Asteroid, Mine
Asteroid, Mine [chapter 2]
I slept in late the next day, luxuriating in the full gravity, the
fresh clean air, the big soft bed. Finally, around noon, I roused
myself to go down for something to eat. After lunch I went back to my
room, showered, and dressed in my new skirt, a nice blouse, and caught
the train back to town.
Fleet street runs the length of the city. I walked from the lake,
taking in the sights and shops along the way. There was a concert in
the town square which I stopped to watch for a while before making my
way past 23'rd street and to the front door of the Lambda bar. The
building's front was done in gray stone, in an imposing gothic style.
Inside, the door opened to a huge room with a long bar the length of
one wall. The lighting defined different areas, a big dance floor,
clusters of tables, cosy niches. Glass doors led out the back to a
jungle area lush with trees and plants, tables set amongst the
greenery. I ordered a beer at the bar and purchased a ticket for the
lecture that night, then followed my ears upstairs to the heavy beat
of old time rock music.
The second floor had high ceilings and another bar. A band played on
the stage, belting out tunes from the late 20'th century. I loved
those old songs, as did many people, judging from the crowd up there.
I sat and listened for a while, danced a bit, got hit on, and danced
some more with a few guys. But I wasn't here to find a date. Usually
when a man gets persistent I tell him I'm an asteroid miner and they
back off. There is still that stigma of rough miners that most men
can't seem to handle, especially in a woman. However this time a guy
became more interested and started asking me questions about life on a
lonely asteroid. He was good looking, tall, about my age. He said his
name was Mark Anderson and he lived on the Mars colony. He told me
that he worked on the Earth reclamation project.
I told Mark that I was going to have dinner here and he asked If he
could join me. Downstairs in the garden I insisted that I pay for my
own meal to which he replied, well ya, did I think he would pay for
me. That broke the ice and I laughed. We talked through out dinner,
mostly about our work. Mark was here on Crydon, partly on holiday, but
mainly to see how a planet so beautiful worked. He was hoping to gain
some new ideas to try out on old Earth. The planet had been seeded
about a hundred years ago with genetically engineered bacteria to try
to clear up the worst pockets of pollution and radioactivity. But it
would still be a long while before it would support life again as it
once did.
Mark kept glancing at his watch and I asked him if he had to go
somewhere. He said that there would be a talk in the auditorium
downstairs that he didn't want to miss. I showed him my ticket.
"This one?" I asked.
"Well, ya." he drawled, lifting his from his shirt pocket.
I smiled, and actually blushed a little. Our conversation took a
definite turn at that point. Mark had also read some of De Sade's
works, as well as other stories I was not familiar with. I listened as
he described a story he'd found about a group of men who owned a
riding stable on old Earth. But rather than training horses they
trained women who had come to the farm to be treated like, and trained
to become like horses, or as near as could be. Mark told me about the
story, how the women were made to wear a leather harness on their
bodies and had a harness for their heads with a leather covered bit
that went in their mouth. I had been fingering my new leather belt and
when I casually brought my fingers to my nose and sniffed, the smell
sent a small chill down my back.
By the time Mark had finished describing the story of the pony girl
farm I was glad I had worn panties for a change. I had become rather
wet down there and I excused myself to go to the ladies to freshen up
a bit. Afterwards, we talked for a while longer, then it was time for
the lecture to start. I let him take my arm as we went down the stairs
to the dimly lit basement and found seats in the auditorium.
The price of the tickets was not much, more of a formality to keep the
idle curious out, I thought. I looked around the room and saw all
kinds of people, young, old, wealthy, and not so. I had half expected
to see mostly men, but about a third of the audience were women,
perhaps wondering, like I, where these feelings were coming from when
they lay in bed at night, on those nights when sleep would not come to
still their desires. On the stage was a stool in front of the curtain
and a microphone on a stand. At the appointed time an elderly man
walked out onto the stage, set a glass on the stool, then took up the
mic. He announced himself as Doctor Richard Kendrison and said he was
a psychologist who had studied the relationships between people who
wish to have control over another, and those who wish for another to
have control over them.
The speaker seemed to know his subject, perhaps a little too well. He
spoke at length about the dynamics of three types of sexual
relationships which were distinct, he said, yet often interrelated.
Sadism and masochism which is the giving and receiving of pain.
Bondage and discipline, the physical taking control of another person.
And domination and submission that he described as a more spiritual
type of control over another.
"People have a need to freely explore their sexuality," he said, "in a
way which seems right to them. Without someone else telling them that
their thinking is wrong, that they are not normal. How one person
derives his or her pleasures from their sexuality can be distinctly
different from that of another. Because of these varied differences,
humans have frequently found difficulty in finding a compatible
partner to share their most inner feelings with. Many people do not
wish to explore their secret desires or they internalize them, keeping
them hidden, sometimes even to themselves. Then there are those, like
you in the audience tonight, that wish to learn, to better understand
the basis for those thoughts and fantasies that you have."
When Doctor Kendrison had finished I did indeed have a better
understanding of why I enjoy so much the thoughts I seemed to have so
often. It was announced that there would be a short intermission,
after which there would be a demonstration of one of the topics from
the lecture. Mark said that he had to go since he was flying off early
in the morning to do some tests. The lecture was to continue the next
evening and I asked if he would return. He said that he would try to
make it, and surprised me by giving me a little kiss before standing
up to go. I waited for the demonstration to begin.
After a while the curtain on the stage opened and I saw a heavy wooden
apparatus mounted in the center. Two wood beams were in an upright X
shape, supported from the rear. There was a small table a little ways
away from the cross. Soon the house lights dimmed and spotlights
highlited the center of the stage. A man and a woman walked out to the
front of the stage. The man was wearing black pants with a short black
vest, the woman was naked. He introduced the woman, a beautiful girl
who looked to be perhaps a bit younger than me, as his wife, and told
us that he would bind her to the device behind them and use a whip on
her.
"My lovely wife here has been whipped before," the man said, "by
myself, and others, so she knows what to expect. Since this is only a
demonstration I will not be as hard on her as she has had it on other
occasions, however she will feel the pain, and her reactions will be
quite genuine. If there are any of you that are a bit squeamish, you
may wish to leave now."
I looked around the auditorium. No one got up and left. With out
further ado the man guided his wife to the wooden cross, a St. Andrews
cross, he said. She stood facing it and spread her legs wide, her feet
at the base of each beam. Her husband picked some wide padded cuffs
from the table, then bent to secure her ankles to the posts. She
stretched her hands up as he used a second set of cuffs to fasten her
wrists high up over her head. Her golden hair spilled down her back,
to the bottom of her butt when she tipped her head back. Her husband
gathered the hair up, pinning it in a bun on top of her head. I
watched in awe as he ran his hands lovingly down the pale flesh of
her back and bum, then dipped a hand between her outstretched thighs
to give her sex a tender squeeze. The girl looked back, their eyes met
for a brief, knowing moment. It was time.
The man left his wife to move to the table and select a whip. He chose
one which was long, black, leather I guessed. It had a short stiff
handle with the length of supple leather hanging down about a meter,
touching the floor. He swung the whip over his head and snapped it in
the air, the loud crack echoing around the silent hall. He snapped it
a few more times. I felt my skin crawl at each crack.
"A single strand whip such as this one can be rather dangerous for a
novice to use," he said. "Snapping a whip like that could easily do
permanent damage to flesh. A better technique is to swing the strap in
an arc, letting the whip make flat contact without dragging it across
the skin. Like so."
He stepped closer to his wife to position himself on her left side. He
then swung the whip in a wide arc towards her bum. The strap contacted
her flesh with a sharp splat sound. The whip seemed to stick to her
for a moment, then fell away to reveal a bright red line across both
her cheeks. I saw the girl shudder a bit, then settle. Her husband
swung the whip again. Crack. Another bright red line, this one an inch
above the last. The man went to her and turned her body a little to
show that the whip had struck her skin evenly, nearly from one hip to
the other. I saw the couple lock eyes for just a second before he
moved away again to take his place to the side of her once more.
He began slowly, slashing his wife with the whip, then giving her a
moment to adjust to the pain before hitting her again. Each time the
whip struck, the girl would jerk and press her body against the wooden
posts she was bound to. Then she would move back again, ready to
receive the next blow. Her husband worked the whip up her bum and
upper back, the strap leaving angry looking red lines, evenly spaced,
to mark it's progress. I saw one blow, the end of the whip coming very
near the girl's breast. I could hardly believe my eyes, on the next
stroke she turned her body just a little, allowing the tip of the whip
to caress her nipple. She moaned loudly and slumped down, hanging by
her arms. Again the whip wrapped around her body, the tip delivering
another dose of stinging fire to the poor girl's nipple. She jerked,
then her legs spasmed. A glistening wetness appeared on her inner
thighs and I knew the girl had orgasmed solely from the whipping she
was receiving.
The man delivered one more stroke of the whip, more gently this time,
the end of the whip flicking between her legs, a firm caress to the
center of her pleasure. Her hands grasped air and she screamed loud
and low as she shook with the force of her cum. The man put the whip
down on the table. His loving wife lay limp in her bonds as he moved
to unlock her wrist cuffs from the cross. She melted into him as he
carefully helped her sit, then he unlocked her ankle restraints. The
audience began to applaud as the man helped his wife stand up. Her
eyes had a glazed, far away look, but she managed a weak smile before
being led off the stage by her husband amidst cheers and applause from
the crowd.
I stood to go. The crowd filed out of the auditorium and up the
stairs, to the main floor of the bar. I needed a drink, badly, so I
went to the bar and ordered a double Sarcusian Brandy, with a beer
chaser. There was a band on stage there, playing music by a twentieth
century group called Pink Floyd. The sound had a techno overtone, but
a rich and deep undertone to it.. You couldn't exactly dance to it, but
I soon found myself becoming caught up in the melodious music and
stood, swaying gently to the sound. I snagged a stool at the bar and
ordered another brandy 'n' beer. The complex chord changes, the
alcohol, plus the show I'd witnessed downstairs had me so keyed up I
could hardly bear it. I noticed a rather young fellow staring at my
bare feet perched on the rail of my stool. I hiked up my skirt a
little, then I wiggled my toes. He looked up at me, then away,
embarrassed to have been caught. When he looked back at me I smiled at
him. He took that as encouraging and a minute later came over to sit
beside me.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked. "My name's Peter."
"Donna." I said as I nodded to a recently vacated chair beside me.
"Do you like the band?" he asked. I shook my head, yes, and he went
on. "I'm really into Floyd these days. Got all their old albums at
home."
So easy. "These guys are pretty good." I said. "I'd like to hear the
originals some day."
"We could . . . uhh. . . ."
Comon buddy, don't loose your nerve now.
He tried again. "I live not too far away. We could go over and I could
play some for you."
So Welcome, Tooo, The Machine. The haunting lyrics from the stage
drilled into my brain. "Why Peter, I'd like that." I downed the rest
of my beer. "Let's go."
Peter was so sweet. He took my arm to lead us through the crowded bar
and outside. We walked to the corner and caught the surface bus for
the short ride across town, to his apartment. On the ride he kept
glancing down at my feet. With all the walking around I did that
afternoon they were quite dirty, but that didn't seem to deter him
from devouring them with his eyes every chance he got. When we arrived
in his apartment he asked me if I wanted a drink. "Beer is fine, if
you have any." I said. I used his bathroom to pee, then I cleaned up a
little, washing most of the grime from my feet, and freshening up a
bit, down there, ditching the panties in a pocket of the skirt
Peter handed me a cold one as I sat down on the couch beside him. The
sound of sheep bleating came from the big speakers of his player.
Melodious notes of a synthesiser. I lifted my legs up and turned,
planting my feet across his lap. Peter's hands immediately were on them,
the poor dear looking like he had been given a most wondrous present.
I relaxed into the end of the couch, sipping my beer. Peter gave me a
lovely, long foot massage. I could feel him playing with my rings,
sliding them up and down a bit, turning them around on my toes. Then
he bent to softly kiss my big toes. I opened my eyes to meet his, and
I smiled. He raised my foot, parted his lips, and gently drew my big
toe into his mouth. The tempo of the song abruptly dropped, sheep
again, in the distance. I closed my eyes, letting the soothing
rhythm, and peter's talented tongue, take me away.
I could feel an immense bulge in Peter's pants so I rubbed it with my
other foot, making him groan with pleasure. After he had lovingly
sucked all ten of my toes and licked all over my feet he stopped to
look into my eyes once again. "Would you like to move to the bed?" I
asked. He took my hand and we stood. He led me to the next room and
his bed. We undressed slowly, savouring each other's bodies as they
were revealed. I lay down on his bed. Peter lay on top of me, his
hands on my breasts, kneading the soft flesh. He took one nipple into
his mouth and sucked gently while fingering the other. I ran my
fingers through his hair and down his back. His head moved lower, soft
kisses down my belly, to sniff the musky sent from between my legs.
Then his tongue flicked out to brush my clit, making me jump, my need
apparent.
I opened for him as his tongue licked along my slit. He tickled that
little nub, then sucked it into his mouth to drive me wild with
desire. My thighs began to quiver and I grabbed his head to push his
face harder against me, then pulled, dragging him up to me, to roughly
kiss his mouth, smelling my own scent on him. He reached down to run
his cock head along my wet pussy, then began to push himself into me.
I writhed beneath him, bucking my hips up to draw his length in
deeper. He started pumping in earnest then, we rutted like animals. In
a short time I was on the verge of a major cum, then moaning loud as
it crashed through me. Peter slowed, riding me out, then picked up
speed again, pounding me, clutching my shoulders to drive deeper into
me. I felt the muscles of his back tighten, his motions becoming
slightly erratic as he swelled inside of me. Then his seed burst forth
in a massive flood as he came and came inside of me, triggering
another flood of release which shook me to my very core.
After a while, after we basked in the afterglow of our sweet
lovemaking, Peter got up to change the record while I used the
bathroom again, to clean up. I then joined him on his couch. The disc
he'd put on was called Dark Side of the Moon, music from a time long
ago. Man's first tentative steps to reach beyond his planet. We
snuggled together to let the music work it's magic once again. I heard
the song that the bar band had been playing when I picked up Peter. I
brought my head down to his lap, then took him into my mouth. Welcome
my son, welcome to the machine. Peter was perhaps eighteen, twenty at
most. I glanced up to look at him. His eyes were closed, he was in
heaven. I continued.
His hand gently stroked my bum. He slid his hand down my crack,
between my legs, pressing, exploring with a finger. I took him deep
into my throat and hummed along to the song whole he moaned the bass
beat. He fingered my clit, sending shockwaves up my spine. I was
ready. Peter, more so. I got up and knelt over his legs, pressing and
rubbing my nipples on his face. He licked, then nibbled as I reached
behind to guide his stiff cock into me. I slid myself down his
throbbing shaft, impaling myself on it. His lips sought out mine and
we locked in a passionate kiss. Then I started a slow, teasing, up and
down motion on him, enjoying him, and his reactions to me.
My tits were smacking his chin as my tempo increased. He pressed the
fleshy globes against his cheeks and started thrusting his hips up to
meet mine. Peter then gripped my waist, hugging me close, pushing down
to drive deeper into me. He reached farther down to grip my ankles,
then to caress my heels, and finally, the soles of my feet with his
fingers. I ground myself against him, then threw back my head and
howled as the power of my orgasm washed through me. Peter squeezed my
feet hard as he lifted up a bit, pushing in deep to fill me with
another load of his hot cum.
The record finished as I held Peter's head against my shoulder. I got
off him a while later, to go wash his cum out of me. He made us a
snack of fresh bread and sweet strawberry jam, green tea. I looked
through his music collection while he played a few songs from other
old Earth groups. Then we went to his bedroom to get some sleep. At
some point in the wee hours I was a wakened by tender caresses along
my back. Peter and I made gentle sweet love once more before he
dropped off into a deep sleep. I woke again, the early dawn light
streaming in the window, the birds singing outside. Carefully, I got
up, put on my clothes, and left.
Outside, walking in the fresh morning air helped clear my head. A few
streets over from Peter's apartment I caught the subway train back to
my hotel. I slept the sleep of the dead, the well fucked dead that is,
waking in the early afternoon to shower, get dressed and go. I wore a
pair of tight faded denim jeans, my black tee shirt with the i-sam
logo emblazoned on the front, a big digger perched impossibly on a
small asteroid, a star field behind. Nothing more. Then I went down
and took the train back to town.
[End part 1/4]
