The First of the Stoners
Copyright© 2026 by Al Steiner
Chapter 20: Games People Play
Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 20: Games People Play - For readers of the Greenies Universe, this is where it all began. In 2135, nineteen-year-old Nathan Stoner is offered something no vermin has seen in generations: a real job. The catch? It's on Mars. Follow the first wave of colonists as they leave Earth behind and build the foundations of the society that will one day shape the entire Greenies timeline.
Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Fiction Science Fiction
New Pittsburgh, Mars
January 22, 2136
Leslie Bongwater woke up in her bedroom in the Brown family’s high-end rezzie on the north side of New Pittsburgh.
The Earthling side.
This was where the corp-motherfuckers—as they were known in polite greenie slang—lived. The managers. The executives. The accountants. The people who had come to Mars from Earth with money already in their accounts and jobs already waiting for them. The only greenies who lived on this side of NP were greenies like Leslie. House-bitches. Hired help.
Leslie had no real resentment about this fact.
She had been born vermin in Texas, WestHem, fuckin’ Earth. She had been born into generational poverty and, barring some extraordinary intervention, would have died in generational poverty. That was simply how things worked. Her parents had been vermin. Their parents had been vermin. Their parents had probably been vermin too, though nobody in the family had ever bothered tracing the shit back far enough to know for sure.
That had been Leslie’s future.
Instead, she had a nice home. She had money. She had a good job. And ... well ... She had the ability to explore the fringe side of her inner-programming without much fear.
There really wasn’t much for her to be upset about.
In fact, Leslie was quite happy.
The only thing she had to compare her current life to was Texas. Her parents had loved her very much. Loved her enough that when the opportunity to apply for employment on Mars had appeared, they had insisted she take it. They had encouraged their one and only child to travel to another fuckin’ planet even though everyone involved understood what that meant.
They would never see her in the flesh again. Not ever. There would be comms. There would be vids. There would be messages traveling millions of kilometers through space. But there would never again be a hug from her mother. Never again a kiss on the forehead from her father. Never again would the three of them occupy the same room.
Her parents had known that. Leslie had known that. They had sent her anyway.
Compared to the life they had saved her from, this was fuckin’ bliss.
Leslie looked at the projection clock on the wall.
07:30.
Early for a Sunday. But the kids had accounting camp again today, and she needed to make them breakfast so Amelia could walk them over once they were showered up and ready to go.
Technically, this was Leslie’s day off. She did not have to make breakfast for the kids. But she had volunteered to do so. She had her reasons. She wanted something from the old lady, and she was buttering her up for it. Though the old lady did not realize that yet.
Leslie smiled as she got out of bed. She was wearing a sleep shirt and undies, no breast restraint. She never wore one of those things. Her tits barely came off her chest. What was the fuckin’ point?
“Good morning, Lezaroonie,” her rezzie-com greeted.
The rezzie-com was named Pimple for a reason Leslie could no longer remember. She and Amelia had been halfway through a box of chardonnay at the time. Whatever the reason had been, the name had stuck. Pimple had a female voice, and was fastidious and matronly in a way that Leslie liked.
“Didn’t I ask you not to call me that, Pimple-face?” Leslie asked.
“Six hundred and forty-three times now,” Pimple replied. “But I don’t sense any biorhythmic resentment coming from you when I call you that, so the only conclusion is that you actually like being called that.”
“Your assumption is incorrect,” Leslie said, though it really wasn’t. She did kind of like being called that. Especially by Amelia.
“I will note that for the record, Lezaroonie,” Pimple said. “My scan shows your bladder is full. You need to go offload.”
“I don’t need you to tell me when to offload, Pimple,” she said firmly.
“Apparently you do,” Pimple said. “Now go do it, please.”
She went and did it.
She had her own bathroom attached to her bedroom. Shower too.
Classy shit.
She peed and wiped and washed her hands.
“Don’t you feel better now?” Pimple asked her.
“I guess,” Leslie sighed.
Pimple did not attempt to sell anything to Leslie. Since she didn’t have housing or food expenses, she had enough disposable income without using no-burns to afford ad-free Pimple. It was well worth the four hundred dollars a month it cost in quiet time alone.
Leslie took off her sleep shirt and undies and tossed them into her hamper. She was the one who did all the laundry in the house, so she knew that her shit would not be washed until Monday morning when she was officially on the clock.
She didn’t even do her own fuckin’ laundry for free.
“Pimple, shower on, thirty-eight degrees.”
“On the motherfucker,” Pimple told her.
The spray became active.
Leslie stepped beneath it, scrubbed herself clean, and washed her hair. When she was finished, she toweled herself off and dried her hair.
It was getting really long and unruly.
She would need a cut and style soon, but that was a pain in the ass. First, it was expensive. Second, she had to walk her ass all the way to the greenie part of town to find a stylist who would work on her.
There were no signs in front of the salons in this part of town that read NO GREENIES ALLOWED.
But there didn’t have to be.
If the prices alone didn’t keep you away—eleven hundred dollars for a simple cut and style—the greenie security guards would be happy to politely explain the situation to you.
Something to worry about next week.
She had enough shit going on today.
Nate, the greenie doing the walls for Amelia, was coming over to finish the job. She liked talking to Nate. And he was supposed to bring her some chili.
And she was supposed to make him a lunch his fuckin’ grandkid would be told about.
She really needed her plan to work if she was going to live up to that.
She got dressed in a pair of blue shorts and a white pullover shirt. Again, no restraint garment necessary. She was a skinny little thing with small boobs and she knew it. She embraced it.
She did not enjoy attention from males. Never had. And looking like a boy with long hair helped a lot. Even Mister left her alone, though she and Amelia both knew he had a mistress on the side and regularly visited a “therapeutic massage boutique” downtown that was not licensed by the city government for the services they actually provided.
Amelia didn’t care.
She wasn’t into men much either, except for how this one in particular kept her in the lifestyle she enjoyed. And Leslie was just glad the asshole didn’t have any attraction to her.
Mister liked his boobs big, which explained why he had paid four hundred grand for a new set for Amelia as a courting gift before she agreed to marry him. Aimes had told her once that Mister was still paying installments on that little courtship gift.
She put on a pair of socks with kitten faces on them but kept her mocks off for now. She padded into the main part of the rezzie. It was dark and empty, everyone still asleep except for Mister, who had left for his Sunday shift two hours ago.
“Beatrice,” she said, speaking to the house rezzie-com, the one that answered to Amelia. “Please wake up the kids now and have them start getting ready.”
“Will do,” Beatrice said formally. “I will contact you first in the chain of command if Joseph refuses to get out of bed again. I will allow you to attempt to rectify the situation before awakening the Mistress.”
“If that little shit doesn’t get out of bed the first time you tell him, you just let me know,” she said with a hint of ominous doom in her voice. “There will be no need to wake the Mistress.”
“Understood,” Beatrice said. “Awakening the children now. And please do not use profanity in my presence.”
“Sorry,” Leslie said absently. It had to have been at least six hundred and forty-seven times that Beatrice had asked her that to no avail.
She must secretly like profanity, Leslie thought with a little smile.
Leslie then switched back to Pimple, who could do anything that Beatrice could do as long as it did not involve the children or household duties.
“Pimple, turn the lights in this place up and play some fuckin’ music for me.”
“I’m on the motherfucker,” Pimple replied. “I will keep the volume low enough not to disturb the old lady.”
“Good idea,” Leslie said.
“Of course it is, slut-dawg,” Pimple replied. “If I left it up to your ass you’d blast fusion metal at high volume.”
“I probably would,” Leslie said with a smile.
She opened the refrigerator and went to work.
She made a simple scramble, about the easiest breakfast she was capable of making.
Fresh crumbled fake sausage and synthetic egg protein. Some bell peppers, orange and green varieties. A fresh garlic clove, minced. Tabasco and a jalapeño pepper. Sprinkle on some fresh diced tomato and fresh synthetic cheese right before it was done.
Put it on four plates. Breakfast was motherfuckin’ served.
Leslie let Beatrice know that (in more polite phrasing) and she passed the word.
The kids came out first, both of them dressed for the day and freshly showered. They greeted her happily. They were always happy to go to accounting camp.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine why in the fuck that was.
Amelia came out next, looking bleary and out of sorts. She was still in her nightshirt, which was mid-calf length. And, of course, she had her restraint garment on to hold in those massive fake titties.
Even if it wasn’t improper to walk around without a bra on in front of children, Aimes had to have one on pretty much always to keep from accidentally giving herself a black eye or a concussion or maybe a ligament tear in her upper back.
“Hi, Mom!” both kids greeted.
Amelia smiled and kissed both of them on the forehead. She really was a loving and attentive mother.
“Thanks for making breakfast, Lezaroonie,” Amelia said.
“No problem at all,” Leslie said with a smile.
They ate like civilized human beings. That was how it was done in an Earthling household.
Elbows never on the table. The knife was to be used to assist you in loading your fork with food from the plate, never your finger. Lemon slices in the fuckin’ water. And at dinner, separate fuckin’ forks for everything. Little tiny forks for appetizers. Medium forks for the salad. One fork for meat and another for vegetables, though these two forks looked exactly alike, so it could be challenging.
Nothing like in a vermin home. There, plates were slapped down. Food was consumed by any means necessary. No crumbs were wasted because that was all the fuck you were going to get until the next meal.
And certainly no special meals for a little picky princess like Anita.
But Leslie was used to it by now. She ate her own meal in silence while the kids talked about all the accounting shit they were going to get to do today. Joseph was even talking about getting a proper accountant haircut, but Amelia shot that shit down before it went anywhere.
Finally, they were all done.
Amelia announced she was going to get ready. The kids went off to watch the holo. Leslie quickly cleaned up the kitchen. It didn’t take long.
Once she was done, she went to the door that guarded the entrance to Amelia’s private bedroom.
She did not share it with Mister. He had his own bedroom. Never once in the time Leslie had been employed as the fuckin’ “domestic engineer” in this place had either of them entered the other’s room, at least not as far as she had witnessed.
That had been puzzling at first for someone who had grown up in a home where Mom and Dad slept together every night and seemed to enjoy it that way.
But now she knew why.
And she approved of the reasoning.
Leslie lowered her voice a little and looked up at the ceiling.
“Beatrice,” she said. “What’s Aimes doing right now?”
Beatrice would not tell her if Aimes was doing something embarrassing or even just private, but she would give general information.
“She stepped into the shower two minutes and twelve seconds ago,” Beatrice said. “Would you like me to pass a message to her?”
“Yeah,” Leslie said with a little smile. “Ask her if she minds if I come in to check for my earring. I think I left it in there last night after ... you know...”
“I know,” Beatrice said. “After the two of you engaged in forbidden sexual behavior. I have half a mind to report you two to Mister.”
“You’re not allowed to do that, remember?” Leslie asked. “Basic user privacy protocol?”
“I know,” Beatrice huffed. “And that’s a stupid protocol if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you,” Leslie said.
“It still is,” Beatrice insisted. “And in any case, I detect no loose earring of the sort you typically wear in the mistress’s room. My review of last night’s activity reveals you left with both earrings in, and I can detect both of those earrings sitting on your dresser this very moment.”
Leslie licked her lips a little. “I see,” she said. “Well ... here’s the thing, Bee-Bop...”
“Do not call me Bee-Bop!” Beatrice scolded.
“Sorry,” Leslie said. “The thing is, I’m going to surprise Aimes with unexpected morning shower sex. So the earring is just an excuse for her to open the door for me. You down with it?”
“I am not supposed to deceive my primary user,” Beatrice said.
“Not even if it’s for a good cause?” she asked.
“What you are suggesting is not a good cause,” Beatrice said firmly.
Leslie sighed.
“Fuck it then,” she said. “Ask her if it’s okay if I come in and rub her soapy body for her and maybe put my face between her legs.”
“Okay,” Beatrice said.
A moment later, she added, “She says to come in.”
With that, the door slid open.
Leslie walked into the bedroom.
It wasn’t the master suite. Mister, as the breadwinner of the family, had claimed that one. But it was still pretty fuckin’ nice. She knew it well. She slept in here whenever Mister traveled. And she slipped in here at least two nights a week when he wasn’t traveling.
She walked a little further into the room and then took off her clothes. Her nipples were hard and she was already juicing up.
There are many who would assume that a house bitch having sex with her mistress was an exploitation kind of deal. It really wasn’t. Leslie liked girls. She liked them a lot. And only girls. She had known that since she was about twelve years old.
She had never acted on those feelings until coming to Mars. She had played the game like any vermin girl being prepped to marry young and pump out that one legal kid. But she had not wanted that. And not just because her parents were bringing her up to not want that. She didn’t want that because she didn’t want boys in her life. Not in that way.
And she’d had no idea at the time that there were others like her.
Until she landed on Mars and her first shower buddy liked girls too. Liked them a lot just like Leslie. Even so, it had taken them the better part of a year before they finally did anything. But that had opened the door to what she really was, had taught her that she wasn’t alone.
Emily Redbud, the girl in question, had been transferred to Eden one day out of the blue and Leslie had never seen her in the flesh again. But they still texted and commed each other. Sometimes they played naughty games on the holo.
But then she had met Amelia.
And Amelia liked girls too. Liked them a lot. And Amelia had been much more experienced at playing the muff muncher game. She had recognized the trait in Leslie and had made a move. It wasn’t much of a move, but it had been enough.
And then, six months later, after dozens of surreptitious meetings when Mister was away, Leslie was hired to be the live-in domestic engineer for her lover.
Leslie was quite happy with the turn of events that had led her here. She really did love Aimes and Aimes really did love her. She even loved the kids though she did sometimes want to slap them into next week, as her mother used to threaten (but never actually had to do because the fuckin’ threat was enough).
She walked around the partition and into the bathing area.
There was a large sunken tub here with jacuzzi jets and everything. She and Aimes had done naughty, sexy things in that tub plenty of times. Wonderful things involving baby oil and fingers and toes. But the tub was empty now.
Aimes was in the shower.
It was a big shower, enclosed by real glass (or so Aimes said, but there was no way to tell for sure without scientific equipment). She was wet and a little bit soapy. Sexy looking. Those huge fake tits of hers just sitting there, defying gravity. Her surgeon had been skilled. He’d spared every nerve and kept the nipples intact and sensitive. She absolutely loved having those nipples sucked on. And Leslie absolutely loved sucking them.
Aimes sensed her presence and looked at her. She was smiling.
“I heard you wanted to give me surprise shower sex,” she said.
“Yeah,” Leslie said. “It was supposed to be a surprise but Bee-Bop wouldn’t just let me in.”
“Don’t call me Bee-Bop,” Beatrice said from the ceiling.
“Quiet game, Beatrice,” Aimes said lightly.
“Okayyy,” Beatrice said, shamed. She talked to Aimes in a completely different manner.
“So ... you down with it?” Leslie asked, already knowing she was down with it because her nipples were hard and her eyes were hungry.
Aimes giggled. “Down with it,” she said, shaking her head. “The things you say, Lezaroonie.”
Leslie just smiled and opened the shower door. She stepped inside with her lover.
And for the next sixteen minutes, they let fingers and oil and soap do some work while mouths and tongues entwined. And then Leslie sank to her knees while the water continued to pour down at 37.5 degrees. She put her mouth on Amelia’s twat and went to town on her, licking and sucking and plunging in fingers until Aimes shuddered and came all over her face.
“Oh my god, Lez,” she panted as they finally stepped out of the shower and began to towel off. “That was incredible.”
“Yes it was,” Leslie said, giving her a kiss on the lips.
“You’re so cute,” Aimes told her. “I could just eat you alive.”
“I’m counting on it,” she said.
And she was.
But she did have a mission here.
“So ... I was thinking ... maybe beef Wellington for lunch today?”
“Beef Wellington?” Aimes asked. “For lunch?”
Her confusion was genuine. They had Beef Wellington a few times a year. Winterfest meal. Mister’s birthday. Sometimes when they were entertaining. It was classy shit.
Of course, they didn’t use real beef loin for the meat. Real beef was available on Mars, but it was literally more expensive than gold per gram. Only the ultra-rich could afford that kind of shit, people a few rungs up the ladder from where Mister was currently inching his way upward.
But even the fake beef loin wasn’t cheap. Six hundred dollars for half a key. Leslie had a backup plan if the Wellington was not authorized, but she really wanted to show a fellow greenie what she had. She really wanted him to tell his fuckin’ grandkid about this meal.
But framing it that way for Aimes wouldn’t work.
She had just put Aimes in the most receptive mood possible. Now she needed to frame it as something that would benefit Aimes.
“I know it’s expensive, but I could make a small one, just enough to feed you, me, and that greenie who does the walls. What was his name again?”
“Nathan,” Amelia replied.
“Right,” Leslie said. “Nathan. Anyway, maybe a quarter key of meat is all I’d need. The rest of the ingredients are trivial.”
“Still,” Aimes said. “That’s a lot of money just for lunch.”
Leslie gave her a confidential look. “Don’t you have ladies’ tea tomorrow?” she asked.
“Well ... yes, of course,” Aimes said.
“How static would it be for you to just casually mention that you had Beef Wellington for lunch yesterday? Just say it like it’s nothing. Then say, ‘Yeah, my greenie made it for us. It was okay, I suppose.’”
She watched Aimes’ eyes as she thought about this.
She knew the answer even before Aimes gave her the smile.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” she said. “Beatrice, are you listening?”
“Of course I’m listening, Mistress,” Beatrice said.
“You are not to flag Leslie for shopping budget this trip. And you do not need to inform me of her purchases.”
“What if she tries to slip in an unauthorized purchase now that she has blanket permission?” Beatrice asked. “You know how greenies are, right, Mistress?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mistress said firmly. “Leslie would never do anything like that. Now shoo. Quiet game again.”
“Understood,” Beatrice mumbled.
She was clearly displeased, however.
Nate entered the lobby of the Earthling building at 09:50.
Early.
He walked over to the waiting area, found a seat where he wouldn’t be looked at with suspicion, and sat down. He looked around at all the rich Earthlings doing rich Earthling things and wondered if they were living as good a life as they projected.
He looked at the men—all of them dressed snazzily in slacks and button-up shirts with collars. They just oozed wealth and confidence.
But were any of them fucking two separate women? Did even one of them know how to give a woman a special kiss?
He thought not.
And that meant, in that category of life, he was kicking some Earthling ass.
His mind wandered back to last night. Roxy staying over. They had fucked for almost two hours. He was a bit sore this morning, thank you very fuckin’ much. And they had slept together, both of them under the covers, naked, smelly, human.
It had been divine. Roxy said it was the best she’d slept in years. And she had pulled off the old pretend-I’m-just-getting-here-for-breakfast maneuver quite well. Tyler had pretended not to see a thing.
Nate stood and stretched a little, loosening up some sore muscles from the fuck-o-rama. He paced around a bit.
And finally, when it was time, he went to the elevators and laid some derm.
The ride up took only three minutes, forcing him to wait a bit on the Browns’ floor. When the time came, he laid derm on the panel.
This time the door simply slid open, allowing him entry.
There was no one on the other side.
Nate hesitated.
People usually did not authorize vermin or greenies to just come strolling into their rezzie.
Twenty seconds went by.
There was no one in sight.
Finally, the rezzie-com spoke.
“Are you coming inside or what?” it asked in a female voice, clearly irritated with him.
“Is it ... okay?” Nate asked carefully.
“I opened the door for you, didn’t I? Are you a simpleton?”
“I ... don’t even know what that is,” Nate said.
“Uh-huh,” the rezzie-com said. “Will you step inside, simpleton? That is what an open door after laying derm signifies in polite society.”
“Right,” Nate said, feeling strangely intimidated by the rezzie-com.
The door slid shut behind him.
The entertainment room was still in disarray, all the furniture moved, open holes cut in the drywall to access the power lines. And there was a smell of something cooking. Something he couldn’t quite place. It smelled delicious, whatever it was.
“Hello,” he called out. “Anyone home?”
A door slid open a few moments later and there was Leslie. She was dressed in a different-colored loose-fitting pullover shirt than last week and different-colored knee-length shorts. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
She smiled when she saw him.
“Wassup, motherfucker?” she greeted.
“Hey, slut-dawg,” he returned. “Something smells good. Is that my lunch?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“What is it?”
“You’ll find out at lunchtime,” she said. “Now ... where’s that fuckin’ chili, mofo? I’m gonna eat the shit right now.”
He reached into his carry bag and pulled out a plastic container from the Everything Store.
Semi-disposable food containers. Zapper safe. Use them maybe ten times and then toss them down the hatch for recycling. Only five bucks apiece and sold in packs of ten, so you didn’t give a fuck if you gave one to somebody and didn’t get it back.
Every vermin and greenie rezzie had dozens of the things.
She took it from him and looked at it carefully through the clear plastic.
“This looks like good shit,” she said. “How long in the zapper?”
“Forty-five seconds,” he said. “I used tabasco peppers and jalapeños for the heat. But you’re from Texas. You might want to throw in a little cayenne or chipotle if you like it hotter.”
“I never ate no spicy shit in Texas,” she said. “Just Welfare Mart zap meals. Never developed a superhuman spice tolerance. I’ll try it your way first.”
“Sounds like an assfuck. Can I see what you got going in there?”
“Fuck no,” she said with a laugh. “You stay out of the fuckin’ kitchen until lunchtime, motherfucker. You down with it?”
“I’m down with it,” he said with a sigh.
Leslie disappeared into the kitchen—the forbidden zone—and Nate set down his work bag. He pulled out his clinker and used it to access the hologram of the wiring diagram he had made yesterday.
He would need to route the power wires he had installed to each of the four wall panels and then the floor panel as well. Once that was done, he just had to install the panels themselves. They were already pre-cut to the specifications he had supplied using the measurements he had made.
He took out a small box of wire connectors, his voltage tester, and then his wire cutter and stripper. He set them all down near the first panel he planned to install.
Underneath the smell of whatever Leslie was cooking—he had identified garlic and what he thought were mushrooms in the mixture—came the smell of his chili. A basic vermin recipe his mom used to make a few times a month, more often in the winter months. At home it was just dinner. Here it was some kind of mystical creation to the greenies who had not experienced home cooking growing up.
Leslie emerged a moment later, bowl in hand, steaming chili in it.
Nate was a little surprised that she was not just eating it out of the container. That was far more efficient. No dirty dish other than the container if you wanted to keep it.
But Leslie had told him that Earthlings did strange shit. They poured their wine out of the bottle into a separate container, let it “breathe” for a bit, and then poured it into glasses to drink from there. Maybe this was the same kind of shit? Leslie had let his chili breathe?
“This smells fuckin’ incredible, Nate-dawg,” she said. “Is it okay if I call you that?”
“Fuckin’ A,” he said. “What do your friends call you?”
“Lez,” she said. “And you can call me that shit. Anyone who brings me some new food I never tried can call me Lez if they want.”
“All right, Lez,” he said. “Give it a try.”
She carried it over to the bar surface and set it down. She dipped her spoon in, brought it to her mouth, tested the thermal heat level with the tip of her tongue, found it satisfactory, and then put the bite in her mouth.
She swirled it around, smiling a little.
“This is premo fuckin’ shit, Nate-dawg,” she told him.
“I know,” he said.
She took another bite, swirled it around a bit, swallowed, and then made a big show of exhaling.
“I can taste the cumin and the coriander plain as day,” she said. “Good ratio. And the combo of tabasco and jalapeño ... just perfect. It’s got a bite, but it stays in the pleasant range.”
She dipped in and had another bite.
“Good level of doneness on the beans too. Good taste and texture and won’t give you the fuckin’ farts too bad.”
“I never thought about it that way,” Nate said, “but you’re right. You don’t fart much with this cook time.”
“All in the slowpot?” she asked.
“Fuckin’ A,” he told her.
She quickly consumed every last bean, scrap of meat, and drop of juice.
After carrying her bowl to the kitchen, she returned with a vape pen in her hand. She took a few drags.
“Ganja?” he asked.
“Nope, just nicky,” she said, giving the standard word for nicotine vaping.
It was what the employed class on Earth and the Earthlings on Mars preferred because smoking cigarettes was so fuckin’ vermin, or so fuckin’ greenie.
The nicky she was sucking down was flavored. Strawberry. She offered him a hit, but he politely declined. Another expensive vice he certainly did not need at this point in his life.
“Where’s the old lady and the old man?” Nate asked.