Layover 08-09
Layover 08-09
by AlwaysCocked
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was getting worse. The fact that he hadn't slept all night was just the least of Christopher's problems.
He'd been left alone on the second floor balcony, with no distractions, for twenty minutes or more. He'd spent the time uncontrollably humping the bench, penis wedged between his belly and the slick padded surface. He came twice in relatively short order, turning the cushion into a slimy, slippery mess, but instead of relief his symptoms seemed to be getting stronger; the drugs he'd ingested apparently took a while to fully enter his system. Rather than relaxing his body, by the time Chris had orgasmed twice he was powerless to control his wild thrusting.
Two other men shared his predicament. He'd seen them earlier, roaming their respective balconies. Once he started humping the bench, however, he ceased to care about anything other than the feel of his cock against the smooth bench seat. Presumably they were experiencing the same symptoms.
At some point he looked down through the balcony railing and noticed the courtyard of the building filling up with white-robed women. They quietly took seats on the long benches with very little talking amongst themselves. To a person they were bald, and in identical white tongis. It almost looked, to Chris' drug warped mind, that they were preparing for a religious service. In another ten minutes, the pews, for that's exactly what they looked like, were filled with bodies. All women, all bald, all in white. Chris guessed there were at least forty of them in the courtyard, however it was a rough guess, as he was never able to stop thrusting long enough to count to five, much less forty.
Some time later he saw one long-robed, bald woman standing alone in front of the assembled group. Her arms were raised, a large violet container in one hand. Similar violet containers were being distributed among the seated women, and when everybody had one, they briefly chanted in unison and drank until their cups were empty.
The leader of the group then led them through a series of rhythmic chants, or perhaps they were boring songs, in a language Chris didn't understand. Probably the local dialect. It went on for some time, and began to more closely resemble a church service, with the leader speaking and the group responding en masse. The singsong chanting rose and fell, and Chris for one was grateful for the distraction. Anything that slowed his urge to rut at this point was welcomed, although he found it hard to focus on anything other than the feel of the cushion beneath him.
He had no idea how much time had passed when he next noticed what was happening on the floor. The chanting had ended, and the women seemed to be getting restless in their pews. The leader had disappeared, but then Chris saw her walk into view through a doorway near the front of the courtyard. She called out loudly, and raised her hands. The congregation rose to its feet with a collective rustle.
Tentatively following the woman, its pink nose sniffing the air, was a grey fourlegged animal that reminded Chris of a large Terran canine but was obviously something very different. Thigh high to the woman at the shoulder, the quadruped had big floppy ears and wide padded feet shaped like saucers, ideally suited for running across loose sand. The animal was a light dusky grey, either hairless or with hair so short it was invisible from a distance. Forty kilos, Chris guessed, with a long skinny tail.
Berto, with his much-maligned memory dump, could have told Chris all about this creature. Nicknamed Danes, for their resemblance to the Terran canine, they were Monsipur's largest life form, the only species native to the planet that weighed over two kilos. Their short, fine coat did an excellent job of blocking the sun's intense rays, and was amazingly soft to the touch. Danes lived in packs, which sometimes numbered fifty or more animals, and were nocturnal hunters. Berto could have told him they were popular pets, generally smarter than the average dog, and easily domesticated.
What Berto didn't know, however, couldn't know, was that to survive in the unforgiving environment of Monsipur, the Dane reproductive cycle had risen to an amazing level. The females were always willing, and the males were always eager to service. The original settlers discovered this little fact early on, when, ignorant of the incompatibility of their DNA, wild male Danes entered the small makeshift towns and did their best to mount every human female in sight. The majority of these women's husbands spent most of their time away from the rickety settlements working in the mines or at the atmospheric processors that would someday tame the planet, so it was only natural that the women, while at first annoyed by the frisky animals, liked the companionship the easily tamed animals provided. Loneliness, and close proximity to animals with large and very prominent organs that humped anything warm, weakened the settler women.
What happened next wasn't explained fully for years, not until scientists performed tests on the Danes and found that their pheromones, the airborne sexual attractants they emitted, affected human females as well as Dane bitches. All these women's husbands knew, when they returned home weeks and months later, was that their wives were getting mounted -- daily or better -- by animals sporting organs bigger than theirs. Not all the women, but a lot of them, enough so that a general slaughter of the animals began, and continued for years. Eventually cooler heads prevailed, the killing stopped, and sex with Danes was simply outlawed. The laws, however, were by and large ignored, and rarely enforced. Presently, any single woman in Garshak that had a pet Dane was assumed to be having sex with it. It wasn't a topic brought up in polite conversation, but there was no longer any real social stigma attached to it.
However, the fact that having sex with Danes was still, technically, illegal, caused problems for a lot of women, who saw it as a violation of their personal freedoms. Most of these women kept their opinions to themselves, but a few spoke out. There were others that let their obsession with the animals take control of their lives, and, eventually, most of these women became DaneLovers.
The DaneLover Church, as they called themselves, was an underground organization of women, thousands of them, spread across the planet. Instead of defending the right of lonely women to seek pleasure in any form that didn't harm another, i.e. sex with Danes, the DaneLovers became obsessed with the animals and the power they had over women. The "churchwomen" became convinced that the animals were somehow messengers of God, and were sent to us to show us the true way. Although the beliefs of the church changed over time, the founding members' idea that the Danes were a source of "purity" only grew stronger. How this fit in with the Dane orgy that was the centerpiece of every church service none of the members was quite sure, but that didn't slow them down. The church members began ridding themselves of all body hair as part of a purifying ritual, then drank large quantities of X-Cite-R and Breeder's Helper before engaging in sex with multiple Dane partners. The women collected what they could of the spent Dane seed, no one outside the church knew why, and then joined with human males who had been proven unsullied. Their seed was also collected.
Most I-Vid commentators thought the DaneLovers were a bunch of kooks who just couldn't admit to themselves they liked having sex with animals and needed to make something mystical out of the experience, and embarrassed the otherwise normal women of Monsipur who liked having recreational sex with the friendly beasts.
As the Dane slowly walked into view, sniffing the air furiously, there was a collective sigh from the assembled women. By the time the fourth Dane entered the big courtyard there wasn't a single woman in the audience who still wore her robe. Underneath they were all nude, and began to move out from behind the pews.
Chris felt the need begin to build again and had to bow his head as he furiously humped the bench. In a few minutes he came again, further messing both himself and the benchseat. He had to rest for a bit, sweaty forehead pressed against the cool seat, and when he looked up again the courtyard was a seething mass of flesh.
The hollow center of the building echoed with the cries of the women, hopped to the gills on X-Cite-R and Breeder's Helper, as they were enthusiastically mounted by the wild Danes captured just for this occasion. There were perhaps a dozen of the animals in the courtyard, their impressively large, midnight black members buried in willing church members. Those women who hadn't been lucky enough to snag a Dane on the first round mostly just sat amid the others, furiously masturbating. Cries of pleasure, long drawn out gasps and moans, floated up to the balcony.
Chris watched in stunned disbelief the spectacle before him. The Danes were all vigorously thrusting, forelegs wrapped around a human partner. Most of the mounted were on their hands and knees, although a few had just lain back on the benches and let the Dane take them that way.
While physiologically predisposed toward a strong sex drive, the Danes weren't especially long lasting. Several minutes was all it took, then the animal would stiffen against whatever woman he was inside. After a few minutes downtime, the animal would be ready to go again.
The first group of women to be mounted began climbing to their feet after only a few minutes. The Dane semen was white in color and very thick, as might be expected from a desert-dweller. It oozed from some of the women as they climbed the stairs to the balconies.
Chris stared from his position on the bench as a middle-aged brunette stopped at the edge of his balcony. There were red marks on her ribcage from the Dane's wide paws, and the insides of her thighs were wet. He sat back from the bench, then stood up as she took a step onto the balcony.
"Join your seed with the pure one's," she intoned, her pupils wide from the X-Cite-R. Chris rushed at her but she lithely sidestepped him and moved to the low bench, kneeling down. The top of the bench was a sticky half-dried tableau of semen. The woman, however, didn't notice or didn't care as she lay her body across it. Chris was on her in a heartbeat, groaning in pleasure as he found her wet folds with his second thrust.
He thrust into her furiously, laying across her pale back as his hands were still bound behind him. So frantic was his urge to pump that he barely felt her around or under him. She grunted with each of his thrusts, pushing her ass out at him and spreading her cheeks with her hands. His eyes were locked on the back of her neck, at the folds where her bald skull met the sloping curve of her shoulders.
Chris came quickly, but barely paused ten seconds to catch his breath before starting to thrust in her again. The woman, however, had felt his organ pulsing in her in time with his spurts, and fought to her feet.
"No!" Chris cried, trying to hook her shoulder with his chin. She got away from him anyway and scooted toward the stairs, a glob of semen falling onto the stone balcony floor. Chris lunged to his feet and raced after her, only to be brought up short by the sight of three other women lined up on the stairs, waiting their turn. Bubek was the first one.
"Gimmee that stuff," she said, striding past him to the bench. She lay on her back and pulled her knees up to her chest. Out of the corner of his eye Chris saw lines forming at the other balconies too, even as he charged Bubek and knelt before her offered purse of flesh. Dane semen, clear and thin, ran down the crack of her ass. Chris plugged her back up and fell atop her, wildly thrusting his hips. Bubek barked like a dog when she climaxed, he soon learned, and liked to bite. Chris barely felt her teeth.
All that had been twelve hours ago. Chris was nearly delirious with exhaustion. With just one break to drink several large cups of water, and another where he was forced to drink more of the violet-colored devil's brew, Chris had been scooping women all night and into the morning. He couldn't stop, and they kept trudging up the stairs.
He'd fucked at least forty women already, although he didn't know if he'd gotten to all of them. Many he'd done twice, several three times.
The women were exhausted too, but had drunk so much of their wicked potion it didn't matter. They were covered in seed, both human and Dane, and most wore red marks on the ribs in the shape of Dane paws. Their eyes were wide from the high doses of Jack, and most couldn't have formed a complete sentence if they'd tried.
After about ten hours most of the Danes had fallen asleep. The only reason they'd lasted that long was the women had kept their interest up with oral sex. Once in a while one would awaken from his stupor and approach one of the women still in the courtyard, but for the most part, Chris and his compatriots had assumed the duties of servicing the women.
They surrounded him on the balcony. His knees were sore and swollen from kneeling for so long on the stone, so the women had pushed him onto his back. One was gyrating madly on his cock while another was grinding her soupy pussy against his face so hard he was having trouble breathing. He couldn't see a damn thing. He could feel the woman on his right foot, trying to wedge it inside herself. She was having some success. The rest of the women he could only hear, moaning softly and breathing hard, as they masturbated and in some cases fingered each other. There were at least a dozen of them on or around him, waiting for their turn with his cock. They were all a mess, Chris included, slick and shiny with sweat and semen and spit. The polished stone floor was treacherous.
There was a burning ache in his loins that was uncomfortable, but wasn't bad enough to deter or even delay his orgasm. He grunted against the sweaty mound pressed into his face, squirting into the warm center of the woman bouncing on his crotch.
Burning ache or not, the X-Cite-R was still strong enough in his veins that he never totally lost his erection. The woman above him had felt his spurts, however.
"Off of him, off of him," Chris heard, as both women on top of him were pushed off. He blinked to see a massive woman towering above him. She was built like a treestump, her thick body white as a cloud. She looked down at Chris, licked her lips, and then lumbered over to the bench, massive breasts swaying.
Chris struggled to his feet, eyes locked on the pink, deep cleft being presented to him. He felt hands grab at him, bodies gravitating toward him. but he'd locked on a target and didn't let himself get distracted. Chris lay atop the woman's wide back and began thrusting. It was an automatic, almost involuntary motion. He didn't even try to control himself anymore. As he pounded mechanically, the woman snuffling under him and biting her lower lip, he could see the other two balconies. They were just writhing piles of flesh, the men buried somewhere under the orgiastic females. Down in the courtyard the Danes were beginning to wake up, moving immediately to mount the women who had been waiting for them on all fours, asses aimed toward the animals.
Chris saw no sign of the activity lessening, and wondered just how long this could go on. He hadn't even thought to refuse the offered refill of X-Cite-R earlier, but now a vague sense of worry troubled him. What would give out first -- his heart or his penis? And, at some point, he'd have to sleep. He wondered if they'd just push him onto his back and keep bouncing on his cock while he slept.
He felt fingers on his ass and looked behind him to see a skinny woman with flat breasts and pointy hipbones kneeling behind him. While he kept up his thrusting she slid her fingers into his sweaty crack and played with his anus. She was giggling uncontrollably.
"Hey now," he said to her. He stiffened as she forced two fingers into him and began tugging on his balls with her other hand.
"Fiddly, fiddly," she giggled, using her unique two-fingered grip on him to urge him to speed up. Directly behind her two women were locked into a fierce embrace as they lay on the floor, grinding their smooth mounds against each other's thigh.
"C'mon fiddly, give her that cock," the woman exploring his interior directed Chris. She wasn't hurting him, but he was very aware of just how easily she could. She was nearly out of control, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop even if she began pulling his intestines out his ass. Chris grunted as she pulled his balls back and forth, urging him faster. It felt like she was digging for ore inside him, her fingers twisting and hooking. They flicked across his prostate, then turned back and pressed hard. He grunted and stiffened, spurting three quick times into the large woman beneath him. For all her reaction she could've been asleep.
Panting hard and hoping for a minute's rest, Chris gasped as he was pulled backward out of the woman by his testicles.
"Action already, Pandy," the skinny one said crossly. Ponderously the big woman stood up and turned around, breasts swaying mountainously. Her vagina had been as loose as a pantleg, and if it hadn't been for the probing fingers Chris might've been thrusting into her for another hour before he was able to climax.
Pandy moved aside and the skinny one hopped onto the bench. Preferring to take him while on her back, she pulled him to her by his organ, and sunk him home with a heel to his buttock.
"Oooh yeah," she said. Her fleshy glove was snug around him and danced on his shaft in an impressive display of muscle control. "Let's put you to use."
"Refill," he heard. He turned to see a woman, who he didn't recognize but whom he'd probably already scooped, holding a white cup. He assumed it was filled with more of the evil violet fluid. Even as his hips began their thrusting he shook his head at her.
"Please, no more," he begged, his voice rough.
"Drink it, or you'll get it in an enema," he was told. "We can't have you fading on us so early in the ceremony." There were two identical red marks on her rib cage, the exact size and shape of Dane paws. She grabbed him by the ear and jerked his head back. "Drink it, sperm bag," she growled, holding the cup to his lips. She poured the fluid into his mouth and he drank reflexively. When the cup was empty she patted him on the head and walked off.
"How much longer?" he gasped. The skinny thing under him had her ankles crossed behind his back and was nibbling at his neck.
"Until the last of us has passed out from exhaustion," she purred into his throat. She gripped his elbows and rocked her hips in time to his thrusts. "At least two more days."
CHAPTER NINE
Garvin Espering awoke with a raging erection and a vague, clutching sense of dread. He always awoke with an erection -- that was nothing new. It was the sense of dread that concerned him.
He lay in bed on his back, eyes open and staring up into the darkness. He ran through the events of the day, trying to determine if there was some pressing business that he'd failed to attend to. Nothing came to mind. He had an amazing memory, an ability to retain and compartmentalize every bit of information he came across in his long business day. It was a skill that time and again had saved him trouble. He went backwards in his head three days, looking for whatever it was that was disturbing his sleep. Again, nothing. He thought of calling his assistant, Mika, and asking her if he'd overlooked something, but decided against it. She was on call twenty hours a day, but he hated waking anybody up in the middle of the night. He already spent more time with her than he did his wife.
With a grunt he threw off the covers and got out of bed. He always slept nude, and the night air was cool on his flesh. Espering fished a silk robe off the back of a chair -- real silk, mind you, not that faux trash -- and wrapped it around his body. His hard penis made a tent of the material.
The console beside the bed flashed no warnings about a breach in security, no Urgent-rated waiting messages. Espering wasn't worried about getting murdered in his sleep -- it would take a platoon of combat-hardened League Marines to break through his estate's defenses, and chances were that would rouse him from even the deepest slumber. Not that he was afraid of dying, mind you. He'd made his peace with God, and knew there was an honored spot in heaven for him, but he wasn't ready to go just yet. There were too many things left for him to do. He was still needed on Monsipur.
Espering slipped on some padded loafers and headed out into the big recreation room adjoining his bedroom. It was a dark cave at night, with only enough light seeping from hidden alcoves to keep him from tripping headlong over furniture. The six-sided room was huge, with two of the walls giant flatscreens. Chairs, short couches, and a handful of P-pods dotted the floor. He paused in the dim space, looking around. He detected nothing amiss or out of place, no strange sounds or scents in the air.
Moving carefully to avoid tripping, Espering made his way across the room to his wife's bedroom door. It was shut, revealing nothing. He put his ear to its surface and heard nothing. However, both their bedrooms were soundproofed, so he would've been surprised to hear anything. It was a custom-made door -- she could be in there screaming and he wouldn't hear a thing.
His wife had retired earlier with a gaggle of squeakers. At least, he hoped they were squeakers. It was hard to keep up with her ever-changing tastes. That was why they had the separate bedrooms; Espering still loved his wife, and even had sex with her occasionally, but he'd never get any sleep if he shared his bed with her. Half the time she was up all night on some escapade -- entertaining herself had become her full-time profession, with no set hours.
Espering had his entire property monitored, for security reasons, by vids, as well as sensors of every type known to man and a dizzying array of overlapping alarm systems so complex it took a computer to sort them all out. That included the bedrooms of his wife and daughter, although they didn't know it. He could go back into his bedroom and access the cameras covering his wife's quarters from the console beside his bed, see for himself what she was, or wasn't, doing, but he dismissed that thought. Noises echoing through the walls from her bedroom hadn't been what roused him and filled him with such a sense of unease.
Tying the robe's belt loosely around his waist Espering made his way across the room and pushed open the door. He strode down a short hallway and paused at an archway and the two big doors beneath it. His daughter's living area was more than a suite but not quite its own wing of the house. He had no idea if she was inside; she'd gone out earlier in the day, he didn't know where. She was a bit like her mother, always looking for a new adventure. It could be days before she returned. He moved on after only a few seconds, stepping out into the main corridor that ran the length of the residence.
Head cocked in thought, he strode down the wide corridor, the gentle swish of his robe echoing off the walls. In the alcoves to either side Espering's white statues stoically watched him rustle by, tented erection still leading the way.
In the security command center vidscreens had flicked over to show Espering as soon as he'd stepped into the main corridor. The entire house was filled with heat, sound, and motion sensors, which were tied into the camera system. The finger size cameras were programmed to follow any movement, and the two sergeants manning the post, alerted to his presence, watched Espering stalk down the hallway, lost in thought. When it became obvious he was heading for the command center they straightened in their chairs and looked around to make sure everything was as it should be. He treated his security people so well and paid them so much money they nearly broke their backs trying to do a good job for him. Which was exactly why he did it.
"Evening, gentlemen," Espering murmured as he swept into the room.
"Sir," they greeted him. "Having trouble sleeping tonight?" one of the sergeants asked.
He made a face. "Maybe it was something I ate." Espering ran his eyes over the thirty-six flatscreens displaying various locations around his property. The views were changing constantly -- there were over two hundred cameras in the main house alone, so the system shuffled between them when there were no pickups in the sensors. When a sensor went off, however, the command center's computer automatically selected the cameras that were in the area of the tripped sensor and brought them up on the vid displays.
Espering stared at empty offices and meeting rooms, closets and bathrooms and long corridors stretching into the distance. A dozen different views of the exterior of his residence. The killing zone outside the front gate, the underground garage for those employees that didn't take the rail in, the storage room filled with the estate's synthetics, the Loomy corral. Shots of the vacant Powerball court and the occupied cells above it. He saw hardly any movement; other than a couple cleaning bots circling through the second floor offices, and the two night-shift cooks arguing about sports in the kitchen, the only activity was in the cells by the Powerball court. Pringler was strapped to her bunk and violently twitching -- enjoying one of the radical feelies he'd proscribed for her, no doubt. He wasn't sure what was on her module this night -- there were so many on her long, busy schedule, and his team kept coming up with new behavior altering programs they wanted to try on her. She'd already done three Dane pack initiations, the Health Department's thirty-two-part how-to sex education series, not to mention every amateur instructional chip that had merit, plus the classified military grey-screen psyche altering chips. Maybe it was that experimental prisoner training chip they'd gotten from the Department of Corrections last week. The Chief Warden had said it featured the famous punishment and reward approach he'd developed over many years for use on female inmates with discipline problems. The technology that gave the world artificial chips (although they still weren't widely available to the general public) was amazing -- what his female prisoner would experience as several months of regimented, physically demanding, and ultimately fulfilling sexual servitude would only take seventeen hours to play through her head, and was a completely man-made creation. Once every single type of nerve impulse had been recorded, catalogued, analyzed, and diagrammed -- colors, sounds, sensations, everything - it was only a matter of time before the computer geniuses were creating their own special feelies out of whole cloth. As Espering understood it, the possibilities were limitless. The only artificially-created chip he'd tried so far had been quite impressive. A short chip, with the user assuming the identity of a jacked-up woman in a crowd of men that had a vagina where her mouth should be in addition to the one between her legs. They'd told him it was one of the first arty chips ever created, simple and very crude, but the sensations he'd experienced had seemed totally authentic. As a side note, the Chief Warden, an old friend of Espering's, had told him in confidence that as a final test of the program he'd helped develop he'd tricked his wife into plugging it into her machine, and the feelie disabled the cutoff switch of any machine it was in. The Warden couldn't recommend the program highly enough, stating that while she acted the same around family and friends, his wife obeyed him instantly and acted like a jacked-up pulatrita whenever they were alone, and seemed unaware things had ever been different.
If the woman's cell number wasn't in the corner of the screen he couldn't have guessed who she was, so radically had her appearance changed. He made a mental note to ask for a progress report from his Special Projects Team, although he was very pleased with what he saw.
The only other person awake in the pods was the female in the cell just off the lift. The reason for her presence escaped him at the moment. He did remember she'd been given a big dose of TrigGrr, but anyone could've figured that out just by watching her. If she hadn't been locked spreadeagled onto her bunk she would've already hurt herself.
"Anything happening?"
"Well, a wild Dane pair caught a shrike just beyond the outer ring. You should've heard it squeal. Then they spent half an hour mating before moving out of camera range. It's amazing how well the new SID 4 cameras work."
"Looked like daylight," the other sergeant agreed.
SID stood for See In the Dark, and the SID 4 cameras were the latest generation of night-vision technology. All the estate's cameras had just been upgraded with it, and now the pictures were so good they needed an on-screen cursor just to tell whether or not the camera was filming in darkness or daylight -- the pictures were identical.
One sergeant gestured at the vidscreen showing the two cooks arguing. "They've been at it for an hour," he said in exasperation. "I can't believe they're such wizards with food; I've met Loomies that were smarter."
"Everybody's good at something," Espering observed. "We've all got a purpose in life."
"I guess."
"How many on duty tonight?"
"Twenty-two total, sir, including us. Two at the front gate, and two more roving inside the residence. Two more assigned to the outbuildings. Four on the inner ring, and four on the outer ring of sensors, two to a vehicle. Plus six more on the roaming sensor detail, on foot."
"The what?"
"We're still trying to duplicate that sensor glitch we had beginning of last month. They've been checked and rechecked, but all of them tested fine. Captain Van derMeer thought he might be able to reproduce the problem, so every night we've been sending out men to wander the likely areas that the woman entered the property. She couldn't remember exactly which route she took in. All the men have locators on, so we know where they are. So far none of the sensors they've come in range of has failed to pick them up."
"Tell the Captain to call me when he gets in in the morning," Espering told them. "I've got a hunch about this. The girl wandered in during the day -- we should be running these sensor tests during the day. Maybe heat or UV rays are somehow reducing their effective range."
"Will do."
"I'm heading into the bubble," he told them. "Have someone run me up a Loomy, will you? Wake up one of the wranglers; I know you're not supposed to leave the command center. The Captain would have my head if he knew I sent one of you out on an errand." That got them smiling.
"Yes Sir, we'll have someone bring it right up."
The Bubble was what Espering liked to call his command center inside the command center. It took a voiceprint and retinal scan just to open the door on the small room. Inside was a smaller version of the command center. A more modest bank of vidscreens above a computer terminal that gave him complete access to the entire security system, including parts of it the two sergeants outside didn't know existed.
Upon his entry the lights flicked on and the terminal hummed to life. He had to submit to another retinal scan before the terminal would obey any commands, a double safety in case the door was somehow opened by someone other than him or Van der Meer.
Every camera on his property had a number assigned to it. Where several cameras covered the same area one number brought up all of them. The terminal would accept voice commands but he preferred to use the keyboard tonight. He punched up his wife's bedroom and four vidscreens flicked to life, showing her bedroom from three angles, her dressing room, and her private bathroom. There she was, asleep in her bed. With the lights on? No, there was the SID cursor, glowing faint in the lower right corner of all the screens. Amidst a tangle of sheets he spotted the forms of three squeakers in bed with her. At least one of them was female, but it was so damn hard to tell. And either one of them had only one leg or his wife had been -- and still was -- enjoying her PCA. How she could sleep like that Espering had no idea. She was on her back, half covered by a sheet, legs spread wide. It looked like she'd fallen asleep while playing with herself.
In her bedroom his daughter was asleep too, her nude, tanned body facedown on the big raised bed. There was a form on the floor at the foot of the bed, and it took Espering a while to make out exactly what he was looking at. A woman, that much was clear to see, probably just some treat his daughter had picked up in FunTown. Her body was a fleshy arch on the expensive rug. Sylphie had bound her elbows to ankles, and somehow the woman had fallen asleep like that, shoulders and knees on the rug, taking the weight, knees splayed wide. Her big breasts and wide mound were covered with fresh red marks that would probably turn into nasty bruises.
The intercom beside the door beeped. "Yes?"
"We've got your Loomy, sir."
Espering got up and hit the button. The thick door slid open with a hiss and he peered out. A sleepy-looking wrangler was removing the Loomy's bag. He carefully disengaged the catheter tube from the valvesleeve, slid out the rectal drainage tube, and ran a Redi-Wipe between her cheeks. He gave a sleepy wave and headed for the door.
After years of successful testing in laboratories, in computer simulations as well as on human test subjects, Lumiprod 13 was put on the market by Strathcon, one of GUP's subsidiaries. Designed to increase a child's innate intelligence when administered in utero to the expectant mother, the drug seemed to work miracles, and was a sure moneymaker.
It was the biggest failure of Espering's charmed life. Instead of making unborn children smarter, the drug instead produced children that were severly deformed, both physically and mentally. Uniformly born without limbs, these children also were so mentally handicapped they were near vegetables, incapable of speech or real comprehension. Espering's experts still weren't sure what went wrong, but he did. The head doctor performing the majority of the tests had been falsifying his results, pocketing his research funds instead of putting them to use. Espering, when he found out the truth, had had the man quietly kidnapped and taken deep into the desert. Espering had been there when Van der Meer cut the man's limbs off and roughly cauterized the wounds. They'd left him in the blazing sun to die, surrounded by his severed arms and legs.
However, that didn't help the thousands of children, "Loomies", affected by the drug. With no limbs and almost no mental ability, they were a big drain on Monsipur's human resources. Each Loomy required specific care and attention, although one person could look after quite a few of the unfortunates. But with nearly two thousand Loomies just in the greater Garshak area, that was a lot of wasted man-hours.
Espering had simplified the problem by insisting the Loomies be equipped with AG harnesses, to facilitate moving them around. As head of the Council of Twelve he also had the power to direct the publicly-employed medicos to equip each one with a black Plastex body bag, complete with its own rectal drainage tube, urethral catheter, and airtight waste compartment. Each Loomy was fitted with a urethral valvesleeve that blocked all flow of urine except when the catheter was in place. The bag was just that, fitted with a simple seam that ran from the collar in front down to the bottom of the Loomy's legless torso.
Espering had discovered only one task Loomies could perform that helped balance out their drain on society, but as yet there had been little public acceptance of his idea, and quite a lot of protests. Ignorant traditionalists, as usual, blocking another of his farsighted ideas.
He grabbed the Loomy by a strap and pulled her behind him into The Bubble, taking an extra second to secure the door. He pushed her in front of him into the center of the room. She was a little pudgy, her white skin doughy and amazingly soft. Her face was round and, as was typical, completely devoid of expression. She looked young, but then they all did. He knew how old she had to be, Lumiprod 13 had only been out on the market for eighteen months. He knew the dates by heart. It had taken that long to track down the source of the deformities. Still, this one looked young. Maybe it was because she had a little extra fat on her body. Her black hair was in a short bowl cut, convenient to take care of. That was what it was all about with the Loomies, convenience. It was why none of them under Espering's care had teeth -- they lived on NutriBlend anyway, and teeth were just one more body part that needed maintenance. They were depilated as a matter of course.
Espering took off his robe and tossed it into the corner. The Loomy's eyes never moved. She stared straight ahead, her eyes unfocused and watery. Her drooly mouth hung open slightly, revealing pink gums. She wore a small AG backpack with narrow, padded straps. The straps over her shoulders had a tendency to slip so they were kept in place by two other straps, one running above her breasts and one below. Her breasts were big and hung pendulously down between the straps, which pressed them together attractively. The AG drive was set to zero her -- she wouldn't rise or fall unless physically manuevered.
Her legless torso hung a meter off the floor, her bulging white pudenda with its center notch its lowest point. Espering never got used to how strange that looked, a torso with no legs attached. The male Loomies looked just as odd, with their penises dangling down into space. He grabbed her soft breasts in his hands and squeezed. They were like warm dough, freshly risen, and she bobbed slightly in the air as he kneaded them. Then, using her breasts as handles, he pushed her down until she was resting on the floor in front of the console.
It was quickly discovered that the Loomies retained the infantile sucking reflex. They sucked on anything that was placed in their mouth. And if they couldn't swallow it, they kept sucking. They also demonstrated a poor gag reflex, or none at all. That was why Espering's solution made so much sense to him and many others.
Espering sat back down in his chair and scooted it forward. With a hand on the back of her head he guided her mouth to his throbbing cockhead. As soon as he was past her lips she began sucking, and sucking hard. Her fat tongue twiched spastically against his flesh.
"Good girl," he said, patting her head. He knew she couldn't understand him, but he believed in the power of positive reinforcement.
He moved his hands back to the keyboard and punched in the most secret of his camera codes. One by one all nine screens lit up, showing him still-lifes of the canyons that covered the far west edge of his property like varicose veins. There were dozens of them, all interconnected, and they covered a surprising amount of ground. Twenty to as much as a hundred meters deep, with sheer rock walls, the picturesque canyons were impossible to climb out of without the proper equipment.
The branching canyon complex was dotted with SID 3 equipped cameras, programmed to focus on movement. It didn't take him any time at all to locate the woman. She was just outside the big cave at the south end of the canyons. It wasn't a cave, really, more like a sheltered area under a big overhang of rock. He was surprised at the amount of activity in the canyon, then remembered the Danes were nocturnal.
For some reason as he stared at her Espering just couldn't remember her name. Some sort of temporary mental block. He certainly, however, remembered why he'd dumped her into the canyons -- treason wasn't something he was likely to forget.
He'd dumped her into the canyons with just the clothes on her back what, nine months ago? Something like that. It had been a simple task for his specialists to insert a false memory into her head. It was a fanciful story wherein she'd escaped during her sentencing, stolen a speeder, crashed somewhere in the middle of the Pak desert, and then fallen into the canyons while traveling at night on foot.
She'd opened her eyes the next morning with a terrible headache, in a canyon on a patch of sand beneath a fifty foot tall sheer rock wall. It occurred to her she was lucky to be alive. Never one prone to self pity, she quickly set out to explore the canyons and in short order discovered a natural spring. Using it as her base she slept during the scorching mid-day heat and spent the rest of her time trying to find a way out of the canyons. It was on the third night that the first members of the pack found her.
Danes. Sixteen in all, fifteen males and one female. She didn't have any experience with wild Danes and knew nothing of pack behavior, but she didn't think they were supposed to be dangerous. However, when the pack circled her and began growling and snapping and showing big white fangs she realized in an instant her knowledge of the species was woefully inadequate.
She could barely see them in the dark canyon, lit only by faint starlight, while they had perfect night vision. She backed herself up against a rock wall and began yelling and kicking, but that only seemed to encourage them. She managed to keep them at bay for seven hours, almost until dawn, by screaming until she was hoarse and swinging her fists and feet. The animals just seemed to be playing with her, lunging and snapping their teeth but never really drawing blood. She was terrified nonetheless, certain that she was going to be eaten. Espering watched it all as it happened from inside the Bubble.
Finally her legs just gave way and she toppled to the sand. The Danes were on her in an instant, but instead of killing her they began tearing at her clothes with their teeth. Soon the women was bleeding from a dozen minor bites. The animals were in a frenzy around her and she was terrified, not understanding what was happening. She was tossed this way and that, hopelessly outnumbered and too tired to put up much of a fight.
The Danes rolled her over and over on the ground, tearing at her, until her clothes fell away from her body. Bleeding from dozens of tiny bites the woman found herself on her hands and knees on the canyon floor. It was then that the Danes' intentions became clear, and it brought forth a new will to struggle in her. The woman fought her way to her feet and staggered off in a faltering run, but in the dark she couldn't see and tripped over a small rise. She hit the ground with a grunt, then was up like a shot and moving only to be brought down again by two Danes, running into the backs of her knees. She landed hard on hands and knees, and was immediately mounted by the pack leader.
The first thrust of his massive pink and black organ missed as she tried to crawl away. The circling of snarling, snapping teeth couldn't scare her any more than she already was, but the leader weighed more than she did, and was much stronger. When he wrapped his forelegs around her waist and yanked her backwards she might as well have been made of feathers.
His penis was twenty-five centimeters long and rather thick. On his second thrust he managed to wedge it against the opening of her sex, but her folds were as dry as the sand she knelt on. That didn't stop the Dane, who used brute force and a series of violent thrusts to force himself deep into her. Even well-lubed he would have been a tight fit, and her screams of pain and outrage echoed off the canyon walls.
As pack leader it was his place to go first. Since she was a strange female in the pack's territory he had to make his authority known. He barked at her and snapped at her bare back even as he thrust, hunched over her. She tried to lay on her stomach, to pull away, but he would just yank her hips right back up. His forelegs were wrapped around her abdomen and with his wide paws he could control her entirely. His back legs were planted in the sand to either side of her knees, giving him the needed leverage.
The leader rode the strange female as hard and as long as he could, to demonstrate his strength and power. Danes could last a long time if they wanted to -- as small as their brains were, Danes were very sophisticated sexually. The mewling wet sounds she was making only encouraged him, and after a while she stopped struggling altogether. Finally he could hold off no longer and climaxed. The woman felt his organ throbbing in her raw channel, felt his copious seed pooling in her. Then he jumped off, leaving her sex gaping and bloody. A stream of semen ran from her and darkened the sand between her knees. The woman remained on her hands and knees, for the moment still too stunned to make another escape attempt. Crucial seconds ticked by, and the pack recognized her behavior as that of a strange female wanting to join them. The second-ranked Dane mounted her with one swift, practiced motion, and thus began the pack initiation.
The sun was over the rim of the canyon by the time they had all taken their turn with her. Bloody and covered in semen, the woman lay facedown in the sand, semi-conscious. Her insides were on fire after more than three solid hours of intercourse. One of the last Danes to mount her, a young one, had inadvertently taken her anally. By then she was curled into a fetal ball, knees to her chest, face in the sand. Her entire backside was so slick with semen and sweat that the young Dane's narrow tool had popped right past her sphincter on his first poorly aimed thrust. She was so dazed and battered it took several minutes for her to notice he'd opened a new door.
Gradually she became aware of the animals pushing at her with their noses. She was so disoriented that she didn't notice they weren't acting aggressive toward her anymore. They pushed and nosed at her until she staggered upright, then, directing her with growls and nudges, herded her up one of the winding canyons. Blood and rivulets of semen ran down the inside of her thighs but she was past noticing such things. She felt detached from her own body, unconcernedly looking down at it as it staggered along.
After what seemed like hours she realized they'd reached a dead end. Beneath an overhang of rock there was a large flattened circle of dirt, shaded from the sun and cool. The whole area reeked of Dane. The woman stumbled inside, ducking to avoid the stone lip, and was asleep before her body hit the ground.
For close to two days she barely moved. She just lay in the shade in a strange state of semi-consciousness, unaware of the heat during the day or the cold at night. The males brought her fresh kills and laid them next to her head, but she took no notice. The Danes kept their distance, not knowing what was wrong with the new female but instinctively shying away in case she was diseased.
Finally, near nightfall of the second day, the woman awoke from her fugue. Always a fighter, she'd decided to live: she was too strong-willed and stubborn to just let herself die in the desert. Before her lay a small striped four-legged furred animal, gutted and freshly dead, the latest food offering. After nearly three days without food or water she was ravenous, yet still could hardly bear to look at the tiny animal they obviously expected her to eat. Its cute little body was floppy and torn, the fur streaked with blood. As a lifetime vegetarian, she was horrified. However, as a realist, she realized she had only two choices, and one of them was death. It took her forever to skin that first creature, using only her bare hands and teeth, and the raw meat was so tough and foul she vomited most of it up almost immediately.
With practice, however, she became very proficient at skinning the little shrikes, using small rock shards. She even got used to their taste, pungent as it was. She learned not to eat the entrails, and found she liked the taste of the liver best of all.
She also used the rock shards to cut her hair as it grew annoyingly long. It hurt a lot; she really had to saw at it That and the lack of any hair-care products convinced her to cut it as short as she could manage. Luckily she'd had her body depilated when she was seventeen. She couldn't imagine how hideous she'd look with hairy legs and armpits.
The harsh sun eventually turned her dark hair a sandy blond, and her pale skin gradually took on a deep coppery glow. With her strict diet of red meat and water the fat melted from her slender frame. Between walking on the loose sand and chasing the Danes around her thighs became corded with muscle. There was enough standing water at the spring for her to wash her body properly every few days, although soap was just a vague memory. She used sand to scrub away any caked-on dirt.
The Danes hunted at night and slept most of the day, in the shade if there was any to be had. She quickly learned their routine, and Espering would often watch her in the afternoon sleeping underneath the overhang. She also spent a great deal of time crying during those first few weeks. He couldn't imagine how she must feel, thinking herself stranded nearly a thousand kilometers from any human settlement, trapped in the canyons with the Danes.
The male Dane has a very strong sexual drive, one of the strongest ever recorded in nature, on any planet. The females are always, at the least, willing, and the males are always eager. It was a fact the woman discovered soon after her recovery. A young male brought her a fresh kill, and as she began to eat he attempted to mount her. The first few times it happened she resisted as best she could, but they were aggressive and unrelenting, and quickly wore her down. There were too many of them, all stronger than her, and they were too insistent.
If given the opportunity an adult Dane, depending on his age and physical condition, will copulate three to ten times a day, at least in captivity, each mating lasting an average nine minutes. That's if there's no female in heat nearby. And any female will do, as the species is not monogamous. With just her and the one female Dane for fifteen males, the woman found that she spent half her waking hours on her elbows and knees. Partly that was due to Espering; he'd handpicked the members of this pack from over two hundred wild males animal control officers had captured inside the city limits. His criterion for selection had been age (young), overall physical condition (excellent), and organ size (large).
One afternoon, after about two weeks living with the pack, while being mounted by the number four male, the woman was surprised and horrified to discover that she was enjoying the sex. Not just enjoying it; she was wet, really wet as the Dane pounded her, and realized she'd been that way before he'd even entered her. Espering would've been surprised if it hadn't happened -- biologists had discovered over fifty years previous that long term close contact with Danes produced a measurable increase in sexual appetite among humans of both sexes. Pheromones, they assumed, although they'd never been able to prove it definitively, pheromones that could cross the species barrier. The woman, however, wasn't a biologist, and hadn't read the findings, which were still classified. It took a week for her to come to grips with her desire. At first she tried to rationalize her actions and psychoanalyze herself, look at her true fears and motivations and desires and the part stress played in it all. But after spending hour upon hour on her knees underneath the animals, and loving every minute of it more and more each day, the reasons why seemed less and less important as time went on. Soon she couldn't remember a time when her clitoris wasn't erect and throbbing, her vagina wasn't swollen and leaking, or when it took more than just a few minutes of thrusting for her to climax.
The female Dane had birthed three litters since the woman's arrival. Of the thirteen pups nine were still alive, seven males and two females. The three oldest pups now weighed over fifteen kilos and were beginning to show an interest in the opposite sex. Their clumsy attempt to mount her legs just made the woman laugh. Espering hadn't been prepared for the pack to grow -- the canyons were only so big. It was a huge oversight on his part. Luckily, though, they still seemed to be able to find enough game in the canyons to survive. He never would have imagined there could be so much wildlife in something that looked like a barren wasteland.
Every ninety or so days the Dane female would go into heat. The woman knew when it was coming, because she felt a corresponding rise in her own arousal. For three days the Danes wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep, and wouldn't drink. All they could do, or think of doing, or try to do, was mount a female. It was during the first such cycle that the woman, on her knees being furiously speared, and surrounded by another half dozen fully aroused thrusting males, introduced oral sex to the pack. She hadn't planned it, at the time she was half-crazy with desire, but when she found herself nose-to-nose, so to speak, with a raging erection . . . . None of the Danes complained, although she could tell they preferred mounting her rear because it put them in control.
In time the woman managed to explore every centimeter of the mazelike canyons, and came to the correct conclusion that she was stuck; without rope and climbing equipment, or even shoes -- hers had long since fallen apart -- there was no way for her to scale even the lowest rock face. She tried, but the walls were all vertical or nearly so, and completely devoid of handholds. She refused to give up hope, but once she'd admitted to herself that things were out of her hands, she became much more relaxed with the pack. During the day she'd lie in the shade surrounded by their dusty bodies, her nostrils filled with their strong musk. She slept half an hour or an hour at a time, however much she could fit in-between mountings. Thick calluses built up on her knees and elbows from the hours of mating each and every day. At night she would wander the canyons far behind the lightning-quick males as they hunted for food. In time she noticed that each animal had its own distinct personality, and that the pack had its own social structure. Soon she could tell just by how she was nudged by a nose whether the male wanted to mount her or just wanted her to move over. She chased the pups around, yelling and laughing at their squeals, and came to understand most of the pack's signal barks and growls. When two newborn pups died in a freak rockslide she'd keened and cried over the bodies alongside their mother.
Espering sat back in the chair and watched her up on the screen. As he figured it, she'd been down in the canyons closer to a year than nine months. A standard year, at that. He wondered if she'd even recognize herself if given the opportunity; her altered appearance was just a small part of the change she'd undergone.
The woman was just outside of the overhang where the pack slept, resting her weight on her knees and one hand. In her other hand she held the carcass of a shrike and gnawed on it. Espering turned up the speaker. Except for her repetitive moans, muffled by a mouthful of meat, she seemed rather oblivious to the young Dane that was energetically thrusting into her.
Espering marveled at how lean the woman's body had become. She was all ribs and whipcord muscle, looking, he realized suddenly, a lot like a Dane herself.
The young Dane finished while she was still gnawing on the shrike. He stiffened against her, then dismounted and sniffed between her legs once or twice before wandering off. Another young Dane trotted into view. He was the largest of the pack, although he wasn't the leader, not yet. He sniffed at the woman, who still hadn't moved from her knees, and began licking between her legs. Espering watched the beast's organ unfurl beneath his belly. It was truly monstrous, thirty centimeters long and as big around as Espering's forearm. He knew Dane organs were big, bigger than the average man's, and he'd handpicked the most well-endowed Danes he could find as a special treat for her, but still he was impressed by this youngster. After a few more minutes of licking, the animal moved close to the woman, then raised himself up and clumsily wrapped his forelegs around her waist. She looked over her shoulder as her elbow nearly buckled under his weight.
"You're going to kill me with that thing, Thumper," she told the Dane, setting the shrike down so she could use both hands to brace herself. "Oh krikes!" she gasped, as the Dane wedged the end of his shaft into her. It was a tight fit, but she was in no danger of tearing. After nearly a year of oversize organs her sex was permanently stretched, and usually gaped open if she lay a certain way. As the big Dane built up speed her moans increased in tempo and volume, until her gasps and yowls were echoing off the rock. She arched her back and thrust her ass back to meet his massive tool.
"You've truly become a pack bitch," Espering told the screen. And a real moneymaker, he added silently. For her headache that first day hadn't been caused by any fall into the canyon; Espering had had his people implant a send-capable FeelReal master chip into her head. An extensive underground antenna system surrounded the entire maze of canyons and recorded her every sensation, every hour of the day or night, since she'd entered the canyons.
The fifty-seven-hour rutting marathon that had been the woman's first exposure to the Dane bitch's mating season was still the highest selling extended-length FeelReal program in history. Not bad for something that was technically illegal (Danesex) and had to be distributed surreptitiously and sold on the burgeoning feelie black market. That was just the first program he'd released, through a cut-out cut-rate chiphouse; they'd followed it up with others. A new extended-length feelie hit the marketplace every ninety days or so as the woman fornicated her way through another Dane mating cycle, although none of them had sold as many copies as that first program. A feelie chip could only hold about five hours of real-time; the extended length ones were actually a series of chips linked together in a standard size casing and programmed to run as one.
Espering had been intrigued to learn that over the past year the woman's chips had acquired a cult following among middle-class professional women. There were dozens of rumors about who the woman in the chips might be. One had her a disgruntled civil servant who one day had just wandered into the desert and joined a feral Dane pack. There was no way for anyone to know, either -- the canyons had no mirror for her to look into, all that could be seen in the feelie was the front of her body whenever she looked down.
Besides the four extra-long-length nonstop mating frenzy chips there were eight or nine shorter chips that only ran about fifteen hours each. They'd been handpicked by the people Espering had monitoring her head unit's transmissions. Each detailed a day in the woman's life, exposing her every activity from one dawn to the next, with only her short naps during the day edited out. They revealed the simpleness of her life as she slept, ate, and played with the pack. The days selected had been chosen mostly because of the vast amount of time spent those days by the woman on her knees being taken by the males of the pack, although there were other highlights as well. Her wrestling with pups, or running full-speed down the narrow canyons after the pack males as they chased a big shrike.
As head of the Council of Twelve Espering was privy to the data produced by the military/intelligence satellites in orbit around Monsipur. Just outside of Prelak, a big mining colony four hundred kilometers or so west of Garshak, the satellites had picked up signs of a huge Dane pack. This gigantic body had actually turned out to be more than a dozen smaller packs that roamed the Yasmin Plateau, an arid grassland that stretched for over a hundred klicks to the south. These packs totaled more than five hundred Danes, so it was only natural this area was often the destination of biologists wishing to study the animals. This year the biologists reported a record eighteen human females living among the packs as full-fledged members. Their acceptance as members of the pack meant that each of the women had undergone the same initiation rite the woman in Espering's canyons had endured -- forcible rape by every single male in the group -- and still decided to remain with the animals. He supposed it was different for them than his female prisoner -- they'd known what they were in for, and in fact had gone out looking for it. Which, he supposed, meant that it hadn't been rape, it'd been an inter-species gang-bang.
The Garshak City Council had recently been forced to publicly admit the existence of such a movement. The number of otherwise respectable women who had left their jobs and headed out into the desert, hoping to join a Dane pack, just couldn't be covered up anymore. Apparently there was just something so magnetic about life among the pack, as experienced by these women through the chips Espering had been distributing, that certain individuals couldn't ignore the call. Some of them died in the desert, and others turned back -- but not all. Espering knew about women joining Dane packs; it had been happening since Monsipur had been settled, that's how he'd gotten the idea in the first place to toss his prisoner in with a pack. The DaneLovers were just a warped manifestation of the same weird biological need women had that the Danes somehow satisfied.
The three hour and forty-seven minute real-time feelie of the woman's chain-rape pack initiation had been very useful to Espering. Since he'd obtained it there had been four high ranking female secretaries in his many companies who'd been caught embezzling or just outright stealing from him. Espering despised thieves, but wasn't heartless. He'd met personally with each woman and given them an option -- termination with criminal charges and certain jail time, or they could sit through the less than four hour program as punishment and keep their job. He even described what happened in the feelie to them, but he knew his description could never capture the intensity of the actual events. All of the women opted to sit through the program.
After experiencing the Dane pack rape initiation, one of the women had marched out the door and gone straight to the police. The police had, of course, dismissed her wild story out of hand; to think the head of the Council of Twelve would even be capable of such a thing was absurd. Besides, even if her story was true, no one was sure if there were any laws broken; she had voluntarily sat through the feelie.
The woman suffered a massive psychological breakdown and after several attempts, finally succeeded in killing herself. The other three women had returned quietly to their jobs and became model employees. Espering's investigators learned that one of the secretaries had, two months later, bought her own pet Dane. They installed and monitored vidcams in her apartment briefly, just long enough to verify that yes, she was having sex with the Dane. Quite often, in fact. Espering marked her file for early promotion, and put her name on the short list for the GUP Executive Training School.
On screen his woman was, for the moment, alone again. The big Dane had finished up and then wandered off. Espering watched her stretch and shiver as the glow from the rough sex wore away. She'd become multi-orgasmic, and the secluded surroundings let her feel free to vocalize. The Danes had grown used to her screaming and shaking, her grunting and gasping, although it had taken them a while. She shakily got to her feet and walked away from the overhang. The cameras were programmed to recognize her shape and follow her, so Espering had but to watch. Fifty meters or so away from the sprawl of Danes the woman dropped into a squat and urinated into the sand with a sigh. As she sat on her heels her stretched vagina gave a wet sloppy blat and thick gobs of semen belonging to half a dozen males dropped into the sand. She scratched her knee, and when her bladder finished emptying she swept away the few semen strings still clinging to her folds and stood up. She kicked dirt over the wet spot.
Not a care in the world, Espering marveled. Not exactly what he'd planned for her when he'd dropped the woman into the canyons, but apparently God had other plans for her. He thought about her situation, and that of the woman he still held in the cell above the Powerball court, and how their lives were so much better since they'd met him. It was amazing just how much he'd done for both of them.
"I don't think anybody really realizes just how big a humanitarian I really am," he said to the room. He looked down at the Loomy between his legs. She'd slowly sucked his whole length down her throat and was now gumming the base of his shaft, swallowing repetitively. Her tongue swirled randomly. Espering couldn't figure out how she managed to get enough air to keep from passing out, what with his substantial length down her trachea. Her eyes were open, unfocused, while her jaw and tongue worked robotically.
"I think we've added enough protein to your diet tonight," he told her, smiling kindly. He'd forgotten what he was capable of, given enough time, since he'd undergone what was euphemistically referred to as product enhancement. With enough stimulation the semen just trickled out of him in a constant stream.
He shut down the console and vidscreens, realizing that he'd put off for another day making a decision about the canyon woman's future. It had already been a year. Should he leave her in the wilds indefinitely, until she could remember nothing but pack life? Or should he let her in on the facts of her situation, tell her she was just a prisoner of his whims? His plan had been to punish her for her crimes, but had he? He just couldn't decide, and hoped for some sort of sign.
He disengaged the Loomy and stood up, hooking her harness with a fingertip and pulling her up to head height. He grabbed his robe and shrugged it on. The ache in his loins had diminished, and his erection slowly folded to half-mast, but the desire never faded completely.
"Well pretty girl, let's see if we can't find your minder," he told the moon-faced female. Her juicy mouth hung open and she blinked slowly at him. "Get you tethered down for the night." He lightly slapped the side of one of her big breasts and watched them sway side to side.
"What a pair." He pinched one of her puffy nipples and used it to tow her behind him to the door. The nagging unease that had originally roused him from his bed was now just a faint memory. Probably just something he ate.
No comments:
Post a Comment