Travelling The Sexual Galaxy-bywhambam|
The ship's main plasma screen burst into life, a ream of text appearing in bright green letters.
"Captain? We've found something!"
WARPHOLE OPENING DETECTED ZONE TAUREO-15
ALIEN MATERIAL ALERT
DISPATCHING RETRIEVAL CRAFT
"Let me know when the computer knows what it is. We've found some pretty freaky stuff lately with all this unusual warphole activity."
Part I: Alien Abduction Days
I have a secret: I like sci-fi. Lasers, droids, grand space operas, all that stuff. And of course, those corny stories where beautiful alien girls say things like "Tell me more about this Earth think called 'kissink'." For some reason, these girls always have some kind of vampish East European accent. Can't get away from the Cold War, I guess, even in what was meant to be 60s and 70s escapism.
But yeah, anyway. Those stories. They had, on occasion, helped me while away a half-hour or so of delightful masturbation, as hordes of breathtakingly gorgeous warrior princesses would plead and beg to be allowed to make love with me in order that they could carry out highly important but strangely unspecific scientific research. Nothing wrong with that, just healthy fantasy.
But then you start to wonder. About all those stories of alien abduction. I mean, obviously at least half of them are simply cries for attention. And another quarter are quite clearly just mad. But then, there are a few, where you just get the creepy feeling down your spine that, well, maybe there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
After all, the laws of probability suggest we aren't all alone in the universe. Even if life on Earth came about through a quite gobsmacking number of sheer coincidences that could have been disrupted at any point by some quite small, seemingly insignificant event.
So yeah, I guess I do believe that sometimes, just sometimes, these stories have more to them than meet the eye. Although obviously, I'm not holding my breath for my perfect girl to decend in a beam of glowing light and say "Ve haff become fascinated with your mating rituals and now vish to undertake ze physical tests."
Huh? What's that? Do I have a story of my own to tell?
Um, well, now you've asked, I suppose I do. This one is true, I swear. But it's also not your usual alien-abduction fantasy thing. No, sirree. This one is a whole lot hotter, at least for me. This is like winning the lottery, receiving a call telling you you've won the Nobel Peace Prize and getting the hottest oral sex in the world – all rolled into one.
Wanna hear about it?
The object from the warphole had been placed in quarantine, where the ship's robots could deal with it and prepare it for analysis. It was a small, silvery disc, around five inches in diameter, with a hole in the middle.
The computer screen flashed into life again.
ANALYSING SOURCE MATERIAL
ULTRA-CARBON DATING AND SOURCE DATA:
ORIGIN: EARTH, 21ST CENTURY
NATURE OF OBJECT:
DATA IS VISUAL MATERIAL
"Captain? You wanted to know when the computer found out what the object was? Well, it's --- interesting. Oh, and you mentioned the word 'freaky'? Get ready to find a new word to replace it."
"Wow. That's hot."
Part II: Beam Me Up, Stacy
I'm so glad you want to hear about it. Make yourself comfortable. You may want to loosen some clothing.
So. There I was. A rainy Thursday night at home. Nothing doing. Nothing on television, half-heartedly cooking dinner, nothing flash. Idly pondering the thought of spending some time on Lit. Remembering that I had to take the rubbish out. Mundanity writ large.
And then it happened. There wasn't a bright light, nor was there a strange rumbling. There wasn't anything too distinct at all, just a momentary sense of dislocation, a brief mist that affected the brain as well as the mind, and all of a sudden, I wasn't at home anymore. No, I was quite clearly a long, long way from home. Although I still had a spoon in my hand that was covered in bolognese sauce. I held onto it tightly, a familiar object in an unfamiliar world.
I was in a corridor, made out of what appeared to be some kind of oddly pearlescent marble, with gently glowing and, overall, quite soothing lights within it. The walls curved away ahead of me; I looked back over my shoulder to see a similar prospect. My heart was racing, but as the moments passed and I wasn't immediately eviscerated, exterminated or otherwise severely inconvenienced, my breathing slowed.
I couldn't just stand there, could I? I had to walk forwards. I mean, I tried the whole clicking-my-heels-together-lets-go-back-to-Kansas thing, but no dice. So I put one foot in front of the other, and kept on going. I followed the gently curving corridor, and the lights moved along with me, gently shepherding me onward.
I emerged into a wider, open space, with screens built into the walls, covered in squiggles, symbols, flashing lights. I blinked, trying to take it all in, trying to commit to memory this most unusual turn of events. And then, I saw that in front of me was a high-backed chair, facing away from me. The chair started to turn, slowly ... I felt my heart racing again, drawing in breath sharply, preparing to flee, quite where I don't know, but that whole fight-or-flight adrenaline thing was kicking in.
The chair completed its turn. And, hard as this may be to believe, a woman was sitting in it. Not a 6-foot Amazon queen, not some kind of catwalk model. Just a normal woman. Pretty, when I thought about it. Nice eyes. And curvy too. Curves in all the right places, that hint of sin in slight overabundance. In fact, gorgeous. Just not out-of-this-world gorgeous, even though that's precisely where we were.
My one-track mind was shaken from this appreciation of my host's appearance as she spoke.
"Hi. I am Sprakkkgos8utjgalslg23. But I understand this is hard to say in your language. You may call me Stacy."
"Stacy. Now. I must apologise for having so peremptorily – um – borrowed you from your home. But I am engaged on a mission of vital scientific urgency. And you can help us."
It was at this point that I wondered about the mushrooms I'd put into the bolognese. Or whether I had simply fallen asleep. Or whether I had gone mad. I mean, I know the difference between fantasy and reality. And this was quite clearly off-the-charts fantasy.
"On the contrary, it is quite real. And do not worry about your - bolognese? - whatever it is. This is not fantasy."
"How did you do that?"
"Brain-wave scan technology is quite easily developed. A small adaptation to the neural networks means we can assimilate language and knowledge virtually instantly."
"So why do you need me?" I asked, although I already knew the answer.
"Because without physical experience, knowledge is passive. It is, if you will, a form of masturbation."
"And what exactly can I do on this front?"
I liked the glint in her eye and the naughtiness in her smile as she replied, adopting a sudden, sultry accent: "Ve vish to study your primitive matink rituals."
Part III: Getting To Know You, Getting To Know All About You
Elsewhere in the ship, the crew were still gathered round the screen where the computer was playing the disc that had been rescued from zone Taureo-15. There was a hushed silence as the grainy visuals played themselves out, before the crew erupted into chatter about what they had seen – at last, something new. Something exciting. And something decidedly kinky.
Stacy was escorting me to a private room. As she did so, she languidly started to remove her somewhat utilitarian space uniform, trailing the garments across the floor behind her. With each movement, each scrap of cloth that departed, a beautiful woman was revealed in front of me. With – and I blush to relate it – a simply cracking pair of tits and an arse I could worship for the rest of time.
I followed her. What else could I do? While fairly firmly convinced that none of this was actually happening, and that it was in fact quite possible that I had actually just suffered some kind of brain storm that had left me trapped in a universe of my own twisted imagining, there was still a gorgeous woman leading me on, with promises of lust and fucking.
Stacy closed the door behind us.
"Aren't you a bit uncomfortable with all those clothes on? Our studies have indicated that they are unnecessary. Unless they will help to arouse you?"
"Ah, no," I stumbled, starting to strip as quickly as I could, in that gawky way a man does when there is only one thing on his mind, and the small animal bit in the brain is in charge. Soon I was naked. And, despite the deeply confusing evening I was having, I was ready for action. In fact I was straining at the leash.
She raised an eyebrow. "My," she said. "Ve are a big boy, aren't ve."
(I am fairly convinced that this was the result of her having read my brain patterns for what I wanted to hear, with the lurking fear that she would in fact sigh, put her clothes back on and kick me out of the nearest airlock.)
We embraced, and suddenly nature – if that's the right word -- took over. Her curves fitted to me, her eyes shone up at me, and I dipped my head and kissed her, hard and long, sliding a hand around her waist, up her back and then down, down, down to that wondrous bottom. Her hand, meanwhile, found its way between us and snaked between my thighs to grasp my cock, stroking it between our stomachs, making me groan. I felt her heavy breasts pressed against me, felt the heat building, kissed her harder, my other hand moving to her neck to pull her to me. Her hand started to move, slowly but tight around me, coaxing and encouraging.
Suddenly there was a soft bed underneath us, and we tumbled forward into it, locked together, hungrily exploring each other. I lifted her nipples in turn to my mouth, sucking deep on them, rubbing my fingers roughly over them. She moaned, an animal hint to the tone there too that excited me more. After all, even if she was an alien, we humans are just animals too.
I pushed her back on the bed from me, her hand reluctantly releasing my hard cock, and knelt gently between her legs. I kissed the soft, sweet curls there and then that soft skin on her thighs, feeling her squirm under me. And then I tasted her, and I was lost in the taste of her, my tongue busily tracing lust-patterns over her lips and clit, her moans driving me on, her hips bucking and her legs stiffening. I pushed my tongue inside her, hungry for her, loving the feel of her cunt around me, moving to circle her clit with my thumb.
And then she was moving, pushing my head up and rolling over to be atop me, moving down my body, and then enveloping the head of my cock with her hot, wet mouth, looking up at me with such wide eyes. My hands clasped at the bed as she sucked, taking me deeper with each move, a hand helping to stroke me.
And then, just as I thought she would beckon me to take her, fuck her, ride her, pump her hard and fast and until she came her brains out, she stopped. And asked me to turn away.
I complied. It was her spaceship, after all.
There was some rustling behind me, some ill-defined movement. I waited, my cock throbbing and my mind full of delirious fantasy.
"You can turn round now," said Stacy. And so I did.
And what I saw took my breath away – and, interestingly, made me go weak at the knees and, if anything, my cock more achingly hard than ever.
For kneeling in front of me, with a big, dirty grin on her face and an extremely naughty look in her eye was Stacy, wearing a big, metallic, shiny gold strap-on.
Part IV: The Anal Probe
The computer had been forgotten. The screen was still spooling out the video, but the crew were now far beyond looking at that. Instead they were in various states of congress, some of them decidedly alien. There were gentle murmurs and moans, and the sound of flesh against flesh.
Now, I'll admit to you that I have some kinks. I'm open-minded. Stacy had tapped into one of my deepest unrealised desires – to be fucked, tenderly and lovingly fucked, deeply and thoroughly fucked by a woman who wanted to be the fucker, not the fuckee.
"I know you want this," she said.
"I do," I breathed. "I want it, I want it, I want it. I want you to fuck me."
"Let's play first," she said, and handed me a big tube of lubricant. "I want to see you stroking me."
I squeezed out a big dollop of jelly onto my hand – can't have too much of this stuff – and began gingerly to daub it onto the end of her strap-on cock. Hesitant at first, my growing excitement led me to stroke more firmly, spreading the lube all over her plastic toy.
"That's it, baby," she murmured. "Wank that cock of mine, and wank yours too while you do it."
My hand moved to my cock, slick with precum, stroking myself and her in time, leaning in then to kiss her and feel that her heart was pounding as hard as mine.
She took over again, propping me up on my hands and knees, moving behind me, applying lashings of lube to my bottom and I was trembling, trembling with the sheer mental ecstasy of what was about to happen.
"Are you ready baby?"
"Yes. Oh god, yes. Yes."
And then she pushed up against me, and I felt the tip of her strap-on start to slide into me, and I, the fuck-hungry slut that I was, I pushed back onto it, wanting her inside me, wanting to be filled.
I'd never felt anything like it. The ribs on her strap-on cock pushed into my bottom, filling me up completely, and finally, unbelievably, I felt her hips against me, her hands pulling me close.
She lent forward, her big tits rubbing against my back, and whispered softly in my ear: "Are you OK? Do you like it?"
I could hardly answer, the sensations spreading through me were so intense. I managed just to whisper back.
"Yes, oh yes, oh yes. Now fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, please, please, fuck me."
She started to move, gently at first, the feelings driving me wild already, then her hips moving with more ease, riding steadily, and I heard her breathing deepen, a slight hitch in her throat as she moved, that whisper of an aching moan that speaks volumes to a lover. And then she moved deeper, harder, faster, and I gave myself to her, pushing back to meet her thrusts, driving myself onto her cock, loving it, loving it, deliriously loving it.
And then we were moving again, she pulling out of me, me rolling over, my legs up, and she entering me deeply again. Her hand moving to stroke my almost painful cock, sweet relief as her fingers grasped me tight and began to move in time with her thrusts. And, most excitingly of all, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright, her moans now beyond her control as her hips bucked, bringing her own pleasure closer as she brought mine boiling to the surface.
"I love fucking you, I love it, I love it," she cried, and as she did she drove to her deepest yet and I felt the world sliding away as I started to cum, hot spunk spraying from my cock as she wanked me hard, fast, harder, faster, not stopping even as I writhed under her.
And then she too was shaking and writhing, her breath coming in big racking gasps. She leaned forward over me, panting, looking into my eyes. One hand moved to my stomach, fingers trailing through the sticky cum there, going to my mouth first and then to hers, giving me a picture that will live in my memory forever.
We lay together, cuddling, swapping tales of our worlds, our lives, our travels, before moving to couple again, she fucking me bent over, one leg on the bed to give her room to move as deep as she liked.
And then we slept. And when I awoke, the spaceship was gone, and I was back in my home. But I had a souvenir. Stacy's dildo. Metallic gold, seven inches long and beautiful.
I've still got it. It's the proof that this story is true, not just a cry for attention, not the work of madness. And it is something I will always treasure.
I've never seen Stacy again. I only hope she is off somewhere bringing pleasure to another man who has a deep-seated hunger to experience what I experienced.
With the crew now lying spent, the computer ejects the disk from its playback mechanism.
DISC TITLE ASCERTAINED:
"BEND OVER, BOYFRIEND"