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Fur-sty Planet: The Reluctant Rescue

NATO Aeronautics Trooper and hulking grizzly bear Kenneth "Yogi" Harris had expected that his return to the Darwin sans-scientist wouldn't be met by a ticker tape parade in his honor, but this was still worse than he had anticipated. Captain Falk's enraged squawking had left his ears ringing like the time he had forgotten to stuff them before weapons training in boot camp.

Jesus, It's not like I WANTED to leave him down there, Harris thought as a fresh wave of tinnitus drowned out the tirade flowing from the osprey's open beak. Don't shoot the messenger, for fuck's sake.

Falk worked up such a fervor during the dressing down that Harris found himself wondering if he really WOULD be shot over this shitshow. The captain's sidearm remained holstered, but his edict wasn't much better than putting a bullet in Harris' temple--at least not in Harris' estimation.

"You WILL go planetside. You WILL retrieve our personnel. You will NOT set foot on my fucking ship again until you do," Falk rasped. His bloodshot predatory eyes bulged out at the trooper, filled with murderous intent. "Am I understood, you degenerate slug?"

Harris felt a wave of revulsion hit him as the insult triggered some very fresh memories--images of black, slimy bodies charging at him with hungry mouths opened wide.

"Yes, sir."

—

Trooper Harris couldn't help but feel a sense of helpless disbelief as the tractor beam set him gently back on Bismuth. He felt like a bear who had just escaped shark-infested waters, only to find himself pitched back in. All for the sake of a literal son-of-a-bitch that must surely be dead.

Or wishing that he was, Harris mused.

This time NATO command, in their infinite benevolence, had seen fit to give Harris a motion detector. It was a chunky little waterproof console that he would have to toss aside if he needed to shoulder his rifle, but it was better than nothing. Harris tuned the tracker until the small insects darting through the woods stopped appearing on the display. If anything showed up on the luminescent green screen, it would either be Assistant Xenobiologist Crawford or something large enough to be a threat.

But the bugs could be a problem, don't you think? The voice of Harris' Xeno-ops Trainer, an eternally-smirking lynx named Carlos Ortega, whispered into his thrumming mind. No telling what's in those stingers, or swimming around in their blood. You could swat them first and they'd still get you.

"Eyes on the prize," Harris grumbled. "Let's get this shit over with."

The tractor beam had deposited the trooper about ten feet to the left of where he and the luckier scientist had been retrieved, as evidenced by the circular displacement of leaves and twigs nearby. Holden had fallen about 100 yards to the west, towards a small stream where Earth's first ambassadors had learned about the bizarre appetite of Bismuth's fauna. Harris sighed and began walking, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the eel creatures.

The woods were deceptively serene. A gentle breeze clattered through the canopy above. Occasionally there was a squawk from a high, shadowy branch or a musical insect screeching from within a dense, thorny thicket. Harris was acutely aware of how much noise his armored boots made as he stepped through the dead leaves and dry limbs. Unless this planet's predators were deaf and blind, the element of surprise was out of the question. And the eels had been perceptive enough to track prey despite having no obvious eyes, that was for sure.

Harris crouched abruptly and shuffled behind a nearby tree for cover. In a clearing, about 10 yards away, was a RuggedCam with "Holden C." scrawled on the casing. He hadn't paid much attention during forest recon training, but Harris knew the signs of struggle when he saw them. He also recognized the likely source of the shimmering mucus covered in clumps of white fur cooling at the epicenter of the disturbed patch of forest floor. Eels. And their prey.

Staying low, Harris made his approach. The area where the eel ooze lay had attracted the attention of a small swarm of insects. They were similar to velvet ants--about an inch long and covered in yellow fuzz. Unlike velvet ants, however, their backs were adorned with broad wings that spasmed periodically as they explored the slime. Every once in a while, one of them would explode upwards in frantic flight--usually returning to their original position seconds later. Their mandibles were also remarkable, long and powerful like bullet ant's.

The voice of Ortega came to Harris once more. Stingers, boot. Never underestimate them.

"I got your sting right here," Harris grunted as he slammed a boot down on one of the busy insects. Its soft body was flattened instantly. The unfortunate creature's companions immediately dashed away in a terrified flurry of buzzing wings. "Now to business."

The bear knelt and examined the scene. It was hard to say what exactly had happened in the clearing a couple of hours previous, but Harris couldn't help but feel relieved by the lack of blood. By no means did it suggest Holden was still alive, but it likely meant that he hadn't been torn to pieces where he fell.

As Harris reached out to check beneath a broad, slimy leaf one of the velvet flies landed inches away from his hand. It returned to the air the instant Harris moved to swipe it away. Another landed next to his boot. He kicked out at it, missing by a mile and tumbling back on his ass in the process. Before the trooper could regain his feet, he felt the tickling of many legs mounting the fur on the back of his neck.

Don't you do it, Ortega chided.

"Fuck you, cat!" Harris growled as he slammed one meaty palm against the nape of his neck. As the velvet fly's mangled body pressed against the base of Harris' skull, so too did its stinger. The bear had never been hit in the back of the head by a hammer before, but he was confident that this was what it felt like. Harris pitched forward into the ooze-laden soil.

Didn't I warn you, boy? Ortega chuckled as Harris' vision faded. You never did listen very well. But you hear what's coming, don't you?

For a few seconds more, Harris could. A thrumming roar of countless wings descended upon him, and then there was darkness.

---

Harris awoke as he felt a chill brush past the fur between his thighs. The swelling in his stung neck wouldn't allow him to look down to where the velvet flies were just finishing their work on his suit with their intimidating mandibles. His stubby, thick sheath was exposed through a hole they had carved. The velvet flies didn't--thankfully--seem immediately interested in it. Harris had lobbied many times for codpieces to be included in the NATO field armor kit, and he took a moment to wish eternal damnation on his superiors for their refusals.

Harris noticed that he was both moving and couldn't move. His arms and legs were encased in a layer of hard, waxy material, not unlike the cast he'd gotten after falling out of his cubhood tree fort back on Earth. Each limb was propped up by a writhing mass of velvet flies displaying an uncanny amount of strength as they moved their ursine cargo to parts unknown. Harris had always been self-conscious about the relatively small size of his sheath, but it worked to his benefit now. If it were any larger, it would probably be dragging through the dirt.

"Let me go, you little bastards!" Harris roared, struggling against his confines. There was absolutely no give to them. Every joint was locked in place. He couldn't wiggle his torso much without his neck throbbing out a painful complaint.

You'd better stop! Ortega taunted in his head. They're just going to sting you again.

Harris hated to admit it, but he suspected that they most certainly would. And as bad as the first sting was, the trooper found himself wondering if his body could take another dose of whatever evil shit had gone into his neck.

"I'll wait until they set me down, back off a little," Harris mumbled. "Then I'll bust outta here and call in the cavalry on these sons of bitches. See how you like napalm."

The ground beneath his face was now muddy and littered with white shards of something that looked like smashed porcelain.

Must be what's around my body, Harris surmised. So it can be broken after all.

As Harris worked out the best way to strain his bonds to the breaking point, a hole in the soil slid past his face. It was about the size of an orange in circumference and descended into darkness. The area around the hole was lined with the same porcelain-like material he'd seen earlier. It reminded him of a fancy sink drain.

What now? Harris wondered.

The velvet flies below him trundled to a stop and began to lower him the short distance towards the ground. Harris winced as he anticipated his sheath and balls getting smashed beneath the weight of his body. Instead, he gasped as it slipped into a cool, vacant place.

The hole! he realized. The velvet flies that had previously been beneath him flitted around the edges of his body, apparently trying to cement their reluctant guest to the ground.

"Now or never," Harris grunted, testing the muscles in his arms and legs. "Let's do this!"

As the trooper attempted to flex his way out of danger, there was no way for him to see the creature peering at him from a manhole-sized opening in the ground just a few yards away. It was very much like the velvet flies, only its wings were small and useless on its massive 9-foot-long thorax, which ended in a tapered section. The Queen regarded her strange new visitor with glistening compound eyes before sliding back into the labyrinthine tunnels below.

From his place on the ground, Harris was also unable to see the huddled forms of creatures big and small lashed to the ground just as he was. Some of them thrashed fruitlessly against their bonds. Others lay motionless, barely breathing.

Harris shouted in frustration. Whatever this waxy stuff was, it wouldn't be easily defeated. He shifted his head as far as it would go, trying to get some sense of situational awareness. To his left was a velvet fly regurgitating some kind of white liquid and patting it into shape with its forelegs.

"Great, the little bastards threw up on me," Harris growled. "You're going to need a lot more barf to contain this NATO soldie--"

Harris' train of thought ground to an instant halt as he felt the hole surrounding his groin vibrate with the approach of humming wings through the underground tunnels. He struggled desperately until he felt the tickling sensation of legs against his sheath and testicles. Every muscle locked into place. He held his breath, imagining the wicked stingers and jaws mere millimeters from the delicate skin of his precious organs. Harris braced himself for the jolt of pain that he was sure must be coming. Instead, he felt something sticky and warm dribbling through the short fur of his crotch. His testicles were receiving a similar treatment.

Are they coating my boys in that porcelain crap? Harris wondered. What the hell would that accompli-ACK!

One of the flies was prying the opening of his sheath apart and frantically expelling its payload inside. Syrupy fluid slid around his slender, hidden length, pressing into the sensitive flesh like a gently lapping tongue. A peculiar tingle spread over the bear's maleness. Unbeknownst to the trooper, the creatures working over his package weren't the common drones tasked with securing prey and maintaining the hive. Rather, they were a special class of velvet fly assigned to assist the queen in her duties. Royal jelly, rich in pheromones and extremely viscous, poured from the mouths of these insects as they prepared him to participate in their strange mating ritual. The substance had two purposes. One was to entice the queen. The other was to help her achieve her ultimate goal--whether her partner liked it or not.

A loud dragging, shuffling sound emerged from the tunnels as something large forced its way toward the surface. Satisfied that their work was done, the breeding assistants scurried off of Harris and down to a small exit tunnel.

"Thank God that's over," Harris grumbled when he was sure the insects had departed. "Back to business."

Trooper Harris could feel something quite a bit bigger making its way through the soil where he lay--and he didn't intend to find out what fresh hell awaited him if he wasn't gone before it got closer. The bear jolted his powerful body from side to side, probing the carapace around his torso for any signs of weakness.

There didn't seem to be any.

As Harris marshaled his flagging strength for another go, his groin was yanked firmly towards the hole containing his wet genitals. The Queen, summoned by the powerful pheromones applied by her subordinates, had arrived.

The Queen was feeding the tapered end of her thorax up through hole where Harris' bits dangled and dribbled. The tip blossomed open like a flower made of wet, red flesh. At the center of it all was a sphincter that dilated and began to suck in air with powerful gulps. The vacuuming action was meant to force cocks from any protective sheaths they might have down into the grasping organ. His balls were tugged down painfully by the thirsty Queen's efforts, making his struggles even more futile.

"Jesus Christ, they're gonna tear off!" Harris groaned. "If I ever get my fucking hands on Falk--"

At last one of the labial flaps on her opening touched something fuzzy and warm–the oozing opening of the bear's sheath. Instantly, the folds slapped shut over it. The internal sphincter pressed upward and began to suck, trying to draw in its unwilling prey.

"Holy shit, what--" was all Harris could manage at this unexpected, but not unpleasant, sensation.

The grizzly's tip rapidly emerged into the coaxing hole, where it was welcomed by soft pillowy flesh that stroked and chewed gently on its flared head. Suction evicted more of Harris' ursine cock from its home, drawing it ever closer to the ring of muscle leading into The Queen's innards. She shoved her thorax upward a few inches while sucking in another gulp of air. Harris could feel the ridge of his tip pressing into a ring of flesh that seemed to kiss it. Pheromones rushed through The Queen's bloodstream. The beast's instincts were ignited in a frenzy of primitive lust as she felt the male organ surrendering to her will.

The Queen slammed her thorax forward and consumed Harris's maleness. The tight ring that had been caressing his tip slid down the shaft, thus ensuring that the end of his meat would be engorged and sensitive. The walls of the creature's internal flesh were covered in countless small bumps. She constricted them in a rhythmic swallowing motion to properly stimulate the slender penis, scouring its slimy and sensitive surface with the nodules. The royal jelly served as both a stimulant and a lubricant, designed to keep the friction of The Queen's forced mating at a level that maximized her prey's pleasure.

Harris' mind was consumed by pleasure and fear. In the darkness below, something was milking his penis like no vagina had ever done before. But to what end? What was it going to do when it got its way? The trooper would soon find out.

Wet squelching and slurping sounds echoed through the subterranean channels as The Queen violated her new visitor. The straining base of the bear's shaft vanished and reappeared as the alien appendage took him in and squeezed him back out. The labial folds brushing against his testicles detected their sudden contraction and knew that the end was near. The Queen forced Harris balls-deep into her and ground his distended sheath into his groin. Her organ chewed on him like a famished, toothless mouth.

"Ohhhh fuck!" Harris groaned as he felt what must be gallons jetting out of his penis into the grasping wetness below.

Gouts of ursine cum were sucked deep into the creature. The Queen tightened its sphincter around the twitching member and pulled slowly upward, squeezing all the stubborn drops of semen from the angry, red tip. At last, it slipped over the head of Harris' cock and retreated down into the darkness below. Streamers of slime dangled from his sex like obscene party decorations.

Harris lay panting against the ground, his eyelids threatening to slam shut with or without his permission. He had never been this exhausted in his life. Inside the hole, his penis retreated sluggishly back into its sheath--defeated, tingling, and raw. But that sensation, like all the others, felt distant and unimportant. The trooper's head drooped against the soil.

"I'll just rest for a second," he whispered. "Yeah, just a second. Then I'll break out of here, get back to the ship, and carpet bomb this fucking planet." Harris grinned, picturing himself riding through Bismuth's skies at the helm of a Heavy Eagle with guns raining fire and death on the monsters below. The NATO trooper exhaled deeply and began to sleep.

Down below, The Queen rested her bloated body in her huge birthing chamber. The earthling's semen mingled with her eggs. She didn't have the mental capacity to wonder if the alien sperm was compatible with her biology. All she knew was that her duty had been fulfilled and that she must now gestate. If this batch of seed failed to produce a clutch of viable eggs, her velvety drones would go find a more tried-and-true prey creature to prepare for mating.

Or perhaps they would find another like the one she had just "processed." The slender member had been small enough that it hadn't stretched her breeding organ like so many of the other males that had been brought to her. The Queen mused, in her primitive way, that a creature like Harris but with a longer male organ would be just perfect. With that hope in her simple mind, she too drifted into slumber.