Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, mt/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, .
Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Middle-schooler David has just passed his CAP test with a 6.9. It's time to start choosing the girls who will make up his harem. But he comes home to find his 4th-grade teacher on the doorstep to his parent house. What could she want? And, more importantly, what does David want?
God, yes, I remember every detail of my extraction!
I was on a adrenalin high for a week after I had taken my CAP test and got a 6.9 score. I woke up every morning almost giddy. All that time and pain at the dojo and my geeky military gaming hobby had to have helped. I didn't brag, really, much, but I did let a couple of friends see my CAP card. I didn't mind that they let the news out, because my social standing grew quickly. With the new laws passed, I was legally an adult, but I knew that was just a fiction. I hadn't finished high school, much less college. I didn't have a job, I couldn't drive a car. I was still a kid on everything but paper.
Being 15 years old, I had spent a lot of time in daydreaming. But where I would formerly daydream about getting my driver's license or saving Lucy Babcock from a burning building, now I dreamed about fighting in space, saving my shipmates with my quick thinking and cool head.
And, of course I spent a lot of time, much of it with the bathroom door locked, thinking about which of my classmates I would choose for concubines. Again, being 15, other than movie stars, I thought about my high-school freshmen classmates, barely daring to think of the girls who were seniors.
This was pretty early on in the public's introduction to the concept of aliens, the Confederacy, the Sa'arm, and pick-ups. There were television news shows with talking heads debating how real it was and how concerned we should be. Some people had taken the whole situation very seriously. There were a few picketers in front every government building, demanding that the government ensure that everybody who wanted to go got a ticket off planet. But most people were still acting as if it weren't real, or if it was real that they would deal with it later.
Maybe someone had had the idea of getting together a pre-pack, but it wasn't me. And the girls at my school didn't drop if you flashed a qualifying CAP score. A lot of those that believed in the coming danger thought that they'd be able to land a qualifying guy from the football team who made them moist. Besides it was early May, the school year was ending soon and there were Proms to get dates to and summer bathing suits to shop for. It was early days, yet.
I was surprised when, a couple of weeks after I had passed my CAP test, I got home after school and I saw that my fourth-grade teacher, Mrs. O'Brian, was waiting on our front porch. "Hello, David!" she greeted me.
"Mrs. O'Brian! It's nice to see you. Uhh ... my parents are out and won't be back for a couple of hours, but I'm sure that they would want me to ask you in."
"Thank you, David. That's very courteous of you."
Mom and Dad both worked. Mom had been a librarian since forever. Dad had worked for a defense plant in our town until recently, when he had been hired by a new high-technology firm. Mom's hours were steady and regular. Dad's were now erratic. When I got old enough, I was given my own key to the front door with the warning that I wasn't allowed to bring home schoolmates unless I had cleared it in advance with Mom or Dad.
I fished out my house key and opened the front door. I showed her to the living room and asked if she would like something cool to drink. Memorial Day was just a week off, and the weather had been holding clear and warm.
"Thank you for asking, David. I'll have whatever you are having." I walked back to the kitchen and poured each of us a glass of iced tea. Because Mrs. O'Brian was 'company, ' I placed each glass on a cocktail napkin on a saucer. I've got to admit that I had had a fierce crush on Mrs. O'Brian back when I was in fourth grade. She was someone who encouraged my reading in military history and always treated me as if I were grown up. It was because of her I learned how to find my passion in history and how I wound up an honors student years later.
"Thank you again, David," Mrs. O'Brian said as I placed her tea in front of her, "I see that your parents have placed a high priority on hospitality and courtesy as you have grown up." See what I mean? ' ... have grown up' as though I was already an adult.
As Mrs. O'Brian sipped her drink, I sipped mine and tried to covertly look at her over the rim of my glass. She was was my fourth-grade teacher, so she was, in a sense, ageless. But with my newly-found high-school sophistication I could see that she was early-forties, starting to thicken in the waist, but still had her glory, her thick head of hair, red with occasional strands of yellow that made it look like beaten gold. That red gold was wound up into a braid that wrapped around her head like a crown. Her face wasn't classic oval or pixie triangular; she had strong jaw line that provided lower corners to her face. Her complexion was a redhead's, creamy pale, with a dusting of faint freckles across the bridge of her nose. She had faint crow's feet crinkling at the corner of her green eyes. I noticed again how deep sea-green her eyes were.
Her eyes. Which were looking at me staring at her. I nearly choked on my tea. I set my class down and tried to pretend I wasn't staring.
"I'm sorry that my folks won't be home for," I looked at the clock on the mantle, "About an hour and a half, maybe two hours."
Mrs. O'Brian set her glass down carefully on her saucer. She delecately dabbed her lips and, taking a deep breath, looked directly into my eyes with her sea-green ones. "I didn't come here to see your parents, David. I came here to see you."
My response to this was a blank. I could not understand why a grownup wanted to talk to a kid instead of another grownup. I didn't have any response to this, but my parent's relentless drilling of polite behavior kicked in. "Well, then, I am glad I was here to meet you. What would you like to talk about?"
Mrs. O'Brian hesitated, made a couple of false starts, nervously licked her lips, then blurted, "I heard that you took your CAP test recently and did well."
I beamed. "I sure did!" I pulled out my wallet and showed her my CAP card with the 6.9 score in print big enough to read across the room. I handed her the card and she took it, examining it with an expression both wistful and relieved. She handed my card back and reached into her purse.
"As you can see, I did not score so well." Her score was a 6.2. I was stunned. How could this woman who was my hero, who had launched me into becoming an honors student, score lower than me? Mrs. O'Brian sighed. "Apparently, the pedagogy of children is not of major concern to whoever designed these tests."
Mrs. O'Brian returned her card to her purse, and then turned to face me. She seemed to be uncertain, but then squared her shoulders and asked, "David, have you given much thought to who you will take with you when you leave?"
I blushed. It was as though Mrs. O'Brian had read my mind. But, as she was always someone whose opinion I trusted, I decided to tell her what I had been thinking. "Well, I was thinking that I might ask Lucy Babcock. You remember that she sat behind me in your class? She seems to be a good person and she's, well ... pretty."
She nodded thoughtfully. "I remember Lucy. She seemed a little stuck up to me. If you weren't in her crowd, she was frightfully rude." Mrs. O'Brian took another breath and said, "I want you to consider taking me."
Again, I was stunned. I could take her? She would want to go with me? Over the horizon of my conscious thought, feelings, demands, and wild speculations were piling up like thunderheads, ready to pour down when I was alone to think. "But, but, Mrs. O'Brian! You would go with a kid like me?"
She smiled. "Of course I would, David. Remember, though, you are not a child anymore. At least that's what the law says." Her green eyes flashed and she smiled. "It's a law with which I agree."
"How much experience do you have with girls, David?" She asked.
"Well, I've gone out on dates for a year now. I've kissed girls. I've had all the health classes. But I don't drive yet, and so I don't go on dates alone with a girl. My parents are very strict, you know. If you weren't someone they knew and approved of, they would be very upset that I let you in."
Mrs. O'Brian nodded to herself, glanced again at the mantle clock, then stood up. Suddenly, with her above me like that, I felt as if I were back in the fourth grade. "David, I am very serious about wanting to go with you. I have two daughters, one of them just turned fourteen, one is nine. The fourteen year old, Tina, just took the CAP test yesterday. She got a 5.8." She looked at me with burning eyes. "I would do anything, anything to get myself and my girls off this planet before the Sa'arm attack."
I hadn't noticed that she had stepped out of her shoes. They were sensible flats, so she was still almost the same height. But I did notice when she reached to her waist and started unzipping her skirt.
"You've never seen a woman naked before, have you David? Not just on a computer screen, but alive, in the flesh, close enough to touch?" I nodded in agreement. It was true and I didn't want her to stop what she was doing. Her skirt was in a heap at her feet and she began unbuttoning her white blouse. "So, you are a virgin, David? You've never known the pleasure that comes from a woman?" I nodded and then shook my head, mute at what was happening in my own living room.
Her blouse, now tossed aside, Mrs. O'Brian was wearing a bra and a half-slip. She reached up under her slip and pulled off her panties. It struck me that there was nothing between me and her womanhood but a thin piece of nylon. I suddenly realized that I was sporting an almost painful boner, the biggest boner that I had ever experienced. Which, considering that I was 15 years old, wasn't that big. Mrs. O'Brian looking down at me saw the tent my pants were making and smiled to herself with satisfaction.
"Now David, I need to know, do you find me desirable?"
"Uh," I blushed, looking down at my crotch, "Yes, ma'am."
"David, have you ever had a woman touch your penis?"
Yes! A thousand thousand times in my daydreams. "No, ma'am."
Mrs. O'Brian knelt before me. I could see the generous swell of her breasts in her rather conservative bra. I looked into the depth of her cleavage. I felt dizzy, as if I could fall into that cleavage and disappear. I felt that would not be such a bad fate. Mrs. O'Brian reached for the buckle of my belt. Her arms reaching forward did pleasant things to her breasts, pushing them together, making her cleavage more pronounced.
She unfastened my belt buckle, undid the button at my jean's waist, and slid down the zipper. My cock pushed my tighty-whitey underwear up through the open fly. I groaned at the release of pressure. I felt Mrs. O'Brian's fingers slipping under my pants and the elastic band of my underwear at my hips and pulling my pants down. After a moment, I realized that I needed to lift my butt to let the pants slide off.
My cock sprang free. It felt exposed in the open air, exposed to Mrs. O'Brian's view. I felt myself blush, but I also felt proud of my manhood, rigid and erect. Mrs. O'Brian mmmmm-ed and crooned, "Oh David, you DO find me attractive!" She reached out and let her fingers rest lightly on my cock's shaft. The part that, I had discovered through patient exploring alone in my bed, had the least sensation.
Even there, on the least sensitive part of my cock, her touch felt as if there was an electric circuit of pleasure in my body, and she had closed the switch. I could feel the ripples and echoes of her touch down to my toes and up to my scalp. She leaned forward and, so lightly!, kissed my stammering lips. Her face was so close to mine, all I could see was her sea-green eyes. Her eyes. I fell into those eyes. I saw the minute striations of color, some blue, some gold.
I felt, as from a hundred miles away, her hand closing around my cock. My heart hammered in my chest as she slid her hand up and down, jacking my cock. I felt a tsunami building, from where I couldn't know. I felt my body grow rigid, every muscle straining, as though I were trying to run a race, or carry a heavy burden. Mrs. O'Brian's face grew even closer and I felt her lips brush mine as she whispered, "Oh, David! I want to be yours! I want to give you everything you'll ever want! Let me be yours!"
The tsunami of sensation from nowhere and everywhere broke. I cried out, "Augh!" Without my volition, my hips hunched forward and a racing surge shot up my penis. When I jerked off, I would pump two or three times. Right then, lost in Mrs. O'Brian's eyes, I lost count. I almost blacked out. I did lose track of what was going on for a moment, lost in the sensation of pouring out my seed.
When I came down and recovered my wits, Mrs. O'Brian was sitting next to me on the couch, holding me in her arms, my head on her shoulder, crooning what a good boy I had been, and how proud she was that I had become so good a man. My shirt front was soaked with my cum. I wanted to be embarrassed that I had come so easily, that I had shot off like a kid, but Mrs. O'Brian's voice lulled that part of my mind.
In a few minutes, I had recovered. In fact, I was erect again and wanting more of the heaven that I had just experienced, but Mrs. O'Brian pulled back. "Oh, David! There is so much for us to do, and so much more for you to feel and experience! But I think that the couch in your parent's living room may not be the best place." She played with one of the buttons on my shirt. "I can't really let myself go, here. I worry that your parents will walk in and that they won't understand how much of a man you've become."
She was right about my parents. When the laws making fourteen-year-olds adults were announced, they let me know that as long as I expected to live in their house, I was still the same kid and would answer to them in the same way as before. I hadn't really resented it. I love my folks. But now everything seemed different.
"I'll tell you what. Why don't you come over to my house? You and I could have all the privacy we want, and I could introduce you to my daughters. I just know that you'll love them! There I can show you everything..." She reached down and started to lift the hem of her slip. I held my breath.
But she paused and pushed her slip down and said, "Later. At my house." Then she kissed me full on the lips. "Remember, David, this is a secret between you and me. I don't want anyone or anything interfering with our happiness."
I sat, still in a daze as she re-buttoned her white blouse and stepped into her skirt and shoes. She picked up her coat and stood patiently until I remembered that I needed to show her out. I scrambled to my feet, pulling up my jeans.
"Shall we say tomorrow after school?" She placed a small card in my hand. "Here's my address. Please be sure to be prompt." I looked down at the small oblong of cardboard.
At the door, she quickly checked to make sure no one could see us, then kissed me warmly. I couldn't take my gaze away from her eyes, but I felt her put something made of fabric in my hands. When the door had closed, I looked down. It was her panties.
I was upstairs in the shower when my parents came home. Under the warm water I stroked myself and replayed what had happened in my mind. It made for the best masturbation session I had ever had. But now I had had a glimpse of something else, something more. I dried off and pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt, and then went downstairs to say hello.
My parents were sitting in the living room talking quietly. My Dad was facing away, so I could only see the back of his steel-gray brush cut as I entered the room. When they heard me approach, they turned to me. I felt a little like a cat wandering into a dog show. "Hello, Mom. Hello, Dad. What's up?"
My Dad's mouth was pursed into a flat line. "David, who did you have over as a guest while we were out?"
"Uhhh..." I was still feeling guilty about what had happened. "How did you know?"
My Mom said, "There were two glasses in the kitchen sink, and there was this napkin underneath the coffee table. Who was here, David?"
"When I came home Mrs. O'Brian, my fourth grade teacher?, was waiting on the porch. I thought that she was here to see you, so I invited her in and gave her an iced tea. She left before you got home."
"Well, at least she wasn't a stranger or one of your young classmates," said my Dad. "What did she want?"
"Uhh ... she wanted to ask me about my CAP score. She recently took the CAP test herself."
My parents exchanged a glance, and then my Dad nodded to my Mom. Mom got up and went into the kitchen, saying, "Dinner will be ready in about a half an hour."
My Dad stood and said, "Let's continue this talk in my study."
I was really nervous now. Dad's study was his private place. Mom and I only entered it when we were invited by Dad. My invitations usually involved my being caught breaking a rule or getting poor grades. Those invitations occasionally ended with a visit with Dad's belt.
Dad had recently left his long-time employment as an engineering manager at the defense plant in town. His new job was with a high-technology start-up and what he did was a bit secretive. It required him to travel on short notice, but he was always back within a few days, and the jump in income meant that we enjoyed a slightly higher standing of living. The downside seemed to be that Dad's reserved social nature got even more withdrawn.
When we stepped into the study, I saw the display case with all of Dad's medals and the two flags behind his desk, Old Glory and the Marine Corps Standard. He was a former Marine captain and very proud of his service. He was one of the first in our circle of friends to take the CAP test, scoring a 7.2. That night Mom baked a cake with "7.2" iced on the top.
He was proud when I had scored high enough to be a sponsor. That night Mom had baked a cake with "6.9" in frosting on it. After dinner my Dad took me into his den and offered me short scotch. I got a little sick from the scotch, but I couldn't have been prouder.
Dad said, "Close the door." Now I was really nervous. "Have a seat, David." I sat. I was trying to gauge how bad of trouble I was in by noting the tone of his voice and his body language. My Dad was always very precise, almost formal, in his speech. It was reflected in the atmosphere of our family: polite, reserved, and courteous.
Dad sat in a chair on the same side of his desk as me. That was unusual. He sighed and said, "David, times are changing very quickly. Last year your Mom and I thought that we would have responsibility for you for at least another four or five years. But with the news of the Confederacy and the Sa'arm attack, things have changed. You are legally an adult. If you walked out the door tonight, I would be very sad, but I would be without legal recourse."
"I am saying this because I know what happened in the Living Room this afternoon." He picked up his iPad and tapped it a few times. The screen showed the living room from the point of view of the fireplace. He must have placed a security camera on the mantle. I saw Mrs. O'Brian stand up, remove her clothes, and jack me off. When the video showed my shooting all over my shirt, I wanted to die. I was unbelievably embarrassed in front of my Dad.
When the video showed her stepping through the front door, Dad stopped the playback and set the iPad on his desk. He turned to me. "What did she want?" he asked quietly, "Other than yanking you off?"
"Uhh ... She wants me to take her when I go off-planet."
My Dad nodded, thoughtfully. "So she was sweetening the pitch? That's good salesmanship, I guess. But I want you to know that you don't have to take her, no matter what she said or did. You have the responsibility to pick the right two girls, women, to be your companions."
I nodded mutely. He wasn't shouting or reaching for his belt, so I was ready to agree with whatever he said. He noticed this and shook his head. "I'm not angry at you David. You were being courteous and Mrs. O'Brian took advantage of the situation to press her case. I don't even blame her. Does she have minor children?"
I nodded. "She said she had two daughters. One is nine and the other has just turned fourteen and got a 6.0 on her CAP test."
Dad nodded. "So she was trying to save her girls. Now I even admire her. But David, I want to look out for your interests first. The Veteran's grapevine has been passing on some skinny from people who have already gone off-planet. Lots of what has been rumored about Confederacy culture is true."
I gulped. I had heard a lot of things about Confederacy pick-ups from other boys at school. I didn't believe it. Women would do that? And with no guarantee that they would be picked? And my Dad was the one telling me?
"I'm telling you this because what happened this afternoon has convinced your Mom and me that we can't shield you from these changes without treating like a much younger child. And we know that treating you that way will push you away and have you hiding actions that are going to have a profound effect on your life."
"I know that you have had a crush on Mrs. O'Brian when she was your fourth-grade teacher." He chuckled, "Back then you would start every sentence with, 'Mrs. O'Brian says.' I just want you to be able to see her objectively, David. And objectively she is an aging, yet still attractive woman, whose integration possibilities into your new life haven't been determined."
He brooded for a moment. "What did Mrs. O'Brian propose?"
"Well, she asked me over to her house tomorrow, after school, to meet her daughters."
"I imagine that she suggested more than that." I blushed. "By all means, feel free to go and see what she has to offer. Just remember, until you are in a pick-up and step through the transporter, no promise that you make can be enforced." His voice and face grew hard. "But I won't have a liar for a son."
"Yes, sir. I want you to be proud of me."
"I am, David, more than you'll ever know. So let me make a suggestion. When you visit Mrs. O'Brian tomorrow, invite her and her girls to dinner Friday night. I'll tell your Mom to make a roast."
I stepped out of my Dad's office in a daze.
As I walked back into the living room, I stepped over to the mantle and looked back at the room. From the field of view of the video, the camera would have to be about (I shifted my head back and forth) here. I turned 180 degrees and was face-to-face with the mantle clock. The same mantle clock that had been had been there for my whole life. I picked it up and looked for any attached wires. None. I looked closely at the clock's face, looking for the small hole where the lens must be.
My Dad's voice came out of his den, "You can't see the camera, David. It's spy gear." I could hear the chuckle in his voice.
Dad had spy gear in the house? He had caught me getting jerked off by my fourth-grade teacher and he was okay with that? He was inviting my 'molester' to Friday night dinner? The last half-hour, more than anything else that had occurred so far, had convinced me that the world was indeed changing.