I twist my hands and try to pull them apart. I cannot comprehend how I ever lowered my guard as to have allowed Trance to be able to confine me. I guess she was just quick and I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. I realize it now, but it is too late. The trace to which I am tethered contains distribution channels for several of the ship’s systems including maintenance. Thus to break the pipes inside would disrupt vital functions as well as possibly release toxic chemicals. I am not willing to try, yet. I have to believe that this is just some sort of game and that eventually Trance will release me. I try to think of something else.
* * * *
Had Beka Valentine been a Nietzschean I would have bred with her a long time ago. It did not take me long to realize that she had superior genes which would be of great benefit to my children. Beka seemed stronger, healthier, smarter and more attractive than many of the Nietzschean women I have met including my late wife Freya, mother of the Nietzschean messiah.
Trance, on the other hand, is someone with whom I have never considered intercourse. I still remember her as the purple girl with the red lips, yellow teeth and a tail. I know Harper found her sexy, but . . . he finds. . . The new Trance is more esthetically pleasing but I am still confused by the bony growth on her head. She is too uber to be a kluge, but what she is remains a mystery.
I am sure you are wondering why I am even thinking of sex while I am so rudely confined. I told you I am handcuffed to a pipe trace, but what I haven’t told you is that my feet are also shackled and I have a gag in my mouth. My trousers are pulled down around my knees and anyone passing by would note the tumescent state of my penis. Of course there are no other observers. The only ones in the room are Beka and Trance and they aren’t looking at me. They are looking at each other, very closely.
The two women are naked and going through the manifestations mutual cunnilingual stimulation right in front of me. If I ever had any doubts about what two women did when they were together, I don’t now. Beka and Trance are very thorough. I recognize the orgasms and admire their ability to continue pleasuring their partners quickly after experiencing them. Tongues and fingers do not have a problem getting or remaining aroused.
I don’t have that problem now either. I am definitely “up” although there is nothing I can do about it but watch. Once in a while Beka looks over and gives me this self-satisfied smile. I wonder if she is so interested in Trance, what interest does she have in me?
* * * * *
They eventually fall asleep. I believe I did, too, or else blacked out. I am now sitting on the floor, legs in front of me, minus my trousers, and my hands are still cuffed to the trace. My cock remains hard and is buried in what must be, if she mirrors kluge anatomy, the vagina of Trance Gemini. I have no idea how she managed to invoke that state in me without its presence even being recognized in my dreams. She is moving up and down on my huge cock, which should have split her in half, but it hasn’t. I remember once Trance saying that she was designed as a sex toy. I thought it was a joke. I wonder now if she was telling the truth.
Beka is standing watching.
“It’s going to be fun. Having our babies play together. Mine will be so cute, all brown and hairy with a long tail.”
I shudder and think of Charles Darwin.
“Yours will be strong. I hope it’s a girl. You can call her Beyonce.”
What drugs are these women on, I wonder? What drugs am I on? Why is the pleasure of the sex more intense than my desire to free myself? Why is my fear of genetic mutations not stopping my desire to ejaculate? I bite my teeth on the bit, and almost break a tooth.
* * * * *
The next thing I remember I am standing in a corridor talking to of all . . . people . . . Rommie. She seems to be comforting me. I didn’t know she had compassion in those micro-chips.
“Remember Rommie when you had that dream about someone . . . touching you . . without your permission. Have you ever considered that it could have been Trance? Or Beka?”
She wrinkles her brow, as humans do when they think, and her processors spark.
“So, you were their victim tonight. I’ve seen them do it to Dylan and Harper. Maybe I should have warned you? Quite a little show they got there. That baby part is very cruel.”
“You mean they didn’t rape me just for my genetic material?”
“They use that line on everyone. Told Harper that Trance would have a blue monkey and hoped Dylan’s daughter would be called Xena. I don’t think either of them can get pregnant, at least from what I have seen. They just like to torment.”
* * * *
I sit in my room and ponder the events and revelations. I do not like the fact that this was just a game, but I did enjoy watching. I regret the fact that I must have been asleep during my coupling with Beka. I think, if Beka Valentine cannot get pregnant, perhaps I do not have to worry so much about my distribution of my genes. I could be free to pursue the repressed thoughts that I have carried regarding our relationship for all these years. Trance I can ignore, but Beka...