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Part 2

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Things just hadn't been the same since Verion had been gang-raped by aliens in the hold of a sunken ship.

The creature had returned to the wreck of the Frederick III three days after the encounter with the butthuggers, only to find... jewels. Copper wire. Precious gems and valuable scrap of all kinds. Even after his client took some off the top, Verion wouldn't have to work for months.

He should have been over the moon about it, but all the way home from the final tally session Verion couldn't help but feel like something was missing. Driving home was like piloting a submarine with the top down, both in the summer humidity and the fog that refused to lift from his waking moments. Even if it weren't overcast, he thought the flowers and trees around his house would look less colorful. And he hadn't slept well since...

His asshole puckered involuntarily. Verion's knuckles went white on the steering wheel as he parked.

He shook his head as he left his car, and entered his house. The things had been nowhere to be found when he'd brought back a team. If he really thought about it, how much of his average day did he commit to memory? How could he answer for the places his mind went to when work got menial, tedious, and repetitive?

There was a part of him that was perfectly willing to believe that the whole ordeal with the butthuggers had been a daydream from some hitherto unknown part of himself. He'd often been glad that he didn't have certain parts of his brain that lit up at... certain concepts. This one was new.

Nothing for it but to knock back an Holly Berry Nog cocktail, take a cold shower, and sleep it off. It was far from the first time he'd had bored, intrusive thoughts. That they'd intruded on him... well, life was full of surprises as intense as they were fleeting.

His place was small but richly furnished, brimming with all the fruits of a life of diving, exploring, trading, and hunting - skulls of ancient predators here, exquisite Persian rugs there, and everywhere something glittering to catch the eye. He climbed the metal spiral staircase in the far corner, emerging into his loft with a mighty yawn. The juice of the Holly Berry Nog already had his head buzzing as he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower.

Verion luxuriated in the hot water as the bathroom filled with steam, casting his mind back to his bank balance. The spoils from the Frederick III could send him to Orre for the first month of his vacation, and to some pretty lavish places at that. Plenty of gambling to be had in the Under, lots of digging near Golden Valley, and a lively party scene in Diamond. Diamond District, the glittering oasis in the desert. He thought of swimming through the clear water, letting himself soar through the pools, untouched by the sun streaming down from above, the chill sinking into his skin, his body opening up for the water and its denizens to fill to bursting with-

Verion's eyes shot open. He pressed his thumb and fingers to his temples and took a few deep breaths to steady himself, his head spinning from the thickening steam. As he lowered his hand, he abruptly brushed up against something velvety yet firm.

It was his cock, of course, standing at full attention and bobbing gently with each movement, long and yet fat in its heavy coating of foreskin.

Well, he didn't believe in wasting an erection. But jerking off in the shower went from a welcome surprise to a race against his own subconscious. Deep down he knew what he'd been daydreaming about. Verion tried to focus solely on his hand, his foreskin, their motion against his length, massaging him as if he were fucking a pocket pussy attached to himself.

But even the all-banishing tightening of his balls and throbbing of his cock as he came couldn't quite keep the long, jointed legs from clawing at the edges of his mind.

He sighed, cleaned up, opened the window, and put the fan on to clear the air. He struck a few poses in the mirror, his softening cock simply the cherry on top of the slab of muscle that was his abs, his mighty swimmer's thighs, the towering chest broadened by thousands of hours diving, running, digging for forgotten wealth.

He was the king of the sea and sky. He was a treasure hunter for hire, yesterday's castoffs and caches funding today's comfort. He could have whatever, whoever he wanted.

So why did he want this?

Verion pinched himself very hard and toweled off. It was just a side effect of being on top of the world, financially secure, with time enough to pursue just about any earthly pleasure. That sort of thing naturally made a guy curious about the unearthly ones.

Curious. That was all. He'd already found exactly what he was looking for.

Hadn't he?

-

It was one of those nights where Verion woke up halfway to dawn, completely alert as if he'd slept five more hours than he actually had. The night was warm enough that Verion hadn't needed to cover up. A heavy sleeper that he was, he hadn't disturbed the sheets with any tossing and turning. It was like he just didn't belong there.

Staring at the murky ceiling didn't do shit. Fifteen minutes of it not doing shit convinced him of that. He stretched and arched his back as if trying to remind his muscles of a time when they'd been more tired.

Fuck. He could have gotten up and walked two miles down the road to the 24-hour convenience store for nachos if he wanted. But he didn't want it. He didn't know what he wanted.

Not even his cock responded to some idle stroking. It was stubbornly soft and no matter what he thought of, he just couldn't bring himself to be horny at three in the morning.

Verion sighed and threw his head back into his pillow. What did people do at three in the morning? There had to be something he could focus on to lull himself to sleep.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he decided to visually trace the outline of every object in his bedroom from left to right. Maybe he could bore himself to sleep. He wasn't really one for mindfulness or whatever calming woo people were into these days, but he did find it relaxing to just zone out. He could focus each in their turn on the hundred tiny sensations that made up his surroundings. The gentle rustling of the trees in the wind, the silent rotation of the ceiling fan, and the tiny clicking and skittering sounds coming from the bathroom.

Wait. What the fuck was in the bathroom?

Verion groaned, remembering the window he'd left open. It wasn't the right time of year for a cicada swarm, but there was _something_small crawling around in there.

He turned on the lamp, throwing shadows all around for whatever it was to hide in. No, positive thoughts, he reminded himself. He hated dealing with bugs at night, but it was always satisfying to crush them. Made him feel like a ninja.

He was across the room in a few slow, deliberate strides, rolling a newspaper as tight in his hand as it would roll. Hearing the tiny patter of something in his bathroom was like feeling whatever it was crawling along his tail, up and down his spine. He almost felt like showering once he was done with the thing - it sounded bigger than the usual pest.

Verion laid one hand on the bathroom door, freezing as he heard the skittering come to a stop. Did it sense him? Was it even now fixing however many eyes it had on the door, planning its next move, laying eggs in a panicked drive to reproduce before it was too late?

Diving, climbing, and spelunking had taught Verion to act deliberately and decisively, and imagining what horrors lurked in his bathroom wasn't helping him on either front.

Silently and quickly - screaming "Die, motherfucker!" in his head - he whipped the bathroom door open, stepped in, and raised the newspaper, casting his gaze around for the intruder.

He found it right next to his shower drain and nearly dropped the newspaper on the still-damp bath mat.

Roundish shape. Six legs - no, eight, he reminded himself. One very suggestively shaped tail arcing over its delicate body.

It hadn't been a dream, and Verion knew it.

Verion froze, suddenly abundantly aware of every part of himself. He'd been fucked in every hole by these things, and the memories of each sensation were dredging themselves up like parasites bursting from his limbs. At any moment he expected to be swarmed. Just checking behind him for more would leave this one free to jump on him and start humping. How the hell had this one found him?

Seconds passed without answer or action. Ten. Thirty. A minute crept by, butthugger and Verion each waiting for the other's next move.

It clicked then for Verion that the tables had turned. The butthuggers had overwhelmed him because they'd been underwater; because he'd been in their house, open to attack from all sides. On land it was different. You could step on something on land.

So why couldn't he swing the newspaper?

The thought of smashing the butthugger was nauseating enough - would it explode, or would it just lie there like any other corpse? Neither prospect appealed to Verion.

But neither could he just let it be. He felt a stirring at his crotch, his foreskin pulling slightly back as his cock recognized his bizarre lover.

"No. Uh-uh. This shit's too weird for this time of night." Verion pointed at the open window. The butthugger raised itself up a little higher on its legs. "I'm not gonna hurt you, but you can't stay here. If you crawl back out that window we can both forget this ever happened."

The thing tilted to one side as if cocking its head. Of course, it didn't understand.

Verion sighed. It didn't need to. He turned off the lights and slid back into his room, tossing the newspaper aside as he went. Maybe it would get the hint and go away. Maybe it had been a very detailed dream after all.

Hell, maybe it wouldn't even follow Verion through the bathroom door he'd left cracked. Life was full of exciting possibilities.

-

Verion sighed into his pillow, lying facedown and trying to shut out the rest of the world. All that had changed was his persistent half-erection from his brief encounter with the thing in his bathroom. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd drift back to that sexy afternoon - no, _not_sexy, insane - and the gangbang would stick in his mind like sand in his wetsuit.

The thought crossed his mind that if he hadn't taken the job to explore the Frederick III, he might actually be able to get to sleep. He never would have found the butthuggers. He never would have been swarmed by them, fucked by them.

He rolled his hips into the bed and moaned. He never would have been impregnated by them. The thought should have repulsed him, but every toe on his digitigrade feet curled at the memories, the sensations, the awakened desires. He'd been filled in a way that he'd never considered possible, would in fact have recoiled at, still did recoil at... but that didn't make him any less hard. Nothing else could bring his cock to life quite as quickly as the thought of his abdomen being stuffed full, his asshole burning from the stretch of an egg after egg pushing into his bowels.

Verion's hips ached. He shifted to the side, letting his cock spring up with a thump against his abs. The memories of his alien abuse had reduced him to grinding against his bed, trying to get back that endless chain of orgasms those things had forced upon him. The gentle brush of his sheets across his cock gradually grew damp and warm as precum soaked the sheets, as he wore a crude cleft in the cloth to rut in.

It wasn't enough, could never be enough. Verion edged and edged, trudging up and down the lower slopes of his pleasure, hardly daring to surge higher for fear that he'd lose control. No orgasm could be as satisfying as what he'd experienced being fucked in almost every hole, penetrated, bred by these beings. He was utterly alone in his desperate drive for the fulfillment, a dull throb up and down his length a cruel imitation of what he'd tasted.

Until he wasn't.

Verion's heel came alive with a soft tap, then a gentle press, then two, then three. It didn't take a genius to guess what had skittered up onto his bed and was tentatively prodding him as if asking for permission.

He didn't say yes. He didn't say no. He buried his face in the pillow and summoned up the memory of the dive from the fragments of it tickling his leg. His tail swung gently back and forth, the spines along his back stood firm, and his cock burrowed into the soaking sheets as he silently, privately begged the thing to violate him again.

The butthugger was out of its element, a little clumsier in the gravity of dry land, but it made its way cautiously upward nonetheless. Its legs prickled along Verion's calf... then his thigh... then his tail, closer and closer to its prize.

Verion moaned as the thing crept curiously down his tail. Surely it couldn't be teasing him. It didn't have the intelligence for that. And if it couldn't tease him, it certainly couldn't understand his wordless groan of frustration.

But all in good time, all in good time. The thing had made its way to the flared tip and was prodding experimentally at the fins when Verion lifted his tail and curled it assward.

The butthugger seemed to respond to that. It hopped from Verion's tail onto his ass. Like a switch had been flipped, it began to stroke one leg along verion's crack.

Now the gloves were off. Verion canted his hips back, digging his cock into the bed and presenting his ass for the creature to toy with. It traced the inside of his crack, first left and then right. Verion's impatient grunt turned into a squeal as the thing prodded at his asshole halfway through.

The thing poked into him - no more than a fraction of an inch into his ass, barely breaching the white ring, just scratching the surface of Verion's dark desire. They shared no common tongue, no communication but what their bodies expressed, but after a minute this served to crudely bridge the gap between their species. Verion fell into a rhythm with the butthugger's experimental fucking, spread his legs, and relaxed for the thing's entry.

His alien lover seemed content with rimming him. It was all Verion could do not to reach back, grab it, and stuff it as far into his ass as it would go. He briefly wondered if the thing had been present for his gangbang, if it knew how to pleasure him the way the others had. Maybe it was new, the product of someone else being swarmed and used.

Maybe it was even one of the ones he'd given birth to.

That last thought sickened and yet aroused him, disgust coiling in his stomach and reaching into his cock to keep it hard, but not fulfilled; throbbing, but not cumming.

Almost at the moment, he had this thought, he gave a great shuddering gasp as the butthugger slid its tail properly into his ass. It felt infinite, reached parts of him he didn't even know existed, the prehensile limb putting them to a better purpose.

Verion drew his knees up, lifting his ass as if presenting himself for a much larger lover, cradling the butthugger with his own tail to keep it in place. No need - the thing spread its legs and clamped onto his cheeks, sliding into a stable position. A sensation like spreading fingertips across a kneecap swept over Verion's lower body, exquisite numbness wiping away all else but the questing pseudo-cock.

He could feel his balls tightening, the pulse in his cock quickening. The timing of the butthugger rubbing against his prostate was exquisite. His asshole convulsed around the thing's tail, and the first hot jet of his orgasm was boiling just above his taint.

And then the sheets quivered, the bed shook, and muffled skitters from either side of Verion sent him over the edge with their promise.

With his face buried in the pillow, Verion could only imagine how many had swarmed onto his bed. It could have been three, it could have been twelve, drawn to his tryst with their companion like ants to scent-marked food. There was no counting on his condition. He could feel them scuttling below him, crawling over his limbs, climbing onto his back.

He felt a spindly figure hop onto his cock, one enterprising butthugger having opted to jerk him off right as he started cumming. It scrabbled for purchase on his prodigious foreskin, eight separate limbs massaging him up and down as he sprayed rope after rope of cum into the wet spot on the bed. The dull spatter was quickly joined by the sucking sound of at least one hungry alien lapping up his seed.

The meal deprived it of the opportunity the one on his cock quickly took. He was spent after his orgasm, his manhood thick yet relaxed, but his heart jumped into his throat at the feeling of his cockhole being prodded by one of the things. Surely there was no way it could do what he thought it was doing.

Life was full of surprises.

The butthugger's tail was as malleable as it was flexible. It compressed and slithered into Verion's urethra, pressing itself against his inner walls and penetrating him in a new and impossible way.

Verion bit his pillow. He'd never been filled from _this_side before. Intrusive thoughts in that direction had only ever made his skin crawl. Now every inch of him was burning for it. The butthugger was settling onto his cock now, having worked its legs between the folds of his foreskin, and it was pumping its whole body up and down his length, jerking him off as if milking him for his semen, a constant, self-sustaining motion inside and out. Already he felt himself stiffening, throbbing like his refractory period didn't even count.

Verion undulated his body, submitting utterly to the swarm. The butthuggers at his ass and his cock were the ringleaders, priming him for a continuous full-body orgasm that had his skin singing as the others roamed all over him.

He came again and again, and from then on not a single drop of cum escaped to wet the bed. The butthugger's tail formed a perfect seal inside his cock, vacuuming up his seed, feeding relentlessly as it extracted every salty morsel.

There was only a slight burn at either end when the butthuggers started feeding little bulges back into him. Verion's abdomen and crotch grew heavier over the course of several minutes, making him spread his knees to distribute the weight more easily, and he could feel his gut bulging when he reached a hand back to confirm the insane repeat of the thing he thought he'd dreamed underwater.

There was a part of him that still thought he might be dreaming. It disappeared under a wave of blissful exhaustion as his eighth orgasm took hold of him.

-

Light slipped its grip into Verion's eyelids and pried them open. He was alone, his insectoid lovers nowhere to be found, the events of the previous night fading as quickly as he could reach for them in his memory.

It felt like the worst hangover of his life. His mouth was dry, his limbs ached, and the room spun when he rolled over to stretch.

That was when he noticed his pregnant belly.

It curved out from him like a shallow grave, the fruit of his violation slumbering within him as proof of the forbidden dream that wasn't.

His asshole burned and his cock ached as he felt himself up, brushing away crusty fluids from his holes, out of the folds of his foreskin. Fuck, even his sack was swollen. His testicles were sharing space with little round objects of similar size, and it didn't take too much imagination to guess at what they were.

He was caught halfway between throwing up and jerking off when his body decided to split the difference.

His bowels convulsed and he grew hard, little spasms rippling from deep inside him to the center of his asshole and the tip of his cock. The mass inside Verion was shifting, whether he liked it or not, and he realized unconsciously that all he could do was make it easier.

He took up his kneeling position from before, spreading his knees as wide as they would go and holding his cock straight. The contractions started weak, slow, and over the ensuing minutes grew stronger, and more frequent, robbing verion of any sense of the passage of time outside of their onset.

Some sense of compliance festering at the base of his brain snuck up and seized Verion, commanding him to bear down and push in time with his contractions when his quarry fell into its ready position. Like a puzzle piece snapping into its proper place, the Lugia felt the first of many round objects pass through his abused asshole as he flexed his repurposed muscles. The slight lightening of the load combined with a reward signal the things sent to his brain, eliciting an involuntary moan, sending a frisson of pleasure into his chest, the back of his head, and especially his cock.

The miniature orgasm helped propel another mass down his shaft, and his eyes crossed as he shot a decidedly different load into the wet spot on his bed. He bent his neck to see what he was pushing out of his shaft.

It was just in time to feel his erection expanding, to see another black ball spreading his cockhole wide as it emerged with another orgasmic spike. Another. Another. Little bulges down his length filled it out like the chewy center of a cockolate confection.

He shut his eyes and gave himself over to the cycle of contract and push, the heat and numbness in his hips, his ass, his cock, the sense of fulfillment at passing his children through his most private spaces.

As luck would have it, the sunlight had moved from his eyes to the center of his bed by the time he'd finished laying the butthuggers' eggs. They were lying in the wet spot in the middle of Verion's sheets, the sun picking up where Verion's body had left off. Thirty? Forty? Who knew?

Verion sagged into his pillows, sprawled into his mattress, his legs encircling the eggs he'd laid. Verion was empty, and exhausted, his brain reeling from the full night of fucking and the morning of labor. The endorphins from giving birth to the butthuggers' children bounced around his head and sent him blissfully off to sleep.

His tail curled around the eggs while he slumbered, pushing them into a protected pile. They would hatch soon enough, and when they hatched they would be hungry, and Verion's body was ready to feed them when that happened. Semen and sweat were food and drink to these curious creatures, Verion's foreskin and rectum their bed, and their lover. He'd proven himself a perfectly hospitable host, and they would reward him for it night after night, generation after generation.