Gina Knox: Space Spy Fox

More than 25 millennia ago, mankind began the first tentative steps towards the stars, slowly, blindly, making his way to the nearest systems outside his own. Generations lived and died on the long interstellar voyages; the first humans to set foot on another planet had never seen earth, or their parents, or their parents' parents. The first colonies were completely on their own, cut off by untold and uncounted miles from any assistance. Most colonies died alone and unlamented; a scattered few survived and prospered. And the exodus continued.

With the discovery of warp drive came the Great Expansion, as what was once a journey of several centuries became a journey of several days. Soon mankind was exploring all of the nearby stars. The galaxy itself contains two hundred billion stars. Of these, only a fraction are orbited by planets which are habitable or are within the capability of human engineering to make habitable. And of these few, fewer still have been investigated and settled by humans. This 'few' however, numbers millions of worlds. This story begins in a building on a small moon.

The building was a large, brutalist slab, cubic, nestled in rock, tucked away on a particularly unobtrusive moon in a neglected part of the furthest co-ordinates of space. It was the galactic home of an agency known only as the Agency, a well-funded but secretive interstellar organisation which engaged in intelligence, surveillance and espionage work.

Inside the building, a woman waited in a conference room.

'Ah, agent Knox, sorry to have kept you.'

'Good morning, sir.'

Special Agent Anderson crossed the briefing room and settled into the chair at the far end of the long conference desk. It was mahogany, real wood, which was expensive, but the Agency could afford it. Anderson, a greying, fiftyish man with a relaxed, unruffled demeanour, briskly snapped open the file that he carried with him and mused on the contents of the first page. He did not look up, across the table.

Seated there, with her legs crossed and her posture relaxed, but alert, was a luminously beautiful and captivatingly sexy woman. She was wearing professional attire befitting a member of the Agency, though customised more than a little in the direction of beyond the boundaries of decency. Clad in a pure white and absolutely skintight bodysuit, one which shone and glistened in the strip-lighting of the room, it clasped her sublime and astonishing curves as if moulded to her flesh. Other than a couple of discreet pockets and sashes to hold important items about her person, the suit was largely undecorated, the woman favouring a pair of white stiletto heeled ankle boots on her feet. There was a standard Agency-issue sidearm fitted into a holster clasped to her right leg.

The only flesh which could be seen was the tip of the woman's shoulders, which the suit was turned up against, revealing deeply tanned, shiny skin. Slender metal flexible sheaths, segmented into different parts, ran down both of the woman's arms, which looked a little like customised, arm-length gloves. In fact these arm-coverings, a little like long metallic bracers, held a great deal of instrumentation and equipment. The woman wore shiny white fingerless gloves so that a couple of rings could be observed on her slender fingers. The rings were weapons, one a laser device, the other a needle projectile capable of delivering a monomolecular cord of wire short distances.

Her stomach muscles could be easily observed, seeing as the suit which she wore was little more than a no-more than millimetre thick, shiny film flush against her flesh. This made it impossible to ignore the astounding definition of her sculptured abdominal muscles, her slender, waspish torso, a deep groove running down the middle of her abdomen which was bisected by smooth ranks of rock hard bulges of stomach muscles. However, the woman's most arresting feature was the pair of gargantuan breasts that projected from her chest, a striking disjunction formed between the perfectly flat proportions of her ripped abs and the two huge mounds that sprung out of the top of them. The woman was beyond stacked. Her boobs were epic globes that stuck out from her chest easily more than half a foot, each much larger than her head in size. The two orbs were very obviously impossibly solid and firm, projecting in front of her in almost perfect spheres. The material of her suit cleaved to them perfectly to the point where every definition of her small, neat, nipples could be seen with absolute clarity. Her face was totally perfect, beyond description, a dream. To look at it was to enter a state of unfulfillable longing, a permanent state of emergency that destroyed all small pleasures. She was, at the moment, blonde, but could with a swift decision, change to whatever colour she chose, such had cosmetic procedures improved.

Currently, her legs were crossed, but had she chosen to open them, the skintight material would transparently reveal her slit.

'This is good,' mused Anderson, still looking at the file, 'a good clean mission.'

'Clean' wasn't the word that Gina would have chosen to describe her previous mission, the gorgeous woman reflecting on the amount of times during her escapades that she had been blasted with epic loads of cum, almost wincing at the memory of each cannonade of hot, creamy sperm smacking directly into her face. Since this had occurred, during a two-week mission, several hundred times, quite a number of memories came back to her.

'Thank you sir,' Gina said.

'No, I mean it, Knox. You got in there, you did your job, and you got out. I hate to see messy work.'

Gina didn't mind messy work so much, having, for a large portion of the mission, spent a great deal of time with ropes of jizz dangling from her chin or the undersides of her enormous tits. Gina loved nothing more than being shameless and debauched than being seen to be shameless and debauched, and as much of her previous mission as possible had been conducted with thick loads of semen caked across her face, ropes of it hanging in her hair, and gluing her eyes half shut. Of course, at the Agency, going around in such a state was grounds for instant dismissal, and for today's debriefing she had cleaned up her face somewhat if not her act. The thought of this began to make her pussy juice, and she suppressed a shudder as she put her hands in her lap.

'How was your contact on the planet' We set you up with one of our best operatives there.'

Gina suppressed a smile. Now that had been quite a de-brief in itself. The Agency had put her into contact with a sixteen-inch cocked stud on the mission, and Gina found this more than quite appealing. In an era of affordable beauty, penile extensions were no longer a rarity, though even the most talented doctors encountered difficulties pushing men past the fourteen inch range. A sixteen inch dick was something that Gina like very much, and had demonstrated this on many occasions by having this stud shove this monstrous schlong in her asshole over and over again. The contact, stuck on a secluded world halfway across the galaxy, couldn't believe his luck when Gina had arrived on the planet and contacted him. The amount of sperm he had pumped over her over the course of the two weeks could have filled a modestly-sized swimming-pool. When Gina wasn't wearing it, she was gulping it down. As a farewell gift to commemorate their tryst, Gina had coaxed the stud into filling a suitably large capsule with his cum, which she then enjoyed herself by slurping with a straw on the voyage home. Gina had certain casks and containers which could keep whatever was placed in them indefinitely fresh; on this occasion she was pleased that she had one of sufficient volume.

'Any problems with your cover?' Anderson said.

'None at all, sir.'

Gina had posed as a high-class hooker to gain access to a governmental official on a word called Garavast. There had been an amount of fucking and sucking involved in order for Gina to convince those hiring her that she was the real deal, but possibly the most exhilarating aspect of the mission had been fucking her way through the mark's bodyguards, performing for the minister, who liked to 'watch', as she sustained a six-hour orgy with his entourage of ten escorts, until they were piled in the floor around her feet, a plateau of muscles and cum, leaving her free for some 'alone time' with the minister.

'There are, I must admit, some fairly lurid accounts of what you had to do in your report,' Anderson said. 'I hope they weren't too distressing.'

'Anything for the Agency,' Gina said. She uncrossed and crossed her legs. Either Anderson was of the persuasion not interested in women, or his careful studying of the post-operation file was in order to restrain himself from ogling Gina too directly.

'Good,' said Anderson briskly, shutting the case and looking at her for the first time, 'because we have another mission for you. Immediately, if you want to accept it.'

Gina sat up again, snapping her hands from her lap, suddenly interested again.

Anderson pressed a button and a section of the desk slid away, allowing for a graphical representation of a planetoid to appear in holographic form between them.

'This is Darvon,' Anderson began, 'you won't have heard of it, but there's a pretty large population there. Temperate, mainly inhabitable jungle, but otherwise liveable and host to a number of hive-cities, each with about half a billion inhabitants. We think there's something in the process of occurring politically there and we want you to go and keep an eye on it.'

'Darvon is built around a caste system, and it seems like the tide might be turning against the ruling oligarchy. For years they've controlled the planet on a mix of divine right justification which has eventually been watered down into a system of rights and laws.'

'What kind of thing politically?'

'Lots of laws for the poor, not so many for the rich?'

'Along those lines. You'll have time to study the details enroute. It looks like there's either an insurrection in the offing or full-scale civil war. Either way, Interplanetary Administration has put a stop on all travel to and from the planet.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'There's a delicate balance of power, not just on that world, but in the surrounding solar system. Other planets are worried about a domino effect. They're founded on similar political systems. We want you to get on the surface and keep an eye on things. Find out what's happening and give us reports. You can take off now in your own ship. Our people on the inside can get your ship clearance to the surface of the planet.'

'How is that going to happen?' Gina asked.

'You're to dock at Spaceport IV orbiting Darvon,' Anderson said. 'As I said, Interplanetary Admin has put a stop on all travel, but we've got a couple of people friendly to the Agency inside that particular port.'

Spaceports were huge vessels that orbited planets, some staffed and manned by as many as tens of thousands of people. All colonised planets had a number of spaceports orbiting them, and the huge centres proved useful in providing goods and services for travellers, eliminating the necessity of having to land on the planets themselves. The spaceports were never named, and were only ever referred to by their numeral. Interplanetary Administration stepped in to put a hold on space travel around the immediate vicinity of a planet's orbit in situations of political instability in case the planet's anti-space weaponry fell into aggressive hands. Yet during travel embargoes surface-to-orbit movement did occur, and the way to do it was by bribes to get onboard official ships or to take a chance on unregistered flights. No-one ever really considered the possibility of anti-space weaponry being used to be credible, certainly not indiscriminately on random ships. The hold on travel was more of a resort that was imposed in name only, but there were not many that took exemplary notice of it. An operative of Gina's ability would have negligible difficulty in getting down to the surface from the spaceport. Nevertheless, it was nice to have a friend or two on the port itself.

'What do you want me to do when I get onto the planet?' Gina asked.

'At the moment we just want you to observe what happens. If a genuinely revolutionary situation develops, we need to be on top of it. Go and get us some current intel. Find out what sort of movement are being formed politically and if there's anyone at the head of them.'

'Doesn't sound too difficult, sir.'

'Consider it a holiday after your good work on the previous mission,' Anderson said, snapping the file closed.

**

Even by the standards of ships that could set down upon the surfaces of worlds, Gina's ship, a regulation Agency Kestrel, was singularly sleep and streamlined for rapid departure or arrival through atmosphere. Only warp engines jutted notably from the hull, and they were contoured cleverly as wings. Gina noted that the ship's supplies had already been restocked, despite the fact that she had been out of the hatch no less than two hours before her return. Either the Agency were surpassing themselves with their deserved reputation for efficiency, or Anderson knew that she would accept the mission and had personally instructed that her ship be made immediately operational for swift departure.

Actually, Gina noted with a little smile to herself, the efficiency wasn't perhaps all it could have been. At the foot of one of her ship's landing struts, she spied a mechanic tinkering with some controls, a panel open in the side of the smooth metal, a clunky box of tools open on the floor beside him.

'Now that's a big, bulging toolbox,' she said, after closing soundlessly behind the mechanic, putting on her most succulent, sensual voice.

The mechanic, a broad-shouldered man in overalls, turned. Gina smiled at a face she recognised.

'Paul!'

'Hi Gina,' the mechanic said. He was a muscular, good looking young man with short-cropped blonde hair. Though he hadn't told Gina, Paul had discovered that her ship was docking that day and had cleared his schedule to come down to the bay and see if he could catch sight of her. Paul, like every single person who worked at the Agency, had an unfathomably deep crush on Gina and had run into her a couple of times in the past during her various briefs and debriefs at the station. There were pictures of Gina, some in tasteful magazine poses, say dappled in sweat and straining at a gym-machine, bending over a hover-bike or provocatively hefting plasma-weapons (with the phrase 'It'll blow a man to heaven' written alongside) all around the more blue-collar sections of Agency HQ, and to the people that made the place run she was something of a living legend. Paul was one of these people and many of these images had been seared into his brain over the long, lonely stay in deep-space. The pictures had been taken as part of a more light-hearted and informal part of internal Agency policy, a policy that the more hardcore versions that Gina had taken part in around the base out of the goodness of her heart had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with. These featured Gina in poses such as sporting bulging, vein-ripped fourteen-inch cocks protruding from her asshole with her looking over her shoulder at the camera with her hand over her mouth and a look in her eyes as if she had been caught doing nothing so very immodest as being caught stealing stationary, or such as having two utterly spent footlong schlongs resting on top of her enormous mounds of titflesh, with cum smeared down the inside of her cleavage and hanging from her chin. The long and short of it was, Gina's visit to the station was something of a big deal. Especially for Paul, seeing as the last time she had come to the station he had finally got the guts to introduce himself to her.

'You remember me,' said Paul, genuinely surprised, immensely flattered, and totally tongue tied.

'Of course,' said Gina, frowning a little, smiling, as if it were impossible that she wouldn't have, 'do you remember me?'

'O-of course Agent Knox,' Paul said.

'Gina.'

'Gina.'

'Will she fly?' said Gina.

'She'd better,' said Paul, 'I checked the schedule and your launch is go in twelve minutes.'

'Hmmm,' said Gina, sliding closer to Paul, 'well seeing as it takes me five minutes to prep the ship, I hope you don't have too much left to do here.'

Paul gulped, reached a hand out and snapped the panel shut. 'Just finished,' he said.

'Good,' said Gina, before sliding to her knees in front of Paul and unzipping his overalls with her left hand, before pausing to spit into the palm of her right, 'then that leaves us seven minutes...'

Paul looked around furtively, astounded as Gina fished her stealthy hand around inside his overall before withdrawing his huge member into the cool air of the hanger. No-one was around, which was good, because he felt so hard that his massive, pulsing member would have been visible, ironically enough, from space.

'Fourteen inches,' whistled Gina, 'not bad...'

'How do you know just by looking at it?' Paul said.

'Practice,' said Gina, before sinking her lips forwards and engulfing the thick length in one go, before withdrawing and fisting the turgid monstercock in her right hand.

Paul groaned as Gina proceeded to jackhammer her head back and forwards the full-length of his rod, engulfing every inch of the monstrously sized shaft, enjoying the feeling of the hot, slick meat shunting through her moist mouth and penetrating her throat, the top-heavy, massive-titted slut filling her oesophagus with the throbbing tube. Withdrawing the gargantuan penis from her maw, Gina gazed wantonly at the meaty arrowhead that pointed directly at her face and spat a few frothy wads of saliva onto the shiny tip before once again entrenching it into her gullet.

'How about giving me a snack for a long space journey, Paul?' Gina said with a wink, looking upwards as Paul leaned backwards, the knuckles of his hands clasped white against the foot of the ship's landing strut. All the white her fingerless-gloved hands were a blur against the pillar of flesh that they were jacking.

Paul's entire body shuddered as he came, nothing but a strangulating whimper escaping his mouth as a jet of cum squirted from the tip of his cock and ejected out in a white beam from the bell-shaped head, the gluey rope firing out well over Gina's head to smack against the hull of she behind her. Another rope followed in the same trajectory, until Gina angled Paul's cock downwards with her right hand and squeezed his lurching testicles with her left, successfully allowing the next pulse of hot semen to smack directly between her eyes. Giggling, Gina kept jacking Paul's convulsing rod as three more shots blasted from the mechanic's dick to land in three diagonal stripes across her face, each one beginning in the hair on one side of her face and ending in the hair on the other, with the gooey lines plastered one across her forehead and over her right eye, tailing off into her right ear, the other across her forehead and over the bridge of her nose and the other across her left eye, over the tip of her nose and splashed across her mouth.

With Paul still gasping, Gina rose to her feet and blew him a cum-bubble kiss, checking her watch briskly. 'Done with two minutes to spare!' she said, 'now hurry up out of the dock, I'd hate to fry you with my rockets!'

Spinning on her heels, Gina turned, and for the first time saw where Paul's first two errant shots had been dispatched. Painted against the hull was a cartoon depiction of herself with her huge tits popping out of a latex bra in the style of fighter planes from several millennia ago. The image of Gina was one where her eye was closed in a saucy wink and her mouth was open and smiling. One almighty gob of cum was caked against the cartoon eye, and the other line was across the huge, bursting boobs of the hyperstencilled image.