Unmasked, p.6
Unmasked, page 6
He snickered. “Only since the explosion last night. That blast really grabbed my gonads. Didn’t it yours? Man, I am horny and ready to go anytime. Isn’t that a hoot?”
Hoot? Hell, I was super horny, too, but I couldn’t tell him. What good would it do? We had a mission to accomplish, and taking care of each other’s “hoots” was not part of the job description. Not now.
With a rattle and shake of its battered frame, the ever-trustworthy trans-M transport unit – Ducky Lucky – cranked up, the digital touch screen counted us down, and we shot into a low orbit, locking onto the magnetic bands of migration patterns.
Pauley punched some figures into his fanny pack (another nerd piece of our personal equipment), and we sailed over oceans and scattered islands and headed for the foreign mainland.
The indicator lamps attached to our narrow lapels began to sputter – we were being jammed as expected – and began to lose altitude, but we had made it across and were over our target. Tightening the straps that passed over our chests and through our crotches, we activated our mini-chutes. I checked our final destination coordinates, punched them into the locator in my fanny pack, and we gently floated down toward the countryside.
A hunky, bare-chested farmhand came running up to meet us. Boy, the Council really knew how to pick its operatives. He had been alerted to our arrival. Spouting his native tongue, eyes narrowed, he paid no attention to me and jumped up to grab Pauley, locking his grip onto my buddy’s bulging elongated package outlined halfway down his left leg.
A gasp. A blush. A torrent of apologies. A chuckle on Pauley’s part, and we all landed in a heap. I slipped the wireless translator into my ear, but my horny buddy was busy smiling and nodding and trying to communicate in our own pidgin language.
“He thought that was where you might be carrying a weapon,” I told Pauley flatly, explaining to the bare-chested dude we had no weapons, but did need directions. The stud shrugged and poked at Pauley’s meat. Was it really all real? He had heard superheroes were hung like stallions, but well, I didn’t look quite as well-endowed. Was I truly a member of the mission and was Pauley truly that well equipped?
Pauley looked smugly over at me, then happily pulled his massive manhood out to show the stud, who instantly fell to his knees in total worship. I had to admit, sticking out of Pauley’s nerd suit, his dick looked every inch the gut-choker it turned out to be. The guy asked nicely, if frantically time was of the essence – but sex, of course, was even more essence-er. Pauley pulled out his balls, too (superballs now), and let the guy have at his super equipment. It was important to keep on good terms with the operatives we dealt with, he gasped – unnecessarily, I thought – as this particular hot operative sucked in half his meat and proceeded to vacuum the seed right out of Pauley’s nuts.
There was nothing to do but watch. I pulled out my pitifully ordinary (compared to Pauley’s) prick, stroked it a couple of times to make sure it was functional, then pounded the hell out of it until I had hosed a load onto the muscular operative’s naked back.
He didn’t even notice. He was busy taking a gutful from Pauley, whose drop-jawed, half-lidded response to blowing a load reminded me of Daumier drawings of bedlam inmates. Crazy fucker. I, myself, held myself in check a bit better when I spewed my seed, I smugly noted to myself.
The grinning dude wiped Pauley’s cum from his chin and started giving us our instructions while pulling IDs for us out of his pants. I wouldn’t have minded checking out what was inside the dude’s loose-fits, but now that Pauley’s dick had gone down pretty much to a normal porn dog size, he was all business and ready to move on.
A few kilometers later, we hopped off the scooter that had been pulled out of hiding and snuck around the perimeter of the target complex. Most of the reactors in that region had little security because what difference would it make, considering all the methods of destruction that had been devised by then? So it was fairly easy showing our fake IDs to the not-very-interested local security and getting inside.
The six men at the controls were another matter. They explained, courteously, but definitively, we weren’t going to be allowed near the panels. In desperation, Pauley explained how the World International Terrorists League of Extreme Supreme Solutions (WITLESS) had been able to crack the security code and wirelessly remotely reconfigure the controls of the string of reactors. On their secret signals, the complex would be shut down, causing meltdown and thus depriving most of the region of electricity. Indefinitely. Chaos would ensue.
The controllers didn’t believe us, but after some spirited conferring among themselves in their native tongue – and asking us politely to step to the other side of the room – they began to run a series of highly classified diagnostics. Shockingly, our pronouncement proved true.
However, Pauley and I weren’t yet home free. It was time to show our credentials. I stripped off my suit and blazed forth in the M/M MATHMEN spandex. We were newly created SuperHero math geniuses who had been called from our lonely lab by the InterGallactic Supreme Council (IGCS) to fly forth and prevent this terrible catastrophe.
Pauley beamed at my powerful stance and my ringing pronouncement. His left leg began to shake.
Wow. Seeing me in my spandex had given my buddy a big hard bone. Kewl.
Wow. Watching his meat swell, it was all I could do to hold in my own stiffening sausage.
But the band of controller dudes was too distracted by something else to notice Pauley’s predicament and mine. They were howling with laughter at the logo scrawled across my chest.
M/M to them meant “Men on Men.” As in M/M/W for man, man, woman (threeway), they explained, or perhaps M/W/M/W (fourway), a couple of leering ones further explained, or yet M/M/M/M/M/M (sixway). A handsome, hunky dude squeezed the broad shoulders of his nearby co-workers and kissed them soundly on their blushing cheeks before sliding his hands down their backs to smack them affectionately on their butts.
All the men chuckled and shrugged. It got lonely at the plant, with them stuck in the control room by themselves, just guys – six months on, six months off. Obviously, they would need an outlet for their sexual proclivities. Their bosses didn’t mind what outlet they chose, so sometimes – often – pretty much daily – they got less lonely – wink, wink – if we knew what they meant.
What did the M/M mean to us? They demanded. Uh, well, why, superhero Math/Men, of course, we explained – glancing at each other but obviously keeping in mind their explanation.
As further proof, Pauley and I threw back and forth some abstruse mathematical nuclear formulae, which indeed did seem to impress the expert controllers with our expertise.
OK, but why was I the only one wearing a superhero outfit? One that emphasized my full-blown sexual equipment. Was I the dominating one? How did I dominate him? Were we also, as they were, sex buddies? Did we, you know, do it like superheroes? How did superheroes do it?
Pauley and I put our heads together. It was obviously time to reveal our super masculine sexuality as well as our mathematical genius.
He pulled out his monster masher, explaining that the Council had not known it was too impressive to be held in check by the spandex, but that I, in my patriotic fervor was doing what I could to keep it under control for the mission.
Pauley and I would therefore demonstrate how I manfully took it up the butt. He doused the throbbing, vein-choked, meaty column with half a tube of lube. The purple nosecone was already dripping. I slipped my superhero costume from my shoulders and peeled it down to bare my tense ass cheeks and bent over, presenting myself for his impalement. The other half of the tube of lube went onto the fingers of both of my impaler’s hands, which dug into my hole to ream me wide.
We had no idea whether the butt fuck was going to work or not – needless to say, we had not previously indulged – but the men were glued to our demonstration. Pauley aimed. I pulled ‘em apart, my sphincter split wide, and he punctured my ass.
I took it like a superhero.
The men cheered, impressed with the tears pouring down my cheeks and the ass juices squeezed out and pouring down my nether cheeks. They surrounded us, slapping Pauley on the back, giving me kisses on both sets of wet cheeks while leaning in to observe closely and compare notes on the awesome super dick that slowly pumped in and out of the super sucking butt hole.
With the group satisfied with our credentials, Pauley extracted his honker. Damn. I was hoping my ass would be so enticing he would at least give me a quickie.
We hooked up our minicomputers to the control boards and rewrote the circuits for the entire chain of reactors. The bad guys wouldn’t even know. Hopefully, they would expose themselves in expecting a meltdown, and when it didn’t come would be an easy catch for the locals.
After we had accomplished our mission, we announced we should quickly return to our home base to notify the Council since communication was blocked here. The men – bless each and every enthusiastic, sexy one of them – would have none of it.
They broke out the happy brew, and for the next couple of hours Pauley and I fucked and got fucked by the “super six” until everybody was pretty much super screwed. We left with many manly hugs and exchanges of emails.
“You didn’t fuck me once,” I groused, while we were waiting in the field for our return flight on Ducky Lucky that evening.
“Well, gee, you didn’t fuck me, either. But you sure took care of that muscle dude with the hairy butt. How many – three, four times? He wouldn’t let me get near him.”
“You were pretty awesome,” I smiled. “You know, Pauley, the more action you get, the more your giant dick returns to normal. Maybe that means you might be able to wear the spandex after all.”
He thought about it – us constantly sexing it up to keep his dick down. “Gee, you think? Oh, man, how can I thank you?”
“I could suck you off while we’re waiting,” I replied slyly. “Maybe that would help cut down on our wind resistance on the way back.”
“Kewl.” Pauley’s thick lashes fluttered, and his thick dick flapped forth. I got down on my hands and knees, opened my drooling lips, and in he went.
The huge head filled my mouth, ironing my tongue down as it snuggled into my throat. The throbbing veins pressed against the inside of my cheeks as I valiantly sucked.
Pauley whimpered.
“Oh, man, that is so good.”
I opened my throat. He slid in further. Then I pulled my mouth back up the length of hard meat, my lips tight against the stretched flesh, leaving just the greasy tip inside, thrashing it with my tongue and digging into the cavernous piss-slit.
Pauley growled. I sucked him in again, this time ingesting even more of his amazing fuckpole. I began to pump my head, with each forward stroke guzzling even more meaty inches.
Suddenly, I realized I was going to eat the whole damn thing!
Pauley was trembling he was so thrilled.
My nose drove into his wiry mat of pubic hair. The head of his dick seemed tucked inside my chest. I chewed the root like mad.
The beam of a harsh flashlight hit us. “What is going on?” a thick accent enquired. We froze.
Two local policemen strolled around us. With my face completely encompassing Pauley’s gut-gouging equipment they couldn’t really tell what was going on, other than I had my head in his crotch. I started flapping my arms and fiddling with his fanny pace.
“He’s, uh, trying to adjust the transducer of the transmigratory transponder.” Pauley began spouting scientific sounding garbage as I nodded intently and kept my face jammed against him. The dick inside my mouth and throat and down my gut was getting bigger and bigger from excitement. Soon all oxygen would be cut off, and I would be dead meat dangling on a dynamite dong. What a way to go!
The local cop nodded knowingly at his gobbledygook jargon as Pauley kept up the patter explaining how we were visiting nuclear inspectors and were waiting for our return transport.
“In the middle of an empty field in the middle of the night?” the less gullible policemen asked sternly.
At that moment, Ducky Lucky floated down out of the night sky on its own set of mini-chutes. Pauley yanked his dick out of my throat as oxygen flooded deep into my grateful lungs, grabbed me, and we leapt onto the transport platform.
The cops charged us, shouting stop. As we quickly ascended into the darkness, Pauley let loose a volley of cum shots that arced snow white against the velvet black of the night sky to splatter over the attacking officers. Realizing they were being cummed, they ducked and ran, howling obscenities.
The super heroes sailed away, mission completed.
* * * * *
“How do I look?” Pauley smiled proudly into our bedroom mirror, as only a splendidly spandexed superhero who – along with his partner in preventive crime – was to be presented to the Council for a Special Commendation medal, could beam.
“You’re still pretty big down there, Mighty Mathman. I might have to suck you off again.”
Pauley grinned slyly and began to peel down his glittering super garb. “You’ve sucked me off three times already this morning. Why don’t we give your jaws a rest, and I fuck you in the ass?”
Holy Anal Entry, I had completely forgotten about my butt on this magic morning. I had been totally obsessed with having accomplished the super feat of being able to swallow my buddy’s sword in its entirety – and breathe at the same time.
He squirted in the lube as I aimed my butt hole. The protective muscular cheeks spread wide, and the glory hole automatically opened.
We were both anything but prime nerd examples, now. Having taken full assessment of our superbods, we worked the weights with the same concentration we applied to our foiling destructive math situations worldwide.
We were both muscle-popping hot.
Pauley smoothed the glittering M/M MATHMEN! logo over his newly-chiseled pecs and ran his fingers through the dark, glossy waves of his also-new, more free-flowing haircut than the close-clipped, practical nerd dos we had worn before.
“Satisfied with yourself, stud?” I snuggled against his front, plucking at the prominent tented nipples pressing their tasty nubs hard against the thick super fabric.
“Now we look like we belong.” He beamed. “I wouldn’t mind appearing at any mall to sign autographs, now.”
I playfully punched him in his tight six-pack and then let my hand skim down to cup his crotch. The thick shaft of his rising dick nestled against my palm. His shapely dick-head rose to press against my middle fingers, dividing the twin ovals of his outstanding nuts that nudged hard against my thumb and little finger. In a few minutes, he was going to be unacceptable in public again.
“You want to go for one last flying fuck before the big event?” He cradled my butt in his hands and pulled me close. We had less than an hour. Time enough. I nodded and sucked his tit through the clinging stretch fabric while digging my hand more firmly into his hot lunch.
That was a yes since our “flying fuck” was special. Other super heroes might do it their own way – enough of them could fly – but, even though we didn’t have that ability, we had a specially rigged Ducky Lucky and a choice of migratory patterns that made slamming our beef among the clouds our own unique event.
Watching himself in the bedroom mirror, Pauley peeled his M/M MATHMEN! outfit down to his thighs. I barely got mine down past my butthole before he had flipped me around and plugged me from the rear. Clumsily, but butt happily, I fumbled my superhero outfit off my legs and tied it around my waist while Pauley pistoned in and out. He grabbed my nipples and hung on as I leaned forward, swinging my arms up before me. I kicked up my legs and locked my ankles behind his butt, stretching out my body. My ass cheeks tightened around Pauley’s buried bone like a lock wrench securing a twelve-inch bolt.
He worked his outfit the rest of the way off his legs – while not losing a stroke of fucking my butt – and reached down to secure the shrunken elastic fabric around one of his now massive thighs. With a happy howl, he took off out of the bedroom – me swimming in the air in front of him – galloping down the stairs to our refurbished basement math lab.
“Hi ya, Ducky Lucky,” he saluted the shining contraption, “we’re starting the celebration early with one last civilian ducky fucky.” Leaping onto the platform with me still skewered on his rock-hard projectile, he secured his feet into the special brackets we had installed. I rested my chest on the padded incline board and spread my legs wide in a swan dive position as Pauley slipped his wrists through the handholds and kicked Ducky into gear.
We took off, a naked, fucking double masthead sailing high, honing in on a migratory pattern that would take us into the atmosphere then loop us back in plenty of time for the ceremony.
Pauley howled like a banshee, driving in and out of me with a super power that rammed my pole out like a guided missile. He grabbed my dick and pounded the steaming flesh in rhythm with his fucking. Ducky found a flock of cruising geese, and we sailed in and out of the squawking birds spraying them with fountains of cum as Pauley got me off, time and time again, while he creamed my clutching colon with his super seed.
Who says guys can’t have multiple organisms?
Who says nerds can’t become super heroes?
Right on … into the blue … M/M MATHMEN!
Jackal vs. Thresher:
The Reckoning
By Christopher Pierce
Jackal didn’t know if the pounding in his ears was blood in his veins or the storm outside. Rain pelted the roof of the abandoned warehouse, creating sounds of hundreds of feet sprinting across the surface.
Although outside it had been chilly, inside the warehouse, Jackal could feel sweat drip from his forehead and crawl down his bare arms. He felt its moisture all over his body, from his hairy chest to the pouch under his clothes that held his cock and balls. The feeling would almost be sensual if he hadn’t been aware he might die in the next few minutes.
