The New Terrans

Chapter 1

An Exiled Life

Setting my autopilot I eased out of my seat and stretched. My airship continued its steady advance above the landscape as I admired the beauty of the multi-hued vegetation, noting the occasional gigantic sauropod munching its way across the terrain. My ‘ship’ is my home, and my transport. It carries everything I need, and I return to my Base Station once every quarter year to replenish my food stocks, download my reports, recharge the ship, and have some, limited, human interaction. As an Exiled Mutant one considered to carry the genes likely to ‘corrupt’ the gene pool — I am forbidden to associate with townspeople or the handful of farmers who rely on my work. When I am in my base city, Circe, I must wear a special chastity device and a ‘quarantine’ suit that both marks me as a restricted Mutant and prevents me enjoying any form of normal social contact. And this is closely monitored by the Institute for Mutant Control … 

From the moment I was identified as a mutant, I have had no family, and no name, only my number. Locked up in the special Centre for Training and Preparation under the Institute, my sexual preference had been reinforced, and my fetishes developed. Like all mutants, I had been ‘educated’ and later trained to become a technician able to maintain the networks of communications towers and the autonomous mining units the colony depended upon for raw materials. Strangely, though our education tended to be limited in scope and focussed on preparing us to be essentially technicians, no one seemed to notice that we absorbed information and developed on it. We thrived on learning new stuff, but also discovered that our teachers didn’t want that, so kept it quiet. Over time I’d become vaguely aware that not all mutants were treated as I was, and not all were then made ‘exiles’, though all were strictly controlled and forbidden to have any relationship with non-mutants.

The airship is the most efficient means of travel on our world, the power being generated by a small thorium reactor power plant, and the hull is an ultra lightweight metal skin over a rigid frame. The airships issued to mutants like me, required to perform an important function in maintaining the colonial coms system, are distinguished by a being painted in the same ’dayglow’ orange as our suits. 

Most of the time I fly on the auto-pilot, but in some locations I prefer to have control myself, or at least to be able to override the auto … Living this life of, almost, isolation, my senses have tended to become acute. Partly it’s a self-preservation thing, and partly it’’s because studying the environment passes the time, and the knowledge gained helps me avoid natural hazards. So I ‘read’ the movement of trees, the cloud formations, patterns on grassland, animal movements, and, over water, the pattern of the waves. An airship is very subject to wind, so these patterns tell you a lot. Then there’s the interaction with people … There are some in the various communities who regard us as animals, dangerous to children and women, so we tend to avoid unnecessary contacts. 

Now, over the endless treescape surrounding my destination, I could relax, letting the ship cruise at a comfortable thousand meter altitude, above the risk of sudden updrafts or downdrafts. 

As a rule I don’t fly at night. The ship is fully capable of doing so on auto, but I like to see the terrain, and ‘read’ the weather patterns ahead of me or heading my way. So, if I don’t reach a destination, I put the ship down, and get a good night’s rest, while the ship’s defence fields keep animals, predators and anything else away from it. I relieve the boredom during such stops to search for information to study on whatever had taken my current interest. My sexual needs can sometimes be satisfied while my mind is on some completely unrelated subject. The key is to release the endorphins that keep me functioning — and relieve the pressure on my sperm bladder … Now, with some hours to sunset — especially travelling west — I had time for a bit of relief from my overloaded sexual desire. Sex with a droid is better than nothing …

Behind me my companion droid eased out of its travel and charging station. Without turning, I said, “You may lube me up, Compo. We’ve at least another two hours before we reach Circe, and I go into a quarantine suit.” I laughed. “I better make the most of your services while I can.”

“Understood, Mutant Fifty.” ‘Compo’ moved behind me. “What do you wish me to do.”

“It’s a beautiful day, so follow me into the viewing pod.” I laughed. “Then you can start by fucking me while I admire the scenery.”

“As you wish, Mutant Fifty.” He followed me into the large glazed pod, my relaxation and ‘living room’ area suspended below the main hull, waited until I’d positioned myself, and slid ‘his’ now extended dildo penis into me. The droid is programmed to my likes, so now commenced a long slow fuck, pumping plenty of soothing lube into me as he did so.

‘Compo’, as I’d named the droid, is a basic model. It can prepare my meals and keep my accommodation clean and tidy. Clothing isn’t, for me, a problem and the droids don’t wear anything. As a mutant and "sexual deviant," the law prescribes that I wear a skintight latex catsuit suit at all times that proclaims my status. Since everyone on New Terra wears latex, the catsuit is a specified colour that only mutants wear. The droid’s main function is to provide the sexual relief I need daily, and provide something resembling ‘companionship.’ Someone gave these companion droids a chiselled human ‘body’ over the mechanical skeleton and their numerous drives and processors, of pink latex ‘flesh’. It was evidently based on some human ‘ideal’ and it certainly was attractive to the eye, with a gorgeous dildo penis, and no one bothered ‘dressing’ them. It responded to sexual stimulation, and made a pleasant ‘companion’ to those of us condemned to isolation. 

Capable of holding a basic conversation, it serves its function well — but is hardly ‘human’ companionship, the sex is emotionless and purely mechanical. Thus, occasional clandestine interactions with some of the Colonial Patrol guards were not entirely unwelcome … 

I watched the landscape passing slowly beneath us, my thoughts on what I could expect when we reached Circe and enjoying the steady rhythm. It had been too long since I’d last been intercepted by a Guardian — they always demanded a good sex session and we mutants crave sexual stimulation. As a Mutant I am required to wear a skintight latex suit at all times of bright ‘dayglow’ orange. I may wear a genital pouch when working, as now, and alone. When visiting my regular supply base, the township of Circe, I am required to submit to being locked into a chastity device, and to wearing a heavy ‘quarantine suit’. I may only converse, unsupervised, with specified officials and suppliers. With anyone else, a chaperone must be present.

New Terra, the name given the planet by the original human settlers, was a relatively ‘young’ planet. With five moons and moonlets, it had a tilted axis, and the seasons that resulted followed the same pattern as the Earth only more dramatic in their contrasts. They also affected the weather, so it paid to keep track of their movements. On land a range of animals roamed, from vegetarian sauropods to predatory marsupials and, of course, the oceans had a similar range, with the largest of the predatory creatures on the planet. 

The vegetation proved more difficult to adapt to for the settlers. Firstly, trees here resemble giant mushrooms of toadstools going by the images of these fungi that our ancestors brought from Earth. Like Earth fungi, most are edible, but it took a while to discover this. Nearly all the vegetation here has a spongy, fibrous texture, and when damaged ‘bleeds’ a form of latex. Especially the plants that, on Earth, provide natural fibres for clothing. All such plants on New Terra produce a latex-like fibre, which can be woven, and attempts to genetically engineer a gene for a cotton material failed. The cotton plants cultivated by the settlers slowly re-engineered themselves, even when isolated from the planetary environment, into the same or similar latex-like material. In the end, it was just accepted that the colonists had a choice of wearing clothes made of this ‘rubber’ cloth, or synthetics. Most opted for the rubber …

The law of our colony states that mutants and sexual deviants are to live in isolation, the fear being that we will infect others with our mutations and sexual deviations. This arose as a result of our colony becoming cut off from our home world — or so it is said — shortly after the original colonists disembarked from the gigantic colony ship that brought them across the unimaginable distance from the Earth. There were supposed to be three such ships, only one arrived, and as it had suffered damage en route, our forefathers had been unable to discover the fate of the others, or to communicate with the Earth.

The colony on New Terra — a misnomer, if the records were to be believed the colony was destined for a different Earth-like planet — was the result of an accident. The planet had been identified as suitable for humans, and a major settlement planned, but had ended here. No one knew why at first, but the original settler fleet had never been joined by the planned additions, and all contact with the Earth had been lost. Our forefathers had said that the ‘colony’ ship that brought them here had been one of a fleet, they said, of six. Each ship had carried a quarter of a million colonists and all the essentials necessary to establish a human colony on the destination planet. The intention being the ‘seed’ the planet, and send a second and third such fleet to expand it once the first fleet had established the initial settlements.

According to our history, right from the start things had gone wrong. One ship had suffered a drive failure at the start of the journey, and turned back. Another had been forced to divert to an established colony en route, and only four had eventually arrived — and soon discovered that the planned second and third fleets would now not be sent as planned. Contact with Earth had been lost while on passage, a normal state of affairs on these long distance FTL passages, they said.

Something had happened on Earth, no one was sure what, but over time it became obvious that the founders were on their own. There was no return either, the ships were intended for one way voyages, and once the people had been landed, to be dismantled to provide essential machine parts, materials for reuse and so on. With only just over a million people, our forefathers had set to work to establish themselves on this young world. After all, they had no other option.

Though the Colonial Command Council, originally the four commanders of the ships supported by their officers, had overall control, and was supported by a cascade of regional, area and finally settlement councils all headed by the descendants of the original First, Second, Third and Fourth Officer families. Alongside them was a similar structure of “Technical Engineering” Councils which, bizarrely, included medicine and scientific development. Needless to say, the further we got from the original highly qualified and specialised officers, the more dysfunctional it became, and the more the Command Council families resorted to the use of various ‘police’ units to maintain their status, position and power. 

The early Council had made determined efforts to ‘grow’ the human population and to suppress same sex relationships, they’d not been entirely successful. The colonists had been ‘persuaded’ to allow the Council to appoint their own chosen successors from their own families. They said this was because they understood the process of leadership and order. Now the system was entrenched, autocratic, and those who refused to conform soon found themselves undergoing ‘education’ in one of the facilities operated by The Institute for the Maintenance of Public Order. The oldest of our law enforcement agencies were The Colonial Guardians, many of whom opted for this as it meant they had the authority and the means to both enforce the law and to defy anyone attempting to encroach on their remit. Even the Command Council trod warily around them. It also meant they could patrol freely all over the planet in their own airships …

The population had increased, though more in spite of, rather than because of, the rules. The increase hadn’t been among just those of a heterosexual bent, so had the numbers of those who preferred sex with other men. Our bodies, adapted for life on the ships, now adapted to the planetary environment, the most obvious being that we tended to be slimmer and more wiry than our forebears, with both sexes becoming taller, slimmer and, thanks to the sun we now orbited, a coppery colour. And there were more mutants being born as well. But there was an additional complication, one that could not be simply ‘fixed’ by either medicine or law. 

Early it had been discovered that some of the new generation carried mutations the leaders felt threatened the survival of humanity — especially as a rapid increase in the population was required, and could only be achieved by breeding. Five generations on, the population had barely increased, in part because artificial insemination is not a magic bullet, and secondly because it tended to produce more mutants … Even if they’d allowed mutants to breed, we simply preferred our own sex as partners. And the mutations involved male genitalia …

Increasingly the males tended toward same sex attraction and preference. Of course this was blamed on ‘Mutants’ contaminating the air, the food, the environment. When it was realised that mutants were also extremely intelligent, and that our physiognomy was different and that biologically we were diverging … The first big persecution began. Eventually, for our safety, and the satisfaction of the ordinary folk, we were isolated, forbidden partnerships and restricted in our movements and our living conditions. And still mutants were being born.

Eventually a more drastic solution had to be found for the same sex preference. They had resorted to artificial insemination, but that still left the second problem.

Yes, I’m a mutant, by law forbidden to breed and exiled from any settlement for fear I might ‘infect’ others. The first part is, for me, and most like me, easy. I prefer to have sexual contact with my own sex and from the moment my mutation was identified, I have been conditioned to be incapable of copulating with a member of the opposite sex. I simply cannot ejaculate in contact with a female. Even the thought of my seed being used to inseminate one prevents it. The years growing up in the Institute for Mutant Control were hard. The regime was designed to make us submissive, and reinforce our same-sex preferences. It turned us into bondage subs, and reinforced our desire for sex — already almost uncontrollable. The fact we were forbidden any sexual or social contact with any ‘unauthorised’ persons — anyone not a controller, Guardian or other police or Mutant monitor — Meant we spent most of our time seeking relief from a Companion Droid. That made us extremely grateful to the occasional Guardian in search of sexual relief. 

The mutation gives me a ten inch prehensile penis, more a tentacle though formed and shaped like a penis, with no prepuce and a large glans, a very high libido, and a sperm output that would make a bovine envious. The mutation of our genitals gives as a special internal ‘bladder’ in which we store sperm. This needs to be emptied at least three times daily, and, of course, means that we are capable of multiple ejaculations. My penis is always at it’s ‘erect’ length and girth, but, unlike any non-mutant, is not subject to being ‘inflated’ by blood flow. It’s extremely muscular and has a cartilage ‘spine’ and can be raised, lowered, curled out of the way and, of course, made rigid for sexual intercourse. The cause of this mutation has never been identified. It first appeared in the human population among the first births of the first generation of New Terrans, at first passing unnoticed and was only recorded when it was realised that it was occurring in roughly every hundredth boy. 

Those of us ‘afflicted’ this way are isolated as soon as it is identified — usually at puberty, but sometimes it is obvious soon after birth — and then trained in a technical field that requires no human assistance and prepared for our lives of isolation and exile. The ‘mutant’ training makes us submissive, reinforces our same sex attraction and to accept being restrained. We generally emerge from the Institute sexually supercharged and barely able to control our sexual desires in the presence of any other male. 

The first public indication someone is a mutant is that he loses all body hair — that on his head is usually the first to go, and his skin develops a silky smooth, almost waxy appearance. At that point wearing anything ‘loose’ becomes very uncomfortable so most mutants prefer to be completely naked or dressed in tight latex. 

Of course a boy’s penis may have been noticed as being ‘different’ earlier, but, at puberty it really becomes obvious, growing very rapidly and becoming obviously prehensile and muscular. As soon as any indication is identified, he will be certified by a court, locked into chastity, and sent to the Institute for Mutant Control. From then on he must wear the tight dayglow orange latex suit with his Mutant number displayed front and back. I was one of those identified well before puberty, and could not recall ever not having worn the Mutant suit, and a chastity belt or the heavy ‘quarantine’ suit on the few occasions I’d been allowed to visit family. A Mutant receives intensive training that turns him into a gay sexual submissive, and develops an aversion to any thought of impregnating a female by any means. What is not public knowledge, is that some mutants are trained to provide specific sexual pleasure to members of the Council and other members of the ‘officer’ class  … 

A part of that training is to ‘enjoy’ our sexual organs and, unofficially, to provide sexual pleasure to our supervisors or ‘protectors’ — the Trainers of the Institute of Mutant Control, and the Colonial Guardians. Now in my fifth year as a Coms Maintenance Tech, I was used to the isolation, enjoyed exploring from the air, but looked forward to my visits to the Circe station even though it meant being locked into a chastity belt and wearing a full quarantine suit. At least I could meet and talk to people even though the rules stated categorically that this was only allowed in a public space and I was not ‘alone’ with any other person.

I changed positions with my Compo droid. Now I inserted my penis into the ‘sleeve’ at his rear and began to pleasure my member with a long, slow stroke while Compo made ‘encouraging’ noises of ‘pleasure’ as programmed. I emptied my sperm bladder into the droid, waited until the sensations in my hyper sensitive ‘head’ subsided, then withdrew carefully, kissed the rubber mouth tenderly and thanked ‘him’. 

“Thank you, Mutant Fifty. I am due for full servicing and upgrading.”

“If you say so, Compo. I’ll ask.” Patting his beautifully formed rubber butt, I added, “You’re pretty damned good as you are, but if they upgrade you, I’ve no objection.”