Ship's Whore Ch. 05: Cyborg

It was easy to believe that Humanity had conquered Space. We were building colonies throughout the Solar System. We had even travelled to distant stars - albeit with help. I myself had made it all the way to Sol Station without ever once feeling I was in any real danger. By the time I left it, however, this false sense of security would be a distant memory.

I screamed the first time a ship emerged from whitespace. Even with us a million kilometres away, the gravitational shockwave was strong enough to make the whole station shiver, and in that moment I was convinced I was about to die in the cold vacuum of interstellar space.

The look of terror on my face had everyone around me in stitches. "Welcome to Space," someone said, and they left me alone to confront the fragility of my continuing existence.

*

Adria was twelve years my senior, though you couldn't tell it by looking. She'd gone for the whole blonde bombshell package and would go to the grave (or wherever) with flawless skin and a body to die for. Huge breasts, plump lips, a round, firm ass... and a mind so abused by mood enhancer that -

"Mmm," she said, her fingers working her clit.

I glanced round. We weren't alone in the canteen, but although a few people shot cursory looks of amusement towards us, no one seemed bothered by Adria masturbating in front of them.

She wasn't even subtle about it. She'd propped one foot up on the bench and spread herself wide open. I could see every detail of her exposed pussy, her fingers and labia soaked with her arousal.

If we'd been alone, I'd have offered to help her, but as it was, I shrugged and ate my sandwich and enjoyed the show.

Although not technically a colony, since the radiation and other deep-space hazards made it an unsafe place to stay for longer than necessary, Sol Station was nevertheless home to a sizeable population, mostly pilots and dock workers, but also science teams and diplomatic staff. Sol Station was, after all, humanity's first point of contact with the wider galaxy.

It wasn't a habitat so much as a haphazard collection of old starships that had been knocked together and given a gentle rotation to induce gravity. The engines still kicked in from time to time, aiding the station in its artificial thirty-year circumnavigation of the Solar System.

The emergency siren shrieked almost every day. Sometimes it was a drill. Usually it wasn't. The first time for me was while I watched Adria finger herself in the canteen. "Fuck!" she cried, accelerating her fingers as everyone else evacuated the canteen with unhurried efficiency.

"What do we do?" I asked her.

"Wait," she said. "Wait..."

So I waited until she brought herself off at last, then after a moment's pause for breath she snatched up her stuff and ran.

I ran after her.

Adria's solution to being stuck in a cabin with me, for the unpredictable duration of whatever the emergency was, was predictably, "Let's fuck."

She extracted a harness from her chest along with the biggest dildo I had ever seen. I was about to protest, not liking the idea at all of having that thing in me, but she tossed it to me. "Let's see what those Earth-girl muscles can do."

I didn't bother to correct her. "Hard and deep?" I asked with a smirk, strapping the monster cock in place.

"Treat me like the whore I am..."

I was more than happy to, but damn she wore me out.

*

As emergencies go, that was definitely the best. Six weeks later, my luck ran out. An ion drive malfunctioned as I was passing (the low-G sex room was near the docking and maintenance area) and sent a stream of plasma out towards me. That I survived at all is something of a miracle.

On the logarithmic scale of one to ten, where one is a mere scratch and ten is obliteration in a black hole, this was barely a two. It is a truism that accidents happen in Space, and it could be argued that losing an arm and leg - and only one of my two eyes - was but a minor inconvenience. After all, in zero-G most of your limbs are redundant.

I tried to look on the positive side. Between my nanites and the surgical gels, what was left of me was healing up nicely. The scars and burns were fading before my eyes - or my eye, rather. Nothing truly critical had been damaged, and the compensation for the accident not only cleared my credit score but covered all the consequent medical costs.

But none of that quite made up for half of me being missing. It was almost worse that my limbs were still there in spirit form. I could feel them, and move them, but none of it was real.

I sobbed my heart out in Adria's arms. "Just yesterday I was thinking I was the perfect whore," I whined, "with my new adjustable breasts and everything, and now the doctors want me to become some kind of cyborg!"

Adria wiped my tears away. "It's not so bad," she said. "One of my clients a few years ago lost her hand. She liked to fuck me with her stump - it's a shame yours isn't longer..."

"Maybe it's time for a career change," I muttered. But to what, though? I wasn't a pilot or anything. And it wasn't like I wasn't already full of nano machinery...

The real question was: "How am I supposed to be a ship's whore with half my limbs missing?"

"You're not the only amputee at Sol Station," Adria pointed out, and introduced me to Alain.

Alain had lost one leg below the knee, and the other above the knee, so we only had three arms and one good leg between us. An impressively long cock too. In the low-G sex room, I would wind tethers about my two remaining limbs to hold me still, while Alain essentially used me like a climbing frame, guiding his cock to wherever it needed to go.

He would grab my breasts as his cock thrust between them, or his hands would use my hair like a horse's harness as he filled my throat with his stallion cock, or he would hold to my waist as his tongue delved between my leg and stump. He certainly loved pussy, and regularly made me come with his mouth.

Alain's greatest pleasure was in taking my ass from behind, one arm about my waist, fingers seeking my clit, the other mauling my breasts and pinching my nipples, sending me into a fury of lust, fucking him as hard as my self-imposed restraints allowed me. Even through the mental fog of the mood enhancer, I understood the importance of staying anchored.

But no. The real real question was how did I feel about the way I looked - or, rather, about being able to move about freely and enjoy being admired.

"I need prosthetics," I decided, "but I need them to be top-of-the-range."

"Yes," Adria agreed. "Something elegant and eye-catching, and flexible, and functional."

"And," I added, "conformant with the strict Space Guild regulations for extrasolar prostheses." Adria rolled her eyes and yawned. "Most importantly," I continued, "I need to be able to wear my beloved high heels."

"Oh yes, absolutely."

"In other words, I need a bespoke design - even if I have to max out my credit score to get it."

Which turned out to be the case. And I had to wait nearly a year for delivery.

Time, of course, was not such a problem for me, not when I could sleep for a week at a time, but once again I had fully indebted myself to the Space Guild, and on Sol Station there were living costs to pay also.

*

If there's one thing Space is surprisingly short on, it's space. By which I mean: for a place that's practically infinite, the quarters can get awfully cramped.

"It's the air," Matthias explained. "We lose a few milligrams of air every time an airlock is used. We lose more every time a seal fails, or we get punctured by a random speck of matter going the wrong way fast. The bigger Sol Station gets, the faster it loses air, and we're a long way from the nearest supply."

He returned to kissing my thigh, tracing the circumference of my stump, much the same way that Sol Station traces the circumference of the Solar System. Not a natural orbit, in other words. A natural orbit would have taken him towards the centre of my pleasure - but he wasn't paying me for that.

Perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised that clients would be excited by my loss. That even such a tragedy could be reduced to a fetish. I think it even helped me in a way, transforming an almost unbearable distress into a bemused resignation.

"Yeah, honey," I encouraged. "Lick that stump. Are you hard yet? I want your cum all over it..."

*

Gravity is key. In zero-G, large breasts can be fun. They don't sag, and they don't weigh you down. But with gravity... When you're down to only one arm and one leg, gravity's enough of a bitch without the literal pain in the neck of large breasts.

Breasts have always been something I'm indifferent to, in the sense that I'd be happy to have none at all, but also I enjoy the pleasure others take in them, and most clients do prefer them big and bouncy. I had plenty of opportunities before the accident to prove this, trying out my new breast enhancement. Indeed, no matter how big I made them, there was always someone who wanted them bigger.

But Adria was so proud of the size of her breasts, I didn't want to compete. At least I still had two breasts after the accident, because sometimes I felt like only half a person. Movements that would once have been effortless were suddenly sources of frustration. Even the simple act of squeezing my breasts together, or rolling over in bed, or going to the loo in the middle of the night.

Even the act of masturbating, since it was the hand I'd always used to give myself pleasure that was now gone forever.

No more doggy style, no more cowgirl, no more using a strap-on, no more a hundred different positions. And who needs restraints when life itself is holding you down? Just lie there, and let them fuck you.

*

Being ordered to the diplomatic HQ was not a nice way to start my day, not when I had to navigate through a maze of unfamiliar corridors to get there. While I did have temporary prostheses for general use when not having sex, I hadn't mastered their use, and indeed I never did. Also, while it's surprising how quickly you adapt to having only one eye, there are definitely times when you sorely miss the other.

Dr Thomas Barker, not a medical doctor, was an apologetic man in his fifties. He apologised for summoning me across the station, he apologised for not having realised my disability, and he apologised about the nature of the business.

"It's the Zharwey. They want sex."

I had to get him to repeat that, and was still none the wiser. "Who or what are the Zharwey?"

He showed me a metal ball set against a starfield. "This is their ship. It's just over one hundred metres across. Arrived yesterday. We know almost nothing about them, but it seems they like to say hello to aliens by having sex. I don't know why a handshake wouldn't suffice, but, ah."

"I'm sure you'll enjoy it," I said.

He shook his head and laughed nervously. "There's a new Guild protocol that allows us to hire ship's whores for sex with alien visitors."

"I'm intimately familiar with that protocol."

"Yes. Exactly. That's why I'm asking if you, Miss Jones, will..." He trailed off, his face quite red.

"You want to pay me to fuck an alien you know nothing about?"

"Um, yes."

"Triple the base rate, plus all medical expenses?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Okay." I tried to make it sound reluctant, but in truth I was bouncing ecstatically inside. Given a choice between being Humanity's sex ambassador and staying in my cabin bored out of my skull... Well, it wasn't a real choice. Despite my loss of limbs, I had value - and a kinky curiosity. "So... What exactly do we know about the Zharwey?"

*

What we knew was disconcertingly little, and what little we knew was disconcerting. "They're an aquatic species," Thomas said, "so the contact will need to take place underwater. Can you swim?"

Underwater sex with an alien? While all alone on an alien starship? What had I agreed to? "I couldn't before," I said. "I certainly can't now." I waved my prosthetic arm pointedly.

"It's not about swimming. It's about how comfortable you are being fully submerged. But it's okay. We have a tank we can use for practice."

I frowned, thoroughly confused. "But how am I supposed to breathe?" I had a sudden vision of myself having sex with oxygen tanks and a face mask strapped to me.

Thomas smiled. "That's the easy bit. We have an artificial gill. We'll need to adjust it to fit you, and you'll need some minor surgery, but we'll soon have you breathing underwater."

If the 'easy' bit included surgery, then what, I asked, was the hard bit?

This time it was Thomas who frowned. "The Zharwey's aqueous environment is rather high in ammonium hydroxide. We're still trying to figure out some form of protection against it."

I had to laugh. "Maybe your doctors should talk to mine." I told him about Alexandra and my ammonia-resistance. "Not all wheels need to be reinvented..."

*

The 'minor surgery' was a tracheostomy and implant that, when engaged, could seal my epiglottis and force me to breathe through my neck. The implant was integrated with a stainless steel collar, which looked so much like a bondage collar that I had them add rings for effect.

"That's really hot," Adria decided when I visited her after, and she promptly cuffed my wrist and chained it my neck. "Let's see how well it works." She triggered the implant, and suddenly I could no longer talk. My breath whistled through the collar instead. "Okay?"

I nodded, and watched as she strapped herself into her harness and chose a long and moderately thick dildo. If I could have, I would have laughed. I'd been curious about this myself.

She eased the purple dildo into my mouth, letting me suck on it and get it nice and wet, and gradually take it deeper and deeper into my throat. It ran against all my instincts, but I was actually able to breathe while that dildo fucked and filled my throat. "Almost takes the fun out of it," Adria said.

So instead she put me on my good side and held onto my stump as she thrust into my ass. "Wouldn't be able to do this if you had two legs," she said, and I could only whistle in response.

The doctors also gave me something for my eye that would adjust the lens for vision underwater, though they spent a long time muttering about the dangerous concentration of nanites already in my blood. The consensus amongst my various doctors seemed to be that I should be dead already.

But I, Sam Jones, ship's whore and medical experiment, wasn't done fucking yet.

*

From a distance the gill could be mistaken for a leather corset. The thick material was entirely synthetic, of course, and porous too, but it was black and hugged my figure from my waist to just below my breasts. A flexible, steel-reinforced tube connected it to my collar, providing air to, and drawing air from, my lungs.

The first time I tested it, I was in the water only up to my neck. The second time, I was wholly in, but I clung to the ladder for dear life. The third time I was deep in the water, unable to swim, unable to escape, and trying desperately not to give in to panic. I had no choice but to trust the gill to keep me breathing.

By the tenth time... I was sufficiently at ease that we all started to believe sex with the Zharwey might actually be possible - not that any of us had any idea what sex with the Zharwey would entail.

Thomas accompanied me on the journey out to the great sphere, although only I would be entering it. The Zharwey had parked a few kilometres from Sol Station, and we made the short journey in a small shuttle. As we approached, I was able to discern a gentle rotation centred at the airlock we were aiming for, and eventually docked at.

"Good luck, Sam," he said as I stepped into the airlock.

I handed him my clothes and prostheses, making no effort to conceal my body, naked save for the gill-corset and collar. "Maybe after, you can pay me a visit," I said with a saucy wink, and laughed as he turned red.

And then I was alone, my ears popping as the atmospheric pressure dropped.

*

I'd expected to find myself facing an alien creature, but beyond the airlock was an enclosed space reminiscent of Minerva's entry area. Thankfully, it was spinning nowhere near as fast. In front of me, a ladder led 'down' into a bright pool of water. I pushed myself across and caught hold of it, and adjusted to the ship's rotation before easing down into the water.

The hardest part of the whole adventure, the moment where I nearly changed my mind, was the point where I needed to switch over to the gill. One more step and I would truly be in an alien environment, my half-a-body submerged in a water that the doctors had instructed me to avoid drinking, and dependent on a technology that both enabled and restricted my breathing.

Frozen with doubt, caught in a tug-of-war between fear and curiosity, I let my body make up my mind...

I pinched my nipples.

*

The slow rotation and low gravity in the Zharwey vessel meant there was very little buoyancy in the water. It was almost like being upside-down in microgravity, except with added motion-resistance.

I could see, I could breathe, and I was suddenly very horny. "Now where," I wondered, "is -"

A rainbow-coloured tentacle, as thick as my arm and so long I could not see the other end, coiled about my ankle and dragged me through the water, releasing me just as suddenly. It was like I had been transported to the ocean bed. I was surrounded by colour: colour in the sand and rocks, in the grass and flowers, and in the shimmering curtain of light that swam about me.

Only as it brushed against me, a silken sensation like the caress of a lover's hair, did I realise it was a swarm of hair-fine tentacles - or perhaps they were more like eels or serpents. Perhaps it was how they communicated, for colours cascaded through the swarm constantly. It was beautiful.

Gradually they were joined by larger ones, bright serpentine rainbows gliding through the water, winding around me almost playfully. I reached out to touch them and they slipped through my fingers.

One of the questions Thomas and I had been asking each other was: Just how do you talk to an unknown alien species about sex?

Face to face with the Zharwey, so to speak, my lust fuelled by the mood enhancer, I saw those sinuous forms, so perfectly shaped, and I had to try. Grabbing one lightly as it swam by, I guided it to my pussy, encouraging it to penetrate. It darted away as I released it, but returned swiftly to explore.

Others too, touching me, tasting me. I flinched as one pressed against my clit as it swept between my thighs. I snared another and brought it to my breast, to my nipple, and wondered if the rainbow serpent was able to pinch or bite. I showed with my fingers, even as something discovered my ass and probed the tight ring of muscle curiously.

Two slender Zharwey coiled about each other in a double helix, the two heads acting like opposing digits, and converged on my nipple, pinching as I had instructed. Moments later, my other nipple was being pinched too, even as I was breached from behind, something long and thick thrusting into my ass. A third found my mouth, and I welcomed it with a kiss, licking its body and sucking it gently.

Through it all, I had to keep my breathing steady, a frustrating distraction from the hunt for pleasure. My hand was busy, teaching the aliens in my ass and pussy to fuck me, and I persuaded the alien in my mouth to fuck my throat. At the back of my mind, I wondered if I was setting a bad example - if all future Human-Zharwey contacts would devolve into a tentacle sex scene.

But it worked for me, and the Zharwey seemed happy to follow my instruction. My pussy, my ass and my mouth were receiving a most satisfactory pounding, my nipples were being exquisitely tortured, and my clit was not neglected either. I climaxed swiftly, convulsing in ecstasy while suspended in water, and was soon being propelled towards another.