The Trouble With Cryo

I struggled to consciousness, a forced awakening. Something was wrong. I was being yanked from cryo at a speed that is dangerous and the ship would not do so except under the most desperate of situations. It was like being slapped awake from your deepest sleep state. My cryo crypt opened and I was more or less spilled out onto the deck of the vault. Red lights flashed on a nearby control panel and I could actually feel life support being drained from the ship.

A breach. A bad one. So bad, I had only one option -- get into a space suit before my blood boiled and body froze. Still half asleep, drooling, gasping, barely able to walk, I stumbled to a row of suits hanging on the wall and began fumbling into the nearest. By the time I got the helmet on the ship's oxygen was dangerously low and the temperature inside the room was...cold, very. And getting colder.

And yet, I had a raging hardon. Tumescence is a byproduct of cryo. Of course, it's not really cryogenic suspension because you aren't frozen. But that's the popular term for the state of unconscious, low metabolism, deep sleep state that makes long distance space travel feasible. A person's genitals will, during any long sleep/cryo state, occasionally fill with blood and engorge. And in every occurrence of a person waking up the genitals become hyper stimulated. In fact, during the first few weeks after a good long cryo sleep a person can expect to be exceptionally, inordinately, unusually, completely mad crazy aroused. Hellaciously horny, mates called it back at the academy. As well, women do not experience menses or ovulation for several weeks after waking.

But the fact that my cock was trying to poke its way out of my space suit was not an immediate concern, though certainly somewhat uncomfortable. I mean, you'd think they'd design the damn things with more...flexibility...down there.

I was madly punching keys trying to seal off bulkheads throughout the ship to isolate the area of the breach. Sometime around the twentieth door closing or so I did just that and things began to stabilize to some extent. I had stopped the air from vacating the crew quarters anyway, activated backup therm control, and was checking other systems throughout the vessel to see the extent of damage. Almost no oxygen. Very little heat because there was very little air to heat.

I would have to stay in the suit for awhile. And, I would need help fixing the problem. Time to wake up the other two techs. No need to bother with the scientists and research teams. Awakening them would be a disaster anyway, given that we were probably six weeks out yet from Io. The ship wasn't a cruise liner. Waking the other fifteen passengers would virtually accomplish nothing other than creating very crowded conditions and putting us all on near starvation diets.

I had to wake the two techs quickly, so they could suit up before conditions got any worse on board.

Both women. Damn. But then, it would have been far worse if we were all men. I took a little more time getting them to consciousness, more than I'd been given. But oh fuck. As I opened their cryo crypts I felt my cock swell painfully. They wore the basic long tee shirt nightgown type thing that sleepers wore to the crypt and it was all I could do to keep myself from trying to fondle and grope them there in their groggy state, even wearing gloves that made my fingers feel like fat salamis.

When they were finally suited up we convened to discuss the sit, a somewhat bizarre meet. There we were discussing how to save ourselves, the ship and mission and passengers, trying to keep from being stranded several hundred thousand miles from the nearest rescue, and these two women are actually steaming up their face plates as they stripped my suit off with their lecherous eyes. Diana, the blonde, kept licking her lips. Frankie, a redhead, put her fat gloved hand between her legs and squeezed it with her wiggling thighs, doing a sort of pee dance to control the urges pulsing through her body.

Now, normally, we'd have either been given, or taken, medications to control the mad sex drive that cryo sleep induces. But present conditions weren't particularly conducive to popping a couple of pills. So, we just did the best we could under the circumstances.

Frankie started it. She was humping the corner of the table, panting and sort of raping me with her eyes. She had an orgasm. Short, sweet and powerful, trying hard not to cry out and making a sort of squeaky sound in the attempt. That set Diane off, and she too had an orgasm, breathing muh muh muh muh as she ripped off a long, shuddering cum. Well, what could I do? Hm?

Of course, my suit has a waste pack built in for normal urinary emergencies, but dammit it's build for a limp dick, not a chromium hard cock rocket spewing gooey jism all over the place. But watching these two ladies sputtering and spitting and quaking I couldn't help it. Fuck. What a mess. Worst of all, I realized at some point during that initial eruption of space sperm that I was not going to get out of that suit any time soon.

Well, watching me cum turned them into sex crazed maniacs. They came around the table and all but tackled me. Of course, there's only so much grappling you can do in six inch thick monkey suits and wearing helmets the size of a large fish bowl, but they sure tried. Then, just as they got me to the deck, gravity control failed and we all began drifting weightless around the room.

It was comical, really. Imagine how a Michelin man mates with a Michelin girl, or two, and you get the picture. Of course, even humping a woman's ass with twelve inches of temp controlled, hermetically sealed nano-vinyl space armor can be a form of sex. Simulation is still stimulation as any porn addict can tell you. My god, we were all over that room, floor to ceiling, all over each other, totally given over to the animal urge to rut.

Of course, history books sort of glossed over the discovery of this phenomenon by early space travelers. Stories got out though, of entire crews engaging in outrageous orgies for days after waking up. Science isn't entirely sure what causes it, something about the body storing up vast amounts of hormones during suspended animation. Hormones that, when finally released upon waking, overwhelm normal sex mores. Virtually all spacefarers have emissions during the wake-up procedure. And while the condition is mitigated with meds in controlled wake ups, all crew rosters are co-ed. There is always the off chance of emergency wake ups, like mine. Imagine the brutal chaos that might ensue if it was a bunch of straight guys coming out of cry with the crazed urge to fuck. Well, of course, the Arcturus incident is well documented. The photos that came out in the aftermath of that disaster made co-ed crewing the norm. No self respecting spacefarer would accept any other arrangement.

When finally the two lady techs and I had sated our desires somewhat, we sort of pulled back and regained some composure. They were somewhat abashed by their behavior, but not to the point where they didn't continue to molest me with their eyes. But we did get around to formulating a strategy for locating and repairing the hole in the ship. I would just have to work with the inner lining of my suit crotch coated in a sticky jellified mess of drying semen.

The breach was a baseball sized hole in the outer shell way back in the stern by the engine room. If we hoped to reboot the comps, fire some engine bursts to correct our vector, we'd have to shore up that bulkhead somehow. The work would be intense, dangerous, and conditions harsh, but it would be all the more precarious for wanting to fuck the shit out of each other as we proceeded.

When its sex you want, need, crave, desire, must have, then, let's face it, nothing else will do. But the fact was we couldn't even wank ourselves much less boff each other in those suits. Still, the ladies tried everything they could to fuck themselves and me, all while proceeding with seriously demanding repair work.

Frankie stopped at one point and stared at the wrench in her hand. She flipped it around, braced her spread legs against one wall with her back hard against the other and began plunging the long handle with considerable force into her crotch. Her hips sort of twitched convulsively up to meet the thrusts and thank the stars her suit was designed to stand a lot of abuse because she tested its tensile strength with that spanner. Diane, working below me suddenly realized she was eye level with my crotch and she began bouncing her helmet against it with her mouth open and tongue wagging. I had to stop what I was doing and I grabbed her helmet to shove my hips at her face.

As I came, hard, spewing even more gunk into my already disgusting suit, I saw lights flashing and heard bells ringing.

It was the emergency alarm system, tripped because the temps in the ship had reached critical and life support was in danger of being compromised beyond repair. We spent the next nine hours shoring up the damaged bulkhead, fixing equipment and troubleshooting systems before we retired back to the cryo room, that being the best protected area of the ship.

We were exhausted, but we'd managed to direct the vessel's limited amount of heat and oxygen into that one room. The rest of the ship was still slowly turning to ice. But at least we were able to actually shed our suits for the first time in too many hours.

Shedding the shells, the smell was ungodly. Diane suggested we jettison those suits into deep space, but of course we had no way to do that at that point. Heaven knows what some future intelligent race would have thought upon finding them. Hm. A highly sexed species who clearly mated so vigorously they died fucking.

And that was exactly what we were perilously close to doing. As those suits came off the hormones began to rage again. Even exhausted, hungry, fighting for our lives, cramped, stinking, badly over-fucked, we couldn't help ourselves. Being finally able to actually touch each other, a zero G fuck fest ensued. You really don't want to see, or be around, free flowing bodily fluids in zero G, with all that cum launching into space, cunt squirt jettisoning around the room and all of it just hanging in the air. A floating shower of spit, sweat, semen, cum, and bits of hair and...oh fuck you get the picture.

Zero G sex, is, of course, the subject of countless porn vids, especially with three people -- the graceful floating bodies, the endless contortions and positions possible, humping and bumping around the room, jamming those butts up against the walls and ceiling, trying to hold onto slippery, weightless thighs and breasts, spinning and writhing through orgasms, smashing and rebounding off walls and naked bodies. All of us were quickly coated in cum.

All of this, while the ship's physical structures were slowly freezing to the point of irreversible brittleness. Even the hardest metal will crack and break like glass when cold enough.

But we didn't stop fucking, sucking and cumming until we basically passed out doing so. The two instincts evoked a sort of frenzied madness to it all -- on the one hand we should have been totally focused on survival. On the other, we couldn't help ourselves, and we spent precious time and energy over the next few hours slamming our sore and aching genitals into each other. The two basic human drives, sex vs. survival, were locked in a brutal, terrible battle for our attention.

I awoke sometime later, free floating, naked, encrusted in cum, thirsty, hungry, groggy, and jammed up against a wall with a foot in my face. I somehow ignored the impulse to stick those toes in my mouth and begin sucking. The air was still and the room looked like an eruption of bodily fluids had been frozen in mid explosion. It was everywhere. The red lights on the control panel, meanwhile, were blinking -- the ship trying desperately to get the stupid humans to save it and themselves.

As I drifted by Frankie I couldn't help but play a finger over her swollen and tender vagina and her legs sort of twitched as I did, but she didn't wake up. She groaned and some spit leaked out her mouth, which of course gapes wide open in zero g sleep.

I will not discuss the odor in that room. No words would suffice.

I pulled myself over to the wall, sucked some water from one tube, some food from another and perused the comp screens. There it was. The breach had reopened, despite all those hours of work. We clearly would not survive much longer. And yet, as Diane floated by still asleep, all her limps and hair, and tongue, free floating, I had to physically hold myself back from pushing up to stab my painfully hard, sore cock into her still dripping cunt.

What a terrible irony. The drive to procreate could kill us. But how could we resist it? How does a person ignore such a powerful impulse? Could you, reader, simply shut off your sex drive with a conscious command? Could you? Stop fucking, stop wanking, stop stroking, and do what's more important? Is logic stronger than sex? What controls a person? The body or the mind?

I mean, what important duty, job, responsibility or whatever are you presently ignoring while reading this story? And you're a normal person -- well, probably. We'd been in cryo for many weeks and our bodies were flooded with hormones.

So, anyway, the absolutely worst part of what we faced in the coming hours is that we would have to get into those suits again. Imagine trying to put back on a condom you've already used several times.

Let's face it, for all its glories and joys, sex is pretty damn messy, gooey, smelly and sticky. Or, maybe that's one of its glories. Whatever.

The ladies awoke and by sheer willpower we were able to keep from groping and smashing each other again. It was evident now, beyond a doubt, that without a really concerted effort at repair we were all going to die.

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"You fucking dick," she grunted as she slammed her cunt onto my cock, "You selfish asshole." With each thrust her greedy vagina swallowed the length of my protrusion, and then gripped it tightly as she pulled back, well, as tightly as her soggy, sodden, drippy pussy could, anyway. She had my hands held tight above my head, pinned to the ceiling, my legs curled in hers. And when not cursing me her mouth was busy tonguing and biting my nipples. For my part I was trying to match her thumping thrusts with my own stabbing counter-pumps, eager to see her cum again, the way she howled and her whole body quivered like a well-struck gong.

I was indeed a selfish dick.

See, the two tech ladies and I had secured the breach, got the comps back on line, fired sufficient engine bursts to correct course vector, stabilized ship systems and that was that. Protocol required me to put them back into cryo. And then it was just me. It's impossible to put yourself into cryo, what with all the computer work, tubes inserted, securing of seals and locks and the like. So I was looking at weeks of desperate solitude, day after day of being alone and horny, on that ship. I wasn't even close to being fucked out yet. And, like, well, um, there she was, all sexy and everything, asleep in her cryo crypt.

Dr. Lillian Pasternak, the Russian blonde planetologist. Man, was she pissed off that I woke her. Even more so when I informed her the Arousal Allayer pills were, somehow, lost. Most of her cursing was in Russian, but she was getting her point across. Of course, as mad as she was, she still couldn't resist the hormones exploding through her metabolism.

"Fuuuuuck you!" she growled as yet another orgasm ripped through her body, her legs seizing up convulsively, her head thrown back, her pussy spasming while oozing warm juice around my cock and balls. She held my head to her large breasts to jam my mouth into her nipples, which were as stiff and erect as my cock. She went through a series of tremors and on the last, she finally relaxed just enough to allow me to wrestle her around into a male dominant position and begin power humping into her as my cock erupted and our genitals began splashing wetly with each slapping thrust of our hips at each other.

Of course, what I did by waking her was a serious infraction of protocol and regulations. Consequences could be dire. She would have to be awake for at least two days before I could put her back to sleep and during that time she would be a raving sex fiend. But things might not go so badly for me.

You see, she'd been awake for six days and, as of yet, was not demanding to be put back under.

Instead she turned around in my arms and snuggled her asshole against my still hard cock, growling like a she bear as she did.