Starship Intercourse Part 4

From the alienated brain of William Maltese comes part four of his pulp fiction from Greenleaf Classics... STARSHIP INTERCOURSE...

“Well?” Susan had asked later, letting Patricia know by the very sound of her voice that she certainly didn’t believe one word of the story about the car breaking down.

“Well, what? Patricia had replied. But she’d long ago decided this was one secret she wasn’t going to keep to herself. There were some things a girl just had to get off her breasts, or bust (she had smiled at that bit of word-play). She had looked at Susan and given her a girl-to-girl smile. “It’s a good ten inches,” she’d whispered with a girlish grin.

“You lucky bitch!” Susan had squealed.

Patricia had noticed how the squeal brought glances from others in the dining room. For once, she didn’t care.

“How was it?” Susan had asked, her voice returning to a whisper.

“I thought I was going to die,” Patricia had said. Then smilingly, she rolled her eyes. “But what a hell of a way to go!”


***


Pushing her hips up to meet the downward deep-thrust of his cock, Patricia rolled slightly as Buzz’s penetrating erection ripped into her. It was as if twenty-five years of lost fucking had been channeled into this one frantic hump.

His hands stroked her ass and, simultaneously, pulled her body in close to his each and every time his cock rammed the dewy corridors of her twat. He increased his frantic pumping.

“Harder!” she screamed. “Harder!” She wouldn’t have cared if her cries had awakened the rest of the crew. She was too far gone to give a damn about anything except the pleasure. “Harder!” she screamed again.

He was already pumping her hard; any harder and she would’ve passed out with the pleasure and the pain. He brought his lips to her cheek, slobbering in his attempt at kisses. His tongue ran over her face, turning it wet with spit.

She worked to return his every thrust. Her tongue simultaneously wet his face with her own spit. Her body thrashed on the padded floor, her cries filling the air as if she were being impaled on a Krupp-steel spike rather than a taut pole of human flesh.

He echoed her moans, his cock speeding through the juice swimming within her hole, drilling her — in and out — in and out. Their breathing grew heavier, deeper, and more frantic. Their rasping heaves sounded loudly as their trembling bodies pushed closer and closer to orgasm.

She climaxed, first, and her insides melted and then rolled in heavy waves of pleasure like the sea in motion. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed through her and threatened to drown her. Somewhere through the resulting blur, she became aware of Buzz’s cries of pleasure, feeling his cummy come explode up the crack in her lower belly.

“Fuck!” she screamed, her mind fooled into thinking this fuck was all fucks, her mind’s-eye remembering all the other times Buzz had fucked her, all the times Williams had fucked her, all of the other times any and all cock had pumped cum up her hole. Her mind conjured a collage of three-dimensional phalli spurting, spouting, and spewing hot jism up her guts.

Buzz held to her climaxing body, hugging it with an intensity that might have been painful if not for the overshadowing pleasure. He kept her entrapped within his embrace as his cock continued its frantic pumping even after the last reservoir of his sperm exited his completely deflated nuts.

Finally, he was through. He rolled off of her and lie beside her.

For the next few moments, there seemed to be no sounds within the space that contained them, except for their ragged breathing and rapid heartbeats as they recuperated from their mutual climaxes. Then, their beating hearts and breathing quieted, too, and Buzz’s cock finished its wilt into complete flaccidness within her still-containing twat.

Suddenly, his body stiffened but not in orgasm.

“Buzz?” she asked.

He pressed his mouth in close to her left ear and said, “Listen.”


She listened, hearing nothing. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Not a thing?”

She listened again. She could tell he was holding his breath. She did likewise. “Nothing,” she confirmed finally.

He lifted his head from her neck.

“Oh, my God!” he said and got up from beside her; their sweat glossed their parted flesh.

“Buzz, what is it?”

“It’s past,” he said. “The time, I mean.”

She got to her feet, too, suddenly, like him, realizing the full impact of what had happened.

“We missed it, you mean?”

“It would seem so?” He was dismayed, rightly so, and sounded that way.
He flicked a button on the machine marked RECORD and waited for an instant before pushing REPLAY.

They listened … to the silence.

“We didn’t miss anything,” Buzz said. “There’s no incoming message to miss.”

“But…”

“There wasn’t any incoming message to miss!” he repeated with emphasis.

“Maybe they sent it early,” Patricia tried hopefully to rationalize. “Maybe it’s already recorded and back-logged.”

Buzz stepped to the machine, again, and pushed all the proper buttons.

Again, they waited.