Naed Planet

Author's Note: This is a science fiction series featuring elements of reluctant/forced sex. This chapter contains harassment, name-calling, and humiliation; a woman says no to sex, but is coerced into it anyway. The explicit style tends more toward pornography than erotica; depending on your tastes, it may not be for you. Please read at your discretion.

1.1

Gwen Fairfax awakened with a shudder. She arched up in her cryo-hibernation pod as the telltale rush of stimulants coursed like ice water through her veins. She gasped for air. A momentary, claustrophobic panic descended upon her as her breath fogged up the glass above her face. A synthetic voice outside announced something indistinctly, and a moment later the pod hissed as it lifted open its canopy. Gwen sat up, trembling and woozy, trying to catch her breath.

She hated space travel. The

Tempest

was a quick vessel, much faster than the ungainly colony ship that preceded her here to Planet Inanna, but it still took years at superlight speeds to make the voyage. The training holo-reels made cryogenic hibernation out to be little more than a short nap, with none of the fasting and disorientation that it really involved. As she placed her bare feet on the deck, she vowed never to go into cold sleep again.

"Gwen, you're awake! Whoa, just take it easy... deep breaths now."

Wade Thompson, the engineer, had rushed over while she was trying to stand. He was in his late twenties but reminded her of an awkward teenager: tall and lanky, with an unruly mop of ginger hair and neon-green ocular implants. He was something of a child prodigy, having earned his first doctorate at seventeen before going on to work for the United States government. He had an obvious, boyish crush on her, having made a couple clumsy passes at her at the start of the mission. Compared to the rest of the crew, though, he was mostly sweet and harmless, trying with all his will to keep eyes north of her collarbone.

"It's all right, Wade," said Gwen. "I'm just a little dizzy. So, are we...?"

"Yeah," he replied with a grin. "We made it. We just entered orbit four hours ago. The rest of Alpha Team is getting prepped for the first survey mission. You're the last one out of cryo. Oh, there weren't any problems, mind you—I made sure your pod was in tiptop shape before we left!"

"The colony?"

He shook his head. "No contact yet. We've been trying to get them over radio. Look, you should probably get something to eat first. You've been starved since—"

"No staring!" interrupted someone in a Slavic accent. "I know she has nice

siski

, but poor girl just woke up!"

Mikhail Vasilievsky, "Misha," entered the hibernation bay. A former senior sergeant in the Soviet Spetsnaz and veteran of multiple Communist crackdowns in Europe, he was the leader of Alpha Team, which would be first to set foot on Inanna. He was a blond, musclebound brute who easily dwarfed Wade; the two looked almost comical standing side-by-side in matching olive-drab jumpsuits. Gwen might have found Misha intimidating were it not for his laughable machismo.

"What?" protested Wade. "I wasn't staring at your, I mean—"

"Don't worry about it," reassured Gwen. "Misha's just being an ass. As usual."

She contemptuously narrowed her eyes at the Russian as she took her first steps on wobbly legs. He only smirked back, deludedly taking her animus as simply playing hard-to-get. She had already shot down his advances numerous times, but he had not taken the hint. As she walked toward the hatch leading out of the hibernation bay, he made no effort to conceal his ogling.

The cryosuit, after all, was a formfitting, silver thing that left little of Gwen's curves to the imagination. Made from an elastic, bio-adaptive material and designed to regulate vital signs during hibernation, it was overlaid with a honeycomb pattern of electrolytic conduits that interacted with the body's chemical processes. Beyond the bubble of a pod, however, it did little more than protect the wearer's modesty, and even that just barely.

And what a lovely hourglass of a figure she had! Gwen was blessed with an improbable blend of shapeliness and supple athleticism: firm and toned, with smoothly tapering legs, rounded hips, and big, plump breasts. She had fair skin, lustrous black hair tied back in a braided ponytail, and a slender, high-cheeked face with slight nose and full lips. She was frighteningly attractive, and to the otherwise all-male, joint American--Soviet crew of the

Tempest

, her very presence was an unbearable tease.

She was leaving the bay when Misha cleared his throat. "You know, almost forgot. Boss says you go to him when you are ready."

"Commander Ellison?" asked Gwen, turning in the passageway. "What did he want?"

"Did not say. Should hurry. Man does not like waiting for, eh, how you say in English?

Unwrapping birthday presents?

"

Gwen rolled her eyes. It was always innuendo with Misha. She just hoped the meeting with the commander was not about her place on Alpha Team's expedition to the planet surface. She may not have been fully accepted among the crew, but she was determined to go. Visiting an alien world like Inanna was the opportunity of a lifetime. Besides, it was what she had spent months training for, not to mention the years in hibernation just to get here. She had not traveled across the galaxy only to stay cooped up on a ship full of sex-deprived men. She was an explorer and a scientist.

1.2

Gwen's arrival in the ship's mess hall was greeted with lewd stares and wolf whistles. She could have changed into something a little less provocative than her skintight cryosuit, but she was too hungry to care. Misha took his seat with some shipmates as they snickered over some raunchy joke at her expense.

Gwen ignored them and carried her tray to an empty table. As the only woman on board, she had already grown accustomed to boorish behavior, whether it was a stare that lingered too long, or a hand wandering where it did not belong. To the men, she was not a professional, but merely a sexy prize to be gawked at.

She ate ravenously, eagerly spooning the gray nutrient paste into her mouth despite its decidedly unappealing color and consistency. It had been literally years since her last meal, and her body craved whatever nourishment was available. She stopped only to take gulps from a tumbler filled with protein supplement.

"You've sure got an appetite!" exclaimed Wade as he sat down across from her. "Hey, it's better if you dump some salt packets on it. Almost tastes like mashed potatoes."

"So, what's the situation on the surface?" she asked, mouth full.

"We don't know any more right now than we did before we left. The

Ziusudra

arrived twenty years ago without incident and established an outpost on the southern supercontinent. They started waking the colonists from cryo in blocks of ten. Everything seemed like it was going fine, but... I don't know. They'd revived less than three percent of the population when they sent their last report. No explanation. That was thirteen years ago."

"It's a completely unfamiliar ecosphere; we have to face the possibility that the planet just turned on them," Gwen murmured as she continued eating. "Anyway, do

you

know what Misha was talking about? What did Ellison want?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, you know how the commander is. He probably gives twice as many orders as he remembers! I wouldn't worry about it. Say, how about I help you out getting ready for the surface? You know, with getting suited up and all?"

"Um, thanks, but I think I got it. I just hope there aren't problems with me being on Alpha Team. I know the crew doesn't see me as anything more than eye candy, but I've trained for this just like everyone else. We know almost nothing about this planet or the life on it." She dropped her empty spoon on the tray. "They need a science officer to go along."

"Well, I... I see you as more than eye can—"

Before he could finish, someone leaned rudely into the space in front of Gwen. "Excuse me miss, is this imitation of a man bothering you?" he asked, his Southern twang dripping with mock concern.

Danny Ransom was a tanned meathead with a buzz cut and a mustache, a sleazeball former cop from Texas who somehow landed a job as Misha's second-in-command on Alpha Team. He and his superior should have been divided by Cold War rivalry, but they were essentially twins with different accents, and they got along like peas in a pod.

"Uh, I'm fine, thanks," said Gwen with a patently fake smile.

"You

are

fine," agreed Ransom, looking her up and down as he put a hand on her shoulder. "But I feel obliged anyhow to rescue you from . . ." he motioned to a fuming Wade, "whatever pity-handjob Ginger here thinks he can guilt out of you."

"Oh really?" she asked with a mirthless laugh. "And I'm supposed to believe you're the perfect gentleman?"

"Well, of course, darlin! I always treat a lady right. I always remember to give her roast beef a nibble before feeding her sausage!"

He wriggled an outstretched tongue at her. Misha and the others at the other table, who had barely kept straight faces during the exchange, broke down in snorts and snickers. Gwen exhaled in disgust and pushed back in her chair, having had enough. Wade put a hand on her wrist, but she flicked it away and stood, staring defiantly up at Ransom.

"You're a pig. And so are all of you!"

"Gwen, don't," started Wade, trying to stop her, but she had angrily stalked Ransom back to his table, where he was receiving congratulatory backslaps from Misha and their friends.

She was poised to tell them all off when they were interrupted by the chirp of the intercom, followed by the commander's crisp voice: "Miss Fairfax, if you're done socializing with my crew, report to my quarters immediately."

The men erupted into catcalls around her, delighted that she was the one being scolded, not Ransom. "Better get that cute ass moving, sweetheart!" he taunted. "Wouldn't want to be late for your lap dance!"

Gwen shook her head at him, gritting her teeth. Finally, she turned and headed out. This confrontation was not over as far as she was concerned, but it would have to wait until after her talk with the commander. As she weaved her way through the chuckling crowd on her way to the hatch, Misha gave her a sharp slap on the buttocks.

The men burst into laughter.

She seethed at her crewmates' immaturity. Still, taking the narrow passageway to the commander's quarters, she felt a little chastened by the situation, as if she were a truant schoolgirl being called to the principal's office. She just hoped that the meeting was nothing serious.

1.3

The cabin was a bit more spacious than the other crew accommodations: a bunk, a centerfold of Miss December 2084 pinned up on a bulkhead, and a holoprojector displaying a three-dimensional image of Planet Inanna. Marked with a red dot was Prosperity, the optimistically named first colony site. Gwen circled the hologram, marveling at the idea that in a few hours, she would be setting foot on another world.

"You're out of uniform, Miss Fairfax."

Gwen turned to his voice, only to immediately avert her gaze. "Um... so are you."

Brock Ellison had emerged behind her with just a white towel wrapped around his waist. The commander of the

Tempest

was in his early forties; he had a square-jawed face and salt-and-pepper hair. He boasted a muscled athlete's frame left over from his football days at the Academy. She had to admit he was handsome and well-built, but she kept the thought to herself. Despite being married, Ellison had a reputation as a skirt-chaser, and Gwen had no intention of becoming the latest notch on his bedpost.

"Oh, sorry," he said with an easy laugh. "Just back from the showers when I called you. I like to run a pretty laid-back ship. Not used to having a woman on board, you see. Didn't mean to offend your, uh, feminine sensibilities..."

She bristled at the comment but said nothing. Still avoiding eye contact, she tapped her feet nervously on the deck as he lurked behind her. Finally, she spun to face him, careful not to let her gaze wander down to his brawny, shirtless body.

"You wanted to discuss something with me?" she asked, trying to keep her tone cool and professional.

"Yes, I called you here to discuss the survey mission. Look, Miss Fairfax, we don't know what's down there, or what's happened to the colonists. It could be dangerous. I'm not comfortable sending you until we know more, given that you, you know—"

"Am a woman?" she said flatly. "Listen, I trained for this mission just like the men, and I'm ready. More importantly, I'm the only xenobiologist on this ship, and like you said, we don't know what happened to the colony. You need me down there."

Ellison folded his arms. "I talked to Chief Vasilievsky, and he is not equipped to babysit anyone. He could be leading Alpha Team into a tactical situation, and—"

"Let's cut the bullshit, shall we, commander?" interrupted Gwen. "You all don't want me on this mission because you think anyone missing a Y-chromosome should be dividing her time between washing the dishes and getting drooled on. Well, I didn't sign up for that, and it's certainly not why I was selected for the crew, so you tell Misha that I'm on the team, like it or not!"

Ellison grinned, obviously impressed by her audacity. "All right then, Miss Fairfax."

"All right?" asked Gwen, surprised.

"All right," he said with a smile, "you're on Alpha Team... provided you can demonstrate how much you want it."

"And... how would I do that?"

"Well, for starters, you can get out of that cryosuit."

"Here?" She looked down at her outfit. "But... I'm not wearing anything underneath." She cringed at how naïve her words sounded.

"I know," he replied, his smile twisting into a smirk. "But don't worry. You won't need your clothes on for what I have in mind." To underscore his point, he dropped his towel.

Gwen looked away, but a reddening face and parted lips betrayed that she had seen it. Even half-erect, it was one of the biggest she had ever encountered. A witty barb might deflate him, she thought, but none came to mind as he circled around her. He suddenly grabbed her from behind, taking her by surprise, and drew her close. She tried to wriggle free, but his grip only tightened. Her heartbeat quickened.

"You've been a very bad girl," Ellison murmured in her ear. "You like slinking around the ship dressed like this, distracting my men. Don't you, you naughty little slut?"

He practically growled that last word:

slut

. His breath was hot on her cheek. Gwen could feel his rapidly growing erection poking into the small of her back.

"No, I..." she stammered. "I was going to change, but... I didn't want to be late—"

"Quiet," he said. "Let me tell you what's about to happen: you're going to strip, and then you're going to earn that position—on your knees. It's clear you've never had a real man, so I'm going to teach you how to worship a cock, and then I'm going to put you on that bunk over there and make a whore out of you. After you're done getting fucked, you're going to put on a

decent

uniform, and then you can run along and play scientist."

"Excuse me?" she laughed. "I don't know who you think you are, but—"

"Stop... talking." He spoke with the confidence of a man in total control. "Get naked.

Now.

"

She inhaled. He was fully erect now, and the monstrous thing rested upright against her back. She was experiencing a wave of emotions: anger, that he would make such brazen advances on her; fear, at the sheer carnal aggression of it all; even embarrassment, from the suggestion that she was anything less than a grown woman. Marshaling her strength, she finally wrenched herself free of his grasp. She turned, staring at him intently. Now was the opportunity to escape, but beneath the emotions, she was held fast by a simple, physiological fact:

She was wet.

Even without counting the time she spent in hibernation, Gwen had not had sex in months, or really on any regular basis since graduate school. She was still a young, healthy woman, just twenty-four years old at departure from Earth, and she found that her body responded readily to Ellison's lascivious proposition. And besides, there was the matter of her place on Alpha Team, of joining the expedition to Inanna. Everything she had been working toward.

It was just sex,

was it not? But she knew it was a bad idea.

Gwen exhaled sharply, still not quite believing what she was about to do. She unzipped her cryosuit, creating a plunging neckline down past the navel. Then, in a single, swift motion, she pulled the outfit apart and off the shoulders, baring her chest. Ellison grinned as he took in her topless figure. Her breasts were larger, given her slender frame, than they had any right to be. They sat high and proudly on her chest, keeping that pleasing roundness without the assistance of a bra, and they were capped with little pink nipples, now hard as pebbles, circled by modest areolae.

He nodded approvingly as she finished peeling down. Her body was flawless: all curve and muscle in just the right places. Her nether region was clean-shaven save a small tuft of downy, lovingly trimmed black hair just above the lips. She stood before him, nude like a just-unwrapped gift, cryosuit lying crumpled about her feet.

Then, like a predator catching prey in the wild, he snatched her. His powerful arm coiled around her waist, pinning her against him. She gasped helplessly as he massaged a breast, kneaded it, teased her nipple. She knew he could feel her heart pounding. His throbbing, upright cock pressed against her belly, the head easily topping her belly button. She quivered at the touch of his hot skin on hers. Her mind screamed in protest, but her body did not care. All it saw was sexual compatibility and primed itself accordingly. She looked up at him to say something, but his tongue promptly went in her mouth.

Gwen reciprocated the kiss, her brain briefly daydreaming of more romantic encounters before Ellison released her. She stared at him, breasts heaving as she panted breathlessly. He pointed at the deck between her feet, and she shot him a dirty look. Even in her aroused state, she resented being ordered about like a sex slave. She guessed how much of a thrill this must have been for him, to see an insolent beauty literally brought to her knees. She did not want to. But she did it.

"Good girl," murmured Ellison as she kneeled before him.

He stroked himself slowly in front of her face. She put her hand on his cock. It was long, thick, and veiny, and it gave off a pungent musk that invaded her nostrils. She massaged it, feeling it throb within her slender fingers. With some hesitation, she wrapped her lips around the head, finding it already slick with precum. He moaned in satisfaction. Gwen normally wished her mouth were a bit smaller, but for this task it was barely big enough. She wet the entire length of his cock with her tongue, prompting a groan of pleasure, and then she began to suck in earnest.

"That's it... show me how much you want that position; show me how much you want to be on Alpha Team."

Gwen was not exactly a novice at the act; for a few minutes, she gave skillful fellatio, punctuating the routine with little orbits of her tongue over the tip, but her mouth could only reach partway down the shaft. Eventually, Ellison grew impatient. Hoisting up her braided hair, he forced her to deepthroat him. She managed to keep up with minimal gagging, but she was at his pace now, and clear strands of spit hung from her chin as the blowjob got increasingly sloppy. She clutched his legs to brace herself against the thrusting. When he finally let her go, she hung her head as she gasped for air, hand raised in a plea for mercy.