Different Planet Ch 27

Gene's doorbell rang while he was lying in bed staring at his alarm clock waiting for it to beep. He turned it off, yawned and crawled out of bed wearing nothing but a T-shirt that barely came down far enough to cover his cock and balls. Yawning again, he slid the door open and saw Vesse, dressed in a businesslike blouse and conservative skirt. He blinked. He'd never seen her before in anything other than dirt-digging work clothes.

"Can we try again, Gene?" She sounded genuinely concerned, not angry at all. So, she hadn't called the Public Order Police on him. Maybe she didn't want to press charges against him, knowing he would accuse her of selling his sperm on the black market. "I know it's not what you want, but it's so much better than where they'll put you," she moved her left hand down and lifted her skirt, revealing the grey cloud of pubic hair he was so familiar with...

"You can walk around without panties all you want, girl," he laughed cruelly, "But if you want me, all you'll get is me kneeling on your chest and wanking off on your face!" He moved to shut the door.

She brought her right hand out from behind her, pointed a shiny green plastic pistol at his chest and fired.

He saw the dart stick just below his left nipple, trailing a bright copper wire. He tried to grab it, but the current hit him. Shaking, twitching, he would have fallen except Vesse stepped aside and two docents grabbed his arms.

They wore white. Tight blouses, no bras, small, dark but very hard nipples. Their pristine white shoes had higher heels than any he'd ever seen before. They wore even shorter skirts than the dormitory docents, showing a generous helping of white cotton panties no matter how they moved. Was it this, or was it the rapid thousand-volt muscles spasms that drove his cock to spring up mockingly? Vesse watched it pop out from under his T-shirt, remembered how good that rock-hard young erection had felt inside her -- even brutal anal sex with an angry, inexperienced boy had a certain thrill! Shaking her head sadly, she reached up and pulled the dart from his jerking chest muscle, then closed the door to his apartment and watched as the docents led him away.

He spent the next few days in a fog, as if smothered in foam pillows, or warm, soft breasts. The room was more crowded than his old dormitory, and all bleached sanitary white. Teams of boys did laundry to keep it that way, sheets, bathrobes, T-shirts, tight jockey briefs, even the docents' blouses and panties. Other teams swept and mopped the floors, or cleaned the showers and the toilets or helped in the kitchen (the food was quite good, but it always made him feel SO relaxed after he ate, and a little more confused), or wiped down the exercise equipment at the east end of the long room. All moving slow, in a daze.

Three docents supervised. They wore blouses, not just tight, but so sheer even freckles showed through, and sometimes they didn't bother to button enough buttons to keep their nipples from peeking out as they went about their tasks quickly and efficiently. The boys stared as the women in charge of them walked, tight buttocks moving under the crisp cotton of their panties, also immaculate white (though from time to time one would exhibit a damp spot at the cameltoe, suggesting a trickle of juices from an overstimulated vaj).

All this was visible because the docents here wore no skirts at all, keeping the boys in a constant dreamy state of arousal.

When one beefy but kindly-faced docent saw Gene's erection, she took him by the arm and led him to the milking machines at the west end of the room. "The Jizz Squad," she said, patting the first one affectionately. It was a kiosk with handholds on both sides and a lovely sculpted face of a woman with parted lips at waist height (the machine adjusted to the height of the boy, as Gene soon learned). "Ayanna," the docent continued, "She is our mouthpiece, and," she led him to the second of the four machines, "Alexandria, one of our two cunts." It was a lifelike representation of a woman's genitalia, outer and inner lips, glossy black pubic hair, a clitoris just begging for a boy's thumb to rub it as he penetrated her, an anus coyly hiding below. "This," she pulled him to the next one, "is for boys who like dark meat." It was identical, except the skin tone was a creamy dark mocha, "Rashida is waiting for you to pleasure her. And last," she whispered in his ear confidentially, "We've discovered some boys have more eclectic appetites, so we added Omar a few months ago."

Omar was a pair of firm bubble-butts, with a substantial pair of testicles and a long, uncut penis hanging down below. Gene looked in and saw a pulsating lubricated sphincter between the arsecheeks. "And if you want the excitement of Greek style, but with a woman instead," she cooed excitedly, "The cock and balls can be detached," she pulled gently on Omar's cock, letting the seam in the flesh-colored rubber peek open, "and there's a sweet set of girly pink labes and clit!"

"Alexandria," he whispered, and moved back to the second milking machine.

"Take hold of the handles," she said, pulling down his jockey briefs, waistband scraping his erection as it bounced up eagerly, "I'll help you with -- Ah! There we go!" She expertly slipped his penis between Alexandria's pink latex pussylips.

As it began to pulsate, massaging him, gently sucking him in deeper into its warm wet, a screen at eye level flickered on. "The very best for our boys," the docent said, showing him the buttons on the handles. The scene, a busty African with short, natural hair and V shaved bare lathering up in a shower, changed to a motherly middle-aged woman cooking at an old-fashioned stove, then to a muscular gymnast working out on the uneven bars in a transparent leotard, then to a classroom with giggling girls in uniform filing in to sit at their seats, then to a woman with enormous fake breasts on her back in bed, moaning and gasping, each gasp synchronized with a tight squeeze from the apparatus holding his cock. A new scene every time he clicked the button.

"There's no hurry," the docent whispered, "We've got all the time in the world here."

He clicked, and clicked again, frantically searching, searching and finding everything from a snarling obese woman pulling her pussylips apart and urinating on the camera lens to a teenager with pierced nipples furiously whipping a fat boy spreadeagled, wrists and ankles tied to the frame of an antique four-poster bed. He lingered on that for a bit, then clicked off when she turned the whip, spat on the handle and began to force it down the boy's throat.

When he finally stopped, the scene was an older woman, bent over, away from the camera wearing nothing but a worn blue T-shirt (the closest he could get to Vesse in work clothes). Her face wasn't visible, but he could hear her crying, begging, "Please! Not up the arse -- Ow! Please, please, you're hurting me you bastard!" With each scream of pain, the machine squeezed and milked his cock like a panicked woman trying to fight against his angry thrusts. He rammed her hard, viciously, and soon gave up a fountain of his semen in a brain-burning orgasm that left him weak and shuddering. The docent gently massaged his buttocks, holding him pressed up against the machine as his cock slowly went limp, the last drops of his precious juices sucked and coaxed into its storage bank. Staring vacantly, he watched as the woman on screen collapsed into a heap, sobbing.

Smiling knowingly, the docent put his arm around her shoulder and helped him shuffle off to the bathing rooms to clean up. Another boy took his place almost immediately. An experienced inmate, he wasn't even supervised by a docent.

After soaping and rinsing and drying Gene's genitals, the docent helped him pull up his briefs and half-led, half-carried him back to his cot, where she tucked him in for a nap, whispering, "You're such a good boy today!"

The next few weeks was "now." He could hardly remember how he got here, didn't dare think of getting out, or even what being here tomorrow would be. Everything was a constant "now." He had chores to do and exercises to keep fit and hygiene routines and everything could be interrupted if his perpetual erection was insistent enough, or if a docent observed his tumescence and ordered him to visit the Jizz Squad, where he gave up his body to them in spurts of warm, sticky semen, over and over.

When Vesse finally came to see him (bright pink "visitor" tag on a lanyard around her neck) he recognized her, but hardly reacted at all: he was lying in bed dreamily masturbating, as so many of the boys there did.

"C'mon," she giggled, "Come show me your favorite member of the squad!" She took him by the hand and urged him out of bed.

He decided (but decisions were so vague and insubstantial for him here) to show her Omar, though he'd never used Omar before, with or without the male genitalia. Vesse wondered what fantasy he would call up on screen, but he seemed to wander around, clicking and clicking until, more or less at random, he found a scene of two young Oriental girls in dark blue school sweaters and skirts carefully locking a bedroom door before timidly embracing and starting to kiss.

At least it wasn't boys! Vesse wasn't really turned on by men having sex, though, admittedly, the porn was more honest -- a boy couldn't fake an orgasm and a money shot. Gene's balls thumping against Omar's as he took him up the arse was still a vaguely disturbing sight to Vesse. She reached down to touch his buttocks, caressing them, running a finger between the cheeks, feeling his muscles tensing and releasing.

The girls kissed and whispered, taking their time, so uncertain and nervous it was forever before they even pulled off their sweaters. Then they sat on the bed, kissed again, and the more aggressive girl began to unbutton the other's blouse and push up her skimpy bra to get at her nipples, small, dark and very hard now, which she shyly began to kiss.

Vesse watched, fascinated, as Gene's breathing grew deeper and faster and the two girls stretched out on the bed, hiking up their skirts and pushing aside narrow pink thongs. The girls weren't shaved bare, there was no attempt to give them disturbing little-girl bodies, but the hairs sprinkled over their lips and pubic mound were so thin, so fine, if anything it made them look even more innocent and virginal.

When at last the girls declared their love for each other, moaning passionately as their fingers desperately rubbed tiny clitorises and delicate inner lips, penetrated -- only a little way! -- into tight young vaginas, Vesse felt his buttocks clamp hard as he thrust into Omar, gasping as he ejaculated for the machine.

Later, when she was washing his cock and balls at one of the many sinks, she thought of how it was when they showered together, warm, wet hands all over each other's bodies.

"Behave yourself in here, Gene," she said as she walked him back to his cot, "In a few years when you get out, come back to me," she took a deep breath, "Please, darling."

But she couldn't tell, through his post-orgasmic daze, if he even understood her.

As she walked out, one of the docents, an older woman she'd known back when they'd both worked at the regular dormitories, remarked, "Don't take it too personally, for a lot of the boys in here, even the ones who are semi-coherent, the porn we feed them is better than anything they'll ever experience in real life, probably even better than any fantasy they could come up with on their own, and the machines, well, we've put a lot of work into making them especially stimulating... "

Vesse sighed: a true robosexual. Then consoled herself with the thought that she had an appointment in her apartment that evening and a new co-worker tomorrow to train in the bio-dome.