Content: muscles, fisting, chastity, desperate battles against mutant invaders and yet more fisting.

==========================

Catch the Fisting Bug – 1

Anal in the Zones

==========================

The subtropical trees of zone Epsilon-Whiskey rose proudly over an abundance of dry shrubs.

Pax stumbled backward over another aerial root but managed not to fall. Pax' naked muscles gleamed under the loose canopy's filtered light, a shiny layer of odorless bug repellant the only thing keeping the so called "Weevils" from sinking their mandibles, pincers and even more bizarre hooks into him.

The foot-long, insectoid abominations with the cutesy code name buzzed toward him, dark brown wings barely granting lift, part pill bug, part squid, some almost like monkeys or dogs clad in chitin.

He'd slaughtered more Weevils than he'd expected to find and there were still more coming.

Pax' tactical jockstrap in beige and the red bandana around his neck were all the "armor" he needed, his combat gear fitting on a tight harness that ran from shoulder to jockstrap hem.

Pax was barely aiming his zapper pistol, every dull "thwip" of light shredding one of the fuckers to sludge. He downed one each second. Yet they were getting too close, swarming him.

The tan Asian's forearms were wrapped in black leather, holding studded steel plates. As the bugs came into melee range, Pax' arms flexed, the mandalas of his full sleeve tattoos dancing on the bulging fibers.

He slapped the beasts aside, steel spikes slicing their boney-fleshy exoskeletons.

His com crackled on his harness strap. "Pax, what the fist is happening?" Bautista's voice said. "Do I need to come out and save your mancunt?"

Pax pulled the rebreather bandana over his nose and pressed it on so it stuck to his skin. He tossed his last killing shell between his heavy boots.

Smoke rose fast enough to disorient Pax but he made it away under the thumping sound of drowsy, dying Weevils falling.

He reached for his com. "Right behind'cha, sir."

The boring platform was the size of a football field, hexagonal lead tiles preventing burrowing bugs from popping up. The man-high drill in the center had gone silent.

The place was surrounded by auto-zapper turrets, faintly clicking as they detected Pax passing in front of them and safety-locked.

Bautista was aiming his arm-long zapper rifle at the forest. Seeing the gunner arrive, the commander put it behind him where it clicked into his bandolier.

Both men were on the Brute-Juice for as much size and strength as was safely achievable. With an "upper class" background, Bautista's body was trained more for aesthetic than power, where it was the other way for Pax.

Bautista, too, glistened with bug repellant under the clearing's sun, his armor consisting only of spiked shin guards leaning into sandals and a pauldron all the way down the right biceps.

His mohawk was a bushel of deep purple, where Pax kept his mohawk cropped and natural black. Team leader Bautista didn't wear a combat jockstrap. His overly thick eight incher and the rest of his package were tied to his right thigh by a purple bandana, like the one around his neck.

He had only a few tattoos, most prominently the splayed scarab on his forehead and four rings around his right forearm. His skin was an even brown from a mix of middle eastern and latin heritage.

The gunner met his commander by the drill. They clapped their hands together and bumped pecs. The purple-clad schlong bumped against Pax' minuscule jockstrap bulge.

"Got swarmed, sir," Pax said, "faster than a cumshot, tryna face rape me all at once. Confirms there's too fistin' many."

"Shoulda called for backup, boy," Bautista said. "Lone heroes bite it first."

Pax' narrow Asian eyes squinted further as he grinned. "I know, I know. Kinda sucked a fist there. I've learned my lesson, sir." He saluted.

Bautista rolled his eyes. "Doc Wolfram has all the data he needs from this station. Drove off already." He slapped the silent drill. "Let's bail."

"Yessir."

They marched toward the auto-zapper line. The leader spoke into the com. "Sexy Scarab, we're coming out. More bugs than expected."

"Ferryn here, sir," said a scratchy voice. "We have some fucky readings heading our way. D'you request Solstice?"

"Not pissing myself yet," the commander said. "Keep him ready."

The buzz of Weevils rose as they advanced into the forest, but that wasn't the real danger. Pax kept his eyes and zapper aimed at the ground, in case anything dug up to drag him down.

"Roach," Bautista yelled, his rifle awkward to handle in the thicket.

Three tall figures barreled toward them, human features – faces, skin and limbs – bloated and distorted. Some were more insectoid than others – segmented eyes, antennae, stingers – but all were clicking with pseudo-chitin membranes.

The middle one fell under combined zapper fire, yellow and green goo squirting everywhere.

Pax balled his fists and tossed himself at the left one, smashing and ripping with his forearm spikes. Bautista rammed his pauldron into the other. In the tangle of limbs, Pax got his zapper's serrated blade out and sliced with the gun. Bug bones crunched under their mass.

Following their training, the men rolled over the Roaches instead of getting caught in the limb tangle and jogged onward, zapping behind them.

Finally breaking out of the forest and into the wide open tundra, Pax and his boss clasped hands and bumped pecs together.

"Fuck yeah!"

They were awaited by a swollen mass of black metal, the size and rough shape of a cabin. Resting on tank tracks, the Sexy Scarab battel wagon was a cluster fuck of spikes, pipes and blades, blue spray paint indicating what Ferryn considered important, gold paint what Bautista thought looked fucking good.

A few auto zapper turrets clicked locked as the duo approached. The slow, deep thumps of Neo-grunge Dark-cosmos Punk-core blasted across the dry grass.

Two men were present but distracted.

Their grenadier Solstice – a black men, squat but massive – was crouching and had his fist buried halfway down the forearm in the ass of a pale, lean teen. Lube oozed from beneath the fist-bottom's tiny, beige jockstrap.

The bottom looked like he was fighting for his life, face a grimace, body quivering, as he forced himself deeper with superhuman effort, every fiber tense. The only hair on him were dark blond eyebrows. A black mohawk strip was tattooed onto his head.

Solstice noticed the approach. His smile was uncanny thanks to the white skull tattooed fully over his face. Like Pax, he wore a red bandana, a spare one hanging over his nearly flat tactical jockstrap as a loincloth. He had huge shoulder pads, like a football player's chest gear.

Solstice nodded at them. "Welcome home, sir. You've met Axil?"

"One... sec," Axil huffed, spasming with every muscle flexed. "Assgasming..."

"Doc Wolfram's a'ready fisted off?" Bautista asked. "And left his nephew bitchboy with us, huh?"

The massive black man with the skull painted on his face nodded. "On the way to Gamma-Yankee. Thinks the bugs here prove he's on the right track. Needed his triangulation data right the fist now."

"Woulda liked to hear the mancunt ask," Bautista mumbled. "At least we getta use the kid."

Axil grunt-screamed with his back arched so hard it had to hurt. He'd pushed up his jockstrap to let the tip of his dicklet hang out, barley more than the PA ring visible, and pissed like a hose.

"We prolly need him more," Pax said. "If he's any good."

"If not we'll toss him to the Roaches, ha."

Axil wore a control-collar, leather cushioned black metal around his neck. If his unnaturally blue eyes hadn't been enough, the collar marked him as a "psycho" while suppressing his meta-mental abilities enough to let him safely be around people.

Solstice slowly pulled out and Axil wobbled on weak knees, biting his lower lip.

The black grenadier rose. "You good, boy?"

"F-fuck, yeah thanks. Haven't assgasmed in days, dude." Axil turned to the commander, his expression serious. "Sir, I like to think my uncle has trained me well, sir. I'm really fistin' capable."

Bautista pulled the teen into a pec-on-pec hug. "It's all good. I was just fucking with you. Do you suck?"

Axil's eyes went to the man's package in the purple bandana. "Oh, you're freedicking. Yeah I'm up for a suck, dude, uh, sir."

It was hardly a secret that a man rich enough to have a private battle wagon had probably also bought his rare status as a permanent emergency sperm donor – a freedicker.

Bautista patted Axil's mohawk tattoo in passing.

Pax and Axil lightly slapped each other's crotches, feeling balls and PA rings through the flexible cups. Their cocks were tiny, made small by a process similar to what had made the commander's soft freedick huge. Those PA rings were the only externally visible part of the inner tube from tip to root that kept their dicks minimally sensate. Chastity cages without the cage part.

"Hey, bitch," Pax said with a nod.

"Yo, dude."

They'd briefly met when Pax had dropped off Doc Wolfram's datastick at the drill.

"Where's Ferryn?" Bautista asked. "That mancunt was s'pposed to keep lookout."

"I am," Ferryn's voice came from atop the Sexy Scarab. He appeared from behind the ammo dome of the mass driver double turret, on his knees, dragging the fuck machine behind him so he'd keep getting fucked.

Ferryn was short, barely up to Pax' nipples. While every gram on his narrow body was muscle, he was allergic to the most common Juice and barely bothering with lesser versions. You could have called him "twink" if you wanted a kick to the guts, or "toothpick" if you wanted to risk an eye.

The engineer-slash-sniper was Asian like Pax but pale as the moon. His undercut was a stark fake blond. He wore a blue rebreather bandana on each wrist, matching his blue sandals, but around his neck was instead a rebreather muzzle painted as a cute penguin, pink like his jockstrap. His chest belt was more tools than weapons.

"You holebrain call that looking out?" the commander asked.

"I had dibs," Ferryn said.

"He had dibs," broad, black beefcake Solstice said, overly serious. He was bending over. Axil had used the Sexy Scarab's lube dispenser and his arm was dripping with goo.

Solstice grunted, biting his lips as Axil entered him. At the same time Ferryn was making the warbling squeals he always made when he assgasmed – even if he kept denying how girly they sounded.

Bautista shook his head with a fond smirk and hopped into the Scarab's side hatch.

Pax walked around the fisting couple. He got to see Axil's back, where "psycho" was tattooed in huge letters. He traced the teen's spine with his fingertips until he met the still slick hole, waited for a veto and dove in.

He let his unclasped forearm wraps dangle from his elbow as he kept entering, Axil's body flexing from the resurging after-assgasms as he kept pumping into Solstice.

"Get out much, boy?" Pax asked.

"Nah," Axil said. "First time this far into the zones. I was a fucking idiot and didn't bring `nough anal entertainment."

"It's not about what ya bring," Pax said and slid in further, "but who, hehe."

Axil was struggling to speak as he got wrecked. His voice turned coarse as he cried full-bodied. "Aaaawwww fuck, aw fuck, aw yeah, aw fuck."

Solstice humped backward, his hands gripping the top's elbow to keep him inside. Solstice's glutes trembled. "Hnnng, right there, boy... that's... hgnnnnn fuck!"

The grenadier pulled his jockstrap aside, clutching the red loincloth to his abs, and sprayed piss wildly from his PA ring as his back muscles flexed into a rapid assgasm rhythm.

"So where ya from?" Pax asked. "Not a zoner, are ya? Living with Doc Wolfram?"

Axil was in a blissful state, his breath normalizing as the pleasure waves turned constant. "I'm from Shelter, originally, but when I turned out psycho I went for training to Haven. Famous uncle n'all that."

"Hey, we're from Haven," Solstice said and turned his skull face around. "What metro? Reach? Harvest? Just don't say Peak and don't tell the boss I said that, haha."

"Inner Bay," the teen said and convulsed with renewed spasms. "Ugh, fist me harder, bro."

"Yeah baby," Pax said, "feel my fist power."

"I..." Axil forced out, "Fuck, I really feel something."

"Yeah!"

"N-no, I mean- Bugs!" The light on his c-collar went on.

"Psycho got it right," Bautista said, half-stepping out of the side hatch. "The pings were walking up'n'down the perimeter. Now they're heading straight for our holes. Get in."

"It's hybrids, sir," Axil said. "I hear'em mumbling."

"Dragon?" Bautista asked.

"Nope, sir. No Dragonflies near. Bugs're acting on standing orders."

Pax pulled out and so did Axil. Solstice was left assgasming in place. The grenadier trembled with eyes wide, forcing his stiff legs forward as he swayed with pleasure. The teen recovered faster, following the gunner even as his thighs continued to quiver.

Pax showed Axil how to disassemble the auto zappers and slotted them into one of the battel wagon's bladed exterior hatches, marked with a gold checker pattern.

The buzzing sound rose quickly.

They were called "Hornets". Human-bug hybrids with wings, some able to hold sharpened sticks, some with vine-like tentacles. They made it over the tree line.

Ferryn had climbed into an open cage at the side of the Sexy Scarab and activated the Q-energy pulsers. "Eat my ass, bugs!"

Purple bolts rammed into the Hornets, their bright impact shredding the mutants instantly. The battle wagon swayed lightly from recoil.

"Underground," Axil said with urgency. "Fleas or something."

"Get your mancunts in here," Bautista said, retreated into the vehicle.

The most massive barrel on the Sexy Scarab swung to the side. The Ripper Mk II phaser gun beamed a blinding white ray into the forest like a solid pipe. Trees ruptured in its wake.

"That's everything," Pax said and closed the hull flaps. Auto zappers clicked to live. "Get in, boy."

Thin stalks shot from the ground, needle points at their end intent on drawing blood or injecting venom. Pax walked with wide, stomping steps. Bug killer sprayed from nozzles along the Scarab, misting the air thickly along the ground. Pax pulled his rebreather bandana up and Axil was thrown a beige one by Ferry from above.

The Fleas un-burrowed more and more, their ugly bodies growing plump after the initial squeeze. Some took to the air. Pax zapped the nearest into a lightning-smoldered pulp.

The psycho climbed awkwardly into the tank-like mobile home. Pax closed the hatch door behind them.

With Solstice, Axil and Pax crammed into the space, there was barely room to move.

"Everybody in?" Bautista asked, in the driver seat.

"Almost," Pax shouted. He punched open the top hatch - a round, transparent dome. "Ferryn, get ya boypussy down here."

"Busy shooting," the engineer's voice came in through a wall speaker.

Bautista yelled into the com on his chest belt. "I'm switching the fucker to automatic aiming. Get in now, twink."

The Q-energy pulses became regular and less well aimed.

The small man with the pink penguin muzzle dropped through the top hatch and drew it shut, firmly gripping the compact fuck machine with a black fist bigger than Pax' own hand mounted on it.

The interior offered little more than a crescent-shaped sofa along the back wall for all of them. Bautista was in the pilot seat in front, suspended from the ceiling with plenty of leg room.

The Sexy Scarab shook as Hornets landed on it. The sound of Flea jumping against the metal thumped through the space. Their legs slithered along the narrow, grated windows.

"Blaze coming up," Bautista said and pressed red buttons on a console before him while pulling his purple bandana up. Some killing fog was leaking in. Hornets slid down the large titan-glass window at the front, twitching in death.

The cluster blaze launchers along the roof edges made the vehicle shake and green flames all around the Scarab brightened the interior through the front canopy and grated windows.

Squelching, scratching and cracking. The bugs dropped away as they got charred. The stench of burning mutant meat wasn't fully combated by the rebreather bandanas.

"Th-there's a second wave coming, sir," Axil said. He tapped the side of his c-collar and flinched as electroshocks ripped through him, standing wide legged and moaning with his lips tightly shut.

"Time to slip away like a cumshot," Bautista said. "Gimmi power."

Ferryn flicked switches on a console then climbed between Pax' quickly spread legs to reach a panel bolted underneath the sofa - a spayed-on radioactive symbol glowing in the middle - to turn a knob.

The Sexy Scarab jolted to life and Axil, stumbling over the loose fuck machine, fell on top of Pax.

As the tank tracks turned, the crew settled in, sitting so tightly together that their knees interwove. Bautista drove across the rock littered, light green and yellow hills of the zone, his playlist of Post-hypertrance Neo-voidstep thumping dark and low through the vehicle.

Axil was the last to pull his bandana down, eyes glancing around the space.

Every bit that wasn't vital equipment or bolted down instructions was covered in pictures of naked chicks, some tasteful, most not-so-much. His eyes got stuck on the box labeled with a spay-painted cock and balls.

"Hey psycho, cock or pussy?" Ferryn asked.

"Uh, pussy," Axil said. "I had a chick back in Haven at the academy, Adamina. More on-and-off now. And the usual fisting buddies from my superflashball team."

"Do you like sucking freedick?"

The teen shrugged. "Wouldn't pass it up but I was never friends with a freedicker. You?"

"Not my style. Lips only for pussy. Don't even like real fist up my hole unless it's mine." Ferryn demonstrated by shoving his own fist into his still slick ass for a quick shake. "Ever got punch fucked while eating out a chick?"

Axil shook his head.

Ferryn tapped the image of a fake-red haired chick with her legs in the air. "My girl, Serafima. The perfect lady." He pointed at another poster, nearer the pilot seat. "Isolde, Bautista's main bitch. Don't jizz to that pic without permission or you're getting fisted in the brainstem."

The psycho nodded eagerly and looked out of a grated window, seeming distracted.

The engineer busied himself stowing the fuck machine safely.

"No bugs I can sense, sir," Axil said to the leader then lightly tapped his c-collar. "Oh fuck, gotta unload again. Hold me, bro? Don't wanna bump my head."

Pax threw his arm around the psycho and Axil touched his c-collar. He hadn't used his powers much so it was only a few electroshocks racing through him, spasms making him wiggle in Pax' lap.

"Getting tight with another guy back here," Solstice said. He had his legs together, which was a rare sight.

Bautista leaned back. "Is the noob okay?"

Axil was done unloading, his power's side effects neutralized. He weakly raised a thumps up with a lopsided grin, staying pressed to Pax' pecs. "Just gettin' used to that sweet zoner life, sir."

"Then come here," the commander said and patted his lap. "Give those mancunts some space. If you're wanna be crew, you gotta earn it."

Axil could comfortably kneel in the padded space before the seat, between Bautista's widely spread legs. Pax couldn't see it but the noise and motion was obvious. Axil gave his temporary boss a decent suck job.

Pax squinted at the monitors at the front. Crossing into Juliet-Beta was going to take an hour – and if Axil had the oral stamina so would the suck job. The driver switched his playlist to Hyper-aggressive Omega-violence Post-rapebeats, his hand on the teen's bald head, the other staying on the joystick.

The remaining crew raided the box marked with cock and balls.

Solstice ran a purple fantasy-dragon's dick under the lube dispenser and worked it into his hole, making it to where the shaft turned as thick as his calves.

Ferryn had his usual plain white dildo with inbuilt electrodes and made his ass e-stim dance, his head in Solstice' red-clad lap.

Pax arranged the fuck machine in the middle of the floor, above the drain so the lube wouldn't get everywhere.

He squeezed the bulb to make the black fist squirt itself slick and went on all fours. Ass toward the now wide-legged Solstice, eyes toward the rhythmically bobbing Axil and Bautista's lightly flexing calves on the pedals.

The gunner sank his ass onto the fuck machine and reached into a net under the sofa. He withdrew a bottle of Thunder Bliss, put the double nozzle to his nostrils and took a lungful, almost blacking out with the rush.

Twenty seconds later he was halfway down the machine's fist and felt heat swell inside him.

Pax kicked the machine on and got punched in the ass.

A minute later he was uncontrollably arching in the rhythm of the machine. Axil took a break and crawled under the pilot seat, coming face to face with Pax.

The gunner took another deep huff of Thunder Bliss and offered the bottle to the psycho before pleasure claimed his mind again.

When Pax opened his eyes, Axil was sucking the boss again, now with legs wide, fisting himself.

Bautista requested his usual and Ferryn ran a pink replica of the commander's fist under the lube tap. While Bautista worked the pink hand into his hole, Axil got to pick from the leftovers and sat on one of Solstice's orange dragon dicks.

The black grenadier was reaching assgasm and moaned unashamedly. Piss from his impotent dicklet sprayed toward the drain, raining on the machine bottom's ass.

Pax wanted to scoot to escape the droplets but his own first assgasm wave was nearing. Eyes wide open, he saw Axil's jockstrap overflow with a drizzle of jizz, dripping past the psycho's forearm that lead to the dildo's base.

Every muscle in the machine bottom's body tensed as he hit climax and fought to plateau there. He slipped on lube as the Sexy Scarab crested a hill, his arms nearly splaying. With all his might, he held a wide push-up pose to keep his ass where it was. A pleasure to great to give up.