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Being alone made Miles Quaritch nervous. Not in the sense that he was afraid of being separated from his team, but more along the lines of a deep sense of brotherhood pushing him to seek companionship, to protect his family, driving his every movement. No man left behind was a mantra he took deathly seriously, and the sudden displacement he now faced made him a little uneasy.
Though, Quaritch wasn't necessarily alone, if one chose to count the enormous creature clutching his body close to its underbelly. It was roughly four times his size and many times heavier, skittering along on a number of sharp insectoid legs. It had no face to speak of, rather a mass of writhing prehensile tentacles that curled beneath its heavy armored head and continued down the length of its underside. The top of its body was flawlessly camouflaged to the undergrowth of the forest, but below it was deathly pale and partially translucent.
And, most conveniently, it was bulletproof.
Quaritch had been scouting in the rear of his squad, and through devilry beyond his understanding it had eluded detection from all of his multi-spectrum sensors, reared up behind him and snapped a pair of mandibles around his neck. Quaritch had fired his rifle in vain, but the creature had unfurled its mass of pale feelers and grabbed hold of him from anywhere it could manage; beneath his vest, around his arms and legs, some even winding around the straps of his belt. It had pulled Quaritch close and held him fast, then tore off into the forest with its prey. Quaritch had struggled ferociously, biting, snarling and thrashing, but the creature didn't seem to care or notice.
It dove into some sort of burrow in the rocks, and Quaritch felt an uncomfortable dread twist his stomach at the implications. This thing was going to eat him, to liquify his insides and feed the resulting soup to its horrific alien offspring. His comrades would find his corpse ripped to pieces and say, "here lies Miles Quaritch, dead once again, killed by another fucking alien." This world wanted him dead, and despite his training and resolve, Quaritch couldn't fight the overbearing grudge Pandora itself seemed to have against him.
At least it wasn't Sully's bitch this time around.
Darkness surrounded him, replaced by a faint bioluminescence from the creature and his own skin. The air turned stale, reeking of damp earth and what could only be described as insects.
The creature stopped, circling an earthen burrow painted with wisps of spider-like silk, then began to chitter.
Quaritch prepared for venom, mandibles, something that would rend his flesh and reduce his body to a steaming pile of sludge. He thrashed in the creature's grip, shouting and snarling, but the beast didn't seem to notice.
It curled slightly in on itself, its prehensile feelers closing in and squeezing Quaritch's body like a hundred pale hands. He realized then that the contact was…almost gentle.
The monster chittered and clucked to itself, then shuddered.
"God dammit," Quaritch whispered, furious. It lowered its heavy, faceless head and opened its jaws, revealing sharp, dripping fangs. Quaritch shouted as those fangs sunk into his shoulders. In moments, the pain started to fade, replaced by a numbness followed by intense heat. The feeling spread and sweat rose to Quaritch's skin, rolling down his body in heavy drops. His head lolled on his shoulders and he felt himself gasping for air. Thoughts struggled to manifest in his mind, and even the dread began to subside.
The creature's feelers snaked around his throat, softly squeezing, and tangled themselves in the long braid that protected his neural queue. They followed its length to the end, and in a startling burst of feeling, Quaritch felt the creature connect with him.
"No, no, no," he slurred as its intentions became crystal clear.
These creatures hibernated for years at a time, only coming out of their burrows to feed, mate and lay eggs. However, for the young to hatch, the eggs required a living, healthy host.
This particular creature had indiscriminately selected Quaritch to be that host.
He vaguely felt the creature's feelers slide beneath his belt, dragging his fatigues with them, then wind tightly around his thighs. They explored him, probing and squeezing wherever they found purchase. Through the neural link, Quaritch felt the creature reading him with an odd intelligence he never thought possible, and its blind exploration turned suddenly tactical. The stifling heat pulsing through his body flared as the creature caressed him, reaching for his stomach to encompass his torso. Limply, he tried to fight, but the monster only pressed him closer to its body. It discovered an unwilling erection and capitalized, and Quaritch had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. The creature, picking up on the signal, slipped its tentacles around the length of his cock, stroking methodically. The heat became all-consuming, mingling with the numbness in a way that chipped at the last line of Quaritch's defense–his very resolve.
The feelers continued to explore him, caressing the length of his entire body, seeking for sensitive places. One wound around the base of his tail and tugged, earning itself a bitter ejaculation from its victim. Quaritch glared at the white stain dripping down his thighs, grinding his teeth with as much hatred as he could manage.
All of the sudden, the creature was inside him. He almost didn't notice through the effects of the creature's venom, but as a rogue feeler nudged against what must have been his prostate, Quaritch instinctively bucked out of shock. A reflex that turned out to be a mistake.
Heart hammering in his chest, Quaritch gasped and writhed as the creature stroked him hard again and attacked his innards, aiming to break the will that had served Quaritch throughout his entire life. He came, time and time again until it hurt to do so, all the while the animal pushed his limits past all former consideration. Drowning in the burning, numb pleasure, Quaritch still managed to keep himself from going under. That was, until the creature got creative.
Wrapping a sticky feeler tight around his cock, Qairitch felt his circulation stop as a second tendril probed the slit in his head.
"Don't you…fucking dare," Quaritch hissed. His lip bled from punctures left by his own teeth.
Then, as the creature dragged him by the hips against the mass of feelers squirming inside of him, that small probe dove into the length of his cock. Quaritch felt no pain, and he let out a dry, heady sob at the sublime violation of it all.
The monster fucked him harder, bashing against the steely walls of his mind with every obscene thrust.
He wanted to cum, to ride the crashing wave of orgasm to its finish, but the creature would not give him release. It squeezed him hard and sounded as deep as it could go whenever his abdomen heaved, seeking release.
He set his jaw and resisted, but the creature was relentless. It was too much. Tears gathered in Quaritch's huge yellow eyes, he sucked in a torturous breath…and relented.
The animal sensed it and withdrew. The climax was earth-shattering and Quaritch cried out in unabashed ecstasy before he fell limp, utterly spent.
He was dizzy, seeing double. His heartbeat throbbed in his vision. The pale, sticky feelers withdrew from his innards, leaving him feeling cold and empty. Thankfully, the feeling wouldn't last.
Quaritch gasped as something else pressed for entry, something already drenched in the creature's own slime. He rocked back against it, feeling the mass enter. It was swollen at the base, and Quaritch marveled at how he didn't split open as it pushed into him and lodged firmly. Saliva dribbled from his teeth as the creature took another orgasm from him. The creature shifted again, mandibles clacking plaintively. A choked sort of purr bubbled up from Quaritch's chest and he arched his back against the creature. He was so exhausted and euphoria-drunk that he couldn't form thoughts, let alone words of protest. He simply lay there ensnared in writhing cords of flesh, soaked in his own fluids and heaving as his innards twitched from overstimulation.
Then came the final humiliation–the reason the creature had selected him in the first place.
Sticky warmth and pressure began to spread from the pit of Quaritch's stomach, and he felt the undulation of something as object after object was inserted into him, shunted along by huge globs of slime. The pressure turned to pain, numbed by the venom in his veins. He felt thick, hot fluid dripping down his legs where it had been forced out by the growing pressure in his innards. The creature didn't relent, eliminating inch after inch of space.
Quaritch cried out in ecstasy and agony, eyes rolling back in his head as yet another orgasm racked his weary body.
Then, encroaching on his open, exultant mouth, Quaritch heard himself fall silent with an obscene squelch as an appendage slid down his throat, pushing deep towards his stomach. With his lips sealed around the invader, he felt its contents moving beneath the slick layer of skin. Another onslaught of round, gelatinous objects marched in sequence to be deposited in his stomach, heralded by the hot, sticky solution that carried them.
Quaritch tried to scream as his stomach filled, then painfully began to stretch, distended by the additional mass. He felt as if he were burning up, invaded from all sides within and without. Slime leaked from his lips and filled his sinuses and he had to fight to breathe at all.
The wet, muffled mewling that escaped him was pathetic to listen to, and the creature seemed to take note of his shame, shuddering as orgasm after torrential orgasm took it's helpless victim. Just when Quaritch though he was about to tear apart, the creature placed a final object in his stomach, then slithered up the way it had come.
Quaritch gasped and violently retched. Cloudy white mucus spilled from his mouth and soaked his chest, and right behind it was a round translucent orange sphere the size of a golf ball.
Quaritch stared at it in delirious horror. How many of these were inside of him at the moment? More were currently being pumped into his organs though his stomach had reached full capacity.
He retched again, but the creature was ready with a strange set of small jointed arms tucked near its gigantic head. The arms reached out to touch his face, leaving behind a long string of white silk, much like the stuff on the walls of the burrow. Quickly, methodically, these two spinnerets stitched his mouth shut, leaving his nose clear and sealing the eggs behind his lips.
Quaritch writhed in protest, but the movement shifted the contents of his stomach and sent him into another wave of hazy, euphoric warmth.
The creature bit him again, injecting more of its aphrodisiacal venom and annihilating what remained of Quaritch's discomfort.
The creature finished and withdrew with a squelch, laying his disfigured body on the ground. It proceeded to bind him, sealing him up like a choice morsel to be retrieved later.
Exhausted and full, Quaritch resigned to it, allowing the creature to coat his face and body in soft white cables. He couldn't move and didn't want to, so he sunk into the heat and the pressure threatening to break him open, and let darkness take him.
(O)
"Colonel? Colonel? What the fuck?"
Quaritch vomited as the last of the little white devils fled the confines of his mouth, retreating into…well, he didn't care.
He had been spared the shame of giving birth in front of his squadron, but only just. He lay in a puddle of filth and mucus, tangled in white mesh and shuddering violently. The 1st recom squad had tracked their leader down after a week of relentless searching, finding him 100 feet down in the den of the monster that had made off with him. That beast lay dead on the ground of unknown cause, legs curled skyward like a spider. Quaritch lay nearby, pale and bound head to toe. He was gagging reflexively, heaving up gouts of slime with every convulsion. His eyes were lolled up in his head, unfocused and blind.
Suddenly Quaritch felt hands on his shoulders.
"Jesus Christ." It was Lyle, knife in hand and sawing at his bonds.
Quaritch opened his mouth to speak but only managed to vomit once again.
Lyle looked down at the floor and nearly shrieked. Flopping around in the puddle of sludge was a tiny pale copy of the dead creature in the room, struggling to right itself where it had been forcibly evicted.
Lyle cursed and brought his boot down on the creature, earning a crunch and a tiny squeal. He felt nauseous.
"Colonel, c'mon," said Lyle, stooping down to pull Quaritch to his feet. "What the hell happened? What happened to your fucking fatigues?"