Red, White and Screwed!

Major’s Cruising Log, spacedate 723.476. It’s not unusual for us to come across other space ships even in the mostly unexplored Retentive Territories. However, it’s unusual to come across two at the same time - and most unusual to have three - all chasing after one another! I’ve ordered a pursuit.

“Hard to port, Mr. Clanger!” I yelled. None of us were pleased that the weekly Shirtless Saturday happy hour was being interrupted, but duty called. Yiffek was next to Niplash, who was bent over the science scanners. Nip’s three rock-hard pecs heaved with excitement. Only two of his nipples were pierced, I believe I heard some chatter that there were some rituals his people went through before getting the third done.  “Nip! What are you reading?”

Niplash looked up. “Scanners show all three are of the same basic physiology. The ships and level of technology are Level Two, some years behind our own.”

Yiffek stood up stiffly, his chest fur bristling. He never seemed perturbed by much, his azure, cat-like eyes only widened a bit with surprise sometimes. “I recommend we capture the leading vessel with a quanta-tractor ray, Major. That way, the others will be forced to deal with us.”

We swooped to port and I grabbed the armrest handed than I needed to, but I’d worked out earlier and I wanted to make sure those veins on my forearm popped. If we could sort this out and get back to the Et Tu lounge quickly, I’d be grateful. It was actually Star-Spangled Shirtless Saturday. While national affiliations are a thing of the past, it’s quite fun to theme parties after some of the quaint Old Earth customs we discover. We’ve even taken to naming drinks and naughty acts after some of them. Just don’t ask what a Yankee Doodle Dandy is.

Plus, I had a good shot at winning Best Torso this week. I don’t like to boast, but I’ve won nine out of the last 10 times.

Not that they just give it to me! I’m extremely clear on that. All crew contests have to be on the up and up. Otherwise morale would plummet. In the cold depths of space, you need to keep your men warm and pumped.

Sure, I know I’m still in great shape. I’ve overhead the younger crewmen refer to me as a “xaddy,” which seems to be some sort of slang for a handsome fit gentleman of any xenobiotic species or race. My chest is still as solid and as wide as some of our bulkheads. While no one onboard is quite as hairy as a Centaurian like Yiffek - after all, they are literally fur-covered - I’m quite hirsute and as mentioned, I work out every day.

My arms must have looked like corded quanta-steel, since Clanger looked back and licked his lips before he reported his actions to me. “Sir, activating quanta-tractor rays.”  I nodded and absent-mindedly brushed my hand against one of my pecs. Since we’d all raced to the bridge shirtless, it was clear that several of the junior crew, like young Clanger, had nipples hardening from excitement.

“Commence!” I barked. A staccato burst hit our forward shields. We jerked back and forth. I grabbed the other armrest and flexed. “What was that? Nip?”

Nip spoke without looking up. “Protonic beam weapons! No real danger to our shields, but could shake things up.”

“Locking on to first shuttle, Major!” Clanger said. His own lithe arm flexed as he pulled the lever back. “It’s ... trying to ... fight me ...”

“Pull, Clanger! Niplash! Help him!” Niplash hurried from his station and pulled with Clanger. Clanger leaned into Niplash’s solid, triple-pec chest and together the shirtless lads pulled the overly-large quanta-tractor ray lever. Spaceship designers sometimes got waylaid by form vs. function tangents that could cause problems in the field.

I was about to order Yiffek into the fray, when the lead ship’s engine gave up and we pulled it in. Shame, really. Yiffek tends to be aloof and I’d like nothing more to see him pressed against the flesh of one of the crew, squeezing his own thick muscles and using that long, rough tongue to ...

The quanta-vator doors opened and Doc Fitty bolted out. “Major! Are there injuries?” His own runner’s physique was sweaty from his exertions. He’d been dancing during the Shirtless Saturday festivities and had only stopped in the Med-Bay to grab a stethoscope.

“Not yet, but get to the shuttle bay. We’ve quanta-tractored in an alien ship and he may be hurt.” Fitty turned to leave. I was about to go with him, as he tends to have a deliciously spicy smell when he sweats, when Clanger stopped me.

“Sir - I have the pilot of the second – “ an alert beeped. “And the third ship hailing us.”

“On the quanta-screen,” I said. The screen came on, and two humanoid faces filled each side. On the left, a red-suited alien’s facial expression was twisted with irritation. On the right, a face in a chalk-white suit snarled. Both started talking at me and over each other.

“Settle down!” I barked. Both aliens blinked and stared at me. “I’m Major Matt Bator of the United Space Force vessel, the Penetrator. We’ve quanta-tractored the ship you were both chasing in. Mind telling me what’s going on?

Both the white and red-garbed aliens began jabbering at once. I held up my hands. “Enough! On at a time. Red, you were first. Who are you and why were you chasing that ship?”

He inhaled deeply and calmed himself. He was handsome, his jaw neatly trimmed with a goatee and he had wide lats. “I am R’uz, of the city-state Phlaggus. That ... filthy scum who stole our ship is a criminal!”

The white-suited alien spoke up. “I, Dymon of the Phlaggian Emirate, am the constable for this sector of Phlaggian space. I don’t doubt that the pilot of that ship is a thief, but R’uz is a known conspirator against the Emirate and must also be released into my custody.”

Starship commanders are known for their wisdom as much as their manly actions in the field. I knew whatever was happening, was going to require some thought. I hoped I could think of a solution in time to get us all back to the Shirtless Saturdays contest. “Stand by. I’ll interrogate our prisoner and if he is guilty, I’ll particalize him  back to you.”

Dymon protested. “Major, I protest! The separation of our ... cultures is quite inviolate! He must be handled with extreme quarantine.”

“Is he contagious?” I asked. Darn me for sending Fitty away. He’s the one for these medical situations.

“Not ... as such,” Dymon said.

R’uz broke in. “We don’t mix our classes, major. The Whitespunks, of which Dymon is, fear a blending of cultures if we should be allowed to mingle outside of our own kind. A bleeding or running of the colors, so to speak.”

I frowned. “That sounds rather racist, which is one of the few things that allows me leeway in interfering with other cultures in order to make them better. I’ll contact you after I’ve finished my interrogation.”

In the Med-Bay, Fitty had the handsome young lad laying on the table, naked. His hairy chest was muscular and his arms and shoulders had the natural strength and definition that came from a life of hard work, not from living in the gym. Fitty probed and prodded the young man with his hands and instruments. The youth seemed to enjoy it, and had the door not whooshed open as I came in, more might have gone on.

“Doc, I need to speak to the prisoner.”

“He’s a prisoner?” Fitty asked. “What did he do?”

“Stole food,” the lad said. He sat up, his long cock flopping over the thigh of his left leg. These Phlaggians had excellent equipment.

“What’s your name, son?” I said. I laid a fatherly hand on his shoulder. It was warm and I sensed he enjoyed the touch.

“I’m Saf. My parents were starving. There’s a Redspunk farm a few clicks from ours. I thought a few vegetables wouldn’t hurt.” He got to his knees and held his hands up in prayer. “Please don’t send me back! They’ll kill a Bluespunk like me!”

“Easy, easy,” I said. I caressed his shoulder, marveling at the muscle tone. “No one’s killing anyone.” I looked at Fitty. “What’s a Bluespunk? Or a Redspunk for that matter?”

Saf looked at me. “You ... you don’t know?”

The door whooshed open. Clanger attempted to prevent the two aliens from entering, but they pushed him out of the way. “Sorry, sir -  they told Mr. Yiffek they’d start an interplanetary incident if we didn’t particalize them on board.” Yiffek followed them in.

“USF regulations for first contacts with non-member yet developed planets are quite clear,” Yiffek said. I glared at him. For as much as I want to see my first officer completely unclothed, there are times I want to kick him in all four of his balls.

Dymon spoke. “Our culture is a highly ... stratified one, Major.” He gestured to himself. I am a Whitespunk. Those of us blessed with the norm in our bodies are the leaders and thinkers of our society. Redspunks suchs as R’uz, have a limited intelligence and are often suitable for managerial or mid-managerial positions within our society. Those” he pointed with a sneer, “are only suitable for menial tasks.”

R’uz spoke up. “You and your kind are the only ones who refuse to believe the evidence that we possess the same potential as you Whitespunks!”

Dymon smiled patronizingly. “Then why have none of you risen to higher levels? For that matter, why have his kind not shown any aptitude? No, no, R’uz. Your kind like to complain, but you know nothing of the true work and brainpower it takes to run the Emirate.”

Saf cowered on the bed behind Fitty. “Gentlemen,” I said, using my most diplomatic tones. “Intelligence ... there are tests that can be taken. X’ces knows, my guidance counselor at the academy had to find some I could pass!” The joke didn’t make any of them chuckle.

“All right. While I’d love to do nothing more than head down to your planet, have some key people fall in lust with me an then we could work together to overthrow your planet’s clearly too-conservative structure ... we do have an extremely close Shirtless Saturdays torso contest going on. Can you cut to the chase and tell me what difference exists between you that creates such social disparity and discrimination?”

Dymon was a good -ooking older fellow, not as built as R’uz or Saf. R’uz looked as though he worked out a lot and Dymon clearly no longer went to the gym. Dymon smiled. “Major, it’s in the most obvious manner of all. As each Phlaggian comes of age, they must also cum of age in public. Once they ejaculate, it’s plain to all. Normals like myself are placed in positions of power. Those whose ejaculate is red can be placed in R’uz’s social strata. And those with – ” he shuddered, “Blue cum are put in their place as workers and servants.”

Fitty‘ s  eyes widened. “There’s no known medical correlation between ejaculate and intelligence ... much less semen color!”

“You would call our ancestors wrong? When we have built a civilization lasting thousands of years and across parsecs of space?”

Yiffek gave me a knowing look. I suspected I knew what he thought. “So ... the cum ... its only looked at for color? Nothing else? Consistency, chemical makeup ... flavor?”

Dymon looked confused. “Why, no. Should it have been? Our Whitespunk ancestors clearly knew who were capable as leaders and found the common denominator was spunk color.”

Yiffek chimed in. “But if an impartial judge could find another commonality ... might that be enough to not overthrow your entire socio-political system, but bend the rules enough so that this lad might be assured his safety and we can return to our ... festivities?”

Dymon thought it over. His loose white robe stirred in his nether regions. I suspected Yiffek’s exotic looks were having a similar effect on Dymon as they had on me. “Perhaps.”

Yiffek’s eye widened. “Then I have a suggestion.”

Five minutes later, three Med Bay panels had been placed around me. I was on my knees (on a mattress - my knees aren’t what they used to be). Dick-sized holes were placed cock-height in three panels. Plus, Yiffek blindfolded me. There was no way for me to know who or what would be put in my mouth.

I heard Yiffek say, “Our major is known throughout the USF for his impartiality. However, for a contest with such important ... political repercussions,” Yiffek stopped and coughed. Sometimes, even when he’s serious, it can sound as though he’s laughing. I made a mental note to talk to him about that. It could offend an ambassador or someone someday. “We want to make sure there is no way he can distinguish between the three ... members.” Yiffek broke off, coughing again.

“I’m ready,” I said. I watched as one by one, totally-hard cocks slid through the holes. Each was different, but each looked incredibly suckable. My own thick dick easily slipped out of my USF regulation briefs. Normally when dealing with diplomatic issues, I would leave my USF-issue trousers on. However, this was diplomacy of a most intimate kind.

I picked the one on the left first. It had the most girth and was circumcised. Its long vein throbbed and I could see the pubic hairs clipped almost to the skin behind it. I tasted it and pre-cum leaked out. I caressed it, slowly jerking it up and down. I heard a muffled moan. The unblinking eye of that cock sought my mouth, eager to give me its seed.

I swallowed it, feeling it in the back of my throat. Had whoever it was been free to force my head deeper, they would have - I could see the panel being pushed from the other side. I teased the cock head and balls with my tongue.

Suddenly, there was a groan. Salty sweet spurts of cum jetted onto my tongue. Quick cummer, I thought. I lapped it up. Cum is like pizza, it’s hard to make it bad. Still, it didn’t make me crave more of it. I could tell some streams of landed on my chest, but not how much.

I turned my attention to the middle cock. As the first one went flaccid and withdrew, this one pointed even harder towards my mouth. It bent slightly upwards and was also circumcised. It was thinner and the pubes were not as clipped. I tugged the tight balls, and there was a moan of pleasure.

I licked up and down the shaft, tasting every inch of it. He pulled back a bit, and I caught the shaft with my hand and pulled it back into my mouth. He was obviously sensitive.  I held him by the balls, and nuzzled him with my chin, letting my five-o’clock shadow make his cock writhe and bounce.

I began swallowing it in earnest. It went down my throat easier than the thicker one, and I gasped for air a few times. He thrust against the panels and even pounded his fist once or twice, eager to unload in my mouth.

I could tell he was getting close. I deep-throated him and then pulled away quickly. He came, shooting far more than the first cock. I had to make sure to get a taste to make the test fair.  Again, it was good, but nothing out of the ordinary. I felt a lot of his streaming down my chest.

Finally, it was time for the last one. It was nearly as thick as the first and longer than either of the other two. I knew this would be a workout for my throat. Still ... as I think I’d just proved, I was an excellent cocksucker. 

I took my time, enjoying every moment. It was uncut and strong, thrusting deep into my throat. I rolled my tongue along the inside of his foreskin, and tasting the delicious spiciness of it. There was no groan, no moans, so I had no clue how I was doing.

For long minutes I sucked and caressed every inch with my tongue. I had to breathe, so I began jerking it, firmly and slowly, then slightly faster. I cupped the balls and fingered them at the base.

Still, there was little response. The thick cock kept plunging into my mouth. I grabbed the side of the panels and forced my way to the base of the hole, taking every inch as deep as I could. I couldn’t breathe, but I keep chugging down on that cock, determined to make him paint the inside of my mouth with his cum.

Suddenly, it exploded in my mouth. The salty, creamy juice tasted better than almost anything I could remember. He tried to pull out of my mouth and I grabbed him by the balls, forcing him to stay in one place, so I could get every drop. I licked and swallowed and tried to massage even more out by stroking his cock.

At last there was a moan of relief and pleasure. Yiffek said, “Well, Major? What’s your decision?”

My head drooped back slightly from exertion. “This ... this one. The last one was superior by far, The other two were fine, but this was like .. cool rain on Alderbarisatz IV.” Most people are aware Alderbarisatz IV is a desert planet with sulfuric, high-speed winds, but even if you don’t know it, you could probably figure out the metaphor.

Yiffek and Fitty pulled away the panels as I pulled off my blindfold. There, in order of their sucking was Dymon, R’uz and Saf. The young Saf was leaning against a Med-Bay bed, drained from the ordeal literally and figuratively.

Dymon and R’uz didn’t look happy with the decision, but considering the amazing blow job they’d each received from a USF commander, they would be agreeable.  I stood up and extended my hand to the still-recovering Saf. “Congratulations, son.” I looked meaningfully over at the other two. “I hope this has taught you a valuable lesson about pre-judging people on things they have no control over like the color of their jism.”

Fitty laughed. “Looks like you’ve proved something, too, Major.”

I looked over at Fitty, puzzled. “What’s that Doctor?”

“That under the right circumstances ... those colors do run.”

He pointed to my chest. I was drenched in red, white and blue cum. It mingled together and where it did, the colors neutralized themselves. “Perhaps you can take something away from this experience, gentlemen. We’re all the same - no matter if we have dual genitalia or frozen spunk, we all cum the same. I hope you’ll realign your culture of several thousand years and get with the times.”

I grabbed Dymon’s discarded shirt and wiped my chest and headed for the door.

“Where - where are you going?” Dymon asked pitifully. “We’ll need guidance and years of legal and cultural reform!”

R’uz also looked lost, but Saf smiled beatifically. I walked back over, tossed my damp shirt to Dymon and grabbed Saf by the elbow. “Probably. But right now, I need a Yankee Doodle Dandy.”

The End.