Trial 1717:
"March 20th, 2315, Trial 1717. Though with no successful attempts so far, we continue experimentation. Uh.... With only four samples remaining, we've decided to test more drastic theories.... And uh... we..."
He didn't know I was watching. I've grown more and more concerned for him over the years. Now that we've pretty much run out of subjects, he was getting worse.
He switched off the microphone and yelled out of frustration, "FUCK." Sweeping his arm across the surface of the table, some papers and other small objects fell onto the floor, also throwing the mic down to join them. Practically on the brink of tears, he yelled in frustration, his words indiscernible, aggressively pulling at his short, curly, dark brown hair.
I was torn, however, because I've had a crush on him since we met; it made work difficult sometimes. I first met him when I was 47, and my 64th birthday is coming in less than a month. I may have been 64, but I didn't look a day over 25, compared to people from a few centuries ago. We tried to make a go of it four years back, but it was too hard on him because of the pressure of the trials. We have stayed close ever since though, still teasing and flirting with each other. I would never tell him, but it's been hard on me too; not being able to explore a relationship with the man I loved. It doesn't hurt that he's also so cute; about 5' 11', 175lbs and as fit as anyone could be. He has broad shoulders and tight abs that I just want to wrap my arms around.
In 2097, Doctor Mel Stoddard discovered a way to reduce the effects of aging greatly. It wasn't cosmetic surgery or anything to make us "look" younger; it actually just slowed, almost stopping, the aging process, and you can choose when to make the effects kick in. Some people have bitched about their lives "dragging on," but not me. I've been a young adult for the better part of four decades, though I guess I was fortunate enough to have a body that I could play to my advantage in life. Even still, I've never thought that I was as pretty as other women told me I was.
Physically, I'm 5' 1'', with what people have described as a "thin" body. My hair is golden blond with white highlights and comes down to the lower slope of my breasts, which are on the high end of a C cup. I'm not ashamed to say that I've used my body to get what I've wanted many, many times. My eyes I often bitch about however. They seem too large for my head and my head seems too large for my body. Others around me disagree though.
The effects of the anti-aging drug become more long lasting with each successive generation. My mother gave birth to me at the age of one hundred and thirteen and lived to be one hundred and thirty nine. Tests show that both Cameron and I will live to see our 250th birthday. A blessing or a curse; I'm not sure which yet.
The trials were hard on Cameron. Hell! They would have been difficult on anyone. He was special, the only person born with thirty one chromosomes, who actually lived. The poisons from earth made countless genetic changes; one of which was tissue regeneration with thirty-one chromosomes. Cameron's grandmother was exposed while living on earth. She was one of the lucky ones who were fortunate enough to have been evacuated early enough before the toxins got worse. She got pregnant while living in one of the ships in the fleet and died on the table when she gave birth to his mother. His mother suffered the same fate when Cameron was brought into the world, err... space... whatever.
Of the 26 billion world population, less than 1% was left behind due to extreme exposure causing death before the evacuations were complete. Thinking we were all safe having left earth before death, our people were surprised when over 70% of the population in the fleet suffered delayed and gruesome effects of the exposure, eventually dying. The population has grown since then, but we are nowhere close to the numbers from before.
The ships were soon absorbed into the fleet allowing people to spread out, giving us an entire ship to ourselves for scientific study. It wasn't just us though; we had an entire crew for support. A lot of responsibility fell on Cameron when it was discovered that his genetics were the key. This was a problem for him, since the trials and experiments were done on fetuses that had to have his genetic code. We tried artificial insemination but his seed has different properties that won't allow them to survive more than millisecond if exposed to the air or environment. Even then, only half the sperm survives when done properly; they're very delicate.
It took its toll on him though. I do everything I can, but sometimes it's just not enough. The subjects have to be alive, and since we don't really feel like "rape" is an appropriate method of scientific study, we sedate the patients. We joke every once in a while about him being a necrophiliac, but it's lost its humor over the years.
Standing there watching him I almost fell over, catching myself in a daydream. I dreamt of him a lot actually; whether day dreams or when I was actually asleep. I woke this morning drenched in sweat and my own nectar. There was just something about him, though I could never put my finger on it.
I've been with countless partners, both men and women, and never once did I allow them any power over me, whether emotional or physical. I've always been the one in control, no matter what circumstances I found myself in. I think that's how I stayed alive and more importantly been as successful as I have. But there was something different about Cam, he's sweet, kind and actually spoke his mind, not caring what anyone thought of him. Moreover, he was strong, not just physically, but he had a strength of will like none other, that made me want him even more.
In my life, I've always held the power, but with Cameron I actually wanted him to grab me forcefully, overpower me, bind and abuse me for nothing more than pleasuring himself. I wanted him to make me feel helpless, out of control. He didn't notice me behind him, and I caught myself thinking about the dream I had about him last night.
In my dream he was a stranger. When I met him for the first time, something fell over me, some sort of power, something deep inside me. I don't know how we made it to his house, but once inside, he stripped down in front of me, revealing a massive cock, hanging down to his knees, swinging between his thighs. But I was okay with it, just staring at it, wanting it.
He didn't even bother starting out slow, but that's what I wanted, he got into it quick and before I knew it he was finished with my pussy and went straight for my tight, little ass. On my back with my legs over his shoulders, I looked him in the eye as he lined up with my rosebud and in one fierce stroke he was inside me, buried all the way to the hilt.
Normally I would have cried out for help, but I didn't care about my safety, I didn't care that he was hurting me, but at the same time, somehow, no matter how much pain he dealt, I felt it as pleasure. My eyes opened wide, and I screamed so forcefully that my voice was cut off and I went silent. Before I could catch my breath he pulled out till just his crown was inside me and forcefully thrust into me again; my face showing the signs of pure agony with a silent scream of pleasure and terror. Before he could even think about his next actions, I finally gasped, "More... fuck me more." This was the best sex I've ever had.
