© May 20, 2001
From: '--' <--@hotmail.com>
Date: Thu, 17 May 2001 11:22:00 -0700
I noticed your author bio on asstr and was very interested by it. You mentioned a desire to have people pass on requests. I have talked to many different people over the last year about my own desires and a few people said they were very interested in my ideas, some even said they might develop my ideas into a story, but these people have all disappeared, never to be heard from again. I know my fantasies are a tad — weird, but I don't think they are anything totally bizarre or really honestly freaky. So if your interested in what I'm about to say, keep reading, if not, well thanks and PLEASE keep writing :)
Okay, well the thing is, I like women to be dominate, really powerful.
Total power over me. It thrills me to be totally dominated, with no control, no hope, just living a life of servitude and slavery to a woman, women, either one powerful women or a whole WORLD filled with dominate women. But what do these women want? I mean if they are going to all that trouble to dominate me, taking all that effort and time to even acknowledge my existence... there must be something I can provide them.
So in my fantasies, that is cum. My semen.
That is the only thing they care about. I'm not a man to them, I'm just a cock. They milk me, they have me, I'm their play thing that gives them fresh cum to drink and play with. They have no concern for me as a person, they just love that cum. When I imagine a whole world of dominate women, I have strict quotas, I have to produce cum for their business or their schemes, and I'm treated like you'd treat any business resource. when I'm dealing with the idea of one powerful woman, it's just her thing. Maybe she likes to bath in cum, or loves the taste. Whatever it is, I'm under her power and I need to make cum for her.
That's the basic idea. I don't know how that sounds to you or anything, probably nuts, but I'm curious. What do you think? If you're still reading, thanks again, and have a great day! :)
A lot of men can't get enough sex. The burning, yearning, desire in their loins to procreate. The sexual drive is probably the most basic of urges throughout the known Universe. When some men can't seem to get enough sex, they resort to other outlets and means to obtain that longing climax.
But too much of a good thing can also have disastrous results. What happens when a society builds up their entire civilization around sex, or the byproducts thereof? Will it survive?
Chapter 1: SoS
"Captain's Log, StarDate... who the fuck knows. I just left Orpheus Prime where I dropped off a load of Ketallian Brandy. The bartender at the depot mentioned that Keltic Four is looking for some cargo ships to haul some weapons from there to the Inubrian Outpost.
Risky job, I know, because of the inherent risks of pirates and marauders, but the pay is good.
Since my landlord said she's going to evict me if I don't have my full rent come the end of this month, I really don't have a choice. Maxwell, out."
John Maxwell was an average Joe trying to make living. Torn over the loss of his last girlfriend, when he found out she was really a Heletic Daemon camouflaged to appear humanoid (hey, she almost bit off his head during an argument... literally) he was love-lost and heart-broken.
The job at the Inubrian Outpost seemed like a dream come true. By hauling one load for these guys, he'd make more money in two weeks than he'd make in an entire trimester.
John decided to take it easy for the ride across the sector, he wouldn't be expected for another 48 hours, and he took this time to run diagnostics and make minor repairs on his ship's defense systems. The threat of pirates and marauders was all too real, as he'd only narrowly escaped a brush with both only once before each time.
While listening to some MP32s, piped through his ship's comm system, his melodic journey soon became interrupted when the all-too-familiar wail of a distress call beamed out of the speakers.
Scurrying back to his cockpit, he flipped the switches which piped the call through the speakers.
"Hello? Is anybody out there? " a female voice could be heard through his ship's speakers. "This is Captain Fern Viger of the Ule Marou, I'm in need of help and assistance. Can anybody hear me? "
Intrigued as to what could be the matter, John answered the distress call using the sub-space antenna to broadcast his reply across the vastness of space. "This is John Maxwell of the... well... This is John, how can I help you? "
Scratchy and with a lot of static, the woman sounded relieved as she began her reply. "John... Maxwell... My name is Fern Viger. My ship is immobile, and I'm adrift. Can you give me a tow? "
"What class is your ship? " he replied. If her ship was too large, his tractor beam wouldn't be able to tow it and he'd have to radio AAAAA.
"Class 4 cruiser," she replied.
He couldn't help but chuckle when he heard this. "Ma'am, that's not a ship, that's an escape pod," he said, muting the mic so he could laugh some more. "Transmit your coordinates and I'll see what I can do."
Seconds later, he received the coordinates on his screen and noticed she was only three parsecs away from his current position. "I can be there in a half-hour, sit tight."
Altering course, he headed towards her coordinates. He wasn't worried about helping her, since he had plenty of time to kill before having to be at his destination. In fact, he purposely chose to fly there at impulse speeds only so it would take him longer.
He slowly made it into the sector where she had given him and quickly scanned for ships and vessels. Immediately, his ship detected her vessel, 1/10th of a light-year from where she had originally given him,
"You're drifting awfully fast," he radioed to her as he headed to her next destination. "I should catch up to you in about five minutes."
"Thank you, John. Hurry! I'm scared."
Speeding to her destination, he engaged his ship's grappling beam which stabilized her ship and brought it under his hull. Once her ship was docked, and secured, he opened up the airlock and climbed down the rungs into her vessel.
As he entered her vessel, he noticed her black hair flowing long past her shoulders as her back was facing him. "Hello? " he said as he reached the floor.
Smoothly, she turned around in her cabin to face him.
She was a thing of beauty he thought to himself. Long, flowing, black hair; deep brown eyes, smooth olive skin, and a well endowed chest which didn't quite fit her flight suit.
"Terran-system? " he asked her.
"Excuse me? "
"Are you from the Terran system? Earth? "
"No, I'm afraid not. Why do you ask? "
"Your appearance. You resemble a race of people from Earth. Northeastern quadrant... Asia, I think it's called."
"I'm from Jalapillia."
John just stood there for a moment, his eyes fixated on her bosom.
"I'm sorry," he said, becoming self-conscious of his gazing. "I'm John."
"Well, let's see if we can't get you underway, shall we? " he said, turning about to head to her engine compartment.
Inside the rear of her ship lay the machinery which propelled Fern's ship across the Galaxy. With a Class 4 Cruiser, John knew her main propulsion would be impulse drives, since she was only capable of Warp 1.
Looking around, it was quite obvious to him what her problem was; one of the distributor wires leading to the impulse spark plugs was removed so her impulse engine couldn't fire normally. Repairing the problem, he left the engine compartment, and walked back up to the front to find the mysterious woman sitting at the table in the back portion of her cab.
"Well, I found your problem." he said gleefully. "Try to start her up."
Fern walked to the pilot area and turned the key. After several violent shakes, her engines emitted a very smooth, and low hum.
She jumped up, ran over to him, and gave him a big hug. "Thank you very much! " she said. "How can I repay you? "
"Ma'am, it was nothing."
"I think I have a way," she said to him, running her fingers down his shirt.
"What are you doing? " he asked, as she was unbuttoning his shirt.
John offered little resistance as the woman pushed him down onto the couch. As she reached her hand into his pants, she was pleasantly surprised to find out John was a Stolac.
"Wonderful! Two for the price of one," she said. Stolacs are a race of humanoids with two genital appendages, formed in a Y shape from between their legs. Fern undid his pants, and took both of his appendages in her hands. She could feel a warmth and stiffness come over them as his blood slowly flowed deeper within them.
Like two hands on a yoke, she knelt in front of him and gently massaged the head of each one with her thumbs.
John couldn't help but let out a pleasurable moan, still not fully believing this was happening to him. "Fuck, I need to answer more distress calls in the future! " he said to himself.
Taking one of his appendages in her mouth, she used her other hand to gently stroke his other.
Down, she went onto him, taking it's full length in her mouth. As she lifted her head up, she moved her hand down his other shaft. When her head reached the divide of his shafts, she gently stroked the main shaft.
.... There is more of this story ...