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HITCHING IT
Damn that Traxian booze, anyway. Doesn't taste anything like whiskey, but one glass too many and ... Never mind. The point is I'm stuck on Traxey, and there's only two ways to get off. You can pay at least fifteen hundred credits for a flight, or you can try to work your way off on a freighter. And I didn't have fifteen hundred credits. I didn't have a damn thing but a colossal hangover.
Traxey is a great place to visit, if you've got money. Traxians are very, very accommodating, the food's not bad, and the women will ... like I said, they're accommodating. And you get used to the smell. But if you're dumb enough like I am, and lose your wad in one of their casinos, it can get really cold, really fast.
It happens a lot on Traxey, which means there's creatures from all over the cluster hanging around looking for a way off-planet. And one of them was me. Fortunately, there's also a lot of freight traffic, and I do know my way around ships. Most of them, anyhow, as long as they're standard maglev and stardrive. Those Gedalian things, where the pilot gets hooked into the plumbing and everything's fluids going this way and that way and both ways at once? Not my speed.
Anyhow, Traxey's first moon is rising and I'm getting really hungry when this guy walks up and asks me if I need a gig. "Hell, yes!" I say. I mean, he's an Earther, even! Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against Exo's, but humans are ... home, for petessake!
"Well, I've got a buddy who needs someone for scut duty. Mostly cleanup and loading. Interested?"
"Hell, yes!" Is the guy deaf, or something?
"Right this way." He throws his arm around my shoulder and about two seconds later I know I've fucked up again. I suddenly feel drunk, but my body's working just fine. I just can't talk or move anywhere unless I'm being guided. And I'm being guided toward something that's about one spit away from space junk. I hear the guy say, "Here's your man," and a scratchy voice answers in some language I've never heard, and then I'm being inspected by a warm, slimy ... hand, I guess. I can't see its face, because it's got a breathing mask on, but it's covered in fur. Wet fur. Wet, copper-colored fur. And the next thing I know, I'm being strapped into a crew chair, and while I'm thinking about what I'm going to do to that friendly Earther, it all goes dark.
"Wake up, beautiful!" It takes me a little bit to translate that from the squeaky hinge -- powersaw voice. It's the copper-furred ... shipmate. "I'm --" I won't even try to spell the name. "How you are feeling okay?"
"I'm okay." And I am, surprisingly. Confused, but no longer hung over.
"Hungry you be?"
"Yeah. Yes." I probably shouldn't have said that quite so soon. Lord knows what shipmate will try to feed me.
"Here you are! I call you Trixie." Trixie from Traxey? Come on! Anyhow, he hands me a bottle of USER 6. Now, Universal Space Emergency Ration 6 is not universal in any sense of the word, but it is safe to drink, and loaded with nutrients, most of which human bodies can use. (What you can't use comes out as watery shit. You probably didn't need to know that.)
"Thanks!" I drained the bottle, and shipmate gave me another, which I drank less rudely. "Where am I? Where are we headed?"
More untranslatable sound, some squeaky hinge but mostly a really bad cough, although shipmate didn't look like it was coughing. The ship was the Blyfskt. Think of it as rhyming with "flies quit," except you barely say the "it" part. "Going is my planet. Come to see."
Okay, why not? He guided me to a wall screen and pushed a few buttons. Planet Hskrakka! I'd never been to Hskrakka, but it was on several space routes, so at least that meant I was probably headed homeward. "Come you get to cleaning place?"
Okay again, why not? The "cleaning place" was like one of those old Earth-tubs you see on telly now and again, but blue, instead of white, and pretty deep. And there were spray nozzles and grip bars all over. Shipmate took my clothes and helped me climb in. Almost as soon as I got in, I got sprayed. With actual water! Some of the sprays pulsed, and the tub seemed to be controlling the temperature. After a few minutes, I was beginning to feel like you do after a really good massage. Just about the time I was thinking I might fall asleep, the water stopped. Shipmate just lifted me into its arms and brought me to a bed.
And we had sex, I guess. At first, it was like cuddling with a very big dog. Shipmate's fur is prickly-soft, like rubbing against someone with a short haircut -- except it's long. It's hard to explain, but most of what follows is going to be hard to explain, so you'll need to use your imagination. A lot. Shipmate paid a lot of attention to my cock, at first. Some of the fur is super-soft, almost like mink, and rubbing against it is like the softest caress you can imagine. Until the squeezing starts. Then, it's like fucking grease, then heavy grease, then ... and my whole shaft was feeling it. It shaped itself perfectly to me, and at the same time it teased my balls. No matter how far I pushed in, it just kept squeezing and caressing and it didn't take long before I shot. But Shipmate (might as well call hit that) kept going, and it kept feeling great. It felt so great, in fact, that I didn't even realize that something was slipping into my asshole.
I never was fucked in the ass, before. Once somebody slipped a finger up there and it was ... embarrassingly good. But this wasn't a finger. Or if it was, it was a soft-fur-covered finger that kept swelling and rubbing and swelling and rubbing and swelling and vibrating and all of a sudden I was shooting again! I don't think I ever got soft!
Shipmate eased off, and eased out, and we just lay next to each other. There was some sort of projection or something on the ceiling, puddles of different colors slowly swirling around, almost hypnotic, and we both fell asleep, I guess. I mean, I know I did, and when I woke up Shipmate's eyes were closed and he was -- well, it sounded like snoring, anyhow. Or purring.
Stardrive is expensive, of course, and it can get really messy if too many ships do it at the same time in the same vicinity. So freighters have to yield to other ships, unless they're Class A freighters, which this crap-bucket wasn't. So it was going to take us a while to get to Hskrakka. For a few days, Shipmate and I had a lot of sex, and I drank a lot of USER 6, until Shipmate talked to someone else on board and got me some other food. I don't know what it was, kind of like a hard roll that tasted like some sort of meat. And something I guess you could say was like an apple crossed with string beans. And water. They had these little tablets you could drop in to flavor it, and I finally found a few I actually liked. One tasted like iced coffee, and there was a cola and an orange-flavored one. There was one that tasted like milk, too, but I just couldn't cope with water that still looked and felt like water but tasted like milk.
Anyhow, one day Shipmate took me to Tiny's bunk. (His name wasn't "Tiny," of course, but most of the crew had names you can't spell in any Earth alphabet, so from now on I'll just call everyone whatever name I came up with.) But Tiny was small -- the smallest crew member on board, about the size of a large rabbit. Tiny was fun, but frustrating as hell, and Tiny really liked having sex with me.
Shipmate said, "You please make pole hard, first." So I did. "And you get flat." So I lay down and Tiny settled onto my pole, and started spinning. It felt good. In fact, it felt great! And it kept feeling great for five, ten, twenty -- for at least a good half-hour before I realized that Tiny might keep spinning all day, but I wasn't going to get off. Maybe some Earthers could, but not me. I need the in-and-out! Shipmate explained later that when Tiny-type creatures have sex with each other, they spin in opposite directions, so it usually goes pretty quickly. But Tiny wanted to take his -- her? -- its? time. And Tiny did. After a good hour-and-a-half, at least, I whispered to Shipmate, "I think it's starting to hurt!"
Shipmate said, "Oh, no. Tiny would stop if Tiny hurted."
"But it's hurting me!"
"Oh! Double-sorry." And Shipmate said something to Tiny, and Tiny sighed, I guess, and sped up and started squealing, and then he slowed down and stopped and slipped off. My cock felt raw. Shipmate pushed at it to inspect the damage, and I shot right into his face. After that, we had to limit Tiny to about an hour.
Shipmate took me back to bed, and we had another session. I thought it was going to hurt, but Shipmate said not to worry, and it turns out that Shipmate's style of dick-squeezing really helped me heal. As soon as I was healed, though, Shipmate announced it was time for me to meet the guy I'm going to call Rocky. As soon as Shipmate said that, I said, "What's going on here? Am I supposed to be some kind of sex toy, or something?"
Turns out, I was. It's universal, I guess. Everyone on long voyages get horny, so lots of ships have "recreational resources" for the crew.
I was a whore. And I was the freighter's first Earther.
So I was an exotic whore, but still, a whore.
Shipmate was my pimp. To be fair, Shipmate was a very nice, caring pimp. After all, I was an investment that had to last -- at least until we got to Hskrakka. And the crew was aware of this, too. So ... Rocky. He looked almost like an Earther, except for the four arms. He was a little taller than me, and built like a pro athlete. The muscles were even more or less where you'd expect to find them, except for things like the two sets of pecs. (Four arms, remember?)
Rocky started by wrapping his arms and legs around me so I couldn't move. Like I said, his body was solid. It was almost like being wrapped in a tight-fitting, well, rock. And then I felt something moving near my navel, which turned out to be his penis, or -- anyhow, it pressed against my belly button, and then I felt something sliding down past my dick and between my legs and poking at my ass. And then poking its way into my ass. I would have objected, but I couldn't, because at the same time, another part of his penis -- or another penis -- had slid up my body between us, somehow, and was poking at my mouth, and in my mouth, headed for my throat.
And another one was poking at my nose, and I suddenly felt it -- them -- in my nostrils. And something was tickling my ears. And holy shit! I couldn't move and something was working its way into my piss- slit! Rocky was turning into a rock-solid mess of penises, and working his way between my toes and my fingers and anywhere he -- Rocky was definitely a He, whatever he might have been at home -- could find some action for one of his incredibly long, flexible, rigid, expanding penises! I figure one of them must have been pumping air into me, fortunately.
The rest of them were doing what Earth penises do, which was getting bigger and doing the back-and- forth against parts of me that had never felt anything like that before -- like my intestines, from inside and outside! And my throat, of course, and probably my brain, because everything felt ... good. And there was music, and splashes of color, and the smell of sweat and lilacs.
And then everything stiffened. I said it was like being wrapped in a rock, before, right? But now it was as if I was rock, or the tiny spaces between bits of rock that were crushed together, somehow, and I would have screamed if any part of me could have moved. I don't know how long it lasted. But then I felt vibrations. The tiniest vibrations you can imagine, at first, like you're not sure they're even happening, and then you're sure they are, and then it was like all of me was trying to burst right through me, or fill the room with me, or the ship or the whole goddam galaxy! And then the penises started to shrink and pull back and it was like rising out of a pool where there's nothing supporting you all of a sudden but your own muscles and I felt incredibly heavy and then Rocky was laying me down on the floor, and saying something to Shipmate, and I felt completely, utterly, empty.
I woke up in Shipmate's bed, curled up like a kid. "I want Rocky," I said.
"What is a Rocky? Do you want drink?"
I won't make you read through the confusion that followed. What Shipmate said, after it got clear, was this. "You must wait. Rocky (he used Rocky's real name, of course) sex is very hard. Mates die much times. You must rest many."
"I'm fine," I answered, knowing it was a lie and not caring.
"Not fine! Like with drugs!"
It turns out that sex with Rocky is addictive for several species, and now we can add Earthers to the list, dammit. It's intercourse to be taken very, very carefully. Apparently, Rocky even held back, some! I felt sorry for Rocky. He deserves his share of pleasure, after all. I wanted to hold and comfort him, and be used by him and ... like I said, he's addictive.
I spent a few days in bed with Shipmate, mostly resting up. The ship did a mid-space transfer involving something from Traxey. I couldn't think what, at first. Then I realized about their only export was money, so ... Pretty clever, moving it around the cluster in what for all practical purposes was a garbage scow.
Shipmate didn't exactly press me to go back to "work." He just left me alone, and sure enough, I started to get horny. Somehow or another, he always managed to catch me playing with myself, and it was pretty obvious that if I wanted to cum, I was going to have to play. So he introduced me to Rollo.
Rollo was exactly my height, but upside down, sort of. Where I had my chest, he had his testicles. And they were big. Rollo liked having his testicles played with, and he enjoyed reciprocating -- even if he found mine pathetically small, and my cock an annoyance. (I had no idea where his was.) So I massaged his balls. They were hairless, and as I worked they grew almost balloon-smooth. And like balloons, they were somewhat squishy. I licked them, and then Rollo squeezed some sort of jelly on them, which made them slick, almost slippery, so I slid between them, and wrapped one in each arm and rolled them around, while Rollo attempted to do the same with his ... fingers, let's say. We pulled balls apart, rolled them against each other, squeezed and fingered and nuzzled, slapped and tickled them, explored the places where they connected to the rest of us. I hugged them, one in each arm, while I slid and squirmed. I bit at them very lightly -- which almost pulled my jaw out of joint.
Finally, just as I thought my own neglected cock was about to revolt, Rollo's balls pulled tight, trapping one of my legs in the process, and he rolled. I can't explain it. But imagine being caught between two huge beachballs while you're underwater, and then the water turns to a warm milkshake. I know I came, but I doubt it was noticeable in the jelly-like mess all over the ... well, not a bed, more like a shallow bowl, so slick I couldn't sit up. I managed to pull myself to the rim, moaning and gasping for breath, while Rollo let out these squeals, like the top notes on a clarinet. Kind of pretty, but a little too loud for me. Still, they made a nice harmony with my moans. So we did that for a while, until I guess Rollo fell asleep and I pulled myself out and slip-slided to the cleaning place.
Porky tried me, next. At first, I really didn't think it was going to be possible. Porky was like a tall porcupine, and the barbs were said to be poisonous, but not for Earthers. Probably. Shipmate assured me that the ship's doctor had antidotes for everything on board. Oh, goodie.
Anyhow, Porky lay on his back, and I straddled him. There was a sort of grab bar above my head for me to hold onto, with cuffs to make sure I didn't let go, just in case. "In case of what?" I asked Shipmate, and he just said "Don't worry, Trixie. Don't worry. Maybe close eyes."
I could feel Porky's quills just brushing my ankles and the insides of my legs, and then something sliding into my asscrack. It poked around a bit until it found my hole, and I thought, "Okay, it doesn't feel too big, and it doesn't feel sharp. I can handle this." And then I felt something poking the end of my dick, and poking around until it found that hole. You ever had someone poke something up your dick? This was not like Rocky, though. It's hard to explain, but it was more ... invasive, maybe. And at the same time, the other something is working its way into my ass, and I had this horrible thought that they were going to meet up, somehow, or something! I tried to squirm, tried to pull myself up, even tried to squat, but everything hurt. There was only one way to get through this, and that was to stay absolutely still and apologize to whoever was running the universe for every bad thing I ever did, or thought about doing, or heard someone else talk about doing, or anything.
Then the whatever-they-weres started quivering, vibrating almost like a small electrical shock, and I started sort of humming along. Not deliberately, I swear! It just started happening, and getting more and more intense -- the shock, I mean. Well, and my humming, I guess. And there was this smell, sort of sweet at first, but then like being smothered by flowers, maybe, and these jolts! I guess, like when someone sneaks up behind you and pokes you in just the right place in the side -- poke! Poke!! POKE!!! And my humming was a scream, and I lost it: my legs were rubbery, and my whole body was hanging by my wrists and the whatever-they-weres were coming out and I thought they were going to cut me in half. Shipmate got me loose as quick as he could, and the last thing I saw as he started to lift me off of Porky were these two bloody spikes waving around.
Except it wasn't blood, Shipmate assured me, when I woke up. It seems whatever you call Porky's semen, it's red. The insides of my legs were pretty scratched up, though, and Shipmate smeared them with some sort of cream. He had to get me really drunk before I'd face the toilet and piss and shit, the first time. "Porky is not easy," he admitted. "But he navigates the ship, so he's important. We'll tie you better, next time."
"Thanks," I said, insincerely. I'm pretty sure Shipmate got my message. For the next few days, he did everything he could to make me feel better. He managed to find every place on my body that could feel good, and stroked, caressed, prodded, rubbed, tickled, squeezed, brushed, pulled, nudged, skimmed, hugged, or tapped it until it felt incredible. Even so, I sent up a little prayer every once in a while that the ship's navigator would be very, very busy.
The guy I called Mike, for Michelangelo, was next. Shipmate brought me to his room, and Mike told me to strip, which I did, and then he posed me. He put me in a position -- arms out, one hand up and the other down, one leg behind the other, mouth gaping open, my left eye closed. Then he stroked me. His hands were very soft and flexible -- six fingers and two thumbs, more or less -- and they stroked me, fondled me, poked now and again. After a few minutes, he adjusted my position: legs wide-spread, head tilted painfully far back. More stroking.
He pulled my cock down, and it snapped back up, so he slapped it. The position of my cock was extremely annoying, for some reason. He bent me over forward so it pointed down, and stroked some more. He got me to flex my left arm while I held my balance with my right -- barely. Pose, stroke, pose, stroke -- it was exhausting, even though only a few of the positions were really difficult to hold. At last, I was arched backwards, left foot and right hand on the floor, right leg raised to hide my uncooperative dick, left hand hanging limp at the end of my outstretched arm, head turned toward Mike, tongue out and almost touching my right armpit. A bit more stroking, and then he turned discreetly away and did something that I assume involved climaxing. When Shipmate told me later the session was only about two hours long, I couldn't believe it!
The next morning, Shipmate cuddled me close. Okay, "cuddled" isn't exactly right, but that's beside the point. Shipmate often wrapped me up and comforted me after a particularly challenging session, but this time, he was doing it right off, first thing in the morning. "I have new one for you," he whispered. (A sound like some sort of food grinder ten feet away, maybe.) "Very nice for me, maybe not you." Oh-oh. "Likes try new, but not much pleased after."
"Well, Shipmate, let's think long-term here. Don't want to damage your ... merchandise."
"No damage! Just not fun."
That came too quickly. "Will you be ... watching?"
"That rudityness! For --" I wound up calling him "Fingers," so we'll go with that. "That rudityness for Fingers. They unlike to be watched," Shipmate explained. So I really struggled mentally. I wanted to trust Shipmate. Heck, I had to trust Shipmate. And he was trying to warn me, which he wouldn't have done if he wasn't basically on my side, right? But on the other hand ... He was doing that thing with my cock -- that mink-fur thing -- and with that food grater sound and all, I just couldn't resist. I agreed.
On Fingers's planet, they all have six penis-like things, and six ... holes. Sort of like your hand fucking a baseball glove, maybe. Except six fingers. And about finger-sized. And I had to satisfy it all. The holes weren't that hard to handle. I just had to dance my fingers around in all of them, except for my thumb. The thumb just didn't work. I got it in all right, but it slowed everything else down -- and I had six holes to deal with.
Fingers also had six, well, fingers. I could interlock my fingers with his "fingers," but that wasn't enough. They needed to be massaged, sort of. That wasn't too hard, either. But you try individually massaging six alien fingers with one hand while playing a keyboard with the other! And it was a soft keyboard that tended to squeeze and cling as things got going. I found out later that Fingers and his/her partners are very prolific. So much so that there's an informal agreement that there shouldn't be more than one Fingers per voyage. This makes Fingers very horny, of course. And they're not satisfied until all twelve ... organs are satisfied, preferably simultaneously! To be fair, Fingers was willing to try several times, so I could, hopefully, get the hang of it. About half of the time, I guess I did a reasonable job, but they really should invent some kind of jack-off machine for those guys/gals! And of course I didn't get any attention to my cock at all! (I didn't get that hard, either, frankly.)
And there was Maxie the masochist. When Shipmate brought me to his room, Maxie was all wrapped up in strapping from the cargo hold. Every movement was a challenge, and Maxie wanted me to force him to move anyway. Shipmate handed me a whip-like thing. "Make him to move and to do things," he said. So I did. I drove him around the room, slithering and rolling and crawling. I stood on him while Shipmate made scornful noises. I made him bite his own fingers (I think they were fingers, at least), and "helped" him bite his own toes -- I imagined they were toes, anyhow. Maxie had a cock, sort of. If you ever saw an Amerikan football, imagine that oval ball sort of stretched out. I slapped it around until it got soft (they don't get shorter, apparently, but they sort of roll up). And then I sat on his face and made him tongue my asshole until his cock got big again. He was able to suck cock, so I let him do that while I squeezed his cock between my feet. I would have whacked his nuts, but I had no idea where they were. Shipmate told me Maxie was very pleased with me. When I get more familiar with the ship, I think I'll be able to do a meaner job.
But first there was Rod. Obviously, with a name like that, you know he's got a cock. In fact, he is a cock -- almost. Soft, he's sort of a spongy thing. They love him on board because he's strong, but he can ooze his way into some of the most challenging areas. But when he gets horny ... Shipmate took me to his quarters, which were a little tricky to get into. The door's barely wide enough for me to squeeze through. Rod was -- I guess you could call it sitting, like a huge blob of melting ice cream, playing some sort of computer game. He shut it down really quickly when I came in and extended a ... well, we shook hands. His voice was sort of like bubbling stew, so Shipmate translated from the hallway. The mating ritual of his species is sort of like mixing paint, but he didn't expect me to do anything like that. He wanted to experience Earth-male sex. So he asked me to strip and get hard, and then he turned himself into a copy of my cock: a six-foot-tall copy of my cock sticking up from the floor. I could barely wrap my arms and legs around it -- him.
Hug the cock. Slide up. Squeeze as hard as I could, wrap my legs around it, slide down. Repeat. He managed to keep his skin just moist enough to lubricate the slide each time. Now, my cock has a slight curve to it. And the usual urethra and all that. And his cock -- he made himself into an exact copy. So it was like I was a mini-me jacking myself off, or something. Of course, my cock was rubbing against him, so as I got harder, so did Rod. And as I got longer, so did Rod. And as the head of my cock got slimy with pre-cum, so did Rod's. And when he sensed that I was getting tired of jumping and sliding, he worked his way to the wall and then up the wall so he was horizontal, and I could climb on top and slide back and forth. I only slipped off the end twice. Then he turned upside down. He was still horizontal, but now the urethra was topside, and God help me, I found myself licking it! And somehow or another, Rod made it taste like cock. Presumably my cock, which I've never sucked, so I can't be absolutely sure, but he didn't have a lot of Earther cocks to sample, obviously.
And then I came, quite enthusiastically. So he came. Remember, I'm a mini-me riding this cock that's behaving exactly like mine, so it's shooting in my face so I slide over and I'm hanging underneath the shaft and cum -- or pseudo-cum, maybe -- is covering my whole body! I kept shaking my head to get some air, and that apparently just thrilled Rod, so he kept shooting the stuff. (I wonder if he made it taste like my cum.) I really thought I was going to drown in the stuff, but just in time, he stopped, and my mouth got clear.
Then Rod got soft, and kind of oozed back into his, um, chair and made this sound like he was yawning, and I think he fell asleep! Just like a man! I slid out of his cabin and Roommate took me to the tub again to get cleaned off. "You very -- double very good, Trixie!" he kept saying.
And on it went. I put up with a couple of whippings from Sade, who got off on sensing pain in others. So he -- I think it was a male, but who knows? -- could whip me and feel the pain in places he couldn't whip himself. I offered, but apparently that didn't work, somehow. The first time, I really struggled and even screamed for Shipmate, but that just made Sade more eager. When Sade was done, Shipmate gathered me up and took me back to his cabin, and I was amazed to see nothing -- not a single scratch or welt or bruise on my body, anywhere! That made the second session a little easier: at least I knew I'd survive it. Shipmate explained that I'd held up better than any previous whores, and Sade really appreciated it.
"I don't care! I really can't handle another --"
Shipmate purred. "Does think can handle again time you and Rocky?" he asked in what I swear came off in a sexy grinding-engine kind of voice.
Dammit!
At last, we landed at Hskrakka. I don't think I've ever seen a bigger, busier place: ships from everywhere in the galaxy, creatures that made my shipmates look positively normal. (Remember what I said about Gedalians? Imagine getting off a ship and watching your pilot get drained into a huge transparent barrel.) And there were a lot Hskrakkans like Shipmate. His species comes in a surprising variety of colors, by the way.
Shipmate walked me to the Routing office, and we looked for Earth-bound ships, and it turned out that ours-- his, I mean -- was about as good a choice as any. Shipmate assured me that he could get me a berth on any ship I wanted, as long as I continued to ... as long as I stayed a whore. But there was this look on his face, sort of sad-puppy eyes, and most of the crew on the Blyfskt were staying on (including Rocky), at least for a few more stops. And Shipmate took me to a supply room where I could order more Earth- like food, so ... I'm staying on. Variety is the spice of life, right?