Different Planet

The chubby woman's white lab coat flapped open from time to time, revealing a cloud of greying pubic hair. She wore no skirt or panties. Her bare feet made no sound as she padded down the carpeted corridors of darkened offices. Sometimes her nipples peeked out, dark-brown gumdrops hard as bullets from rubbing against coarse, white cotton.

She wore nothing BUT the coat. And a funny, old-fashioned starched white nurse's hat like Gene only ever saw in the antique entertainment vids the colonists had brought from Old Earth.

She carried a wire rack of big glass tubes, which she switched from her right to her left hand as she knocked at one of the offices and entered without waiting.

The women at the conference table were all in white too. Perhaps a group of doctors and med-techs and health-security bureaucrats? They were tapping their e-terminals and peppering the woman seated at the head with questions, all the while munching from a platter of... peaches and cucumbers?... that left them sticky and slippery as they fingered their electronics.

Although they were all fully clothed, professionally dressed, not even a nipple bump or a square centimeter of thigh showing, they paid little attention to the tech or her wire rack, even when she stepped up and whispered in the ear of the woman at the head of the table, breasts sagging out, wrinkled and sun-browned cleavage fully visible as she bent over, "Director, I have..." but nobody could hear the rest, even though most conversation subsided.

The Director listened, absentmindedly running the tip of her tongue along the cleft of a peach she was holding, then turned to the group, "If you'll excuse me," she said, "This won't take long!"

They nodded and went back to their tablets and their discussion and their fruits and vegetables, not even watching as the Director led the nervous tech out the door.

They went down a flight of stairs, leaving the administrative wing, and found an unoccupied examination room. Not bothering to lock the door, the Director flopped on one of the tables and opened her legs. The tech set down the testtubes and moved to help her strap her feet in the stirrups.

"Help me get these knickers off first," she said, lifting her hips and pulling up her knee-length skirt to reveal skimpy cotton panties -- white, of course -- letting the tech get hold of the waistband.

"Oh!" she said as she pulled them off and set them on the counter next to the testtubes, "How lovely! You've waxed!"

"Smooth as a virgin before her first practicum," the Director said, putting her feet in the stirrups and pushing her lets apart. Tanned, bare pussylips opened, revealing a hooded clitoris above a pink vaj. "Could you access the records?" she nodded towards the testtubes, "Find out what boy's milk is any good?"

The tech patted herself just above her pubis, "Works for me!" The director wondered. It might just be that the tech looked as if she'd put on a few extra kilos. She reached a hand out to the tech's belly, brushing her pussyfur and feeling for the bump.

"I see," the Director said, as the tech produced a dildo, complete with rubber testicles that snuggled conveniently in her hand, lifelike except for the glossy black surface. "Did you use that, or sneak the boy into a supply closet and let him take you up against the wall?"

"Just pulled the sheets off him in the middle of the night, dropped my panties and had myself a nice, quick bronco ride. Whatever you've fortified their food with these past few months puts every one of them on hair-triggers. Squirted a huge load for me without barely waking up, AND their minds are so muddled they don't even remember doing it, much less which anonymous girl in white gave them an unofficial cockmilking!"

"Easy for you," the Director pouted, "You know I don't like cock," she looked at the dildo and frowned, "Not even fake ones. Why can't you use the regular turkey baster for once?"

"Equipment's in short supply," the tech opened a little compartment in the base of the rubber cock and inserted one of the testtubes, "I can't just borrow one of them. Some busybody twat would jack up her dominant and file a report with the Docent Superior!" She clicked it shut, "So we have to use party toys instead."

The Director grabbed a lube tube from a shelf under the exam table, popped the flip-top with her thumb and jammed it into her pink hole, "I should just get one of my own and do it myself." She sighed, "AHHH!" and forced out a generous squeeze, filling herself with cool, clear gel.

When the tech had pulled off the Director's panties, she'd seen the crotch was damp. Practically sopping in fact. She'd obviously been creaming with anticipation for hours. So why the big show of needing lubrication?

But it wouldn't be diplomatic to remark that the Director might have even a little craving for cock -- in any form. So she just said (diplomatically), "You know you're too busy, and," she leaned over and kissed the director on the lips as she expertly slipped the dildo between her other lips. "You like it when I do it for you!" The Director's clitoris stiffened, pushing out of its hood as the fake penis went in up to the hilt, the fake testicles slapping against her winking anus. Her nipples stiffened too, hard points thrusting up, fighting to push through the tight, white fabric of her blouse.

"Mmmm!" the Director purred, "Now get it nice and deep and -- wait! What are you doing?" The tech had eased pressure and started to pull the dildo out without completing the injection. "You'll fuck it up if you go off with half a cock inside me -- ohhHH!" She moaned as the tech pulled out a little further, then plunged it back in.

"Just kiss me, you horny dyke," the tech leaned over so her bare breasts rubbed the Director's arm and began pumping. The Director may not have had a taste for cock, but her hips had a mind of their own, rolling and squeezing, buttocks tensing and releasing. She reached a hand between the tech's legs, exploring, fingers groping. The tech shifted her feet, opening up, letting those fingers penetrate her wet pink. The Director's body was heaving now. If her feet hadn't been secured in the stirrups, she'd have thrown herself off the exam table right there, still protesting.

At last, the tech relented, squeezing hard on the rubber testicles as her internal muscles squeezed hard on the Director's fingers. "Don't you even want to know his name?" she asked, as boy's milk flooded the Director's vaj. Dyke or not, the warm squirts sent the woman into convulsions. Behind the tech she could see the rack of testtubes, clearly labeled, GENE, in red block letters on almost every one of them. They were so BIG and so FULL!

The Director screamed the name, her back arched, her blouse splitting open in half a dozen places, aching nipples bursting through as her vaj overflowed with Gene's semen.

And Gene woke up.

He'd been trying to avoid tainted food for weeks, coming late to meals (or skipping altogether if he could find an excuse), then sneaking hydroponic lentil bars or wrapped candies or anything else the docents hadn't yet "flavoured." Powdered blank nutrient packs were the easiest to get hold of, and the nastiest taste.

He could feel the difference, brain fog starting to clear, libido dropping a bit from the insane levels that had them milking him so often he was afraid of callouses on his penis, but he was far from back to normal (whatever that is). He had to be seen to eat something at meals. Besides, if he tried to starve himself the weight loss would show up at the (very frequent) physical exams.

So the sheet covering him was, he noted stoically, still tented by his throbbing erection.

On the other hand, that erection got the attention of Dr Winfrey, and not just during the poking and prodding she enjoyed when she gave those exams.

Grossly fat and talking endlessly, boringly ("Passion is the log that keeps the fire of purpose blazing," she lectured him the first time she put him on the milking table), she must have gravitated to the docent corps to get her hands on boys who couldn't walk away. She would take Gene (and maybe other boys too, he didn't know for sure) into an unoccupied maintenance closet or storeroom and get her own, unauthorized, sperm injection, thunder thighs squeezing him, heavy breasts slapping his face as she moaned, "Passion is energy. Feel the power that comes from focusing on what excites you," or whatever piece of psychobabble she'd dreamed up that afternoon.

He preferred her blowjobs, not because she was any good at it, but because it shut her up. "Cummon, give Mama Gail a nice, thick protein shake!" was all she could say before pulling him into the pantry closet yesterday and taking him in her mouth, then halfway down her throat.

She wasn't the only one who got protein that day, though his was powdered, dried, and he had to sneak it out after she left the storeroom and told him to wait a few minutes so nobody would see them together.

He was going to show them at least one boy could walk away. He could more-or-less concentrate mentally now, and he'd got enough calories stored up in a stolen pillowcase stapled to the bottom of his bed for a good long trip.

Even in these crazy times, though, an erection in public (even under clothing) would draw suspicion. So he had to take care of it. He still hated the thought of them harvesting his sperm and allocating it to "selected" women he didn't know and never would know, but what could be less suspicious than a boy making a visit to the milking machines?

Of the Squad of four, he used the Alexandria almost exclusively now. He'd noticed his fantasies were degenerating the longer his confinement in the dormitory lasted, and the Alexandria had the sluttiest library of videos.

Her gently pulsating, self-lubricating orifice was the second from the left, nestled between painfully lifelike pussylips. Her delicate pink pearl of a clit stood out from a wreath of glossy black pubic hair.

He'd had so MUCH practice, but still it took time to find the really disturbing fantasies. Dropping his trousers and slipping his cock into Alexandria's warm, wet embrace, he frantically clicked and clicked until he came to a mature, imperious woman standing naked, though appearing as comfortable as if she were fully dressed. Also looking suspiciously like the Director in his dream (Wet dream? Nightmare? Wet nightmare?), the same meaty breasts, graying hair, piercing eyes, pink lipstick, shaved pubis.

Except hers had five padlocks sealing it shut, the gleaming brass shackles lined up vertically, passing through piercings on both outer labia. The camera pulled back. Five young men in jeans, naked to the waist, stood behind her, looking her over. They wore gold chains around their necks, each with an almost identical gold key. She turned, gasped, tried to run, but they seized her by the arms and began to kiss her.

Gene began to pump his hips