Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
–for lcwarctic
Many years later, as I moved to the retirement planet, I remembered the day they ruled that men could no longer have cunts. I smiled. I knew where that came from. In November 2310 I turned 18, went out and got drunk, got laid, and put a down-payment on a 2956 Chevaaz MX-90. Then I looked around for what else I could do!
Hey, when you’re fucking up, do it right, right? I walked through the door of the Planetary Army recruiter, and Zip, Zang, Zur, I was a soldier. I got the mental implants (instant knowledge of all Earth’s weapons, the instinctive reactions to all assaults, the unthinking ability to plan attacks), and I got an injection–a supercharge of the testosterone variant bogomophrine.
I was instantly a walking library of military knowledge! I still had to wait a couple of days while they scheduled me for the further injections, implants, enhancements, and titanium joint replacements, so they didn’t issue the uniforms until I’d “filled out.” In the meantime I took a li’l tour in my new–well, sorta new–Chevaaz.
I thought a quick zip up and around the moon might be a good cruise. I found out a few things, though. The old ellipsis/bjoergen drive didn’t work for shit, and that meant I couldn’t go faster than light. Damn. The body didn’t look bad, a retro-styling of the ancient 20th Century Camaro in interplanetary mode–more streamlining for hyper-light speed (not that it would ever reach that speed in an atmosphere, but damn, it looked hot). But the finish was proton-polished almost down to bare plastic. In a couple of place I did see holes. Damn. The only thing keeping the air and pressure inside was the force-field.
What the hell. It was a classic. Collector’s item. I had a pair of fuzzy dice from 355 years ago (the guy who “swiped them out of the museum” swore they were authentic, but I saw a “made in Ribtaaseo II” sticker on the bottom). Who cares? They gave the cockpit a snazzo look hanging from the center radiato-watch.
I landed on the moon’s darkside and had a few drinks in a bar I hung out at, then hopped back in for the ride home. Without the e/b speed, I was later than I figured, so I opened it up (to hell with the plutonium leaks). And wouldn’t you fucking know it–my monitor buzzed with a foreign scan. A CoPolizei! Shit! The bastard was hiding in the shade of an asteroid out past the moon. Lazy jerk.
I stopped and pulled on the Grav-resist, floating in earth-orbit, waiting for him to zoom down. I wondered if the copzi would be one of the horny ones. Maybe I could fuck or suck my way out of this one–unless he was the odd species with nothing to suck. And nothing I would allow to enter me.
The CoPolizei cruiser stopped beside me, and he got out (Whew, he was human!) Not bad looking. He wore the invisible, molecular armor they invented ‘way back in 2009 [see Literotica: The Incredible Invisible Man], so he appeared naked except for his armor & breathing set–a helmet over his head, leg-struts from his hips to his boots (with rockets to enable him to move in space), and a utility belt with his handcuffs, ticket book, and holsters for the Multi-shot Disruptor and the Variable Flamer.
Funny. In both the copzi and military versions, the utility belts had codpieces–a box over the guy’s cock and balls. Not even the invisible molecular armor is enough to reassure a guy about threats to his package, I guess.
When the copzi floated over to the driver’s bubble and rapped on it, I gnashed my teeth. He was Highlane Patrol. Their tickets were heavier than those of the routine earth copzi. I hate CoPolizei. Like speeding was a fucking planetary offense. I smiled. “How ’bout a blowjob, Officer?”
He smiled, reached down, and pressed the piss-button on his codpiece. It popped open, and there was a beauty! The cockhead was a mean-looking dark purple (the guy was already thinking about it), and my heart pounded; I loved blowjobs. I opened the door, the force-field ballooned out and encompassed him, and my face bobbed down toward his crotch. He moved his copzi tool toward my mouth.
A blowjob in zero-grav is not so simple; I had to hold onto him. I gripped his big, glowing comet with one hand and his ass with the other, and I started stroking. Funny thing–without the hand on his backside to keep me in place, trying to jack his big lance would just move my whole body back and forth. But I knew how to do it.
I parted my lips to take that thick meat-pipe down my throat, a skill I’d learned long ago, clear back in ol’ Planetary High School. I worked a finger into his asshole, slowly, gently, inducing the invisible molecular armor to retreat before my finger, letting me stick it in him to the second knuckle. I knew he liked it.
Gripping my head to keep his own body from going back and forth, he fucked my face, lunging in deep, and after a couple of minutes of our triangle of contact points–both my hands, both his hands, and his monster schlong, hatay escort he let out a hoarse bellow that almost blew out the earphones in my helmet. Colossal copzi-sized bursts of hot jizz slushed down my throat, and the horny guy didn’t stop pumping until he’d dumped every last drop.
He waved as he took off. Damn, thank heaven for the ol’ balls. A man will give in to them every time. I beat a ticket by sucking his boner. Would never work with a female copzi (or a non-human).
-==(^)==-
The Army’s physical training took three weeks. The radiation-induced muscular growth, the chemical stimulations, and the surgical implants were so painful that each trainee was placed in stasis, frozen immobility, unconscious to all reality for 21 days. After those three weeks, I was taken from the stasis chamber and, still drugged and unconscious, dumped in a bed in the barracks.
The next morning, when I opened my eyes, I had a headache, but I was okay. I looked around. The barracks platoon room was a big hall with mannequins dressed in historic uniforms in niches in the walls every yard or so, hundreds of them. Every mannequin had pants (or a kilt) until the 21st Century when they invented the invisible molecular armor. After that, everything was bare cocks–or maybe codpieces.
The old armor, those before the 1800s, didn’t bare the guy’s cock, but they were horny enough. They had dong-guards to make anybody look twice. I wondered if the manhood that fit those codpieces would be as big as they looked. Damn, those guys must’ve been studs!
The platoon bunkroom had a ceiling some three storeys high. The funny Army architecture tried to be artistic in a building whose real purpose was to contain killers–a polka-dot ribbon on a flesh-hook. The room featured carved granite columns that disappeared up into the darkness of the ceiling, and the carvings were of Chivalry. Knights. Robin Hood. Crusaders.
Through the room were the usual levitation bunks. They floated in air until the guy lay down, then they floated up higher in the column, leaving the next one at ground level, available for the assigned soldier. And if “Charlie,” whose bunk was on level 15, showed up to hit the sack when his bunk was not at ground level, the system noted his presence and brought his levitation bunk floating down to him.
The room could’ve held more than a platoon; there were empty levels from one end of the hall to the other and from the floor to the ceiling. Must’ve been hundreds. I rolled over to crawl out of bed, and as I did, my level floated down to the floor–but I’d been only one level up, anyway. I stood up, and damn, I was impressed. I’d grown a foot!
Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw my height on the readout on the wall–6’7″! And I’d put on 100 pounds–the readout flashed 275! When I looked in the wall mirror, I knew the old Chucky Fafner was gone forever. There stood a motherfucking stud, if I did say so myself.
I drank myself in. Never really believed all that Army crap about “Be all you can be.” I knew about physical enhancement, of course. That had been around for centuries. I just never believed it would work on me. My hell, I was not only all I could be, I was more than I thought possible!
Damn, on my tiptoes, I could almost touch the ceiling with my head. Look at that hairy chest! I never had any chest hair before! Big, muscular chest a gorilla would be proud of. Nipples like those Oreo cookies in the retro-food shops. Big Adam’s Apple on my throat, too. Sign of the masculine male.
I had to look down: Fuck! Look at that motherfucking cock! Wound with twisting, winding veins, it looked like a branch of an old oak tree, and–Damn, what happened to my cockhead? The color and size of a large plum, it was encased in a leathery hood I’d never had before! Sonofabitch! It grew back my foreskin!
I pulled back the folds. Damn! What a bazooka! That thing could sure make slaves of a couple of women I knew, couple of guys, too. Something tells me I’m going to be using this thing overtime. I was really stunned. Suddenly I was hung better than any guy at Planetary High. Better than anybody in the showers, even Coach.
I had to smile. My new super-dong bent off to the right. I’m right-handed, and I’d been yanking that thing to the right two or three times a day since I first discovered the thrill in touching it. “Chucky-boy,” I muttered to it, “you’re never gonna be lonely.”
I had to wonder, though, what good a colossal pecker was in combat. Who knows, maybe it’s a weapon I never thought of. Tsk-tsk. Rape as a weapon of war. I shivered. I wonder what that thing would feel like rammed up my ass.
As I walked back and forth,–Damn, I’ll have to learn how to walk again–it was like a clock-pendulum hanging from my belt buckle. Hope the Army hands out cast-iron jockstraps.
Looking higher in the mirror, I checked out my belly. Hard mounds ığdır escort of muscle like the mini-volcanoes they started on the Moon to restart a molten core. Something about my belly-button, though. Suddenly it was a muscle-ridged, obscene-looking hole in my gut.
I looked closer. I didn’t remember it that huge. I looked real close and let out a gasp! A cunt! It looks like a damn pussy!
I stuck a finger in it. Sure enough, the finger sank all the way in. I gulped. The bastards equipped me with a vagina!!
But I had a cock! Those legends about soldiers “taking care of each other” on interplanetary missions must’ve been more than just nasty little tales we told each other back when I was in PHS.
Good ol’ PHS. Good ol’ Golden Rule days. Those were the days I first learned that a man will always obey his balls: The Golden Rule. Women learn that rule instinctively. Men have to learn it when they find out the same dynamite in their cocks is waiting in their assholes.
Still, the idea that I had a beaver in my belly sort of sucked the rest of the thrill out of the self-examination–long legs, hard and muscular. Tight ass, hard buns. Yeah, yeah. But I’ve got a cunt! I ran to the drill sergeant’s office.
Drill Sergeant Gaakuhp looked up from his desk at me and sneered. “Fafner, you stupid bastard, everybody else’s got one, too!” But what the fuck difference did it make to him? From an Orion Galaxy planet, he was a Cephalo, an octopus-man. Shapeless, a mass of tentacles. Not a testicle to his name. “Cunt” was an abstract term to him. They couldn’t equip him with a pussy.
Just my luck. Even after the sex-riots of the 22nd Century, the Jim Blow Laws, and the final Planetary Supreme Court decisions, there were still holdouts, the one-in-a-million guys who still insisted on heterosexual sex. All this bodily rearrangement on me was to placate a few hundred Straights!
-==(^)==-
Later that morning, they gave me “the uniform.” The helmet generated its own oxygen/nitrogen/whatever I needed to breathe and had all communication electronics, vision zoom-in/out powers, warm/cool effects, and so on. The leg-guards were mechanical enhancers worn like hip-high metal struts up the sides of the legs. They added nuclear-powered strength to my leg actions. With a hard leap, I could jump across the Grand Canyon.
I also had the “gauntlets,” the glove/arm-shield units with all the controls for my defense/offense system. They fitted me with the “utility belt” with carriers, cubbyholes, and holsters for the guns as well as the codpiece, a razugium-alloy box that fit around my new tallywhacker and testicles, designed like a white-&-green trimmed fortress. Only a projectile from a Yotney-rifle could penetrate it. I also figured it was the iron jockstrap I’d been hoping for.
To the casual observer, I was naked except for the helmet, the belt and codpiece, and the leg-guards down the sides of my legs. I strutted down the company street but didn’t get any admiring glances–everybody else had one, too, and they knew how to use theirs.
Back in the barracks, I was assigned a “permanent” bunk, (column number and level), and I met my bunk-buddies. I talked with Gonzalez. “You know, all this is okay except one thing. Now I have a cunt!”
“Ah, loosen up. It’s just a pocket in your belly. They put it there for the Straights. Out there in the galaxies, you can go a fucking long time without fucking, and that makes guys go nuts. So the Army decided every soldier should help his buddy out.” He smiled. “Everybody knows how to use an asshole.” He sighed, “But I guess there are guys out there who are true Straights.” He smiled wider. “I never met one, but hell, if they’re out there vaporizing the enemy for the Federation of Planets, they deserve some relief, too.”
He looked at me. “So every enlisted man gets a ‘buddy-hole.'”
Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch!
-==(^)==-
Before I knew it, I was on my first mission! We were at 50+ light-speed on an Issakez-class cruiser to the Noquanquo Galaxy and Planet 371W1150N. A United Planets pioneer outpost had been overrun by “natives.”
There was no training aboard the cruiser. With the implants, all of us knew exactly what do to and when, so I spent a lot of my time drinking and fucking. Turned out not a single guy in the unit was a Pure Straight. Surprise, surprise.
Once on the enemy planet, we approached what looked like some sort of temple. All bombed and busted up, the building was a wreck, but I stood gazing. Fibroplasteel. Modern fiber-metal and ancient stones carved in angles and polished panels. Symbols, maybe a language. It was nothing like the New York Metropolis Building. I went in that once. Eleven million people. Twenty million rooms. Five hundred floors; what was that, something like 50,000 feet high?
The Miuunni temple was nothing like that, but it was an overpowering place, ısparta escort anyway. Like a huge interstellar ship crash-landed. Hell, maybe that’s what it was.
Inside was more awesome. Water flowing everywhere, in streams, waterfalls, and what looked like fountains. But it was disorganized, like it could actually have been after bombs blew out some water mains. But it was still beautiful, a dangerous, lethal beauty. As I walked down a long, long hallway with walls of what looked like cinderblock-studded marble, I gaped at rings of what looked like solid diamond around tall columns. Damn, what a place. But I snickered. Those pillars look like big pricks, and I felt myself getting horny.
We split up to search the place. After some 15-20 minutes, ahead of me I spotted Jones, running back toward us–and without his weapon. Damn! He must have dropped it or had it blasted from his hand. And shit! Behind him ran two of the Miuunnis! First time I’d ever seen one. Incredible!
They were maybe twice his height with bodies like huge, muscular humans but with heads like dinosaurs, clawed hands, and long, clawed feet! Reptile eyes. Lipless mouths and foot-long teeth like white daggers!
And cocks! Gigantic cocks, and they were hard even as they ran after Jones. Damn, I can’t do that, run with a hardon. Mine softens instantly.
I ducked back into the passageway in case the monsters carried weapons–but from all I could spot from my position, they were unarmed. Maybe they would take Jones’ head off with those teeth. But with hard cocks like those, hell, maybe they wanted to rape him.
I looked behind me. Nobody was there. All my team had split off onto hallways we passed earlier. I was alone. Shit.
Sure enough, when they caught Jones, one grabbed at his helmet, trying to rip it off. The other dug at his belt, at his codpiece, yanking at it, trying to get it loose. Their cocks were titanic, easy a foot long, and from where I watched, they as big around as Jones’ arm. But why would they want to fuck another species?
It hit me: I knew soldiers, usually guys from the great agricultural plains of Nebraskansas or Austrukraine, who told me how hot it was to crouch and be taken by their pet dogs. I guess to boink something not expecting to get it was a hot mission for any species.
They didn’t get Jones’ helmet off, but the one pulling at his utility belt snapped it open, and his codpiece came off with it. Then the monsters threw him to his belly on the floor of the temple, one put his big clawed foot on his neck to hold him down, and –fuck!–the other one squatted over him, his cock growing even longer and harder!
I could hear Jones scream all the way back to where I stood as the monster stuck his cock up Jones’ ass. What? Why didn’t the armor protect him?? It hit me: the Miuunnis knew how to switch it off!
As I watched, in spite of what must have been a terrible torture, Jones slowly stopped struggling. The monster with its foot on his neck backed away to watch, reaching down to jack on its own drooling rod. Jones’ fucker did him rough, hard, and fast. Long, vicious, animal lunges until the monster got his nut. Huge–I mean gigantic–gushes of cream-colored slime shot back out of Jones’ asshole, around the thrusting shaft of the monster’s cock.
In some vicious lunges, it raised Jones’ rump off the floor, and–Ohmigod!–I spotted spurts of smarmy jizz out of Jones’ own cock! My buddy was climaxing on his own!
Finally the monster finished and pulled out. His cock dribbled long streams of clabber, and I saw similar secretions from Jones’ ass. The monster picked up Jones by his neck and held him off the floor with one mighty arm. Incredible! Jones was still cumming, eyes tight shut, writhing in the creature’s grip.
The other monster squatted low, bringing its lipless scythe-teeth close to Jones’ ass–at first I thought it would take a bite out of him–but instead its colossal tongue, a good two feet long, shot out and licked at Jones’ sphincter, slurping its companion’s jizz running out.
The first monster dropped Jones to the floor, and to my astonishment, Jones immediately crawled to his hands and knees! The second monster, the one licking at his asshole, mounted him, guiding its giant ramrod to Jones’ ass, and it began fucking him. Jones cummed almost immediately. I could see his hardon clearly, sputtering his pearly earth-sperm onto the temple floor.
The second monster apparently was into sexual variety. After a long while thrusting into Jones’ no-longer-struggling body, it backed off, sat down on one of the temple steps, picked Jones up from the floor, and lowered him down onto its erect reptile-schlong, skewering the poor earthling, the weight of Jones’ own body stretching his rectum over the monster’s cock. And Jones liked it. I could tell.
I couldn’t see his face–he still had on the helmet–but his head lolled back and forth in ecstasy, his arms loose, flailing back and forth at his sides as the monster bred him (I could see creature-sperm already spurting back out of his ass-ring). Jones himself was soon ejaculating, shooting ecstatic earth-jizz into the air. The second monster stood behind them, watching, jacking itself off.