"Larsen's Planet: a suburban paradise fit for young professionals and new families looking for an inexpensive but comfortable place to call home."
That was what the brochures said. Or at least, it was what they would have you believe.
In reality, the place wasn't so bad, but as planetary settlements went it had more than a few quirks. It was certainly a far cry from the warm, tropical utopias to which the more well-to-do preferred to flock, and an uninspired name was one of the least questionable things about it.
Humanity had been capable of interstellar travel for almost a century, but it was only in the last decade that technology had advanced to a point where the average person could afford a voyage to the stars. But once that time had arrived, people abandoned Earth by the millions, looking for a better life on pristine, virgin worlds untainted by the scars of industrialized civilization.
Erin was one such person. A newly graduated software architect, she had jumped at the chance to settle on Larsen's Planet. The cost of living was cheap, and an attractive job offer had sealed the deal. The ongoing advancements of the interplanetary quantum communication network meant that long-distance jobs were the norm for technologists like herself, and living on a somewhat remote colony planet wasn't an issue in her profession.
She had been living on Larsen's Planet for a few months, having moved into a small, single-story house that looked very similar to the other small, single-story houses lining the quiet, residential street. Doubtless they had been churned out by the millions from an automated factory on a manufacturing planet. Some things never changed, even in the exciting new age of space travel.
Still, Erin couldn't complain. Her home was comfortable and, most importantly, it was hers. Bought and paid for--one of the reasons that planetary settlements with cheap land and cheap housing were so attractive.
Of course, the housing situation wasn't the only reason that Larsen's Planet was so affordable, as Erin was soon to be reminded.
* * * * *
One evening found Erin browsing social media on her tablet after work, when a flashing notification appeared at the top of the display. She tapped the banner to expand the message.
It read, ATTENTION: PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT. ELEVATED LARSEN'S WASP ACTIVITY HAS BEEN REPORTED IN THE REGION AND A NON-MANDATORY CURFEW HAS BEEN ENACTED BEGINNING TODAY AT 1900. ALL RESIDENTS ARE ADVISED TO AVOID NON-ESSENTIAL TRAVEL AND REMAIN INDOORS OR IN VEHICLES WHEN POSSIBLE.
She finished reading the warning and sat back in her ergonomic and practical desk chair, purchased with company funds. While the wording of the alert was vague, she knew that it could only mean one thing: it was wasp breeding season.
These weren't just ordinary wasps, though. For some reason, many of the insect species on Larsen's Planet were of exceptional--if not outright alarming--size. While a terrestrial wasp might be a minor pest at a picnic, the huge specimens populating Larsen's Planet were more likely to buzz off with the whole picnic basket than to fly up some poor girl's skirt, to the amusement of anyone nearby.
And soon, the females of this species of enormous wasps would be on the hunt, each looking for a host to impregnate with a single fertilized egg. That might have had something to do with why living here on Larsen's Planet was so cheap. Giant bugs tended to be a bit of a turn-off for most people, to say nothing of giant bugs that tried to shove their eggs inside of you.
For most of the year, the wasps kept out of the few population centers that had been settled on the planet so far, content to forage for food and do other wasp things in the remote parts of the surrounding wilderness. However, it was a different story when breeding season arrived. For those few weeks late in spring, female wasps became far bolder and more aggressive.
Unlike some of their terrestrial, parasitoid look-alikes, the wasps on Larsen's Planet had a comparatively less macabre reproductive cycle--though most people would probably find it no less shocking.
While parasitoid Earth wasps laid their eggs on the doomed body of a paralyzed insect host, Larsen's Wasps implanted their eggs in the reproductive tracts of vertebrate females. The host would birth the hatched larva a few weeks later, relatively unharmed. It was certainly a far cry from the fate that awaited the hosts of terrestrial wasps, who could look forward to being eaten alive by the newly hatched brood.
Normally, Larsen's Wasps went after the large native herbivores, which vaguely resembled big cows with oversized horns. They were lumbering and slow and couldn't really do much about a wasp landing on their back. With few natural predators, they made for excellent hosts.
But, as it had turned out, the wasps were more than willing to make hosts of the human colonists as well. The planetary surveyor teams had apparently been in for a nasty surprise when the mating season had come around during their initial expedition. Unaware of the danger, more than a few of the female scientists had needed some hasty and discrete procedures to reverse their scandalous, interspecies pregnancies.
To Erin, that seemed... kind of hot. Sure, being fucked by a giant bug would seem weird and gross to most normal people, but where was the fun in being normal? Normal people lived safe, boring lives and never allowed themselves to even contemplate anything interesting.
Erin squeezed her thighs together and shivered. What would it be like to be impregnated by one of those things? Not on purpose, of course.
Obviously
. But what if she were innocently going about her business, and a wasp happened by? Perhaps her phone battery would have run out, preventing her from receiving the warning--or calling for help.
What could she even do to stop a wasp from having its way with her? Larsen's Wasps could fly faster than a person could run, and their venom was serious business. Supposedly it was strong enough to knock down a bull elephant for a solid ten minutes, so who knew what it would do to a girl her size.
No, she'd be easy pickings for a giant wasp. It wouldn't be her fault if she ended up with one of their eggs incubating inside of her. Even just thinking about it was making her horny--enough that she could already feel her pussy moistening, as though in anticipation of an impending breeding.
She sighed. Of course, it was just a fantasy. Imagining something like that was all well and good, but actually letting it happen in real life was a whole other matter. Plus, it would be dangerous. People could die just from normal wasp stings, and these fuckers were almost as big as a person.
Besides, what were the chances that a wasp would come looking for a host in her suburban neighborhood? She'd never even seen one of these wasps outside the images distributed with the public service alerts. To be fair, they didn't come near populated areas much, even during breeding season. The warnings were sent out in an abundance of caution, but no civilian had ever been attacked. So far, anyway.