Spacemaid

Somewhere in the Rigel 14/4/7 Sector she suddenly appeared outside the viewport. The navicom would indicate exactly where, because I uttered an exclamation and a question: "Great heavens! What's that?" The first part was appropriate, as I was, from the point of view of my planetary starting-point, celestially situated. The second part might equally have been, "Who is that?" Because out there, against the interstellar darkness, there seemed to be a female human being, a naked female human being, a glowing naked female human being.

This was, of course, impossible. No naked human being could live in that near-absolute zero vacuum. So I could not be seeing it, her. Clearly, or obscurely, she was a fantasy fostered by several weeks alone in my little skiff. More likely this was the test I had been sent out to undergo. It was not surprising, then, that she was waving to me and smiling. It was also not surprising if this were the case, that she was changing colour, from white-skinned through deepening browns to a black so black she almost disappeared. But that must confirm that she was an illusion, because human beings, even if able to survive naked in space, do not change colour.

Of course, my theological studies had included St Simon Stylites, tortured atop his pillar by visions of tempting women. Perhaps this was a test of my ability to crush within me the effects of the sight of a naked woman, whatever her hue, especially one as downright beautiful as this one. She was also, now, slowly altering her pigment, to a rich dark green. Her hair, everywhere, also changed, and a luxuriant lime-green pubic bush was certainly arresting. She was, too, slowly turning, bringing into view a generous and wonderfully shaped green posterior.

And it was at that moment that she first spoke. Of course she did not use her mouth, as I would never have heard ordinary speech, uttered in a vacuum and having to pass through the viewport. She spoke inside my head, but I heard it in a breathy soprano. "Would you like me to come in?".

As a well-brought up young man I felt I should answer, even though I was all the more certain that she was, if not a fantasy, a siren, a dangerous entity able to use my own mind and senses to allure and destroy me. But there were no shipmates to tie me to the mast, and I would still hear her even if I were blindfolded and my ears were plugged . Even as I formulated this conclusion she continued, "If I were dangerous I could surely breach your craft with or without your permission. After all, I must have powers unknown to you to manifest like this."

This seemed logical, but rather added to my apprehension, and I said nothing, though it was evident that whatever I thought she would know.

"Would it help if I looked like this?" she said in my head, and she metamorphosed into a portly grey-haired elderly man in a business suit carrying a cloth-wrapped stick, which I recognised from viewing of ancient film as an umbrella.

"No, it makes no difference, does it? And you'd really rather I looked like this," and in a few seconds she was again naked, female and this time honey-coloured, except for her eyes which were huge and entirely golden-irised around the pupils.

After a few more seconds she looked down at her breasts, enormous, swaying with her movements, nipples protruding ten centimetres from darker brown, extensive aureoles.

I followed her gaze and as I watched the nipples slowly turned into tiny erected cocks. She brought the forefingers and thumbs of both hands up to those penipples and squeezed. They ejaculated, squirting honey-coloured liquid sixty centimetres or so onto the outside of the viewport. This, too, was naturally impossible. Any fluid emptied into space would freeze at once. But there it was, running in viscous streamlets down the viewport, until she sent out a long, long tongue and licked it clean.

This astonishing feat left me breathless and in a state like drunkenness, my fears not so much banished as becoming part of a mounting excitement. What more could this amazing creature, real or my own projection, do? She immediately answered this unspoken, but mentally formulated, question, for, approaching the viewport even closer, till her lower belly and upper thighs filled it, she caused her luxuriant now blonde puss-fuzz to riffle as if in a breeze. The vulval cleft opened a little and the clitoris came into view. And began to grow, lengthening and thickening, tracking down her left leg, swelling and throbbing, its head turning this way and that, snakelike, as if seeking something, and developing a urethral opening. Then it slid between the labia and half of it disappeared up the pink-edged vagina. Bent into a semi-circle it stroked in and out, a little bent piston in a cylinder. After half a dozen probings it withdrew and squirted a large blob of thick goo onto a thigh, then slowly thinned and retracted till it was back at the top of the cleft. The ejaculate was swiftly absorbed into the muscle.

"Can you imagine how it would be to make love with me?" she asked, her voice seeming now to be sounding throughout my body, not least in my now erect penis.

Even though there was no need for me to speak I needed, in my curious desire to be courteous, ask, "Can you breathe air?"

She laughed, a rich, buzzing along my nerves. Obviously she could use or ignore the atmosphere in the craft. It was a silly question, though polite. "I will open the outer hatch," I told her aloud, "and when you are sealed in the lock I will open the inner one."

She clearly knew that already, and I felt reassured that she had, with equal courtesy, waited to be invited, when she could probably have entered easily enough without the mechanism. At the same time I wondered not just who, or what, she was, but why she would want to display to and have contact with me at all. What would so incredible a creature want with a human doctoral sociotheological student undergoing his qualifying fieldwork examination?

Of course she could read this question as I pondered it and answered as she entered the airlock, "We live to give and take pleasure, with whom and where we can. And you might even learn something."

As the airlock closed and filled with atmosphere I asked aloud, "Does that always mean sex?" During the moments the airlock took to equalise she answered in my head, "No, it can involve almost anything, from sharing visions to philosophical disputation, musical improvisations to theoretical mathematics, whatever be the preoccupation." Then the inner lock opened and she entered, but now different again. She was a slender, elderly lady in a dark grey jacket and long skirt, a "suit," again recognised from old films. Her white hair was gathered in a pleat behind her head, and she had dark stockings and shiny black pumps.

Obviously she had raided my mental store of ancient stereotypes of school teachers, down to the pale complexion and the eyeglasses clamped on the bridge of an aquiline nose.

To my amused surprise she offered me a chilly, long-fingered hand to shake and said in a sharp-toned, precise accent, "I think we should talk about this before going any further."

I indicated the only chair, before the console and bowed. She sat, carefully smoothing down the modest skirt. I sat on the end of the bunk.

We were, I realised, talking with lips and tongue, as she said, fixing me with a stern look through the pince-nez (that was what those things were called so long ago!), "You must be sure what you think and feel if you follow your desires, because whatever happens will be shaped by your wishes, conscious or otherwise." She paused expectantly.

"You mean, if I want you to turn into a fat matron in a corset and beat me with whips that would happen?"

"Yes," she said, "Though I know that would not actually be your chosen activity."

"But what's in it for you?" I asked, "Whatever, whoever, you are."

"I told you. We draw on your enjoyment. It gives us joy. And had you considered your mission?"

"We?" I asked, and she said, "What you see is a tiny part in matter-form of a great continuum of what you call 'dark energy.' We stretch through space, between stars and galaxies, adrift yet moving, alive with the light of nebulae. Look!"

My brain filled with images, distant and then close, of cloud-wrapped planets, double stars shedding vast tangles of hot gas, comets with flashing, icy tails, scatterings of asteroids, scarcely visible in the dim light of a distant sun. It was as if my mind was a camera swooping at dizzying speed through space, filming whatever came within its range. And what it saw was breath-takingly beautiful.

The images faded and the school-marm figure said, "That is a little of how we see the universe, but we see it complete, everything at once, because we are seeing it from everywhere all the time."

And suddenly I was looking down onto the earth, where I have never been. I knew it was the earth from all those history lessons, with the holographs of the continents and oceans, and at the same time I began to hear a great babel of sound, a million voices speaking at once.

"You are hearing all the broadcasts and communications from your fellow beings," she said, "But we, being multiple, can hear every signal separately."

"But you also read our minds. You must know everything we humans have ever known and done, every huge convulsion, like a war, and every tiny event, like my scratching my ear."

"How else can we mirror your desires?"

"You can make every fantasy come true?"

"Only, and this is vital, only when the realisation of the fantasy brings something good, for you, for us, for the universe. We cannot and will not fulfil anything else."

This was reassuring, though I was aware that a siren would say such things before draining my blood or ransacking my cerebrum. But, then, if she, it, wanted to do such things she could have set to at once with parlay.

There was only one way to test the situation, and I was out here for research purposes, wasn't I? So I stepped across and pushed back the decorous skirt. The stockings, it turned out, finished at upper thigh, and further up there were white, apparently cotton underpants.

She did not resist this approach but asked in a rather severe tone, "Young man, are you quite sure you want to do this?"

Whether she was questioning my doing it to a respectable, elderly lady or doing it at all, or both, was not clear, but I interpreted it as "at all" and even found the query stimulating. Her inviolate, dried-up virgin, aspect spurred me on. Here I was alone with a female, never mind why or how, and why should I not take advantage? I even thought that if this being did not like my advances she could remove herself as easily as she came.

I drew her to her feet. She neither resisted nor seemed very willing. I took off the jacket. The blouse beneath was smooth and shiny, some synthetic fabric, and I undid its many, small shiny buttons without haste and pulled it free of the skirt and laid it on the console behind her.

The unspectacular breasts were encased in a garment I knew was called a brassiere, or bra for short, the customary restraint in times gone by. The harness fastened at the back, I found, and a little fiddling undid it. The breasts came into view and they were "tidy." That was the word that came to mind.

I hesitated and moment, wondering whether I should really be doing this. After all, this amazing entity had chosen to appear as a traditionally anti-sexual female. But she was not objecting and the very air of chastity about her added a frisson. Besides, those were breasts and therefore nice.

I put the bra on the console and unzipped the skirt. Beneath it was a smooth, white underskirt, and the delightful archaic word "petticoat" came to mind. I peeled it down her legs. I stepped her feet out of it and slipped off the shoes as I did so. Now she was dressed only in the white cotton pants, also delightfully old-fashioned. The waist and legs were held tight against the flesh by elastic and some stray, mousy pubic hairs straggled out from the lower cinctures.

Of course my tool was throbbing away in my trousie, but again I hesitated. There was something mechanical and cold about this encounter. I wished I had started differently. Too late now. So I drew her to me and began a long, probing kiss. Her mouth opened to the pressure of my tongue and accepted my exploration.

I might have stopped then, but I drew back a moment and saw the eye-glasses, perched a little awry on her nose, and they somehow made her the more naked and vulnerable and my lust drove me on to pick her up. I was half expecting she would be vastly heavy, or feather-light. In fact she weighed about what a woman of her size would weigh and I carried her the short distance to and put her down on the bunk.

There was just room for me to climb in beside her and I resumed the kiss.There was something yet more exciting in this prudish-looking female allowing me to part her legs with one hand and stroke the rather coarse, sparse brush and at the same time with the other hand finger the little nipples, which scarcely protruded from the pale aureoles. I even fancied they hardened a little, but that might have been my fancy when I stopped the kissing and applied my mouth to the left bud.

I drew away and looked into her eyes, which were open and regarding me quite calmly, even indulgently, as if aware of my desire though not necessarily giving permission.

Putting my arms under them, I drew up her knees and lifted her bottom to draw off the white nixies, which I laid against her. They melted into the flesh and were gone.

"The other garments must be taken back, too," she said, and extended her arm from the bunk and rather to my horror it went on extending until the hand reached the skirt, bra, blouse and petticoat and they disappeared into the palm.

"But they were so real, so right," I said, disconcerted for a moment. "They were proper clothes, with the old materials."

"Of course," she said, the arm back in proportion and round my neck, "We are energy and can make every kind of matter. We drew that clothing from your memory."

This seemed to give me licence to resume and I ran my fingers into the pubic fuzz and felt for the clitoris. The vulva was tight shut, but I used thumb against fingers to prize it open and seek the clitoris. I could scarcely feel it and gave up the search.

I tore off my shirt and trousie and levered myself up over the nearer knee and jammed myself between her thighs. She did not either try to close them or open them.

My tool-tip pressed against the fuzz, seeking the entrance. Slowly it forced its way into a gluey tightness, the very stickiness impeding progress. But several strokes in and out opened the cunt enough and I forged in full cock. Now I was really aroused, riding the wave of need and after a dozen increasingly violent drives into that unprepared pussy I came.

There was some relief to it, but not enough and my penis shrank its way out very soon and was slightly sore from the lack of love-juice.

I hardly dared look at her, but when I did she was actually smiling slightly, as if signalling that boys would be boys. Then she extricated herself neatly from under me and got off the bunk. There was something touching about seeing that elderly, well-preserved, pale body, the breasts quite firm, the fuzz dry and the cleft closed, as if nothing had happened.

And as I watched a wondrous change occurred, for the whole body expanded, darkened, rejuvenated, until a raven-haired girl stood before me, with huge swaying breasts bearing chocolate nipples and a diamond of thick, rich dark auburn hair at the groin.

"How does this appeal, then?" she asked in a deep, resonant contralto. "Shall I join you again in there?"

Ever polite, though trembling with renewed desire, I said, "Please, if you would..."

"Oh, yes, I would," she laughed and climbed in beside me. "And this time we'll do some things you will find interesting, because they are dredged out of your imagination."

Once more we kissed, but this time her tongue filled my mouth, writhing and sucking, her lips squeezing mine, so that I felt my whole being was only my mouth, with hers seeming to flood it with a hot, tangy jelly that burned into my mucous membranes, as if my buccal cavity had become a cunt and her tongue was a penis sperming into it.

Eventually she drew away and pressed my head towards a breast. And even as I approached it the nipples lengthened, twenty, thirty centimetres, like plants shooting to seek the sun, finding my lips, and plunging between them. I remembered the penipples on the woman outside in space had behaved, and these thrust in and out with the swelling and contracting of the breasts, till, as she sighed a huge sigh, they spurted thick juice, filling my mouth, and then sucked it back before I could swallow it.

As the nipples shrank she again pressed my head, this time further down and opened her strong thighs. With my tongue I found the clit and began to lick. It erected, longer and longer, so that I took it into my mouth and began to suck and nibble. It flicked in and out of its own volition, finally going rigid as she cried out, "It's coming, it's coming" and her whole body tensed and a spurt of hot, spirituous fluid, almost more a gas than a liquid, jetted into with tremendous force into my cheeks. And was almost immediately sucked out again.

She slowly relaxed and said, "Your turn now, and mine again, too. In you go."

Once more I was between the legs, but they were not the same, as this was not the same creature as before. The inner labia unfurled and wrapped around my cockhead, slurping at it, and as I slipped into the vagina it took me with a swallowing, systole diastole motion, drawing me ever inwards. I thrust and strained, trying to fill that delicious cavern, as it sucked and shuddered about me.

But then something entirely new. I felt the clitoris grow and grow, like a slender eel, twining round the base of my tool and then going on down between my legs and pushing at my anus, which opened to admit it. Inwards it went, creating its own lubricant, not painful in its being thin. As when, outside in space, the clitoris had plunged in and out of the vagina, so it did now, in and out, creating a frictional pleasure I had never experienced before, and then suddenly I realised I was coming again, and, of course, she knew that, too.

"Here we go!" she exulted, and as my semen poured into her cunt her clitoris squirted a hot, hot fluid into my rectum and a great tingling, burning rush of ecstasy in tool and fundament combined into a transcendent orgasm.

As she came, too, it felt as if she had drawn my whole body into hers. Certainly her vulva sucked in my balls, and my cock forced through the cervix, still spunking.

She held me like that for what seemed an hour and then, slowly, we both relaxed and my penis made the journey out of the cervical opening, down the vagina and out of the vulva, still almost erect. As it slackened I fell asleep on that deep, deep bosom, and slumbered at a depth I had not known since I was a child.

When I awoke she was different again. Neither elderly nor young she was as a mature woman, perhaps in her thirties or forties, breasts just slightly flaccid, belly a little rounded, and, an amusing touch, her pussy pelt was the same slightly coarse short grey hair as was on her head.

I looked into her wise eyes, also grey, and realised I did not want to fuck her but to fondle her, hug her, cherish her as woman and fellow being, whether human or ethereal.. I could even feel through her, as it were, to sense the vast, space-filling network that she was part of. I wanted to be close to that, to be part of it, too, and the knowledge that I could not made me melancholy.