Venus Rising

by Annalise

  He did not move. And she did not break the rhythm of her strokes. His penis was so stiff, she knew it would be but moments before he came.

  The voice said, “For maximum pleasure, be sure to tell your attendant how you wish to ejaculate. Choose from within the attendant’s hands, across the attendant’s breasts, or on her face. Enjoy the pleasure of seeing how far your semen can go.”

  Oh my, Evans thought.

  “Simply state your desire and your attendant will see you receive the best of care.”

  “Breasts,” the man said in a half-whisper. His voice was deep, and touched a chord of familiarity she couldn’t stop to examine. She feared she might not get her robe open before he finished. As she caressed the turgid length of him, she tugged at the fabric.

  The robe was designed to fall apart with a light touch. The man’s body shuddered and she had barely time to direct his cock before he climaxed.

  His come arched across the small space between them. It spewed hot across her breasts. He groaned, rocking on his feet.

  Her overseer said, “We hope you enjoyed your massage. Please allow the attendant to adjust your robe and then exit by the door through which you entered.”

  Evans did as she’d been taught. She stroked the man’s penis, massaging until every vestige of his erection was gone. Making sure to caress him with every touch of her hands, she pulled his robe closed. She followed procedure, massaging his testicles and cock through the soft fabric as if she could not bear to part with his equipment. Lastly, she looped his belt.

  His semen was growing sticky on her skin. She was not permitted to close her robe until he left. She risked a glance up as he turned away.

  And gasped.

  He turned back. The surprise she choked back was not mirrored on his face. His expression remained as blank as the walls of her cell.

  Heat rushed across her skin. Involuntarily, her hand went to her breast—and his semen. His gaze dropped to her hand. Slight color touched his high cheekbones.

  Then he was gone. The door whispered closed before it locked with a click.

  The yellow glow in the room rose to the stark white it had become when he’d been reprimanded for touching her. A soft whisper of sound accompanied a panel sliding open in the wall. A shelf glided forward. Evans examined the supplies. A damp cloth to wipe the semen from her breasts and a pouch in which to seal the cloth. A sweet, medicinal smell filled the small space as she wiped the thick semen from her skin.

  Just as she ran her fingertips along the bag’s seal, there was a click from behind her and she knew the door to the cells had opened. That was her signal to leave.

  A guard led her to a washroom where she dropped her robe and, under the woman’s impassive scrutiny, washed away the medicinal odor and the memory of Link Taylor’s semen from her breasts. She set aside the sense of shame that he’d seen her here.

  Back in her cell, she carefully hung her robe on a hook. It was all the clothing she possessed in this place. Each day the robe was exchanged for a new one. She climbed under the covers, lay on her back, and tried to sleep.

  Even when the lights blinked out, she could not close her eyes. She stared up into complete darkness, seeing another time and another place in her mind.

  More than ten years ago.

  She’d scorned her enlisted quarters as Spartan when she first joined the PeaceKeepers, but after several weeks in the attendants’ accommodations here, she remembered that tiny shared cabin as luxurious.

  Busy and bustling, her life then had been one new experience after another, each greeted with eagerness. She was one of many recruits, young and fresh and ready to serve.

  Then a new enthusiasm entered her life.

  Link Taylor.

  He’d been as young as she, and just as ready to save the world. They’d freely shared their dreams and their bodies. Or had until they graduated.

  Their graduation had coincided with the beginning of Luna Corporation’s catastrophic bid to be recognized as independent of any planetary control. After that, other corporations, some much wealthier than the nations that spawned them, bid for independence as well.

  Link’s dreams took him into the Planetary Defense Force, to fight and preserve Earth’s colonies. She’d been recruited into the United American Department of Homeland Security, where she worked undercover to keep dissident corporate forces from tearing apart other planetary alliances.

  She’d liked to have married—or to be completely politically correct, to have formed a formal life partnership—and started a family, but no man had ever measured up to Link.

  At least she could say she was good at what she did. And she assumed he was, as well. Occasionally she saw him mentioned in a report, always to his credit. He’d even made the infocasts a few years back for orchestrating an end to the smuggler standoff at Luna Station and preventing further bloodshed.

  She’d never expected to see him again, least of all here.

  How many times had she tasted his skin, buried her face in the soft hair at his neck? How many orgasms had they shared during their years together at the Academy?

  She’d never bothered to count but she could bring every one to mind, from the first time they had coupled, slow and sweet, to his departure for space, when they’d fucked furiously, knowing it was their last chance.

  She slid her legs apart and touched herself. She was slick with desire, desire for a man she’d not seen in ten years. Finally, she closed her eyes. Her hand stroked in rhythmic circles while her mind shifted from the feel of his penis in her hand today to how it had felt filling her so long ago.

  How she had hated the thought of some man’s come on her when Jennel had said the guest did not use sperm suppressors. And how she had denied the ripple of arousal as she’d realized the semen on her skin was Link’s.

  Her climax came quickly. With the ease of practice, she concealed it by coughing and turning abruptly to her side.

  She could never count on being unobserved.

  Chapter 3

  Link sat on his hotel bed, eyes closed. Evans. It was definitely Evans. Her breasts were unchanged. Small, dusky nipples, uptilted. Definitely unimproved, the left breast slightly larger than the right. The only change had been a dusting of freckles across her chest that she’d acquired since their Academy days.

  Freckles slick with his come this afternoon.

  He shifted uncomfortably on his bed. He resisted an urge to head for the shower and masturbate to the memories. Not memories of the quick hand job today, but of the times they’d made love. Freely, enthusiastically—if not with much technique.

  Today, she’d had technique. Mechanical technique. And when she’d finally looked up, her eyes and gasp had betrayed her recognition of him.

  And the presence of drugs.

  An hour later, he activated the card. The same greeting and admonition that he had very few credits left showed him he could only have a therapeutic back massage. The available attendants included the unimproved Evans.

  Moments later, the communications console silently printed the date and time of his appointment. Two days away. With an aching cock and a mind full of memories, he crawled into bed and tried to sleep.

  * * * * *

  Evans slid her tray along the mess hall railing and frowned at the choices. Everything on the menu was synthetic, nothing natural. No fruit, no fresh veggies. The sign on the wall extolled the nutritional benefits of the entrees, listing the vitamins and minerals provided by each item. Evans figured the only things not listed were whatever drugs they added.

  She knew she was being drugged, she just didn’t know with what. She tried to eat as little as possible, but the counselors had admonished her twice for loss of weight. That was something an unimproved attendant could not afford. Attendants had a duty to keep their allure, which meant firm, plump flesh.

  She sat with Cloud9, a small attendant who was enthusiastic about her work. Or else she did a good job of pretending to be. She talked about techni
que. A guest’s pleasure. The rewards that came with being in the top ten requested attendants. Evans smiled and tried to look interested.

  “Do you know an attendant named Angel?” Evans asked. “I think she specialized in bondage. And was kinda young.”

  She hazarded a guess at the bondage. None of Evans’s guests had showed any interest in bondage, but sexual acts involving an AOA indicated that dominance might be in the mix. And if the girl was unwilling, bondage might be necessary.

  Of course, she didn’t know if Angel was unwilling. She was sure “they” could concoct a drug cocktail that would ensure cooperation with anything.

  “Angel? Don’t know the name,” Cloud9 said. “Why?”

  “She’s the one who turned me onto this place,” Evans lied as she forced herself to load her spoon with vegetable puree. At least, it looked like vegetable puree. It didn’t taste like much of anything. “I kinda thought I’d thank her, but I haven’t seen her anywhere. I don’t know what they call her here.”

  She had been christened Bliss6 by The Palace. The names were stupid. Guests ordered the attendants by code numbers and letters, but Evans supposed it gave everyone some convenience when they chatted to one another, such as now. It also allowed someone to hide.

  Where was Angel hiding?

  “Oh. You could ask a counselor.”

  Cloud9’s eyes were particularly beautiful, the turquoise of the Caribbean emphasized by drug-contracted pupils. She bent her head and swayed closer, so close that her shoulder-length hair, blonde tinted with a soft red, brushed against Evans’s breast.

  “I think I’m ahead of Ecstasy11 this month,” Cloud9 whispered.

  Evans forced herself not to move away. She leaned her head closer. “Really. Wow. I’m so new, no one has asked for me as a repeat yet.”

  “They will. Now, with your looks, if you were improved, you’d already have a following. You should at least shave off your pubes. Then you could decorate with some cool body art. I’m having golden snakes done tomorrow.” Cloud9 paused and licked her spoon. “Or are you working the fetish menus?”

  Evans shook her head.

  “Yeah. Didn’t think so. You don’t have the improvements for that—slick skin is the best.”

  Cloud9 leaned back to get a better view and eyed her up and down. Evans squirmed inwardly as the girl licked her spoon again, this time with a lascivious manner not targeted at the pureed peas.

  “You ought to consider a facial, having that mole on your thigh removed, getting your breasts balanced, oh, and you gotta get nipple enhancement. Since mine, I’m ready to climax with the flick of a client’s tongue. Now, that’s the sort of thing that gets you noticed. I almost have enough credits in my bonus account for a clit enlargement. That’ll get me moved up in price and demand. You can clamp lots of goodies to a good-sized clit.”

  Cloud9 dropped her spoon beside her empty plate. “Your ass and thighs could be a lot tighter, too. Let’s face it, not many men like older women, and without the enhancements, you’re showing your years. Young guys won’t want you. As you are, you’ll probably be stuck with all the old farts.”

  “Great.” Evans rolled her eyes. “Maybe I need to rethink the surgery thing.”

  “Of course, some like the old ones. They usually have credits out their asses. Some of my best tippers have been old, y’know, in their fifties even.”

  “Hi, Cloud9, Bliss6.” Another young blonde, improved to perfection, came up and nodded. Evans thought she was called Grace8. Of a top-heavy, athletic build, she had an annoying way of looking down her nose at everyone. She sat down on the other side of Cloud9, claiming her attention. They looked like sisters, both blonde, polished and perfect, Cloud9 with her aquamarine eyes, the other with the deepest green eyes Evans had ever seen.

  The product of enhancement, or genetics? She couldn’t be sure, but she suspected the former. The two sat like lovers, arms and fingers linked, heads tilted close together while they whispered.

  Evans took the opportunity to slip away to the gym. She wasn’t going to get any information about Angel from either of these sources.

  Cloud9 had a pretty good idea of exactly what Evans needed to have improved, though. More than could be expected from their occasional, casual interaction. Did that imply that some attendants were able to make use of the hidden surveillance equipment? And what about clients?

  Certainly the agents who had posed as guests had not been offered that opportunity. Not for the first time, Evans wondered if there were levels of membership, with exclusive services offered to a select few, an elite group that no government agent could infiltrate.

  As she turned in her robe for some workout gear, a thong brief and tight fitting bra, she remembered the training vids. Had they been captured live encounters or ones planned for filming? Thoughts of Link ejaculating on her breasts and being watched by a training class of eager or drugged out attendants made her head straight for the free weights.

  As she curled the heavy weights, she wondered if it had been a glint of desire in Cloud9’s eyes just before she’d brushed her breast. Had the little blonde moved closer to her on purpose? Could Cloud9’s interest prove useful?

  All through a rigorous workout, designed to tighten her thighs and lift her breasts, Evans worked on other ways she might locate Angel. Every minute of the day was regimented, with exercise, meals, and training worked around the guests’ demands. Her limited contact with others came during meals, the one hour of weekly free time she was permitted in the rec hall, and here, in exercise sessions. She wished she could soften up one of the silent guards who escorted her to and from her appointments. Was that how Cloud9 knew such intimate information? She was intimate with a guard—or perhaps a counselor?

  None of the attendants busy in the workout room resembled her quarry. Mostly in their thirties, her fellow attendants were an odd mix. Some sported elaborate, changeable body art, some strategic piercings, others were enhanced to fantasy proportions. Some fit into all of the above categories.

  A tall brunette, who chose to work out nude, sauntered past Evans, carrying a shiny rod with bulbous ends. Surely she hadn’t been born with those massive breasts? No, that wasn’t right. No one was born with breasts. Evans giggled aloud at the thought of the woman as a baby trying to fit through the birth canal, hampered by huge boobs, and earned a stern look from one of the exercise counselors.

  The woman’s body art wasn’t evident until she turned away. It was all Evans could do not to gape at the phoenix draped across the woman’s back. The wings spread from shoulder to shoulder, framing the bird’s colorful body. The coiled tail undulated as the brunette walked, drawing the eye down to where it disappeared between the woman’s cheeks. The art undoubtedly continued on out of sight. This was no ordinary skin decal. This was hand-painted art. How many hours had it taken?

  Although she tried to look away, Evans found her gaze locked on the woman as she mechanically did her own routine. The woman could press a sizeable weight while splayed on a weight bench, and at the same time, pump the shiny rod in and out with vaginal contractions. The common exercise area was supposed to be used for strength and endurance training, not sexual response training.

  That occurred under the tutelage of specific instructors, in private. Or had, as far as Evans knew, until today. The brunette evidently had decided to make her exercise session do double-duty. With boobs like those and her vaginal talents, she probably had a full schedule of guests.

  From her unshaved pubis, given Cloud9’s comment, Evans guessed the woman catered to guests on the expensive fetish menus. The woman’s abdominal muscles rippled as the smooth metal rod disappeared into her dark curls, reappearing a moment later, slick and wet. How did she manage to grip the thing?

  Boy, am I a slacker, Evans thought as the woman double-pumped both the weight and the vaginal bar in time to the lively music that floated from hidden speakers.

  Then the woman moved to one of the machines.

  Evans had
to admire her strength and control, as well as her concentration. Two gold piercings on her labia winked through her pubic hair as she went through her drills.

  Her massive breasts hardly moved. More than gravity was holding those babies up. Evans wondered how they hid the struts and cables, and tried not to giggle again.

  Shit. These strange thoughts kept distracting her. What drugs had they been giving her in her food? She had a hard time concentrating on her mission.

  The woman ended her routine, reached down and drew out the rod. Evans gulped as she saw the thing was longer than she’d thought.

  Link cock-sized, in fact. Thoughts of Link grounded her from her fugue. The brunette looked square at Evans and winked. Holding eye contact, the woman raised the ball to her lips and ran her tongue languidly across its curved surface.

  Evans flushed and switched her attention to her own exercises. First in her peripheral vision and then in the mirrored wall, she was aware of the brunette sashaying out the door, still carrying the rod.

  What if Link ordered that woman next time?

  Next time?

  Her insides quivered at the thought of the brunette’s internal muscles sucking the sperm out of Link like a geo-tube sucked up rock samples.

  She forced her mind from Link and concentrated on the counselors. She’d been trying to counteract the drugs and keep her mind sharp by recognizing the staff and attendants inside The Palace. She might need to know how many there were, what positions they held, and be able to recognize them later. She had also tried to talk to them—to no avail.

  The two counselors in the exercise room were busy with administrative tasks at the moment, one working with his wrist panel and the other punching in codes on a communication unit. The display looked like a table of attendants, exercises, and reps.

  She’d give a lot to get into The Palace’s database. So far, she’d had as much luck breaking into the brothel’s systems as she had chatting with counselors. There had to be cameras in her cell but she hadn’t been able to locate them yet. Until she could, and disengaged them, she didn’t have a prayer of working on a comm panel.