Chapter 1: The Mission
Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Science Fiction, BDSM, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Light Bond, Humiliation, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Exhibitionism, Size, Slow, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Mission - Martha and Randall are two explorers from Earth sent to an alien planet to recover a crashed surveillance satellite. On the surface live the Longtons, a humanoid, pre-industrial revolution culture where the women are subservient to the males. Martha soon discovers why the women willingly allow themselves to be subservient, and in the end she wants to stay.
"Come in Ms. Kitlras," Captain Rileymen offers. "Have a seat. We have much to discuss, and I think you will find it most interesting."
His office looks better furnished than my apartment. A couch sits along one wall, a desk in front of the other. Large paintings hang like windows looking out into the world; all displaying scenes of ships and seas. His end table has an antique sailing ship in a bottle. It is strange to see such luxury so far out in space, but then Captain Rileymen had many years to collect it. He is a graying old man now, approaching retirement, but I can still picture him as a young ensign on the seas of earth in the infancy of planetary space travel.
"Martha," I attempt to sound confident when we shake hands. "Please, call me Martha. I'm a civilian scientist you know; not an officer."
"Then Martha it is," The Captain agrees. "I know you're a scientist, but I must say that you don't look like a scientist."
I am not sure if I should take this as a compliment or an insult. He expects, I guess, a bookish old lady with her hair tied tight in a bonnet. Instead, I am a young woman, 34-years of age, short in stature, with brunette hair that comes half way down my back.
He motions to a pair chairs sitting in front of his desk. They look like they are made from finely lacquered wood. So does his desk, although I figure they must only be plastic simulations. Even a person of Captain Rileymen's esteem could not gather the resources to get real wood this far out into space.
"Now Martha, do you know why you are here?" He questions. I notice he properly waits for me to sit first. He acts the perfect gentleman, nurtured in the romantic traditions.
"No one told me anything, but I think I know." I answer. "I suspect it has something to do with the lost satellite."
"Excellent deductive capability," He speaks a thought. "You are correct, but that is only the beginning."
He fumbles with something in his desk and then hands over an orange colored file. "This explains the mission, provided you care to accept it."
I take it with interest. Orange means Secret. Higher than Classified but lower than Top Secret, it sits in the middle of the echelon of classified information. My security clearance allows me to read Secret, but I seldom get the opportunity. On those rare occasions when I do, it shines like candy to my eyes. I feel a curiosity to look inside.
"You'll have plenty of time to go through the file later," He speaks before I get the chance. "You can take it with you. For now, let me explain."
I let him, of course, and lay the folder on my lap unopened.
"As you already suspect, we lost a satellite," He dumps his big arms on his desk. "Two days ago we lost contact with Spy-3. No warning signs. No messages. It simply stopped transmitting."
He is right. I already know this. As a research scientist, it is my job to study the images radioed back from the three surveillance satellites orbiting the planet. The pictures from Spy-3 stopped in mid-frame two days ago, just like he said.
"What you don't know is that it dropped into the atmosphere," He continues. "The Engineers don't know why, but they theorize one of its maneuvering thrusters stuck in the open position. It lost orbital velocity, which caused it to lose altitude, and it fell into the atmosphere. Yesterday we located the spot where it crashed. You have the details in your hand."
I never could be patient. I undo the clasp of the envelope and pull out the lap-screen computer when he pauses. When I touch it, a keyboard appears on the display. I have been around classified information enough to know this is where I am supposed to enter my personal identification code and password.
"Most of the satellite burned up in the atmosphere," Captain Rileymen speaks uninterrupted as I page through the file. "But it looks like the most dangerous segment survived - at least partially. The nuclear reactor core landed largely intact but heavily damaged. The first set of pictures show it resting at the bottom of a crater, but later images show it has been moved. We do not know where it was moved to, but we assume it was to one of the surrounding Longton villages. Naturally, we feel concern over its plutonium fuel. It could cause injury to anyone who might choose to investigate. We have further concern over its advanced technology. It might create a danger to the pre-industrial culture living on the surface. The Longtons are an inherently curious people, and we expect they will eventually want to investigate it."
The "Longtons" are the alien civilization that inhabits the planet. I know a lot about them because it is my job to study them. It is the reason I live in deep space and the reason I analyze satellite imagery.
"I would say there's a near certain chance they will try to open the container," I start to tell Rileymen, assuming he wants my expert opinion on the subject. "They are an inherently curious culture, much like Humans of about 300 AD. However, even more dangerous, they are a religiously fragmented community. There's danger they might discover the satellite and treat it as sign of a deity; a God..."
Rileymen puts up his hand to stop me in mid-sentence. "That's not why I called you into my office."
I look back confused.
"Let me give you some background first," He makes me wait. "Our mission is to research on a non-interference basis. That is why we use spy satellites. Some say this is wrong. It is an evasion of privacy, even dishonest, but it allows us to look down upon the planet without interfering with the natural order of things. The crash, however, presents a problem. It creates a potential for interference, and we need to take action against it."
I look at him confused. I agree with everything he says, but who am I to do anything about it?
"We plan to organize an expedition down to the planet's surface," I think Rileymen reads my mind. "The plan is to land at night in the central desert, away from any substantial Longton population. The expedition will then travel first by vehicle and later by foot into the Longton village closest to the crash site. You will pose as visiting travelers from a far off land. The mission is to interface with the Longton culture, discover as much as you can about the crash, and then take whatever steps are necessary to prevent any damage."
I notice he uses the word "you" - as in "me" or "myself." Me, Martha Kitlras. At first I think he makes an inadvertent slip of the tongue, but the look on his face tells me otherwise.
"You don't mean?" I stare back in disbelief. "Not me! I can't possibly go on such an expedition!"
"Why not?" He questions simply. "I'm told you are the most qualified expert in the lab. You selected the Longtons for your master's thesis. You've worked on this project for the two years. They tell me you are better than anyone else at speaking their language."
"Well, yes but..." I start to say. What he says is true, but...
"I am even told," Rileymen interrupts. "That you criticized the past expeditions. You voiced objections to the director about your training of the Military teams. You said it would be more valuable if a civilian research scientist was included in any future expedition."
I feel embarrassed. "True," I have to admit. "But I didn't mean myself!"
Two previous expeditions traveled down to the planet's surface. Both teams consisted solely of Military officers trained with months of preparation. I argued a civilian scientist from the lab would have been able to learn more; ask the right questions, seen the situation different from an officer. I criticized the expeditions, and I am surprised Rileymen knows anything about my criticisms.
"This is your chance to put your money where your mouth is," He continues past my objection. "We need to remove the satellite, and we need to remove it fast. The longer it sits on the surface, the more danger it could create for the Longtons. We have no time to gather a Military team and do months of training. We need someone down on the planet's surface in a week; if not sooner."
A buzzer rings on his desk. It interrupts his speech.
"I said not to be disturbed!" He practically yells into the phone. I feel sorry for whoever might be on the other end, but then he nods and calms back down again.
"I need to go for a few minutes," Captain Rileymen apologizes. "I'm very sorry, but something's come up that demands my immediate attention. Why don't you stay here and read through the rest of the file. I think you will find it very interesting."
He rises before I can object. He leaves me alone in his office feeling very confused and in disbelief.
The news overloads me. The information deluges me with too much to process at one time. It is too shocking; too much out of the ordinary of my every day life. I am accustomed to obediently go to my job each day on the research station Crion, located on the dark side of the moon by the same name. At night I walk a few feet outside the lab to return to my quaint cabin to study and do my exercises. I have been on Crion for three months now, orbiting the Longton planet and secretly conducting my research. It is the same monotonous existence day after day, night after night. And now this!
It is not at all what I expected when I received the call to fly up to the Starship Cruiser Atlantis to meet with the Captain. I suspected he sought my advice on the lost satellite, but not to go down to the surface and pick it up myself. I need time to think.
I look through the rest of the secret folder and find it is worse than Rileymen lets on. One page shows an overhead picture of the crash site, no doubt taken from one of the two remaining satellites. I see a streak of burnt forest with a crater at one end. I think I even see a few Longtons looking down inside from the rim. Obviously, the plutonium remains safely intact inside the reactor. If it leaked out, the Longtons would already be dead. I can't help but think they soon will be. I know from my own studies they will eventually crack open the reactor.
The next page shows the location of the crash site on a planetary map. It is near the central desert, which is good news. The Longtons do not dare venture into the central desert, so an expedition can easily make a landing close to the crash site. They will not have far to walk.
Another page presents a written assessment of the situation. It speaks of the Longtons as a curious people who will almost certainly want to investigate the contents of the crater. If the reactor's plutonium core isn't open already, the assessment predicts it soon will be. I have to agree. Then it talks about the religious factions and mentions the same thing I told the Captain about the Longtons possible attempt to worship the satellite as a religious deity. I agree with everything it says. I could have even written some of the words myself, and maybe I did. Some of the sentences look like they were plagiarized out of one of my earlier reports.
The Longtons first came to my attention back at the University. According to the most popularly accepted theory, they descended from the same ancient seed as humans, planted by an unknown and very advanced civilization some 1 million years ago. This means they greatly resemble Homo sapiens in appearance. Their bodies enclose the same basic structure: The same double arms and legs, the same two eyes, two ears, and a single nose. Everything of importance looks the same, but only in general terms. As with any two humanoid species separated by a hundred light years distance and million years of evolution, subtle differences exist.
The two most noticeable differences are in the facial area. The first is a flattened Longton nose that makes it look as though they have all just been punched squarely in the face. The second is hair just above the nose. It is a single eyebrow that goes straight across the forehead. A third difference derives from height. The Longtons live on a planet with 80% the gravity of Earth. This makes them grow taller. The average Longton male is about 20% taller than the average human male, although this only occurs with the males. For some reason, Longton females tend to be slightly shorter than human females. No one has yet been able to explain why.
More important differences are cultural, which serves as the reason for my research. I study how a civilization totally foreign to Humans can live, communicate, interact, and do the thousand other things we take for granted every day. I often think my job is no different than the National Geographic researches who first went to study the ancient stone-age tribes of the jungles of Madagascar in the 19th century. The only real advantage I have is technology. While the early explorers went with cameras around their necks, I rely on cameras that look down from orbiting satellites.
I also listen. Several years ago - back when I was still in graduate school - humans made two high-risk expeditions down to the planet's surface. A group of three young men received plastic surgery and several months of specialized training on what we then knew about the Longton culture. All three were military officers specially selected because they were quick to learn and strong enough to defend themselves in case of trouble. The group eventually landed on the planet's surface, traveled to a distant Longton village, and posed as fellow Longton men traveling from a far-off land. Although unable to speak the Longton language, they made face-to-face contact and were able to communicate on a limited basis. The expedition taught us things we never could have learned solely from satellite imagery.
Lucky for me, the expedition also planted microphones. While on the surface, they buried miniature microphones under the soil to listen to the Longton conversations in the hope of deciphering the language. It is these microphones that got me my job, and most of them remain operating to this very day. I've always had a gift for languages, and the language of the Longtons is no different. Called Longtonese, I first assisted and then later became its foremost expert. I now translate the language for others.
"Sorry about the interruption," Captain Rileymen walks back into the room. He walks in quickly, as though he is in a hurry. He appears out of breath.
"As I was saying, we need to send an emergency expedition down to the surface," He talks fast from behind his desk. "Your purpose will be to find the satellite's reactive core and dispose of it. This may be done by burial or by returning with the core. You are given leeway to decide for yourself once you reach the surface and study the landing site. We know the core is fundamentally safe because we witnessed Longtons in close proximity. They physically moved it with no ill effects. The reason we chose you for this mission is obvious. We have no time to train someone new, and you speak Longtonese fluently."
I accept most of this, but not his conclusion. "Not fluently," I correct. "And I only translate it. I have never spoken it to a live Longton before."
"At least you speak it better than anyone else," He proposes.
I nod my head. We both know this to be true.
"In any case, it will be sufficient to conduct the mission. You will pose as Longtons from a distant land. You are on a quest for knowledge. This should give you sufficient cover to make up for any language deficiencies."
I nod again. It is the same cover used by the previous expeditions. I realize if the previous expeditions made it without speaking any Longtonese, I should have no problem.
"The choice on whether or not to accept the mission is yours." Captain Rileymen offers me with his hands. "I need not disguise the dangers involved. This is especially true for you. You, being a woman."
I suddenly remember. The thought rushes into my head like a bolt of lightening. I should have realized it the moment he first suggested I go down to the surface, but I guess I suffered from a case of information overload. He reminds me of the one cultural eccentricity that disgusts me.
"As you know," The Captain tells me what I already know. "The Longton culture is still very primitive when it comes to relation between the sexes. As I am sure you are aware from your studies, men are in charge and the women are essentially the equivalent of servants."
I know this very well. In fact, I know it exceedingly well, and it is the one thing I vehemently dislike about the Longtons. Captain Rileymen's use of the word "servant" is really too kind. "Slave" would be more precise. Although not physically abused - at least not as far as we can determine - Longton women are treated more like property than real people. It is the ultimate male chauvinistic society. I have never been able to figure out why the women accept it.
I try to push this aside. By inherent definition - as I have to continuously remind myself - alien cultures are supposed to be different. Most of the time it comes from the way they look or the way they act. For the Longtons, it happens to concern the relation between the sexes. A colleague once told me that a visitor might be equally disgusted with Humans of the 17th or 18th centuries if they witnessed the subjugation of African Negroes. I must continually remind myself of this as I study the Longtons, and now I remind myself again.
"I understand sir," I try to act like his explanation is no surprise. "I will have to play the part of a female servant."
The Captain nods. This seems to please him.
"Then you are also aware," He goes on. "You will need to blend in with the alien culture. This means, of course, you will have to dress like them."
I momentarily forgot about this as well, but now it comes rushing back to me.
"You look as though this greatly disturbs you," The Captain notices before I can recover.
"No, not really," I almost choke on my own words. "I mean it does, a little, I guess, but I know all about it. After all, I see them every day on the satellite images," I let out a nervous laugh. "I guess I've just become so accustomed to the way the Longtons dress that I forgot about it for a moment."
"I hope it does not disturb you," He emphasizes. "Because it can't! If you are going to blend in with their culture, you need to dress like them."
"Of course," I agree with fake confidence, remembering the clothing of the Longton women - or more specifically, the lack thereof. I realize this is even truer in the southern desert region where the satellite crashed.
The planet of Longton is hot. It experiences temperatures a lot warmer than Earth. It is so warm that plants and animals only exist at the poles. The entire equatorial region is one big, massive, desert; a thousand times bigger than the Sierra. As the sea covers two-thirds the surface of Earth, so a desert covers three-quarters of the planet Longton. The Longtons live north of this desert, north of 50 degrees latitude, in what would be roughly equivalent to Northern Canada or Siberia on Earth. But even here, the heat remains. The Longton climate at the Arctic Circle is roughly equivalent to the equator on Earth.
People who live in a warm climate naturally wear little clothing. It is true on Earth, and it is true on Longton. And it is especially true of the women, given their subservient cultural position. The women, in fact, walk around in the bare minimal of clothing. This is one of the reasons why I got the job to study them to begin with. The sparsely clad women keep distracting the men from doing it.
"I do not mean to embarrass you," The Captain interrupts my agonizing thoughts. "There is no way for me to say this delicately, but this expedition may be especially difficult for you, given your..." He brings his hands to his own chest. "Let's say, your physical makeup."
I know what Rileymen means. He is referring to my size. That is, he hints at my big boobs. I am a short girl with ample breasts. Longton attire will leave little to the imagination.
"I understand Sir," I try to retain my composure against the unavoidable embarrassment.
"In fact, the very reason you are best suited for this mission is because of your physical makeup. As I'm sure you already know from your studies, men with the highest status are often served by the women with the largest..."
He does not need to continue. It is another oddity of the male dominated Longton society. Female breasts are used as a way to display status. The leader of a village nearly always has the mate with the largest boobs. The same proves true for an unusually rich or successful man. My own double-D cups will elevate my male companion, but that assumes I will have a male companion...
"Can I assume I will not be alone?"
"Of course," The Captain fills in the blanks. "A woman traveling alone on the Longton planet would instantly arise suspicion. It would be culturally incorrect, and it might also be dangerous. You will be the female traveling companion of Lt. Stockton."
"Randall?" I questioned. "Do you mean Lt. Randall Stockton?"
The Captain nods.
"But sir, he only just arrived a few weeks ago. He doesn't have any experience."
"But he is the most suitable," Rileymen does not appear to hear my objection. "He is an ex-Marine, specifically assigned to your analysis lab to learn as much about the Longtons as possible. It was our intent to eventually use him on another mission down to the planet's surface once we got approval from the politicians back on Earth. He will just be going down a lot earlier than planned."
"But sir," I try to object. "A lot of others know a lot more about the Longton culture than Randall... I mean Lt. Stockton."
"I see you are already on a first name basis," Rileymen notes. "That is good. It will make the training go easier."
"You need to give Lt. Stockton - or Randall - a crash course on the Longton culture. Forget about the structured course. He needs to learn fast. The doctors tell me it takes 5 days for the swelling from the plastic surgery to go down. You will have that long to work with him."
"But Randall?" I continue to object. "Beg your pardon sir, but there are others in the lab who are a lot more deserving."
"But the others are all female," He points out. "Out of a staff of 32 personnel, I believe there are 30 who are female. And we can't very well send two females down there together."
His numbers are correct. That is one disadvantage of a lab full of women.
"The mission is yours if you want it," He tells me. "As I already hinted, we don't have much time. We need an answer right away. A doctor is already standing by in the infirmary. He tells me the operation will take about two hours, and you are on his schedule for tomorrow morning."
I feel a momentary desire to jump at the chance. I picture myself leaping up and telling him that I am honored to accept the mission. It is the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to put my many years of study to the test. I often dreamed about going down to the surface and meeting a real live Longton. I feel stupid to resist.
Yet when the opportunity is thrust upon me, I hesitate. I feel only anxiety. I worry my knowledge is inadequate and my assumptions might be all wrong. I can't help but imagine what it will feel like to walk around in the sparsely clad Longton clothing. My mind grows with trepidation.
"The mission is yours if you want it," Captain Rileymen offers me again. "Your acceptance will be a tremendous service to your country. It will even help to serve the Longton people, and you will probably save the lives of whatever Longtons eventually succeed in opening the reactor."
His words fall heavy on my mind.
"However, I will not disguise the fact some danger is involved," He argues against himself. "The mission is far from safe, and I am sure it will be very difficult. Many things could go wrong, including a radiation leak."
I haven't considered this, and it frightens me. Even a small radiation leak could put me at a higher risk of cancer for the rest of my life.
"Do not accept right now," He cautions wisely. "I want you to check into the infirmary tonight so the doctors can conduct some tests. If all goes according to plan, you have until morning to make up your mind. You need to sleep on it and think it over very carefully. I obviously prefer you to accept, but you need to be certain for yourself. There will be no turning back."
I look up to see him standing. We are done. Rileymen is a busy man and has many other jobs to do.
"Thank you for the offer," I shake his hand. "It is a lot to consider."
I bid him goodbye and ask his secretary directions to the infirmary.
I laugh at Captain Rileymen's instructions to sleep on it. If he expects me to sleep, he is greatly mistaken. I lay wide-awake in bed. I lay on a hospital bed in the infirmary, dreading the morning and feeling confused and very hungry.
The doctors refused me anything to eat after they completed the physical. "It might have a negative effect on the operation," they told me; something to do with the drugs they will have to give me to perform the plastic surgery... provided I am still willing to go through with the surgery.
I still am not sure. There is a lot to consider.
There is the fear of failure. "What if I can't speak the language well enough?" I ask myself. I never conversed with a Longton before. "What if I do something stupid or make a mistake?" And there exists the further danger of walking into a village contaminated with plutonium. Radiation cannot be ignored.
But on the opposite side, it is the opportunity of a lifetime. It will be a chance to fulfill my curiosity and pose all my questions. It will be my only opportunity to test my knowledge of the Longtonese language and interface with the subjects of my study. I know I will never get a chance to go down to the surface again. Any future expeditions - assuming the politicians back on Earth even allow any future expeditions - will almost certainly be by all-male teams. They will never let a woman go except for the most dreadful circumstance.
Yet the very fact I am a woman scares me. I will have to live in a society where the men are masters. I will be merely a slave, forced into subjugation of my male owner, forced to wear the clothing of the Longton women.
And then there is the clothing to consider. Longton clothing scares me, especially given my figure. I am not accustomed to wearing provocative clothing, yet on the surface of the planet I will be forced to wear little. The most clothing I will ever be able to wear is the equivalent of a small bikini.
Another problem is Randall. I couldn't voice my objection in front of Captain Rileymen because he would never understand, but I don't like Randall. He has been trying to hit on me since the first day he got to Crion, probably because of my big boobs. I despise men who treat my boobs as a prize and my body like merchandise. I haven't known Randall for very long, yet I already get the impression he is a stereotypical young Marine who thinks he is God's gift to women. I have difficult time with him in the lab. On the surface, I know it will be much more challenging.
Still, Randall does have one redeeming feature. He has a tall, muscular build and handsome appearance; traits specifically selected so he would someday more easily fit in with the Longton men. This will make him look excellent, I know, when clothed in the attire worn by the Longton men, for their clothing is just as meager as the females. I like looking at men in loincloths.