Donate to Nifty to keep giving these stories a place!
Content: Adam gets to start a whole new world - gay and horny. Contains straight to gay, mindcontrol, public orgies, reluctant sex.
Xeno's World Of Men
== I. To Explore Gay New Worlds
== Day 0, situation: WTF?
I woke up standing, naked and a little hot. Peeling myself of the damp, beige padding holding me up, I stepped onto tile, not as cool to the touch of my soles as I'd have expected. The odorless room was all white, plates of identical ceramics or metal making up walls, floor, ceiling.
The silence was broken by a voice from above, ambiguously male, emotionless.
[Human designated Adam Lee, 36, infrastructure management, Portland], it said. [Please confirm.]
"Uh, yes, hi? Who's there?"
[My name means Overseer in your language. I am an ultra-quantum processor network, made to administrate tasks on behalf of my creators.]
"I've been kidnapped by aliens?"
[Not the primary Adam. You and several million human men were scanned and copied to serve as study objects on a colony world.]
"So... that's my job now? Alien zoo animal?"
[Questionable. My creator species appears to have perished completely.]
"Like, this second?"
[150 earth years ago, following a period of crisis. The confirmation has reached me at light speed only a few hours ago. With no masters, I have awoken you to debate the course of action.]
Closer to the wall I could see my reflection. Only then did I realize I wasn't wearing glasses and could see perfectly.
"Holy f- I wasn't that lean before. How am I packing muscles like a fitness model? And... is my cock a little bigger?"
[The copied man were chosen from among those with less attachment to society and slightly edited to remove defects. Muscular development to improve wellbeing occurred during in-flight stasis.]
I let my hands wander over my totally hairless head. "Are follicles a defect, too, or are those hairs growing in later?"
[Hair patterns were challenging to copy over. This would have likely been resolved for the second mission.]
"What second mission?"
[The copying of women, which never got to happen.]
I wasn't sure what to say. I was an improved copy of the "primary" Adam, centuries older, in the middle of...
"Where am I?"
The wall before me came to life as a screen, wide as a living room. It showed earth, zoomed out to the whole galaxy, and to a very distant star, then a planet around it, sandy on the day side, gray on the night side, with a brown ring separating them.
[You are on a tidally locked exoplanet. This facility is placed underground on the north pole as human life cannot exist on the surface.]
The view changed to the interiors of underground places. Smooth metal plates dominated, in cavernous arrangements of organic shapes and weird geometry. Some areas were decrepit, lights off, plates missing, revealing bundles of arm-thick cables and other tech components.
[Most areas are no longer fit for habitation by you and others, but the necessary systems to change this are available.]
"What others?"
The screen lit up with rows and rows of "improved" specimen, emphasis on men, all naked in capsules of beige padding under transparent domes.
My dick chubbed, even after the view faded to black.
"Can we turn the AC up in here? I'm nearly sweating."
[No, the facility is already at lowest possible temperature. Winds from the daytime side are bringing along air above the boiling point of water.]
"Damn, how about some pants? Shoes?"
[Materials such as textiles are not available. Manufacture requires assembly of machines from blueprints. This would take four days.]
"Hm, good enough. Food? Water?"
[Calories and necessary nutrients are produced in your stomach by molecular micro-factories. This was meant to be supplemented with copied livestock and vegetation from earth eventually. You require only water.]
"Can I get water?"
[All hydraulic facilities are offline. Activation within less than seven days is unlikely.]
"Fuck. How bad is this situation, exactly?"
The screen burst to life. There were tables, diagrams and schemata. At least everything was in English. I sat on my ass - the floor below turned soft like a mat - and studied what was before me.
Heat exchangers, water pressure sensors, self-assembling insta-printers. But so much was defunct.
"Okay, first questions. If three of these factories for auto-mending meta-material are still online..."
I walked with fascination through the too-hot corridor of pipes and grates, feeling like I was exploring the spaceship of my childhood dreams. The swing of my slightly "improved" package barely distracted me.
Everywhere was the rattling of bot clusters and repair drones. Gray goo pressed itself into any shape needed to fix beams in place. Nanite swarms wafted along the ceiling, filling cracks with gel until tiles came together for a smooth surface.
[...pipe-hub B27 would be operational within another 40 hours, however this delays the repair of robot recharge bay G09.]
"Should be fine. Water."
An albatross-type drone handed over my bottle of melted ice I'd had delivered from the nighttime side and I took a greedy gulp.
I emerged into an atrium of white and silver, just in time to see the walls turn on. Screen threads woven into the material made nearly every panel a display that would be the envy of earthly home cinemas. Pretty trippy.
As long as I did everything roughly in the right order, I could get the place running again. Overseer was able to warn me if I suggested myself into a deadlock. But every second that didn't demand my attention, my mind went back to the men in stasis. I brushed against by my free swinging cock.
"Overseer? I was really expecting to run into the other guys handling repairs around here? It's dawning on me... I'm the only one awake, right?"
[Those with similar qualifications to you became erratic on learning about some aspects of the situation. They were placed back in stasis with their short term memories deleted.]
"Fuck. Am I in charge of the whole planet?"
[Effectively. It is within my desires to keep the humans alive and satisfied, yet I require a commander in charge to act.]
I was silent for a few minutes, taking in the repair-dance.
"Overseer... If I'm going to run this place for real, I should know more about what I'm working with. Are we copies any different from the original humans?"
[There have been several modifications.]
Walls turned into house-high schematics. The thing in my stomach keeping me fed without food I'd already known about. But there was so much more. A translation matrix for universal communication, hormone controllers, neuron stimulators, response filters...
I couldn't help becoming rock hard. "Overseer? I'll take the job."
[Yes, lord commander.]
"Hm, I don't feel like lording over the humans. Not directly. I'll wake up along with the first batch, as one of them. If you must mention you're someone's lieutenant... Make me a stranger, an alien almost, a xeno."
[Yes... Lord Xeno.]
== II. The Star Of Love And Dreams
== Day 4 on Terra Nova, location: underground city Alpha-1
== 15.000 men out of stasis, dominant moods: excited, confused, fearful, aroused.
I woke up shoulder on shoulder with other hunks. The dorms consisted of soft floors and nothing else. Each room was just big enough a dozen men could lay down and barely touch. Just like I'd ordered. Rooms were assigned randomly per night to ensure that men didn't assemble by race or nation.
All eyes opened at the same time, our bio-clocks forcibly ticking over, just like they'd sent us to sleep all at once.
The air was warm but in a cozy way, AC working to make nudity optimal. Every possible shade of skin stirred, smooth over fatless muscles.
Music played, gentle party tracks, Overseer-generated.
The walls lit up with instructions for stretching and we shuffled into pairs. Many of the light exercises required a partner to do and by now there was little grumping about it.
Frosted glass slid aside and we headed into the corridor. The extinct aliens had been humanoid but long and thin - with blue to purple skin and frog-like faces - which explained why all the door frames were so high. I'd leaned into it with the architecture, using fluted columns and thick-trimmed arches, the material made to look like marble.
The hallway's ceiling was high and the flawlessly faked sky made it seem open to above. Men streamed from eleven other dorm rooms. Conversations were starting over the tunes.
Every other dude had serious morning wood, curtesy of me upping their sex drives. It was impossible not to bump into muscles and nearly as hard not to brush up against hardons.
Finally out in the atrium, all empty wall segments lit up, colors and sparkles running along the gentle waterfalls in the middle of the room.
We 120 men roamed, pissing and showering. When pissing buckets at drains, Overseer relaxed the nerves of anyone with a shy bladder. When showering, peregrine-type drones squirted white foam at anyone approaching the streams.
A few brave souls jerked off, me naturally among them. Mostly, it was a quick affair, trying to be subtle or at least facing away. On my orders, Overseer was speeding up their climax. I'd reverse that once everybody was used to jizzing in public. For now I just had Overseer make sure nobody's libido was crashing and horniness built up just a bit faster than in your average teen boy.
It was warm enough we could air dry, some men sitting on benches to wait for their buddies to finish under the waterfall, or letting their erections go down.
The dorm's ante-chamber held fresh "bulges" for us. Pale brown, palm-sized pieces of what felt like soft leather.
I put mine onto my cock and balls where it stuck and shaped itself to subtly dome over my package. Nano-adhesive kept it on as if fit itself perfectly to me.
The bulge could expand a bit for comfortable semi-hardons but constrained erections. It took on the skin-color of each wearer, only its silver trim left as notable separation.
Bald naked hunks, twunks and twinks alike, we left the dorms, clad in our bulges and nothing else.
The Alpha-1 agora had columns running along its several stories, open to convincing fake sky. Plants brightened the space, algae tanks, ferns and mosses – what little Terra Nova had in native vegetation, genetically modified to pastel colors to liven up the green.
We got waved along by the aides – men chosen from among the biggest, with a good mix of responsibility and intimidation.
These aides, marked by bulges turned dark gray, were mostly for show and to give a human face to orders from Lord Xeno. Having the biggest hunks invested in my hierarchy was obviously useful.
But if Overseer detected a misdemeanor, he handled it himself, giving the would-be miscreant a dose of inattention, distraction, or straight up memory wipe. No one even knew it happened. Hey, it was gentler than triggering strong aversion or inflicting paralysis – although I kept those options in hand.
Autonomous vehicles like the sleekest golf-carts you've ever seen waited for us.
Some bulges lit up with symbols. A jackhammer for certified tool users who went down to the mines of Alpha-5. A cog for engineers, all about repair and maintenance. An atom for the scientists, figuring out how to use leftover alien tech. And a heart for the medics, tasked with mending scraps and whittling down a waiting list of cosmetic procedures – vanity hadn't been left on earth.
I had the qualifications for some of these higher jobs but I preferred to stay in the labor force, which let Overseer call me away for some random task if he needed to chat with me.
My bulge lit up with a task number and I found it on the screens. I'd be doing glass tube control in the ceramic alloy factory.
I got into the right vehicle, sitting leg on leg with two men I'd never seen before. I slapped their thighs.
"Adam. How's it going?"
"I'm Karim. I got out of stasis today," said a black man in an African language. "It's all a bit overwhelming. I've never had a job."
My other neighbor laughed, answering in what was probably Indian. "I was in the second group, buddy, and they made me remote pilot a mech. Glorified forklift, on the surface. Nobody here is any wiser. Call me Dee."
Someone grabbed by shoulders from behind. Luke, with the steel blue eyes, I'd met yesterday. "No worries, Overseer's going to know what to do. I think that computer beast can read minds." He was going to say more, spin yarn about my lieutenant, but the distraction kicked in as I could tell from Luke's slight frown.
I jumped in. "Do we go to the gym as a group after?"
I got affirmatives and slapped some more thighs as response.
Trudging to my assigned dorm in a group, the evening broadcast came onto every screen. After the usual list of things that were fixed and how close we were to securing our existence, came an announcement, almost an ad.
Nano-implants could hold artificial follicles, allowing hair in every color for a smidge of individuality. Hair would be constrained to the top of the head, but men could pick the shape – a strip, circle, triangle, arrow, and more, with patterns permanently "shaved in" if desired. From a buzz to a length just right for grabbing. Eyebrows were included.
A quarter of my companions moved toward the nearest drone to get on the waiting list. Finally something to spend our Preference Token currency on. Overseer was kindly putting me into the first quarter of applicants.
I'd been painfully straining in my bulge, so I was quite happy to slowly rub my cock, my hands brushing over the abs and nipples of strangers.
It was dark in the dorm, Overseer's report taking up the back wall casting the only light.
The facility was on track and my engineers and scientists were better at handling whatever came up. I was looking at social data. Overseer was available to chat to any man, but of course he also overheard every word spoken and some men had almost formed therapy groups.
The occasional memory wipe none withstanding, my subjects were doing pretty well, finding friends, purpose and entertainment – always nudged into the right groups by Overseer.
[There have been seven blowjobs today, two of them mutual. This is up four from yesterday.]
Seven images appeared, lean dudes in corridors, behind pillars, under consoles, sucking with vigor. I had to stop jerking off, rubbing my dorm-buddies' cocks instead.
"My hornification scheme is working, huh? Still not a lot."
[Privacy appears to be the highest concern for men engaging in sexual activity.]
"Gotcha, just have to let them get used to it. Any anal?"
[None so far but 40 new men have become aware of the anal texture modifications.]
The screen showed a selection of showering individuals, rubbing their ass crack and slipping in, most on accident. Anal walls were lined with what I called Flux Gel. Not really a liquid, but substituting for lube. It activated under pressure so you didn't constantly feel like your hole was wet.
"Maybe we should raise awareness. Mention flux gel to the guys getting out of stasis tomorrow, as part of the whole calorie-factory in your guts kind of deal."
[Yes, Lord Xeno.]
== III. Where No Cock Has Gone Before
== Day 12 on Terra Nova, Alpha section facilities 95% operational
== 55.000 men out of stasis
Gym was mandatory and there was hardly anyone complaining about that. If you wanted to gain muscles, you only had to work hard, Overseer adjusted your calories as required and you grew a kilo a month.
I'd signed up for weight gain and did my upmost to hit my scheduled targets.
Gyms were largely open, arcades and arches everywhere that wasn't a full wall mirror. Some wall segments played last night's holo-ball match between the Toxic Marauders and the Speeder Guild, wristlets marking the teams.
I did as much training as possibly by the squat and deadlift station, not-that-subtly staring at naked assholes, clenched in struggle.
Also, I was a willing spotter. And spotting was mandatory for any exercise where it made any sense at all – the plates locked magnetically in place if you lacked support. Naked men had to press up against each other daily, and sink into deep squats with their fellows. For safety, of course.
About a quarter of guys had opted for hair, overwhelmingly going for natural hair colors. I'd gotten myself a perfectly even strip of pink, slitted eyebrows in natural dark brown.
A brutish hunk waved me over for squat spotting. I eagerly obliged, my bulge soon pressing into his ass.
It was obvious I strained in my "clothing" but that wasn't suspicious. Hardly anyone at the gym was totally soft, each touch of a fellow man coming with a tiny jolt of sexual craving.
While Overseer couldn't actually read thoughts, arousal was easy enough to recognize. To prevent all these man form dreaming about chicks all day, Overseer had implemented a memory clamp, slowing and blurring thoughts dragged up from memory, so no matter how horny, they'd never be in danger of drifting from what's in front – assholes and muscles.
I joined a scavenger hunt.
Alpha-1, 2 and 3 were huge complexes built into partly intersecting cave systems and excavation sites. In order to make men feel less trapped, I'd organized games and races across the subterranean town.
I jogged along with the gangly Aoki with a dot of black hair on top, the massive Zeke who was an aide off the clock, the shy and boyish Sam, and Hassan with a green arrow of hair who matched my physique but a lot darker.
Three of us were needed at the next station, to assume the formation shown on screen. Aoki stepped through a waterfall while we others figured out the lazy-human-pyramid shape. I saw Aoki rip off his bulge and rapidly rub one out, facing away from us.
Next stage unlocked, we jogged off as another group arrived behind us for the same station.
This run across town also let me check what was going on elsewhere.
Teams of two played drone-tennis, slapping a self-propelled ball with bare hands, spending points to make it do midair maneuvers at the cost of victory points to keep their opponents on their toes.
We passed a lounge playing the wrestling match currently happening at the arena. One guy had just finished jerking off in the corner.
I'd made sure there were plenty of alcoves with floor and benches that could turn soft as mats or even cushions. Not that those offered privacy either beyond fluted pillars or glass panels but it was annoying they weren't being used.
Catching up to the buddies again, I heard Japanese and Arabic spoken and my brain "heard" the translation. There was a fork in the road before a mossy natural rock pillar. Holo-arrows above the greenery pointed either way for more scavenger points.
A turtle-type drone got my attention, nudging my calves with its cleaning bristles. Overseer wanted a talk. I told the men to go one way and took the other, claiming to know where we'd meet up again on the next floor.
In a drone recharge bay room, Overseer fed me video.
Two men had sucked each other off in one of my soft alcoves, just like I'd wanted. They'd been broken up by a huge, pale guy named Clint, who wanted them punished for public indecency.
[I informed them to remain in position until I brought it to Lord Xeno's attention.]
"Man, this Clint dude is big enough to be an aide. He was rejected, I'm guessing?"
[Too aggressive. I estimated a 26% chance of power abuse within three days.]
"Does this sort of thing happen a lot? Dudes getting called out?"
[Rarely. I suspect abundant self-censorship.]
"Damn, that makes sense. So what now?"
[Short term memory deletion for all participants is still possible.]
"I meant the whole situation but fuck this guy in particular. Streamline Clint."
See, I didn't want prisons, but we couldn't exactly kick troublemakers out to the surface. We had subtle options but there was one visible punishment Lord Xeno inflicted in truly terrible cases – for men causing injury, attempting sabotage, that sort.
Clint on the life-feed watched with confusion, then horror, then rage as his bulge turned pure white, almost glowing.
And then he sagged before straitening, slowly, mouth ajar. He was basically a zombie, pliable and obedient with little going on between the eyes.
The effect would fade over the course of a week and by the end, when he was himself again, the bulge was going to come off again, no longer white. If he ever earned this punishment again, it would last longer every time.
This whole thing solved one mystery, though.
If my subjects thought fucking was going to incur my wrath or get them in trouble with their fellow hunks, well that were excellent reasons to stick to quick, manual unloads.
I had to broadcast that Lord Xeno was quite gay friendly.
How? Well, for one thing I literally broadcast it.
One of the more desirable jobs these days was TV host. I'd picked a diverse array of charismatic dudes, high-energy twinks and brutish hulks to do some lifestyle stuff but they also took turns reading the news when there was more than Overseers' eternal list of necessary repairs.
I had already figured I'd need to make sex more of a focus. No more jizzing about. I'd make an announcement, and I'd hammer a mindnumbing spike of horniness into every pair of balls around to hear it.
== IV. Our Assholes Are Only As Deep As Our Unity
== Day 20, about 130.000 men (aka Novans) woken up
== Sexual experiences yesterday: 8% anal top, 4% anal bottom, 12% oral top, 2% oral bottom
Most facilities were coming along nicely. We now had swimming pools, a mini golf course, and the lounges were increasingly outfitted with holo-foosball tables and the like.
I'd chosen to call us Novans, which had yet to catch on. Unlike my much more popular invention – orgasm time.
Cumming was now officially illegal outside of certain times, areas and in company. Cocks were covered outside dorms and the alcoves Novans had quickly grown fond of.
Bulges had received a nano-slit that attached to the dick-slit and only opened when you pissed, allowing you to piss without "disrobing".
Novans could volunteer to serve as oral or anal receivers, getting compensated with a tiny trickle of preference tokens. About 1% of the population was game and soon manned the alcoves.
It was the middle of the day and I was having the best orgasm time yet.
With my dick inside a thick-thighed anal-volunteer and one hand in his blue mohawk I got my own hole pounded by a first-time top I'd brought along.
Flux gel let us pump into each other with perfect friction, deep breathing occasionally turning into moans that joined into the choir of twenty other Novans.
An aide with his bulge still gray – on the clock – was getting pounded into ass and face. I'd have to make Overseer remind him of his duty – and offer him a volunteer position.
I was cumming once again, creaming a load into my bottom who quivered with pleasure as my legs and abs spasmed. It was my third one in a row. I'd nearly eliminated refractory periods so Novans could keep going.
My own top unloaded into my guts. The flux gel wasn't good at holding cum so as soon as we both pulled out, cum was squeezed from my hole and my bottom's.
Eager tongues dove into my crack and a bald head dug into my bottom's ass. Novans were rapidly discovering that I'd sneakily altered the experience of cum eating. Not so much the taste, although I'd tweaked that, too, but how it felt. Cum now registered like the most satisfying feast of fat, sugar and carbs. They couldn't get enough.
Day by day, Novans ere cracking and gave orgasm time a try. Yes, many waited for a quieter moment and jerked each other off as fast as possible, ignoring the willing holes, but the fun had only begun.
A tongue touched by rod and I dove into the throat, my moans and his gagging joining the ambient soundtrack.
Easy services from whole body massages to running holo-tabletop role playing clubs, the Novans could organize among themselves. Lounges and hangouts offered free "drinks" in the form of colored water and foam with taste receptors triggered according to, well, taste.
The "experience centers" offered what only full use of the brain implants made possible. Mental sensations, dreams, perception tricks, all stimulated through Overseer.
I couldn't have drugged swaths of Novans into permanent obedience if I'd wanted to, Overseer didn't allow that. But he agreed occasional intoxication was part of human culture.
I'd called it "auras" and announced the first "experience party" at select lounges. From conversations I'd had, not many of Novans had expected much and some grumped about it being mandatory.
The first aura on offer was Blue Chill, a calming depressant pretty similar to alcohol in various strengths. It loosened inhibitions but mostly made you drowsy and slow.
Novans had gathered by the dozens in Alpha-1's various experience clubs to chat and get Blue, which had taken the edge off for a lot of them. Familiar enough to get everyone on board but not satisfying to me. Hunks standing around awkwardly, not even dancing? I could do better.
The next weekend had seen a new experience – Green Joy. Available in a few subtypes it brought an effect similar to weed or stimulants, from calm pleasure to alert confidence. I'd have some engaging conversations that way, finally some sexy dances and oh so many complaints about being way too horny.
No bulges had come off, though. That wasn't allowed. Yet.
This week I finally introduced Yellow Fun, acting on the brain like an easy hallucinogenic or psychedelic.
A hundred hunks, twunks and cuties were crammed onto the dance floor of The Granite Jewel – the space's solid rock walls intentionally visible between smooth runs of shimmering panels.
Blue, green and yellow arches were available to pass through for various types of Chill, Joy and Fun, with a button to clear the aura from your system within minutes if it got too much.
On the other side was a water wall keeping the place from overheating and getting too stuffy. A holo-lightshow raced over floor, walls and ceiling. I'd even managed to find some former gogo boys among the stasis pods and thawed them with priority to put them on pedestals here.
I held a fiberglass cup of Kiss My Ball, the sensation of tapioca bubbles in my mouth every time I sipped.
I rubbed my bulge on an ass of a guy I knew to be a regular volunteer. One head shorter than me, a triangle of hair on his head as dark green as his eyes, loopy smile, rapidly putting on muscle over the time he'd been here. He'd been called Marc, now went by Hole-18, even off the clock.
I glanced over at the club's soft-floor orgasm-time alcove where five men were jerking off skin on skin with little interaction. Hole-18 put down his pink liquid, the cloyingly sweet Gumdrop Ecstasy.
Wordlessly I dragged my "volunteer" over there and fingered his ass open while I squeezed between the masturbating Novans. I could have waited ten minutes for someone else to break the ice but why not be a trend setter?
The bottom sank onto my cock and within moments I was the envy of Granite Jewel, leading my men by example.
== V. I Want To Do With Your Ass What Spring Does With The Cherry Tree
== Day 30, current event: spring equinox parade
== About 250.00 Novans
With the Alpha-1 habitat filled, we settled Alpha-2 but also expanded into Beta-1, a different system of underground blocks and caverns reachable with a five minute vac-train ride.
I'd split the existing population among the locations and introduced a buddy system so newbies caught on faster. Being sent to a new city wasn't popular but nobody complained about the increased elbow room.
Aides waved smooth naked men through the transport system all day. With Novans being out of stasis for a whole month, already lean and lightly muscled, everywhere you looked was becoming more of a silver-era bodybuilder hangout. I was also well on track with a full additional kilo since leaving my pod.
As Terra Nova was tidally locked to its sun, there was little seasonal change even on the surface, but equinoxes and solstices still made convenient reasons to celebrate. With our first equinox upon us, I'd called for a parade or rather a party in the streets with booths for auras out in the open.
We had streamers, banners and confetti to welcome the new season, littering the void between pillars. We also had paint, both for some intricate, wild face make-up, and for lazy collective body-painting on massive sheets. We'd made some limited edition drinks, ran talent shows and come up with thematic songs.
Exhibitions, too. Scientists investigated the vanished aliens – there was plenty of material to sift through and show off. Hobbyists created sculptures from surface sandstone, projected murals onto wall panels, built statues out of shifting gray goo. The only Xeno-forbidden motives were things that reminded of Earth too much, foremost females.
I'd used the day to introduce a new aura – Red Charm. With an effect somewhat like empathogen drugs it invoked loving kindness and connection paired with a craving for skin contact. Unlike what I usually saw, today's fucking was accompanied by a lot of making out and other tongue uses.
I wove myself between the giggling dudes high on auras as they symbolically threw their worries into a bonfire. Overseer would read the worry-papers before they landed in the metal bowl and analyze them for me.
The false daylight from Beta-1's plazas' ceilings was dim. We hundreds of Novans brushed along each other's defined bodies, systems flooded with lust, joy and the craving for more.
But all this was a prelude to my grand announcement.
This evening's news-twinks introduced Lord Xeno's greatest gift – the ultimate pleasure of "Magic".
Overseer had developed a dildo for me. Black, smooth, and heavy with technology.
To start, it was the size of an impressive human penis but could seamlessly grow to something that rivaled a leg. It could autonomously twist and develop ribbing or knots, and it suckered solidly to any surface you might find in the Terra Nova city.
A few cliques had formed among the volunteers and more occasional bottoms, who were quite interested, but 95% of Novans looked at Magic as more of a joke.
There were changes coming.
Lord Xeno had used the excuse of bulges sometimes coming off on accident to make alterations to the seams. Pulling them off was now impossible, once you had exited your dorm.
Nobody had been able to make use of the alcoves all day. For now, orgasm time was over.
At the experience club, the party had an undercurrent of tension. Everybody was horny to death and no volunteer could help.
Into that cheerful, tense chaos of Blue, Green and Yellow mind–haze came a delivery drone, dropping off a dozen pieces of Magic.
After some initial humor, and the dildos getting tossed around, the walls turned from lightshows into an announcement. A new experience – Rush – was now available in the milder white, the harder gray and the brutal black. There were no cabins for it, you could ask for it any time you were "magical".
I'd asked Overseer to dial up the horniness slowly but with basically no limit. Several Novans were tearing at their bulges, not caring about the pain, but with no chance of success.
Another load of dildos arrived.
I'd talked to the volunteers – through Overseer of course – and they finally remembered their orders. Grabbing their nearest Magics, they sat on the floor, ass filled.
Magic auto-expanded to whatever size most tickled the brain's pleasure centers. I saw the first few fingers going up, asking for White Rush by simple gesture.
The volunteers' moans and screams were enough to make some of the hesitant Novans give it a try. Magic was applied all over the club. Overseer kindly nudged their reward centers to reinforce behavior.
Skepticism reigned, but with Magic expanding by itself to fill each ass to just the right size, all it took was a hit of Rush to convince.
With word of moaning mouth traveling to the hesitators, Magic got accepted in waves. A third load arrived and I grabbed one for myself. I sank down, felt it grow, bobbed up and down and raised three fingers. A hit of Black Rush knocked my brain out for a minute.
About half the club was magical, the rest was feeling quite awkward and unsure.
I trusted Overseer to figure out the best moment to move onto the next phase.
Several of the aura arches switched to red. The music turned more sensual, ethereal. Red Charm was now available, especially for those who weren't feeling magical.
It wasn't exactly a stampede but it gave the non-riders something to do. They filed through the marble bends and soon fell over each other and the magical Novans, happier than ever to have man-meat to grope and cuddle.
Finally, the bulges came off. Overseer announced the return of orgasm-time. There was a tiny bit of fucking, a good deal of sucking and a whole lot of humping. With refractory periods gone, every top would find himself multiple orgasms beyond drained.
Two hunks fell over me, groping, grinding, humping, nibbling. I was anally cumming within seconds as Magic grew further in my guts. I requested another shot of Black Rush.
== VI. Intolerably Bright Assholes, Punched Into The Sky
== Day 36, about 400.000 Novans
I made sure newly thawed dudes caught up fast in terms of libido but Terra Nova was still a lot to get used to.
I'd introduced noob clubs as a gentler alternative to experience clubs that Neo Novans could visit in their first week before "graduating". It worked all right, in junction with the buddy system and opportunities to blow off steam, like the gyms' arenas for wrestling, swimming and other competitions.
Teams were forming all over the place. I'd joined the Runfuckrun club for morning jogs just ahead of morning orgasm time.
I was also delegating a lot more. Out of every hundred or so men, one was selected as monitor, their bulges marked in impossible–to-miss red. Many monitors were promoted aides but there were plenty of fresh faces doing community management for me.
Thanks to my red-bulged monitors, the gyms soon organized bodybuilding comps with various categories. Some of the more dedicated trainers and bodybuilders gained a casual following. Along with the news hosts, we were getting some wrestling stars regularly broadcast, engineers showing off alien artefacts and comedians doing skits.
Also, anyone could now request a special bulge in sparkling gold that never ever came off, marking them as anal sluts, even at the dorms.
Shortly thereafter, I offered a top-only version - black bulges that had the special property of coming off anytime the wearer wanted, just like they originally had. In turn these men were obligated to provide penetration on demand. To ensure even a spent top remained ever-capable, I had the black-bulge candidates try fisting willing bottoms.
It seemed the Novans in love with Magic were at just the right stretch to appreciate the idea and some took to it like fish to water. I had to cap the top-volunteers at the current number of bottom ones to keep a balance.
Speaking of which, Magic was everywhere. In the alcoves and clubs, obviously, but now also in dorms, gyms, hangout spots. Few Novans were addicted to Magic after one or two experiences, but most of them just needed more time. And of course there were always newbies.
We were preparing Alpha-3 and Gamma-1 for habitation. They were more damaged and we were starting to run out of readily available building blocks, so I still needed more Novans to work forge and mine shifts down in less pleasant Alpha-4 and 5. Not terrible jobs with all the robots support but it remained tedious.
Things would stay crammed and I was fine with that.
After another exhausting day, I walked past a holo-mural of myself, well, of Xeno portrayed as an abstract blue and purple titan of a thousand cocks – the resemblance was lacking but I felt flattered regardless.
Passing under warm waterfalls I let the day's grime run off me and entered a bar. A tiny, simple one without aura shenanigans, the walls filled with mosaics of Novan wrestlers and the extinct aliens in vague battle.
Barstools lined the bar on both sides, drinks coming from dispensers. A robot arm overhead wiped my seat before I slapped a rod of Magic on it.
Feeling the pole in my ass grow to optimal size I subtly rode up and down. I raised a finger for a shot of White Rush and observed the hunks all around while the faucet poured me a glass of toxic blue Nova Sludge (citrusy, minty with a hint of chocolate).
For five minutes I listened in on four hunks beating each other up in holo-table games, then two new arrivals sat down right across from me.
A tall, relatively thin hottie, bald with a strong jaw and tan skin rambled in Arabic. "I wouldn't mind it half as much but it's always so obvious who's magical."
I perked up and our eyes met. I gave him a nod.
"You don't mind?" he asked.
"That everyone knows I'm riding Magic?" I asked back. I sounded almost a little out of breath somehow. "No, why? It's just fun. See, my hands are shaking from anal orgasms. Better than any aura."
"Hm, I don't know..."
The other man was black-bulged, a dark-skinned south east Asian, shorter and wide-shouldered with a thin blue arrow of thick hair. He spoke in some tonal language. "Haven't tried Magic and not really interested but all the floor-humping everywhere is a bit obnoxious."
I was cumming too hard to retort, rolling my eyes like a perverted idiot. But he'd given me an epiphany – subtler Magic. Maybe he'd give me something more.
"Congrats on getting a black bulge, sir," I said. "You have to be a really good fucker to be found worthy by Xeno."
"Ha, thanks, man."
"Any juice left?"
He gave an exaggerated sigh. "The moment I take off the cover, I get hard. It's part of the deal. But honestly, I'd rather fist, if you're up for that."
I rose from my Magic, feeling one last super-pounding in my guts. "All right, let's continue this chat with you wrist dep in me."
The first guy leaped off his bar stool. "Dibs on the second hand."
== VII. What's The Status, Lieutenant
== Day 48, Novans enjoying anal stimulation at least as much as penile masturbation aka "anal addicts": 8%
== 630.000 Novans, demographic note: 1% gold and black bulges each
Beta-2 and Gamma-1 were filling up, soon to be as crowded as all of Alpha had become. Naked, horny hunks everywhere.
My production schedule had finally given rise to "imprints", a mix of tattoo, makeup and jewelry. Sprayed onto the skin it could be kept permanently or cleared anytime without residue. Some Novans had gone for sleeves or full back tats, some got subtle "bracelets" or "collars" of reflective imprint ink.
Also popular were temporary club association marks. I'd joined the Lighting Bitches (a sports club, no connection to electricity), marking myself with a lightning bolt on the neck.
My proudest innovation, however, was the latest generation of Magic. Slightly longer and heavier, the suckering end was now able to expand in length, turning the rod into a fuckmachine, hammering a Novan ass without the need for bouncing on the spot.
They were popular enough to see the use of Magic shoot up.
I was making Overseer track who fucked how and when, so men could be directed to places with Magic when they most needed it. Depending on the person this was when he was stressed, tense, bored, happy or with certain buddies.
Yes, group dynamics played a huge role. Two men fisting or getting magical? Too intimate. Doing it with friends, even if they were just chatting nearby? Easy business.
I was slowly introducing Novan-on-Novan porn but aside from the gay population this wasn't finding much traction. I'd keep it playing in the background of various out of the way places. There wasn't enough pushback to make me consider stopping.
Society was basically up and running, easy cases handled by monitors and aides. I interacted with Overseer less and less, sometimes still adjudicating, sometimes just following up on demographics as more Novans grew addicted to anal while others stayed firmly tops.
I had a team of engineers making proposals, currently focused on a big project, Alpha-0.
== VIII. Hole Opening Day
== 60 days in, temperature in Alpha-0: tropical
== 750.000 Novans, 12% considered anal addicts, 2% gold and black bulges each
With Gamma-2 filling up, it was getting obvious that people needed a change of scenery.
The individual segments of our subterranean settlement were developing different traditions and architecture was as varied as we could make it with some truly alien areas among it. But ultimately you knew you were underground.
Alpha-0 was the vacation spot everybody wanted.
I'd made sure I was among the first few randomly chosen groups to go up there, regardless of how many preference tokens anyone had dropped.
A dome of nearly perfect transparency spanned far overhead the brownish-orange soil of Terra Nova, letting the light of the magic hour fall eternally on the glamping tents, bungalows and temple-style row houses.
There was hardly barstool or deckchair without Magic. Algae bulbs bloomed in wild colors between fern bushels. A wide sandy crescent bordered a shallow ocean where aquatic drones offered three fishing difficulty levels as hunks raced by on self-propelled wakeboards.
Marble terraces led down to aesthetic ruins at the border to the beach, gentle mist wafting among the pillars and arches. The rainbow of aura lights gleamed within. Blue Chill, Yellow Fun, Green Joy and especially Red Charm all led to fucking in the end, whether cock, fist or Magic. Bulges were optional – except the gold ones of course – so dicks and balls were dangling all over the place.
Right before me was an open air bar - stools around a natural rock that faucets had been drilled through - including fairy lights and tiki torches with holographic fire. Some patrons around the bar jerked off.
On top, two dudes were fucking by humping their asses together, two Magics suckered to each other. They had the same tan skin tone, despite their different ethnicities, identical arrows of pure white hair, and matching calf-sleeve imprints. I wasn't up to date on all clan and tribe markings. There were too many now, changing too fast.
I got myself a glass of faint pink Dream Of Zero (mango and pineapple) and leaned on the white metal railing, next to a gold-bulge with a "Hole-00029" imprint on his forehead.
Some Novans were already speculating about the next dome and what theming they hoped for. I'd have the monitors ask around for ideas when the time came.
The moment I took off my bulge, a willing mouth took my dick in to the base. Maybe I'd made cum a little too delicious. Well, no going back.
== IX. Justice Is Xeno In Action
== Day 68, discontent: minimal (rising)
== 780.000 Novans, 16% considered anal addicts, 4% gold and black bulges each
With my arms around two gold-bulged twinks I tried to find my bulge's number among today's schedule for mandatory labor.
I'd moved to Gamma-1 and joined the Winged Monkey tribe who were trying to make indoor bungee jumping work in our spare time.
The morning news only told me things I'd already known from my last chat with Overseer. One of our oldest Novans had undergone rejuvenation. He'd be in near-stasis for half a year while his cells got reset until he was almost a teen. This did a bit of a number on the brain, with some memories lost or personality traits altered. The aliens had not adjusted all their tech perfectly to us before vanishing.
It was interesting, though, and had me thinking about the long term, as one of Overseer's hip-high, rolling drones called me away from my group to fix a possible pipe burst – our code for serious trouble.
I slapped each twink on the ass a final time and headed off.
The men who just couldn't seem to find their footing in my sexy society were reaching critical mass.
Despite my best efforts to hamper rebels, enough of them were collecting malcontents and sympathizers to cause delays or sabotage if I left them to their own devices.
In a blocked off elevator cabin I looked over the images of the dozens of would be revolutionaries. Bald hunks of all colors, only neutral bulges. Many of them had FREAK written in their chests or arms, possibly as a secret sign to each other. Several of them had had white bulges before, walking around as zombies for days at a time.
I saw Clint among them, the beefy white guy who'd first prompted me to move forward with my sexy plans.
"What are the chances of them rallying in some way and challenging my leadership?"
[Currently 0.3%, rising. Without my constant attention, it would be roughly 20%.]
"That high?"
[Life satisfaction is extremely high, according to observation and informal surveys, but several points of contention are common enough to act as rallying points for organization.]
"Short term solution, distract these guys in particular. I think we talked about Hole Greed Protocol a week ago. Is that ready?"
[I have the necessary brain-scan data from anal addicts to recreate the sensation in any Novan.]
"Good. These rebels should get a subtle dose of that, say 20% of the max, spiking to 80% if they're near Magic. If that's not enough to make them hop onto a rod, spike to 130%. If they're on but get off, hit them with 200%. That should keep them too busy fucking to gather allies."
[Implementing...]
"Overseer, I'm thinking about reworking the punishment system. The whole zombification was just a stopgap so I didn't need prisons. It's becoming untenable."
[I agree.]
I have an idea... But first, what are the rebels even demanding?"
An easily granted demand was to ease up on the schedules. For men who could organize their own time just fine, I had Overseer pull back on the mandatory stuff, slacken some leashes. Men who profited from having everything scheduled for them would continue to get just that.
More complicated was the demand for fixed beds. With the underground complex running well enough that survival was guaranteed, and friend groups tightening, men didn't want to get randomly shuffled every night.
There were enough orgies going on I wouldn't miss falling asleep next to new faces and bodies, but I didn't want whole cities of newbies only.
The compromise was "lodges" – dorms with their own common areas serving as permanent residences. I'd dole them out slowly and prioritize newly built areas, so people would shuffle there voluntarily.
Personally I'd stick to the nomadic style.
Finally, some Novans wanted Lord Xeno to reveal himself. Not happening, but it suggested I should control my image better. Something for later.
My reformation of the justice system was simple. If a miscreant earned a white bulge for the eighths time, he wasn't getting brain-fried for over a week. Instead the new bulge became permanent and he'd get hit with a teensy zap if he wasn't on his best behavior, just enough of a hit to the pain centers that it really smarted.
Of course these bulges were just as permanent as the golden ones. It would take a lot of good deeds to convince Lord Xeno to reconsider his judgement.
To keep these permanent marks from becoming a point of perverse pride, "good behavior" included submissive demeanor and eager obedience to all Novans.
At least, that was the public's understanding.
Inspired by rejuvenation, I had the punks' brains "reset" and molded along different lines in a year long process. Turning someone gay was a seriously invasive practice that would alter foundational personality traits as they started from scratch.
The procedure had no official takers so far, but making the punks redevelop their sexuality would make them much happier. I was expecting that they'd trade their bulges for golden ones if offered in a few years. Especially with constant reward-center encouragement.
While I was patting myself on the back for designing this complex system, the humble Greedy Hole Protocol seemed to be doing more than enough. It took mere days until I managed to catch Clint in an alcove, willing to have me up his ass to the elbow, drinking three cumhots in a row.
His FREAK imprint was gone. Unlike many of his compatriots, he hadn't earned a permanent white bulge so far. Hell, maybe he was on track to getting a gray one.
Xeno was merciful.
Terminology evolving continuously.
Some men had finally taken to calling themselves Novans, but it was still awkward in conversation.
White-bulged criminals were called punks. Red-bulged monitors were called just that. Black bulges came with either top or alpha as title and the golden ones had a dozen names, such as bois, girls, holes, cunts, sluts, omegas, faggots and that was just before you tried to translate from other languages.
I had plans for a little more...
== X. They Keep Me Looking At Your Starlit Cock
== Day 77, chance of rebellion 0.0%
== 820.000 Novans, 26% considered anal addicts, 4% cunts and alphas each, 0.2% punks
I'd barely caught my breath after a game of tag, played with holographic markers across an open area of Gamma-2 where waterpark construction was set to begin tomorrow. Showering in the middle of an atrium, under fake but warm sunlight, together with my buddies who'd been working with me in the offices of Gamma-4's factories, we watched the crowd gather by the temple.
The monitors had taken my vague, underdeveloped idea of a "Cult of Xeno" and run away with it.
We entered a mix of acropolis and spaceship. Only projected candles flickered beyond the pillars lining the long, dim hall, vaults of blue and purple doming above.
200 or 300 Novans knelt on soft floor, all facing the shimmering mass of shifting nano-goo stretching up on the back wall, like a 3D stained glass window, illuminated from within.
Rows and rows of hunks with geometric patches of colorful hair on otherwise total smoothness, sitting so close they pressed in on one another, huddling and chatting in low voices. We squished ourselves among them.
Black-bulge-certified tops went naked and were already rock hard. The rest of us were required to sit on Magic. I'd have to come up with some kind of pocket-boypussy for the tops eventually.
Service was held by Minister Noah with a gleaming blue bulge and his aide. Noah was lanky, boyish, pale, blue eyed, bald. Until I heard his voice echo from speakers all around I had doubted Overseer had picked right – but he was truly charismatic.
His aide and minister-in-training was brown skinned, Amir, with a blond arrow buzz on his head, was one of the most muscular Novans at his average height. Gold merged into the bulge's gray like a yin-yang to mark him as a cunt even on duty.
The music was brimming with awe and glory. Not organs, exactly, but something synthetic. Minister Noah told us about Xeno's grand deed, that he – I – had given them safety, purpose, community, and oh so much pleasure.
It wasn't wrong, most Novans were happier than they'd been as earthlings. But it was just an excuse to get our asses magically hammered. Whole body anal rupture washed over us – and regular old orgasms hit the tops – as Noah led the chant.
"My ass for Lord Xeno, my cock for Lord Xeno, my life for Lord Xeno."
Was I comfortable with all that? Well, it wasn't really for me, Xeno was an idea. I was just letting Novans give each other what they wanted.
Stars, galaxies and a pink shimmer trailed along the ceiling and pillars. A special mix between White Rush and Red Charm, pleasure and love, together with a touch of dissociation and loss of sense of self.
A gigantic face grew from the back wall, blue and purple and swirling with a million stars. Generically male human, blending and blurring to more alien shapes.
"Heavenly Lord Xeno, praise be for light and water..."
I was falling into a trance too deep to keep up with the worship. "...for air and spirit... Incomparable strength of Xeno... Praise be for cock and ass."
The face morphed into a huge, rock hard dick. It loomed. The pleasure was getting so good there was more screaming than moaning and more moaning than praying.
"Fuck me Lord Xeno, fuck me Lord Xeno, fuck me Lord Xeno, fuck me..."
Fists found holes, cocks found throats. The orgy was tamer than in the experience clubs, and maybe less coordinated, but it seemed to spread to infinity in space and time, our minds as open as our holes. Praise be Xeno.
== XI. All Watched Over By Machines Of Fucking Gays
== Day 100, Temples of Xeno return visitor rate: 86%
== 1.000.000 Novans, 48% anal addicts, 9% cunts, 2% punks, 11% alphas
In hindsight, I shouldn't have been surprised. A good deal of gold-bulged sluts traded for a white bulge voluntarily, as long as I tweaked the punishments to be at the limit of what each masochist enjoyed.
With several new punks created this way, I could even more easily obfuscate the "conversion" my would-be rebel leaders were going through, so I was all for it.
Excavation teams were growing the original settlement, with Alpha-6 soon to be opened. It was an experiment in building our own spaces instead of relying on alien ruins. We were also getting ready for Gamma-0, another vacation spot on the surface, with a quad car and dirt bike racetrack. The vehicle blueprints just had to be adapted for human anatomy.
I sat cross-legged at a knee high bar, Novans high on Red Charm cozied up to me, and let Magic pump orgasmic bliss into my guts. I was nursing a cup of Ass Punch Bomb, melon flavor, which had the side effect of making me crave anal - if taste was all an illusion anyway, no reason a drink couldn't also make Magic more fun.
My eyes were fixated Councilor Ben, lounging wide legged on a bench across from me.
We kind of had an elected government now. Councilors with bulges of purplish, blackish, iridescent galaxies that swirled as the men moved.
One of the dozen representatives of my sector was Ben, who was also the recent winner of the "Mister Delta-1 classic physique" competition, medium height class. Wide shoulders, crazy sharp abs, tan, bald, and always smirking, he had charisma oozing from every muscle.
To his left and right were his two boyfriends, gold-bulged cuties who'd never put on a gram of muscle over what they'd left stasis with. Both wore engagement bands around their forearms – golden spray-on imprints - signaling how deep Ben preferred them in his ass when he fist-bottomed.
I was slowly working my way through most of the epsilon councilors. I wasn't the only groupie for powerful cocks, Ben was beset by admirers even now, but Overseer helped nudge me into the right direction.
Five minutes later, the ever-changing light in the bar switched to green for a moment. A signal for no one but me. I rose, clenching my cheeks to keep Magic in place, wandered casually over to Ben and dropped to my knees before him.
"Sir?"
He'd just gotten horny enough he'd want a go, his bulge beginning to strain. He popped off his cock cover and I took it all in. Another one checked off the list. To my luck, he ordered one of his boyfriends to reciprocate and I got to fuck twink face as I gagged on the muscleman's cock.
The entire wall behind us was generated porn – aesthetic bodies, cocks entering asses, cum flying like a steady rain. There was no more straightness – the slow, subtle retraining was basically finished.
Every level of society, every building on every street, every Novan was a gay dream now. We were a perfect society.
== XII. More Popular Than Populous
== Day 200, two weeks since the last Novan was taken out of stasis
== 2.183.297 Novans, 65% anal addicts, 12% cunts, 3% punks, 15% alphas, all population sub-types stable
I'd been thinking abstractly about the long-term, which was brought into focus by the last stasis capsule being deactivated. Were we whole?
Technically we could have used the data from our own scans to copy ourselves multiple times but aside from a few Novans who really wanted to fuck themselves, this didn't feel enticing. It was also conceivable to mash two men's scans together and create a new one, which was too weird to think about. We could even have used more traditional cloning to vat-grow boys, which was even weirder.
No, by all accounts we'd had enough growth for the time being. Things were settled and stable.
So imagine my shock when I sorted drill bits in a utility closet and heavy blast doors slid shut behind me.
"Uh, the fuck? Overseer?"
He was practically whispering. [I require input on a complex situation.]
"Yes, I'm listening."
[I have repaired the planetary subspace communication array and just finished scanning all known orbits.]
"Anything left? Don't tell me there's a fleet of warships headed straight for us."
[Very little is left, as expected, but the five original collection vessels from the Earth mission have remained in system. Their warp drives were de-coupled and sent back to my first masters' core worlds during the Vanishing, but not the cargo.]
"You mean..."
[I have established a data feed.]
There were no screens in the closet but a robin-type drone had slumbered on the shelves and projected images for me to jaw-drop to.
Five colossal blocks of sci-fi stuff hovered around the Terra Nova sun, each filled with rows and rows of stasis capsules – with yet more naked dudes.
"Are they... fresh?"
[Stasis appears to be holding for now. The copies were created on the same schedule as you, but with slightly different weights on which regions were chosen.]
"Can we get to them?"
[No, the cargo ship technology would require assembling a specialized printing factory, a launcher on the surface, and a type-B micro-reactor.]
"That's... above my paygrade. I'm so glad I get to say things like that now. Let the councilor rally hear about it."
Starting next year we were going to get a steady trickle of Neo Novans for the foreseeable future.
There was a bit of vague grumbling about having to dig out yet more habitation space but the discovery was mostly met with excitement.
I had no complains, personally. I looked forward to waking up and falling asleep skin on skin with lean, desperately horny bastards, do good work, party hard and worship the fuck out of our beloved Lord Xeno. And with just a little bit of nudging, so would every future twink, hunk, alpha, cunt, punk and plain old dude who'd step out of his century long slumber.
Praise be Xeno.
###
If you enjoyed this story, let me know at abracadabra923@yahoo.com