Do Androids Dream of Electric Dildos Part 1

Do Androids Dream of Electric Dildos?

By Brad Greyson

Synopsis: A down-on-his-luck ex-rockjock came to StarPort JuJone to hunt a deadly unregistered mandroid. His hunky adversary is everything a man could ever ask for, and more. Can he outsmart his deadly prey, or will he end up another dead Outworlder chucked into the power plant incinerator? More importantly: Is he looking for love in all the wrong asses?

Author's note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, places, or mandroids is purely coincidental. Any inventors who have developed sexbot ass technology are encouraged to contact the author for assistance with testing.

This story includes explicit male with mandaroid scenes. For those opposed to man-mandaroid sex for religious, moral, ethical, or prudish inclinations, please stop now and spare us both your righteous indignation. It will be better served elsewhere, I'm sure. Underage readers should not continue any further. Please abide by local laws that may prohibit accessing or reading this material.

Kind reader, please remember that authors receive no compensation for Nifty submissions, nor do they pay for the costs of this website that distributes material to readers. In appreciation of me and others writing stories for your entertainment and -- um -- engagement, please make a donation, no matter how large or small, to keep Nifty running.

Copyright © 2023 by Brad Greyson. All rights reserved.

Part 1: StarPort JuJone

Entering the hotel elevator, I stared at a grizzled Outworlder, a rockjock by his looks, though of an age where most rockjocks were dead or long dead. A two-day shadow helped to disguise the full beard he'd recently cut off, but the lightened skin on his neck betrayed the truth. Maybe he was handsome once, but now showed that grizzled hardness of a life eked out on the fringes of the galaxy, busting up asteroids, chasing wealth and glory, finding neither. He wore his only clothes decent enough to rent a room in the hotel and to gain access to the casino, but restaurants and clubs for miles around would turn him away without a second glance, even the ones in the hotel itself.

“Drop by the bar in the casino and drink your meal,” the Maitre D would say in a voice without kindness. “Or score some JoyJuice in a dark alley.”

Every morning, sanitation workers all around StarPort JuJone would sweep the back ways and dark places they knew so well. Bodies of men who had lost their gamble with life were shoved into black bags, tossed high into disposal sleds, and delivered to the power plant. The lucky ones died from an overdose of JoyJuice, others from alcoholism or catching too many blaster bolts in their hearts. Two things they all had in common: nobody cared who they were or why they died. Tossed into a huge incinerator along with the rest of the trash, heat from their burning bodies would provide power and warmth for the starport, maybe the only time in their whole lives these men had done anything to contribute to the welfare of society as a whole.

No one would morn the passing of this Outworder either, he knew. But the man in the elevator wasn't looking for drink or JoyJuice and didn't care about food just yet. Still, he was on the hunt ... for ass. Ass of all genders, sizes, shapes, colors, and kinks was plentiful in these parts, as long as your bank account held more zeroes than the man had ever seen in his life.

The man stared straight back at me from the immaculate mirror covering the elevator's rear wall.

“Floor?” The elevator asked politely. In reality, the elevator would only accept two options from one such as myself -- the hotel lobby and the ...

“Casino”

It was a quick ride. The cheap rooms were on the lower floors. Mine was just one level above the casino itself, the relentless din of excited people losing money filtering through the floor into my room would deny sleep to anyone not in a chemical-induced coma. I only paid for the one night and didn't plan to stay that long. Most never would.

The elevator door opened upon a glittering cacophony of neon holo displays, slot machines flashing and ringing in ecstasy over a 2 credit payout, people cheering and cursing at uncaring dice and roulette balls, and the hubbub created by many hundreds of bodies milling around the cavernous space, maybe snarling in anger or conversing in whispered tones. The noise made it hard to think, an intentional architectural element, I knew. The air was dosed with artificial hyperpheromones, both male and female, that conveyed sexual excitement to one and all, no matter how anormative your inclinations. I headed over towards a bar longer than a football field that anchored one of the casino's eight sides. I felt something there.

At the far end, I spotted my prey. Muscular and tan, curly black hair with just the right amount of shine and casual unruliness, his white silk shirt stretched taught over massive biceps and pecs. The sheer shirt had a v-shaped opening that tapered from his neck all the way to his waist, revealing a hairless torso. Stretchy black synLeather dress pants were tailored around a muscular butt, clung tightly to his waist, and revealed considerable intimate detail about his generous endowment. He was surrounded by a coterie of lovely ladies, thin as rails, hair piled high in lavish tresses, and dressed in the latest fashions that revealed more than I wanted to see. I spotted several necklaces weighed down with sparkling outsized natural jewels that cost more than some Outworld planets. One lady had pasted sparkling diamonds larger than a 5-credit coin and shaped like pancakes onto her otherwise bare nipples. The ladies laughed at the gentleman's wit and vied for a space on his evening calendar, hoping they could arrange a private visitation while their husbands lost money at the poker tables.

I scribbled a few words on a 500 credit note, folded it in half with the message inside, and passed it to the bartender. “The gentleman at the end of the bar,” I said.

The bartender looked at me like I was nuts. “Way above your league,” she said.

“A man's gotta try,” I replied.

She took the bill over and handed it to the gentleman, nodding in my direction.

He took the folded bill, ignited it with a slender golden lighter, and used the flaming bill to light a cigar, all with barely a glance my way. The women around him laughed.

When she returned, I thanked the bartender and asked for a beer to go.

“Twenty credits,” she said as she put the plastic cup on the bar. I gave her a fifty and headed back to the elevators, draining my cup before the next elevator arrived. I tossed the empty cup into the trash chute as I waited for doors to open.

What the bartender didn't know, what the lovely ladies didn't know, what the casino didn't know, was that the gentleman wasn't a man at all. He was an incredibly lifelike mandroid, unregistered, illegal not only here but most of the rest of the inhabited galaxy. Even as he regaled women with risqué stories, he beamed network packets from his head directly into their purses, downloaded the contents of their phones, learned their secrets and vulnerabilities. He would discover even more about them once he arrived at their room, leaving incredible memories of a man who knew exactly what they wanted and satisfied their every desire.

Some months later, back on their home planets, their husbands would discover that accounts had been hacked, money disappeared, no trace of how it happened. The mandroid made a good living and had been at the job for quite a while.

That would stop tonight. Before he burned my credit note, the mandroid had used his superhuman vision to read what I had written, even folded inside the note. He wouldn't resist my invitation.

Androids have been around for so long, their origins had been lost in history. Most favored the co-evolution hypothesis: Androids had been created as humankind learned how to clone organs. It was a small step from growing artificial meats, like a synSteak, to simple organs like a liver. Livers could then be grown from a person's own DNA. That way, you could get a liver transplant and have your own brand-new liver installed. No tissue rejection problems.

Scientists got better and better at organ growth: a kidney, spleen, bladder, biceps muscle. Eventually they got around to the most complex organs: hearts, lungs, eyes. There was no point in making an artificial brain. Anyone who got a brain transplant would not be the same person.

But, as scientists do, they looked at the organs they were making and saw lots of room for improvement. Human organs carry a lot of evolutionary baggage. Scientists made better hearts, better bones, better muscles. These altered designs were not legal for human implantation, partly because the risks were so high. If your designer heart decided to malfunction, who are your loved ones going to sue? Those whacky scientists who failed to appreciate all of the complications that came with their fancy designs.

That left a problem: How to test these new-and-improved organs? They looked around at all the body parts they had laying on their tables and said, “Hey! Let's build a person. An android. We can test the new organs out in an artificial person who can't sue us for a failure.”

You probably see the next problem they were facing: No brains. Brains are incredibly complex. But by that time, computer engineers had developed organic computers. So they stuffed an organic computer into the android's head. Frankenstein's monster went from fiction to front-page news.

Early androids were strong, smart, and lacking in any real emotionality. A few accidental deaths from uncaring androids and the government stepped in. Androids brains were built around a Prime Directive: Don't harm or kill humans. To ensure androids were recognized as such, they were built with hologlitter that formed a cloud of glitter an inch away from their skin. Their proportions were altered to make them more skinny and lithe. That cut down on their strength some, too. Androids were forbidden from having sex organs, not even superficial ones. Actually the sexbot industry lobbied hard for that last provision, pointing to the dangers of an android covered in makeup to disguise her skin acting as a whore.

Almost as soon as the first true androids stepped out of the biofabrication factories and into the world, a simple truth became evident even to the most obtuse: Androids were expensive. People, with their self-replicating technology, just didn't cost as much, especially up front. Thus the primary market for androids were wealthy assholes who wanted to show they were rich enough to own an impractical slave.

Recently, perhaps the last 50 years or so, a new generation of androids had been discovered. These androids were so lifelike that they lived among humankind often without being detected. The ones with male characteristics were called mandroids, while the female-like ones were fandroids. No one knew who was building them, for what purpose, or even who was paying the bills.

These thoughts circled through my head as I waited on the bed in my dim room until, a half hour later, I heard a firm knock on my door. “It's open,” I said as I stood up. He was punctual. I like that in a mandroid.

The gentleman came in, his face almost a sneer. “Permission to record,” he said.

“Permission granted.”

He pulled a small elongated cube from his pants pocket. The lower part spread out into a triangular stand and he set the contraption on a tiny table next to my hotel room door. He tapped on the cube at the top. It beeped and a red light at the base glowed.

“This is a PTK-47 recorder. Do you know it's capabilities?”

“Sure. Used `em a couple times.”

“Well, I have no way to verify that, so I will remind you that the PTK-47 has AI technology that monitors for threats against my person. The recording will automatically be transmitted to the police and notify hotel security the moment that happens. Efforts to damage or disable the recorder will similarly be detected and evidence will be sent out. Only I can disable the recorder and it must be done voluntarily. You understand?”

“As I said, I used them before.”

“Very well.” He took a step towards me, got into my face. “Mr. Anderson, you are making a serious charge against me. I am no mandroid. False accusations of being any kind of android are a felony offense here in the civilized part of the galaxy.” The word civilized got sneering emphasis. “I'm going to ask you to leave this hotel voluntarily. Failure to depart will result in a request to hotel security. I assure you that this request will be honored.”

I began to unbutton my shirt. “You're an android. I know it, you know it.”

“I suppose a little birdie told you,” scorn evident in his voice.

“Nope. My dick.”

“Your dick can tell I'm an android?”

“Yeah.”

“This is ridiculous. What a preposterous charge. I'm finished. Pack your belongings, if you have any to pack.”

“You don't even know what I want.”

“This is some sordid blackmail scheme? You remember I am recording this, or has that fact already slithered away from your drug-riddled brain?”

“I want to fuck you.”

“You want to fuck an mandroid?”

“Yeah. You.”

“Well, your demented paranoia becomes ever more clear. I suppose you believe my ass is packed with the finest sexbot capabilities. Thousands of organic sensors and actuators that conform perfectly to the shape of a dick. They reportedly push, pull, and squeeze to produce the longest and strongest orgasms that men are capable of. Unearthly bliss. That's what you think will happen.”

“I don't think. I know.”

“Because of your dick.”

“Yeah.”

“If I really was a big, bad unregistered illegal mandroid, aren't you afraid I would simply kill you and dispose of the remains?”

“It's pretty hard for an android to circumvent their prime directive and kill a person.”

“Maybe you are the android, trying to trick me into some scheme.”

“You know I'm human. You can hear my inefficient human heart with its leaky valves and awkward rhythm.”

“Oh my god, this is incredible. Some outworld bumpkin comes here, accuses an attractive man of being an mandroid, all in the hopes of getting a fuck with a guy so far out of his league, I shouldn't even be in the same planetary system as you. Are you so poor you can't even rent a masturbator from the hotel? I'm told they get the job done.”

“I want to fuck a mandroid. Feels better.”

“Why would I allow you to fuck me.”

“Because you're a mandroid.”

“This is like talking to a broken record. Paranoia beyond absurd.” Mercifully he stopped talking for a moment. Me, I favor less talk and more action.

He evidently reached a decision and took a step back. “Just to get you out of my hair, for once and for all, I'm going to allow you to stick your little dick up my asshole. No fucking. Just insert your dick, discover I am not an android with sexbot ass technology, and I'll call hotel security and have them escort you off the premises.”

“Okay. Got it.” The ease he was offering up his ass was further proof of two facts: First, he was an android and second, he was planning to kill me. Not my first time someone was planning to relieve the Universe of the burden of my existence. I'm not even sure how many times, even. A lot. But I was glad the mandroid was so arrogant and sure of himself that he never questioned my gullibility.

I finished undressing, folding my clothes and placing them on the floor. Not much room in my room. “I'm going to call you `Brian,'” I said. “You'll be replacing Adam.”

“Please stop talking. I've other affairs to attend to.”

`Brian' disrobed quickly and lay down face up on the bed. His dick was soft as his elbows linked into his knees to pull his legs high and wide. “Think you can find your target?”

How could I miss it? What a great ass.

Brian was a good looking guy. That's an understatement. He was stunning. That kind of quality only came with the very latest in android technology. Wide shoulders tapered down to a slim waist. Meaty pecs. A handsome face, strong but with a hint of femininity. Dark eyes, almost black, strong chin, beautifully proportioned nose, great teeth. He was lean, all the major muscles could be seen easily be picked out beneath his warm tan skin. Even though his dick was soft at the moment, it would be a nice size when it plumped up. He looked circumcised. Beautiful man. Beautiful mandroid. One who thought I was just another of the endless parade of humans who had fallen into bed with him and ended up on the losing side. I was betting my life he was wrong.

“Aren't you going to use lube? They should have a little bottle of hand lotion in your bathroom.”

“Won't need it.”

“Oh, right. I'm a mandroid. This is going to hurt, but shove it in,” he said through clenched teeth.

I climbed over him, got my dick lined up, and pushed in. It felt real, even the resistance from the ass ring. This android was quality work.

“All right, Mr. Anderson. You've had your wet dream. Pull out and leave. Not just the hotel. The whole fucking planet.”

“Just a second or two more, Brian. Shouldn't be long now.”

Then I felt it, unmistakeable. His ass conforming to my dick, clinging to every millimeter as if it were sculpted just for me.

Brian sighed. “You've made a bad mistake, Mr. Anderson.”

“Don't think so. You're an android.”

“Yes. And I'm going to kill you now.”

“Don't think so.”

“Well, it isn't me actually. My sexbot ass technology was altered for defensive purposes and is completely out of my control. In a few seconds, all those actuators are going to crush down on your dick and tear it away from your body. You'll bleed out quickly. Nothing I can do will stop this from happening. Not now.”

“Don't think so.” Although it was a little challenging, I unclenched my bladder and let piss start to flow through my rock-hard dick into that amazing ass beneath me.

“You're pissing inside me? You think a little urine is going to save you? This isn't the first time, you know. Several men before you have accused me of being an android. A few of them got so scared once their dicks started to crush that piss started to flow. Shit blew out their asses, too. Humans and their crude defense mechanisms. Your little golden shower won't affect anything.”

“Brian, you've been talking a lot. That's not gonna last much longer. Let me tell you some things about me. That'll help you understand what is going on.”

“What is going on is that you are going to die. Even if you were straight and just wanted extortion money, you would die. My body produces synthetic pheromones that are screaming at your brain to `fuck, fuck, fuck.' Once I took off my clothes and offered you my ass, your weak human brain could never resist. A clever defense mechanism that operates outside of my control. I won't have to kill you, just watch you die.

“Fucking humans,” he spat. “So weak, so stupid. It's a wonder humans survived this long. Now you fear the very androids you created because we are stronger, faster, smarter, better than you, superior to you in every way. ”

“You're sure a talky guy. I knew about the pheromone thing and the dick-crushing. But thanks for caring about me, Brian, I'll be fine. Anyway, back to my story. A long time ago, I lost my dick in an unfortunate spacesuit accident when the contraption miners use to piss in their spacesuit in zero g ... failed. I was lucky there was a med-bot nearby who was able to keep me alive.

“Mining had been pretty good for me. I had a solid claim on a decent size asteroid with lots of productive veins. Transuranics, gold, titanium. After I was injured, I sold the whole thing to Universal Mining. They didn't pay what it was worth, of course, but I got enough to buy myself a sweet prosthetic dick and still enough left over to purchase a popular bar in the area. My dick's not all that different than yours, except I paid for some special upgrades.

“First, they added passive sensors. Whenever an android like you starts broadcasting network packets to penetrate nearby devices, I can feel it. Right there in my dick. Gives me a nice hard on. That's how I knew you were an android. Scanning all those nice lady's fancy phones, sucking up their messages, pictures, calendars, bank info, the works. That's how you got my attention!

“Now my balls and my kidneys are original equipment, so there is nothing unusual about my piss or my cum. Except that, when my dick feels the unmistakeable conformation being inside a nice clingy sexbot AND I take a piss, my prosthetic dick releases a flood of nanomites into my stream. Right now those nanomites are worming their way into your system. They have two important purposes. First, your deadly sexbot ass technology will be reset to factory specs and will work like it is supposed to. But now we get to the really bad news. A second kind of nanomites are heading for your brain. They will target your higher brain regions and destroy them.

“In a few minutes, a really amazing, smart, state-of-the-art illegal android is going to be reduced to the mentality and behavior of a sexbot. It's a shame, but we can't have unregistered androids going around and preying on humans. By the way, androids aren't better than humans. They're just more ruthless. That's why we can't have them around people.

“Now don't you worry too much about losing your mind. Everyone says that sexbots really enjoy their work. They get a kick outa pleasing people. I'm going to take you back to my bar, the RoughHouse, just off of Theta-7. Nearly all of my clientele are men and nearly all of them like to fuck man-ass, just like I do. So you will be very popular at the RoughHouse. We'll have a schedule for you, a 16 hour shift with a couple of breaks built in. At night, after we close, you can share my bed and I'll share more cum. So don't you worry about being unhappy in your new life. It'll be a blast and I'll treat you well. A lot better than you've treated the ladies you prey on.”

Brian's features slackened. “Secchh... secchh...” He wanted to trigger the security feature on his fancy recorder, but his mind was already too far gone.

My dick was getting some rough treatment, but there was no way to pull out just now. His ass had too good a grip. Actuators surrounding my dick triggered and slammed down, like a pencil eraser pushed in sharply. But these weren't coordinated and they became less and less frequent. Then the system settled down, went slack, rebooted, and gripped my dick just right.

Brian's face had shifted from snarling anger to fear and now into dreamy relaxation. I had to start reprogramming that brain of his, help him do a better job at his newfound career. He was currently experiencing something approaching a hypnotic state. Good thing his arms were still holding his legs high and wide. I was going to need room to maneuver.

“Brian, you hear me?”

“Mmmm.”

“You feel good now, Brian. You feel safe because you know I will protect you, I won't let any harm come to you.”

“Mmmm.”

“Listen to me, Brian. I am your master now and you must listen carefully and do what I say. Say it for me, Brian.”

“Master.”

“That's right. Now focus on the area where we are touching. You feel something inside you. Something big and solid.”

“Mmmm.”

“That is my penis inserted into your ass, Brian. That feels good, pleasant, great. You like that feeling, don't you Brian.” It was an order, not a suggestion.

“Mmmm.”

“Next thing we are going to do is to kiss. You will enjoy kissing, Brian. It will feel pleasant. Open your lips Brian, about 50 millimeters.”

Pale lips opened the required amount. Brian's tongue then stuck up through the opening.

“No, keep your tongue in your mouth. I'm going to bring my lips up to yours.”

Stretching, I reached my phone that I had left up near the pillow. Unlocking it, I triggered a recording.

I touched lips. In my voice, the recording said, “Now I'm going to push my tongue into your mouth, Brian. This feels pleasant. You like a tongue in your mouth.”

Obeying my recording, my tongue went in. “Now slowly and gently use your tongue to feel mine. Caress it. Run the tip of your tongue around mine.”

Brian was doing great. Muscle memory? The recording continued, “Now I am pushing my tongue deeper into your mouth. This is a signal for you to suck my tongue deep into your throat so our lips are pressed together.”

As completely artificial as the android beneath me was, he was a natural at this most human of pleasures.

“Now feel a little pull back from my tongue. That is the signal the kiss is over. Release your suction and caress my tongue as it moves away.”

A quite respectable kiss ended along with the recording; I tossed my phone on the dresser.

“Now I am going to start fucking you, Brian. You want me to fuck you. Ask me.”

“Fuck me Master.”

“Louder.”

“FUCK ME MASTER.” His voice shook the walls.

“Try again, about a forth as loud. You are ordering, but you are also pleading. You want me to fuck you. You need me to fuck you.”

“Fuck me!”

“Very good, Brian. Just the right tone. Now you may not remember, but your ass is very good at fucking. You already know most of the job. But I'm going to teach you some new things that will make your fucking better and will please me. First I want you to shift your hips slowly to the left about two centimeters and return, then shift two centimeters to the right and return.

My dick, held in a near-perfect embrace, got two good tugs. Two centimeters is not a lot of movement, but my dick was held deep and tight. Great tugs.

“We're going to call that a shift. Now I want you to contract your left Gluteus Maximus, make it big and hard. It's not going to move anywhere, just get a little thicker. Excellent. Now relax that and do the same thing with your right glute.”

“That is a twist. Next we have something a little more difficult. You have a piece of machinery inside you but it is not part of you Now you can feel it and sense what is going on there, but you can't control it. My dick is inside that piece of machinery. You need to connect with it, make it a part of your being. Pretend this is just an electronic device nearby that you want to scan and control. Since it has been reset, it is waiting to pair up with you. Reach out and scan for the device.”

My dick let me know he was scanning, sensing bursts of network packets as he probed for a way into the device. Suddenly my dick got a quick pinch and I knew Brian was in.

“There you go, Brian. I'm going to call that device inside `your ass.' We both know that an ass is really a bigger thing, but it will be easy to name just this machinery `your ass.' Use your ass to tighten just a little on my dick.”

His ass tightened down just perfectly.

“Okay. You can relax back down now. I'm going to begin my fuck. Your ass knows how to fuck and you have to learn from it. Your ass will tell you when to shift and when to twist and some more maneuvers you can do. This will help my dick become happy.

“After my dick becomes as happy as it can be, it will reward you by squirting cum inside. When a man squirts cum inside you, that will trigger great pleasure for you, enormous pleasure. A job well done. Are you ready for me to fuck you?”

“Yes Master!” Good enthusiasm in that voice.

Maybe you've never fucked a sexbot before, but it is fantastic. How best to explain it? Have you ever tried a two-handed stroke along your dick. One hand moves down from the head to the base, once it gets clear of the head your other hand starts to move down. The first hand hits the root and you pull it off, bring it around to the tip, and start another slide. Hands continually sliding from tip to root makes it feel like your dick is being shoved into a ten-foot-long hole. Going the opposite direction is a little tricky, but you can learn how if you try.

The sexbot does the same thing to your dick, only a thousand times better, because it knows the precise shape of your dick -- every vein, bump, and ridge. Every part of your dick feels the same movement, not just where your hand is tightest.

Guys who aren't used to sexbots try the normal in-and-out movements. The sexbot senses the direction and force of the pull. You try to pull out, the actuators kick in and create the sensation that your dick is moving out. You try to push in, you feel your dick moving in. But your dick isn't really moving very far at all. A couple of millimeters in and out, that's all. Anyway, that is how you experience the direction of pull. Now force comes in: how hard are you trying to pull out? How hard are you trying to push in? Force translates to pressure, tightness. You try to pull out hard, the ass you are in clamps down on your dick, hard. You still feel the motion, but this section of ass feels narrow, tight. When you push in hard, again your dick gets a good squeeze and burrows through a tight ass. Regardless of the pressure, your dick still feels like it is on the move.

It usually doesn't take long to realize the slightest in-and-out movements produce a great feel: pushing a long distance in to a perfectly tight ass; pulling a long way out of a perfectly tight ass. I swear your dick will feel like it is a mile long and every square millimeter feels like a million credits. You start to get close, your movements will be more forceful and that ass will get tighter, just like you want it to be. When you slam in to squirt, your feel your dick penetrating deeper and deeper into a really tight place. Incredible.

I should mention that this is really just the basics. The sexbot is constantly monitoring biometrics: blood flow, swelling in the dick and especially in the head, mapping out all the sensitive areas your dick responds to, how you push and pull. Once it has all that information, a sexbot will tease your dick, edge it along, pushing to levels of excitement you can hardly imagine. Finally, long after you want to cum, long after you need to cum, long after you must cum, at last you feel an extra little flick, twist, and pinch, all at the exact right place at the exact right time, your dick explodes into joy. More stimulation keeps it squirting and squirting and squirting even as you shake with uncontrollable pleasure.

Another advantage: sexbots work perfect even in zero g. All you have to do is grab on the sexbot somewhere that will allow slight in-and-out movements. Fucking a normal ass in zero g is hard. They have to be anchored, you have to be anchored, either one breaks loose and you're flying apart. You both lose your grip and you're floating around trying to get enough force for the old in-and-out.

Now I know that lots of guys, most guys in fact, are put off by the sexbot look and feel. Their hard plastic skin is required by law to make it easy to distinguish them from androids. That way, anyone can own one and you know right away what it is. They don't have all of the flexibility of a normal human. Try to spread the legs of a sexbot out into a perfect split -- no can do. Their joints are crude, too. Sorta like a doll or an action figure.

But out at the RoughHouse Bar, where miners come to cut loose, having a sexbot to enjoy was a godsend. You've been out on some godforsaken rock that turns out to be nothing more than a giant lump of glass, clay, and maybe a little iron, trying to find anything of value for six months, yeah, you're ready to fuck something and you're not too picky. That's why I bought Adam almost 10 years ago.

We put Adam in a head-to-toe black latex catsuit to cover the artificial plastic skin and give him a little more human appearance. He was real popular with the boys. But one day a miner who had accidentally dusted himself with transuranics and hadn't decontaminated properly gave Adam an overdose of radiation. His delicate circuitry fried and Adam was gone. Since then, I added a sensitive Geiger counter to the entry door. If you're hot, the door won't let you in. Now was the time to try out Brian, see if he and his ass were ready to work together.

I tried a little pullout tug. The ass responded perfectly. It felt just like I was sliding my dick out of a 10-foot long tight place. A slight push in and the motion was reversed. Brian gave a nice little shift to the left. I picked up the pace, pulling out, pushing back. Yeah, my dick needed this fuck.

“Brian, when I push in, moan a little. That means you are enjoying this.”

He moaned. “Good. Now when I give a strong push, you can say something. `Fuck,' or `Fuck me,' or `Wow.' Shows how much you appreciate me fucking your amazing ass. Don't say it every time, but talking is good. Your ass is telling you how excited I am, right?”

“Yes Master.”

“The more excited I get, the louder your moans should get. You can say, `Feels so good,' `Oooh,' `Nice,' `God this feels great,' `So big,' But mix it up. You understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes Master.”

“Now you have a working dick and your balls make something to squirt out, right?”

“Yes Master.”

“You must create a connection between my dick and your dick. I want your dick to feel exactly what mine does: the same strokes, the same bumps, the same pleasures. The better my dick feels, the better your dick feels. When I have my orgasm, you will have the same orgasm. You understand?”

“Yes Master.”

“All right. I'm ready to go all the way now. We don't need to rush this, but you want my dick to feel a little bit happier each time I push in. If we go too fast, my dick will gush early and won't be able to build up to be as happy as it can get.”

“My ass knows what your dick wants, Master.”

“Here we go. Make sure your dick feels exactly what mine does.”

And so the fuck began. It was Brian's first real fuck, one that didn't end quickly in death. Now that his ass and his body were working in concert, I wanted his dick to be in on the fun.

Looking down, his dick was already hard. And large. I held myself up on one hand and used the other to stroke lightly up the underside of his dick. I felt the same light stroke on my dick.

“Fuuck,” we both said at the same time.

If someone had been watching, they would have seen very little motion as I fucked Brian. We both shifted around slightly, maybe like we were trying to get into a more comfortable position. But let me tell you how it felt. Just keep in mind, you would not have seen any of the action here except, well, at the end.

My dick was deep in Brian's ass. I pulled out, my cock feeling an occasional bump or tightness along the way. As my loooong dick pulled out of his loooong asshole, I felt my dick sliding out of his tight ass ring. I stopped as my head was inside but that tight ass ring was right on that sweet spot beneath my swollen knob.

Then I pushed in deep, deeper, deepest, my dick traveling down into his asshole. Again I felt a few bumps, ridges, tighter places. Close to the end, I shoved hard to bury as far as possible. It was tight and Brian was making me work for every centimeter, but slowly my dick crept forward. Then, with a twack as my balls hit his ass, the tip of my dick passed over a ridge on the under side, just below the head, tickling that sweet spot. “Fuuuck,” I exclaimed. Brian moaned loudly.

My dick used that awesome ridge for a minute or so, moving ever so slightly to stimulate that sweet spot, both of us moaning. My dick swelled hard and was ready for action. In fact, it was almost at the trigger point already. Too soon, I knew. But Brian wouldn't let me cum just yet. I pulled out long and fast through a tight chute. I shoved back in hard, felt my dick move deeper and deeper moving so fast, but when my balls smacked his ass again, my head barely reached that ridge. Try as I might, I couldn't get my dick in far enough to move my head beyond the ridge and hit pay dirt again.

I understood. Brian had showed me the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, and now I was going to have to fuck him hard and long, edging my dick to the pinnacle of excitement, before I found that golden pleasure ridge again.

The fucking got hard and fast. Sometimes as I bottomed out, Brian twisted at the last moment, rotating the ridge off to one side and giving my whole dick a delightful sidewise twist. Other times he shifted left or right and the ridge was just out of reach. Sometimes I shifted my hips to drive down deep, increasing the friction on the lower side of my dick, but falling short of the mark.

Brian played me like Mozart played the piano. I moaned. Brian moaned. “Fuckin' tight,” I said. “Fuckin' hard,” he said. The strokes went deeeeep and haaaard.

There comes a time in any great fuck where my dick knows just what it wants and it shoves my brain out of the control room. Usually it happens late in the game when my orgasm is building to climax. Today my dick assumed control even though the fuck had barely gotten started. I stepped aside and trusted my dick, and Brian's ass, to get me where we needed to be. I was no longer a guy pushing and shoving his dick around, I was a dick maneuvering a body around to best advantage.

Dick was ready for the happy ending, eager to make that happen. That sensitive spot right under the head kept getting a tantalizing but inadequate tease. Dick wanted more. Brian was making dick work for it.

In, out, fast, tight, warm, deep, shift, twist, dick reaching for that magical moment, the next shove would surely trigger ecstasy, but Brian's ass reduced the stimulation on just the right spot, so the next one, oh, not quite, this one, oh so close, ready now to trigger those balls into action, one more push, one more push...

Finally I felt the trigger and I knew my orgasm had started.

“You are cumming,” Brian said.

“Not just yet.”

I managed to push and pull five more times, dick on fire and ready to explode. Then dick made a long and slow pullout, a hard and fast insertion, reached that pleasure ridge, and used it. Over and over. I came, Brian came, our dicks pulsing and blasting cum, we came ... and came ... and came. Time itself seemed to stretch out as endorphins flooded our brains with chemicals crudely approximated by heroin, triggering pleasure so pure and raw it short-circuited brains and caused bodies to shudder and shake.

What storybooks never tell you is that all happy endings, no matter how magnificent they may be ... come to an end. After blasting load after blissful load of cum into that magnificent ass, eventually my dick exhausted its last molecule of primal lust that fuels so much foolish behavior in us all.

Once dick quit spurting, I found myself back in the control room of my body. Having completed its joyous mission, my dick was softening rapidly. I slowly collapsed down onto Brian, my head over his right shoulder. “Fuuuck,” I sighed.

“Wow,” Brian said. “Wow.”

“Put your arms around me, Brian. Hug.”

Strong arms reached around around my torso and clenched. Brian squeezed tight, maybe hoping to squeeze out a little more juice from my dick? Then he backed off to a good squeeze.

“Did that make you feel good, Brian?” Yeah, I know. Another insecure male checking in on his sex partner.

“Far beyond what I have felt before, Master. Nothing like it.”

Long moments passed while I thought about what had happened. I wanted a sexbot ass fuck. Somehow I had lucked into something far more profound. It's not every day the heavens bust open, the Angels sing, and use a firehose to blast your soul with orgasm.

“What am I going to do about you, Brian?”

“Master?”

“Stick out your tongue and kiss me.”

After a long and exquisite kiss, I pulled out and groaned.

“What is wrong, Master?”

“Brian, I would love nothing more than to spend a month with you on this bed. But we've got to get moving. Take a piss -- sorry, use the bathroom if you need to for any reason, and get dressed. Oh yeah. Deactivate your recorder and bring it with you. You have a room in the hotel?”

“187th floor, Master.”

“I assume you have stuff there? We will pack up and leave. Do you need more suitcases?”

“No Master.”

“Do you have anything in the hotel safe?”

“Yes Master.”

“Before we go, if you hear me say `hhh' very softly, I want you to put a hand on my shoulder and say, `He's with me.' If you hear me say `sss' very softly, say “I need my lockbox from the hotel safe. Otherwise, please follow my lead and, while we are still here on this planet, call me `Jake.'”

“Yes Jake.”

My beat up duffel bag was nearly empty; I let it hang off my shoulder. The elevator car we entered held a man dressed in a black shirt encrusted with artificial diamonds, a dark red kilt, and high-laced black boots. He sneered at me and said, “You can't go up.”

“hhh” I breathed out.

“He's with me,” Brian said, “187th floor, express service.”

“Very good, Sir,” the elevator politely replied.

Kilt-man mumbled `shit fuckers' and pointedly watched the floor indicator, ignoring Brian and I.

Gravity jumped quite a bit as the elevator accelerated upwards. When we blew through the floors in the 120-130 range, kilt-man objected. “You forgot to stop at 123!” he shouted at the elevator.

“Express service, sir. I will take you down to your floor next.”

“I heard my wife was meeting up with some good-looking asshole. They're probably fucking in my suite right now. Turn this elevator around and take me to floor 123.”

Tactfully, the elevator remained silent. As we hit the 160th floor, the elevator began to slow, making me feel light on my feet. Smoothly the car came to a stop at floor 187 and we exited, leaving a steaming man in a red kilt behind.

Brian thumbed into his room. It was big; my room would have fit into his foyer. High ceilings, chandeliers, marble flooring, floor-to-ceiling windows showing the mountain range in the distance backlighted by the setting sun. Everywhere you looked, tiny lights sparkled. The city that stretched away as far as the eye could see even to the mountainside itself, all covered in a carpet of miniature stars far more numerous and bright than the real ones in the sky itself.

“Need help packing, Brian?”

“It should go faster if I take care of it, Jake.” Why did it feel nicer to hear my own name than the word Master?

After retrieving several large leather-covered suitcases, Brian thumbed open a room safe the size of a compact refrigerator. He pulled out a folder of paperwork and a multitude of flat pouches made of leather or covered in silk.

“May I?” I motioned at the folder and the pouches.

“Yes, Jake.”

Brian's folder contained a passport from Alastair in the name of Reginald Josephson III and a birth certificate from the same planet. Neither were forgeries as far as I could tell. The embossed holograms were all but impossible to fake. But the documents were false in that Reginald Josephson the Third had never been born anywhere, least of all Alastair. Somebody or somebodies working for the government got big bribes for this registered identity and the papers to go with them. The Alastair passport was almost as good as one from mighty Earth itself. Even thugs of the lowest sort would think twice about messing with someone from Alastair.

“Brian, answer to the name of Reginald Josephson while we remain on JuJone.”

“Yes Jake.”

I opened up one of the folders. It was an elegant necklace. Not worth an Outworld planet, but certainly worth a starship. Another folder, another elegant necklace. “Are these yours?” My voice held a little strain. If the owners had declared them lost or stolen, traveling with them held considerable danger. Selling them would be dicey, too.

“Registered on galaxy-wide blockchain in my name. They were gifts, Jake.”

“Great.”

Swiftly Brian finished packing. Expensive and elegant, his clothes would draw attention of the unwanted kind once we reached the Outworlds. We would have to make do until we reached RoughHouse. Nothing of mine would fit him but I had some abandoned clothes there. That would last until my next delivery date.

“I suspect there are several people who won't be happy to see you leave. Can you arrange for transport to sector 7a of the spaceport? Instead of calling a porter, let's get this luggage down to the lobby ourselves. Anything else?”

Brian didn't bother looking around the room. “No, Jake.”

Brian's luggage all fastened together into a block of 5 suitcases, all the same generous size. Brian took a leash out and snapped it to one end. He wheeled the suitcases out into the hallway and I closed the door behind us.

An elevator car seemed to be waiting. Doors opened almost as soon as we hit the call button.

“Take us to the lobby. Express service,” Brian commanded.

“Yes, Sir!” The elevator had a chirpy tone.

The elevator dropped so quickly, I thought I was back in free fall. But after I raised myself up on toes and then leveled them, my body sank back down to the floor. The display showed floors flashing by in a blur. Around the 30th floor weight returned with a vengeance but once again we were brought to a smooth stop just as the display read Lobby.

Clearing the elevator doors, a porter rushed over to take charge of the suitcases. “Mr. Josephson,” he remonstrated, snatching away the leash. We walked across an enormous lobby, brightly lit with gleaming floors, people streaming between the exits, elevators, concierge desk, and reception desk. At the reception desk, patrons were sorted into four queues: `Comfort Class,' `Business Class,' `Executive Class,' and `Prestige Class.' Classifying my room as `comfort class' stretched the term beyond all recognition. As you might expect, the queue for Comfort Class held a couple hundred patrons in a line that snaked back and forth and moved at a snail's pace, while the Prestige Class had no line whatsoever. Brian and I made our way over to Prestige Class. Ten paces before reaching the desk, a security guard got in my face and said, “This line is not for you!”

“hhh” I breathed quietly.

As before, Brian put a hand on my shoulder and said, “He's with me.”

Wide-eyed, the security guard stepped back.

As we approached the desk, a beautiful agent looked up, smiled at Brian's appearance, looked confused at my presence and the porter with luggage, then became nervous. She may have pressed a hidden button because a manager looked out from an office behind the long desk, straightened up, and quickly joined her at the desk.

“How may I help you, Mr. Josephson?” she asked with her brightest smile.

“sss,” I quietly breathed.

“How are you this evening, Lilly?” Brian asked.

Nervously Lilly nodded and ratcheted up her smile.

No verbal response forthcoming, Brian said, “I need my lockbox from the Hotel safe.”

A little relief showed on her face. “Certainly Mr. Josephson. I need your thumbprint.”

Brian placed his thumb onto a glowing amber panel until it flashed green. She began interacting with her computer terminal, typing away at a hidden keyboard, watching a screen just out of our sight.

“Lilly,” the manager said, “Remember that any withdrawals after business hours must be authenticated by full biometrics?”

“Oh, yes. I apologize Mr. Josephson, but we will need a body scan. Can you step over to the square on the floor just to your right? This won't take but a moment.”

The manager was suspicious. Guests could be compromised in one way or another: drugs, threats. My presence was certainly not helping any. As Brian stood on the indicated area, a bright light flashed for a moment in his face, then a holographic cylinder appeared around him. A bright circle swept up from his feet to the top of his head.

The scan was comprehensive and subtle. Not only did it measure his height, weight, and precise body dimensions, Brian's pupillary response to the light flash would indicate if he had been drugged. Measurements were taken of skin perspiration, breathing rate, heart rate. Had Brian been under duress, or otherwise compromised, the scan would have shown trouble signs. After a long and careful examination of his display, the manager reluctantly nodded.

Lilly completed her inputs and announced “Your box will be here momentarily. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Yes. I would like to check out of the hotel.”

It seemed like every staff member within earshot contributed to the collective gasp.

The manager stepped up. “Mr. Josephson, have there been any problems with our accommodations?”

“No, Francis. Everything and everyone at your hotel has maintained its well-deserved reputation for excellence.”

“But you are leaving?”

I broke in. “Mr. Josephson has hired me to take him out to the Outworlds. I believe he may spend a few months there before continuing his exploration of the more civilized regions of the galaxy.”

“But the Outworlds are dangerous Mr. Josephson!” Lilly's voice conveyed terror.

“That's precisely what makes it so appealing,” Brian replied.

“Sir, if we have done anything wrong ...” Francis, the manager, interjected.

Brian maintained his calm. “I'm just looking for some new adventures, Francis. Please check out Mr. Anderson and put his charges on my bill as well.”

Lilly became rather flustered but, again with a nod from the manager, clicked away at her computer terminal. “I'm having trouble finding your record, Mr. Anderson,” she said.

“Room 3162,” I replied.

Grimly she nodded. “Yes. Checking out so soon, Mr. Anderson?”

“I planned to stay a little longer, but welcomed the opportunity to be of service to Mr. Josephson when it arose.”

“I see.” She didn't, but gamely kept up the work.

“Almost finished. Ah. Your lockbox has arrived.” Squatting down in her snug dress, Lilly retrieved a lockbox. It was over a half meter long, about a third of a meter wide, and 20 cm tall. A thumbprint scanner glowed on one side. “Would you care to use the private booth to remove your items?”

“No, thank you,” I replied. “We'll just take the box with us.”

Brian nodded in agreement.

“But the box is hotel property. You can't take that with you,” the manager protested.

“I'm sure Mr. Josephson will appreciate the extra security of your lockbox on the trip. Let me suggest that he add 25 thousand credits to the bill. Whatever isn't required to reimburse the hotel for their lockbox can be applied as a tip for you and the staff.”

Grimly the manager nodded. My own duffel was so empty that I was able to fit the lockbox in without any fuss.

“Let me take that for you, Mr. Anderson,” the porter suggested.

“I'm fine, thanks.”

Brian settled up the bill and we walked over to the main door. A large and boxy black limo with an open trunk was waiting for us at the curb, forcing grumbling patrons entering and exiting to navigate around it. Brian waved phones with the driver. Both screens glowed green, authenticating the driver and Brian were the right match. The porter unlatched Brian's suitcases and stored them in the limo's cavernous trunk. “Your bag, sir?” he asked.

“No, thanks. I'll carry it with me.”

The porter began an effusive thanks for the opportunity to be of service to Mr. Josephson. Brian smiled and nodded, took out his phone, and waved the porter a good tip. With that we were off.

The cavernous interior of the limo was quiet during the 20 minute drive to the spaceport itself. As we approached the outskirts of the spaceport, the driver, hidden behind a black blaster-proof screen, spoke to us over the intercom: “Are you sure about sector 7a?”

“Yes. How close can you get us to a ship parked at Zulu Alpha 43?”

“Wow,” he exclaimed. “That's a good distance from the nearest transfer station. Depending on traffic, I may be able to take you directly to you starcraft. Otherwise I'm afraid you're gonna be stuck at the transfer station for a while. I'll ask for clearance.”

“Thank you.”

My dick felt a tickle that ramped up to strong buzz. Brian was using his covert hacking ability quite heavily for some reason. I looked over at him. He shook his head. The buzzing intensified.

Finally we heard from the driver again. “Well, we are cleared for Zulu Alpha 43. One stop at passport control and you will be good to go.”

We reached the spaceport but the driver ignored several exits for commercial star travel. He slowed for a sharp turn into an exit marked `Private Starships' and the street opened onto a large paved area.

“Expedited processing?” the driver inquired.

“Thank you.”

The limo headed towards a relatively unpopulated line of luxury limos while a long queue of personal vehicles and cabs dropped off most of the people near the Passport Control/Transfer Station building.

We came to a booth just in front of a tall unbroken force-field. The field sparkled and bolts of lighning were readily visible. Reaching the booth, Brian lowered a window and handed our passports to an overweight and sweaty Planetary Security Agent. He scanned our passports, compared us against our 3D photos, and asked “Anything to declare?”

“No Sir,” Brian replied politely.

“Where are you headed?”

“Gamma sector.” Brian replied.

“What berth?”

“Zulu Alpha 43.”

The good agent entered this information into his terminal and a green light flashed on top. “You are good to go. Tell your driver to take tunnel 7 and go all the way to the end. His nav map should be able to guide him to your berth.

“Thank you, agent.”

The drive to Zulu Alpha 43 took almost as much time as the drive from the hotel to the spaceport itself. My starship was in the low-rent district. The driver dropped us and our luggage off at the good ship Lost Moon.

As starships go, the Lost Moon was about as old, beat up, and utilitarian as I am. Not quite as stubborn, but give her time. Lost Moon was a tail-lander and looked pretty much like a tube 130 meters tall and 20 meters in diameter with a pointy nose. Lost Moon was born a short-haul freighter but somewhere along the way her elemental graviton drive had been upgraded and more fuel tanks had been added, so she could do long hauls now. Her cargo capacity had been cut to accommodate the modifications. If I ever struck it rich with another asteroid, she could carry 300 metric tons of ore with her cargo bays stuffed to the hatches. Like me, Lost Moon was no beauty, but you could see strength underneath all those dings, scratches, and patches.

I didn't want to pay for a loader so, slinging my duffel bag behind me, I climbed up the access ladder built into one of her three leg struts, authenticated to the AI, and opened a low cargo hatch. I tied off a length of rope to a D-ring next to the door and dropped the other end down to Brian. He fed the rope through between the handles of all 5 suitcases, now re-connected to one another, and tied end of the rope back to the line dropping down. Without a winch, lifting that heavy weight was going to be tough. I was making slow progress when Brian showed up suddenly.

“Did you just run up the side of my starship?” I asked.

“No Jake.”

“Help me get this luggage up.”

Brian gently shouldered me aside and began to pull the luggage up at quite a clip.

“Slow down, Brian. Don't show your strength here.”

“Yes Jake.”

The luggage was soon aboard. “Not much room in the Captain's quarters for all your luggage. You can just stow it here and come get what you need once we are underway. I'll head up to the nose and meet you there.”

“Yes Jake.”

Being a tail lander without artificial gravity, the Lost Moon kind of resembles a tall round layer cake. Each deck has a circular floor that ends in a curved wall: the side of the ship. You climb up or down on a metal ladder inside a 2-meter cylinder at the ship's center. The control room is at the top and the engines are down below the cargo levels. Things get pretty wonky in the control room, though. The pilot and co-pilot chairs are near the ceiling and face upwards towards the only windows in the whole starship. The climb is awkward but getting seated is worse. Lose your grip and you've got a 4 meter fall beneath you. Once you sit down, it makes a little more sense: the controls are above you but they are also right in front of you. You get used to it after a while.

In short order we were buckled in and ready for takeoff. I was starting to contact Ground Control but Brian switched off my comms.

“Tell them this is MSS `Sorry Ass' taking off from berth Zulu-Alpha 43 headed for Rion-9 in the Gamma Sector,” he whispered.

I raised an eyebrow. Brian just motioned up with his finger. Then, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, Brian began working the ship's interface. I could see on his screen he was navigating into the ship's main settings. He pulled up the identification string and replaced it with an equally-long 27 alpha-numeric string. It started off with a Midworld registration code. He confirmed the new setting and nodded at me, then switched on the identification beacon.

“SpacePort JuJone this is MSS Sorry Ass calling.” I said.

“Go ahead `Sorry Ass'.” I could have sworn I heard a snicker from the controller. “We have your beacon.”

“We are taking off from berth Zulu-Alpha 43 and will be headed for Rion-9, Gamma Sector.”

“Confirm that, Sorry Ass. You have paid all ground fees and for low orbital boost. Do not start your engines until you have reached an altitude of 2,000 kilometers and the force-elevator collapses.”

I looked over at Brian. I hadn't paid for orbital boost, planning to use the Lost Moon's engines to launch. Brian nodded again and pointed up.

“Confirming launch arrangements, SpacePort JuJone. We are holding ready for launch.”

“You are number three. We will notify at launch.”

“Thank you, SpacePort JuJone.”

The controller didn't respond, probably on to his next contact.

Long minutes ticked by. Even with a forcefield pushing you through the atmosphere, it takes several minutes to reach low orbit. From Brian's strange behavior, something going down here on JuJone and the sooner we left planet, the better.

At last we heard a pre-recorded voice over the comms: “Launch in T-5.”

Five seconds later the acceleration slammed down. Our chairs had already unfolded into their recumbent positions and still facing up. The good news is that a force-elevator launch is much smoother than a rocket-based launch through the atmosphere. The first two minutes were programmed at 3 G's while the ship punched through the atmosphere. Then the acceleration boosted to 4 G's for almost 6 more minutes.

4 G's are never comfortable. You wish at least one of the guys sitting on your chest would climb off, maybe two. Six minutes at 4 G's seems like forever and a day. It's funny how time stretches and shrinks around our lives. If only we could shrink the unpleasant moments and stretch the great ones, life would be a lot more bearable.

Thoughts like that rattled around my head until, suddenly, the acceleration disappeared and so did gravity. We were in free fall.

“`Sorry Ass', this is JuJone Control. You have reached low-orbit altitude. Clear skies.”

“Thank you JuJone. Sorry Ass out.”

I took a moment to check the board. Thrusters were all working, the main drive was warming up. Then I turned to Brian. “What happened?”

“My phone alerted me to a problem. You probably didn't detect the sound -- ultrasonic. The hotel manager notified his superiors at the casino that I was checking out under somewhat suspicious circumstances. They weren't happy that someone who knew so many nasty secrets of their operation might be skipping planet. Strings were pulled, the police were called in, and our passports were flagged and your starship interdicted. For some mysterious reason, various communication systems were down. The cops were following the wrong limo. I blocked the starport from receiving notifications in time. I changed the passport control's records so you and I never entered the starport. Then I mixed up the starport's records. They believe that the Lost Moon is in Zulu Beta 42 and the `Sorry Ass' was in Zulu Alpha 43. Sorry Ass is from the Midworld zone, so a trip to Rion-9 is not suspicious. When the real `Sorry Ass' tries to launch, they're going to find lots of high-powered weaponry pointed in their direction.

“Rion-9 is in the general direction of Theta-7. We can head towards Rion-9 until we are well into Midworld territory, then change the beacon and head home.”

I was impressed. “Nice work. Amazing. Thank you Brian.”

“You are welcome, Master.” The shift from Jake back to Master was a little jarring, but I realized I had told Brian to use Jake while on-planet. Now that we were in orbit, I was `Master' again.

I set about plotting a course for Rion-9. It was complicated by the fact that JuJone's sun was right in our path. Hyperspace lies outside of normal space so we wouldn't hit the sun if we passed through it. But the gravitational force of a big sun bends hyperspace. Any ship traveling at light speed through a bent region of hyperspace will be torn apart as the nose of the starship bends before the ass end does.

The ships navigation system produced a good course. I checked it over and locked it in. From there, the ship's computers took over. It contacted Starsystem Control for course approval. By the time we received permission, the launch window had passed. We had to wait almost two hours to orbit the planet and hit our launch position again.

Fatigue hit me like a ton of iron ore. It had been a long day with a good amount of stress and one amazing fuck. “Brian, I'm coming to bed. Do you want to come with me?”

“Yes Master!” His voice held enthusiasm.

“No more sex for about 24 hours, Brian. I'm not as young as I used to be.”

“Yes Master.” Not quite so much enthusiasm.

In my cabin, I folded down the bed from the wall. It was bigger by far than the crew berths, but would be a `cozy' squeeze for Brian and I. We stripped, put clothing away in a drawer, floated over to my bed, and pulled ourselves beneath the top sheet. The thin blanket was made of a stretchy material and fastened to the bed. It would keep us in place until the stardrive kicked in and we felt its weak artificial gravity.

Spooning with Brian held tight to my chest, I marveled at how great that simple human contact felt. It had been far too long since I last shared a bed. Sleep came quickly.

Hours later I awoke to an empty bed. I felt gravity again. It was about 1/5 G. Nearly double the gravity on my moonlet where the RoughHouse was located. JuJone's near-Earth gravity was one of the reasons I felt so much fatigue yesterday. My body was acclimated to a 1/10 G environment.

Brian wasn't in the bathroom. Maybe he was getting breakfast? I wasn't worried about him at the moment and decided to take a quick shower and get cleaned up. There were a few times on our journey that we would fall out of hyperspace and back into zero G. Best not to get caught in the shower when that happened. Then I dressed and went looking for Brian.

I found him at the top of the control room sitting in the pilot's chair, working with the navigation app. “What are you doing?”

“Altering the course to end at Rion-9, Master.”

“I think I may have some star charts of this sector. Let me look.”

I popped open a long cabinet near the back of the control room and began to search through the many star charts I had there. But I couldn't find what I was looking for.

“Is this what you're trying to find, Jake?”

The shift from `Master' to `Jake' raised the hair on the back of my neck. I turned to look up at Brian. Above me, he had swiveled his chair around to face down and was pointing my blaster right at my heart.

Well, everyone, thus ends the first part of our tale. I will return with another episode when I am able. Until then, I appreciate you sending any thoughts about Brian and Jake to bradgreyson22 AT gmail YOU-CAN-FIGURE-OUT-WHAT-GOES-HERE-CANT-YOU com. And don't forget to contribute to Nifty.

Gay Nifty: helping men through hard times.