Erotic Hitchhiker's Guidebydiggypop©
In the backwaters of the Milky Way galaxy, there's resides, or rather resided, a small blue-green planet whose inhabitants were so amazingly primitive that they still relied on their external genitalia for sexual satiation. This created no end of problems for them.
Around half the members of the dominant species of the planet found that they couldn't have nearly as much sex as they wanted unless they had sufficient amounts of little pieces of paper. This paper would either be used to procure sex directly, purchase goods which were bartered in exchange for sexual access, or would fund elaborate rituals designed to convince the participants of the sincerity and hence the longevity of the couple's attachment to each other. Coincidentally, the mere possession of large amounts of these pieces of paper was enough to render the possessor significantly more attractive to the half of the population that seemed to have little or no problem having sex regardless of how much paper they had. As a result, many were getting less sex than they wanted. Those who had enough paper to purchase significant amounts often felt bad simply because they had to pay for it. Many couldn't get the partners they wanted regardless of how much paper was offered, and had to settle for those who were willing. And those whose professions involved sex for paper directly often had so much sex that their genitalia became degraded from overuse. Not to mention there were large amounts of people going around trying to force or persuade people NOT to have sex, especially if it was pleasurable.
Unfortunately, before anyone could figure out a way to ensure that everyone got just enough sex to keep the whole bleeding lot of them happy, the planet was destroyed as an extreme pre-emptive strike against illegal immigration.
This is the story of the very few survivors of that benighted place. It's also a story about fucking. Lots and lots of fucking.
Stardate 147592 2200 Hours Galactic Standard Time
"All passengers prepare for hyperdrive. Hyperdrive commencing in five seconds. Four... Three..."
Arthur had no idea how he'd ended up in this situation. This was a fairly common feeling for him; in fact, he was less surprised by the thought, How did I get here? than by the sheer number of times that thought resurfaced in his consciousness. His body and mind were completely disoriented, and his mind cast frantically backward for any explanation. Wait, he could just remember waking up this morning to the doorbell...
April 22, 2010 9:00 a.m. Greenwich Mean Time
While 9 a.m. was earlier than he usually preferred to receive visitors on a Saturday morning, the sun had been up for a few hours already, so this wasn't too devastating an event. And the first couple of seconds after he opened the door were quite pleasant indeed, as his eyes were greeted by the sight of a pleasant face with attractive cheekbones, full lips and a slightly upturned nose, all of which were surrounded by wavy blonde hair. A wide forehead, which Arthur thought looked rather nice in her case, was suspended about five feet and six inches above the ground by a body that was itself supported by high-heeled, red open-toed shoes, which made it plain that the toes were covered by thin white stockings. The body itself was clad in what would ordinarily be termed business attire, the business aura of this red skirt and jacket combo somewhat disrupted by being tightly wrapped over noticeably large breasts and provocatively wide hips.
After this pleasant (and bracing) first couple of seconds, then followed another four or five which were a bit less enjoyable, as Arthur suddenly became uncomfortably aware of his own disheveled appearance, comprised of uncombed hair, unshaven face and a bathrobe with visibly frayed edges, which he had not even managed to close properly, although thankfully his faded white briefs were not on display. (He looked more than once to reassure himself.)
Arthur wasn't naive; he had no illusions that the presence of an attractive, briskly dressed women on his doorstep of a Saturday morning anticipated anything more than a sales pitch or a possible invite to a church social, but still he liked to make a good impression on the fairer sex, at least the fairer members of that group.So it was that several seconds went by before Arthur's brain decided to tackle a more relevant topic: just what in the world was this attractive (although rather severe) thirty-something businesswoman (come to think of it, she hadn't smiled once, not even briefly) doing at his door at this hour on a weekend morning? "Ah, hello," he ventured tentatively, as if the way he approached this situation might still influence it towards a positive outcome, "can I help you with something, Miss..." Arthur was always nonplused by women's addresses being dependent on their marital status. He could always default to 'Ms.' of course, but that always felt like cheating, plus he never felt confident that he was enunciating the 's' clearly enough. Arthur was often made uncertain by a great many things, usually in rapid succession.
Her reply, brisk and lacking even an atom of geniality, did nothing to set him at ease. "Agnes Middleton. Westbridge Security and Loan."
2202 GST (Galactic Standard Time)
Hyperdrive sounded like something out of Star Wars. What it felt like was, well, there was nothing he could honestly compare it with. At first, it felt like the entire universe had been shut off. After a brief, terrifying, moment of this, his mind was frantically attempting to find some way to generate its own sensory input. A kaleidoscope of images followed, a maelstrom that momentarily seemed even more terrifying. He felt he had to seize onto something, anything stable. What he chose (if that word means anything under the circumstances) was porn.
The last porn magazine he'd read was an old one, dug out of his "reserve stash" (otherwise called the "When are you going to throw this shite OUT" stash. It was one of those that promised "real, natural looking girls," and it was from America, which meant he could safely fantasize without having useless, impractical thoughts about how brilliant it would be to go looking for this girl in Knightsbridge, based on the probably sexist assumption that if she'd let herself be photographed pulling her labia apart, she could probably be talked into a good shag without too much trouble.
Anyhow, she had long, brunette hair and looked rather petite, breasts a bit on the small side but still a nice handful, pussy totally shaven and a bum worth smacking once or twice to see how she liked it.
She had an impish grin and lovely green eyes, and the expression on her face was all "Let's have some fun," and Arthur felt himself keen to oblige. He never liked sultry serious looks, looks that said, "Aren't I sexy?" They were asking too much; the place to tell a woman how sexy she was, was at the bar, but once they got naked Arthur, for one, didn't feel like answering any more questions; there was always afterglow for that.
He was a little startled when he realized it really felt like there was a magazine in his hands. He was even more surprised to notice the girl in the pictures was moving. By the time he realized he'd been drawn into the pictorial with her, he was sliding towards acceptance again. And he suddenly was very curious to know if he could touch her. Only as he reached out his hand did he regretfully consider how a bit of chat might have been a nice precursor than a technically uninvited grope. But even as he paused, she gave him the most welcoming smile, and he felt that NOT groping her might be even more rude, under the circumstances.
He was certainly familiar with the bank she named. He had even applied for (and been denied) a home-improvement loan from them two years ago. The loan arranger had been equally brusque in his denial of Arthur's application, and Arthur was startled to discover that merely hearing the company's name could still evoke a discernable sensation of resentment, even after so much time had passed. Still, that was not going to prevent politeness from guiding his actions on what he'd suddenly noticed was a sunny, cloudless, yet pleasantly breezy Saturday morning.
She proceeded to follow her introduction up with several seconds of increasingly icy silence. Eventually Arthur found it unbearable; unfortunately, to break the silence he would have to take up the task of moving along a conversation with no idea of its intended destination.
"So this is a bank-related matter, then?" Although her composure was as coolly maintained as if it were in an ice chest, Arthur could swear she was starting to get angry. He wasn't sure what he would do if she started displaying her temper, but he was getting uneasier by the minute.
"This is about the delinquent status of your current loan, and the measures we will be taking to settle your debt."
Bizarrely, Arthur felt a sudden sense of relief after hearing this. It's just a misunderstanding, he thought, and he had never been able to let go of the idea that all a misunderstanding required was lots of calm, rational dialogue and good faith by all concerned, and clarification would result. Eons of history apparently was insufficient to dislodge this belief from Arthur's mind.
His hand was on her shoulder. His body was somehow in a completely different position than it had been just a second ago. Assuming this was his real body. Assuming.
Although surprised, he did not start at realizing that he currently had his arm around his public school sweetheart, Cindy Matthews. Not that it would have been especially noticeable if he had. They were both a bit breathless, and had apparently been at each other for a good while. Her blouse was completely off, and bra was well on its predictable way to sliding off her shoulder, with a little help from him, naturally.
She turned him on so much. He didn't even mind that they weren't fucking. Sure, his erection was throbbing painfully at this point. But she wouldn't get mad if he needed to relieve the pressure at some point. She had even lent a hand once or twice. No, things were progressing quite nicely, even if his supposed best mate kept telling him she should be taking it in her mouth by now. He leaned over to kiss her once more, but she stopped him on the way with a surprising announcement:
"I just finished my period today."
He liked that she was so open. She was always very honest about what her limits were, and she encouraged him to be open as well, even sometimes to share his desires and fantasies with her. At least once it had led to what on his end was basically phone sex. But it was an odd thing to bring up when he was trying to be amorous. Unless...
"It is now just about the safest time possible if I want to engage in sexual intercourse." she said, matter-of-factly. "And I think we've both been very good, and patient, and the fact we've both turned eighteen is something very momentous, something to be celebrated." She smiled. "And besides, I'm tired of that thing getting all lovely and hard and I STILL don't have any idea of what it would feel like inside me."
Unable to fully believe his good fortune, he said, stupidly, "Are you sure you don't want to start with oral?"
Shaking her head, she said, "I'll be amazed if you last two minutes the first time, and my pussy will be so sad if that doesn't happen inside her. And don't worry, me and a friendly dildo took care of Mr. Hymen a while ago. Now lets get these clothes out of the way,"
"I see what the problem is," he said brightly. "I did apply to your bank for a loan a few years back, but I was turned down. Rather rudely, in fact. The denial letter said something about "having better things to do with the money," if I recall."
Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth formed a tight grimace. She seemed unimpressed with his information. "This would be the loan applied for May 5th, 2005?"
"I believe that was the date, yes," Arthur replied. "It's not something I commemorate, you know. I don't keep a scrapbook of rejections to keep them fresh in my mind, you know?" He hoped she knew. He suspected she didn't.
"That loan was in fact approved and disbursed on May 15, 2005, and the check was deposited on May 20th. Payments have been received regularly until five months ago, from which point we have received neither money nor notice from you regarding this matter. We have attempted to contact you." She paused, presumably for emphasis. "Several times. Frankly, we thought you'd done a runner on us."
The possibility that this was all some sort of elaborate prank suddenly occurred to him. It was such a tempting thought he embraced it as long as he could; any alternative he could contemplate seemed too much to bear at the moment.
"How is it, then, that I haven't received a single piece of mail from you since the rejection, not to mention I check my caller ID regularly, and I haven't seen your bank's name on it once?" He felt almost triumphant. Surely she would be acknowledging defeat any moment now.
The morning seemed to be coming back in fits and pieces, as long as he didn't force it. But it was hard to keep track: as soon as he thought to himself : Oh, yes! THAT'S what happened, he was back to the bodiless maelstrom, back to the weird blend of memory and dream that seemed to solidify only when he forgot his present state.
Right now, for instance, he was back in his first strip club. If the details seemed a bit hazy now, well, he was pretty sure they had been back then, as well.
It didn't take long for looking at girls on stage to seem about as exciting as, well, looking at girls on stage. One could get a little bit of contact by tipping them, of course, as well as a closer view, but this seemed like it would wear thin after a while, as well.
It wasn't until the third girl came over to thank him after his tip that he realized there might be more to this than he'd been told. His friends had been vague, just saying things like, "Sometimes it gets interesting," and, "Make sure to tip the one you fancy at least two quid; it'll get her attention."
He had only tipped this one a pound, but he certainly had noticed her. She was a black girl, probably about nineteen, with white, white teeth, a long, swanlike neck, and a slender frame with long legs and one of the firmest, most muscular asses he had ever seen. It took him a while to see past the striking contrast between the darkness of her skin and the brightness of her smile, but he began to notice her strong features, her exceptionally full lips, and her almost hypnotic, almond-shaped eyes, so dark he couldn't tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. He suddenly realized this Amazon had asked him a question, and he hadn't heard a word she'd said after, "Would you like some company?" (Thankfully, his mates had gone back to the billiards table, leaving him all by himself)
He decided honesty might be the better part of flattery in this case, and said, "I'm sorry, but I've been so taken with how gorgeous you are I didn't hear a word you just said. Isn't that daft of me?"
She seemed, if anything, charmed by this admission, although he hadn't yet absorbed just how much her livelihood depended on appearing charmed no matter what her customer said.
Smiling, she repeated, "There's a room in back where we can have a bit of fun together. I can let you get a nice long look at..." She paused, giving a delicious smile. "...anything you like. There can even be a bit of touching, if you're nice and make sure to do exactly what I say. It's ten pounds for a songs worth; then I try and do it like a little dance routine. But for thirty pounds, you get me for a whole half-hour, and I promise to make every minute worth it. Does that sound like fun?"
Of course it SOUNDED like fun. So did every car commercial he'd ever seen. Still, there was only one way to find out, and this was the closest he'd gotten to shagging anyone since Cindy had decided she wasn't cut out for long distance relationships, or possibly monogamy in any form. She'd been quite willing to make herself available to him when both of them were home for the holidays, but she'd taken a hike through the continent that first summer, and he was taking an internship at an advertising agency this year, so a long, dry spell it had been. Part of the problem was that he kept wanting a replacement for what he'd lost, instead of settling for what (more times than he'd noticed) was available to him.
Well, it wasn't a replacement, but this girl was at least willing and available, and even if this would only be a taste of what he'd been missing, maybe something to whet his appetite was just what the doctor ordered.
She was not acknowledging defeat. He suddenly became aware that she was carrying a rather large folder under her arms, which, almost as soon as he noticed it, was then in her hands. There seemed to be a lot of paper in it, some of which she pulled out and handed to him.
"These are copies of the various letters we've sent you regarding your delinquent status." She pulled out another sheet and handed it to him. "And here is a copy of the check which you endorsed and deposited on May 20th, as previously mentioned."
Mystified, Arthur perused the papers. Immediately he noticed a discrepancy.
"Look here," he said, excitedly pointing, "look at the address you have listed. It isn't my address, it's a PO box!"
She was unimpressed. "It is the business address we have listed. It certainly sufficed up to now." But Arthur had all the confidence of a man with no real knowledge of the law and nothing to lose. "Well, whatever you sent, it can't have been certified, can it? I mean, a PO box can't sign for anything."
"The mail requiring your signature is still at the post office," she admitted with reluctance. "Still, we have made several good faith efforts to reach..."
Arthur interrupted her. "And this bank," he said, stabbing at the paper, "Spurious Financial Services? It tells you it's a fake IN THE NAME!!!"
She sighed. "The address given for the aforementioned institution is, in fact, that of a now defunct check-cashing establishment. As near as we can determine, the funds were deposited into a Nigerian bank which has so far refused to respond to our inquiries. As have the Nigerian authorities."
"Well, then obviously someone has defrauded the bank and stolen my identity!" Arthur exclaimed. "Shouldn't the police be handling this matter?"
Tight-lipped, she replied, "We rather hoped we could avoid involving the police. That's why I'm making this little visit."
"Well, I think I WOULD like to talk with them! Who knows what other mischief this...this SCOUNDREL has gotten up to?!!"
She seemed a bit skeptical in her reply. "Are you really maintaining that you had nothing to do with this? Even though you admit it was you who applied for the loan in the first place?"
"Even if I'd gotten it, it's only £3,000! D'you really think I'd go to such trouble to steal three quid large AND leave my own bloody name at the scene?"
Her expression at this point was unreadable. " Sir, this loan was for five hundred thousand pounds." She paused, slightly. "Five. Hundred. Thousand." The words were spoken with a peculiar inflection, as if the weight of the words equaled the amount of the money equaled the undeniability of his culpability.
Arthur had to restrain himself from swearing. It seemed every moment his poor mind grasped at, although undoubtedly erotically charged, could only be just prior to, or just after, the orgasmic fulfillment he now craved more than ever. This didn't mean the memories weren't, of themselves, pleasant, but they kept leaving him with a thirst for more, a thirst it seemed his mind was unable or unwilling to slake.