Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Fa/ft, Ma/mt, Consensual, BiSexual, Heterosexual, sci-fi adult story,sci-fi sex story,swarm cycle sci-fi story
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The life on the Colony of Wayward. This is a continuation of lives of the people from In Loco Parentis.
Over the next three months, the Jenkins family's dynamic changed. First Joyce gave birth to a boy she named Conrad. Then Bert earned a six point nine for his CAP score. Two days later, he hopped a ride with a freighter for the first leg of his journey to the Frikat System and assignment to an unspecified Marine Unit.
On the way home from Bert's going-away-party, Leslie and Theresa both went into labor. Within three minutes of each other, they brought Mitchell and April into the Jenkins clan respectively.
Saturday, Bill came to a realization. "Hobson," he called the house AI.
"I need to get the other three women pregnant." Even though he sat in his study alone, that made Bill blush. "Could you have them drop some eggs?"
"For the next three days, all three women can be made fertile."
Exiting the study Bill bumped into Salome. Spinning her to face him, he cupped her ass, lifting her to kiss him. Fingers sought her crack. Salome wrapped her legs around Bill.
Bill turned toward the entryway of the lift. Salome wiggled, letting his fingers find their perch. Entering the clear tube, Bill sub-vocally was able to call for the top floor. He broke the kiss.
"Time for Katy to have a baby sist-" Bill never finished the sentence as Salome kissed him again. When the doors opened, he carried her into the upper bedroom. Bill placed Salome in the center of the bed.
Bill started to work down Salome's neck with little kisses, one after the other. Salome rolled, pushing him to her right. Rolling farther right, she ended up straddling his abdomen. Rising up onto her knees, she pulled his shirt up and began working it off his torso. She began kissing his chest once it was bare.
Salome quickly shed her own clothing. Bill's head was stuck in his shirt. He had forgotten to unbutton the top buttons. By the time he was free of the garment, Salome had resumed her position over his abs. Grinding her sex into his muscles produced shared giggles. Salome leaned down to kiss him again.
"Hold him down." Leslie's voice drifted into their awareness.
Bill's right foot was lifted and his shoe was removed. Soon the sock followed. A fingernail dragged along his ticklish sole. His left foot suffered through a similar process. Then his pants were loosened. Tugging at his waistband made him lift his butt from the bed to help with the clearance. As he lifted Salome, she goosed the sides of his rib cage. Leslie pulled his pants free. Bill dropped his butt to the bed. Bill's abs wore a basting of Salome's excitement.
"Now," Salome hiked herself up. Reaching between her legs, she found his cock head. Guiding it back and a little over to the right she nestled it in her opening. Pushing back, Salome engulfed Bill.
Shifting her hips, Salome began gyrating slowly. Her stomach rolled like a belly dancer's. She held Bill's hands to steady her assault.
Salome came down that evening for supper.
Leslie popped the question. "Where's Bill?"
"He's snoring away up on the fourth level." Salome grabbed one of the sandwiches on the platter. "Poor boy is all used up."
Picking up Mitchell, Leslie began to rock him slowly. "What did he do to deserve that kinda treatment?"
Looking at Mitchell, Salome patted her belly.
Leslie stopped bouncing the baby. "He didn't."
Salome only nodded. Leslie put Mitchell into the crook of her right arm and pulled Salome into a big hug. Tears flowed and reassuring kisses were exchanged.
Tiffany entered the room. "Is everything ok?"
Ray-ray heard the commotion and the shrieks of glee. He decided he would grab a bit to eat at the cafeteria on the way into the office that morning.
Once Ray-ray made it into the office that morning, he found himself steered into a meeting.
"Being a backwater colony makes it difficult to feel we are actively supporting the war effort." Governor Danvers paused. "I'll admit it weighs very heavily on my mind."
A two-meter holographic globe of their planet rose slowly in the middle of the table. The surface morphed from a realistic image into a landform map with beige land and blue water.
The Governor continued. "We are using these areas for our production or resource management." Each of the landmasses that supported the colony changed to blue. "As you can see," the globe lowered onto the table, "there is an island in the northern sea about the size of Montana." The island expanded to the edges of the table as the globe flattened out. "I have volunteered to host a special operations training base."
Sounds of discussions reverberated around the room, more in astonishment than in anger. A campus schematic arose from the southeast corner. It followed the standard battalion layout. Information began to appear around the base. A base company of a hundred and seventy men would maintain and operate the base. Four to six companies could be trained simultaneously. This would place up to one thousand marines on the island for the six or eight week course.
"Having a base comes with a set of responsibilities." The map of the island changed to display the main colony township. "I insisted on two things." Danvers pointed to a new cul-de-sac bordering on the central park. "The resident staff from the base will have a home here with us."
Ray-ray raised his hand. Danvers acknowledged him. "Ma'am, will they be willing to follow our rules?"
"As governor, I am in direct control of the colony. Marine police forces will be integrated with our department." Other buildings in and around the township began to appear. The school doubled in size. The community center grew in height and footprint. On the opposite side of the central park from the new military neighborhood, a larger neighborhood winked into existence.
The farming representative, Alistair McLeod, asked a question. "What are we doing there?" He pointed at the new neighborhood.
Danvers turned a bit pink as a flush rose to her cheeks. "Five thousand three hundred and seventeen new colony members," she took a breath. "Concubines assigned to our brothel and their children."
In place of the expected objections, she encountered silence. Brenda Polanski, the Artisan representative on the council, locked eyes with Marsha. Every man in the room, save Ray-ray, was blushing. The women began to giggle.
A man dressed as a Civil Service Decurion entered the room. Ray-ray recognized the man. He began to scan his memory. Joyce. Extraction. It came back to him. This was Andres Zucher. Before he could formulate a hello or wave, past training involving undercover personnel stopped him. Danvers acted as if she knew him. Wait and see. Ray-Ray believed Zucher deserved the latitude.
"Why do we need over five thousand unassigned concubines for no more than one thousand men?" Father Tomonaga's question redirected Ray-ray attention. Everyone looked at the governor.
"The majority of those are dependents." She waited, looking at the committee members, reading their faces. Searching for signs of how they felt about the implications. "We asked for volunteer concubines with children who would want to establish a more stable environment to raise their children."
"How," asked Brenda, "is being one of your 'volunteers' a better life?" Everyone looked, waiting for an answer.
"The majority of these women have lost their sponsor." That had little effect on the faces looking at her. "Only a few colonies have a well established civil service presence. Most unassigned concubines are warehoused, waiting to be chosen." That caused the committee to look at each other. "Yes, they will staff a brothel. They will also be our neighbors and part of our colony."
Alistair piped up. "Why house the brothel in the township? Why not at the base?"
"I want the brothel to also be our community center." Governor Danvers listened to silence, again.
Something about changing diapers proved to be calming. Jake snapped the onesie closed. Maggie reached toward her dad. His wives Kimi and Naomi smiled as he lifted his daughter.
"Give her to me, Jake." Kimi took the bundle, swaying her away. "Confession starts in thirty minutes." Jake placed a kiss on both his wife and daughter, before heading to the lift. "Your vestments are in your study."
"Thank you, my sweet." He walked toward the door leading from the rectory to his study.
Naomi met him at the door, providing another kiss.
Jake exited the hallway to the private garden. He wove his way around the flowering bushes. He had to do a few things. First, he needed his erection to dissipate. Then he began to pray. Seventeen hundred and fifty unassigned concubines would soon call Wayward home. Moreover, he, Father Tomonaga would soon become the Master of a bordello.
Figuratively, this was not a 'pass this cup' prayer. It fell into the category of 'give me the strength.' How could he make the living conditions 'livable?'
Father figures; the answer was father figures. Before he had finished his third year in the seminary, he once had worked with a surrogate father group in Elba Heights. The major problem with Dads on Call back on Earth would instead be the norm here. On Earth, one stable man was the surrogate father for six to eight families. Out in the Confederacy, a stable 'normal' home had one father figure with three to five women.
The AI of his quarters and the church spoke from the floor. "Yes, Jake." Her voice was both deep and sultry.
"What research do we have for surrogate parents?"
"Jake, you have fathered two healthy children. Why do you need a surrogate?"
He chuckled a moment. Rarely did he catch an AI working out of context. "No, I was thinking about father figures for children who do not have one."
"The research compiled by various groups leads me to conclude that surrogate fatherhood has possibilities, but is limited by the character of the surrogate."
"What would be the optimum ratio of concubine families to such a surrogate?"
"There is no optimum ratio. The surrogate and families involved would vary depending on individual dynamics."
"Then let's speculate." He paused, waiting for Lilith to judge if she had enough parameters to proceed.
The upper level students were designing underground Swarm hives, trying to follow the Kutuzov Soft Strata Theory. No two Swarm warrens were the same. There were similarities in layout but analysis of the differences by Mikhail Kutuzov's Strategic Advisory Group pointed to following the path of least delay when constructed. This required the students to synthesize observation reports with subsurface scans from the Darjee knowledgebase. A rumor was circulating that the Marines were seeking to establish a "Tunnel Rat" training facility in the arctic mountain range near the north pole.
Teams of two to three students busily worked, following the established protocols for the theory. Bill toggled through the work pages of each group, verifying they were making progress, and asked questions to help them redirect their approach if needed.
Bill had Misty meet him in his room just before the period had begun. She crossed to his desk, giving him a kiss. Bill rotated through his concubines for lunch dates. The students did not even acknowledge her presence after five minutes.
"Slip under my desk, take out my nuts, and start licking them." Scarlet hues tinted Misty's face; her mouth slipped open, no words escaped it. Bill winked. Misty scanned the room then began lowering herself.
'Goodness, this is so wrong, ' she thought to herself. Anyone who looked toward the desk would be able to see her feet. She could feel the moisture as it began to flow between her legs.
Once in the space below the desk, she pushed Bill's knees apart. Reaching up, she tugged at the zipper. Once opened, Misty found no underwear blocking her access. Bill eased to the front of the chair. This gave Misty an easier path to his jewels.
Misty lapped at the left testicle, the one that hung closer. Somehow, she felt it was usually neglected. Today, it received the initial attention. Soon she sucked both into her mouth. Bill moaned. Misty played tickle and poke on his taint with her tongue.
"Mr. Jenkins," a girl's voice came from next to the desk, "we found a fissure that is outside the parameters for tunneling at an oblique angle. But there are promising veins of soapstone."
Bill shifted slightly. "That observation and the opportunities for alternate paths that you see are part of what keeps even the Swarm experts guessing." Misty could hear his knuckles crack as he formulated an answer. "Perhaps this is a good point to diverge and start your required alternate layout."
The bell rang sooner than Misty thought. "Come up here," Bill ordered. She let his balls go free. He slid the chair backwards about two feet. Bill's hands grabbed her upper arms. He pulled her to him and they shared a lengthy kiss.
He broke the kiss. "Sit here on the edge of the desk." He patted behind her. Misty hopped her ass onto the desk. She lifted her skirt in anticipation. Bill inquired, "You ready?"
She could only smile and nod. Reaching forward, she pulled him closer by his cock. Her legs drew up as she found him close enough so she could lie back on the desk. Once he was seated in her cunt, she wrapped her legs around Bill's waist, locking him in position.
His motions started slow and steady. Misty knew Bill did this to tease and play. It worked. Her legs were not strong enough to pull him in and she endured. He kissed her as his pubic hair and zipper ground into her bare skin.
Misty dug her hands into Bill's shoulders. If he had not been wearing a shirt, she would have left scratches. Breaking the kiss, she gave an order. "Pound me, Bill!"
Bill did as requested. Heavy, hard, and thorough, he pumped with abandon. Misty became active, thrusting up to meet each successive attack. Bill slipped his hands under the small of her back, lifting her ass from the desk. Grunts escaped Bill's mouth. Misty answered with screeches. A small part of Misty's mind interpreted the scene as a pheromone-induced, sweat bathed, tennis match.
Once that thought passed, she exploded. She stopped thrusting, riding the cock's assault through her orgasm. Bill then pushed deep. A deep groan accompanied his pulsating ejaculation.
Bill picked her up from the desk. He never disengaged. He dipped to kiss her again. "We are making a baby today."
Misty kissed him again. "I thought so."
"No, Bill," she kissed him again, studying the disappointed face. "Leslie spilled the beans to Joyce and I overheard." She kissed him again. "They made me promise not to tell Joan." A 'little-boy' smile, which looked as if it belonged on one of Salome's six-year-old twins, appeared on his face. Suddenly, a wave of emotion broke over Misty. Grandmamie Clara was right, she didn't find love, she created it.
Bill carried her to the classroom replicator. He removed two pillows. A flat low one and a wide tapered one. He tossed the larger one on the floor. "Slip out of your frock. Then lay face up on that pillow so it puts that butt of yours in the air." He knelt, letting her extract his cock from her cunt. Looking up into Bill's face, Misty prepared herself as instructed. "Place this one," and he handed her the smaller one, "under your head if you want."
Bill extricated himself from his clothes. Misty lay before him on her back, tilted so that gravity helped to ensure her impregnation. He began to tease and kiss Misty across her stomach and breasts. Giggles fueled his play. Working himself along her body, he maneuvered himself to mount her again.
"Yes!" Misty followed Bill's lead. This time he sought any sound she made, however small, trying to build her pleasure. Understanding the rules, Misty began to reward his efforts. Bill's efforts were increasing with every second.
When the orgasm hit, Misty lost the ability to utter sounds. Her back arched. She could feel every vein in Bill's cock. He kept the stroke rate high as her body racked in ecstasy. Bill collapsed onto her, panting while thrusting deep.
Bill climbed off Misty. She started to sit up. Bill placed a hand holding her down. "You need to keep your ass up for a bit to help the fertility probability."
"How long should I stay here?" Her tone was playfully sarcastic.
He eased up along the right side of her body. "At least," he slipped his cock head onto her lips, "until you clean me up."
Misty winked as she sucked the cock into her mouth. Bill moaned. Once it was clean, she moved her focus to his nut sack. Misty sought out the taste of herself with her tongue, then licked away those fluids and began searching for more.
Randy eased the aft lifters down seven percent to drop the rear of the V35 Panther two meters lower than the front of the shuttle. In some respects, this simulation proved to be more difficult than attack runs in air superiority fighters. Staying within the flight corridors assigned, allowing the enemy to fire only at the most heavily armored parts of the shuttle sounded easier than actually piloting the Panther.
The tail touched lightly. A rear hatch warning alarm signaled the start of disembarkation of his Marine payload. Randy heard the proximity alarm.
"Warning! A Type I formation of Armadillos has entered the perimeter." The AI's explanation of the alarm was not welcome. Armadillos could hammer a Panther if there was no air cover. "In twenty-three seconds the Marines will be clear. You can then make a maximum ascent."
Several times the tension seemed to slow time. Three times Randy checked the chronometer. Regardless of exactly how long that twenty odd seconds lasted, it seemed like minutes.
"Warning! Your air support has been engaged."
Great, a maximum ascent while under fire. Randy wondered what he had done to Lieutenant Adam to draw this simulation.
The Armadillos were twelve clicks west of his present position. As lead on third flight, he had to decide on what escape pattern to use. "Max lift pattern delta east, repeat delta east." The other three Panthers in his flight acknowledged his order.
Leading his group, Randy hugged the ground heading away from the Swarm forces. Accelerating to sixty percent of maximum velocity, Randy pulled the Panther into a maximum climb.
"Change to A22 Swift parameters in three seconds."
It took a moment to register the implication. A different aircraft? Under these conditions, something was very wrong. Randy tried to kill the thrust and decrease the rate of climb. Having the simulator jump to a Swift in the middle of a high g maneuver bordered on suicide. Two and a half g's became well over eight g's. Two seconds later the abrupt change in parameters overcame the restraints Randy had forgotten to double check, letting him slip free.
His next conscious thought found him in the simulation briefing room. The room seemed to exist in a monochromatic stark whiteness. Randy's cadet flight suit was the same white. Pulling off his gloves, he found his hands their normal color. He sighed. The sound seemed distant as if it emanated from a tiny speaker.
Randy approached the desk, stomping, listening to his footsteps. He whistled the Jeopardy theme, listening to the echo and reverb.
"Please forgive me, Randy." That voice. He knew that voice, last year, at the Expo at South Florida. Turning, Randy matched the face to the voice. "It is I, Andre Zucher."
"No offense sir, but am I hallucinating?"
Andre smiled. "Yes and no." He moved closer, motioning for Randy to sit.
"I don't understand." Randy joined him at the flight leaders' table in the front of the room. "My simulation tanked and I'm here."
"Actually, you are in the school's medtube having a few injuries repaired."
"I'm hurt?" Randy began patting his body.
"You have a broken collar bone." Andres patted his left shoulder with his right hand. "I think you will now double check your restraints in the future."
A pause followed. "Why then are you in my hallucination?"
"We are being projected into a shared subconscious."
"Like a CAP test?"
Andres scrunched his face. "That is a good analogy." He looked around. "You were suggested by the Earth AIs to make an independent study of the data surrounding the Nguyen Affair."
Randy felt his mouth open. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Officially, nothing." Andres leaned in, "Off the record, three things. First, look for anomalies as you did on Earth when you were trying to track AIs on the internet. Second, leave no stone unturned. Last, we need you to be ready to create havoc when you expose your findings."
He held up his arm showing the minor identifying wristband. "I'm flattered, but I'm not even fourteen."
"You will make sponsor grade. My boss has his eye on you." Andres winked his left eye. "You are also receiving a modified implant. Your house AI is being upgraded to assist you."
Randy sat, perplexed. Andres stood and walked to where the door should have been.
"I never volunteered," Randy called out.
Andres stopped and turned. "You have a chance to bring to justice those who sought to harm your family."
"Just revenge, sir?"
"No, it is an opportunity to avenge and protect."
"I'll do it." The suddenness of his own response surprised Randy.
"We were confident in that, Randy."
Andres faded into the wall. Randy felt the urge to put his head down on the table and sleep.