Alone in Space Ch. 03

Author's Note:

Note for the uninitiated: The purpose of the AIS series is sex, and no frills. There will be No Character Development, No Real Plot Lines and No Moral Justification. There just Will Be Sex.

I promised myself after writing the first "Alone In Space, Or: In Space, Nobody Can Hear You Moan" that there would never be a second. Then I wrote a second due to popular demand (well, three people said they liked it), so here's the third, because I may as well go with the flow.

Technically, this is no longer an Alone, and less of the In Space, but it was suggested by number 2, subtitled "Let The Fuckers Fuck Me", and I decided that maybe some human interaction was just what her pussy needed. Besides, I was running out of distinct ideas. So there's no machinery in this one, just a machinist. Of course, having written this Note before the actual story, I might still change my mind...

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"Alone In Space 3" Or: "No Longer Alone"

Every minute of a pilot's day is divided up for them by experts (technical term: "Cunts") who have never set foot in space themselves, never encountered weightlessness, and never even been in a stuck lift. But they have their charts, and their diagrams, and their theories, and their big fat books on Ergonomics, and their research and, more importantly so far as the pilots, who would otherwise just read their instructions and put on serious faces and hold up their hands and swear an oath to uphold them and then ignore them, were concerned, they had access to the computer programmers.

So, every minute of a pilot's day is divided up for them by experts. There are leeways, of course. Concessions have been made for the fact that not everybody takes the same amount of time on the toilet, for instance, and not everybody reads or processes data at the exact same, to the millisecond, rate, and not everybody has the exact same musculature or nervous system.

But, in essence, every minute of a pilot's day is divided up for them by experts.

But it's hard to follow sometimes. When you're awake, for instance. And when you're so close to a Station that you can practically feel the open spaces and smell other people's sweat already.

Those are the times when the electronic books and movies play on by themselves in the background and the eyes flick hungrily between the screen displaying the chart view, the screen displaying the unaided visual view, the screen displaying the combined (in different colors) active and passive radar view, and the screen displaying the aided visual view, watching the representative dots slowly creep closer at gradually decreasing scales, then the glow of detected mass or emissions, then, finally, the faint speck of light that signifies hope.

Of course, most of this is undertaken at an acceleration, deceleration this time, gradually ramping up from 0.1G to 1G as the craft is slowed on the approach. When active radar starts picking up something, deceleration is ramped up to 3G. When the aided visual screen starts showing a dot against the darkness, that's usually when deceleration is ramped up to 4G. When the unaided visual screen shows a dot, the pilot is strapped in as deceleration moves all over the place under automatic control as the computer in the ship is slaved to the (a) computer in the Station, and the computer in the Station tries to jockey forces and masses and energies and other masses and get the ship to mate smoothly, safely and without causing major structural damage to the Station itself, without at any time the exhaust jets of deceleration causing damage to anyone else either.

Most pilots are quite prepared to let the computers do that. But none of them are happy with the gradual increase to 4G. They'd be quite happy to go from weightless to 4G and just stay there, and save the extra time.

Loneliness is hard to take when you have no choice and humanity is far away from you in any direction you can look, but when the time ticks down and the imagined noises of strangers become almost tangible, tooth-grinding frustration sets in.

It's difficult to grind your teeth under sustained 4G, when you are strapped into the pilot's chair, angled to provide best protection against the force, with an iron lung breathing for you and blood pressure monitors getting paranoid about your well-being, but Jade was managing it. She had been warned by the company Dentist on her last shore leave about that, but didn't really care. Dental care was part of the company's responsibility, along with all other aspects of her health, and as they seemed singularly uninterested in caring about her retirement or life outside work (as little of it as there was), she intended to let them take care of it.

Jade did, however, have one furious thought that never failed to circle her brain when the G-forces rose. Breasts. No matter how well-fitting her flight suit, no matter how supportive the iron lung (she really was encased by metal, that lined her sides and back and front to prevent her torso distorting under pressure) and no matter how small the breasts of a pilot who survives training and the testosterone-pumping exercise that was part of her daily routine may be, breasts get painful when pushed against your chest for hour after hour.

If she came out bruised, she wouldn't be able to enjoy her shore leave as much, would she?

So she never failed to get evil-minded when the Station approached, no matter how attractive its contents might be.

The wait for docking was interminable, the computers programmed for fuel conservation and an almost paranoid level of safety, taking by consequence several times longer than necessary to creep slowly up to the station, check that it was in the right place, dock, check that nothing had gone wrong, connect all life support lines, check that they worked, let each system (Station and ship) check that the other was compatible, open the doors, do a final scan for pathogens or toxins, and then release her.

When she finally got out, she was nearly screaming with boredom, and felt unhinged from frustration. Or was that the other way around? She didn't feel mentally collected enough to decide.

The console spat two sheets of paper at her before she was released, and wouldn't open the door until she had taken them. Which was fine by her. The sooner she got the formalities out of the way, the sooner she could hit the fleshpots.

Starting, of course, with the formalities.

The man who met her, to take charge of her cargo, was the usual hard-muscled, wiry and short Station official, able to be agile and quick through tight spaces. Jade, taller than him and far more wiry, slightly unsteady on her feet after so long in zero or near-zero G and feeling her social skills rusty and nearly atrophied after even longer, was still able to see his relief that she was a woman (a horny male pilot was probably more a worry than a disappointment), and his eyes dropping from their natural level near her neck to a more comfortable level near her jumpsuit-hugged breasts.

Jade wouldn't have minded, but it made her horniness harder to avoid, and that made it difficult to concentrate.

She nearly threw the sheets at him, and he read them with one eye on her prominent nipples and the other for the words on the page. Satisfied with both, he leeringly gestured her ahead of him into his office (a small hole in the corridor, lockable only because the law required the protection of the documents it contained), muttering "Nice ass as well," as she passed.

Coming to an abrupt halt, she shot her hand back and unerringly grabbed his groin, cock half-hard, making him nearly double up with shock, an explosive gasp pushing out the last syllable of the "well".

"How badly do you want to fuck it?" Jade asked, evenly.

It's /really/ hard to check official documents and sign them legibly, or hold her finger steady long enough for the DNA signature to the taken, when you're being slammed back and forth from behind, but at least he didn't take longer than the paperwork did before shooting up her.

She headed from the docks to the social area, stopping only to find a toilet and get rid of the slime inside her. She didn't want her next man knowing that he wasn't the first since she landed.

No two stations were built quite the same, and there were in fact a couple of competing ideas about the best way in which to build them at all, but for one who had been in more than, say, three, they were never hard to navigate through.

You just had to find the right person to ask.

The right person, as in this case, was usually a harassed, skinny, quite short cleaner. There were some things that were so unexpectedly complicated, and so unexpectedly unexpected, that robots couldn't do them.

There were still shit jobs for the humans.

She found such a man, walked up behind him and said "I need to find naked women fucking poles."

"The Cages Bar," he snapped back before realizing that a woman's voice had asked him.

"Thank you," Jade said with her best attempt at a charming smile before heading straight for the named spot, her pilot's memory having memorized the Station's modest map already.

The Cages Bar displayed the typically unimaginative, unsubtle, unsuccessful name of all establishments that tried to hide their purpose from the common traffic that walked past all day and knew exactly what was going on inside.

There were men seated at tables in a dim half-gloom, drinking. There were scantily clad, sometimes topless, waitresses walking around delivering more drinks. And on three separate stages, scattered around the end of the room, were three elaborate cages, in each of which was a female dancer dressed in high heels, jeweled and tasseled crotchless G-string and even brighter bra, suspended off the stage on a pole that was slowly dropping from the shrouded ceiling into the floor.

The slowly lowering poles meant that each dancer was climbing up it just as slowly, staying off the floor and using shins, thighs (usually /very/ high up), arms and even, it looked like, breasts, to cling on.

It was a fantastic athletic display from each of them, but Jade wasn't really watching as the poles lowered enough to reveal a thick, studded dildo on the top of each.

What Jade was watching, as each girl seized the pole beneath the dildo, hoisted herself up and then inserted the tip into her cunt, raising her legs to a horizontal split as padded ankle slings descended on chains from the ceiling, and then slid downwards onto the full length of the dildo while holding the split, were the men in the bar.

There had been a ripple of interest as her lean but still feminine silhouette had appeared in the doorway, but as she had stepped far enough in to reveal her uniform, there had been a ripple of casual disinterest.

Not all men could cope with the aggression of a newly off-duty pilot (or women, for that matter), and tacitly admitted the fact by studiously not looking at Jade, preferring instead to watch the dancers who, with ankles supported by the slings and hands held in cuffs that also hung from the ceiling, were getting enthusiastically in to being fucked deeply and evenly by the dildo-topped dancing poles, bellies rippling as muscles clenched and unclenched, torsos swaying back and forth, breasts rising and sinking in time, nipples hard and highlighted by careful lighting, heads rolling forwards and backs, eyes closed and lips parted, directional microphones broadcasting their whimpers, gasps and moans throughout the bar as a low-volume background.

Several men were wetting their own lips and beginning to grind their hips a little, while trying not to look like it.

Jade carefully avoided looking at them. She had a much easier task. In a room where most of the concentration was centered in one spot, finding the odd one out was simple. And Jade found him.

Sitting towards a back corner, where he could watch the room, and especially the door, but had difficulty getting a clear view of the cages, was a man whose hiding place in the shadows couldn't hide his interest in Jade.

So Jade headed straight for him.

Every Station had men (and women) like this; men whose sole focus in life was to sleep with as many members of the opposite sex as possible. So far as Jade was concerned, they had three big advantages over the normal male inhabitants of these Stations: They were easy to find, they were quite prepared to let a woman take the upper hand so long as sex happened, and they had a lot of practice.

Jade stepped in front of him, without bothering to look at the other chair first.

He raised his glass to her, after raising his eyes from her crotch to her face, which only made her hornier and therefore more aggressive.

"Paul," he said by way of introduction.

"Jade," she replied shortly. "Where are you staying?"

That was the bonus of sex with man-sluts: They weren't easily surprised, and they did as they were told.

Ten minutes of rapid walking later, they were back in his room. He turned out to be employed on the station, which was a bonus: Not being just a passing visitor, he had more chance to personalize his premises, and to bring in those little touches that make a cell a home.

Ten seconds after the door had shut, he was naked and bound to his own bed, the little available space improved by folding his knees over the end of his bed, and strapping his ankles to rings set (against all regulations) into the floor. His arms were likewise folded over the other end, his forearms disappearing down the wall.

His cock disappeared nowhere, lying fat and heavy on his stomach, hard before his pants hit the floor, circumcised (had that fashion really had another run?) and covering his navel. No wonder, Jade thought as she stood at the foot of the bed and looked up him, That he was good at his hobby.

Jade peeled off her flightsuit, grinning as his eyes followed the zipper mesmerically down her lean body and over her tight breasts.

Her regulation panties she just tore off. All uniforms were replaced on every port visit anyway, and she saw no reason to wear them longer than absolutely necessary.

She was shaved, too, which was condoned for hygiene reasons in-flight.

"This is what we're going to do," she announced, grinning at his cock. "You are going to get to cum once, when I decide. So will I. But I am going to make it last just as long as I can make my patience hold out. And you are going to do just what you're told, you hear me?"

"Yes, Mistress," he whispered, staring at her damp cunt, no stranger to domination games.

"Your mouth works. Good."

Jade stepped up onto the end of the bed, then walked forward over his crotch and aching cock and over his chest, long, lean legs on either side of his body and breasts dangling as she stooped to clear the ceiling.

"You can put it to good use."

She lowered her crotch onto his face, carefully position her cunt over his mouth and barely giving him enough room to breath through his nose.

He did put it to good use. Jade gasped as his tongue slid along her lips from end to end, not aggressive and crude or tentative and frustrating, just confident in its ability to make her turn to jelly, then writhe uncontrollably, then cum.

She arched her back, her hands dropping behind her to grab his chest, fingers digging painfully in around his pecs, causing his tongue to twitch and thrust against her, which only made her grab harder. At the moment, Jade knew that she would not be standing up: Not with her knees as weak as they felt.

He pushed his tongue between her lips and slid upward, finding her clit, small but hard, and teasingly licking over it. Every muscle in her body shuddered. He seemed to know just how to distract her, not keeping a constant rhythm but instead working her clit to work her brain, making it impossible for her to concentrate or draw breath or grab enough control of her body to let her think coherently.

When she came, it was faster and sharper than she had ever felt before in her life, and it rang from her a single explosive "OH FUCK!" as she spasmed so hard she almost sprained her back.

It was a few jangled minutes before she could think properly again, sitting on his face wide-eyed and panting, but when the fog cleared from her brain she was furious.

"You FUCK," she said as she levered herself off his mouth.

He grinned up at her, cocky and confident. "What's the matter? Haven't you ever cum twice before? You're about to."

"You'd better fucking be right about that, gimp-boy," she said angrily as she rocked over to one side, swung her leg around and re-straddled him facing the other way, keeping her cunt out of reach of his mouth as she leaned down, teeth bared, towards his cock.

She started, just for revenge, by biting the head, sharply but not hard. The way he bucked underneath her, and the gurgle of surprised fear he made, was enough to make her relent and suck the head into her mouth off his belly, running her tongue around it several times, tasting the salty, delicious pre-cum and then rubbing it over her tongue, towards the back of her throat, going a little slower than normal because of the girth, her chin sliding over his belly.

She closed her teeth around his shaft just up from the base, his full length inside her mouth and throat, and swallowed, her throat squeezing his cock hard as he bucked beneath her, then fellating the head with her throat before pulling back, leaving his shaft slick with her saliva, working the top half with her lips, tongue and teeth as he trembled closer and closer to cumming, until she seized the base of his shaft in her hand and withdrew, letting his spasms subside as he groaned desperately, but had enough sense even then not to say anything.

Jade swung off him and turned around to face him, holding his cock up just at her entrance, brushing lightly against her lips, rubbing it lightly along her lips as he struggled to hold himself together.

"Now," she announced grimly, "We'll see how good you are at holding on. I mean to cum like this, and you're going to make sure of it. Time to keep that promise about making me cum twice, man-slut."

"I usually have my hands free at this point," he gasped, trying desperately not to lose concentration.

"Tough," she replied brusquely. "You should have thought of that before you got so carried away with your tongue."

Licking her finger, getting it as wet as she could, she rubbed it along the underside of his shaft, flicking her finger off the end, before very slowly and very deliberately settling down onto him, his engorged head parting her lips and then the slick walls of her tunnel.

At this point she didn't really believe that she could cum twice, and was only, in a malicious way, attempting to make him suffer. There would be plenty of time for more sex during the remainder of her shore leave.

But she did drop a hand to her cunt and start rubbing her hard clit. That always felt nice, so she wasn't going to miss the opportunity.

She quickly discovered that a cock that long and that fat, filling her completely, even when she was setting the pace, was even more devastatingly effective than the inexhaustible moulded shaft of her beloved machinery on board the Wolfhound.

For the first few strokes, the pleasure was so unexpected and intense that she forgot all about Paul and the fact that she was furious about cumming too early, and just lifted herself up and down, fingers not even working furiously at her clit as she felt waves of euphoria shoot from her cunt every time she dropped down onto him. Then his hips started rolling from side to side, and she discovered that even a man who was stretched out and tied down wasn't entirely helpless.

He was so fat that when he moved he stretched her, instead of just rubbing, and that made her knees so weak that she could barely move, and that put her at his mercy.