STARSHIP INTERCOURSE 6

Yes, Earthlings, it is time once again for the outer-space, inner-rim adventure known as Starship Intercourse, courtesy of our bottomless vat of ecstatic kinkiness, William Maltese. My observation on Part Six: it must be a bitter pill to swallow when the entire civilization of your home planet has been wiped out, but using your twat to swallow gigantic man-cock might help you cope with your grief.

STARSHIP INTERCOURSE

Part 6

By William Maltese

“They’re dead, Charles,” she said. “They’re dead.”

He was about to ask who, but she pointed to the cipher on the communicator. He scanned the message.

“No!” he said, turning to her. “This is some kind of a goddamned monstrous joke. No one just wipes out the whole population of Earth, just like that.”

He programmed the communicator to provide the series of signals that would theoretically beam a message back to Earth asking for verification.

“I’ve already done that,” she said. “I waited the prescribed five hours for reply. There wasn’t one.” She started laughing hysterically; her body shook and took on the aspects of a spastic fit.

He went to her and slapped her hard across the face. When that didn’t work, he hit her twice more.

Oh, God, Charles,” she said finally and buried her face into his shoulder. “Oh, my God, what do we do?”

He held her, and he was obviously dazed at the implication of Earth’s final message. The reality of it, though, hadn’t completely set in.

Margaret, though, had had the five hours during which she’d awaited for verification of her message. That was plenty of time for the horror to be seen as reality. Alone, she’d faced the grimness of the at-first unacceptable possibility. Alone, she’d waited for a reply which she finally realized would never arrive. Earth, her Earth, was dead. Its every man, woman, and child was dead—murdered by aliens from another world. No matter that Earth explorers had probed the universe for almost forty years and never stumbled, until their end, upon any semblance of a life form

Margaret held tightly to Charles. She wanted reassurance that she was no longer alone. Here was somebody who could help her cope—a man. No matter how many points went into her near-genius IQ, she was a woman who had lost self-control. She was desperately striving to regain it. She not only needed Charles as a helpmate, but she needed him inside her, as a man.

“Fuck me,” she said.

“Yes,” he replied, as if he actually understood her need, as if he knew what she was thinking, what she wanted, why she had to have it. “Yes,” he replied again, unzipping his flight suit at its crotch, hefting out his large cock, and not even bothering to undress.

She was ready for him, her own uniform open to give him ready access to her cunt that was eager to have his manly cock rammed deep inside it.

His powerful initial thrust caused her pain. It was what she wanted and needed, though, in that it provided her with a vital link to reality. If the pain was real, then she was real in being able to feel it; there was, it logically followed, a real world still existing and not yet perished into the same oblivion Earth had.

“You will reactivate freezing units to allow the trip’s completion without defrost of any other member of the crew,” the communiqué had instructed. Yet, she’d disobeyed. But why had she revived Charles? It had been because she knew Captain Peterson wouldn’t be able to help her. He would have been way too cool, collected, and genuinely perturbed at her display of emotions. She wasn’t supposed to act like a woman but like another piece of the craft’s specialized inanimate machinery.

“I’m a flesh-and-blood woman,” she said and put her teeth into Charles’ shoulder.

“God, yes! God, yes,” was all he muttered; his prick non-stop ravaged her pussy.

“Not a machine,” she mumbled, vaguely ashamed it was sex she needed at a time of such crisis, as if sex were a panacea; as if she, when done with it, would somehow be well and fine again. “Oh, God, I’m not an unfeeling machine, not a machine, not a machine.”

Charles humped her. He was dazed, not really even fully aware as to how he’d gotten onto the floor with her, or how he’d managed to get his cock from his pants and inside her pussy.

It was something to do with a ciphered message.

It was something to do with her request, “Fuck me.”

The message, though, had to be untrue, or certainly he wouldn’t be fucking, then and there, on the floor of their spaceship. God, no! He wouldn’t be ramming his prick into a twat, with millions of his countrymen dead and gone. It had to be a bad dream.

Obviously, the doctors had gotten it all wrong.

“No dreaming while under deep-sleep induced in this manner,” they said. “Experiments and clinical analysis of humans and other mammals indicate that the same electronic pulsations which lull subjects into stupor slow down body components and completely impede the dream sequence. Even were a dream somehow formulated, it would progress only seconds between a subject’s going under and coming out, even if the subject were under for years and years.”

Only a bad dream, on the other hand, explained Earth dead and gone, aliens having destroyed millions of people, Charles fucking out his brains while the rest of the crew lay in their tubes like corpses at a mass funeral.

His hands moved beneath Margaret to better cup her ass. He gripped to tug the tight sleeve of her cunt up farther around his poking dick. She gripped his shoulders and enjoyed the sheer wonder of his hot cock drilling ceaselessly inside her.

Her vaginal muscles tightened, grasping his hunk of stiff meat. He groaned his pleasure and appreciation. He sweated in his uniform; perspiration beaded his neck and face. Margaret licked it, tasting it. Simultaneously, her tits flatten beneath his pressing chest. Her nipples went taut and rubbed against her inner clothing. That increased her pleasure and pushed her nearer the ultimate climax she prayed would return her sanity.

His cock continued to plow her guts. She felt its each and every motion. She enjoyed the intense pleasure conjured from its constant hammering. Her twat stretched with his cock’s pressing; her cunt closed again about those same inches when they were exiting. There was a fire in her loins, stoked continually by the firebrand that was his fucking erection.

Suddenly, she was engulfed in a sunburst of pleasure erupting in her hole but expanding into all the rest of her. She was only vaguely aware that his body stiffened atop her. His ass muscles bunched. He moaned. His heartbeat thumped hard and fast through his flesh and through their combined clothing to tattoo against her breast.

“Fuck me!” she said. “Oh, God, now, now, NOW! FUCK ME!”

“Baby, baby, baby,” he muttered over and over in her ear.

Then, he bit her uniform and her shoulder. His cock swelled larger inside her, pulsed like a huge vibrator and, then, exploded sticky streamers of suddenly released spunk that catapulted far and deep into her greedily sucking pussy.

“Oh, God!” she said, wracked by orgasms. Her legs rose higher and locked about his waist. She lifted her crotch in order to accept each and every inch of cock he had to offer … to accept each and every squirt of scalding cum he could provide.