Huge Fuckin' Insects! Pt. 03: Doug Anted

The syrup seemed to endow him with new energy. His balls plumped, and pumped greater amounts of man cream into the voracious ant. His pale white body writhed and shuddered. His hairless head bobbed. His pink tongue slurped.

Doug's stamina, honed by years of exercise and swimming, kept him going for hours, aided by the ant syrup's remarkable properties. Eventually, though, even he had to quit to recover.

The ant Queen felt the aphid give one last shudder before it went limp. She was disappointed but knew better than to overuse this unique creature. Overused aphids tended to dry out, if not given time to rest.

She trilled an order to her equally disappointed minion, who nodded, understanding, and took the aphid. The worker set it on a bed of fungi in the Queen's chamber.

The Queen then trilled orders to the minion, who conveyed them to the rest of the hill. They were in regards to the care and feeding of this unique aphid. The Queen's prerogative ordinarily allowed her to keep the aphid for herself. She was devoted to her subjects, however, and more than willing to share. She had great plans for this creature.

Doug slept, dreamless, on the fungi bed. He awoke to the caresses of antennae on his body, his cock, his ass. He gasped, already erect, with just enough time to realize, So it wasn't a dream. Mandibles picked him up; his cock was in an ant mouth seconds later. The licking, sucking, trilling, and fucking began anew.

So the pattern was set for Doug. A timeless cycle of ant-fucking, interspersed with regular feedings of edible fungi, fruits, ant spunk and ant syrup.

They dipped him regularly in the aphid pool, for baths mostly. His hair did not grow back after the first dip. Sometimes he was allowed to swim in it.

Time passed. Doug ate and fucked. Early in the cycle, a thought crossed his mind; a possibility of keeping track through his sleep cycle. The timelessness of the hill, and the continuous ant orgy thwarted him. His thoughts dulled into an erotic fugue.

The ants did not rely on Doug exclusively. They gathered and milked other aphids but Doug remained the prize. The Queen kept first dibs.

In the end, the swimmer's mind reduced to little more than lust-driven instinct. Every act he performed was automatic, reduced to three basic functions: eat, fuck, sleep. He'd become a human aphid; a cum fountain and cock sheath, milked like the others.

Sometimes, however, a name would rise from his miasma; a tenuous grip on his last human vestiges, and it was this name he muttered, when antennae roused him from his sleep, and mandibles bore his pale white body ever deeper into the ant hill.

And as for that woman . . .

To Be Concluded.