Sex And The Single Spaceman

A three month shift on a lightship beacon can be a tedious affair, especially if it’s parked somewhere between Saturn and Uranus, which is hardly a bumper-to-bumper space route these days. Or so traditional wisdom would have it, but traditional wisdom had already flown out the airlock on this mission and was nowhere to be seen. 

We’d not been onboard for more than 24 hours and I had already been ravished (unintentionally and very pleasantly, I hasten to add) by my Martian teammate, Nate, and his dream-spinning capabilities. Considering that I had started lusting after him as soon as we came onboard, and held high hopes of many happy hours in the watches of space fucking him comprehensively, this had not been altogether unwelcome. But it had definitely taken me by surprise, particularly as I hadn’t known that Nate was Martian at the time, and he had managed to deliver me a double orgasm from two metres away while he fucked (in his sleep!) my dream conjured doppelgänger. 

Anyway, it had taken about 20 minutes for me to regain my equilibrium after that wonderful but debilitating double orgasm, and I had managed to drag myself into the Beacon’s shower facility, letting Nate sleep on in what appeared to be an almost comatose state.

The Hydra shower system, newly installed on the Beacon to replace its old clapped out plumbing, had encircled me with its soft robot tentacles and washed away all trace of the unexpected and messy encounter, including a thorough and gentle internal flushing. 

I stood there, revelling in the warm spray as it coated my body and searched out every nook and cranny that could possibly need attention. The only thing I had to do manually was pull back my foreskin so that it could attend to my sensitive knob and shoot a most wonderful burst of warm water directly into my piss slit, which almost set me off again!

By the time I was dried and freshly clothed Nate was up and looking mighty sheepish in the galley as he prepared a guilt-laden hot breakfast for me. Mortified and remorseful, he hastily explained how he had taken three dream-suppressant tablets, which should have been enough to block even the slightest wet dream, but his erotic attraction to me must have been so strong that it cancelled out any and all medicinal properties. He’d even had a quick wank before falling asleep, just to head off any remaining inclinations, but to no avail.

Now I defy anyone to resist that amount of well intentioned flummery, and I’m afraid I may have blushed slightly as he poured such delectable oil over our troubled waters. In the end I was trying to comfort him, and happily held his hand over the table while reassuring him that no harm had been done, and that apart from the surprise element I had thoroughly enjoyed the novel experience of watching myself being fucked by him. 

Infact (and here the opportunist in me came to the fore), I confessed that I had been hoping to do something similar to him at some stage, if he was so inclined. He laughed at that, and we both felt a weight lift as he leant across the table and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips, his smile indicating that there was indeed every chance that my hopes would be realised.

His robe had fallen open as he leaned across and his beautiful, meaty cock and heavy, low hanging balls rested on the tabletop amongst the breakfast things, just waiting for me to help myself. Which I did, in case you were in any doubt. I couldn’t help but notice that his tool had started to stiffen as we kissed, and it seemed only polite to take it in my hand and help it along.

The Martian penis (for those of you yet to have the pleasure) is much like the human one, although Martians never circumcise their boys as their society has avoided a religious belief that would ask for such a thing. It comes in various skin tones, as do Martians themselves, with a kind of rusty red and espresso coffee apparently the most common, although a rich mustard yellow and deep midnight black are also prevalent, according to Nate. Nate’s own skin was more light latte in tone, and utterly delicious.

As soon as I took his cock in my hand it started exuding warmth, which quickly turned to heat as I manipulated his fleshy foreskin. I felt his shaft expand in my palm, and this too was a characteristic of the Martian organ, the ability to change its length and bulk in accordance with the orifice it was fucking, the hand it was being held in, or the mouth that was sucking it. It also gave off a distinctive, sweet smell, which I couldn’t quite place at the time but was soon to very pleasantly discover.

Despite the fact that he had recently covered himself with cum after fucking my dream-self, his penis had become rock hard in my hand within seconds and was leaking a steady flow of Martian precum, which reminded me of nothing so much as a silky, scented oil; I’d bought bottles of very expensive fine grade lubricant which paled into cooking oil status in comparison. I was beginning to understand the high regard in which Martians were held on the open (and sometimes illicit) market.

Not surprisingly, our kissing had become more intense as I worked his bone in my hand, and his tongue (oh, that tongue!) felt as if it was travelling down my throat and caressing my heart. He was breathing great gasps directly into my mouth, as if I was attached to some erotic respirator, and the heat of his cock was definitely increasing as I slid my fingers inside the sheath of skin and started directly massaging his engorged knob; a trick I’d picked up in that Venusian brothel from the last chapter.

I didn’t know how long I could maintain contact with his burning flesh before the heat would become too intense, when suddenly I felt a wave of cooling thick cum shoot from his cock, instantly enveloping my fingers in a healing balm. His spurts came again and again as I massaged his pulsating knob until the spasms finally began to lessen and he pulled back from our kiss, placing his head on my shoulder and gulping in huge mouthfuls of air like a drowning man finally breaching the surface.

I laughed, unaccountably I suppose, but I hadn’t expected such a hot breakfast, and his orgasm had been so intense and total that I needed some kind of release. My own cock was sticking out of my shorts, hard and dripping, but I was content for it to remain in its aroused state, enjoying the feel of Nate in my hand and his taste in my mouth.

When finally he raised his head from my shoulder and we stepped back from each other, I looked down at the table and saw that his cum had fallen absolutely everywhere, covering plates, cups, cutlery, everything, including the slices of toast he’d prepared earlier. Picking one up he spread his jizz more evenly across its surface with a finger and offered it to me, in all seriousness. Not wanting to offend I opened my mouth and let him feed it to me, the look on my face as I tasted it bringing a smile to his lips.

“Vanilla ice-cream, with just a hint of ginger, right?” he asked.

I had my mouth full and was greedily gobbling up more, so couldn’t respond immediately, but he was spot on. I’d never tasted jizz like it before, and believe me I’ve become quite a connoisseur over the years! That explained the smell I’d noticed earlier, like being in a sweet shop, but with a large dollop of underlying sex. He scooped up another blob on his fingers and put it into his own mouth, licking his lips like a naughty schoolboy stealing a forbidden chocolate.

“It’s very nice in coffee as well” he offered, and I grabbed a spoon with unseemly haste and collected enough to sweeten the brew Nate was now pouring into a couple of mugs. The thick, milky substance swirled lazily in the dark steaming liquid before dissolving and turning the long macchiato into the most beautiful latte you could hope to find this side of Melbourne, the coffee capital of the entire system.

“Is it always like that?” I asked, after I’d savoured the gentle sweetness of his cream.

“Pretty much” he answered nonchalantly, “although I can make it even sweeter, or add some bitterness, depending on the situation.” He twinkled slyly at me, and I picked up another slice of toast. We could explore that notion later.

To say that we demolished breakfast may be overstating the matter, but we both had healthy appetites after the morning’s antics, and I certainly didn’t want any of Nate’s largesse to go to waste. My cock was still sticking proudly erect through the flap of my shorts, and I had been told off good and proper when I’d attempted to conceal it back inside, Nate having every intention of giving it some much needed attention once we’d finished up in the galley.

At which point someone, or something, knocked on the main airlock door.