Trailblazer

*****

A disgruntled exo-miner realizes that his life has hit a rut. He came to Persei-4 on a mining gig looking for excitement, but all he found upon arrival was a dull, dreary, dead-end job. Craving adventure, he becomes one with nature (more or less) when he meets a native. By the end of the day ... he's a trailblazer.

Author's note: Months ago I made the decision to pull this story from Literotica, but I'm reversing that decision now, and it will not be made again. It's here to stay.

Tags: sci fi, science fiction, alien, fur, tail, oral, vaginal, first-person narration, informal narration

*****

"Come work on Persei-4. Explore a new world. Be a trailblazer."

I should have known it was bullshit. I'm not exploring anything at the bottom of this mine. I'm just sweating my ass off, tearing chunks of yttrium-heavy titanite off the walls.

Ramsey the Trailblazer ... it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?

But I'm no fucking trailblazer. Not down here. I'm just another working stiff.

I know what you're thinking. "Why not just quit? You're not a slave. If you hate it so much, just leave. Put in your notice, and quit." Well, it's not that simple. I signed a contract, and it might as well have been signed in my own blood. I'm here for the full ten months, plain and simple. That starship that brought us here? It's not leaving the ground, not until the end of the year. I'm in this for the long haul.

I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, but this is one of the worst. Okay, to be fair, I knew this was a mining job going in. Everyone here did. I guess ... I guess I just thought it'd be more, too.

But I'm done bitching. It's the end of my shift, and I'm getting the hell out of here.

I make my way through the main cavern. The guys give me a nod as I pass them by on the scaffolds, and I give them all a nod back. We don't bother trying to talk -- the booming of the plasma picks drowns out everything else. Pop-pop-pop, like gunshots, but more hollow and more ear-shattering. You can work with plasma all your life, but you'll never get used to the sound. And damn is it loud. I can barely hear my own breath crackling through my respirator.

After ducking under a few breaches in the bedrock, I'm back at the lift, a massive piece of shining-chrome machinery that's probably worth more than I am. The lift wobbles as I step onto it, enough to make me question the worn sticker on the railing that reads: "6,000 KILOGRAMS." I press my thumb into the little upwards-pointing arrow and brace myself as the hydraulics kick into gear with a wrenching whine. The lift shoots upwards, quick enough to buckle my knees and make my gut jump. A lesson you learn on your first day: don't use the lift on a full stomach.

The lift brings me up to ground level in an instant, into a little room walled with plastic sheets, thick enough that you can't see through. At the front wall stands a circular, mechanical door that protrudes outwards. I pull down the nearby release lever, prompting the door's airtight seal to suck open, and step outside.

Spend long enough in that mine and it's like a cold shock coming back topside. Massive, thick-trunked trees soar up hundreds of feet into the air, and the blue sky shines down only through the little cracks in the overhead foliage. The forest is a sea of green: flower-laden bushes and leafy ferns line the side of the path, and the grass is thick and lush beneath me. It's a different world up here. Down there, in that mine, you get this overwhelming sense of dread and despair. Nothing but rocks, dust, and sweat. But up here? Everything feels alive.

I pluck out my earplugs and put them in my pocket. I press down on the two buttons on each side of my respirator, and it detaches into my hand with a pressurized hiss. I close my eyes and draw a long, deep breath, taking in the scent of the forest.

Fuck. I should've been a botanist.

It's a short trek back to camp, but I take my time, admiring the sights, sounds, and smells of the forest. The bright blues of the flowers, the grass crunching beneath my feet, the scent of honey hanging in the air. I've never been much of a 'nature guy,' but this place ... I don't know. There's something about it. I think, at some point in our lives, we all get this sense that we're bigger than we are, we get caught up in things we think matter but really fucking don't. I sure as hell have. But when you stand here, in this forest, on this planet, you realize how small you really are. You get humbled. It's a good feeling. It's a real feeling.

You'd think I'd be a bit nervous walking alone out here, with just this plasma pick to protect me, but the only animals I've seen out here are harmless. Spiderfrogs, four-eyed forest mice, critters like that. And I still haven't even gotten a glimpse of the local NHO's, the Near-Human Organisms. Shit, what was their Latin name again? 'Viridi-caudam' something. The guys just call them 'greentails.' We were showed pictures of them in the seminar. Two legs, two arms, one head, two eyes. Standard humanoid traits. The green fur and the monkey tail, that's the crazy shit. But, outside of those photos, none of the guys have seen one. The greentails don't come near the camp or the mine, and I don't blame them. I don't want to be here either.

'Amator!' That's the last bit of the Latin. Viridi-caudam amator. No clue what 'amator' means, though. Your guess is as good as mine.

A few minutes pass and, sadly, base camp comes into view, a vast, sprawling complex of off-white buildings, all stamped down in a clearing that was carved out of the woodland without any shit given, without the slightest concern for anything and everything that once called this spot their home.

Protocol says to drop the plasma picks off at Engineering right after a shift, but, see, the problem there is that it would postpone my afternoon nap. Not happening.

I make my way to Residential, a section of camp made up of these things called 'cubbies' -- Mark II AvariCorp Cubbies. Sterile-white, one-floor flats that can fold into a fraction of their full size, making them cheap to ship from one planet to another. But even at full size, they leave a lot to be desired. Just two rooms and one storage closet, and even that's making them sound bigger than they are. I guess I should probably just be thankful I don't have a bunkmate ... no, that's bullshit. The Mark II is the cheapest cubby Avari makes. They just didn't want to shell out a few extra bucks for our comfort. If it doesn't make you noticeably more productive, it doesn't get paid for. It's all about the money. Always has been, always will be. If you thought the discovery of tachyons and faster-than-light travel would change that, well, I've got bad news for you.

'D11,' that's my cubby. My 'home away from home.' I throw open the door, keep it propped open with one leg, and heave the plasma pick inside. Just for good measure, I kneel by the pick and pop out the fusion cell, a still-warm cube that's small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. I set the cell up on an empty shelf -- a shelf that, were this anyone else's cubby, would probably have pictures of friends and family. You know, it's funny ... looking at this cubby of mine, you'd probably think nobody lives here. And, I guess, in a way, you'd be right.

I slip off my headlamp and toss it and my respirator aside, but when I turn back to the door, I notice something I didn't notice earlier. Flecks of dirt mark the floor, making trails from the door, through this room, and into my bedroom. None of that dirt was there when I left this morning. Something's been in here, recently. I must've forgotten to close the damn door all the way shut, and now some fucking woodland critter made a mess out of this place. Lovely.

I step into my bedroom, and fucking hell is it a disaster in here. Something a lot bigger than a forest mouse did this. The drawers of my dresser are all thrown open, and my clothes are strewn about the room. Looking at the mess, a sense of dread strikes when a thought comes to me. My boxers. I dash towards the dresser, fall on my knees, and rifle through the bottom drawer. They're fucking gone. My lucky boxers are gone.

Yeah, I know, "Lucky boxers?" But hear me out. It's the real deal. Back on Earth, every single time I went out on the town wearing those things, I got laid. Every single time, two years straight. No joke. That shit had powers, man. And now they're gone.

Or maybe not. I hear the storage closet's door swing open in the other room, and a flurry of footsteps follow it. The thief is still here. I shoot up onto my feet and dash out of the room, only to find the closet and front door both swinging on their hinges. I've got to stay on their heels. I sprint outside, and look from side to side. Nobody. I look down at the dirt and see another fresh set of prints, leading from the door, off to the side, and down the thin alleyway between my cubby and the next one over. Standing at the alley now, I see the thief's already out of view. Slippery bastard moves fast. The alley's a tight fit, but I think if I just strafe ... like this ... and straighten my shoulders ... like this ... I can ... yes, I'm doing it. I've never been more thankful for being a skinny fuck.

Out behind the cubbies now, I catch a glimpse of the thief in the corner of my eye, and see a fleeting image, of ... green. Green. That wasn't one of the guys. This isn't some dumb prank. That was a native. A greentail.

And I'm going after it.

Now, again, I know what you're thinking. "Turn around. You're on a foreign planet. You're unarmed. Stay in your camp. There's a thousand different ways you could die out there, most of which are very painful." I realize all this, I do. But, honestly, this isn't even about the boxers anymore.

Maybe it's just the unending monotony of this job, or the monotony of my life in general ... but I can't stop myself. I have to go after it. I'm not suicidal. I just ... I want to look past the curtain. I want to do something, something crazy, something that'll shock these dead nerves, start a beat in this cold heart. What kind of life is it where the only things you did were things you knew you'd do?

Even if this'll be the last thing I ever do ... at least I'll have done something.

I'm dashing through the bush now, keeping my arms up and forward, jamming my eyes shut. I use my hands to ward off the thorns, giving my arms a dozen shallow, bloodless nicks in the process. Fuck, this is thick. I start to think that this bush won't ever end, that I'll be swimming in these shrubs for the rest of my life, when suddenly it gives way and I stumble forward, falling on my hands and knees.

I push myself up, back onto my feet, and pluck out the little needle-sharp thorns from my shirt. Fuck that bush. I think I'll take the long way home when I head back.

I've never been in this part of the forest before. There's no path here. The forest floor is just an ocean of low-standing ferns, and the trees, damn, there's hundreds of them. Everything just looks the same. I don't even want to think about how easily I could get lost out here.

I hear a twig snap off to my side. I turn quickly, but I don't see any movement. I trudge forward through the ferns, raising my feet high with every step, careful not to trip on any roots. Then, another sound, a rustling, just off to my left. I turn again, and, behind a tree, I catch a glimpse of a face just before it ducks back. I saw it. It knows I saw it.

"Hello?" I call out, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible.

A moment passes. A long moment. Then, slowly, it peers out again -- no, she peers out. The full lips, the dimples in her furry cheeks, the sloped, button nose, it's all very feminine, all very ... human. But her eyes, those aren't human, not by a long shot. They're narrow and bright gold, with slit pupils that go razor-thin when the sun hits them. Tucked behind her pointed, soft-looking ears, I can see her mane of long, gently-blue hair. It's a bit wiry and frizzy, but there's not a spot of dirt in it. She's well-groomed.

She meets my eyes and watches me for a long while, waiting for me to act. But I don't act. I don't do anything. I stand where I am, still as a statue, letting her assess the situation at her own pace. Eventually, she puts a hand to the tree just by her face, and gently eases away from it, bringing her whole body to view. She's got a lean, athletic build to her, and stands a few inches shorter than me, with a flat stomach, toned legs, and a gap between her thighs. Her hair-mane is longer than I thought, too. Thick, unruly locks of blue hair fall far down her shoulders, down to the small of her back. A long, short-haired tail, covered in the same green fur as the rest of her, swishes around behind her. At her waist is a crude leather belt that carries a few pouches, a waterskin, and, surprise surprise, my lucky boxers. But, aside from that belt, she's as nude as the day as she was born. Her two breasts are perky and well-rounded, not too large, but stunning all the same, with two blue, pointed nipples poking out from beneath her green fur. At her crotch, a thick tuft of fur hides her labia from view.

Doing my best not to stare at her nudity, my eyes are drawn to the pair of boxers hanging over her belt. I raise my arm and point to them. "Those, uh ... those are mine," I mumble meekly.

Her eyes follow my finger down to her waist, to the boxers, and she tugs them out from her belt. For a moment I think she's going to bring them to me, but instead she just raises them up to her nose and takes a deep whiff. Huh. She likes my scent.

She tucks my boxers back under her belt and starts towards me, slowly, keeping both of her eyes locked to mine. She wades through the woodland brush effortlessly, and a second later she's standing before me, no more than a foot away. She tilts her head curiously and looks me over, top to bottom. She leans forward and puts her nose just inches from the underside of my chin, and I can feel her shallow breaths against my neck as she takes in my scent.

"Nice to meet you too," I laugh awkwardly. "The name's Ramsey."

She ignores me. No surprise there.

"What about you?" I ask her as she puts a hand to my chin. "You got a name?"

She doesn't answer. She's too busy smelling and petting me, nuzzling my chin with her hand, gently raking her fingers over my scruffy stubble. She likes the feel of it. I knew it would pay off not to shave.

If she doesn't have a name, I'll have to give her one, for both our sakes. She deserves me calling her something other than 'sexy green-furred alien woman.' But where to start? Let's use the Latin. "What about Viri?'" I ask. "What do you think of that?" Again, she doesn't answer me. 'Viri' it is.

I jolt in shock when Viri puts a hand to my crotch, getting a good feel of my bursting erection, leaving no mistake to her as to how hard I am. Did I forget to mention I was hard? Yeah, it's kind of difficult not to be. Viri peers up at me, her lips widening into a toothy smirk, baring her teeth. She's got about twice as many fanged teeth as I do, and they look quite a bit sharper than mine. With her hand on my bulge, I can't decide if that devilish grin of hers is unsettling or arousing. I'm going with both.

Viri breaks away from me and snatches one of the pouches from her belt. She reaches two fingers into it and takes out a pinch of what looks to be a fine, pink powder. She throws back her head and pours the powder onto her tongue.

"What's that? Is that, like, candy or—"

Viri grabs me and pulls me into her, putting her lips to mine, taking me into an open kiss. She pushes her tongue into my mouth, and right away, I notice the barbs on it. Hundreds of soft, short little needles on the flat of her blue tongue. Viri wrestles my tongue down with hers, lapping at it, battering it aggressively, until both our tongues are layered with that powder.

When she's finished, she draws back, just as quick as she threw herself at me, and she studies me, looking for some reaction out of me. I smack my lips a bit as the taste of the powder sinks it. It's overwhelmingly sweet, like some sort of powdered syrup. It dissolves on my tongue after just a few seconds, but the taste still holds. It wasn't half bad. Viri's one hell of a kisser too, and that's got to be the first time I've had candy tongued into my mouth. Hopefully it won't be the last.

An ice-cold shiver shoots up my back, tensing my shoulders. Then comes a gentle warmth, a wave of euphoria that has my eyes drooping, until another electric current rushing up my spine snaps them wide open.

Oh, fuck. That stuff wasn't candy.

The colors are changing. The green of the ferns and grass shift to a bright pink, to a neon purple, and back to green again. The gold of Viri's eyes shift to a rosy red, to a warm orange, and then back to gold. The wind was wisping the leaves of the trees one way, but now I could swear they're moving the other. Now, I've been real fucked up before, don't get me wrong, but this ... this is something else. My breath is unsteady, the hairs of my neck are standing on end, the corners of my vision are blurring, and the world is spinning, and spinning, and spinning.

I'm on the ground. I don't even remember falling. Viri's grabbing my wrists, pulling me up by my arms. She puts me up on my feet, but they're numb, and I start falling again. Viri catches me before I drop, and she raises me up again, leaning me against her shoulder. She's a lot stronger than she looks. She keeps me upright and walks us through the woodland, in the opposite direction of camp. I don't put much thought into where we're going -- not that I could if I wanted to. And, shit, as long as Viri and I are going there together, I don't care where 'there' is.

I slip my hand from her shoulder down to her tight ass, and give her cheeks a few good squeezes. Judging by the way her tail wraps gently around my groping arm, Viri doesn't seem to mind.

We're standing at the foot of an immensely thick tree now, at the base of a series of wooden planks driven into the trunk that form a spiral staircase. Viri ushers me up the steps one foot at a time, slow and easy, careful not to let me fall. A hundred steps later -- or maybe a thousand, I'm not counting -- we've ascended partway up to the top, and she takes me in through a crevice, a thin doorway, into a spacious hollow in the tree. Her home. It must've taken her years to carve this out. Or maybe her ancestors did it. I don't fucking know. My mind feels like a swamp, with every thought lurching back and forth in a slogging crawl.

Viri eases me down on a thick bed leaves, down onto my back. She doesn't waste any time. She grabs my shirt and pulls it off first, then, smartly, she unfastens my belt before then tugging down my pants. My dick flops free, standing hard and stiff like a flagpole. Viri's quick to slip off her own belt and throw it aside, not that it made her any less nude to begin with. She gets down on her knees beside me, tail swishing happily behind her, and puts a soft, furry hand around the base of my cock. She wets her lips and shoots me a quick, lustful glare before leaning down. She stops just over the tip, and sighs a hot breath over my prick.

On cue, a thick, clear dollop of precum leaks from the slit of my cock, and Viri's eyes light up at the sight of it. She laps it up with one long lick, brushing the soft barbs of her tongue along my crown, making me shiver and clench. She rears back and smacks her lips a few times, savoring my foreign taste. Then, she drools a long, thick strand of spit over my cock, and sinks back down. She pushes her puckered lips just past the head, suckling it tightly. She tickles the slit of my crown with her tongue, drawing a gasp from me as she tries to take my seed straight from the tap. Viri puts a tender hand to my balls and cradles them, kneading them gently, coaxing out a few more drops of pre, which she slurps up happily. She's bobbing her head down my whole length now, slobbering over my prick from base to tip.