Ray tried to contain a shudder as his wife, Pamela, dipped a wooden bowl into a mass of squirming grubs and handed it to him before taking one for herself. He smiled at her, doing his best to maintain his fake look of love and adoration. Only eight more years until the pre-nup would be void.
He hated being here, in the jungles of planet Katunga, following a tribe of natives as they went about their daily lives. He wanted to go to Sureptilia, where the native women were known for their giant breasts and dislike of clothing. But dear, sweet Pamela had said no. She only wanted cutting-edge research, and those delightful women were already very well-documented and photographed by too many other xenoanthropologists. Ray felt that the more photographs of those women, the better.
So instead here they were, in the middle of a jungle, with no signs of civilization, sitting near a fire eating gently roasted wormy grubs. To top it all off, the diet of grubs was giving him chronic gastritis.
Ray nibbled on what passed for food in this wretched place, watching his wife conversing with the natives. She looked happy. This had always been her dream, to go to far away worlds and study the cultures.
When he had married her, he had had a dream: to make the most use of Pamela’s family wealth by never working a day in his life. How could he have known that the mousy, hideous woman whose best feature was her bank account had a passion for that science shit?
Ray had always assumed that she had just gone to school in hopes of attracting a man like him, who was willing to look past her terrible looks to marry her. She should have been grateful to him for acknowledging her, and yet now he was being dragged around like extra baggage.
Ray was jarred out of his inner suffering when one of the native woman sat next to him. The natives were also hideous. Perhaps that’s why Pamela got on so well with them. They both shared absurdly tiny breasts and noses that dwarfed their faces. There were some differences; Pamela had brown hair and fair skin, while the natives had purple skin and bright flower petals as hair, each woman a different species of flora.
The joy of staring at alien vaginas had been taken from him too. Though the natives eschewed traditional clothing, they were using their genitals as planter boxes for the local vegetation, with the flower heads poking out in full blossom. Ray felt sorry for the men, wherever they were. Having not yet seen an adult male, Ray’s working theory was that they ran away when they hit puberty after being cockblocked by those fucking flowers.
Next to him, the native woman stroked the giant yellow petals of her own pussy flower. She moaned, her voice getting deeper and more primal as she intensified the rubbing. Ray fixed her with an indignant glare, hoping that she would realize how much he disapproved of her solo activities. It hadn’t yet worked on any of the other woman, who were all blissfully ignorant of propriety.
Eventually she finished with a jerk and throaty growl and went off to fetch herself a bowl of grubs, leaving Ray alone to stew in his disapproval. His bitter musings were interrupted once more by Pamela.
“I’ve got wonderful news!” she said, her face bright with the same enthusiasm and cheeriness as the day he had first asked her on a date, years ago.
“What is it sweetie?” said Ray, forcing himself to sound just as upbeat. In eight years’ time, he’d go into acting. The practice from these years of hell would probably line him up for awards.
“Tonight there’s a coming of age ceremony for all of the older girls as they transition into womanhood,” said Pamela. Ray nodded, trying to convey that he was enjoying this exchange even though he wished she’d shut her yapping mouth-hole. “And they’ve agreed to let me watch! This is exactly the sort of thing that the university is looking for! When we go home, maybe I’ll be nominated for another award!”
God, her voice was irritating, Ray thought as he gave her a congratulatory hug and kiss on the cheek. “I’ll go too,” he said.
If this story was going to be that interesting, he’d need notes of his own. He planned to write his own paper if Pamela’s notebook was destroyed, which it most certainly would be if Ray could get his hands on it. The thought of one-upping her made him feel excited. When was the last time he had felt this way? Oh right, when he had ‘accidentally’ thrown out Pamela’s mother’s urn. The imbecile had cried for three weeks and everyone had thought he was the perfect husband, always there to comfort her.
“It’s for women only,” she said, looking him with her usual expression of mocking. Ray tried to quell the rage that welled up inside. He mentally repeated the mantra that kept him sane: only eight more years,
“But maybe you’ll get the chance to spend some time observing the young males when the women are away. It would be interesting to see what they do on their own, away from the matriarchy. You could write a paper on that,” said Pamela.
Ray forced a grin on his face. Of course Pamela didn’t want him around for her moment of glory. It wasn’t that he wanted to see the girls as they sat around stuffing the jungle vegetation up their hoo-has; it was that he was tired of always being denied opportunities because of Pamela. He would show her this time. Screw those native cunts and their elitist attitudes.
“Oh wow! What a great idea!” he said.
It was late and dark when Ray crawled out of the leafy hut that attempted to pass itself off as a dwelling. He had exaggerated his stomach problems all evening to hide from Pamela as he’d waited for the women to leave. Now was his opportunity to follow after them. He could see the flickering light of the campfire as the boys gathered round. Some were dancing. How could Pamela think that he want to watch a stupid native sing-along?
The boys were making enough noise that no one could hear him as he crept towards the path leading away from the village. He could still faintly make out the sound of the female voices ahead of him. Ray wasn’t afraid of the jungle. The largest animal they had seen thus far had been the size of a rabbit, and the natives had placed a garland of flowers around the shaking beast and released it instead of killing it. Ray still resented that decision. It probably would have tasted better than the grubs.
They walked through the jungle, following the path for what seemed like an eternity. Ray was much closer to the giggling girls and their escorts now, still out of sight, hidden by the leaves and branches of the dense jungle. Even better for him, no one bothered glancing behind themselves. They were all dangerously idiotic and trusting. He would love to see them try to walk around the city streets of Earth. That would show them that their idea of peace was a crock.
Then they disappeared off the path. Ray had almost not been paying attention, the boredom of the monotonous walk dulling his senses. He realized what was happening just as the last native, the woman with bright yellow petal hair, stepped into the foliage. Ray walked to where she had dropped out of sight and looked into the jungle. There was no path. He hesitated. He didn’t want to get lost of the jungle on this godforsaken planet. It was bad enough that he still had six months left here, let alone a lifetime.
But he couldn’t let Pamela win. That burning need to show her up compelled him off the trail and into to the trees. He felt the breeze as they formed up behind him when he passed through, leaving no signs of his intrusion. There was a faint smell ahead of him. Floral, of course. He followed it, straining to hear the female voices once more, but there were no sounds, only the scent, which intensified as he went deeper and deeper into the jungle.
The plants were starting to look different now too. The dark leafy greens of the jungles plants at night were changing into purples. It wasn’t just the flowers, but the barks and vines as well, glowing with a pastel brilliance that illuminated the undergrowth. Ray could now see as well as he could at midday.
If he were a botanist, he would have marveled at their shapes and colors, but he was a xenoanthropologist and pornography enthusiast; his goal was to find the women. He wondered if Pamela was hiding them from him to keep her research to herself.
The trees ahead of him rustled. Aha! He had found them! He crept slowly over when he realized that the rustling was coming towards him. Had he been noticed after all? Ray pressed himself against a tree, hoping that the flower-snatched primitives would go back to what they were doing before spotting him.
Instead, he watched in horror as a naked, purple-skinned native emerged. This one was unlike any he had ever seen before. He was a fully grown male, at least seven feet tall, with sinewy muscles and small dark purple vines that hung from his head like hair.
What caught Ray’s attention most, however, was his cock. It had a similar shape to his own, but with the texture of bark and a tiny white flower blooming on the tip. Ray realized with some chagrin that he had been so enthralled by the bobbing and weaving dick that the male was now standing only a foot away. He could practically feel the warmth emanating off of the savage, and could smell a sweet scent, possibly the white flower.
Ray gulped. Was the man here to ensure that no males could intrude on the ceremony for the girls? His cover was well and truly blown. He forced himself to stare defiantly into the native’s eyes, wrestling his thoughts away from that ridiculous-looking schlong. He could feel his own dick getting hard and straining against his pants. What was wrong with him? Why would he be responding to a joke of a sapient being like this?
“Fuck off,” Ray told the man. It didn’t matter what he said, since they spoke their weird unga-bunga dialect, and Ray was sure the man would not understand. He hoped that the tone would still convey the message.
The man stared at him, looking quizzical as he reached his right hand out towards Ray, as if to shake his hand. Ray pulled both his arms away quickly, then realized that the native’s goal was not a greeting, but rather, touching Ray’s cock. There was no way Ray was going to give this jungle-man the satisfaction of knowing that Ray was hard.
He shoved the native away with all his force.
“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t fuck your flowery cunt-woman if they were the last holes in the universe, so piss off,” yelled Ray, hoping to intimidate the man. He was acutely aware of their size difference, but the man, even as he staggered backwards, didn’t appear to be overly aggressive. Just one of the dumb-ass peaceniks of the planet. Ray hoped that the violence would make the man go away so he could find Pamela and her tribe of whores.
The man wasn’t leaving, though. Instead, he walked back over to Ray. This time Ray readied his hands in fists. He had tried the nice way. This native loser was going to get a punch to the face. Maybe a couple. In fact, Ray decided then and there that his plan was to beat this moronic native until his boner went away. It was a just punishment for having given it to him in the first place.
Before he could put his plan in motion, the male grabbed both of Ray’s wrists, his arms moving so fast and deftly that Ray could barely see them. The man crossed Ray’s arms over themselves, so that he was giving himself a bear hug and shoved him backwards, pressing his back into the tree. Their faces were now only inches away from each other.
Ray could feel the seams in his underwear digging into him, distracting him from his predicament. Now was not the time to let his body get the best of him. He needed to get back into control. He never let his dick make decisions for him. If he had, he certainly would not have chosen Pamela as a wife.
He needed to get out of here. But he also needed to stop himself from coming. Ray had not felt the urge come on this strong since that time in the locker room in high school. He wasn’t going to give the natives a show by wandering back into camp with a stain on his pants.
The fear of embarrassment overcame the knot of desire in his stomach. Ray struggled against the native’s strength, bringing his legs up to kick at the ridiculously sized dick, feeling his pants shifting against his own penis, bringing him closer to losing control.
The native somehow managed to slide himself between Ray’s legs and pressed himself against Ray. Ray felt himself flush and gasped at the contact. Their full bodies were touching. Their cocks rubbed against each other, separated by the mere wisps of Ray’s clothing.
Suddenly Ray felt something creeping along him. Many things. It felt like snakes were slithering up his arms, wrapping around his wrists and latching them to the tree above his head. The native pulled back slightly, and adjusted himself so that he was holding Ray’s legs in his arms. His biceps were as big as Ray’s thighs, so it didn’t surprise Ray when he was unable to escape their hold.
From this vantage, Ray could now see that what he had thought were snakes were in fact the dark purple vines of the native’s hair. How could he control them with this sort of accuracy?
Ray was starting to feel nervous. Was the man about to execute him for spying on the girls? He needed Pamela here now to explain to this native that he had done no wrong. The one time he actually wanted her around and she couldn’t be there. Typical Pamela. The thought of Pamela did help calm his cock, though. He would be grateful, except that was what made every night of their married life hell.
The native tugged on Ray’s pants, pulling on the sides to slip them down his legs, but they wouldn’t budge. Of course the native had never seen a button or zipper before, these uncivilized barbarians. Ray smirked at the man, but he didn’t notice. The man gripped the pants and yanked them down, ripping them along the seams, his muscles rippling. Ray’s white briefs were exposed. With no pause, the native pulled them off too, the white pieces falling to the jungle floor like snowflakes. He was naked now, as naked as these primitives, but at least he knew that he was better than them.
With Ray’s legs firmly grasped in his armpits, the male’s left hand roamed slowly upwards to poke at Ray’s cock, running a finger up and down twice before stopping, his face expressing a sense of boredom. Ray felt angry. How was his penis not interesting enough for this wildling? His human specimen was vastly superior to the bark flower that sprouted out of the native. It didn’t even look like it was possible for the native’s to be flaccid. He hoped that the man was uncomfortable when trying to sleep on his stomach.
The vines on the native’s head started to move again, snaking down to Ray’s ankles and pulling his legs apart, tying them to nearby trees. Ray’s stomach muscles strained to hold himself up. He had never been the sort to engage in vigorous exercise, a fact he was beginning to regret. Just as a felt like he was going to collapse, the male moved in and cupped his ass, one cheek in each hand, holding him up.
Ray felt momentarily grateful, only to stiffen once more when the man’s fingers explored deeper into his crack, rubbing the puckered skin of his hole. Ray wondered if the native would get bored with this part of him just as quickly as he had the front. To his shock he realized that he wanted it to continue. After all, there was nothing that he could do to get out of the situation, so he might as well show this primitive that humans were canny and adaptable.
Ray felt the native’s rough finger as it breached the gateway and wormed its way into his canal, overcoming his muscles when they clamped down to prevent the intrusion. Ray couldn’t tell how far the wiggling finger went in, but it felt surprisingly good.
“Stop, you cocksucking faggot,” said Ray, though he was not able to sound as angry as he had intended. At the very least, his pride was not going to let this native declare later that it was consensual.
The finger withdrew, and Ray let a small sigh pass over his lips. It was clear to him that the man was cowed by his dominance but he almost regretted making him stop. It had felt so good. This was the first time since he had started dating Pamela where he felt that he was getting what he wanted sexually.
He couldn’t let her know until the pre-nup expired. He could see imagine the tears in her eyes when he told her that he’d rather be fingered by a jungle native than spend another night with her. The mere thought of her heartache made him want to come. But he couldn’t allow himself to in front of the wildling.
However, the male wasn’t done with him. The finger had been the mere foreplay, Ray realized, snapping out of his fantasy of Pamela’s tears. The native angled him so that Ray’s ass was now lined up with the gigantic erect bark penis, and pressed it slowly towards him.
The white flower was soft and gentle against his anus, and it circled, gently brushing the skin. The urge to relax his muscles grew stronger, as the petals continued to caress his flesh. Ray wanted more. The native was teasing him, the gentle pressure taunting him, telling him that he would never get satisfaction.
And then the tip slid in so smoothly that Ray let out a gasp of pleasure. He clamped his teeth together to suppress the moans that threatened to escape. The flower was like a feather tip, tickling him as it went in, further and further. It was followed by the rough bark, which Ray realized was a perfect contrast to the delicate tip. Hard and soft all in one, the ribbed bark firmly massaged the inner sides of his anal canal as it moved back and forth.
Ray felt his whole body, suspended by the vines, move with the man, swinging in the air to the rhythm of the thrusts. He could feel the massive cock inside him, filling him completely and pushing away all his cares and worries. Pamela didn’t matter, this shitty planet didn’t matter. Even this native man didn’t matter. The only thing of importance was how good his ass felt right then and there. Ray couldn’t contain himself any longer. He didn’t want to. He felt his dick explode, come squirting onto himself and the native as he called out for more.
It was over too soon. The native pulled himself out and Ray saw the flaccid cock hanging down between his legs. His musings were incorrect, Ray realized; the native men weren’t perpetually hard. The evidence was clear in the sticky juices that he could feel trickling down the back of his legs and dripping onto the ground underneath him.
Ray entire body was sore and limp from keeping himself taut during their swinging. Tiredness crept over him. His eyelids drooped. He was sore, yes, but why was he so exhausted? He couldn’t fall asleep here, in the jungle. Not tied to a tree like a chicken. Ray could feel the vines retreating and the native lowering him to the ground at the base of the tree. It would probably be a while before the women were finished. He might as well rest his eyes until he heard them again.
When he woke up, Ray was lying face-down on the jungle floor. The trees around him were the usual verdant foliage and he wondered where the bright colored specimens of the night before had gone. He could hear the voices of the women, laughing and giggling.
Ray crawled behind a tree and ducked into a bush to hide. The tree looked nothing like the one that he had been tied to, though it was purple, the first one of that color that he’d ever come across, excluding his strange wandering the previous night. What had happened to him? He was still sore all over and his ass had a dull throbbing. He didn’t remember where the native male had gone after letting him down.
Ray looked himself over. He was fully clothed. How was that possible? The previous night his pants and underwear had been ripped to pieces, and he was sure that the natives had no sewing ability to speak of, since they didn’t wear any clothes of their own.
There was a telltale stain on the front, however, and when he gingerly reached down the back of the pants, there was a partially dried sticky feeling on his upper thighs that reminded him of sap. He was snapped back to reality when the girls filed past him, Pamela right in the middle, carrying an absurdly large pack on her back. As usual, no one noticed him.
He followed after them, thankful for being shown the route back to the village and snuck back into the leafy hut. He had a couple minutes to spare, knowing that Pamela wouldn’t come to see him first thing. She would be trying to interview the boys about what they had done the night before. The relief of knowing he had time to change into another set of pants overshadowed Ray’s bitterness at the fact that Pamela was trying to out-scoop him again.
He left the native’s come on his legs, not rinsing it off, telling himself that he didn’t have time. Deep down, he knew it was because he wanted to hold on to the memory of the previous night for as long as he could.
He lay down on the ground, in the pile of leaves that passed for bedding in this uncivilized region, and waited for Pamela to return, images of the native man dancing through his head.
“Hey there, sweetie! Does your stomach feel any better?” Pamela’s English made him jump as she ducked through the leaves into their hut. She set down her bag and pulled out the contents: her notebook and pens, an oxygen tank and masks.
“Better than yesterday. Did you find out everything you needed to know about the ceremony, honey?” he asked, hoping to get the conversation with Pamela out of the way so that he could be alone with his thoughts once more. It surprised Ray that his thoughts had nothing to do with his wife, and that his once all-consuming hatred was now less pervasive than the memories of the native man penetrating him.
“I feel so honored to have been invited,” said Pamela as Ray braced himself for the long-winded narration that he knew was coming. Instead of seething with impatience, he leaned back, bobbing his head, pretending to listen while he tried to imagine the women of Sureptilia in one of their dances. The only thing he could picture clearly was the white flower on the tip of the cock from the previous night.
“I’m probably the first person to ever have witnessed the events!” Pamela said.
“The natives have done this for eons before you showed up,” said Ray passively. He didn’t even have the energy to summon the smirk that usually accompanied a dig at Pamela.
“Yes,” said Pamela, “but when the trees release their spores, which is the crux of the ceremony, anyone who inhales them experiences hallucinations and fantasies. The only reports I had were personal accounts, which had high variance. Each woman I interviewed described what seemed to be her personal sexual fantasies, so I was sure there was more to this ceremony! It’s fascinating!”
Ray was snapped out of his calm reverie and suddenly felt sick. What had happened to him? It had all felt so real. Had the beautiful flowering penis really been a hallucination? And, if so, what on this godforsaken planet had called forth that image into his dreams? But he had physical proof sticking to his legs that something had happened to him…
“Spit it out Pamela! What did you see?” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and intending to shake her. It struck Ray that to do so would be unnecessarily violent. Instead he patted her shoulders quickly and brought his hands back down to his sides. It felt awkward and unnatural for Ray. This was the first time he felt he had touched Pamela in a friendly way that wasn’t a calculated gesture to charm her.
“I knew you’d be excited too!” she said, taking Ray’s hands in her own and flashing him a familiar look that Ray now realized was tenderness and not mocking. “As we walked through the jungle, the women and girls slipped into some sort of hypnotic trance. They were all following some invisible trail, which I suspect was caused by the spores let off by the trees with purple bark, since we got to a clearing full of them! They finally stopped next to the trees, which had not only leaves, but also vines which they used to mate with the woman! Sometimes five or six woman at once! It lasted all night; you should have heard the moaning.” Pamela giggled, “We’ve been wondering where all the men are. I think they somehow become the trees! I can’t wait to see that ceremony. But now the girls are full-fledged women. Soon they’ll be sprouting flowers of their own in their vaginas.”
Pamela gave him a quick peck on the cheek and tugged at Ray’s hands to convince him to join her in leaving the hut. “We should go watch! I need to take notes on how they grow in. We could collaborate on this paper, if you want.”
“I just felt my stomach gurgle,” said Ray. “Go on without me.” Pamela squeezed his hands and shoved a couple extra leaves under his head as a pillow before darting out with her notebook in hand. Ray nestled himself further into the leafy bedding. He felt an overpowering sadness well up inside him.
Somewhere deep down, he had been hoping that if he wandered back into the forest alone, the native man would find him again. But the whole thing had been his imagination. No wonder it was so perfect. It was his ideal fantasy come to life. Ray wasn’t sure how he’d ever be able to fuck again, not with that experience to compare to.
When he closed his eyes and lay back on the leaves, Ray could smell the familiar scents of the jungle wafting through the hut. Now it reminded him of the floral musk of the native man, pressed up to him. In his mind’s eye, he replayed the passion of the previous night. The white flower against his skin, relaxing the muscles. The barky cock that filled his ass and massaged his insides.
Ray felt himself growing hard. He carefully unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick and rolled onto his side. He rubbed his shaft gently, trying to hold the images and sensations of the man in his head and delay his climax for as long as possible. He could practically feel the gigantic cock inside him. From somewhere in the back of his mind, Ray heard a low moaning noise and realized that he was the one making it. He came.
Afterwards, Ray lay still with his head resting in the crock of his arm and one hand resting lightly on his dick as his heart rate went back down. Something did not feel normal. Ray could swear that there was something still inside him. It made no sense, but even as his mind cleared, the feeling remained.
Ray reached around to his ass with a tentative hand to investigate the situation, wondering if he had gone crazy. But he hadn’t. The tips of his fingers brushed against soft petals. That small contact filled him with an overpowering jolt of pleasure, emanating from his ass upwards into his whole being. Spurred onwards, he caressed the petals, feeling the bliss wash over him again and again.
At some point he thought he heard the leaves of the hut being moved aside, but he didn’t care enough to check. He wasn’t going to let anyone or anything pull him out of his euphoria now that he had finally found it.