissful for the scraps of consciousness he could only connect with fantasy and desire.
His bowels quivered with the unexpected treasure, and he moaned and slid a hand down to his cock as it began to harden once more.