Different Planet

The events of chapter 22 take place a few years following the events of chapter 21, with different characters, but still on the same colony.

Sharina had almost finished her wing of the dormitory. One boy was left. Well, two. One had put her off, even though he clearly had a raging morning erection. She patted him on the shoulder and told him she would coming back for him when he was "ready", but... would it would be worth it?

Clinton, on the other hand, was still sleeping. A darling, affectionate boy, he was unfortunately rather lazy. She patted his shoulder lightly (he was much more receptive) and, when he opened his eyes, whispered, "Good morning, Clinton, is there something you'd like to take care of first thing today?"

"Oh yes, ma'am, but before that, um -- "

"Yes dear, go visit the young men's lounge and when you come back, I'll be at the alcove." Waiting to take care of the SECOND thing he needed taking care of.

She thought how he would have difficulty peeing with a morning erection, always especially rigid in the dormitories because all the docents, though they wore chaste white "nurse" outfits, presented with the most stimulating demeanor: short skirts, tight tops, frequently bending over or climbing stepladders to reach high shelves. Sharina was especially proud of the way her nipples made distinct nubbly mounds as they strained against the fabric of her blouse. It seemed like she was forever sewing buttons back on.

Clinton came back promptly. He'd left his pyjamas on his bed, but wore his general-issue white terry bathrobe. The ones who were the most modest, Sharina thought as she closed the curtain to the alcove, were usually the most hot-blooded if they could find some privacy. Clinton was no exception. When he opened his robe she saw his erection was already straining out of his glossy black (trimmed to regulation length!) pubic hair. It stood at a boyishly high angle and looked her straight in the eye, swaying a little as he moved, the head swelling and darkening. Modest as always, he lay down quickly on the generously cushioned table, the robe covering his back, only his penis clearly visible, because it poked through the vent he'd carefully positioned his body over.

Sharina unclipped the sensor from the side of the table and waved it over Clinton's right forearm until its indicator lit green (no sense in distracting anyone with beeps and boops, much better to use quiet, warm little lights). The printer on the shelf behind her soundlessly disgorged a barcode label which she wrapped around a clear plastic jar. The boy was already pearling and she didn't want to take any chances, so she positioned it in the receptacle rack directly beneath his penis and clicked it in as quickly as she could.

Hurrying didn't work in this business, so she took a deep breath, slowed down, and cautiously snapped an "examination" glove on her right hand. It didn't tear, even though she kept her fingernails long (and used a muted brick red matte polish). Taking her seat at the tableside stool, she held her hand under the lubricant jet to get a few warm squirts from the heated nozzle in preparation for masturbating Clinton. To steady herself, and also because she enjoyed the feel of taut young buttocks, she put her free hand on his bottom and reached under to begin expertly stroking him, glancing under the table from time to time to make sure she was aiming him properly at the collection jar.

"Does this feel good, dear?" she asked softly. She knew it did, but she also knew it was important that he knew she cared about it.

"Oh yes, Ma'am!" he said obediently, "I'm trying, Ma'am!"

"That's good," she purred quietly, "Don't strain yourself! You know it's best if you just let everything flow naturally. We've got all the time in the world!" They didn't, really, so she increased her pace imperceptibly, enjoying the rhythm of his muscles tensing and releasing. She squeezed his left buttock affectionately, "Push down against me, push yourself into my hand if you want to!" His hips began to move up and down, now, not as deeply as they would if he'd been on top of her, thrusting into her wet vaj, but enough to start him moaning, groaning, finally gasping, "I'm coming" -- thrust -- "for" -- thrust -- "YOU" -- thrust -- "Ma'aaAAMMMM!" She distinctly heard the soft squit-squit as his precious boymilk splashed against sterile plastic.

She gave her own little "Oh!" as if she were surprised by the force of his orgasm or the volume of his ejaculate, "You're such a good boy today!" She felt his spasms fade to boyish trembling, his back, buttock and thigh muscles gradually relaxing as she gently massaged the last few drops from his softening penis.

The time she spent time capping the semen jar and putting it in the fridge gave him a little opportunity to rest. She didn't hurry cleaning him off either. A soft wipe, warm and wet from the dispenser, removed the remaining lubricant from his genitals. Drying them off, she pronounced him ready to meet the day. "And remember," she reminded him, as he unsteadily got to his feet and closed his robe, "Anytime you feel you need an unscheduled assistance session you can come see me or any of the other docents!"

She said that to all the boys, but she really did expect Clinton to come by at lunch one or two days this week and shyly tell her that there was something he "needed to take care of" and, of course, Sharina would take care of it (if she were the one on duty). Maybe take care of it twice, though it wouldn't be good for Clinton to skip lunch too often just because his balls were full to bursting. On the other hand, lack of calories wasn't his trouble. The boy was a bit on the chubby side (too many cheeseburgers) and could probably stand to miss a meal from time to time. His real problem was his brain was as limp as his penis was stiff. If he weren't properly handled, those full balls could lead Clinton into real suffering some day.

Now, to deal with Gene.

But when she'd got back to his cubicle, she found he was almost finished dressing! "Got to get to breakfast, Ma'am!" he said, guiltily.

"Wait," she said, reaching for his crotch. His erection was easily visible, even under the heavy trousers he'd been assigned for this month's work detail. "Are you sure you want to go out all stressed today?" She squeezed and caressed him with her fingers, her red nails tickling his stiff penis through the tough green denim, "It'll only take a little -- " He mumbled something and pulled away from her, so she changed tactics, "If you'd like, we could go to my office instead, be 100% private. We've got all the time in the world." She carelessly, innocently, lifted one side of her skirt, as if she were scratching her hip with those exquisite nails, but also showing even more of her creamy smooth thighs, "We could see a little bit more of each other." She changed tactics again, "Or if you prefer another one of the docents, I know not everybody has the same -- "

"Oh, no, Ma'am!" he stammered, sounding even more guilty, "You've been really wonderful to me," he finished buttoning his jacket, "Really wonderful!" he said again, too loud, and hurried off.

It was a long way to work, but it cleared his head, the exercise, even on days when he had to eat his toasted handmeal as he walked, trying to forget the glimpse he'd had of Sharina's white cotton panties and the damp spot that he'd imagined at her conspicuously outlined pussyslit. He walked faster. Nobody really got enough chance to exercise at this outpost. Work was going 24/7/1000 now that the miners were finally pulling up enough raw materials and the new supply fabs had gone online, but so much of it was push-button and screen-watching that he rather enjoyed the minor exertion of trudging through the dingy, badly lit corridors running to bio-dome 6. He reported, on time, to the only other person (other than robots and drones) who worked there, his supervisor Vesse, a veteran of the early colonial days.