USS Freeuse: To boldly go where no Man has gone before [MF… scifi harem free use]

I’m on my phone, swiping crystals into sets of three, watching them disappear in full-spectrum explosions. I lean back into the cheap plastic chair, the mechanical sounds the car wash dominating the lounge. I eye my truck as it glides through the soap rinse, and then… well, it’s hard to describe. A swirl of lights and rushing sounds, not dissimilar to what I’d been seeing on my phone, except all around me, and the world tumbling end over end, and I’m falling, falling, falling…

I come to and I’m at … someplace different. It doesn’t make any sense. My phone’s gone, which is frustrating because I was on a timed level. And I’m laying on the floor, and the floor is warm, soft, spongy but metallic, like nothing I’ve before felt. The room, or space, or whatever it is, is big, a polyhedral ball several times my height, and deep magenta, with a light somehow coming from all directions at once. And my clothes have disappeared, I’m naked.

“What the fuck?” I say, even though there’s nobody there to hear. “Where’s my phone?” My speech sounds weird, muffled. There’s no echo.

“Your what?” Someone speaks, but I don’t see anyone. The voice comes from just by ear, but also directionless, ambient, like the lights. “It doesn’t matter, you can’t bring any souvenirs. Hopefully, though, the rest of your journey wasn’t too unpleasant.” It’s a woman’s voice, cute and young, with a sing-song accent that’s twisting vowels and distorting syllables, yet giving me little trouble with comprehension. “Please forgive your departure’s abruptness, there was no other way.”

“Where am I? Who are you? What’s going on?” The questions come tumbling out of my mouth. “I want a refund on the boosters I used, I was going to beat that level.”

“Ah,” the voice says, “None of that matters. We’re just borrowing you, we need a quick favor, and then we’ll let you on your way, putting you back exactly when and where you were, phone and all.”

“’Borrowing?’” I scoff, “More like ‘abducting.’ ‘Kidnapping.’”

“Yes, sorry about all that,” the voice says, sounding sincere, “But, please, just cooperate, we really mean you no harm. I wish there was another way, but there’s not.”

A section of the floor in front of me becomes a wall, I have no other way of describing it. The floor doesn’t open up or extrude or morph, it’s simply floor one moment and wall the next. Then it lights up, glowing, big words across it saying ‘SELECT INPUT DEVICE.’

I furrow my brow. “Is that a TV?”

“A what?” the voice says, “It’s a holodata rendering system–”

“Could we get on with this?” another voice says, also feminine, but older. I hear fumbling, like a microphone being bumped against something.

The first voice says, “Should I not use the script?”

I shrug, then realize the question wasn’t for me.

“Give me that,” the second voice says. Then she continues, louder now, direct, commanding, “Man.”

“Yes?”

“We need your seed.”

I blink. “My what?”

“Your semen.”

“My … my semen?” My hand moves automatically, protecting my crotch.

“Yes. Semen,” the voice sounds less sure than before, “That’s what you call it, right? For impregnation?”

My eyes go wide. “Whoa now, I don’t know what she told you, but the kid’s not mine.”

“What kid? No. We’re not interested in your skills as a parent. We just need you to masturbate.”

“I’m not doing anything without my lawyer here,” I say, “I got my rights!”

“Your right what?” the voice says, “Ah, it doesn’t matter. This is getting us nowhere.”

“Plan B?” says the first woman.

“Do it,” orders the second.

I exclaim, “Do what?!” But I find out soon enough. I don’t understand how it happens, or even what exactly happens, but there’s some flashing beams of light and more things becoming other things and then my back is against a wall and I’m fixed in place, arms pulled over my head, legs outstretched.

I see nothing holding my limbs there, but they’re stuck fast, with less wiggle than even the tightest ropes could manage. “What!?” I say, but it’s not a real question, just the only sound I can think to make.

Then I shriek, “What are you doing?” And this time it is is a real question, because descending from the ceiling is a tube of suspicious diameter, headed right towards my crotch. But I cannot move, and no explanation is given, so I’ve nothing else to do but stare in horror as it reaches closer, closer.

By the time it touches my penis, I’m nearly panicking. Thankfully, it’s just as soft and warm as the floor, and as it slides over my dick, I’m baffled by how gentle it is. The bottom extends to wrap around my balls, and it looks like metal but feels like soap. The tube squeezes my dick, ever so softly. But no matter what it feels like, I absolutely do not want my cock in some weird machine.

“I don’t like this…” I squeal.

“Like I said,” continues the voice, “We need your semen. This method is cruder than we wanted, but it’ll be effective. We’ll begin the program now.”

“The program?” I whimper.

The TV flickers, and on it, or rather, in it forms a life-like three-dimensional image. On screen is a man, nude, bulging with muscles, with a preposterously large cock, thick and erect.

I’ll admit it, I cry, sob like a baby. “What is this?”

A second man appears on screen, just as built as the first, just as erect. And then he gets on his knees and starts sucking the first man’s cock.

The machine does something to my dick, and there’s some sensation, but I remain limp. “What the fuck?” I’m not being very articulate, but given the circumstances, I hope you’ll understand.

I watch, unable to look away. Literally, whatever holds my hands and legs in place also holds my head, my eyes. I cannot help but watch this scene of gay erotica. It’s not hot, not to me, and if these disembodied women expect my cock to grow hard watching this, they’re going to be disappointed.

“Why are you showing me this?” I yell.

“Hrmm…” the leader says, “He’s not showing any signs of arousal.”

The first voice, who I’ve decided must be the junior of the two, suggests, “We’ve acquired lots of footage. I have other clips we could try.”

The TV flickers, and again, two men. Like the first two, this pair is erect, but they’re slender, effeminate. One starts screwing the other in the ass. The tube tugs on my limp cock.

“This ain’t gonna do it, either, ladies!” I shout.

“Uhh…” The TV flickers again, more gay erotica.

“No!”

It flickers yet again, and it’s another video, three guys this time, in a circle, sucking each other off.

“If you’re trying to get my semen,” I say, “You should try showing me something with a woman in it.”

“What?” My captors sound genuinely confused. “Why?”

“You know,” I say, “Like a pretty MILF or something?”

I hear a conversation sneak out through the intercom, too muffled to make out the meaning. Then the leader comes on again. “Explain what you mean.”

I roll my eyes. “This is all gay porn. And more power to it. But gay sex doesn’t do anything for me.”

“Gay sex?”

“Yes,” I say with exasperation. What type of wackos are these? “Gay? You know, men having sex with men? It’s not my cup of tea. If you really want my sperm so bad, I need to see something with a woman in it.”

“Uhh… that’s… weird. But I’ll see what we have.” More muffled conversation. “I don’t know,” leaks through. Then, “Uh, ok, we found, ah, something.”

The TV flickers again, and there’s a woman on screen. Technically. The view is over her shoulder, as she explains to the camera how to operate some piece of machinery. The angle switches, and it’s a standard interview shot, the woman telling the viewer about the machine’s safety requirements. She’s cute enough, I guess, but getting hard to this? I say, “What the fuck is this?”

“You for some reason wanted a woman,” the voice says, “Is this one not acceptable?”

“I wanted a woman, yes,” I say, “But porn.”

“Porn?”

“People fucking.”

“You just said you didn’t want to see people having sex.”

I groan. “You showed me men having sex. Show me women having sex. Getting ‘impregnated,’ as you say.”

Hesitation. “Like, a medical operation? This– this isn’t working, the cultural divide is too much. I think we have to call this whole thing off.”

“But this is our best hope,” the first voice says, “I feel like we’re so close.”

“We’re not able to communicate effectively with the subject.”

“Once more chance,” the junior woman says, “Let me meet with him. In person.”

“The risk of contamination is unacceptable!”

“It’s risky, yes,” says the first, “But consider the guaranteed disaster if we fail.”

The leader sighs. “You’re right, we have to succeed. Very well. But, I’ll be watching. If anything starts to go sideways…”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And then the room empties and I’m released. I check out my dick and balls, looking for damage, but see nothing. When I look up again, a door out from the room has opened, and a glowing white corridor lays beyond.

“Uh, someone coming?” I call. But there’s no response.

Tentatively, I step into the hall, expecting to be stopped, or at least set off an alarm. But nothing happens. Nobody’s there, either. It’s silent apart from a gentle, ambient throbbing noise. Another step, and the walls blink. A blue arrow. I follow. It leads me to a junction, three directions all with paths curving away, blocking sight beyond maybe thirty paces. And then there’s the blue arrow, which points to the right. I briefly consider heading the opposite direction, but I can’t figure any reason for doing that, so I shrug and head the way it points.

I follow a few more arrows, and the last leads me to an open door, a small, cozy looking space inside. The room is filled with bright, warm light, glowing from every surface. There’s a low table, behind which a woman sits stiffly on the floor. The door shuts behind me, and she gestures that I should take the spot opposite her.

“Welcome to my office,” she says, and I recognize her voice from the intercom. “Please, forgive these unusual circumstances.” She speaks with that same strange accent as before, now clearer, more vivid.

“What is this place?” I say, kneeling at the table. There’s a glass of water waiting. I ignore it, eyeing her. She’s young, can’t be older than twenty-five. Blonde hair in a short, pixie-ish cut that looks practical but extremely cute on her. And her smile, warm, no trace of mockery, despite my clear disadvantage. I’m actually taken aback how attractive she is, I’m not expecting this, not after everything I’ve just been through. She’s wearing some sort of white uniform, a jacket, golden epaulets on her shoulders, a golden insignia over her chest. And her chest… I have to force myself not to stare. The jacket is stiff, rigid, but even the most inventive clothing couldn’t hide tits that big. And on that small a frame?

I become aware again of my nakedness. If this woman wants me to masturbate for her, all she’s gotta do is ask.

“You are comfortable?” she asks, and she really means it. She’s concerned, wants to put my anxiety at ease.

So, no reason not to be honest. “Not really. Some explanation would be nice.”

“Sorry.” She tilts her head towards me, some show of deference, and continues, “I’m afraid I can’t answer many of your questions, but I would be eternally grateful if you could answer some of mine. Especially around mating rituals.”

I steal another glance at her chest. “How grateful are we talking?”

“Very,” she says, bouncing with enthusiasm. Her chest jiggles, bulging against the starched fabric. “I’ve done what research I can on your culture, but I’m afraid that we don’t have much to go on, and that what we do have doesn’t make sense to us. This is a rare opportunity for us to gain knowledge direct from the source!”

“My culture? What are you, an alien? Wait, are we in space?”

She laughs. “No. You’re still on Earth. Still amongst humans. Beyond that, I’m not at liberty to discuss. But please, believe me, I mean you no harm.”

I sigh. “Fine. What would you like to know?” Can I suck on those titties?

“First off,” she says, “You seem to have implied that you become aroused by women. Is this sort of deviation normal in your culture? Or are you a pariah of some sort?”

“A pariah?” I furrow my brow, speculate what her nipples look like. “No, I’m normal, I suppose.”

“How interesting,” she says, “And what specifically is it about women that you find arousing? Something that stems from childhood trauma, or some sort of fetish?”

I chuckle. “No, no fetishes. I just like, uh–” I glance at her chest, “–you know, big ole titties, round butts, cute faces, the usual.”

She scrunches up her nose in thought. “I see. ‘Big ole titties,’ I think you mean large breasts? Like mine?”

Here we go… “Yes. Like yours.”

“Does that mean you’re aroused right now?”

I grin. “Take off that jacket and we’ll find–”

Everything — the room, the walls, the table, everything — blinks red, and an alarm squeals.

“I didn’t mean it!” I squeal at the ceiling, cowering. “I’ll behave!”

But the woman ignores me, listening instead to a voice from the intercom. It’s the other woman, the leader, again on the microphone, “Red alert! Battle stations! This is not a drill! I repeat, this is not a drill.”

Another voice chimes in, “Parker, you’re needed on the bridge, asap.”

“Acknowledged,” the woman across from me says smartly. Parker, I guess. “Stay here,” she says to me. She springs up, bolts out the door.

I stare, shocked, bewildered, confused. Not at what is going on, but at what Parker is wearing. With her sitting behind the table, I had only seen her from her midriff on up. But as she flies past me, I see the rest of her. Her jacket, proper and formal up top, goes no further than her navel. Below that, she wearing nothing but a white thong. Bare feet, bare legs, bare ass, bare belly. Just one thin strap of material stand between her and complete bottomlessness.

And her legs, her ass — muscular, toned, athletic — fucking amazing. No way am I staying here.

I stumble into the hallway, following her. It glows red, now, too, same as the room. Parker dashes down the corridor, and I run, trying to keep up. But we pass others, and I stop and stare. They’re all women, all dressed the same as Parker, all built the same as Parker. So many titties and asses. If this is their uniform, I want to thank its designer.

They give me the odd sidelong glance, but everyone is busy, moving with fast, purposeful intention. Right, battlestations. Whatever that means.

I see Parker slip through another doorway at the end of a long hallway, and keep my eye on it so as not to lose track. When I walk through, I am presented with a fascinating sight. A dozen women, each standing at a different station, their kiosks filled with shapes and … things that I don’t even begin to understand. Not that I’m paying much attention to the stations. The women, they’re each striking, tall, beautiful, confident in their poses, in their environment. Hands deftly fly over controls while they call out to one another, barking information and confirmation, a masterfully orchestrated, efficient machine. And their asses, all round, all exposed, clad only in thongs. The incongruity — military precision and being half naked — confuses me, at least as far as my dick is concerned.

I’m standing in the doorway, and there’s a woman standing right next to me. She glances at me with a frown before returning to her work. “They came on us quick, ma’am,” she announces to the room, “Their pilot’s a clever one, especially driving something so big.” She’s a ginger, freckled and cute as a button, tits as big as Parker’s, ass as perfect.

“What’s he doing on my bridge?” I recognize the voice, it’s the leader. The captain, I realize. She’s standing in the middle of the bridge, the only woman without a console. And she’s glaring at me. Her epaulets are fancier than the others, her posture more regal, her demeanor more dignified despite her similar level of undress.

She’s tall, lean. Her hair is long, dark, shimmery. Her features severe, and severely attractive. Her skin is deep, bronze, her legs long and perfect. Her thong’s little white triangle of fabric just covers her sex, leaving little to the imagination. She looks like she could wad me up into a ball and throw me away.

“Nevermind,” she says, “I don’t have time. Hargrave, status?”

A woman with silky black hair speaks up. “Their weapons are charged, we’ll be in their firing range in twenty seconds.”

“This’ll be close,” the captain says.

I scan the room, spot Parker, head her direction.

“They’ve stopped!”

“Video incoming, ma’am!”

“On screen.”

The far end of the room blinks to life, a screen like the one before, a holographic scene forming there. Everyone looks, and I freeze in place, halfway between the door and Parker. It’s a view of another ship’s bridge, this one filled with nothing but men. Men wearing equally ridiculous uniforms of short jackets and thongs, theirs black. Their thongs are cut with sleeves for their dicks, which are in various states of erection. It’s just as weird as it sounds.

“Cook,” our captain grunts.

“Whitaker,” Cook, the man on screen, responds. I feel his gaze pass over me. “I see you’ve captured one our own. We’ll be wanting him back. Before we destroy you.”

“He’s not yours,” our Captain Whitaker says, “You’re in violation of the armistice. Leave this area immediately.”

“Not one of ours?” Cook considers, “So that means…” his smile is knowing and cruel, “Those energy signatures we captured? The ones that are evidence of tech forbidden by the accords? Your violation of them makes our actions lawful, our mission one of policing.”

“So,” Whitaker says, “Your ship is quicker, better armed. We’re just a simple research vessel. Simple, yet not without defenses, and my crew is committed and well trained. I would ensure that if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me, Cook. And since you and I both have egos too large to throw our lives away in some meaningless skirmish, why don’t you turn around, go home, and live to see another day?”

Cook rolls his eyes and turns to me. “Man.”

I look around, hoping he’s addressing someone else.

“Yes, you. Whitaker hasn’t told you what’s going on, has she?”

I shake my head.

“Hah!” he laughs, “Thought not. Probably against whatever rules she dreamed up for this forbidden project of hers. Go on, Whitaker, tell him.”

She grimaces, says nothing.

Cook continues, “Tell him that he’s a thousand years in his future. That he’s here to bolster the wrong side of the war. That you’re losing, desperate, willing to try anything, even kidnapping men from the distant past–”

“Cut the feed!” Whitaker barks.

My knees go weak. “Whuu?”

Whitaker looks at me, but speaks to her crew. “Attack pattern three-beta.”

The bridge crew responds in perfect unison. “Ma’am!”

And then there’s a battle, the fighting vicious, the drama heroic. I don’t follow any of it. My head is swimming, nothing feels real, I collapse to the floor. Some sudden motion of the ship flings me to the side, and one of the women, a particularly tall and broad brunette, grabs me as easily as if I were a sheet of paper and instructs me to hold on to her. I wrap myself around her leg, my face pressed against her thigh, bawling my eyes out, and this is how I pass through the battle.

Somehow, Whitaker is victorious, Cook’s ship beating a limping retreat back to where it came. Our ship is too damaged to give chase, but the casualties are limited to a few burns, some bruises. Medics scramble, apply bandages. The crew seem surprised by none of this.

“What are you doing?” the woman I’m clinging to says.

“Huh?”

“Your hand.” She points.

Oh. I am surprised to find my hand on her ass — a perfectly toned, muscular ass — rubbing it. I yank my hand away. “Sorry.”

“So weird,” she frowns.

I let go of her leg, struggling to stand. As I do, a tough looking woman with ebony skin and svelte legs and hair in tight knots barks, “You! Man! Come with me.”

She leads me to what looks like an office, and I’m once again glued to the wall by invisible means, arms and legs outstretched. My dick hangs limp, exposed. I have to itch, and I’m uncomfortable, stuck in place, helpless.

“Is this necessary?” I ask.

“You will do as the captain says,” the ebony woman glares at me, “We don’t let men wander our ship.” She doesn’t hit me, but she looks like she wants to.

The doors slide open and Captain Whitaker walks in and paces in front of me. Lieutenant Parker follows behind her, meek and cute. Their asses… I can’t decide which I love more.

“I see you’ve met my first officer, Commander Gatlin,” Whitaker says.

The woman with ebony skin leans against the wall, regarding me coolly.

“Is it true?” I ask, “This is the future?”

“Well, I mean…” Parker starts, avoiding my eye contact.

Whitaker interrupts. “No use mincing words. Yes. We abducted you from our past.”

I whimper.

The captain continues, “But it was obviously a mistake. We shouldn’t have done it. Any alterations to the timeline, however minuscule, are strictly forbidden, by common sense at the bare minimum. The only excuse I can offer is that we were desperate, and we had a plan. Pluck you out of time, collect your semen, tell you nothing, then send you back before you were missed. Yes, you’d have your memories of the transfer chamber, but we figured you’d never make sense of it, and if you tried to tell anyone from your era, they wouldn’t believe you.”

“You’re desperate,” I say, “For my semen?”

“Not yours in specific,” she says, “Any fertile man’s semen will do. You were chosen from a list of particularly virile males, men who the records show had a multitude of offspring. We’re running low on sperm, you see. This war between men and women has been going for far too long, and even the best preserved male seed can only last so long. We need more women, we need reinforcements!”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I say, “None of this makes any sense. How can men and women be at war? Don’t you need each other? And what do you need sperm from the past for? Why not just capture one of the enemy prisoner, collect his semen?”

Gatlin laughs. “They’re all sterilized. All their soldiers, dicks hard but balls useless. They spend all day fucking each other, for sure, but there’s not a single sperm among them.”

“They’ve got better tech,” Parker says, “Have found a way to reproduce artificially, without women. Cloning.”

“So they say,” Gatlin spits.

“So they say,” Parker echoes, “But they’ve got the numbers to prove it. Something they’re doing is effective.” She sighs and sits on a chair, pulling her jacket open. “And we’re losing the war.” The strained buttons pop free, and something like a sports bra spills forth, her huge chest springing out.

I stare, shaking my head. “And why are you all dressed like this?”

Whitaker gives me a sideways glance.

“Like what?” Gatlin frowns, looking down at herself. She brushes an invisible bit of dust from her shoulder. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re all…” I gesture at her bare legs, her tiny white thong, “Not wearing much clothing.”

Whitaker’s gaze narrows. “These are our uniforms.”

Parker looks thoughtful. “It is likely that he comes from a more primitive era, one where clothing was necessary for protection from weather and predators, less designed for comfort. Fashions change over time, certainly. But clothing design must answer foremost to what is practical, and–”

I shake my head, cut her off, “And why are you all so fucking attractive?”

Parker arches an eyebrow. “Are we?”

“Yes! You’re beautiful. Even Gatlin there, behind her sneer, easily a ten out of ten.”

Whitaker frowns. “Parker, what’s he talking about?”

Parker walks up to me, considering, then says, “He’s probably not accustomed to the level of health and hygiene in our society.” She holds out some device, a blinking little sensor of some sort, placing it on my chest and running it down to my pelvis. I shudder.

She studies her tablet, “He shows evidence of a lifetime of exposure to environmental toxins, untreated diseases, and inadequate nutrition. But…” she turns to me, “Man. Do you mean that when you look at women — at us — you feel sexual attraction?”

I look at Whitaker’s bronze skin, the curve of her hips. At Gatlin’s toned, long legs. At Parker’s heavy chest. “Yes,” I whimper.

“He mentioned something like this to me earlier. I didn’t understand at the time.”

Gatlin mutters, “Is he an idiot? Does he confuse us for men?”

Whitaker turns to Parker, her tone imperative. “But you understand now?”

“Maybe,” Parker says. She peers at me, looking me in the eye. She slides the sensor down my dick, then over my balls.

I gasp. My cock twitches.

She continues, “I have an idea I’d like to try. But I’ll need your permission to adjust my bio plant. I need to disable some inhibitions.”

I screw up my face. “Your what?”

“The device that controls my body chemistry.” She rubs the sensor on my sac while she explains to me like I’m a child, “Did you not have those?”

I shake my head.

“Huh. I can’t even imagine life without it. It ensures that we’re healthy, happy, focused. Tweaking the bio implant’s settings is only allowed by trained medic–”

Gatlin interjects, “Your body chemistry isn’t open for experimentation, Parker.”

“Not experimentation,” Parker says. “But,” she turns to her captain, finally releasing my balls, “Something he said made me look into what exactly the bio plant is inhibiting. And I found a control, one that’s been in every woman’s implant for centuries now, for libido.”

“Libido?” I say, “You mean you’re suppressing your sex drive? Why would you do that to yourselves?”

Gatlin laughs. “You’re telling me, us women have libido?” She shakes her head. “Look at him, can’t even have a conversation without growing aroused. Nature is disgusting, thank goodness for the bio plant. Can you imagine us, acting like the men? Constantly fighting amongst ourselves? Always an emotional lovers’ spat away from full-on civil war? Hah, women are civilized, enlightened, free from our animal nature. Don’t let her disable it, Captain, it’s a bad idea.”

I can’t accept this idea so easily. “You all really trust these implants?”

Parker frowns at me. “Society without control over body chemistry sounds… it sounds…”

“Barbaric,” Gatlin suggests.

“Unhealthy,” Parker says, “The histories say alcohol was used by many cultures for a primitive attempt at control. Is that not so?”

“Well–” I start.

“And something called ‘anti-depressants’?”

“I mean–”

“Also, it’s not clear, but maybe cigarettes?”

I sigh. “Ok, so, fine, yes. I used those things. I take your point.”

Captain Whitaker waves away this bunny trail. “I can’t but agree with Commander Gatlin. Disabling an inhibition is extremely risky. Medicine has spent centuries perfecting nature’s sloppiness, it’s haphazard imbalances.” She nods at my cock, then spins around. I am once again presented with that magnificent ass. I can’t believe that a society that dresses this way has no libido. It’s some sort of cruel joke. Whitaker takes her time putting the thought together. “Remember what happened to Captain Swain’s ship back in ‘38? Implants failed shipwide, it was a madhouse. Took months in drydock to repair.”

“That’s right,” says Gatlin, “There’s–”

“But,” interrupts Whitaker, “You yet have a chance, however small, of talking me into it. What is your reasoning, Parker? Why do you think that your desiring sex will affect this man?”

Parker swallows, then says, “I do not mean for me to sex with anyone on this crew, or any other woman. I believe attraction within the gender may be only one option, one the men of our time have found a way to exclusively design for in their cloning processes. We’ve always assumed that for women it would be the same, but this primitive man claims to come from an era when men and women had sex with each other. I mean to attempt that.”

“Vulgar!” Gatlin shouts, “Perverted! Sex? And with a man!? Are you out of your mind?”

Parker ignores her. “We know that in humanity’s past, women’s bodies were used to grow children. Although the specific rituals used to impregnate them have been lost, perhaps this man knows enough of them to show us.”

I grin. “Damn right I do.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Gatlin says.

“I do not understand the details of sexual attraction,” Parker continues, “But he’s made his interest in me quite clear. And as revolting as the idea is, it might be our only hope for survival.”

“Absolutely not!” Gatlin says.

Whitaker holds her hand up, and Gatlin goes silent. She eyes me, looking me up and down. “You, Man,” she says, “You would be capable of showing Lieutenant Parker your primitive ways?”

Parker is watching me closely. They all are. But my gaze is on her, that beautiful ass, that magnificent rack. And she’s cute, so cute, her short blond hair, inquisitive interest in her eyes.

“Fuck yeah.”

It only takes a few minutes. Gatlin pulls me back onto the bridge, and I’m once again glued to a wall, this one in the front of the room where the viewscreen was. The dozen women in the room stare at me, some with curiosity, others with contempt. I stare back, making eye contact with each in turn. The cute redhead by the door, she frowns. The tall woman I clung to during the battle, she smiles. They are all, every single one, different versions of beautiful. I’m not an exhibitionist, or at least, I didn’t think I was, but being so exposed, so vulnerable, spread eagle and naked and on display, has made my chub grow a little harder, a little salute to all the hot women.

The door to the hallway opens and Whitaker leads Parker in. “How are you feeling?” she asks the blond woman.

“So far, nothing,” Parker says, “The doctor said it would be quick, set in by now. But I don’t feel any different.”

Whitaker grunts, turns to me. “Start with him whenever you’re ready.”

Parker approaches, stops a few feet in front of me. We watch each other, her bright blue eyes intelligent, analytical. I’m just an experiment to her, but I don’t mind.

“So, uh,” I say, “Do you come here often?”

She frowns, eyes my cock. “What do I do first?”

“Take off your clothes?” I suggest.

“All of them?”

“All of them.”

She unbuttons her jacket, and the second time seeing this is just as glorious as the first, her chest springing free. How she ever got her breasts to fit inside that jacket… it must be some advanced technology. Then she pulls her bra up and off, over her head. Her tits bounce out. They need no bra, they’re pert and perky despite their massive size, perfectly round, smooth, with delicious little nipples. The future truly is glorious.

She slips her thong off, and her pussy is tight and pink. Not a hair to be found.

[continued below]

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/ue5hrq/uss_freeuse_to_boldly_go_where_no_man_has_gone