Hentai World

Settling In

By The Preve

Thanks to Todger 65 for the edit

Pussy Wagon The Fourth arrived at the Hansen Hilton and opened its doors. The passengers' rush to leave the van nearly became a melee.

"Oh! Please do be careful," the A.I begged. "The safety protocols for the resort haven't been fully implemented yet."

"I don't care!" Kathy shouted. "If I have to listen to that fucking song, one more fucking second . . ." Most of the other passengers grunted agreement.

"Obnoxious too,"

Dick thought, amused.

"That's alright, I like obnoxious."

"Once again, I must sincerely apologize for my malfunction," Pussy Wagon said. "You will find my sound system much improved, should you find need of my services in the future."

"I doubt that very much," sniffed Magda. "I 'sincerely' hope never to see your horrid like again."

Robby was the last to exit. He was quiet and pensive as usual, ignoring the others; more interested in the building in front of him. The others collected their bags and gazed as well. "I have to admit, it's impressive," Dick admitted, grudgingly.

The Hansen Hilton was designed by Armand Babatunde, considered the Second Age's greatest architect, historically. Armand was understandably reluctant to create a building for such a sordid resort, but 2.5 billion BTC plus stock options went a long way towards alleviating his misgivings; plus there were those gambling debts . . .

Babatunde's approach fused Neo-Deco with Dieselpunk, blended with a subtle eroticism. It was regarded by critics of the time, at least those unbiased by Social Moral attitudes, as one of his best works. Its rediscovery would send orgasms through the art community if they knew. Unfortunately, none of the present guests were architects. Robby was the only one who fully appreciated the hotel's aesthetics.

He looked around at the others. They were impressed but,

"They don't get it."

He noticed how the two arms of the building tapered to a "V" at the entrance. How the front, a long oblong glass wall, displayed smaller doors, also oblong with red trimming. The wall and doors were bordered by tall pillars, five on each side with red bases reminiscent of painted nails. The effect was almost illusionary, like viewing a tunnel. The perceptive Robby knew what the front was supposed to evoke. The others were clueless. He applauded the architect.

The guests stood around awkwardly for a few minutes, unsure of what to do. Dick started to feel ridiculous.

"What am I doing here? I'm the fucking captain! I can't stand around with my thumb up my ass!

Okay pe . . ." The doors opened before he could finish. The flustered woman rushing across the red carpet stopped him dead.

She was agitated and embarrassed, and carrying a clipboard but Dick didn't care; the girl was fucking hot.

Her rich, glossy, black hair was tied in a tight bun. Her creamy white blazer, short, short skirt, white silk stockings, and leather pumps made her rich dark chocolate skin look even more delicious. Dick's trousers tightened almost immediately.

The other guests reactions varied. Mike and Mark goggled albeit Mike's expression withered under Mandy's glare. Robby looked interested but only as an expression of viewing a museum piece.

The women's expressions reflected their characters: cold appraisal from Magda, mild envy from Mandy, and contempt from Kathy.

The woman poured out a series of verbal repetitions, almost a chant. It took Dick a few seconds to discern her words.

"Oh dear oh my oh dear so sorry oh dear!" she droned over and over until she came to the guests. The woman stopped and drew herself at attention. "Greetings, I am so dreadfully sorry for my tardiness. I am Angelina 138, your hostess for the evening. I am here to assist you in all your requirements as best as I am able, under the current circumstances."

"I'd like you to assist me with my cock!"

Dick leered. "Well, yes Angelina. I'm Captain Dick Ransom. Um, you're a clone, I take it? Shouldn't there be more to help with the luggage?"

"Oh! Yes normally there would but with such short notice . . . No one's visited for ages and we've been inactive for so long. Most of us are still in stasis, you see. I was only revived just under an hour ago. The resort is still powering up. I can inform you the kitchen and dining facilities are up and running, so if you require sustenance, food and drink are available twenty-four seven Terran standard; at our expense of course."

"It's kind of strange," Robby said. "Where did the food come from?"

"Foodstuffs are created through cloning parts of edible plants and animals, and then placed in deep stasis until needed," Angelina replied. "They may not be technically fresh but I assure you our stasis technology preserves both flavor and texture. You won't tell the difference."

Robby and the others were skeptical over the prospect of consuming centuries old food. Robby was about to ask another question when the doors flew open and several luggage carriers rolled out. "

This is Hentai World/Let's have a fuck,"

they sang.

"If you want some ass then . . ."

"Aaah! Stop it!" Kathy screamed.

"Yeah, cut the fucking jingle!" cried Mike. The other guests accompanied him with a loud chorus of curses and threats that took Angelina and the carriers aback.

"Oh!" they said. "The tune is not to your liking?" the carriers continued. "Perhaps this one will suffice.

Fuck to a pussy that's oh so wet./There's none so great as a young slut's smell./Fuck to a co . . .

"

"No songs! Just get our fucking luggage!" Mike shouted.

"Oh!" said the carriers. "Well, compliance."

The carriers loaded the luggage quietly while Angelina ushered the grumbling guests into the building.

The hotel lobby continued the art deco/dieselpunk motif of the exterior. Its color scheme, found on the furniture, walls, and lighting fixtures, was an aesthetically placed design, in shades of white, gray, and black.

Magda, a connoisseur of interior design and appreciative of feng sui, was impressed. She'd expected something more garish, considering the transportation from the spaceport. She noticed, from their expressions, the others were impressed as well.

The check-in desk was large, circular like a doughnut, and situated in the middle of the lobby. It was obviously designed for multiple personnel to handle large numbers of guests.

On first glance it looked featureless, until a closer look revealed subtle, but elaborate designs flickering on its surface. Surprisingly the figures, instead of the obscene erotic images the guests expected, displayed a history of Hansen's empire. The art deco holos featured Scott Hansen prominently. Somehow it didn't surprise Robby. "What a narcissist," he thought.

Angelina walked through a section of the desk, a holographic illusion designed to give the impression of an unbroken circle, and touched the surface. A 3-D hologram of an old-fashioned guest book appeared. "If the guests can step up so their DNA signatures may be entered for their rooms?"

DNA signature access was one of the oldest, most reliable security procedures in space travel. Few human settlements functioned without it.

Dick was first, followed by Magda, and then the rest. The process was quick and simple: place the thumb on the book, a quick painless prick to draw blood, and the DNA was entered into the master program. The tech was centuries old but still in use, albeit some of the more powerful corporations and the military were experimenting with molecular structural identification. When the guests withdrew their thumbs, room numbers had been holo-printed onto their skin.

"So now you are checked in," Virginia said. "I'm happy to inform you of your free access to all attractions and amenities included in the premium package for our most privileged guests. Virginia insisted as a courtesy."

"Bloody hell!" Magda snorted. "As if I would take advantage of any 'attraction' in this sordid place." Kathy's sneer, followed by a look of disgust, bespoke her agreement with Magda. Mike was about to speak but stopped and glanced uncertainly at Mandy. Mandy smiled and whispered in his ear. His face blushed and he grinned. "Thank you," he said to Angelina, looking at Mandy.

"I second that!" an enthusiastic Mark said, earning him a contemptuous glare from Kathy. Mark glared back defiantly, with a touch of mischief. Robby watched them both, silent and pensive. He remembered how close they'd been as kids. It changed when the twins hit adolescence. They weren't close now.

Robby took his eyes off the twins before Kathy's glare turned his way. He looked around the lobby, at Angelina and the others. The place gave him the creeps, in spite its elegance.

"We're stuck on a resort with a bad reputation, run by an ancient A.I, omnipresent and not trustworthy,"

he thought,

"Everyone's worried about the sex rides. They don't have a clue. She's watching us."

"That kid bears close observation," Virginia thought. The others she dismissed; dumb tourists never change, even in centuries. This boy was different. "He's smarter than the others, more cautious. A threat perhaps?"

She drew up the manifest from the shuttle. Privacy law remained mostly consistent over the centuries, so no thorough biographies were expected. The manifest listed his home as Topeka, Kansas, Earth. "Hmmm," she thought. "A hotbed of Social Moralism back in the day and a Phelpsist stronghold."

The Social Moralist tide had receded during the Third Age and many Phelpsists emigrated to the outer colonies. "New Idaho experienced major settlement by the Phelpsists," Virginia noted, "This information bears further inquiry."

Dick, on his part, was just as enthusiastic as Mark, especially if circumstances got him alone with Magda or Kathy but, given his probation, he thought it best to continue his authoritative captain act for awhile longer.

"Right! So that's it then. I don't know about you but I'm going to bed. We're stuck here for the duration so I suggest everyone make the most of it. As soon as I get news we have a new shuttle, I'll inform you. I want everyone packed and ready in the lobby on the news. Now if there's nothing else . . . good! Miss Angelina?" he tipped his hat. "Goodnight passengers."

Dick went to the elevator, accompanied silently by the carrier with his bag. The passengers stood awkwardly for a moment before Mark looked at Kathy, shrugged, and followed. The lobby emptied, leaving Angelina alone with an enigmatic smile.

The elevator stopped at three different floors. Robby was both happy and disturbed to find he had a room all to himself. Mandy and Mike shared a floor with Kathy, while Magda, Dick, and Mark took the third. Virginia was well programmed as a hostess. The rooms seemed tailored to the unique personalities of the occupants.

****

Robby inspected his room. He smiled, a rare occurrence. He had few reasons to do so these days. He liked this room in spite of his unease. "She's still watching."

The colors on the bed sheets were done in bright pastels. The holo-murals on the walls and carpeted floor evoked a flower garden, with a touch of art deco, blending with the real plants and flowers placed around the room. Robby loved colors and art that combined reality and illusion.

The bathroom was spacious with earth tones in its tiles. All the accessories, towels, bathrobe, body wash, and shampoo were at the ready. The objects were still cool from deep storage so Robby wasn't surprised.

Before stepping into the shower, Robby stripped and looked at himself in the mirror. The sad face that looked back contemplated the bleak future spread before him. He had no illusions what awaited him in New Idaho. He hadn't wanted to go; his parents gave him no choice.

Ironically, his mother was the one most insistent. He took after her in looks, giving him a fey, slightly effeminate quality. His mother was from an old Phelpsist family. They tended to make decisions with more emotion than reason. New Idaho was full of Phelpsists. "They're moderates at least," he thought. "The Radicals are genocidal."

Robby's dad was not a Phelpsist but still held old school notions of machismo, and felt New Idaho would "man up" his younger son. Robby thought that what he was now was just fine. He snorted contemptuously at his dad's ignorance. "He should have gone to school with me." School was an inferno. The words "twink" and "femboy" were hurled at him regularly; old terms, still in use, that he took stoically.

The words were more about his looks than his clothes. He preferred colors around him rather than on him. He looked closer at his reflection. He did have a few freckles. He read an ancient book once, "Peter Pan" with illustrations. The artist was good. "I guess I look like him," he thought; a more seductive Peter Pan, sly and fey with dark green eyes and dark brown hair. He guessed people made assumptions about him over the years, including his own family. Some were true, some not. He wished his family had bothered to try, at least, to understand him.

Robby was especially sad about his older siblings. There was a time when he admired them. It seemed, looking back, the older they got, the crueler they became, or at least his sister did. Mark was more distracted by girls, and dismissed him. Kathy however . . . it was if becoming queen bee of her clique hollowed her out morally and drained her of empathy. Robby endured more than his share of bullies through junior high and high school, but the irony of the cruelest being his own sister felt like some cosmic joke. "I guess she wanted to follow Mom," he sighed. "Maybe she's trying too hard."

In the shower, Robby thought over Stewardess' words about the planetary salvage rights. "We could be rich," he thought. There were possibilities but Robby, while young, harbored few illusions. Trans-Galactic was big and powerful. "They'll probably grab up everything." Still money could mean independence but then, "I don't care about the money." Robby wanted escape. They wouldn't kill him in New Idaho but he heard about the conversion schools, camps actually; technical violations of colonial human rights laws but the Terran government practiced a laissez faire policy towards the colonies. "Out of sight, out of mind," he bitterly muttered. Robby decided then and there to jump ship when the time was right. Sirius Seven was a large spaceport and their original destination. The layover was two weeks; plenty of time to hitch a ride on a cargo ship. Robby was eighteen; cargo ships were always in need of crew. He could work his way to another colony, one of the progressive ones, with generous social welfare to get him started. "Maybe I can claim asylum," he thought. "Yeah, that might work."

Robby left the shower feeling much better. He spared another glance in the mirror and noticed he had the same pixie hairstyle as Mandy, the other passenger. "Weird, another irony," he thought, going to the bed.

****

Mike and Mandy showered together, jumped into bed, and made rambunctious, wild love well into the night. Mandy later lay gazing at sleeping Mike, admiring the way his light brown hair flopped across his forehead. She reached out and brushed it back. She traced his straight nose and ran her fingers across his full lips. He moaned, stirred, and snored softly. Her fingers traced down his chest, feeling its rise and fall, the warm sweat on his skin.

She stroked his belly, taking in his firm but not too firm muscles. He wasn't too much the exerciser but not soft either. He'd worked everywhere from asteroid mining to bar tending; the wandering life did not produce soft people.

The hair on his groin was darker than on his head. It started from his lower belly, spreading down in a widening patch. His cock rested soft and limp in the center. "You look tired," she murmured.

Mandy stroked his soft dark pubes remembering their velvet touch against her skin. She took his cock, warm and still throbbing, and ran her thumb over its veins, feeling their pulse. He moaned and stirred, his cock rose and stiffened. She stroked it, a small smile on her face, remembering how it felt inside her. "Mmmm, I think I'll have a last one before sleep," she giggled.

She hooked her leg over his and guided his cock inside. Mike sighed and blinked, opening his eyes partially, half in dream, half awake. He grabbed her ass and let her pump him, smiling softly, until he came. The lovemaking, this time, was soft and quiet. Their cum mingled together, presaging their union. She collapsed beside him, skin gleaming with sweat, his flesh still inside, laying face to face.

"Damn! I love this man!"

she thought, dreaming of the future.

Mike held his fiancee close; his legs tangled with hers, his cock buried inside her body. He was half asleep, also dreaming of the future. "Are we rich?" he asked, half seriously. He'd worked too many jobs for too many corporations to harbor any illusions about his claim but,

"That money would make things a lot easier for me and Mandy."

It could also mean a lot of headaches.

He'd seen money madness. He didn't like the idea of it happening to him or her. He was a worker period. He didn't come from wealth and disliked people who did. He pegged the captain as money the instant he stepped on the shuttle.

"And I don't like the way he looked at Mandy. The shit's a fucking rich boy rape fratter. He's got that smell all over him."

The prospect of him turning out like the captain because of money almost made him ill; worse when he thought of his potential children being raised in that wealth.

"Aw damn! What the hell am I thinking? Trans-Galactic will grab up all the rights like the rich fucks they are. The big corps have always screwed the little guy, it's human nature. We'll work our own way up the chain. We don't need the money."

Still, as he drifted off, stroking her hair, that lingering persistent thought stuck in the distant back of his head like a parasite.

"That is a lot of fucking money."

****

Kathy pumped her body up and down, working those abs. She wore a sports bra and yoga pants. Centuries old music blasted through the Bose. Kathy had no fondness for classical music. This particular piece,

All About That Base

, was a minor example of late First Age popular music, according to the assessment on its edu-file. It allowed her to focus on other things than her time in the hotel.

Kathy couldn't wait to get to New Idaho. Its Yale subsidiary sported one of the top athletic and cheerleading programs in the outer colonies. Its business curriculum was among the best, and the tuition was cheap. With the colonies expanding and new business opportunities opening, a solid degree and athletic prestige assured her future.

So what if her abominable little brother thought differently? Kathy's mother told her she arranged for his placement in a conversion camp the moment they arrived. New Idaho only paid lip service to the Sentient Rights Convention. Earth's laissez-faire policy allowed the colony "flexibility" in enforcement.

New Idaho conversion education was supposed to be the best. The schools' suicide rates were among the lowest in the colonies. "They'll knock that queer stuff out of his head soon enough," Kathy snorted. "Fuck my boyfriend? Damage my social niche? He'll pay for that."

He'd denied it of course. "Yeah, he would," she remembered. "Trust a pervert like that to cover his ass to me and spread it for others. Mom was right about them." It didn't matter to Kathy that Sheila, her cheer mate, told her of a rumor the story actually came from Michelle, Kathy's BFF. According to Sheila, Michelle made advances toward Thad, the boyfriend, who rejected her, so she made up the story to destroy Thad and undermine Kathy. It didn't make sense to Kathy. "Michelle was Jaime's girlfriend. They were tight. Why would she make up shit like that?"