Chapter 2: The Surface
D-Day
Summary: An X-rated science fiction story. Debbie and Brian are two explorers from Earth sent to an alien planet to recover a crashed surveillance satellite. On the surface live the Longtons, a humanoid, pre-industrial revolution culture where the women are subservient to the males. Debbie soon discovers why the women willingly allow themselves to be subservient, and in the end she wants to stay (M/F, F/M, exh, size, bond).
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Warning: The following story is fiction, and the acts depicted in the story should remain fiction. It is intended for the entertainment of mature adults only. Be advised explicit sex is contained within and should not be read by minors.
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"Are you ready to go?" Brian asks.
"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess," I answer hesitantly, already having second thoughts about accepting the mission.
We stand on the planet's surface, almost 600 miles from the nearest Longton village, at the top of a sand dune with only the glow of the two moons and a thousand stars to light our way. We already receive our first taste of the Longton heat, for the temperature still hovers at around 40oC. I already feel perspiration on my brow and dread the thought of the sun beating down on us.
The sand shifts below my sandals and scratches between my toes. All I see around me is sand; dune after dune of shifting sand. The nearest tree, I know, is about a hundred miles away. It is like the Sahara Desert on Earth, but even the Sahara is nothing compared to this. We stand on the edge of the vast equatorial desert that is a thousand times bigger than the Sahara.
Next to us sits our mode of transportation. It looks something like a jeep or maybe a go-cart designed for desert travel. It is an open- air vehicle with no roof and only the bare minimum of a frame to hold it together. We tied out supplies securely down in the rear: food, clothing, radio, a little tent, and certainly plenty of water. The two seats positioned in front look too small to carry a grown human. The contraption, in summary, looks like a toy a young teenager might use to play around in a dirt field.
Behind us, down between the gullies of two large sand dunes, sits our spaceship. There sits the shuttle that bought us down to the surface. We purposely landed it in a low place to keep it safe and out of sight from the rare desert traveler. I do not plan to see it again for at least a week.
"We better get going," Brian appears anxious, standing next to the jeep. "Best if we go as many miles as we can before sunrise."
I agree, of course. We are allowed to travel in the jeep only at night.
Then he adds: "You realize, of course, from this point on we're not supposed to wear any Earth-based clothing."
I notice him look at me, and I distinctly notice him look mostly at my chest. Now I know why he is anxious. It isn't to travel; he is anxious to see what will pop out behind my loose fitting blouse. All men like a big set of tits.
I do not feel nearly as anxious as he does. "Don't worry," I comfort him. "I'll take it off when we leave the vehicle."
Brian shakes his head. "You know the rules. Captain Rileymen's instructions were clear. From this point on."
He already wears his Longton clothing. It reminds me of those little Indian outfits worn in old Western movies. A flap comes down in front and another in the rear. His thighs remain nearly bare with a thin string that goes around his waist. I have to admit he looks sexy in it.
I know the rules. I'm supposed to change into my Longton clothing too, but can't bring myself to do it. "Can't we fudge a little?" I try to back out. "I mean, what's the harm?"
"Listen," He speaks in a rare moment of sympathy. "I know it'll will be embarrassing, but it doesn't make any difference. Now or later, the result will be the same. You might as well get it over with. We can't have you walking around all bashful and embarrassed when we meet the first Longtons."
This is true. I even thought it a good idea when he first proposed we get accustomed to the Longton clothing as soon as possible, but now I feel some serious objections.
"All right!" I take a deep breath and accept the inevitable.
I turn away to unbutton my blouse. Underneath, I wear the most conservative of the three outfits commonly worn by the Longton women. The "outfit" is what I nickname the string bikini back at the lab. True to its name, it is constructed mostly out of string. One goes around my neck and the other ties behind my back. The only fabric covering my extra large pair of boobs is two white, triangular-shaped cups. Looking down upon myself, I see they do a bare-minimum job of covering. In keeping with the Longton style, it looks as though I wear a bikini sized for a B cup girl on a set of double-D cupped boobs.
I toss the blouse aside and lower my shorts. A sigh comes from the jeep to remind me of my ass. The rear of the bikini panty is little more than a thong that runs up my behind. The front is a small triangle of white fabric that thankfully covers everything of importance, but just barely.
I have never worn such a small bikini before. In fact, I have never worn a bikini at all. My large breasts and wholesome Northern Minnesota upbringing bestowed me with conservative values. I was always taught that naughty girls wore bikinis and good girls wore one-piece bathing suits.
Reluctantly, I take a deep breath and turn around.
"Wow!" Brian amplifies my embarrassment.
