Different Planet Ch 31

Of course Haly walked slowly, knowing Alex enjoyed seeing the trickle of his semen oozing out from between her smooth-shaven pussylips, running slowly down her inner thighs, glistening translucent streaks over deeply tanned skin. She moved just fast enough to get into the tub before dripping any boymilk on their floor.

The manual shower spigot was rather low, and she reached for it slowly, giving him a good long look at the juicy curves of her buttocks tightening when she bent over. He didn't tell her how much it reminded him of Slatee's girl, playacting the shy, nervous virgin, timidly pulling her arse cheeks open and begging him to "luvmedaddy!" her in the "one place" (she SO liked pretending to be embarrassed!) that would not have a chance to plant a baby inside her.

He watched Haly's puckered balloon knot winking, so wide open and relaxed... was she teasing him? He fantasized about one day seeing his load overflowing from there instead of from her (very delicious) pussy. Was she teasing him, now, tempting him with her oh-so-empty backdoor love tunnel?

But... so far she'd only just (sometimes) told him to finger that orifice -- just a little -- when she rode him. And he still wasn't entirely sure she let him do it only because SHE knew HE liked to do it.

He did know that she liked him soaping her up, standing there, feet apart, arms raised as he ran his fingers over every square centimetre of skin, so dark from hours under sun-lamps. "How long is this boy going to be here?" he asked as he pushed her arsecheeks apart to wash between them.

Haly tried to hear meaning in his voice. Was he put out at having to put someone up in their apartment? Or was he anticipating some fun, playing with his wife and a new young boy? Was he just peacefully, post-orgasmically musing?

"Not too long," she said thoughtfully, tensing her buttocks and squeezing his hand playfully, "And by that I mean I don't really know for sure." Her turn; she picked up the soap. "If Slatee has his implant ID fully reset, it shouldn't be more than three or four days, but then --"

"Then there's the problem of actually finding him some place to live once he has clearance -- OOOHHHH!" Haly had slipped her hand between his buttocks, then cunningly pushed a slick index finger through his anus. She knew he had no inhibitions there. Maybe...

"And," she found his prostate and rubbed her fingertip in a gentle circular motion, "He has to detoxify from that awful ball-slavery regimen the docents put him on." No, Alex liked the sensation, so deep at the root of his penis, but that penis wasn't getting hard again just yet. So she withdrew her finger and moved to soap less sensitive parts. Still... was Alex anticipating a bed-partner who could penetrate him with more than a finger or two?

"Did Slatee -- ooohhh, that's gooOOOOD! -- say anything specific about what the treatment does to boys they keep in the secure dormitories?"

She gently squeezed his (still soft) penis, "If an adventurous softball coach got her hands on one of them, she could have him inseminate her entire team in the locker room, during the chalk talk after a game, then drag him home to her own bed and ride him half the night. He might be sore, but he'd perform."

"But there's always a catch?" He moved his penis gently in and out of her fist, but it didn't stiffen.

"Not for the girls!" They both laughed. "But it fuzzes up the boys' minds," she started to rinse him off. "He probably won't remember much of his time there."

"Too bad." Alex reached for a towel.

"Not necessarily. There are rumours it affects you like watching too much porn. You start thinking about more disturbing stuff, taking more risks as your brain gets saturated."

"But of course," he carefully dried off her back and buttocks, "They wouldn't have a problem with that in a locked dormitory patrolled by vigilant docents."

"Of course," she stretched, enjoying his touch, "Now let's get some clothes on. He'll be here soon."

She dressed slowly for him, a reverse striptease, handling her breasts far more than she really needed to while coaxing them into her bra cups and smiling wickedly when she pulled on a short skirt without troubling herself to find any knickers to wear under it. Dressed (mostly) they busied themselves with mundane household chores; every time she sat down or bent over, he felt his penis starting to recover.

Shortly, the doorbell chimed, but the chimecam showed TWO people, a muscular young man in a soft grey work shirt and utility trousers that didn't quite fit, standing next to a stout woman in an expensive pink blouse over worn denims that gripped her curves from buttocks to thighs to calves.

So Haly opened the door circumspectly and said only, "Hello, can I help you?"

"This is Gene," the woman said quickly, "Slatee asked me to help him find his way here." Haly noticed the young man was leaning on her for support and the woman continued, "We'd best get out of the corridor."

"Of course." Haly stood aside and the two hurried in.

"Now," she said, steering Gene around a low table and helping him to sit on a couch, "I'd love to stay, but Slatee told me we have to keep this whole thing clandestine," she giggled, "I just love the way he talks!" She giggled again, then bent over to give Gene a quick kiss on the cheek. Alex watched as the thin material of her denims tightened over her behind, the fabric seams stretching perilously close to their limits, buttcheeks rounded and separated. It was obvious she enjoyed wearing nothing at all under her trousers.

"Thank you so much, Gene," they heard her whisper to him. Straightening up, she patted her stomach, just over her pubis, and winked at him. To Alex and Haly, she said, "Slatee owes you a solid, but," she hurried to the door, "Best wait a little while for things to quiet down before you collect!" And she was gone.

Haly sat next to him on the couch. "Are you all right?" she asked, "You can take it easy now. We've got all the time in the world."

Her voice was comforting but even so, memories came flooding back. Memories of nightmares, nightmares even more frightening because they could have been real. He couldn't really remember, even now, when his head was finally starting to clear.

Docents in their white tunics, nipples clearly outlined, always erect -- did they pinch them or lick them when he wasn't looking? Tunics that wouldn't come down far enough to cover their white panties, crisp cotton stretched over full, dark bushes of gloriously untrimmed pubic hair (some were blondes, but somehow they never made appearances in his dreams). This time the struggling woman they brought was a little older, maybe 25 standard, but her pale skin, stringy brown hair and hints of baby fat in her cheeks made her disturbingly younger.

One docent ripped the woman's blouse open, shoving braless tits in Gene's face. The other docents laughed, "Why bother? He doesn't need it to get hard!"

And he was, almost painfully so, watching as they pulled down the woman's skintight exercise pants and bent her over an examination table. It was (mercifully) well-padded. He started to tell them that she wasn't wet, it wouldn't work, hoping at least for a short reprieve while they hunted up some vaginal lubricant. Could they even hear him over the woman's screams?

They only laughed harder and spit, spit on his cock, on her pussylips, even pulled on the brown, curly pubic fur to open her up and spit INSIDE her, then pushed him forward. Why couldn't they just use the turkey baster?

"Best way to inseminate," the biggest, butchest docent, the one who often walked her rounds in just her tunic, flaunting her luxurious glossy black pussyfur curls for all the boys to see and salivate over, that docent cupped Gene's testicles in an enormous, though surprisingly soft palm, "The best way is fresh-and-hot from a pair of overloaded young boyballs!"

The woman on the exam table only sobbed as the docents guided his throbbing cock inside her. Gene tried to go slowly. She was still dry enough to make the friction painful. But they slapped his buttocks and pushed him forward hard.

He tried to cum, pumping his hips, trying to think, staring at the laughing docent's pussyfur -- was it darker now, wet with her juices? -- grasping at memories, something, anything to bring himself off.

At last, images of Vesse flooded his mind, just enough, just barely enough.

But not the passionate lovemaking in the biodome.

Oh no.

The screams of the woman on the table in front of him COULDN'T be real, MUST be a nightmare! They were the same screams he forced from Vesse when he rammed his cock into her oh-so-tight (and maybe virgin?) backdoor. Orifice as tight as the vaj the docents were forcing him to fill with his precious sperm, spurt after spurt of fresh-and-hot and he screamed and screamed.

Haly looked at the silent figure on her couch. "Are you all right?" she asked again.