Target Nemesis: The Tentacle Lord's Revenge

Target Nemesis: The Tentacle Lord Attacks

Target: Nemesis

The Tentacle Lord's Revenge

by

Jonathan Longhorn

Copyright © 2014 by Jonathan Longhorn (jonathan underscore longhorn at yahoo dot com). All rights reserved. Except for the use of less than two pages in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means is forbidden without the express permission of the author. Express permission is granted to The Nifty Erotic Stories Archive for storage, indexing, retrieval, and display of this story.

Disclaimer: The material in this work is for mature audiences only and contains graphic sexual content and language. It is intended only for those aged 18 and older. All of the characters in this story are assumed to be at least 18 years of age or the legal age for adults in their part of the galaxy. No actual humans, animals, tentacle creatures, cyborgs, Q'atonian Warriors or zombies, alien or otherwise, were harmed in the making of this movie.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and settings are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, names, locales, organizations, planets, galaxies, alien races, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

CAUTION! Science Fiction, Fantasy and EXTREME BDSM ahead. This story may be considered by some—many?—to be extremely violent and is NOT for the faint of heart.

You have been warned.

The show will begin immediately after the dancing hot dogs and the squirting mustard containers and the exploding buttered popcorn kernels all do their thing.

Thank you.

Earth Under Siege

Lord Q'a Attacks

Two battle cruisers that were hovering above Earth slowly yielded their position to make room for a new arrival; they moved into new space amongst the dozens of attack vessels that surrounded the planet. If they had a life of their own, one would almost think that they separated and bowed out of respect. Or, fear. Or, both. These ships might have been huge, but `this' ship was massive.

Even the front of the ship elicited a promise of dominance and savagery beyond compare. It was overwhelming ... intimidating ... terrifying; it looked like a cross between a Great White and an angry dragon—on steroids. It was fierce. Angry. Vicious. So many words ... so much armor ... so much weaponry, and—power. Sheer unrivaled power exuded from its very depths. There were times when it even looked like it was more than `just' a machine—when it looked `alive' to those enemies that were unfortunate enough to cross paths with the beast.

Simply put, the monstrous ship was both awe-inspiring and terror-inducing.

Standing at an enormous viewport—taking in the battle that raged in the skies and on the ground below—was the Commander of the invasion force, Supreme Ruler, Lord Q'a. Tentacles moving and circling ... pumping and undulating ... flexing—like a world champion MMA fighter preparing for a bout ... waiting to pounce and to annihilate the latest in a long string of victims that have fallen before him...

A smile creased Lord Q'a's face as his body morphed much bigger. A very imposing, very threatening size that would be much more intimidating to those puny `earthlings'. All in all, more than twice his normal size—nearly twenty feet in height.

Over the eons, his race, or, more specifically—the long line of rulers he descended from—had evolved the ability to morph various parts of their bodies in sizes, shapes and colors that would be the most intimidating to their enemies, or—their subjects. In `this' case—for `this' battle, Lord Q'a decided on a flaming, fiery red hue after studying various human cultures along with their myths and legends. For humans, this color seemed to signify something dangerous, or—evil incarnate. They would have to edit their interpretations after he had finished here; after he had accomplished this mission. He would add a whole new chapter to that definition.

He had spent many, many `solbies' immersed in researching as much as he could learn about Earth, humans, and their various cultures, or at least as much as their primitive knowledge banks contained. A task he would have normally delegated to one or more of his underlings. But not for this mission. As the humans might say, no stone unturned, no avenue for mistakes left open when preparing for this mission; `this' was very personal. Not even his most trusted military leaders had the slightest idea why they were preparing to attack, and probably totally annihilate, this worthless, useless planet.

A planet so far out of their way.

Privately, there had been some speculation amongst his top military leaders that maybe their Supreme Ruler, Lord Q'a, had finally lost his tenuous grip on reason and sanity. Even he admitted at times that he obsessed about his `rule' but this...? `This' obsession seemed to be deteriorating toward the maniacal. Not that any of them would approach Lord Q'a with that opinion.

As usual, the speculations were whispered. Total secrecy was essential to survival. No sane Q'athonian dared risk the horrible, slow, public and very painful deaths that would surely befall anyone heard—or even rumored to have expressed the tiniest sentiment against their Supreme Ruler. They were all extremely aware of what would happen to them if such speculations came to light.

More than once, when Lord Q'a was really pissed off, they had witnessed one of their comrades being taken up in a bevy of tentacles and held tight as another few which held razor sharp discs in their composition. Razor sharp discs that skinned the hapless victim alive. Once he or it was raw and festering, what was left of him was held up to the Sun. As he inched them closer and closer to the intensity of its heat, the remnants of their bodies began to smolder, to bubble with heat pockets ... until they burst into flame and fell into nothing more than a small mass of charred dust.

Yes. He was that cruel. He was that intolerant of mistakes by his minions, no matter the height of their rank. Do not piss off Lord Q'a. Pure. Simple. Clear.

Lord Q'a reached for a transparent cylinder that dangled around his neck—empty ... for the moment. Lifting the small cylinder upward to study it with intensity, and yet—an almost childlike tenderness, he slowly turned it ... studied it from every angle and then proceeded to lovingly finger the small bright red button on the force field cap that kept the powerful vacuum at bay—for the moment. He gazed into its emptiness. An emptiness that was waiting to be filled with the ultimate symbol of the victory achieved in this battle ... a symbol of his own, most personal triumph.

Oh yes. Let there be no mistake. `This' invasion. `This' battle. `This' was personal. And his triumph would be ... glorious.

`His' triumph.

`His' domination.

Soon.

Yes—very soon.

He was almost giddy thinking about the moment when he would press the red button, deactivating the force field that kept the near-vacuum of the cylinder completely contained; the resulting suction—powerful enough to instantly capture the symbol of his monumental victory. Once it was—`detached'. That very `special' symbol. Finally, a quick press of the green button would immediately seal his personal treasure in the cylinder's stasis field, preserving it for all time.

He stroked his neck and throat. He could almost feel the cylinder dangling there with its precious cargo locked inside ... for him to savor—for all to see.

And, more. This trophy would warn all others that he, Lord Q'a was the Supreme Ruler—the Master of the Universe.

Obey him.

Worship him.

Bow down before him.

Kneel.

Or—

perish.

No victory would ever be as sweet as this.

This trophy that would soon be displayed around his neck—the victory it represented stood for even more. His legions of soldiers—mutant tentacle creatures ... zombie warriors ... his cyborg legion ... his Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard ... these pathetic `humans' on the planet below—`all' beings ... `everywhere'—would kneel before him. Would look at his trophy in awe, and—in fear. They would yield to the knowledge that he would stop at nothing ... `nothing' ... in his quest to rule completely. Yield, to the knowledge and submit to him.

It would be a glorious victory.

The sweet savor of revenge.

Lord Q'a.

Lord, Master.

Supreme Ruler of the Universe!

Lord Q'a looked out the viewport once more and watched the battle rage on and on... Finally, satisfied with the progress, although it appeared that these humans were more adept in their warfare than his generals—than `he'—had allowed credit, he made his decision. The time had come to finish this and collect his prize. It was time to seek out and take the reason that he and his warriors had come so far out of their way—to a part of the known universe for which he had absolutely no use.

A planet so very, very far from home.

With a wave of one of his tentacles and a commanding nod, Lord Q'a ordered his second-in-command forward. Time to hit them with everything they had. Within moments, the battle zone amped up in fury and viciousness. More of their combined armies flowed from the other cruisers and transports to join in the melee. So thick was the swarm of warriors as they filled the skies that they nearly blanketed the planet from its precious sun.

With a wave of another tentacle, his personal transport activated and Lord Q'a was swept from the flagship of his fleet and materialized in the middle of the smoke and ash, the flames, the impulses of energy bombarding creatures, humans, and ships—blasts of destructive energy beams, concussion shells, electrosonic torpedoes ... a constant barrage of explosions ... everywhere.

And—

death.

Death all around.

Death growing in numbers on both sides.

The invasion force, however, was amassing the brunt of the statistics. For every human that fell, it seemed that twenty of the invaders were being eliminated. Lord Q'a snorted. His commanders and intelligence specialists would hear about this. Oh yes, they would hear about it, and—they would pay for it if they failed to offer up good, solid, acceptable reasons. None of which would be sufficient.

From the looks of the bodies and the shredded remnants of bodies that were strewn around the planet's surface as well as those floating in and falling from the heavens around him, his satisfaction minutes earlier might well have been premature. From all appearances, the pesky little humans were standing up to his huge number of warriors with exceptional results.

He let out a long sigh that sounded more like the rumble of a crocodile's throat filled with bone shards and solidified his position as he braced himself for the final assault. And, there would be no doubt ... no question ... this would be the `final' assault. He just needed one piece of the puzzle to fall into place.

That ... one ... specific ... piece.

The piece that he had come for and had no intention of leaving without. It would be in his possession no matter what it took; the destruction of the planet was not out of the question if that was what it would take.

Lord Q'a paused as his target came into view.

The most painful thorn.

The most grating blemish on his otherwise illustrious series of conquests.

His embarrassment at the battle of Calgoran Da Mor...

His irritation at the uprising at Glor Mach 29489...

The setback and tremendous loss of warriors at Tor Kling Mal...

That ... one ... piece ... of ... the ... puzzle...

And when that final piece ... `this' piece ... now in sight ... fell into its rightful place, the entire focus of the battle would shift `his' way.

That ... one ... piece...

Nemesis.

That was the word. It was the perfect definition of all that grated within his body.

Nemesis.

Or, perhaps more to the point at hand, Lord Q'a's Nemesis.

"Ah... There ... you ... are."

Lord Q'a's head tilted and one of his tongues licked at the lower lips around his mouth. My, oh my—but his Nemesis was beautiful—for a human. More beautiful than he had ever imagined or that he had ever gleaned from the images that he had gathered over the past year while meticulously planning his revenge down to the last detail. `Each' detail. `Every' detail. `All' details revolving around his nemesis.

Stunning.

Truly stunning.

Handsome. So very handsome. Almost ... pretty.

That, and—talented. Too talented. A talent for military strategies and combat that was too dangerous to be allowed to go unabated. The evidence of `that' was floating and crashing and burning and `dying' all around Lord Q'a, even now; evidenced as well, in the staggering losses in those previous battles across the Galaxy.

But never mind all that—it would soon change now that the Supreme Ruler, Lord Q'a had arrived.

He studied his target more closely. More fully. More intrigued than ever. He was magnificent in every respect. Every move. Every direction. Every command. Magnificent. Skilled with the mastery of the gods. His leadership was unquestioned ... unchallenged. It was clear that they all looked to him as he led the defenders with brilliance and a vehemence that impressed Lord Q'a and made him savor even more the outcome that would soon be his.

Magnificent.

Yes, magnificent.

The Earth Forces Brigade's leader was stunning, both in his military strategy and expertise, and—his mouthwatering physical form.

Lord Q'a reached for the cylinder once more and took a moment to fondle it. His very loins—each of them—boiled with anticipation.

The time had come.

The snarl that blasted forth from deep inside Lord Q'a was like an icy deluge from the coldest outpost of the universe—freezing everything that fell within its path.

"You ... are ... mine!"

*****

The troops for Earth Forces Brigade were overwhelmingly outnumbered by the alien invasion forces; the evidence was swarming all around them, and yet—they fought on. Carcasses were falling like rain at the hands of their weapons, and in some cases—pure, drawn out hand-to-hand combat did the trick. Still, the invaders kept coming ... and coming.

But...

This was Earth they were talking about. Its inhabitants were not about to let it go down in flames without one hell of a fight. And fight, they did. They were led by many appointed `leaders' but they followed only one with unwavering loyalty and devotion, and in some cases—an abundant boatload of worship. Only one reached a god-like, superhero status, captivated them all, fueled by, and followed with unquestioned obedience. Even those that resented him ... those that spat bitterness at his perfection and his authority ... even the few that vehemently hated him—followed him. All—followed him. If anyone ... anything ... could see them through this invasion ... see them through to the next sunrise ... their next meal...? This was the man.

He was their only hope.

God-like?

Superhero?

In ... fucking ... spades.

Worship him or not.

Sneer at the mention of his name, or—not.

There was no question at this moment—

Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum was their only hope for survival ... for Earth's continued existence. They all knew it. They all acknowledged it. They all accepted it.

And so, they fought valiantly against these invaders. Massively muscled, powerful, and imposing creatures, some of which seemed to be able to shift their form on a whim. Tentacles which swayed and arched, and undulated, that could hurl powerful and destructive sonic beams in response to Earth Forces Brigade's lasers, phaser shells, and light sabers. The more grotesque of the invaders, a legion of zombie warriors attacked with everything but the kitchen sink, and—that was not entirely out of the question.

But that wasn't all. There were more parties in this invasion force.

Backing up the waves upon waves of tentacled creatures and ravenous zombie warriors, there was yet another surge that was now coming at them from all sides—cyborgs, half robotic and half human, or other sentient being—these warriors possessed the ability to morph without notice to meet any occasion that warranted a shift in form or ability. Able, even to become `human-like' if necessary—showing no outward evidence of their true selves—or, they held the ability to combine several forms at once.

For instance—the body and agility of the ultimate seasoned gladiator and yet, take on the head and face of a vicious, snarling Rottweiler with glowing eyes and the ability to emit destructive, armor piercing lasers from within their skulls. These invaders where probably the most frightening with which to come face to face.

There was yet another battle group. If one could combine all that was RECON, SEALs, Rangers, ELITE Forces ... and create the ultimate fighting machine, this final group of invading aliens would be the pinnacle of wardom—Lord Q'a's Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard. The human forces had not seen them—yet—but word was spreading that Q'a himself—itself?—was drawing near.

If Q'a, then his most deadly warrior arsenal of all was about to descend upon them as well—his Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard. His personal protectors. Ultimate warriors. Shape shift on a moment's notice. Fearsome. Ruthless. Stealth ability beyond measure. The most deadly warriors in the Universe. Without question. These were the cream of Lord Q'a's crop.

No one really knew much about the Q'atonian Guard. The number within their ranks was unknown. The origins ... unknown. Their training programs ... unknown. All that was really known about them was that at the mere mention of their name, opponents had been known to drop their weapons and surrender without any battle whatsoever. Without any bloodshed. Surrender. Now. Save yourself, hopefully. Just surrender. Anyone who `had' encountered them somewhere across the Galaxy, refused to speak of them.

That was how completely terrifying and destructive these warriors seemed to be.

Lord Q'a's ultimate battlers.

The Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard.

And, they were coming.

Leading the planet's defenders was Earth Forces Brigade, and, within EFB—a small group of stealth warriors, the best of the best—known as Alpha Squadron—who used every textbook maneuver—and then some—every ounce of research, every trick that they could conjure. The battle had been raging for hours, or—had it been `days' by now?—and surprisingly, although outnumbered 1000-to-1, the Brigade had held its own.

They were brilliantly trained and more combat prepared than anyone, even themselves, had thought possible against `this' enemy. An enemy that had been unknown to them not so long ago. However, distress signals from planets in neighboring star systems had introduced these invaders crudely, abruptly, and with very little `how d'ya do' involved.

Earth Forces Brigade had managed to bail them out and had learned a lot about their enemy along the way. But `this' invasion? `This' invasion against their very own planet ... their very lives and loved ones ... this took them completely by surprise. None of the intel and data gathered indicated that Earth had anything that these aliens would be interested in, much less, travel to such great lengths to obtain.

None of those other planets had come to Earth's aid upon hearing of this invasion. In fact, there had been no response whatsoever. They shivered and quaked at the thought of facing Lord Q'a one more time; perhaps knowing that it would be their last. Communications had remained eerily silent; as if those others around the Universe had chosen to ignore Earth's messages. To turn a deaf ear. Maybe in so doing, Lord Q'a would spare them another `visit?'

The invasion made no sense. The Earth had no strategic significance to Q'a, it did not have the atmosphere and climates they wanted for colonies, and, it had none of the mineral resources or exotic fuel components for which Q'a raided other planets.

The skies and the heavens around Earth were clear one minute. The next, they were blanketed by cruisers releasing wave upon wave of invading armies of tentacle creatures, zombie warriors, and cyborgs. How? No one could provide an answer. Long range sensors had been clear. Patrol forces for the Solar System were in place but remained silent. They saw ... nothing. They heard ... nothing. And then in little more than a split second, radar and the newer orbital threat detection sensors were as full as the skies and trumpeting disaster alarms at ear splitting levels all around the planet.

The invasion was more massive than anything that had ever been, or for that matter—might ever be in the future. `If,' there would be any kind of `future' once this battle came to an end.

Shock and momentary disbelief turned to rapid response. Within minutes, Earth Forces Brigade Warcraft were engaged in battle, led by Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum and his Alpha Squadron personnel.

And, they fought.

Thoughts of what they stood to lose if they `lost' and galvanized by their leader, their god-like superhero, they rose to the occasion with every last fiber of their being. Earth Forces Brigade fought, and fought, and—fought. There was no turning back.

This was do, or—die.

Triumph, or—lose ... everything ... everyone.

Their superhero-like leader inspired them more than anything else in this epic battle for Earth's future.

Target: Nemesis

Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum.

Hollywood handsome.

A smile that could melt an otherwise impenetrable, stoic countenance.

Piercing green eyes, able to stop a charging bull in its tracks ... penetrate the most heavily armed attitude ... draw an enemy inside and disarm him before he knew what hit him ... reduce a multitude of adoring women to puddles...

Not unlike the cyborgs, or even the much heralded and terror-inducing Q'atonian Warriors, he possessed the body of a gladiator.

That body.

Oh ... that ... body—seemingly carved and chiseled from the purest of granite. Such a complete and total example of male perfection in every way that some even wondered if he might actually be a computerized creation ... a machine ... a cyborg, even.

But no.

He was a man. He was all man. He even shed a tear when they lost comrades in those neighboring system battles that he had led. They knew him well. Even between the `tude that he threw in everyone's face so regularly, he would shed a tear when this battle was over as well—they all knew that he would. It was a trait that made them all fight harder, stronger, and with fiercer dedication.

For Earth.

For their lives.

For Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum.

He was all and everything. They all, to the very last one, knew he was their primary means of survival. As Stryker Magnum goes, so goes the planet—and all that. They all knew that there would be losses. Tremendous losses. But if any of them were to go home, shower, sit at their table and eat a hot meal when this was over?—it would be because of this man.

The twenty-three year old Lieutenant Commander was quite a piece of work. Breathtakingly good looking. Brash. Cocky. A heaping spoonful of arrogance tossed in for good measure. However—his troops, their lives, and their freedom from this army of invaders was at the forefront of his mind 24/7.

That, and more.

Earth's very survival was in their hands. Their hands—led by the LCDR. No, there was no `might be' about it; but, rather—Earth was facing certain destruction if Magnum's elite squadrons failed.

`If' Magnum failed...

His high rank at such a young age was out of the ordinary; however, it was well earned. He possessed a brilliant mind for tactical maneuvers and command leadership. He had proven himself repeatedly during those battles in the neighboring star systems. When the Elite Forces Brigade's founder and Commander had been mortally wounded, it was Magnum who stepped up and electrified his comrades with the brilliance of his abilities, his unwavering leadership, and his unrestrained zeal for battle. It was as though he transformed before their very eyes—he became Head Coach, Head Cheerleader ... Super Bowl of the Millennium MVP QB...

It was Magnum who amassed a phenomenal number of `kills' as the battles raged. It was Magnum who almost single-handedly led ninety percent plus of the squadron fleet home.

Yeah.

Magnum was all that, and—more.

He irritated many but there was not a single member of the Elite Forces Brigade that would not follow him into the very fires of Hell. Or, if there was—he or she had kept tight-lipped, had fought valiantly at his side ... had put on a performance of dedication and loyalty that would garner Academy Award nominations.

Fires of Hell?

If one had the time, now, to stop and take a full circle look around and to evaluate their current situation—they would note that those flames were licking at their very souls ... the Hounds of Hell were chomping at the bit and struggling for freedom from the shackles that held them tight to the very Gates of Hell...

From the looks of things? There may as well have been a flashing neon billboard—

Welcome to Hell. Check your soul at the gate...

And, yet—they faced those hounds ... those fires ... and the demons that came with them all. They fought with a level of courage and valor never before seen. They were, after all, defending their homes ... their families ... their loves and their lives.

And, in return for that unbounded loyalty and intense dedication from his comrades, Magnum never once asked, or—ordered—anything from a single one of them that he was not willing to do himself or to step up and share the load. He fought alongside them all.

Even now, LCDR Magnum was at the very forefront of the battle. He had been there with the very first squadron of defenders when the invasion began and he had stayed right there. He had been fighting valiantly, tirelessly, and with a vehemence of heart and soul that stoked the flames of bravery in them all. It even inspired `his' commanders and the other squadron leaders to step up their game lest they be left behind in the victory that was to come.

A victory that `must' come.

Surely they would win.

They had to.

This was the ultimate battle for Earth; everyone was in agreement.

Over the last several hours, it had actually appeared that the Earth Forces Brigade was gaining ground. The alien forces were taking a battering and were garnering huge losses. They had even pulled back and regrouped on more than one occasion ... changed their tactics ... brought in reinforcements. Still—they seemed to be getting a thorough butt-kicking.

Hope.

Renewed vigor.

Blood lust.

Earth Forces Brigade personnel were fueled on. Higher. Farther. More ferocious in their conviction than ever.

The battle raged.

Devastation spread.

Loss of life continued to mount on both sides. The numbers were ... staggering.

Operation: Stealth Strike

Lord Q'a dispatched six dozen of his most vicious, most meticulous warriors in his Cyborg Legion and from within the upper-echelons of his Zombie Warrior Regiments with very specific instructions. This was it. They separated from his command with surprising speed, deadly accuracy, and—supreme stealth. They searched for, and easily found, their Master's specified targets.

And—they moved in.

Stryker Magnum's closest friends from childhood—his very best friends—were suddenly in trouble. Very precise, perfectly timed, direct hits from lower powered, non-lethal shots by Lord Q'a's Cyborgs had their desired effect. The power packs of all three were badly damaged by multiple hits and, as a result—they were spinning out of control. Plummeting toward the ground. No one could get to them in time. No one could prevent the obvious outcome when they hit ground at the rate of speed their bodies were amassing.

No one but Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum.

Click.

Snap.

Lock.

The trap was set.

The next seconds were crucial to Lord Q'a's final stroke. Stryker Magnum's well-researched and –noted loyalty to his troops had been documented over and over; however, right now, at this `exact' moment, it was more his loyalty to these three `specific' men, his three closest, life-long friends, that Lord Q'a was counting on. `That' loyalty ... `that' dedication ... `that' commitment was of the utmost, critical importance to his plan.

That loyalty to these three would give Lord Q'a the glorious personal victory he had lusted after, ever since...

"Do it, Commander," Lord Q'a whispered into space. "Do it now. Show me what you've got."

The invasion force's Commander, their Supreme Ruler, watched and waited, and actually held his breath. Everything—his entire plan—the invasion of a planet that he had no use for—depended on Stryker Magnum. On his loyalty. On his next move. `This' move.

"Do it!"

And—there it was.

Exactly what Lord Q'a was waiting for—

the ... next ... move.

In a blistering burst of tactical warfare maneuvers, the 23-year-old squadron leader took out no less than a dozen tentacle creatures and twice that many of the zombie troops. Then he jammed his flight pack into overdrive, urging it forward. Straining it to the very limit of its capacity, and—well beyond its safe operating parameters. Heedless of his own personal safety, he accelerated with breakneck velocity toward the first of his comrades—taking out even more zombies plus a half-dozen of Lord Q'a's Cyborgs in his path—and, he had him.

Lieutenant Will Strathman—Stryker Magnum's oldest and closest friend. His best of his best friends.

"Will!"

Strathman grabbed hold of Stryker's flight suit so tightly that he literally shredded portions of the outer jacket from the Lieutenant Commander's shoulders and barely grabbed onto a weapons belt at the last second before he plummeted onward, and—downward ... to certain death.

Slowly, Magnum's flight pack began to overheat. He said a silent prayer that it would hold together. Last thing that he wanted was for them to become human roman candles over everyone's head.

"Stryker..."

"I know, Will," the LCDR growled through clenched teeth. He stroked his directional stick almost lovingly. "C'mon, baby! Don't let me down now! C'mon...! C'mon...!"

Next in line was Lieutenant Rick Ransom. He, too, reached out to claw and grab until he managed a desperate hold onto Magnum and Strathman. They nodded one to the other to the other before surging forward, desperately trying to reach the third in their tight circle—newly appointed Lieutenant Tripp Tallow who was ever dangerously close to smashing into the rocky ledge of the mountain ahead.

Target in sight. Target locked. Target in hand. Target snatched from the claws of a crushing death.

Close.

Too close.

`Much' ... too ... close.

Lord Q'a nodded in admiration and his eyes twinkled; all 5 of them.

Perfection.

Absolute perfection.

"Magnificent," Lord Q'a whispered to himself. One of his tongues slithered along his lower set of lips ... savoring what was to come.

Stryker Magnum did exactly what he had expected—what he had `hoped' above all other hope—from all of the intel that had been collected on these four earthlings. These four, and—one other...

Lord Q'a growled with a hungered, feverish resonance.

"I ... have ... you ... now, Commander."

"Hang on!" Stryker prayed more than said, as he desperately tried the emergency braking maneuver. "C'mon baby! Reverse thrust! Now!"

Just as his flight pack was reaching critical overload, Stryker Magnum, Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow, still moving towards their imminent death at a fairly high rate of speed, hit the nearest mountainside ledge—silencing the pack's ear-splitting alarm.

It `had' slowed their rate of descent. Somewhat. But would it be enough to save them? To keep them from skidding and crashing over the opposite edge of the ledge he aimed for? All he could do was pray that it would.

They tumbled and rolled, they smashed into rocks and slid through beds of gravel; their flight suits torn and shredded by jagged edges of rock, debris,—who knew what else. The other end of the ledge was looming precariously close. Close, and quickly. Magnum struggled hard but managed to release the flight pack mere seconds before it detonated. The mass of the jet flight pack gave it enough momentum to continue bumping and skidding and racing over the edge of the ledge. Moments later, it exploded into a fiery ball.

If something didn't happen—`now'—they were all going over the edge right behind that self-destructing flight pack and sailing into ... nothing—without the benefit of a battle cycle or their own now depleted and smoking jet flight packs.

"Shit!"

"Fuck—damn it!"

On and on, they tumbled and skidded until finally, at the very last second, Stryker Magnum managed to tuck and roll, flatten himself out, and then use his own body as a makeshift net for the other three. The force of their collision was bone breaking. It flattened Magnum's lungs. He wasn't sure he would ever breathe again. Did his ribs just skewer his lungs and slice them like a holiday ham? But these were his best friends. His very best friends. The chances of this working were `slim' to ... `nice try' to ... `forget about it'.

But, it worked ... somehow.

Holy fuck!

It worked!

One ... smack and slide and bounce over a small pile of boulders and Strathman rolled between two massive boulders resting in the mouth of a cave.

Two ... smack and roll and then Ransom crashed into an enormous pile of rubble from a destroyed invader capsule.

Three ... smack and tumble and Tallow belly flopped, eating gravel until a quick hand caught a thorn bush by the balls of its root and held on for all that it could, to keep from going over the edge. The 3-inch needles, like stainless steel spikes, ripped into his hand and arm and shoulder. Searing pain jolted through his body. But he held on. He had to.

Seconds ticked.

Seconds seemed to become hours.

Heads lifted. Heads turned. Dust and blood filled eyes searched. Each—seeking out the other.

Glances were exchanged.

There was Will Strathman.

And over there, Rick Ransom.

And coming up and over that debris field—the bloodied, battered, and bruised Tripp Tallow—grimacing and cursing full on as he plucked and pulled needles from his hands and forearms.

All trying to quickly assess the degree of their injuries, but—

wait!

The search was not over for the three of them.

There was another that they didn't see.

Heads pivoted ... rose ... bodies twisted around, and—

fears mounted.

Shouts rang out.

"Stryker!"

"Magnum!"

Where was Magnum?

Had he followed his flight pack over the edge in his move to save their lives?

Yes. He had.

"Stryker!"

They struggled to their feet and stumbled forward. Their immediate target—the ledge—loomed ahead of them. Looming just as horrifically as the rising fear in their hearts. Their fears mounted as they came to a stop; they couldn't look over the edge for fear of the scene that would greet them a hundred or more feet below the precipice. They were stopped in their tracks by a groan. A gasp. Another groan.

"Ow! Fucking needle bush! Fuck that hurts!"

They looked at each other. Eyes rolled. Snarky chortles were swallowed before they broke from scratchy, dust, gravel, and muck-filled throats. Nods from one to the other to the third egged them forward, but before they could reach the edge and look over its jagged lip—a bloody hand appeared.

And then another.

Slowly. Painfully. Magnum pulled himself up and over the edge of the cliff and onto flat ground. Lying perilously close to the edge. Gasping for air. Wincing in pain. Trying to force dust and smoke and dirt and who knew what else from his eyes and his lungs, he took a moment to decide if he was alive or somewhere in between death and another universe.

Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow, stood there. Dumbstruck. Unable to move out of relief ... in their own pain ... in shock.

Finally, the Lt. Commander reacted to the sound of boots crunching behind him and he rolled—nearly throwing himself back over the edge of the mountain ledge—as he instinctively reached for his sidearm laser. Six boots that looked the worse for wear greeted his gaze from there on the ground.

Good guy boots.

He lifted his head and peered upward into the filthy and bloodied faces of his three friends. The three whose lives he had just saved. He reached up to accept outstretched hands and winced as he was pulled to his feet.

"`Sup, Stryker?" Strathman asked as he surveyed his best friend—looking for gushing blood or bone sticking out from anywhere that bone shouldn't stick out. "Laying down on the job again, huh?"

"God, I wish those fuckers would go home," Tallow said with a sigh of disgust mixed with fatigue.

"Fat chance," Ransom said wearily. "Not until they get what they want."

"What `do' they want, anyway?" Tallow winced as he found and pulled at another needle. "And, God—they smell. Don't they have soap back home?"

Magnum let out a sputtering, coughing chuckle as a cloud of dust erupted from his lungs, coating his tongue on its way into the open air. Thankfully, his communicator was still there.

"Rowdy ... location."

"Sector 37.8, Sir!"

"We're on the southwest ledge of Devil's Rampage, Rowdy," Stryker said as he looked around the area. "We need Battle Cycles ... now!"

"Kinda busy here, Sir," Ensign Rowdy Sullivan grunted between blasts.

"I said now, Lieutenant!"

"Sir, with all due respect to your omnipotence," Sullivan shouted into his communicator. "I'm just a..."

"Do you `want' to be a Lieutenant?"

"Um..."

"Get me the fuck those Cycles!"

"Sir, yes Sir!"

Even in the severity of their plight, they all laughed. Stryker's devoted little Chihuahua was so adorable and worshiped him so completely. The powerfully built kid was fucking amazing and they all saw so much of Stryker in him that there was no doubt as to why he had `adopted' the kid and was personally mentoring and grooming him to rise in the ranks.

They shook their heads. They chuckled softly. They high five'd. They shoulder clapped. They hugged. They were intact. Torn and ripped and bloodied and bruised but intact.

"That was fun," Magnum grunted between winces and gasps for air. He used a glove to wipe blood from his face as he studied his three friends and then focused on their smoking flight packs and the path that they had just bounced and tumbled and rolled to a less than perfect stop. "But, how `bout you three faggots carry your own butts for a few minutes? I need to piss like a race horse."

He turned and with some effort, managed to unzip his damaged flight suit, haul out his massive python, aim it over the ledge and let loose a powerful golden stream. Yeah, `race horse' was appropriate. In `every' connotation of the words.

"Asshole."

"Fucker."

"You've always been the master of understatement and manners, Stryker," Strathman said between coughs as he swiped at a disgusting substance that he didn't even want to identify right now that clung in his hair and stuck in gobs across what was left of his uniform. A pool of the gross goo was splattered across a large section of his exposed chest, covering the wispy puffs of hair that splayed out from between his pecs. "You've always been such a..."

Magnum finished, zipped up and turned back to scan the grinning faces of his best friends. Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow's amusement and relief, however, was short-lived.

"Ooohhh ... shhiiittt..."

"Oh ... fuck..."

Magnum's head cocked when his three friends' eyes went wide as saucers in front of him.

"What?"

His answer came in audible swallows and three silent nods behind him. Their faces continued to blanch beneath the smudges and streaks of dirt, ash, torn skin ... blood...

This wasn't a good sign.

The Lt. Commander painfully sucked in air and then slowly turned. He found himself staring at a dozen of the warrior zombies hovering just beyond the ledge. Zombies, with weapons aimed directly at him and his three comrades.

"Fuck," Stryker groused. "Don't you guys do lunch?"

The invaders actually tilted their heads. Looked at each other. One harrumphed. Lunch? These humans' brains would hardly make decent appetizers, much less lunch, but...

Stryker studied them. There were four of them ... Strathman, Ransom, Tallow, and himself ... and a dozen zombies. Not bad those odds, until...

Until—the count rose. The dozen zombie warriors suddenly became two dozen, and—more.

So ... much ... more.

At quick count, behind the zombies, there were at least a dozen of the tentacled creatures.

And, still more.

So ... much ... more.

"Holy shit," Strathman whispered.

"Fuck! Are those..."

Heavily armed and massively muscled, hyper-modified magnificent beings. Both terrifying and awe inspiring at the same time—cyborgs. These were not just `any' cyborgs. These were larger than any of the other cyborgs they had seen ... than they had fought ... since the invasion began.

And, still—more.

They appeared out of nowhere. Apparitions shimmered and then materialized. Or, maybe the Earth Force Brigade members were just so awestruck by the appearance of the cyborgs that they simply didn't notice these new arrivals until they ... arrived.

And, arrive they did.

They had not encountered this last alien team in those battles across the universe. But, they had heard the rumors ... the tales ... the facts ... the fictions ... and, here they were.

Q'a's ultimate fighting machines.

Q'a's ultimate warriors.

`These' were the rumored Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard.

They were like nothing any of the human's had ever seen, and yet—they were. They were ... awesome. They were astounding. They were inspiring. And, they were terrifying. Perhaps the most shocking of all? They were human. Or, they had been. They were ... beautiful. Deadly and terrifying and beyond comprehension in their modification and development above anything that any human had ever been. Magnificent and beautiful, but—lethal.

Breath hitched in lungs. Gulps became thunderous. Piss may even have been running down more than one pair of legs.

Fuck—how many more armies, how many more types of warriors did this `thing' have? What the fuck was going on here?

If `these' Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guards were here, then that could only mean that...

As fearless as they were, or—told themselves so—the three Elite Forces Brigade Lieutenants and their Lt. Commander gasped while their eyes became dinner plates in stunned apprehension. They were unable to control their hearts rising into their throats or their feet shuffling backward a few steps.

And, there he was.

Appearing out of nowhere.

He rose up behind the tentacled creatures, the zombies, the cyborgs ... the Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guards. He was massive. Double any of their height or girth. Three times as many tentacles. And unlike the rest of the tentacle creatures, a fiery hue of red.

Magnum stared into the five eyes of the invading army's leader. Their master. No human could really pronounce his home planet name. He was known by Earth Forces Brigade as Q'a.

One word.

That was all that was needed.

One word.

"Q'a."

"Sullivan," Stryker said softly into his communicator. "Forget those cycles, buddy. I need squadrons. Full squadrons! Now!"

"I see it, Sir, but..."

"But...?"

"It'll take a while, Sir. Everyone is engaged in heavy firefights everywhere," Rowdy Sullivan said with a foreboding dread. "All you've got is me at the moment. Sir."

"Don't you dare, Rowdy."

"But, Sir, I think I can..."

"Stand down, Rowdy," Stryker quickly commanded through gritted teeth. "That's an order, buddy. I need you in one piece."

Fuck! It would just have to be the four of them. This was going to go badly. Stryker Magnum knew it. He would give his life ... here, and—now for his three best friends a few feet behind him ... for his Brigade ... for Earth. For that incredible kid ready to come galloping in with teeth bared and weapons blazing.

"Earth needs you in one piece, Rowds."

"Sir," Sullivan said flatly. This was bad. He knew it. His tone made it clear he got the message. "Sir, yes Sir. Standing down." He inhaled deeply and fought for ... he was unsure what it was. All he could come up with was, "Sir—You ... I ... I..."

"I know buddy," Stryker said with quiet resignation. "Me too."

Lord Q'a rose even higher and more threateningly above his heavily armed warriors. He eyed the three Lieutenants suspiciously, and yet—curiously. The loyalty and allegiance to their Commander was remarkable. Admirable. They would make superior additions to his Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard.

He turned his attention back to his target.

Nemesis.

"You have done well, Commander Jordanus Stryker Magnum," Q'a said in clipped but near perfect English. "I extend my commendations to your Forces, and..." His neck extended and he glared down on the three men behind Stryker Magnum—a combination of wariness and yet, curious admiration. "Your ... friends."

They were spectacular human male warrior specimens, themselves. Yes, the three of them would make fine additions to his Q'atonian Guard—with some modifications here and there, of course.

Magnum's head tilted slightly. He knows my name? My `full' name? How is that possible?

"We try, Q'a," Magnum snarled through clenched teeth. "And for your ... edification, it's Lt. Commander."

Eyes rolled. New trickles of sweat burst from pounding temples. Ransom, Tallow, and Strathman looked at each other warily. Fuck—Magnum. Seriously? Now?

"Can it, Stryker," one of them grumbled through barely parted lips.

"This isn't the time or the place t..."

Lord Q'a bowed. He actually bowed. Could a bow be silent sarcasm? In this case, probably.

"I stand corrected, Lt. Commander. And, speaking of `edification' as you say... I am Lord Q'a."

The three behind Stryker Magnum swallowed audibly. Oh fuck.

Don't go there `big guy'. You'll get a face full of alpha `tude.

"Not ... on ... my ... planet, Q'a," Magnum retorted with so much confidence and so much severity that it actually made the Supreme Ruler and Commander of the invasion forces rock back ... slightly.

Lord Q'a smiled ... as much as a tentacle creature from another galaxy `could' smile. He reached up to fondle the cylinder dangling from his neck, still empty—for now.

"I shall miss your petulance, as I am sure your comrades will miss your ... bravado," Lord Q'a chortled, "once I have destroyed all that is ... you ... Lt. Commander."

Magnum's teeth bared even more vehemently and his eyes narrowed to mere slits of glowing determination.

"What? You have fresh zombies and a boatload more of those cyborg monstrosities coming to back you up? More of those Q'atonian chew toys back there?"

"Geez, shut the fuck up, Stryker," Strathman warned through still clenched teeth. "You want to get us all..."

Lord Q'a's laugh shut Strathman's argument down before it was finished. Tentacles rose up and out as if to mimic a human shrug as he looked at the three men behind Magnum.

"Closer than you think, Lt. Commander. Closer than you think." Lord Q'a's smile seemed a bit more ... malevolent.

Huh. Go figure. They `can' smile ... sort of ... and they can chuckle. Who woulda thought.

Lord Q'a returned his gaze to the handsome Lt. Commander, scanning him slowly from head to toe. "I believe you call them ... `balls'?"

Blink.

Head tilt.

Blink.

Lord Q'a nodded toward the Lt. Commander's amply bulging crotch that even his bulky flight suit couldn't conceal.

Magnum followed Q'a's gesture and then he looked back over his shoulder. His three friends appeared to be as confused as he was by the rather sudden shift in this discussion ... as it were. Their only responses came in the form of quizzical looks and shoulder shrugs. He looked back, still bewildered.

We're in the middle of a war zone ... in the heat of battle ... and he wants a lesson in human anatomy?

Magnum grinned so sarcastically that he nearly glowed. "So, the Q'atonian Empire has them, too, huh? And the biggest one of them all is their Supreme Ruler..."

"I am sorry for my lack of education in your very specific vernacular, Lt. Commander. The Q'atonian Empire has `them' what? I am the biggest `what?'"

"Grab a dictionary, Q'a. Look up the word `faggot' and you'll know what I'm talking about if you're interested in my balls."

Fuck.

Shit.

Fuck! Magnum was committing suicide here! Did he plan on taking them with him? Why couldn't he keep his damn mouth shut? Especially now!

One of Lord Q'a's Elite Warriors, who had probably been human in a prior incarnation, leaned close and spoke in their native tongue. >From the scowl that blazed across Q'a's face and then faded into a shit-eater of a smirk, he had informed his Supreme Ruler of the definition ... no dictionary needed.

Balls? Why the hell was he asking Magnum about his balls?

Seconds ticked, and then—a mental light bulb flickered.

Ohhh—he's talking about...

"There are those that would say I have them in spades, Q'a," Magnum smirked.

"It would seem that you do have an abundance of them, Lt. Commander," Lord Q'a said with a hint of admiration stirred into a very large pot of sarcasm. He let the cylinder drop back to dangle from his throat to his chest. "For now ... anyway."

Sensing the rabid exuberance of a very pissed off Chihuahua, Magnum whispered into his communicator.

"Down, Rowdy!"

"Yes, Sir, but I think I can..."

"Down!"

As Q'a and Magnum stared each other down, another voice came through communicators. A bit shakey but holding it together.

"S-sir, it's Scotty Braun, Sir."

"Give me something good, Braun," Magnum said softly. Another of his triple-threat puppies that he would give his life, his very balls, for. Three up-and-comers that the Lt. Commander had such complete faith in that he was sure one day he might be saluting them.

"Afraid you're not going to be happy, Sir," Braun said. He paused and sucked in air before he continued. "I've been working on how they got past all of our long-range and short-range sensors, the radar systems, the satellite defense grid ... the ... patrol units...

"And?"

"As you know Sir, all of the stations around the world are linked. They have local control and in addition, EFB HQ has master control over all of them, including Luna One that the patrol units rely on..."

Magnum sighed at how wonderfully knowledgeable his three puppies were. Especially with information they weren't `officially' supposed to have. As adorable as they were, they were incredible soldiers and pretty amazing guys. Each one had graduated at the top of his flight and excelled in every class, every school, every training, every `anything' that was thrown their way. Highly trained, motivated, very eager to show off their top-notch skills and—super resourceful. All three of them. Aside from a very few `newspaper swats to the nose', they were a valuable part of his command. When he thought about it, he'd be lost without them, just as he would be without Will, Rick, and Tripp. Not that he would tell any of them that.

Chuckling to himself, he wondered how Braun got hold of that classified information. Its existence was `ultra-top' secret, and way above the level of his security clearance or `need to know'. Leave it to any of the three of them to just `know'. Magnum chuckled again, and knew better than to ask `how'. If they wanted to know something, `need' had nothing to do with it. Resourceful, indeed, or—maybe just adorable connivers.

"And...?"

"Sir, everything, all stations in the defense grid, went down in sync. Sector by sector. Unit by unit. Everything, Sir. That's impossible, unless..."

"Unless someone with highly restricted access had their hands on the Master Control Comm Center," Magnum growled. Fuck! "That's what you're telling me, isn't it, Braun?"

Scotty Braun gulped audibly as the sound of the Lt. Commander's grinding teeth came through his headset.

"Yes, Sir. You have a traitor. Sir, there are only a very small few who know about MCCC and even less who have all of the lockout keys and the critical sequence codes. Everyone is accounted for, except for one. Sir, your traitor? It could only be..."

The name was drowned out by what took place in the next few moments. No matter. They knew the answer now, even if they lacked a name. Someone from the inside, from within Earth Forces Brigade itself, had unlocked the front doors and left out the `Welcome' mat for these hideous creatures. What scum would do such a heinous thing?

Issuing rapid fire commands, in a language none of them could comprehend, Lord Q'a ordered his nearby warriors into action. Lord Q'a's elite unit stared into the eyes of their virtually defenseless and overwhelmingly outnumbered enemy. Dozens upon dozens of very ominous looking weapons made soft `snick' sounds as they locked onto their targets.

Before Magnum, Strathman, Ransom, or Tallow could reach for whatever weapons that `might' still be with them after their tumbling arrival on that mountain ledge, they were taken completely by surprise with what happened next.

It wasn't those fearsome weapons that discharged in their direction.

No, not those locked and loaded weapons, but rather—the zombie warriors opened their mouths and tremendous gobs of goo spewed out and soaked the three lieutenants from head to toe. In a matter of seconds, they were frozen in place—glowing in gooey green slime, and they immediately reeked from the smelly muck that oozed and poured over their bodies.

The vile, putrid slime, and whatever else spewed from zombie guts smelled bad. Really ... foul.

Breath mint anyone?

"Nooooo!"

Lieutenant Commander Magnum tried to reach for his sidearm laser once again but a tentacle snapped forward with lightning speed, quickly laced around his wrist and then snaked up and tightly encircled his wrist and forearm; in less than a second, it was completely immobilized.

He tried to jerk backward in an attempt to free himself but failed; another powerful tentacle locked tightly around his other wrist—his fingertips just an inch from a battle knife still attached to his belt. Another tentacle quickly spun around his left ankle. And another—immediately snared his right.

Still another of the creature's tentacles lunged forward, almost too fast to see and securely wrapped around Magnum's neck like a living noose.

With zero effort—like picking up a bag of marshmallows at the grocery store—Lord Q'a lifted the 6'4", 225 pound granite-bodied Lieutenant Commander off his feet and out into open air, a hundred feet above the battle that raged beneath them. He held Earth Forces Brigade's uselessly struggling shining star up and out on display for all to see.

And, see they did.

"What the fuck are you doing, asshole! Put me dow...," Magnum barely managed to bellow before several tentacles delivered rapid, stinging, resounding slaps to both sides of his face. The stinging barrage knocked his head back and forth while it continued; when the blows finally finished, his mouth hung loosely—a battered whimper was all that he could muster immediately afterward.

One ... by ... one ... by ... one, the combatants stilled. Weapons ceased blasting and blazing, slicing and shredding. Everyone—every `thing'—human or alien, zombie or cyborg—gazed skyward at the spectacle of Magnum thrashing and dangling mid-air.

Jaws dropped. Gasps sounded out from countless onlookers; combined, it sounded like hurricane force winds.

No!

This could not be happening!

No one. Not even a twenty-foot tall, tentacle-clad, 5-eyed creature from another planet ... another galaxy ... could take down J. Stryker Magnum!

No one!

No ... `thing'!

Impossible!

And, yet—there it was.

Right before their eyes, the creature held Magnum's flailing body far above them. Was the creature actually smiling? Chortling?

Magnum valiantly struggled and pulled and fought as much as he could but he was completely powerless against the tightly wrapped tentacles that imprisoned him. And, worse. Zombie minions were aiming weapons at him. Different weapons. Glowing weapons.

A moment later, bursts of blinding light shot like canon fire from them and enveloped Magnum for what was probably no more than a few seconds—although to the horrified troops below it seemed like hours—and then, the light dissipated.

To the Earth Forces Brigade's horror and disbelief ... Magnum was still dangling at the mercy of those powerful tentacles but his rippling, straining, perfectly muscled, beautifully sculpted body was now in full view. Every spectacular, now completely hairless inch of it.

He suddenly looked more like a naughty ten-year-old boy about to be spanked, than an twenty-something accomplished military commander. Every hair below his neck had been vaporized along with his weapons, boots and uniform. Even his larger than life cock—flopping back and forth—his enormous, cathedral-bell balls swaying and bobbing like storm-tossed channel markers, were plainly in view of all. Not a single hair surrounded or covered any part of his truly impressive gear.

The now fiercely blushing Lt. Commander was suspended above the ground for those gaping onlookers to stare at. He dangled there spread-eagle, and—naked.

Completely.

Totally.

Naked.

Normally not the tiniest bit modest about his body—he knew how stunningly perfect he looked naked—Magnum was now blushing like a virginal bride on her wedding night.

After a thin tentacle touched several buttons on his communicator, Lord Q'a roared out in his native tongue which no one from Earth would normally understand; however, his message was automatically translated by his alien technology into all the languages that spanned the planet, for all to hear—

"I have captured your ... `hero.' I have him. And, I will have him. Completely."

Tentacle creatures and zombies alike roared and cheered and urged their leader onward. The cyborgs were more impassive as usual. They didn't celebrate outwardly. They did, however, nod their approval. They knew what was coming; especially those within the ranks of the Cyborg Guard—even the stoic Elite Q'atonian Warriors, those closest to the Supreme Ruler. They knew more than anyone what was about to take place. They had witnessed it from battlefields to the deepest recesses of Lord Q'a's palace; areas where no one else was allowed to ghout a special invitation, passcard, or biometric scans.

Lord Q'a continued, "I have captured your leader and I will have him, and—you will all bear witness to my complete domination and thorough subjugation of him and, more importantly—his utter submission to me."

Murmurs ran wildly through the throng of human onlookers. Domination? Subjugation? Submission? What the fuck was going on here?

Obviously this creature did not know who he was dealing with; J. Stryker Magnum was not dominated by anyone. Stryker Magnum did not submit to anyone ... to any `thing'. This creature was delusional. And, yet—there he was, dangling ... his magnificent body completely naked, for all to see ... at the hands—or more correctly, the tentacles—of Q'a.

"You will pay witness—all of you—to his complete and total submission to me. When I finish with him, he will kneel before me. He will worship me. He will acknowledge me as his ... Lord, Master!"

Lord Q'a's Vengeance at Hand

More tentacles appeared. One snapped from behind Lord Q'a and immediately suctioned itself to Magnum's right nipple.

Another, to his left nipple.

Still another came forward and opened like a sleeve before it completely enveloped Magnum's impressive cock and began pistoning and undulating as it dripped and throbbed over the prisoner's bulbous cockhead and down its thick shaft.

Two more shot forward and began suctioning on his pendulous balls.

These tentacles were joined by nearly two dozen more, smaller tentacles that appeared to be licking and undulating their way over Magnum's body. Each was drooling copious amounts of thick, sticky liquid which was slowly but certainly coating every inch of the helpless Lt. Commander's body.

A strange, strangled groan erupted from Magnum's throat as yet another tentacle pierced the distance between him and Lord Q'a to clamp itself over Magnum's mouth ... its fibrous tips began to pry his lips open, and then—it sank inside. Magnum's eyes bugged out and he groaned at the slimy oral invasion. There was little he could do at this point but take it and pray he wouldn't slowly choke to death. Almost immediately, this invader began to expel thick fluids into his overstuffed mouth. At the same time, these fluids were sweet, bitter, and pungent. There ... was ... so ... much ... of ... it. Magnum was helpless to do anything, but—swallow.

And, yes. There was another tentacle.

Holy shit there `was' another tentacle, if you could call it that...

It might have been more appropriate to describe it as a tentacock.

Enormous.

Throbbing.

Drooling.

Undulating.

Vibrating.

Both malleable and hard as granite at the same time.

Lord Q'a's tentacock was glowing purple and scarlet as it inched toward the helpless Earth Forces Brigade's Lieutenant Commander. It goo'd and slimed copiously as it slid between his thighs and began snaking its way between the perfect mounds of his granite butt cheeks. Seeking out and slithering slowly but inexorably toward its target.

A target that would astound and shock and yes, even arouse many of the earthlings as well as all of the invaders when it was taken for Lord Q'a's own. And there was no doubt, Lord Q'a would take it and take it completely.

With a stealth-like precision of its own, this drooling, throbbing, undulating tentacock found Stryker Magnum's hole and began spewing tremendous amounts of that thick, slick slime against it ... into it ... almost knowing when it would pucker and unpucker so that it would take as much of the juices as was possible—lubricating it. At the same time, hundreds of soft, velvety fibers began licking and stroking and circling Magnum's hole. It was like a rim job by countless tongues all at once.

This `tentacle cock' had a mind of its own, or so it seemed, and it certainly looked like it knew what it was doing. What it was doing, and—intended to do. It slid and slathered, it stroked and prodded, it almost seemed to take a moment here and there to kiss and lick along with those hundreds of fiber tongues at that tightly puckered opening—trying to seduce it into spreading its lips and to open itself wider for what was to come. And then it would back away. It would spew more slime. It would slide. It would stroke. It would poke and prod. It would lick and kiss again, and again, and ... again ... before it took final aim. It pushed forward and prodded and snuggled up against Magnum's pucker and began adding more pressure; its tip began to force its way slowly but inexorably inward, heading deep into the struggling and naked Lt. Commander's body, millimeter by millimeter.

Magnum's eyes went wide when he realized what was happening. What was about to happen. He was being prepped. He was being lubed up. He was about to be fucked by Q'a. Even as some of the tentacles held him taut, and others sucked and slurped over his body, and even as the one sliding into his mouth and throat continued emitting that thick, gooey slime and he sucked on it—unwillingly forced to give it a blow job—his hole was being pried open and lubricated.

Oh shit!

He was going to be fucked by Q'a! Invaded and ravaged by the alien's Supreme Ruler.

And much to his intense horror, there was nothing—`nothing'—he could do to stop it.

There was nothing that anyone could do to stop it.

And, worst of all?

This unthinkable shame was playing out, right in front of his three best friends. Frozen in place inside their green slime cocoons, Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow had the perfect view ... more perfect than anyone else of what was taking place. And there was nothing they could do.

Worse, still, this was taking place in front of his powerful little bulldog of a Chihuahua—Rowdy Sullivan. His protégé hovered just beyond the rocky sides of the mountain ... standing down ... obediently following orders from his Commander ... his hero.

The other two similarly muscular men that made up Rowdy's Chihuahua gang, Scotty Braun and Colt Hammer undoubtedly had an equally vivid view of his humiliation. All three, so young and fresh-face, unsullied and probably innocent.

Yes, he was about to be forcefully deflowered right in front of his three best friends. Right in front of Rowdy and his two buddies. And, right in front of Earth Forces Brigade—his comrades. How would he ever look any of them in the eye after this? Worse? If that was possible under the current circumstances. Worse—how would he ever look Brick Hatchett in the eye again?

With the long history of animosity between them? The hatred? Hatchett would have a field day if he witnessed this. He would `never' let Magnum live this down. He had to thank his lucky stars that Hatchett was on the other side of the planet with the Beta Squadrons—11 sectors away.

He cringed as he considered his line of witnesses. Almost the `entire' brigade was there. Frozen in place. Watching in horror.

Waiting.

Inexplicably ... waiting.

Every ... single ... pair of eyes ... focused on the Lieutenant Commander as he was being forced to open wide and suck on the tentacle that prodded deeper into his mouth and his throat, pumping that thick goo deep inside his guts. Frozen in place, watching helplessly as Magnum's midsection was being assaulted from every angle—his cock being sucked ferociously by one tentacle while two more were clamped over his cathedral bell balls, working and sucking them voraciously. And then there was that enormous tentacock prepping him before it did its ultimate task ... fucking. Fucking Magnum to Hell. Yes, he was about to be fucked to Hell. There was very little doubt.

As realization dawned through the ranks of what was to come, there were more than a few uniforms that suddenly displayed telltale bulges, with many more rapidly following their lead.

The blush of his intense shame, and his humiliation and embarrassment deepened and spread so that it tinged almost his whole magnificent body varying shades of red and pink.

This tentacock was huge. Huge, and—growing. It looked to Magnum, from where he was dangling helplessly in its path, more like an anaconda about to devour its prey. In a way, he guessed, that it was.

And, he was the prey.

The tentacles that were wrapped around his ankles, stiffened—pulling tight—and then tugged backward. Magnum's legs were spread wider and wider until it felt they might snap off. His wrists, too—pulled up and out. His arms were forced so far out that it felt as though they were going to be ripped from their sockets.

And, try as he might to avoid it. To prevent it. There was really nothing he could do to defend himself—or his honor—at this point. He was at Q'a's mercy now. Mercy? No chance of that. Q'a had him and as he had declared minutes before, he would `have' him.

Those velvety fibrous tongues rimming his hole seemed to shift into overdrive. His pucker was drooled on and drooled over and lubricated so completely that the aliens could have probably shoved one of their battle cruisers into him before long; and that massive tentacock kept at it with unwavering hunger.

Drooling.

Jabbing.

Spewing.

Jabbing.

Drooling.

Stroking.

Kissing and suckling and licking at those puckered lips.

Pressing against them.

Magnum's defenses, what little he had in this position, were caving rapidly. Whatever was in that slime was fanning a fire inside him. Intensely erotic pleasure was radiating from his well-lubricated hole. Pleasure that he had no idea existed before this moment, or, that it could be so intense ... so—incredible. He was moaning. He was gasping. He was beginning to whimper. Holy fuck! This rim job was driving him insane! He had no idea anything could feel so ... so very ... very ... good and...

Wait.

No!

He was about to become an alien tentacle creature's bitch. And still, there was nothing he could do about it.

The slime now covered his entire body except for his eyes and ears; his nose, while not coated in the muck was certainly victim to it just the same. The scent. The unbelievable scent. His nostrils flared and snorted, flared, and snorted ... flared, and...

It hit him like a sledgehammer between the eyes.

Oh, fuck. Fuck!

That scent!

Oh fuck ... that mind-slamming scent!

Thick. Heady. An aphrodisiac cocktail like nothing he could compare. Like nothing anyone, anywhere, could compare, at least not on Earth. His nostrils continued to flare ... to snort ... to flare ... to snort—increasingly hungry for more of that intoxicating, musky, distinctly `male' scent. Wanting it. Needing it. Oh, fuck—that mind-boggling scent!

It was as though he was snorting poppers on steroids.

That scent.

That magnificent scent.

It was like it was ... permeating his brain. Soaking into it. Working its way into his mind. Seeking out his mental buttons and pushing them all in rapid fire sequence like he was playing a piano. Or—being played.

Fuck!

Holy fuck!

The tentacle blow job might be mind-blowing but this rim job? This rim job was mind-crushing and that scent. Oh fuck that sent was simply mind warping.

The tentacock drew back slightly from its initial probing ... it stiffened and thickened even more ... and it thrust forward. It began a relentless assault directly against Stryker Magnum's puckered hole. It prodded and prodded and prodded ... it spewed and drooled ... it prodded and spewed and... Every ounce ... every inch—and there were `so many inches', no one could believe that it all could fit into a human. It attacked and attacked and attacked that tightly clenched pucker.

Tightly clenched, but—weakening.

Poking. Prodding. Drooling. Spewing. Lubricating.

Attacking. Attacking. Attacking.

That unbelievably mind-warping scent increased and surrounded Magnum's head like a thunder cloud. He gulped and sucked and inhaled every last gram of it that he could. His brain just went numb and yet hungry for more.

The painful, unrelenting pressure—increasing by the second. The powerful thrusting—demanding entry into his most private place—increasing by the second ... until...

Until...

Until that pucker yielded.

The moment had arrived.

Magnum froze; his entire body went on high alert—all, too late.

The tightly clenched pucker ring of his hole collapsed inward and opened so suddenly that along with everything else, Magnum's lungs nearly collapsed with the outward rush of air.

"Whoommphhuuccckkk," was all he could utter with that drooling tentacle sliding down his throat.

Lord Q'a's huge, throbbing, dripping, tentacock suddenly sank into Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum's hole.

He totally froze as he was impaled on that throbbing monster. Anaconda? Try Anacockmonsta.

Skewered.

He was completely skewered.

Impaled.

Fuck!

Oh ... fuck!

It took a heartbeat, and—another ... one more... But then the roar erupted from his throat as he gasped for air to re-inflate his desperately empty lungs.

"Aaarrrggghhh...!"

Pain! Pain, but—warring with other, much less familiar sensations.

That `hurt'! And yet, mixed in with the painful fire radiating from his pucker, screaming from every delicate nerve, there was—something ... else.

It felt like Q'a really did force one of his battle cruisers up his ass.

Another thrust.

"Aaarrrggghhh...!"

Holy shit and fuck!

Another thrust.

This ... was ... bad. This was `really' bad.

The tentacle cock reared back and then snapped forward once again.

"Aaarrrggghhh!"

And, again.

"Aaarrrggghhh!"

The monster drove deeper and deeper, burrowing itself more firmly in Magnum's burning hole.

And then, more. It swelled.

It snapped forward again. And, it swelled.

And again.

"Mmmppphhh."

And it swelled.

And again—it snapped forward.

"Mmmppphhh."

And, it swelled.

The pain!

"Aaarrrggghhh! Aaarrrggghhh! Aaarrrg...!"

The howls of pain that erupted from deep within Stryker Magnum may very well have shaken the mountains around them. It definitely shook his comrades to the core, as they stood or hovered in place, unable to `not' watch any more than they were able to help him. More jaws dropped. More eyes dinner-plated at the spectacle. More bulges grew beneath ever-tightening uniform pants...

"Shit..."

"Fuck..."

"Holy cow..."

"It's actually fucking the Lt. Commander, like a..."

"Yeaaaahhhhhhh, it is..."

"Like a whore..."

"Yeah ... fucking him like a..."

"Like a whore."

All—spellbound. Stunned. Some, unbelievably aroused. They watched. They all watched. What else could they do? Nothing. Nothing at all.

And, the now much thicker tentacock probed even deeper. It drooled more and more goo as it sank to overwhelming depths into Magnum's hole ... into the very core of his being.

It undulated.

It pulsed.

It throbbed.

It prodded.

It twisted and turned.

"Mmmppphhh."

It fucked Stryker Magnum.

It fucked him.

And, fucked him.

"Mmmppphhh."

And, fucked him.

The other tentacles held him taut.

They suctioned on his nipples relentlessly.

They worked his balls mercilessly.

They swallowed his cock whole ... giving him the blow job of all blow jobs. A blow job for more than his human cock, this. This was a blow job for his soul. They would not stop until they had sucked his very soul out of him.

His thick ... raging ... throbbing cock.

Oh, fuck—his cock had never felt like this! Ever! Every inch and then some, tightly gripped in that moist heat. Oh, fuck! Oh ... fuck!

Stryker Magnum was in shock. He was stunned. He was embarrassed. He was humiliated. He had the biggest, hardest, most throbbing, pain-pleasured boner of his life. He was being forced to suck one of Q'a's enormous tentacocks, and worse—he was being savagely fucked by another, and—he had the hardest, most throbbing, most drooling boner of his life.

All, in front of very nearly the entire Brigade, in front of his friends, in ... front ... of ... Rowdy and his two buddies...

Comments were whispered around the troops even still.

"Fucking hell! Is he? Is he ... whimpering?"

"Yeah—listen to him. He's whimpering like a bitch whore in heat."

Fucking Hell! He's whimpering? He's going bitch for that tentacle creature? Listen to him!

The drool that covered his entire body now ... that was pushed deep inside him and was dripping from his ravaged hole ... was more powerful than any aphrodisiac or date rape drug imaginable. He couldn't help it. He was being goo'd and swathed and fucked into a heightened state of pain and pleasure he had never dreamed existed. Had never experienced. It was electrifying. Titillating. Sensual. Sexual. Seductive...

Working.

It ... was ... working.

Every pore of his skin was being sensitized like he had never dreamed possible. His body was on fire for it. Wanting. Needing. Yes, that was it—his body was beginning to want more. To `need' more. More. Need more!

"Oh, fuck—more!" he whimper-shrieked. He prayed that was not out loud but, he feared it was. No, it couldn't have been out loud; he had that tentacock down his throat. He couldn't have said that out loud. Could he?

"Mmmppphhh ... mmmppphhh ... mmmppphhh." The giant tentacock slid in ... out ... in ... out...

"More. Please..."

No.

No!

The thing was down his throat! He couldn't be... "More..."

Stryker Magnum was sailing precariously toward total sexual overload. He was heading toward a complete, ecstasy-fueled tidal wave that threatened to inundate his senses and wash away all resistance—resistance that was becoming increasingly futile. And there was nothing he could do but take it. Take it all. Take anything that Lord Q'a had planned for him.

"Mmmppphhh," Magnum gurgled around that tentacock sliding in his throat. "More ... fuck ... whatever it is ... more. Please ... more..."

His skin was on fire. His insides boiled. His cock throbbed and dripped incessantly. His hole was stretched wide and was taking the assault of all assaults, or—so he `thought' at this moment. He had no idea what was still to come.

Still more of that thick slime and goo poured out, leaving him awash and dripping, gulping, swallowing ... devouring it as quickly as he could. And that scent. That ... scent. He couldn't get enough of it. Nostrils flaring, he snorted ... snorted ... snorted...

His eyes rolled back. His shrieks of pain and horror soon began to lessen; all at once they disappeared completely and then they slowly became moans and groans of writhing, incoherent gurgles of ecstasy that were fanned by whimpers of a rising passion ... a hunger ... that at first he could not comprehend.

But he would.

Soon.

If this kept up for long, he would be reduced to nothing more than a quivering mass of jelly. A quivering mass of jelly that would beg for more. The more that realization dawned on him, the more he tried to look around. The knowing expressions on the zombies faces. The ecstatic swaying and throbbing, undulating and pumping of tentacles... It even seemed to him that the stone faced cyborgs were enjoying this spectacle or at least were somewhat fascinated. They almost seemed to be smirking. They knew.

They all knew.

Everyone knew, or—realization was dawning.

Q'a would have him. Q'a would have `all' of him.

The stoic, yet `expectant' vision coming from Q'a himself.

Waiting.

All of them—waiting.

The zombie warriors—waiting.

The tentacle creatures—waiting.

The cyborgs—waiting.

The Q'atonian Warrior Guards—waiting.

Even Magnum's comrades ... all—mesmerized. All ... watching intently. Waiting...

For—

Magnum's total domination.

His complete breakdown.

His obedient, hungered yielding to the alien Supreme Ruler.

To ... his ... submission.

They were all—waiting.

He saw it in their eyes. In their expressions. Sensed it in unspoken words from slack-jawed, open mouths.

He saw it in Q'a.

He `would' break.

They all knew.

It `would' happen.

He `would' break.

His submission would be Q'a's single, most glorious triumph.

They would wait.

Q'a would wait.

For as long as it took.

Q'a would wait for Magnum's submission.

It ... would ... come.

Soon.

It ... would ... come.

It was inevitable now. Lord Q'a had him where he wanted him. Lord Q'a had penetrated deep inside him. Lord Q'a would break him. He would break. He would yield. He would succumb to what was being done to him.

Yes. Yes—it would come.

Unable to move even an inch thanks to his tentacle bindings, Stryker Magnum was barely able to turn his head. But, he moved it enough as his eyes scanned the three best friends of his life. Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow were still slimed in place. Their bodies clearly outlined beneath. They were naked under the slime cocoons. Were their cocks hard and throbbing?

A glance upward and to the right and he saw his fearless, granite-chiseled `Chihuahua'. Still chomping at the bit ... still wanting to swoop in and try to rescue his hero—against what seemed like insurmountable odds—or die trying. Ensign Rowdy Sullivan was barely containing himself and yet he was obeying the Lt. Commander's orders.

He moaned long and hard as that tentacock plowed deeper and deeper. More slime oozed into him and over him. His head lolled back toward his three best friends encased in their cocoons. And as his eyes rolled back and forth, to and fro, he took in another vision. A vision that made his blood both boil, and—turn into an icy river. Behind Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow now stood Lt. Commander Brickman Alexander `Brick' Hatchett. Where had he come from? Why wasn't he leading his squadrons on the other side of the planet? What the fuck was he doing here?

Brick Hatchett.

Classmate.

Teammate.

Arch rival.

They had battled one another for as long as Magnum could remember; it had started with the bully punk on elementary school playgrounds and it had continued throughout their lives. Both men fighting for dominance over the other.

Rivals.

In height. Hatchett had won that one for so many years. He had always had several inches in height on Magnum and outweighed and out muscled him for so long. And then almost overnight, Magnum had soared upward. He had gained inches so quickly one summer that it was a wonder his bones hadn't cracked. Suddenly, Hatchett's 6'2" didn't come close to Magnum's 6'4" frame.

In cock size. So many smirks. So many taunts. Hatchett had developed early. He had amassed a 10" throbber with bull balls to Magnum's 8.5" cock. Until that same fateful summer and the months that followed. Suddenly, Stryker Magnum had 13 inches of monster thick cock and a set of balls that looked like they should be cathedral bells calling all around to worship.

Rivals in who could cum more ... harder ... farther in those circle jerk competitions. While Stryker Magnum came in rivers ... Brick Hatchett came in oceans. Repeatedly. He could cum, and cum, and cum and then cum again.

And, there were so many more rivalries. While Hatchett's chest remained smooth as a baby's bottom, Magnum had chest hair. Thick between his massive, dinner plate-like pecs, it seemed to accentuate even more the perfection of his chiseled features. It splayed outward from that valley in swirls and curls of lush silken strands—not so much that it obliterated the spectacular form beneath but made many of his female conquests, not to mention secretly salivating males want to comb their fingers through it all. The hair dripped downward from that valley and followed a clearly defined path until it swept below his navel as a narrow treasure trail that led to a luxuriant bush surrounding his thick cock. Infuriatingly, Hatchett's own ancestry had not only left him almost totally smooth, but with a very sparse cockbush more appropriate for a fourteen-year-old.

In academic accomplishments. Magnum continually surpassed Hatchett by ... just ... that ... much. In friends? Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow had been Hatchett's friends, too ... at one time. But they had drifted farther into Magnum's `presence' and had left him behind—although they still hung with him, studied with him, played sports with him.

In sports. Magnum won Hatchett's coveted starting QB role year after year. Starting pitcher in every rotation ... every ... friggin' ... year. He continually had to grudgingly accept a backup position to Magnum or settle for Wide Receiver or Tight End ... Catcher ... 1st Base. Gold after gold after gold went to Magnum in wrestling while Hatchett stood up and had to graciously take silver upon silver upon silver.

In women. Hatchett had constantly flaunted his `rep' around the locker room. He'd certainly had more than his share of women. More than one at a time, quite often. He outdistanced Magnum on that tally sheet. Hugely. Except for the one that truly counted.

Adrienne.

She was the most desirable, most stunningly beautiful woman of them all. Absolutely gorgeous. She was everything. `His' everything. But, she had played them against each other more than once. She had played them in so many ways.

But, when it came down to it, there, in the middle of the Admiral's Ball, she smiled seductively, had taken Hatchett's hand and allowed him to lead her out onto the dance floor. At that moment, he was absolutely sure he, and not Magnum, had won her heart forever. They had held each other close. He knew she could feel his steel-hard maleness as she deliberately moved her body and ground herself against him. They had whispered and chuckled. He was positive he'd score again tonight. He was more turned on than he'd ever been in his life. With any woman. Ever.

They had danced. And, danced. And, danced. And then, just as he was mentally rechecking his stash of `supplies' back home, she hit him with the completely unexpected, devastating lightning bolt, that instantly exploded his hatred for J. Stryker Magnum into a blazing white-hot rage. This would be their last dance. Their last date. She had chosen Magnum.

What?

Why?

What went wrong? They were so good together...

She had twirled and swayed and slid back into his arms and pressed her cheek to his and whispered softly into his ear.

"Stryker has a much bigger a dick, darling. He can reach places I never knew I had," she had said with a lilt but no question of sincerity. "That, and he is going to `be' that Admiral one day. You, on the other hand, will never..."

She didn't get to finish. He had dropped her gloved hands, turned on his heel, and marched straight across the dance floor to Stryker Magnum. Hatchett landed an enraged fist into his perfect, Hollywood handsome face that caught his rival so completely off guard that he went sailing backward into the indoor wishing well. Towering over the soaking wet Magnum, he spat on him. He actually spat on him. The sneer was bone chilling.

"Take her, you fucking son of a bitch bastard! She's all yours. I've fucked that `whore' enough anyway."

He turned. Straightened his dress blues. And marched out of the building leaving shocked stares and hushed whispers in his wake. He would never know that Magnum had somehow managed to avoid severe reprimands for both of them. Still, they were rivals.

Bitter enemies. Arch rivals.

Rivals in ... well ... everything.

It had started in that school yard so many years before. It had grown unrelentingly ever since. All the way through the Academy and into their still young military careers.

The Academy.

The ... fucking ... Academy.

There they stood at attention, waiting for the announcement. Commandant Hirschorn loved his own moments of dramatic pause. Everyone waited. Everyone held their breath. Without moving his head, Hatchett shifted his eyes to Magnum.

This was it.

This was the golden ticket.

"#1 in the class," Hirshorn had said finally. "#1, and—Valedictorian ... is ... Lt. Brickman Alexander Hatchett, IV."

Silence.

Stunned, ear-shattering ... silence.

Seconds ticked into a full minute before someone started clapping.

Brickman Alexander `Brick' Hatchett, IV? Seriously? Really? Surely that had `nothing' to do with his daddy being the Senate Majority Leader in the newly formed North American Alliance of States... The `major' funding organization and the single largest private donor to the Academy's coffers? No, of course not. That would be ... shady.

Lt. J. Stryker Magnum led the way with the applause; he even turned, marched the several feet between them and held out his hand to Hatchett for a congratulatory shake. With all eyes on them—on him—Hatchett reached out and took Magnum's hand and shook.

"This may have been the closest fight for the top in the history of the Academy," Commandant Hirshorn said as he held his hands up in the air and quelled the murmurs and the remaining smattering of clapping. Everyone fell back into place, except Magnum who forced a smile.

"Congratulations Brick. I guess this ends the rivalry of a lifetime," he said with a shoulder butt to join that shake.

Lt. Brick Hatchett's head tilted. "How so?"

"You're Valedictorian buddy," Magnum said with a shrug. "That means you're #1. You will be at the helm of the Alpha Squadrons." With a bow of respect, Magnum returned back toward his spot near the dais and watched Commandant Hirshorn. Disappointed? Hell yeah. He thought he had him. He thought his GPA was higher than anybod...

"Your attention please," Hirshorn said with a rap to the podium. "May I have your attention. We have one more announcement before the party begins."

The commencement theater fell into an eerie silence. This was it. The announcement that everyone had been waiting for. With the GPA and Valedictorian announcement, it was just a matter of formalities now, but—it had to be done.

"The final announcement for now, ladies and gentlemen ... families ... friends ... special guests," the Commandant said stoically. He stared out into the crowded theater and then studied Brick Hatchett. Their eyes locked and held fast.

"The Squadron Leader for Units 9, 11, and 12 in Elite Brigade—Alpha—and, who shall be in training to take `my' place ... someday, far down the road is..."

Hope against hope.

Prayer over prayer.

Miracle of miracles?

Hearing a pin drop? Fuck that. You could have heard dust drop onto a feather.

"Lt. J. Stryker Magnum."

The roar that rose up from the crowd could have lifted the caps off a mountain.

Magnum was stunned. Genuinely stunned. Had he heard right?

Hatchett's eyes narrowed. He ground his teeth. He stared a vicious hole in the back of Stryker Magnum's head.

What ... the ... fuck?

What the fuck!

`He' was GPA champion!

`He' was Valedictorian!

The prestigious slot of Alpha Squadron Leader was `his'!

He had to give Magnum credit. When his arch rival turned and looked in his direction, he looked just as shocked and stunned as he felt. He watched as Magnum broke ranks and headed in his direction. He was interrupted repeatedly in his progress by handshakes, high fives, butt slaps, shoulder bumps but he finally stood in front of Hatchett.

"Brick, I..."

Hatchett held up a hand. "I don't know how you did it. I don't know if you cheated. Bribed. Tapped into the system...," he paused as he watched the bewildered, confused expression on his arch rival go hard. Stone. Cold. Hard. "But whatever you did to fuck me over in this? You are so gonna pay Magnum. You are so gonna pay."

"Bri..."

"Save it!" Brick Hatchett roared with so much venom dripping from every pore that he could have poisoned a bronze warrior at that moment. "Just know this..."

He leaned close and with barely controlled rage, delivered a bone-chilling, mind-crushing edict.

"I ... will ... annihilate ... you."

Magnum blinked.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Missis...

Time to fight back with the big sword. Magnum leaned forward and delivered his own blow.

"I'm really going to enjoy giving you orders, and...," he paused and pulled back enough to stare into those hard, cold eyes ... into Hatchett's soul. "And, watching you have to salute me and say Yes, Sir."

"Fuck you ... Sir," Hatchett said with so much vehemence it shook even his spine. "Fuck you."

"In your dreams, Hatchett. You don't measure up with the ladies ... much less the `real' men in Elite Forces Brigade."

With the Commandant and Senators, dignitaries galore ... his own parents who had actually showed up ... Hatchett swallowed the urge to land another fist in Stryker Magnum's face ... like he had after the fiasco with Adrienne. He turned and walked out of the building.

He never forgave Magnum for taking `his' command. The position that Hatchett felt `should' have been his. Becoming the much worshipped and admired leader of Earth Forces Brigade's Alpha Squadrons.

Fuck the highest GPA.

Fuck Valedictorian.

Alpha Squadron Leader was the `real' prize. The `true' prize. The `only' prize. And that bastard Magnum had just stolen it from him. Swept it out of his hands.

Fucking J. Stryker Magnum. Always J. fucking Stryker fucking Magnum! Always ... on ... top, in everything.

Bitter rivals.

To the end.

To.

The.

End.

Eyes locked. Stryker Magnum dangled there, impaled and at the relentless and merciless thrusting and abuse coming from Q'a. He stared into his rival's eyes. Brick Hatchett's unwavering eyes.

The look on Hatchett's face.

The vengeance in his eyes.

"Mmmppphhh... Mmmppphhh... Mmmppphhh..."

The smirk on Hatchett's face.

The alien weapon in his hands.

The alien wea...

The ... `what'?

`Oh' ... `no' ... `he' ... `didn't'?

`Oh' ... `shit'!

Did he hate Magnum that much?

So much that he would cross to the other side?

That he would imperil Earth?

No.

Not even Hatchett would...

"You have done well my pet," Lord Q'a cooed, as he continued to fuck Magnum into ... micro-mush ... obliterating him completely ... fucking his dominance into his captive and at the same time, fueling Magnum's inevitable hungers and complete submission to him.

A tentative smile briefly crossed Hatchett's ruggedly handsome face and then faded as he bowed with complete, utmost respect to the Supreme Ruler of the alien world.

"I am yours to serve, my Lord, Master," Hatchett said adoringly. It was almost ... reverent.

`Reverent'? `What the'...

`Oh, fuck—he had crossed over to the other side'...

No. He couldn't be that `evil'. That much of a traitor to his country. To his home world. To the EFB. Could he? It had to be a mistake. Or, there was another explanation. Q'a. It had to be Q'a. Somehow. Some way. He must have captured Hatchett or had him captured and he...

Yeah. That had to be it. Not even an asshole like Brick Hatchett would imperil the whole of Mankind—the whole of Earth—just to get revenge on his arch rival. Would he? Did Hatchett really hate him `that' much?

A sudden brilliant bolt of energy streamed from one of Q'a's tentacles, fully enveloping Magnum's arch rival. Then and there, before Magnum's upturned, stunned eyes, Hatchett's body began to morph. It spasmed. It convulsed. It rippled and undulated. His EFB uniform shredded and he was suddenly naked. As naked as Magnum was. He continued to morph. His body grew. His muscles expanded exponentially.

Holy fuck, that body. Beautiful. Magnificent. Hatchett was really magnificent. And that cock! Magnum's breath hitched, his nostrils flared, his eyes went wide and riveted to that cock.

Oh ... fuck ... that cock.

Hatchett's normally impressive cock thickened even more so. It flared. It doubled ... no ... it more than doubled in length.

It was—magnificent. A magnificent masterpiece of living, undulating, throbbing granite-like power.

When had this happened? `How' ... had ... this ... happened? Q'a had captured Hatchett? Q'a had transformed Hatchett? Brick Hatchett had been transformed and converted into a fearsome Q'atonian Warrior in Q'a's army? To use his hatred of Magnum against him?

And there was more in those narrowed, penetrating eyes that were zeroed in on Magnum's horrified stare, even as he sank deeper and deeper into the euphoria of the life- and earth-shaking fuck that was being savagely thrown into him. The message could not have been more clear ... more hard pounding.

Brickman Hatchett, newly minted Q'atonian Warrior, was hoping ... waiting ... hungering—for his turn at Stryker Magnum's mouth, and—his bubbled ass that was currently being relentlessly pummeled into a pussy.

Lord Q'a saw it, too. He saw the savage hunger. The triumphant sneer. The raging desire. The raging need to put the rivalry to bed, as it were. To finally and irrevocably come out on top of Stryker Magnum.

"Patience, my pet," Lord Q'a said with the fatherly, or possibly big brotherly tone of knowledge as he stroked a tentacle through the hair of the Q'atonian Warrior that had formerly been Lt. Commander Brick Hatchett. "You shall have him. Soon."

Hatchett's head snapped up and he gazed into his Master's eyes. Hope and excitement ... a surge of pure, unbounded lust ... flowed through his body. Did Lord Q'a just say...?

"My Lord?"

That tentacle stopped stroking Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett's hair and moved on after a gentle pat on the head; it now stroked his cheek almost tenderly. Lord Q'a's newest "pet" ... purred. With contentment and ... barely suppressed eagerness.

"You have earned a special reward and you shall have it. Patience my pet. Patience."

"Yes, my Lord, Master," Hatchett breathed in barely more than a whimper. "Thank you, my Lord, Master."

Magnum's body rolled and undulated and rose up to meet the hot, wet, suctioning strokes gliding down onto his raging cock. All the nerve endings in his cock were tingling and inflamed with the most intense pleasure. Holy fuck this was the most unbelievable blow job he had ever received. No woman would ever begin to match this. Not even a shadow of this. Not in a million years. Holy fuck, it was incredible. His cock was being blown. His balls were being blown. Who knew that you could have your balls blown? Oh, fuck it was incredible. Fucking incredible. Who knew? How would he ever be satisfied again with the oral skills of the most accomplished woman—if he lived through this mind-numbing ordeal.

His mouth and his throat opened wider and succumbed even more to the incredible need, the desire, the strange ... rising hunger ... that was developing inside him to suck and slurp on another invading tentacock, seemingly trying to penetrate his very soul.

It was true. Even his soul. Q'a was blowing his soul. Or, would be soon. Q'a was going to suck Stryker Magnum's soul right out of him. As if the continuous barrage of mind-erasing pleasure was slowly overwriting and destroying everything that made him the man he was.

And, his body rose and fell into perfect synchronization with that monster alien tentacock that was raping him ... ravaging him ... taking complete possession and ownership over his butthole. His increasingly ravenous butthole.

No.

It wasn't a butthole. It had ceased to be classified as a butthole.

Not at the rate and the magnitude that it was being brutally pounded.

His butthole had been annihilated.

Completely. Totally. Irrevocably. Annihilated.

His hole was being fucked into a manpussy.

`He' was being fucked into a pussy.

Him.

Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum.

A man's man.

He was being turned into a consummate cocksucker and a cock-hungry pussy by this alien `lord' of these bizarre creatures.

Right there.

One hundred feet above the ground.

In front of tentacle creatures and zombies and cyborgs, those Elite Q'atonian Warriors and—nearly the entire Earth Forces Brigade.

All bearing witness.

All in drop-jawed disbelief.

All—watching his spectacularly naked body being ravaged at the tentacles of Q'a. Totally controlled and humiliated beyond belief.

Some watching, more aroused than they had ever been, and—very confused by that insistent, pulsing arousal. Most of the males considered themselves to be completely and utterly straight and yet...

Riveted to the spectacle unfolding above them, there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

And, as it progressed. As it continued.

For hour upon hour upon...

He sucked and slurped harder and harder. More desperately. An inhuman, almost alien hunger had seeded and it was growing deep within him. A raging fire burning inside him. Consuming him, or—what was left of him.

He orgasmed over, and over, and over, into that tightly gripping and strongly suctioning tentacle.

He orgasmed so many times that his rapidly fogging brain had lost count. And, still—he orgasmed. It was as if the thrashing, pounding, earth shaking fucking was turning his own organs into alien monsters of slime producing sex. Each new orgasm ripping through him was more intense than the last. Each, deeper from inside him. Depths that he had never known existed. It was as though, yes—even his soul was being held in a constant state of orgasm, at the same time that it was being slowly and inexorably consumed. Wiped clean. Erased.

And his new manpussy rode and rode, and—rode on Q'a's monster tentacock as it used and abused, and—ravaged him with increasingly savage ferocity.

Staying power?

Holy fuck yes.

Eleven hours and forty-seven minutes worth.

And then, the first moment of truth...

With an ear shattering, ground shaking, stratosphere ripping roar—Lord Q'a orgasmed.

Lord Q'a came.

And he came.

And, he came.

The dam burst and a gusher of alien cum flooded into and spilled out and over Stryker Magnum. Mind and body. His eyes bugged out so far, some wondered if they wouldn't simply blast out of their sockets and fall to earth.

The potent alien cum triggered Magnum's own explosive, mind-numbing orgasm. His roar was so powerful that it nearly matched Q'a's. His body shuddered, and rocked, and convulsed, and trembled, as he felt the molten flood of alien cum volcano'd into him from both ends simultaneously.

And still Lord Q'a spewed thick, steaming rivers of his alien seed into the helpless Earth Forces Brigade Lieutenant Commander, as his orgasm crescendo'd and crescendo'd. It seemed to increase in volume and power by the minute. Torrents of cum crashed in massive waves into Magnum's newly carved manpussy and mouth ... flooding into him. Owning him ... possessing him ... taking him.

The alien king's orgasm took a full thirty minutes to run its course.

Glittering, pearlescent cum drooled from the lips of Magnum's new pussy. Large, thick rivulets of alien cum dripped from his ravaged mouth.

He gazed beyond that tentacock and once again fell into a lock with the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett's eyes. Vehement hatred battled in those orbs with a rising hunger lust. His eyes drifted downward over that granite chiseled body and again wrapped around the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett's huge cock and low hanging, monstrous balls. Oh fuck how he wanted that cock pounding and spewing into him. Mouth. Throat. Manpussy.

And more of Lord Q'a's boiling hot cum dripped from his lips. Without even realizing he was doing it, his tongue slithered and dipped and licked up as much as it could trap and draw back into his mouth.

Needing it.

Wanting it.

Hungering for it.

Ravenous for it.

Desperate for more of Lord Q'a alien cum.

His body settled into faint quakes, ripples, and tremors, but still undulated as it continued to ride on that massive tentacock.

Magnum's eyes were glazed. His muscular, sharply defined body glistened with sweat and drool and cum and those incredible secretions that had spewed from tentacles and tentacocks the entire time that he had been ravaged. Air whistled raggedly through his flared nostrils.

Finally—it was over.

Was ... it ... over?

Surely ... it ... was ... over?

Please, fuck—let it be over!

The tentacle around his neck withdrew. Those wrapping his wrists and ankles loosened and pulled away.

His cock and balls were released. Red. Swollen. His cock—engorged beyond anything a normal human could endure. His nuts looked more like bruised and purpled softballs now...

The tentacles that had licked and flicked and sucked on his previously dime-size nipples the entire time of his deflowering now withdrew, leaving them the size of 19th Century Silver Dollars; the nubs now protruding a good, solid inch from his body. Sensitive. So sensitive. So ... very ... sensitive. Even the air blowing across them now made him shiver and whimper.

Finally, the slightly pulsating tentacock that had ravaged his mouth pulled out. Those closest to him could actually hear the `pop' as it exited from between his lips.

Body trembling, throat raw, breathing ragged, he gasped for breath, and he whimpered and gurgled. His tongue lolled helplessly as drool and copious amounts of alien cum poured down his chin ... the gallons that he didn't—or couldn't—swallow, anyway. And there was no mistake about it, he had been injected with or swallowed gallons of alien cum during Lord Q'a's orgasm. His normally flat and ripped belly looked so swollen, he might as well have been pregnant. A shiver quaked through him at that horrible thought. Him? Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum of Earth Forces Brigade carrying Lord Q'a's progeny?

Another tentacle swept forward to scoop up the flow of cum from his battered and puffy lips, lifting it to Magnum's mouth; he licked and sucked it clean. No command was needed. Obedient. Hungry. Swallowing every last drop as it was fed to him. Another suctioned up all that was pouring out of his pussy and followed likewise, delivering it all to his hungry, swollen lips to be sucked and licked clean ... the thick, molten alien cum flowing down his throat.

Somehow, he wanted it.

Did he need it now?

Did he need more of that thick, boiling alien cum?

Oh fuck ... yes. He needed more.

And there he was.

One hundred feet above the ground.

One hundred feet above the invading alien force, or—those that weren't hovering around him and Lord Q'a to assure their Supreme Ruler's safety.

There he was.

Dangling.

Impaled on that massive, still throbbing and undulating tentacle cock. Cum still drooled from its thick head and flowed into his ravaged hole. Magnum's hole—no, his pussy—raw and aching. His entire body ached. Aching in places he never knew existed. Even his mind `ached'—what was left of it. Fried, or—boiled. Yeah, maybe that was it. His brain had been boiled in bubbling hot alien cum.

Every inch of his glistening body was on display for everyone and every `thing' to gaze upon in his weakened, humiliated and helpless state. He was there, dangling, and still completely impaled. That monster tentacock, the only thing keeping him from plummeting 100 feet to the ground. That monster tentacock, still buried deep in his ravaged manpussy.

Dangling.

Impaled.

Ravaged.

Fucked.

Humiliated?

Hell, yeah he was humiliated beyond belief. He'd never live this down. He didn't know how he would ever look his comrades in the eye again after this... This... Whatever ... `this' ... was.

It was just as Lord Q'a had said—

Lord Q'a would have him.

He would `have' him.

He would possess him.

He would own him.

Completely.

Body and soul.

For all he knew, maybe the entire spectacle had been televideoed for the viewing pleasure of the `folks back home', and Q'a's private collection. He probably had `home movies' of his more spectacular and memorable conquests; something told him that `this' conquest would be the cherry on top of those flicks. The savage plucking of `his' cherry. Featuring every embarrassed, moritified, humiliated, blushing inch of the naked commander.

And, no doubt more than a few vidphones had discretely appeared among those assembled below and behind ledges and boulders along the ridge of the mountains surrounding them; all, aimed in his direction. Now, he'd probably become the most famous, most talked about, most reluctant `gay' porn star for years to come. Great. Just ... fucking ... great.

Finally, after he had been displayed before all—human and alien alike—as the powerless trophy that he had now become, Lieutenant Commander Magnum was slowly lowered to the ground. The tree-trunk-like tentacock was finally withdrawn from his limp, trembling body. Too weak to stand, he fell first to his knees and then collapsed, fully prostrate, face first into the dirt and rocks and debris before Lord Q'a. He dared hope, beyond hope, that his ordeal was finally over.

He mustered a few ounces of strength from deep within his very being and struggled to lift his head; he gazed upward. Bleary eyed. Exhausted. Sweat soaked. Drool and cum drenched. His cock, still swollen and pulsing and scarlet red from its ravaging. His balls, enormously stretched and swollen. His nipples, raw and aching, swollen and sensitive beyond belief.

Please let this be over. Please. This has to be ov...

Before he could finish that thought, three tentacles took a firm hold and bent him over a fourth which morphed into a living ... undulating ... bench shape, while a fifth tentacle swooped in and flattened out like a paddle. With the barely struggling Lieutenant Commander now held firmly in place, with no possible chance of escape, they once again rose into the air and did a slow 360. Lord Q'a made sure that everyone below or at any angle along the grade of the mountains that possibly could, had the opportunity for a really good, mostly unobstructed view of the blushing, naked and hard Lieutenant Commander, and—his continued humiliation. He wanted all to witness Magnum's disgrace. His ... punishment.

Magnum momentarily closed his weary eyes in disbelief. There was still more? How much more of this torture could he take? How much more could he endure?

And, yet—

His humiliation continued.

The magnitude of his disgrace doubled ... tripled...

Stryker Magnum, leader of the Earth Forces Brigade's most elite, most decorated, most respected squadrons, was spanked like a bad little boy, in full view of his best friends, his comrades, and the invading horde of tentacle creatures, cyborgs, and zombies. Even more humiliating, if that was possible—right there, in front of the hated and despised Brick Hatchett's very amused eyes.

It was merciless.

It was vicious.

He was spanked and spanked.

One hour.

Non-stop.

Brutally spanked.

And, spanked.

And ... spanked.

Stryker Magnum's shrieks and cries and roars segued to whimpers and gasps as the viciousness continued without slowing. His little remaining strength ebbed into fatigue and from there into exhaustion. God—he was exhausted. His breathing became more ragged and shallow. Sweat poured off him like a waterfall. The cheeks of his mouthwatering ass glowed red and purple like beacons of ominous devastation.

And, still—the spanking continued.

Continuing his intense humiliation and mortification, his rock hard, throbbing cock never softened. It never shrank. His enormously bloated balls rocked and swayed with each ... smack ... smack ... smack—like 2 huge, bruised and over ripe grapefruits blowing in the wind.

Then there was a shift in the punishing blows at the very moment the attack crossed the sixty minute mark. For another thirty agonizing minutes, not just one but three tentacles morphed into paddles and took up the onslaught. One after the other. Alternating where they struck to insure that not a single millimeter of Magnum's already tenderized bubble butt was spared. Some blows landing, even more painfully if that was possible, deep in his asscrack. Spanking. Pounding. A few, strategically smacking and thrashing at the quivering rosebud of his tight pucker. Those last smacks and thwats produced jolts of lightning throughout his entire body and forced him to emit garbled whimpers and moans.

Spanking.

Pounding.

Spanking, and—pounding.

And then, it happened. Unexpected. At least, unexpected from the earthlings' point of view. No more unexpected than from Magnum, himself.

The roar.

"Aaarrrggghhh...!"

Harder and harder they smacked into his brightly glowing, fiery red ass.

"Aaarrrggghhh!"

Smack. Smack. Smack.

"Nooooooooo!"

The wail erupted from deep inside the violated Lieutenant Commander, like a locomotive in full-throttle coming out of a mile-long tunnel. His scream was accompanied by the most intense, most mind-obliterating, most massive orgasm he had ever had in his life. More massive than the one that had been produced with the culmination of the ravaging fuck that Q'a had thrown into him minutes before. Minutes? Hours? Days? At this point, Magnum had no comprehension of time.

This orgasm was more massive than any human could have possibly ever had in their life. Jet after thick jet of white-hot cum fired out of his abused cock to cover whatever was beneath him at the time. Where could all of this come from? He had always been proud of his copious eruptions but this...? This was... Alien? Maybe?

Could something in the oceans of cum that had flooded into him from that tentacock have turned his own balls into a mass producing cum factory? And, still—cum erupted from his throbbing cock, poured downward, and splattered on everyone, every `thing'. Without question, that included the upturned faces of zombies, tentacle creatures, cyborgs, and Earth Forces Brigade commandos alike.

Even Brick Hatchett got a face splattering. He reached up, wiped it with his fingers and then smacked his lips after slurping it down.

Just wait, Magnum ... just wait... I'll make you orgasm and whimper and beg for more and more. Just ... you ... wait...

Magnum was too exhausted to really see what, or—who was beneath him. Too exhausted, and—too deeply embedded in the orgasm itself. His eyes had rolled so far into the back of his head at this point that he was unsure if they would ever regain their rightful settings again. And still, he came. And came. Where was all this coming from? It felt as if his toes were curling up into his knee caps with these last volleys of hot cum ... that's how hard they erupted from his swollen cock.

Finally, the wave-crashing eruption from deep within his being stopped. It almost felt as though he'd cummed his brains out through his abused cock. Maybe he had? He was left limp as a rag doll. Limper if that was possible. He was panting. He was gulping air into his lungs like a dog lapping at its water bowl. Air. He needed air. Air—even if it had the stench of those hideous aliens. A stench that was permeating his boiled brains more by the second, feeding an increasing hunger for more and more of it barreling into his flaring nostrils ... filling his lungs ... quenching and yet, never sating that hunger for more doses.

Maybe this insane brand of punishment and torture, or—whatever it was, would finally be over? Maybe he would be able to gather what was left of himself, move through the degradation, the defilement, the humiliation and the savage use of his body by Lord Q'a and his drooling tentacles? Maybe somehow, after enduring all that, he could regain control of his faculties? Mental and physical. Maybe he could find the strength? Maybe he could regain control of his nearly torn apart, badly abused body? Maybe he could salvage what was left of his dignity? Maybe he could fight through the awed, shocked, and stunned stares from his comrades and he could rally them back into action? Maybe he could lead them through the battle and on to victory?

To ... kicking ... alien ... friggin' ... butt?

Yes. Maybe.

Or, maybe not.

Somehow, deep inside—it felt like his ordeal was not yet over. Not by a long shot. At least Q'a hadn't killed him outright. He was still alive. Barely. He was still breathing. Barely. Could he be thankful for that or was he still facing that final step? If so, he was determined to die a warrior's death. He would not willingly yield. He would not willingly submit. He would rather die first.

He would `never' bow to this ... this ... thing, or for that matter—submit to whatever Q'a had promised to Hatchett. Never!

And, there he was. Sneering and no doubt gloating over Magnum's total debasement. His fall from grace. His lifelong arch rival, defeated. Finally.

Hatchett.

Brick fucking Hatchett.

That ... fucking...

His eyes again raked over the Q'atonian Warrior's body. Gazed into those confident, hungry eyes. Enveloped that massive, throbbing cock. That beautiful, magnificent cock. Throbbing ... waiting ... to slam into his manpussy and make it his own.

Was that another whimper coming from the depths of his being?

No.

Yes.

Maybe.

No!

He could not give Hatchett the satisfaction. He would `not' give that fucker the satisfaction. Brick Hatchett would not come out on top! Ever! Not in this. Not in anything. Ever again. He would kill that monster, kill Hatchett, with his bare hands if needs be, as soon as this was over. However long it took. He would kill Brick Hatchett if it was the last thing he did.

Nothing, but `nothing', in his life or his extensive military training could ever have prepared him for what was still to come. There were no textbooks, no videos, no obstacle course diagrams, no enemy resistance training ... no `nothing' ... that would have provided the slightest insight into what was coming next. Training to resist enemy torture didn't even come close.

Lord Q'a was not finished.

The coup de grâce was now at hand.

The cessation of all that was Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum was looming closer by the minute, now. And, in its place? Well...

Lord Q'a turned and nodded to the Zombie Prince who was hovering nearby, awaiting the signal to begin the final, irrevocable domination, defeat, submission, and total reprogramming of the formerly arrogant Lieutenant Commander. Or whatever was still left of him as he was known up to this point. What was that Lord Q'a had said earlier about his `impudence?'

Prince Fug'am smirked. The puny Earthling was certainly not arrogant now was he? Cocky? Swaggering? Confident? Reeking of smug bravado? This was the hero of all inhabitants on this pathetic planet? `This'? Dangling there—used and ravaged ... degraded ... defiled ... embarrassed and humiliated before his troops ... before his 3 `green goo' drenched and frozen in place Lieutenants?

Oh, but Prince Fug'am knew that Lord Q'a had special plans for them, too.

Very ... specific ... plans for those three. Their natural athleticism, their military acumen, their incredible `direct combat' abilities... Oh yes. Oh ... yes. The Lord Q'a had the perfect place for them in his army. Soon. Very, very soon.

His body would no longer be his in any measure. His mind, completely under their control. His obedience. His hunger. His `all' would very soon be The Lord Q'a's and those blessed by the Supreme Ruler to partake.

Yes, the earthling Lieutenant Commander had no idea what complete and utterly inescapable servitude was truly in store for him for the rest of his life. Oh, but he `would' know. Soon. Very soon. Oh yes—Stryker Magnum would know. Right after they performed their well-orchestrated and very special `conversion' procedure.

The final step in the possession and eradication of Magnum's body, mind, and soul.

Oh how the Prince loved participating in this procedure. It was even more satisfying and enjoyable than slicing enemies wide open, eating their organs ... devouring their brains ... washing them down with their still warm blood ... and, leaving a steaming pile of mush in his wake. And, of course, being the Prince of the Zombies... Well, he loved brains and such. But this? This ... was ... like a desert from the stars, this procedure.

Prince Fug'am nodded his understanding of Lord Q'a gesture and moved into position next to the still panting earthling. Both of the Prince's cocks where eager to perform this procedure which, together with what Lord Q'a provided, would have the most definitive, the most `crushing' and final result on their adversary. Certainly one that the insignificant Earth Forces Brigade would never have dreamed could actually happen. Much less, right in front of them. The Brigade, nor—their pathetic excuse of a Commander who was now naked, panting, and helpless to prevent the final step that was to come.

The Zombie Prince's two cocks had a very unique and devastating property. The long tips were tapered. They started out very thin, allowing the Prince to insinuate them into an already occupied hole, or—freshly made manpussy as it was in this case. Once lodged firmly in place, they would begin to grow and morph into gargantuan proportions. Stretching, enlarging, and sometimes tearing, anything unfortunate enough to experience them at work.

Lord Q'a arranged his captive so that he was horizontal with his pathetically still throbbing and drooling penis pointing down towards the still shocked and awed Earth Forces Brigade, while another tentacle was reinserted into the helpless Lieutenant Commander's mouth and made itself at home down his tightly stretched throat.

His gargantuan tentacock took its appointed place for this procedure as well; it slid with almost no resistance into Magnum's enlarged manpussy. Soon to be stretched even wider open. Now held securely from both ends, the Lieutenant Commander looked like he was being spit-roasted, and in a way—he was.

Lord Q'a had carefully studied human anatomy—male anatomy—before his invasion. He was keenly aware of the many erogenous areas of human males—specifically, the magic pleasure button of exquisite bliss, the prostate. With the very precise control he had over his massive and very talented cock, he made sure a good-sized `bump', almost like a dog knot, kept rubbing and pressing against the human's prostate, keeping him in an extended state of raging sexual arousal and leaking copious amounts of precum onto the ground below him.

The almost continuous stream of manjuice didn't go unnoticed by the soldiers of the Earth Forces Brigade. By this time, a large number of the men had very conspicuous boner bulges that were nearly impossible to hide in their form-fitting uniforms. There were a number in the Earth Forces Brigade who knew all too well why they had raging hardons; however, the majority of their comrades, especially those with steady girlfriends or wives, had no idea why they were having that embarrassing reaction.

The confusing, nearly uncontrollable arousal of Magnum's comrades, however, was sweeping away any rational thinking at this point. If they got out of this alive, there would be many boyfriends, girlfriends, partners and wives who would be in for a long and hard night.

There might even be a number of anonymous liaisons in the more obscure, dimly lit, seldom traveled areas of their bases, or—new stealthy fuck or suck buddy arrangements might be blossoming in quarters and barracks after lights out. Just one buddy helping out another buddy in need. Certainly nothing gay about it. Right?

`If' of course, any of them made it back to home, bases, barracks ... the convenient pile of rubble or boulders... Anything. Anywhere. To work their throbbing cocks out of the confusing, frenzied need they were now plagued with.

The magnificent, Hollywood handsome and amazingly built Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum, their leader, the hero to the vast majority of them all and pretty much as `all man' as any man could be, had been raped and brutally fucked in front of their very eyes by the gigantic leader of the invading alien hordes, and—no small number of these comrades had blown massive loads in their uniform pants as they intently watched the entire scene play out before them.

Watching.

Enraptured.

Shocked.

Awed.

Stunned.

Confused but—

turned on beyond belief.

Envious? Yes. More than a few envied that alien tentacock right now.

No one seemed to be more spellbound by the horrifying yet stunningly erotic show than the three best friends of Magnum's entire life. Friends since diapers and apple sauce. A show that was being put on for their benefit and that of the entire Earth Forces Brigade, for the complete degradation, shame, debasement, total humiliation and—resounding defeat and destruction of their Lieutenant Commander.

The three enthralled friends were torn with several conflicting emotions, even as they were frozen on the spot by that green goo that encased their perfectly muscled bodies. So deeply entranced and spellbound, they were totally unaware of the insertion of a dozen needle-tipped tubes into their necks or the rapid flowing of glowing alien substances into their systems...

Yes, Lieutenants Strathman, Ransom, and Tallow were utterly transfixed. Completely unable to stop the degrading spectacle that was being made of their best friend. But mixed in with their mortification, some darker, more sinister thoughts had begun coursing through their minds. Even as—or maybe because of—the fluids that continued to be pumped into their bodies and began coursing through their veins.

Watching with rapt attention, unable to help Stryker Magnum, each of the three friends, unknown to each other, had multiple, spectacular, mind-numbing orgasms throughout the Earth Forces Brigade Lieutenant Commander's pussification and abasement. The conditioning of intense orgasmic pleasure was facilitating their rewiring as well.

The Zombie Prince approached from the Lieutenant Commander's other side and gestured to several of his minions to come forward and join Lord Q'a's tentacles in holding their whimpering and exhausted victim immobile, and—spread eagled—stretched out before all onlookers to the maximum his human body could withstand without shredding.

He moved in and carefully positioned the long, thin, tapered tips of both his cocks exactly where he'd been waiting to put them while Lord Q'a was raping and abusing the puny human. One of his zombie cocks began slithering into the human's already overstuffed mouth and the other easily forced its way past what was left of Magnum's anal ring and slipped into his newly drilled and dilated pussy; the move bringing on a fresh look of shock and surprise to the Lieutenant Commander's handsome, albeit abused and war-weary face. His ravaged body shuddered.

Slowly, the Prince pushed more and more of his very flexible—and `greatly' expandable—cocks into both ends of their captive. Stryker Magnum's body became rigid. He stiffened and grunted—he thrashed what little he could and whimper-groaned.

"Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh! Mmmp..."

He quivered and quaked and whimpered—as much as was possible with that thick and pulsating tentacle cock firmly lodged down his throat while another slowly moved in to take up residence alongside it—at the renewed assault on his body. Maybe this was it? This was how they were going to finally kill him?

He suddenly had the horrible feeling that the previous fucking and that painful, humiliating spank-a-thon was nothing compared to what was coming. He wasn't quite sure what was happening with these new intrusions—what further indignities he was about to suffer. But he would soon find out.

And suffer, he did.

Gradually, with agonizing slowness, Prince Fug'am began to slide both cocks back and forth, as they began expanding further and further, longer and thicker, and—even thicker still. Lord Q'a made an appreciative sound. He really enjoyed this part of debasing and defiling his enemies and the inevitable result.

Dominating `this' enemy? This ... would ... be ... glorious.

Both of the alien Zombie Prince's amazing cocks could achieve a pulsing, throbbing thickness that rivaled and sometimes exceeded that of his Lord, Master's, although he would never say as much to anyone. He was not crazy. He had seen the consequences for those who had crossed or tried to outshine Lord Q'a. He knew the harsh penalties for that sort of insolence. The Supreme Ruler could be exceedingly cruel at the slightest whim, to his friends or his enemies, either away in battle or at home.

Now that the Prince had insinuated his cocks so deeply into both ends of the weakly struggling human, they felt, to Magnum, as if they had penetrated deep into his very soul, and—beyond, if that was possible. Little did he know how true that would soon become. Very soon. Who he was, his unique essence, his very soul, would never be the same again.

The sometimes arrogant, cocky, mighty, and valiant Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum, world renowned military hero, would cease to exist—at least as his friends, comrades and all of Earth had known him. To be replaced with—what?

As both sets of cocks increased in thickness and continued their relentless pounding of his mouth and his new manpussy, the levels of pain he felt, threatened to reach beyond his limits. How could anyone survive this torment? Maybe they were going to rip him apart; kill him after all. Maybe after all the torment he had endured up to now, that would be a welcome relief.

He howled in pain and agony; or, as much as he could, being double penetrated by two enormously thick alien cocks fucking into his mouth and down his throat; and, two even more massively thick, ever-growing cocks fucking their way deep up inside of him. As they took up a perfect rhythm ... those special secretions began to river out of those huge cocks and into his mouth and his hole. The aphrodisiac juices ... the lubricating goo ... the intense flow over his entire body that left it sensitive to every touch, every stroke, his own breath ... even the breeze.

His manpussy felt stretched to the very limits that he could endure. How could he be in such agonizing pain, but yet—to his deepest shame and horror—his cock was still diamond hard. He had never been so turned on sexually as he was at that moment. It made absolutely no sense to his fevered brain.

And even less sense; why did he want more?

Intense pain.

Intense pleasure.

Intense pleasure-pain.

Intense pain-pleasure.

The combination was doing unimaginable things to his mind. His brain was spinning out of control. Delirium was speeding toward him like a brick wall to his race car.

Two more tentacles moved into position and began spewing even more of that goo over his own cock and balls and down between his widely stretched legs—lubricating Q'a's tentacle cock and the Zombie Prince's cock as they slid in and out of his ravaged hole.

Another came up to his mouth and spewed the goo between the two cocks that were raping their way in and out of his throat. His gag reflex had given up long ago and somehow he could still breathe in a quick gulp of air now and then but—just barely—between sucking and gurgling and swallowing. The gradual lack of oxygen was beginning to affect him in strange ways, but still the brutal double penetration continued...

Deeper.

Deeper.

And, deeper still, they pummeled into him.

The alien cocks continued to grow in girth and thrusting power, and he was sure now that the plan `was' to fuck him to death and suffocate him in the process.

But—

he ... would ... not ... give ... in. Even though he knew there was nothing he could do but try to survive this ignominious and horrible assault. This brutal, monstrous destruction of his body, his mind—his manhood. They might ravage his body. Even kill him. But ... they ... would ... not ... destroy ... his ... essence. All that was truly J. Stryker Magnum. His very soul. He would not let go of that. Ever. Not while there was still a breath left in his beaten and battered body.

Still, with all that, his traitorous cock continued to leak a now thick and steady stream of precum. Worse, it felt like he was continuously on the verge of cumming, but—never quite getting there. It was driving him insane. Somehow, they had maddeningly kept him right on the very edge of cumming, at the very pinnacle of his peak, just milliseconds away from a massively explosive orgasm, one that would be the crowning glory of his defeat, but yet, as desperate as he was, he still ... could ... not ... cum! On and on, the pressure in his balls kept mounting. Their need for release, more and more demanding.

Maybe that was their plan?

Drive him to insanity?

Insanity coupled with a final Stryker Magnum orgasm that was so powerful ... so deafening ... so complete ... that it signaled his ultimate defeat and humiliation before these invaders, and worse—his comrades? Even worse, still—the one man that he now had come to hate so much, Hatchett? Signaling his submission to Q'a?

That tentacled, 5-eyed creep of a monster and his disgusting zombie sidekick seemed to delight in torturing him this way—getting him right up to the very, very precarious edge of falling over that steep orgasmic cliff but repeatedly pulling him back at the very last millisecond. Somehow they both seemed to know the exact moment he would explode into that sweet, sweet release of a mind-blowing, heart-stopping orgasm that he needed so very badly and then they mercilessly thwarted its completion. Delighting in his agony. Feeding his frenzy.

CUM!

He needed to cum so badly. If felt as if his balls were about to explode.

Please! Let me cum! Please! I can't take much more of this!

It was driving him insane!

And, it continued.

They fucked him.

And they fucked him.

Those drooling alien cocks slid in and out of his mouth, burying themselves in his throat with each inward thrust. Oozing more and more of that aphrodisiac down into his guts to be absorbed and processed and delivered to every last millimeter of his trembling body. Seducing him. Using him. Feeding his rising hungers. Getting him ready for the final moment. And Magnum sucked on them. He sucked and he swallowed the continuous flowing rivers of their juices ... those addictive aphrodisiacs ... those thick rivers of their essences.

They continued this extended sexual torment for what seemed like hours.

Hours? Yes, it had to be hours. But, Magnum couldn't tell because all time had stopped for him. Almost nothing existed for him but the intense pleasure and pain that seemed to electrify every nerve in his abused body. But, it must have been several hours because the position of the sun had changed enough for him to notice.

Time, even the movement of the sun had no meaning for him. His mind was foggy. Hazy. Delirious. It was as if his head was under water and filled with cotton instead of brains.

Swimming.

His mind was swimming. Swimming in a sea of alien cum. Cum, goo, powerful mind-altering aphrodisiacs mankind had never known.

Swimming.

"Fuck me," he moaned softly as he felt the ever expanding cocks in his manpussy thicken even more.

Wait.

What?

Did he...? Did he beg just then? How could he beg? He had two enormous cocks in his mouth. And, yet—that sounded like his voice. Very muffled, but his voice. Didn't it? Was it? Muffled and more mumbled than spoken, but still, somehow he'd managed to get the words out in between thrusts.

"Please ... fuck ... me..."

There it was again. He was begging.

Fuck.

His mind was swimming. Swimming and swirling. Spinning like the vortex of a tornado starting to collapse down into itself. Swirling, and—sinking. Deeper. Down and down. Deeper. Farther away from his tenuous grasp.

Sweat was pouring off his battered, bruised, and bloodied body in torrents. He was once again covered in slime and goo and the alien drug that had sent him into a quivering mass of begging ramblings earlier. He was sure he would not go there again, now, not with this unbearable pain. The painful double penetration of both his mouth and hole was killing him.

Seriously? Two more tentacles were approaching. Their tips opened and closed, opened, and—closed. They looked like trumpets. Twenty foot-long trumpets ... if a trumpet could open and close like that. He tried to figure out what their purpose was, but his thoughts were a swirling, jumbled mass of chaos and confusion.

Now what? What else could they do to him that they hadn't already done? What ... The ... Fuck? What was the purpose of these two new arrivals?

Pleasure.

Pain.

Shame.

Humiliation.

More humiliation? How much more could they humiliate him after what they had already done? How much more could they degrade him? How much more? More domination of his body? He was beyond exhausted but this madness still continued. His mind just swam and spun, swam and spun. Spinning and swirling and sinking ever farther from his reach. As if his tenuous grasp on reality itself was spiraling ever farther away from him.

Every fiber of his being ached and yet, somehow, he kept trying to will his ravaged and decimated body to resist. To will his mind to find a way ... out ... of ... this. To refuse them that final victory over him that they were pushing harder and harder for by the second.

No!

No one ... no `things' ... defeated `him'!

He was Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum of the Earth Forces Brigade!

He was every woman's dream lover. He was many a man's dream lover, even though he wasn't the slightest bit aware of it. He was every man's `I wish I was him'. He was every kid's superhero. Posters of him undoubtedly lined walls and closet doors and insides of lockers everywhere.

He was Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum of Earth Forces Brigade.

He was unstoppable.

He was invincible.

He had led the Brigade in countless battles in his young career, and—won.

He ruled over Alpha Squadron!

This grotesque, stinking, foul creature would ... not ... take ... him ... down.

Not now!

Not ever!

Fuck—he had to get out of this ... somehow! For so many reasons, but, not the least of which stood smirking, eyes dancing, hatred spewing, oh so many precious few feet away. He had to get out of this so he could kill that bastard Brick Hatchett. Fuck his officer status. Fuck his position as Alpha Squadron Leader. Fuck ... everything! He was going to kill that son of a bitch Hatchett!

Somehow, he would make it out of this yet. Somehow he would persevere. He `had' to. The shame and embarrassment and humiliation of this degradation would be nothing compared to enduring his first ever defeat at the hands, or—tentacles—of the enemy. He `would' find a way. Somehow he would come out of this nightmare victorious. Otherwise life as he knew it was over.

He didn't comprehend yet that it already was.

There was no escape from the final moment.

The ultimate domination.

The ultimate submission.

`His' submission.

A rapid fire onslaught of the cocks buried in his manpussy jarred him around enough that he was able to look toward the ledge where his three best friends were frozen in place inside those slimy green and now purple streaked cocoons. His eyes bugged out at what he saw up there. Will, Rick, and Tripp were there, yes, but—were they?

Their naked bodies rippled and undulated and spasmed. Their bodies morphed right before his astonished eyes. They were growing. They were growing bigger and bigger by the second. Their muscles were assuming mass—and definition—like nothing that he had ever seen. A series of multicolored tubes were spiked into their necks. Fluids, some sparkling, some glowing, were clearly flowing through those tubes and being fed into their bodies ... their very systems ... their souls?

And there was more. If his eyes had gone to saucers moments before, they now exploded to dinner plate dimensions. Their cocks. Will's. Rick's. Tripp's. Their always impressive cocks were throbbing, thickening, and lengthening ... expanding to sizes that no human could ever possess.

They almost looked like elephant trunks.

And, they ... were ... still ... growing.

Growing.

Thickening.

Thickening.

And, growing.

How was this even possible? Fuck!

Their cocks. His three best friends' cocks. They were ... astounding. And they were growing. Morphing. His three best friends' cocks were morphing just like the rest of their bodies.

It wasn't possible.

It just wasn't possible. Was it?

They were being restructured, rewired, rebuilt into ... Elite Q'atonian Warriors?

Oh...

My...

God.

The three best friends he loved with all his heart and soul—when he wasn't teasing them about how perfect, superior, and magnificent `he' was. Not ... any ... more.

Q'a was transforming them into Q'atonian Warriors! Like he had done to Hatchett!

Fuck. Double fuck! Those cocks. Will, Rick, and Tripp's cocks were ... astounding. Amazing. He didn't realize at this moment that he was sucking harder on the two cocks buried in his throat. Harder. More ... hungrily. All he could see at this moment were their bodies. Their beautiful bodies. Their cocks. Their ... amazing ... spectacular ... cocks. Their massively expanding balls.

They ... were ... beautiful.

The tubes.

In their necks.

Their morphing bodies.

Their morphing cocks and balls.

Will, Rick, and Tripp were being turned into Q'atonian Warriors.

Q'atonian Warriors—just like Q'a had transformed Hatchett.

Q'atonian Warriors.

Beautiful.

Amazing.

Magnificent.

Elite Q'atonian Warriors.

And, he couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. To help them. To save them. Not only could he not save them, his heart sank at the thought that all this was happening to them because of him. Because of their loyalty and devotion to him.

The stench from the alien balls that were slapping his face with each inward thrust of those cocks into his mouth and throat filled his nostrils more and more as his two captors increased the frenzy of their assault on him. His nostrils flared. He inhaled deeply. He inhaled more. And more. And, still more. Intoxicated by the stench. Intoxicated by the pure, animalistic, masculine, alien power of the scent. Intoxicating. Yes! Fuck, yes!

He couldn't get enough of it now.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head. His mind was flooded with intense need. He struggled to open up more fully; to take those cocks deeper into his mouth and throat. His manpussy rode the gargantuan cocks that were ravaging him more viciously than that first fucking at the hands, no—tentacles—of Q'a's hours before.

Hours? Was it hours? Days? He had no idea anymore. He had no sense of time now. All he knew for certain was that they were not finished with him.

Lord Q'a and Prince Fug'am still had plans to carry out.

Magnum looked toward the ledge once more, to his friends—or what `were' his friends. He knew that Q'a and Fug'am `would' carry out whatever plans that were still out there. If he couldn't rely on Will, Rick, and Tripp to get him out of this mess, then ... who?

Things looked rather hopeless for them coming to his rescue from all indications. The fluids flowing through those tubes stuck into their necks ... their morphing bodies ... their morphing cocks and balls... Fuck those cocks were getting massive. Throbbing. Pulsing. Getting thicker and thicker. Longer. Huge. Gargantuan.

Fuck. He wondered what it would be like with them. All three of them at the same time ... one after the other, after the other. What if they were down here, doing what Lord Q'a and Prince Fug'am were doing to him...

No!

No!

He could not slip into that frame of mind! He could not lose control of his mental state!

Fuck.

His pain was unbearable. His pain would have already killed any less a man than he, he was certain of it.

But he was Lieutenant Commander J. Stry...

He was Lieutenant Commander J. Stryk...

He was Lieu...

No! No! No!

They would not fuck him senseless!

They would not fuck him into submission!

They would not fuck him into oblivion!

They ... would ... not ... win!

He was Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Ma...

His mind continued to fight. To battle. Struggling to retain some semblance of mental control. To retain some semblance of himself. He was focused on doing it so intensely that he didn't realize that the fluids pouring into his ravaged body had tripled ... no ... quadrupled in these last few minutes.

They ... would ... not ... defeat ... him!

They ... would ... not ... win!

Oh, fuck!

What was happening?

Something was ... different.

Where was the pain?

That excruciating pain?

The pain was drifting ... away.

Oh ... fuck.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck!

Where was the pain?

Growls and moans of ever-increasing, approaching victory-lust began to increase in volume and rapidity as the aliens' thrusts took on maniacal, mind-blowing speed and earth shaking power. There were those watching in awed shock and stunned silence who would have actually sworn on oath that they saw smoke or steam coming from Stryker Magnum's manpussy as the ravaging, pummeling, pounding attack continued with increased fury and rage.

Why were those two newly arrived tentacles just floating and swaying so close, and yet—just out of reach? What function did that strange trumpet shape serve? What was their purpose? What more could Q'a do to him?

The cocks of both aliens rubbing against each other felt wonderful, to both Lord Q'a and the Zombie Prince as they nestled very snuggly up against each other's throbbing cocks, and—very deep into both ends of the no longer struggling, flailing human. No, he wasn't fighting it any longer. His body had yielded. He was sucking voraciously. His pussy was riding their cocks with ravenous abandon. Those flowing rivers of goo with their special secretions had done their job superbly. This pathetic human was ready to finish off. It was a shame to end this long and delightfully, prolonged and pleasurable experience—for them, at least—but now it was time to finish this. To collect the prize that Lord Q'a had travelled so far to obtain by any means necessary.

With another nod of understanding between them, Lord Q'a and the Zombie Prince threw their internal switches and their fucking went into overdrive. They howled. They groaned. They howled. They moaned.

And, Magnum whimpered. He moaned and he whimpered around those cocks stuffing his mouth ... ravaging his throat. And fucking deeper and deeper into his manpussy. His manpussy rode those pounding cocks now with a zealous hunger and need that seemed to come from nowhere. Cocks? Lieutenant Commander J. Magnum Stryker? As straight as they come? Hungry for cocks? Trying to get them in him even deeper? Something was definitely wrong here.

He had no way of knowing that it was all part of the alien king's evil plan. The fruition of his yearlong meticulous planning. The means for his revenge. To insure that the Lieutenant Commander would become his docile, obedient, submissive, cock hungry servant. An "it". Neither male nor female. Sexless. He had no way of knowing he was approaching his last few orgasms. Ever.

The hordes of zombies surrounding them went into their own frenzied howls as they knew victory was moments away. The tentacle creatures harrumphed and spewed their own voluminous orgasms into the air—drenching all—themselves, their Supreme Ruler, the Zombie Prince, his minions, and the humans in oceans of thick, slimy, steaming alien cum.

At that very moment, Lord Q'a and Prince Fug'am started to cum.

And, cum they did. Torrent after torrent, crashing wave upon waves of alien cum poured into Magnum's mouth and down his throat; flooded into his ravaged manpussy. Flooded every millimeter of his being. It cascaded and poured into every possible crevice, into his very core.

But—something was very different about this `cum' as it spewed and swirled and mixed together inside his quaking body. Something very strange was happening as they forcefully injected more and more of it into both ends of the Lieutenant Commander. Pumping the alien mixture of their individual liquids, deep into his body.

Muffled shouts and gasps erupted from the Earth Forces Brigade. What was happening to their beloved Lieutenant Commander?

As Lord Q'a's and the Zombie Prince's cum and other juices swirled and mixed and combined in the rapidly weakening human, the Lieutenant Commander's entire body started to glow. His eyes rolled back more deeply into their sockets and the hollows of his eyes took on a greenish-yellow hue. His cock and his swollen balls glowed scarlet and purple. His rippling abs and bulging biceps, his thick, corded thighs and calves ... those chiseled granite pecs and shoulders—every inch of his body from head to toe, front to back—was glowing multiple, shifting colors. Glowing and sparkling. Magnum was glowing, sparkling, and writhing in ecstasy. It was the orgasm—no, the bodygasm to end all bodygasms.

Every inch of his body from his toenails to the hair on his head writhed and undulated and spasmed and rocked and swayed as the bodygasm increased by the second. The intense, mind-blowing, mind-numbing pleasure grew and grew, pushing everything else out of its path. A tsunami of pleasure crashing over him relentlessly and he was drowning in it. It was as if every pleasure circuit in his body had short-circuited and they were frying his brain with pleasure.

The aliens had seen this spectacle before but the humans had not. They had seen nothing like what was happening in front of their eyes. To say they were shocked beyond belief was quite an understatement.

The shifting, shimmering, almost dazzling colors increased with each explosive wave of the alien's cum that poured into Magnum's body. They continued pulsing throughout his entire being. Deep reds, brilliant purples, greens ... yellows, and even a few bands of black all combined into a phantasm of light and color that seemed to grow and pulse and recede, and then come back again bigger, brighter and stronger, almost obscuring the view of their naked, helpless, and thoroughly ravaged Lieutenant Commander. Almost.

Something else was happening to the Lieutenant Commander. After he had orgasmed and shot even more jets of cum, once his panting and ragged breathing had slowed, the expression on his face changed to something like—bliss? But how could that be?

Still, he looked as though he was actually experiencing total bliss.

Calm.

Peaceful.

Tranquil.

Blank.

The total bliss of a spotless, freshly scrubbed mind.

He seemed to be totally blissed out. His will, significantly weakened. His suggestibility, very much heightened. A reaction, in part, caused by the mixing of the two aliens' cum, combined with other chemicals they had been surreptitiously injecting into both ends of their captive with highly specialized glands that each alien cock possessed.

He was totally unaware that his complete reprogramming had begun in the last few hours and was now in the final end stages of his rewiring into Lord Q'a's obedient, submissive, cock hungry sex slave. His whore. The special chemicals introduced into his body had left his mind freshly scrubbed. Open and unresisting to thoughts and hungers that were now being streamed into his head through two smaller tentacles that had imbedded their delicate tips into his ear canals.

Yes, the planning stages were meticulous ... thorough ... a full year in the making by Lord Q'a. A carefully developed constant stream of thoughts, messages—programming that was just below his level of consciousness invaded his brain. They would remold and reshape him into something he could never have dreamed possible. Something from which return was impossible. Futile now. A docile, obedient, servile entity, sexless, an `it', to be used and abused by Lord Q'a—and whomever else he chose.

The Lieutenant Commander looked ... passive. There—but not.

This was the moment that Q'a had held out for, before the final assault. He had studied humans very well before he attacked. Especially the human male. A certain human male with enough alpha attitude to fuel a battle cruiser.

For Stryker Magnum.

But not for long. The `ultimate' orgasm would bring him to the very precipice that Lord Q'a wanted. The point of no return. Lord Q'a had been waiting a long time for this final phase of Magnum's remolding. Into the thing that would forever more be nothing but a play toy for Lord Q'a.

Now, that time had arrived.

One more massive, earth shaking, mind-shattering orgasm coupled with the right pieces of the puzzle that were now in place, and...

Those errant tentacles, that had been hovering obediently, moved in. Their trumpet-expanded tips closed in on themselves as they took their assigned positions. One, entered Magnum's manpussy while the other stretched upward and forced its way into the limp human's mouth and pressed itself into his throat, in the faintest of spaces between Q'a's and Fug'am's cocks.

And, it waited.

They were set.

This was it.

The final stroke, as it were.

Lord Q'a and Prince Fug'am began to fuck their helpless victim one last time.

This was the fuck of all fucks.

This made those previous fucks look like amateurs attempting to impress.

`This' fuck ... this mind fucking ... pleasure conditioning ... would be the end of J. Stryker Magnum.

They gave it everything they had.

They pummeled.

They skewered.

They fucked.

And they fucked.

His eyes rolled back and bounced around and rolled farther and bounced more in his skull. They looked more like green glass marbles being tossed around inside a hollow shell than the ever-alert, ever-surveying eyes of a Lt. Commander that led the most powerful warrior squadrons on the planet.

And, still they fucked.

They pummeled.

They pounded into him.

Deeper and harder than before.

Deeper.

Harder.

Faster.

Their fucking now was so thorough, so maniacal, so devastatingly rampant that their movements were little more than a blinding blur.

Magnum was pulled and stretched taut. More than at any other point. The aliens' cocks pummeled more deeply into him than ever before. His manpussy's lips were stretched beyond anything that anyone would have thought he could handle without being ripped to shreds. His mouth was stuffed, and he sucked. And, he sucked. And he rode those cocks that were pummeling into his ravaged hole.

And...

Here it was.

`The' orgasm.

A dam bursting, mountain obliterating, volcanic eruption of an orgasm on top of an orgasm on top of an org...

Prince Fug'am began to cum.

Lord Q'a began to cum.

His pulsing and ravaged hole and prostate sent Magnum over the edge soon after.

That extra tentacle buried deep in his hole opened up its trumpet tip and rather than spewing out ... it began to suck in—like a vacuum cleaner from Hell.

The other tentacle sent out a third `mouth' which clamped itself over Magnum's cock moments before it began to spew. And, it fed the Lt. Commander's massive cum blasts right back at him. Pumping them down his throat along with Q'a's and Fug'am's waves of cum.

This was it!

This was it!

This ... was ... it!

Lord Q'a roared in triumph.

Prince Fug'am roared.

They had him!

They had him!

This ... was ... the moment!

The aliens' cum poured into Magnum's manpussy and down his throat. His own cum poured in rivers and mixed with that of the aliens. His entire body shuddered and quaked and rocked. His already spinning mind spun further out of control. It whirled and spun deeper and deeper into that vortex of spinning, crashing brain matter. It turned into a brain tornado like nothing ever heard of or seen before, and likely—would never be again. At least not here. Not on this planet. Not by these humans.

The vortex exploded inside Stryker Magnum like the death of a brilliant star, collapsing in on itself. Imploding. And, then—it exploded. Taking his very essence with it.

It was like enormous metal doors being annihilated, smashed in, demolished and the secret, inner-most vault was now blasted wide open—fully exposed.

The vault that contained Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum's soul.

All that was the very essence of Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum's soul was caught up in the internal explosion and swept away.

All his alpha `tude. All his arrogance. All his machismo. All his cockiness. All his bravdo. All that made him the man he was—gone in less than the blink of an eye. A brilliant, glowing, sparking silver presence poured out of his ravaged mouth, curled into itself and became a pulsing, throbbing sphere. All that was Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum's soul was caught up inside as it was swept out of his body and delivered into Lord Q'a's open, waiting mouth.

It ... was ... devoured.

As Lord Q'a had predicted.

Owned.

Possessed.

Devoured.

Body, and—soul.

Moments later, the kaleidoscope of hues working through his body dulled, then—ceased. The convulsions slowed. His eyes rolled back into place. His tongue again lolled out of his mouth and provided an avenue for excess drool and alien cum. His, aching, throbbing cock hung limply over his swollen balls, but—it still glowed. It almost looked like steam was rising from the swollen lips of his viciously fucked manpussy.

The last piece of the puzzle glided into place. The rewiring was done.

`He' was done.

Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum was finished. Gone. His brain had been thoroughly washed, rinsed, and hung out to dry. Everything that made him who he was ... scrubbed away. In its place? An obedient, passive, submissive, ravenous gay slave, a mere shell of the man he was, that adored his creator.

A slave that hungered for cock—the total focus of his life now. With each cock that sank into his throat and spewed its thick, creamy treasure into his gut ... with each fuck that was thrown into his manpussy ... he would become more hungry, more ravenous, and more—insatiable.

His body was Lord Q'a's. His mind was under total control. His essence, his very soul—devoured.

Fug'am removed his two cocks from Lord Q'a's new whore; grunting with intense satisfaction as they both `popped' from their respective hole. This had been an excellent conversion. It had taken longer than usual; he had to credit the former Lt. Commander for that. He had been a worthy opponent and amongst other things, his continuing resistance had offered Fug'am and Q'a a longer period of time with their throbbing, drooling cocks and tentacocks rubbing and rutting and fucking alongside each other. He loved that feeling. He loved the feel of their members spewing their thick, viscous fluids, the secretions, the mind-numbing and mind-altering agents that no `thing' ... no one ... would be able to resist. As those fluids mixed and mingled it became a sexual cocktail for Lord Q'a and Prince Fug'am, too.

They were savoring the effects of that cocktail mixture even now. They were floating on a heady, sexual high. Yes. Oh, yes. This had been the ultimate of all conversions. The former Lt. Commander had fought and resisted and held out much longer than any of the others, even the Elite Q'atonian Warrior—Hatchett. He had crumbled almost immediately after his capture and converted in record time. His downfall being the intense hatred that he held for Stryker Magnum. A hatred that Lord Q'a had sensed and went after, fueled and fanned and stroked, and nurtured.

He looked up to Lord Q'a and grunted once again, bowed, and moved into position. Lord Q'a held his trophy high up into the air as though he was a sacrifice to the gods. Perhaps, he was ... in a way. Although, in reality, `he,' Lord Q'a, Supreme Ruler was the god for this sacrificial offering. He slowly turned full-circle, making sure that everyone, every `thing,' had a full, unobstructed view of his glorious triumph.

"Your hero," he roared in that full repertoire of languages. "Your ... hero. I have taken him. And, I have taken him as I assured you that I would. You have witnessed his defeat. His humiliation. You have witnessed his ravaging. His total domination."

He finished his triumphant circle and slowly lowered the limp, dripping body of the former Lt. Commander, now his cock hungry whore, to the ground at his feet. The tentacocks that had remained in place began slithering away from the disgraced and defeated soldier. Only one remained firmly in place. It burrowed more deeply into that ravaged pussy and once it was as deep as was safe for a `human' to take, it began to throb and pulse, to undulate, and—to spew. One ... last ... flood of alien goo poured into the helpless victim. Held in place by other tentacles, he was unable to do anything but take it.

The former Lt. Commander whimpered and writhed ... not in pain now ... ecstasy. Pure ... complete ... ecstasy. His body once again began to glow. His eyes rolled back once more and slowly ... very slowly bobbed back into place.

The Lord Q'a's monstrous tentacock slowly withdrew from the hole that it had taken and carved into a ravenous cock hungry pussy. It coiled and floated and coiled and floated.

The man, or rather the `empty shell' that had been the Lt. Commander stood shakily. His knees buckled and swayed and his head bobbed and fell. His naked body dripped with slime and sweat, cum and other unknown secretions. Yes. Lord Q'a had taken him. Yes. Lord Q'a had defeated him. Yes. Lord Q'a had ravaged him. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was drool and streams of the aliens' cum. Then, without warning, he fell face first into the dirt at the feet of his enemy.

Enemy?

No.

Lord Q'a.

His Master.

Yes, that was it. The Supreme Ruler, Lord Q'a had mastered him.

He was his Lord, and—his Master.

Lord, Master Q'a.

He started to gaze up into the five eyes of the alien king. But somehow, in his newly reprogrammed submissiveness, he instinctively knew he should not look into his Master's five eyes, and respectfully lowered his gaze again. His face took on a wonder-filled expression of blissful adoration and total obedience.

Yes—Lord Q'a was his Lord and his Master for all time.

Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum was done.

He was taken.

He was owned.

Completely.

Just as Lord Q'a had announced to all when the assault on him had begun.

He was finished.

Just as quickly, the wonder and bliss disappeared. His face clouded over with a myriad of rapidly changing emotions and acknowledgements and then it gradually went blank. Expressionless. Simply ... empty. And so it would be for the majority of the time from this point forward.

Three Elite Q'atonian Warriors stepped forward, pulled him back to his feet, and he slowly lifted his head to stare at them. Not just any Q'atonian Warriors. These were larger, more muscled, more perfect than the majority of Q'a's legions. These were part of the special forces of all of the invasion forces at Lord Q'a's bidding.

The Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard.

First, he noted their massive, bloated, gargantuan cocks and testicles that were the size of grapefruits. He licked his lips as his new hungers continued to cement themselves into place. His gaze rose upward over rippling abdominals and massively muscled chests until he gazed into the strong, chiseled features and glowing eyes of Will Strathman, Rick Ransom, and Tripp Tallow.

They were naked.

They ... were ... beautiful.

They were transformed.

They had morphed into their new form; they had entered fully into their new existence.

They were Q'atonian Warriors and would now be members of that Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard. They would take their place as protectors for Lord Q'a. They would take their place as elite warriors ... as leaders.

"Bow before Lord, Master Q'a. Show your reverence and your worship," the Q'atonian Warrior Strathman commanded, to gasps and chokes ... and howls of `Nooooo'! from their former comrades who had remained to the bitter end. Hoping. Praying for some miracle. A miracle that would never come.

Mag'hor—as he, as `it', would be referred to, once Lord, Master Q'a made the announcement, gulped and felt a shiver quake the full length of his spine. He turned shakily and faced the creature that had ravaged him ... taken him ... broken him ... owned and possessed him. Remade him. He stared at the magnificent body before him—tentacles swaying and undulating ... tentacocks pulsing and throbbing ... and finally—he stared up as far as he dared.

"No!" resounded from those personnel of the Brigade that were still in their midst.

"No!"

"Don't do it!"

"Magnum! Nooo!"

"Don't give in to it! Don't let him win!"

Sadly, he already had.

Lord Q'a had defeated him.

Lord Q'a had ravaged him and he had taken possession of him. Of his soul.

Lord Q'a had already won.

Lord Q'a owned him.

And, there they stood.

Not quite five eyes to eye.

Master to slave.

Lord Q'a standing tall and strong ... regal ... majestic ... with tentacles swaying and tentacocks throbbing and drooling.

Magnum broken and hobbled, bruised and abused.

Seconds ticked.

Minutes built.

Submission.

Complete.

Submission.

Total.

Submission.

The puzzle pieces had finally reassembled exactly the way Lord Q'a had planned. His nemesis was no more.

Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum's wobbly, shaking knees gave way and he dropped and knelt before Lord Q'a, his Lord and Master.

Slowly. Painstakingly. His head rose upward just enough to respectfully avoid staring directly at those five eyes.

He instinctively avoided looking the possessive, powerful, masterful center eye, the largest, most dominant of the five. Lord, Master Q'a had absorbed him. Devoured and digested him. And, looking into the powerful center eye would not only be disrespectful, but would also absolutely confirm what he already knew.

His own eyes rolled briefly to the back of his head and then once again lowered to a respectful gaze that was appropriate for a slave who was submissive to the great, the powerful, Supreme Ruler, Lord, Master Q'a.

He was done.

He was truly done.

His gaze became ... hungry.

Defeat.

He was defeated.

He accepted his defeat.

He accepted that he had been taken, broken, owned, and possessed.

He accepted that Lord Q'a had won. There was nothing his rewired mind could do but accept and submit.

And, there it was.

Submission.

His new identity now blossomed. Total, unwavering obedience and complete submission to his new Lord and Master had arrived. It flooded into him just as the aliens cum had earlier. He was flooded by it. He was overwhelmed by it. He was engulfed in it.

Yes!

That was it!

The Lord Q'a was his Lord and Master ... his Owner. Lord Q'a owned him now. Lord Q'a possessed him now. Lord Q'a had devoured his soul. He belonged to Lord Q'a. That thought had an instant effect on his rewired mind.

The reprogramming soared into a furious overload. His body quaked and quivered and his mind ... what was left of it ... whirred and spun like a roulette wheel and then slowly ... so very slowly—came to rest in the one place that it had been destined since this entire ravaging began.

One of the final locks clicked free. One of the final doors blew open and nearly all that was Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum sailed into nothingness.

He gazed up at his Lord and Master in total adoration.

"My Lord, Master."

Yes, that was it.

It felt so ... right.

Lord Q'a was his Lord, Master.

Yes. Yes, that was it.

His adoration grew.

"My Lord, Master—I am your obedient slave. I am hungry to serve you."

"No," Lord Q'a said with a roar that all could hear. "You are not my slave. You ... are ... my ... whore!"

As the vehemence and finality of those words sank into his swirling mind, with a rush of servile bliss, the extreme pleasure of his total submission to his new Lord and Master, Magnum's body began to convulse.

His eyes rolled back once more.

His cock erupted again.

And, again.

And, again.

His total defeat and submission had been sealed.

"You are my whore," Lord Q'a commanded. "And, you shall be known as such—Mag'hor. You ... are ... Mag'hor. Mag'hor—His Lord, Master's personal whore."

The proclamation by Supreme Ruler Lord Q'a, along with his new name, sealed it like never before.

He was, and forever would be—Mag'hor. Mag'hor—Lord, Master Q'a's whore.

Mag'hor's handsome but mostly blank face quickly took on a look of intense devotion, before fading back to blankness. It was true. The much heralded and worshiped hero of the planet's populous had evaporated more and more by the second leading up to these final moments and the transformation was complete.

Mag'hor leaned forward to kiss the bulbous tip of the invader's tentacock ... respectfully ... lovingly ... obediently. Lord Q'a's cock. His Master's cock.

"I am Mag'hor. I ... am your ... whore," the kneeling whore said with increasing admiration, adoration, hunger ... obedience ... submission. "I am Mag'hor. Lord, Master Q'a's whore."

Tentacles snaked out and wrapped themselves around Lord Q'a's new whore ... his `prime' whore now ... he had many—none so treasured as this one, though ... and pivoted him toward the three newly transformed members of his highly trusted, deeply loyal Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard who stood a few steps behind—gazing down at their former commander—their former best friend.

"Show your worship and your obedience to your keepers, my whore. Kiss their magnificent cocks and take them in your mouth for a taste. But just a taste ... for now. You will serve them completely in due time, but know that you will never, ever satisfy your new hungers," Lord Q'a commanded forcefully. "Show all gathered here watching you worship your former comrades and show all of them the whore that I have made of you. Show them! Show everyone that you know your place. Show them that you are nothing but a whore now."

The submissive whore that had formerly been Stryker Magnum obediently gazed up into the eyes of the newly created Q'atonian Warrior that had been Will Strathman. He leaned forward and kissed the leaking tip of the Q'atonian Warrior's cock and then dutifully opened his mouth as wide as he could. The tip of the huge cock slid inside and he got his first taste.

A taste that was uniquely like the scent of his former best friend but somehow—not. It would not be his last. The lips of his new pussy quivered. They were hungry for their own taste. Oh how he wanted this Q'atonian Warrior that had been his best friend to fuck him. To fill his pussy with his cum. To breed him again and again. Reluctantly, he obeyed, and he pulled away after a few loving, hungry sucks.

"Master. I am Mag'hor. I am yours to use."

Next, he turned on his knees and gazed up into the stern, steely eyes of the Q'atonian Warrior that had been Rick Ransom. Their gazes met briefly and then the slave leaned forward and planted a kiss on the drooling head of the monster cock before him. Once showing his reverence, he opened his mouth and the massive cock slid across his lips, laved by his tongue as it proceeded, and he sucked it for a few moments.

"Master," he said lustily after the thick cock slipped from his lips and he gazed upward once again. "I am Mag'hor. I am yours to use."

Fuck, his pussy was hungry. He yearned for this Q'atonian Warrior to fuck him and fill him with his cum, too.

And, he repeated his worshipful reverence with the Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard that had been Tripp Tallow. He kissed his cock in worship and obedience and then opened his mouth to take it inside. His tongue licked and swirled and lapped at the flowing juices from its tip as it sank deeply into his throat.

"Master. I am Mag'hor. I am yours to use."

He started to turn back to Lord Q'a but was stopped by tentacles.

"I believe you have one more to worship, my whore," Lord Q'a advised as he turned him toward the Q'atonian Warrior formerly known as Lt. Commander Brickman Alexander Hatchett. "Through his actions and his proven loyalty to me, Lord Q'a, Master and Supreme Ruler, I think I can find it in myself to throw out a morsel of reward. Show him your hunger to be his whore. It is your duty. It is your ... destiny and rightful place."

Mag'hor gulped and obligingly leaned forward to kiss the massive, dripping head of the Q'atonian Warrior Guard's heavily veined cock. Longer. Thicker. More heavily laden than the others. Massive balls emitting that scent that drove him insane now. That masculine scent that he was now so completely addicted to. He inhaled deeply. His nostrils flared. He inhaled again. And again. He opened his mouth and the cock slid inside. Soon, it buried itself in his throat—its balls brushing against his chin. That musky scent he took in with every breath was almost overpowering now. Intoxicating. Dizzying.

The Q'atonian Warrior that towered over him now, that had been his lifelong arch rival ... that had formerly been LCDR Brickman Hatchett—smirked and growled in triumph as his newly morphed gigantic cock sank into Mag'hor's throat, stretching it to the limit. He looked down on the new whore and his entire body quaked with power. Power, and—a feverish sense of retribution. Payback was a bitch. Payback for all those defeats over the years. Payback for always winning out over Hatchet. Payback for stealing the stunning gal that should have been his. Payback for taking his command over the Alpha Squadron. He scoffed silently. Squadron? Under Lord, Master Q'a's rule, he would now command battle cruisers and thousands of warriors.

Look at him, worshiping the Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard Hatchett. As ... it ... should ... be...

"Mag'hor. Perfect. Absolutely perfect, cocksucker," Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett nearly cooed. "Who's the pussy now, bitch? Who has the `Alpha cock' now...?" The Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett hissed as he fucked deeper into Mag'hor's throat. No way could he have ever envisioned a payback so sweet and so complete. His bitter, lifelong arch rival, now a cocksucking pussy, a filthy cock hungry whore for the rest of his life. He was going to make damn sure that Mag'hor swallowed and gagged and choked on his massive cock as often as Lord, Master Q'a would allow.

"I am, Master. I am the pussy, and—I am your whore," Mag'hor acknowledged as he gazed upward into the Q'atonian Warrior's eyes, once the cock had popped away from his ravenous lips. He looked at it longingly as it withdrew.

"Not completely. Not ... yet, but—perhaps soon," Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett said thickly but with a wistful edge.

"You have done well, my pet," Lord Q'a said as one of his tentacles again slithered forward and stroked through Hatchett's hair and then tenderly rubbed his cheek. As he did so, several other tentacles moved forward—one, making itself into that living, undulating bench like before—and they lifted the slave up and laid him back onto the bench.

"Thank you, Lord, Master Q'a."

"You have earned this, my pet," Lord Q'a said as he nodded toward the slave ... the whore ... on his back ... his legs now held up and back, immobile and spread wide. Leaving the whore fully exposed, his butt arching up, his pussy ready and waiting to be stuffed full of cock. His new purpose in life.

"My Lord, Master" Hatchett said hoarsely.

"You have earned it," Lord Q'a said as he lifted Hatchett up, pulled him forward, and then gently set him down in front of the cock hungry slave spread out before him. "Take him. Take him as your whore ... here ... now ... for all to see."

And, take him he did. The Q'atonian Warrior formerly known as Brick Hatchett savagely power fucked the slave with a vengeance. He made him writhe and thrash and moan. He made him plead and beg for more. And, more he gave him. He piston fucked so deeply into Mag'hor's pussy that he thought he might fuck completely inside him. He pulled back and slammed harder, deeper, harder ... deeper. He rabbit fucked twenty, thirty ... fifty strokes and then reared back and slammed in balls deep once again. Deeper. Deeper. Deeper.

Mag'hor moaned and groaned and begged. Begged the Q'atonian Warrior to own him. Possess him. Use him. Fuck him. Fuck him harder. Take him. And, he did. He did all that, and—more. There had been plenty of it built up since those playground days so long ago. Twenty plus years of hatred had built up into a searing, bubbling, volcanic reserve that was just waiting ... waiting to destroy his arch rival J. Stryker Magnum. And, here was his chance to make his threat that night at the awards ceremony and graduation at the Academy come to fruition.

To ... annihilate ... J. Stryker Magnum.

A promise made.

An opportunity now, to be fulfilled.

To own him.

To possess him.

To use him.

To ... annihilate ... him.

The Q'atonian Warrior fucked him, and fucked him, and he fucked him.

And, as he came, gushing a huge load deep within the slave's pussy, their eyes connected and locked.

The arch rivalry was finished.

Who is giving the orders now, whore?

"Cum, whore," the Q'atonian Warrior commanded. "Cum on the power and majesty of my cock fucking and possessing you."

"Master, I am ... your ... whore," Magnum choked out as the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett fucked harder, deeper, and blasted another flood of cum into his hungry pussy.

"You are my whore," the Q'atonian Warrior roared. "Proclaim it!"

"I ... am ... your ... whore!"

"Again!"

"I ... am ... your ... whore!"

"Cum on my cock fucking and possessing you, whore. Show me how much you need your pussy stuffed with cock," the Q'atonian Warrior commanded. "Cum, whore!"

And the whore did. The whore came. And he came. And he came as commanded, for the very last time, while his pussy was flooded with wave after searing wave of cum from his former arch rival. He would never again know the intense pleasures of orgasmic release for the rest of his life.

"Aaarrrggghhh! My whore!"

"Aaarrrggghhh! Your whore! I ... am ... your ... whore!

Click!

Slam!

The final lock.

The final door.

All eyes were locked on the massive fuck that the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett was throwing into Mag'hor. His former foe. His former rival. The former bane of his existence. All eyes, so completely locked that no one, no one except perhaps Prince Fug'am saw what was happening to the Supreme Ruler, Lord Q'a. His body had begun to glow. It had begun to glow and it was fast approaching a blinding, lightning bolt of illumination. That, and his body was convulsing. Convulsing and shuddering ... glowing and convulsing and shuddering.

As the Q'atonian Warrior's orgasm reached its most profound crescendo of explosive flooding into Mag'hor, and, as Mag'hor was obliterated by his lifelong arch rival, as he was annihilated by the former arch rival of his life—Hatchett, everyone turned away. They were unable to watch. And, yet—every single human left to pay witness to the very end turned back. Unable `not' to watch. Unable `not' to witness. Unable to move.

With that final, earth shattering, volcanic explosion spewing out of the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett, the final bastion of anything that was J. Stryker Magnum erupted in a ball of fire deep within Lord Q'a's glowing, sparking, shuddering, throbbing being and was completely, irrevocably released in a delicate, swirling, pulsating ball of energy from Q'a's mouth, aimed directly at the panting Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett.

"A ... gift," Lord Q'a gasped as the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett continued in his most complete, most earth shaking orgasm of his entire existence.

The Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett opened its mouth and began absorbing that ball of energy. He roared through clenched teeth at the flavor, the essence, the taste. It ... was ... J. Stryker Magnum. Moments later, fully absorbed, that ball of energy burst and sent shockwaves through his body. Lord, Master Q'a had rewarded him in the penultimate manner. Not only had he given him the command to fuck his rival in front of all who remained, to take him and use him, but ... he had fed him with Stryker Magnum's soul. Fed him. Allowed him to `swallow' him. And, he was absorbing Stryker Magnum's energy and soul into his own body.

Lord Q'a had masterfully used that lifelong rivalry to pulverize and flush away all that had remained.

The Q'atonian Warrior that had been Brick Hatchett pulled his throbbing, pulsing, dripping monster cock from the whore's pussy and pressed it to his lips. Obedient. Hungry. Knowing its place; the lips parted and the cock sank inside where it was sucked clean. Yes—he knew his place. He knew his duty.

Brickman Alexander Hatchett, IV's promise ... delivered.

J. Stryker Magnum ... annihilated.

They stared into one another's eyes. The Q'atonian Warrior snorted.

"I am Mag'hor," the whore acknowledged softly and yet, with a newfound pride.

The final lock.

The final door.

The final humiliation.

The final defeat.

Nemesis.

Gone.

*****

Once he had received instruction from Prince Fug'am, the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett nodded to the three at his side. They obediently moved into place and held Mag'hor taut. Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett moved into place and looked adoringly, inquisitively upward—into 5 eyes and, he waited for the word, nod, sweep of a tentacle.

A blinding flash of light that would have rivaled Zeus' lightning bolt erupted between Q'a and his defeated human, and moments later, Lord Q'a roared like he had never roared before. Good enough for him. The Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett aimed the clear cylinder that had been around Lord Q'a's neck. He pointed it at Mag'hor's throbbing, pulsing, aching cock and balls and then in response to his Lord, Master's roar—pushed the red button. Moments later, as instructed, he pushed the green button.

The seal clicked into place on the cylindrical necklace. Supreme Ruler, Lord, Master Q'a had what he had come for. What he had attacked this worthless planet for. He now had his very special prize, the symbol of his victory here would be forever preserved for all to see.

It was done.

Mag'hor was now truly sexless and would be, for the rest of his life. A life that Q'athonian science insured would be very long indeed.

Jaws dropped. Eyes slitted. Humans cringed and gasped.

"Q'a."

One word. His name, reverberated through his alien mind like a thousand, thousand timpani. Throbbing. Pounding. A crescendo of mega-proportions.

The Tentacle Lord turned during his ascent upward into his ship—his new recruits and his `prize' in tow. He gazed back toward the planet surface below ... searching ... searching for the one who had melded into his mind with such force that it nearly cracked his skull.

"Who calls out and addresses me with such disrespect?"

Ensign Rowdy Sullivan rode his battle cycle like a surfboard shredding the ultimate wave until he skidded through air; their eyes met and the lock was complete.

"This isn't over, Q'a," Sullivan said matter-of-factly. "You have not won."

The alien warlord studied the pint-size earthling with a curious interest for a few moments before letting out a snort. He leaned forward as if to share an earth-shaking piece of information, and—he grinned as his eyes ... all 5 of them ... twinkled.

Lord Q'a made a sweeping gesture of several tentacles which brought into focus the image of the Q'atonian Warrior Hatchett, the former Lt. Commander of Earth Forces Brigade and his 3 most trusted former friends.

"I believe that I have, young one."

Rowdy Sullivan studied the naked form of his commander, still dripping in slime and alien sperm and whatever else he had been flooded and showered with and then looked at the 3 newborn Q'atonian Warriors. At the traitorous Hatchett. He stared momentarily at the cylinder dangling from the alien ruler's neck. His eyes narrowed and one would almost swear that he could see steam begin rising from the young ensign's dimples. But what was most noticeable to Lord Q'a, and—everyone else, was the universe shaking tone of the young man's voice.

"No, Q'a," Sullivan said. "This is not over! You ... have ... not ... won." Sullivan gunned his battle cycle and circled the Alien Lord with such agility and such speed that it made his 5 eyes spin. In. Out. Around. Under. Over. Not even Q'a's tentacles could snatch the `gnat' that flitted around him and spoke to him like an angry little child. An angry little child with an amazing talent that was developing rapidly. Growing into a fine young man. A young man that might very well equal and surpass the legendary Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum—soon. Yes, possibly very soon. "You will not be in power for long."

Did Q'a actually swallow a bit nervously?

There were those who would say `yes' with certainty.

"And who, my brave little one, is going to topple me?"

Sullivan swayed and swerved and darted around and through those flailing tentacles before sliding to a stop in front of Q'a's face. He took a moment to study the transparent cylinder that was hung around Q'a's neck, and—the forever erect, purple and red bruised, bigger than most human cocks and its accompanying bloated and engorged balls—of which, even now, in their new home for all time, seemed to still pulse and throb. He shifted his focus upward to those five eyes even as he tried to ignore the throbbing erection between his own legs.

He yanked at the hands which had a firm grip on his bicep, his best friend trying to pull him away before he ended up beside Magnum. How had Colt suddenly appeared at his side?

"Back off, Rowds," Ensign Colt Hammer warned through gritted teeth. "This isn't the time, or..."

"You should heed the warnings of your ... friend," Lord Q'a advised with a roar, and yet—a tinge of respect for one so young and so confident and yet so ... small. "I have room for another whore."

"Back off, Rowds," Hammer hissed once more as his gaze connected full-on with the center eye of the massive alien. "Let's regroup. We can develop a plan to..."

"I asked once," Lord Q'a interrupted. "I shall not ask again." Tentacles swayed and roped dangerously close. "You ... are...?"

The stare was long.

The stare was hard.

The stare bore a hole right into the alien's very soul.

"I am Ensign Rowdy Sullivan, Q'a, and I will be your Master."

Lord Q'a looked stunned for a moment before howling and bellowing out what could only be the alien version of nearly uncontrollable laughter. He was shaking so hard with mirth at the impudence of this puny little human that he almost lost his grip on his beaten and bedraggled prize. The laughter slowly becoming softer and softer as he ascended towards the flagship of his invasion fleet.

Rowdy's scowl showed he was not amused. But yet, if one looked closely, one could almost see the gears turning behind his sparkling eyes.

"This is not over, Q'a. Not by a fibrous filament on ... any ... of those ... squishy, drippy, floppy thingers..."

The Finalities

Earth was spared. It had never been the target anyway. No, this planet and its inhabitants served no use to Lord Q'a and his armies.

No, Earth was never the target.

Lord Q'a was after one thing and one thing only—revenge.

Revenge for the death of his father.

Revenge for the death of his twin.

Revenge for the death of his own best friend ... as much as a `much feared' alien tentacle Lord might possess a best friend.

Revenge.

Against the earthling who had brought about those deaths.

Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum, Earth Forces Brigade, had killed them all in battles across distant galaxies.

Magnum was now Mag'hor, a worshipful, obedient, submissive sex slave and whore to Lord Q'a and Prince Fug'am. This revenge, overwhelmingly more valuable and much more satisfying than just killing him and destroying Earth and its inhabitants. They were of no consequence to Lord Q'a.

Will Strathman, Rick Ransom, and Tripp Tallow had developed into massive, muscled, commanding, obedient and trusted Q'athonian Warriors ... with cocks that now almost rivaled Lord Q'a's and Prince Fug'am's, though they `only' had one each.

They were now Colonels in the Elite Q'atonian Warrior Guard, wielding enormous power and commanding huge numbers of troops. And, more importantly—Lord Q'a had rewarded them with the most special, the most valuable, and the most prestigious of all honors—

they were the keepers of the Tentacle King's most prized possession and they shared equally in his blessing of carte blanche over the mouth and pussy of—

his sex slave and whore—

Mag'hor, the human formerly known as Lieutenant Commander J. Stryker Magnum, Earth Forces Brigade.

*****

One year.

One very long year since Lt. Commander J. Stryker Magnum was captured, degraded, humiliated ... turned into a whore ... by Q'a, self-proclaimed Lord, Master and Supreme Ruler of the Universe.

One long year, and yet—a young Earth Forces Brigade warrior that had been climbing through the ranks at record speed, had not forgotten. How could he forget? The Lt. Commander had been his teacher, his mentor, his friend. An amazing big brother figure in a world where there was no one else in his life. The LCDR had always believed in him; always made sure he knew he was someone who mattered. Someone who was—loved.

All attempts to convince the young warrior to accept what had been, as what `is' and what would always be, to move on, to grow into the leadership and glory that was destined to glow as brightly, or—more brightly than even his mentor's, had all gone for naught. He would not forget. He would never forget.

He would find that evil bastard Q'a, and...

A rabid Chihuahua glided his stealth fighter into position and locked onto his target.

It was time to begin this.

It was time to begin rebuilding.

It was time to find J. Stryker Magnum, or—what was left of him.

Or, die trying.

His thumb stroked along the shaft and then slid up and over, and around, and back down. Again. And again. And, again. He could almost hear the puppy beneath him whimper and moan in building pressure with each pass. Up. Down. Over. Around.

He found the fuel cell towers and followed them down ... down ... down; his eyes narrowed and he focused on the open-hatched compartment he had been seeking. And, there it was. Just like the diagrams had shown. Diagrams that he wheedled and bargained and traded for, with a shady off-world cargo transport captain. The flaw. The one, truly `fatal' flaw in a series of the most perfect fighting and transport battle cruisers ever envisioned, much less—actually created and put into service.

"I'll find you, Stry ... Sir. I ... will ... find ... you," he repeated for the millionth time over the last twelve months as his thumb took its position. "Whatever is left of you ... I will find you, and I'll take care of you."

He pressed down—once, twice ... three times ... three different high-powered weapons systems launched at the same moment and their munitions hurtled toward `this' target. The first target in a long search. He raised his shields immediately and shot back to a protective distance.

Initial impacts looked like 4th of July fireworks as they peppered the inner walls—the colon—of the open compartment. Doing. What. They. Were. Supposed. To. Do. Peppering, dinging, denting, puncturing miniscule openings in the inner walls of the massive ship.

The final cortege of munitions entered the opening right on time, and—on target. And, he waited.

Five...

Four...

Three...

Two...

One!

Orange.

Red.

Blue.

Orange.

Red...

The battle cruiser in front of him shuddered and rocked three times and seconds later, three more series of shudders and rockings—almost like the most intense internal orgasm of the ship's life...

The massive ball of flame was blinding. Even from this distance, the heat. The oppressive heat. Mental note: increase munitions rate of speed next time. Mental Note II: stay back just a tad more; he didn't want to be a hairless Chihuahua. Been there. Done that.

A direct hit. The battle cruiser's central core folded into itself and then the entire ship was engulfed in a spectacular explosion that hurled bit of debris in all directions.

Rowdy Sullivan smirked as he fingered a line through this battle cruiser's ID. The fourth that was, or should it be said—had been—under the Q'atonian Warrior Brick Hatchett's command. He studied the next battle cruiser's ID on the list glowing in the darkness of space from the screen of his tablet.

A sarcastic giggle filled the cabin of the stealth fighter as he envisioned the alien warlord's expression when he heard that another of his cruisers ... and thousands more of his warriors ... had been vaporized. Take that, tentacle breath.

"Piece a cake," Sullivan said harshly.

He pulled on his stick and pointed his fighter toward the stars in the distance.

"Next."

THE END

Author's Note: Please show your appreciation for this wonderful service and help Nifty continue to exist by sending a donation using the Nifty donations page at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html.

Thank you to those of you who have taken the time out of your day to write me about my stories. The thoughts, comments, and feedback to jonathan (underscore) longhorn at yahoo dot com are VERY much appreciated.

My other stories on Nifty can be found using the Nifty Prolific Authors page: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/authors.html#jonathanlonghorn

• The Boiler Room (A story of college roommates in the College section): http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/college/boiler-room.pdf

• Revelations (A story of two brothers in the Incest section): http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/incest/revelations

• Bitching Knight (A story about high school football rivalry in the Authoritarian and High School sections): http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/authoritarian/bitching-knight/

• a Coyote's Howl in the High School section: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/a-coyotes-howl/

• Reflections in the High School section: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/reflections/

• Squeeze Play in the High School section: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/squeeze-play/

• The T-Bone Zone in the High School section: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/the-t-bone-zone/

• Str8 Down On It in the High School section: http://www.nifty.org/nifty/gay/highschool/str8-down-on-it

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