Venus Rising

by Annalise

  Holding his hips she slid up and down, teasing his body with hers, shifting her pubic hair across the back of his thighs, rubbing her nipples, tight as stylus points, across his back.

  “Enough,” he gasped.

  She stepped away.

  He turned around, one hand wrapped around his cock. He was squeezing beneath the head and she knew he’d almost lost it. She almost smiled. No, he hadn’t changed that much.

  “Come here,” he said and held out his other hand.

  She stared at the outstretched hand. And wanted to take it and hold it again to her breast. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the center of his palm. He cupped his hand and she captured it and held it to her mouth. She tongued him, from his palm to the inside of his wrist.

  From the corner of her eye she saw him let go of his cock. She wrapped her hand around it and stroked him.

  “I’m not ready,” he said, covering her hand and stopping her caress. “I don’t think I feel adequately… clean.”

  Then he grinned at her. It was the old Link Taylor smile. Lots of white, fine teeth, improved in his youth, she was sure. A flood of memories swept over her. Other smiles. Other showers.

  She forced herself into her meek attendant demeanor and picked up the soap bottle. This time, she soaped the cloth and very meticulously washed his body. Down his beautiful, rippled abdomen, then to his penis. It was hard and unyielding through the cloth. It wouldn’t take much to set him off, but she wasn’t ready for the ending, either. Even though he had paid for two climaxes, the faster he reached the first one, the sooner he’d go.

  And she couldn’t bear to part with him.

  She went down on her knees. The water sluiced his penis clear as quickly as she soaped him.

  He cupped her head as she slid her mouth over the head of his penis, shielding her from the direct spray of the water jets.

  Every lick up and down the shaft of his penis drew from him a guttural sound that she remembered well.

  “Are you pleased?” she asked as she was required.

  There was a minute pause before he said, “Yes.” The word came out with a gust of long held breath. She smiled.

  He rhythmically smoothed her hair from her brow and when she tipped up his cock to lick the underside, she stole a look up. He was watching her.

  Her insides quivered. She shuddered as a small spasm, the beginning of a climax, rippled through her. Oh, she hadn’t changed that much herself, had she?

  He leaned against the wall and propped one foot up on a conveniently placed ledge. It allowed her to lick and nuzzle deeper between his thighs, gave her the ability to suckle his testicles. She pulled the warm weight of one after the other into her mouth.

  Water ran down and over her mouth and cheeks.

  “I’m going to come,” he said, holding her head and gasping.

  His come spurted hot and thick into her mouth. She let it flow down his shaft and over her fingers.

  The water sluiced it away, down his thighs.

  Then he jerked her to her feet.

  His mouth closed over hers, his tongue sweeping in and rolling across the remnants of the semen in her mouth. She felt devoured.

  Possessed.

  He turned her and backed her to one of the little ledges. Then it was him on his knees and her bottom cradled on the curved ledge. He spread her legs. Clever, carved ridges and the contours in the seat kept her comfortably in position.

  The tip of his tongue found her clit.

  Despite the contours of her perch, she was unable to lean back enough to give him the access he needed. With a growl of frustration, he lifted her and placed her gently on the shower floor. Water gushed over his back and across his shoulders when he buried his face between her thighs.

  His tongue was talented, his technique unchanged by their years apart. He licked and stroked her with catlike efficiency. She struggled to keep still as he probed her deeply. Trying to relax made the sensations harder to resist, the orgasm more difficult to stave off.

  Sweet Sol, she’d missed him. Memories of other times, other places combined with the present, propelling her to familiar heights.

  She swallowed a scream and bucked her hips against his mouth, the ripples of the climax shooting from her groin to the soles of her feet. Somehow Link followed the heaving movements of her hips, sucking her labia into his mouth as she trembled in the throes of the aftershocks. When she went limp as the discarded washcloth on the shower floor, he caged her by straddling her on his hands and knees.

  They stared at one another. She licked her lips. He licked his.

  “One down. One more to go,” he said softly.

  And grinned.

  Chapter 6

  He thought he might be able to feast on her all day, but she’d ended that idea by coming in but a few moments. He’d scarcely started and she’d fallen apart. Did the drugs she took include something to heighten her sensitivity, increase her response to stimulation?

  And artificially give the impression he was quite a guy between the thighs?

  He’d refused the erection enhancers he could afford, telling the counselor he was allergic to them. That was true, but he would have risked the reaction if it had increased his time with her. The drugs doubled the cost of the scenario, but the aspect most important to him was the short lifespan, no more than thirty minutes, of the ones he could access. It simply wasn’t enough time with her.

  He knew this session wasn’t going to be enough time with her, either, no matter what he did. He had to draw out his next climax. As the thought entered his head, she reached up between his legs and squeezed his balls. He took her hand and slid it to his thigh. “Not yet, sweetheart. I’d like a little clean-up first.”

  She obliged him. To gain control of his erection, he had to close his eyes and calculate the amount of fuel needed to make it to Mars and back in the new Z-282 fighter. Then he calculated the cost of that fuel, both at current prices and with a 13.6 percent increase.

  He couldn’t keep his hands off her. He loved the feel of her small breasts. Loved the way her nipples peaked under his touch. He wanted to lick them raw.

  He soaped his hands and mirrored her motions, rubbing her wherever she rubbed him. If she slipped her hands between his thighs, he slipped his between hers.

  If she stroked his buttocks, he stroked hers.

  He cupped her chin, held it still, and licked each drop of water that beaded there. She opened her lips and put out her tongue. He slipped and slid his over and around hers, just barely touching the tip.

  There was no stopping his cock from filling with blood or his balls from aching.

  “Bend over,” he finally managed to say, and she did, planting her hands on her knees.

  “I’m just going to admire the view for a moment,” he said, stepping away to catch his breath and subdue his arousal.

  Water hit her back and ran into the cleft of her buttocks. She was shaved down to not much pubic hair, but the soft tuft left behind was dripping and he watched the water for a moment. He thought of soaping his fingertips and probing her anally, but didn’t.

  He’d paid for whatever he wanted, but he knew her, he knew what she liked. Or rather, he knew what she’d liked once. Now she was a cock jockey. She was paid to take whatever the client wanted.

  Memories still held him back. He did soap his hands and did massage the sweet globes of her ass.

  She turned and reached for him, and he said, “Don’t touch. I’m still playing back here.”

  Her buttocks clenched. He continued his massage, wanting to suck proprietary passion marks on her firm ass, so her next guest would know she’d just made love to someone else.

  But he’d lost sight of something: they weren’t making love. They were fucking. And he was paying a fortune for the privilege of watching her suck his cock and in a moment, maybe take a ride on his joystick.

  “I want to fuck you. Face to face,” he said without further thought.

  And i
t really was what he wanted. She turned around and came into his arms as if no time had passed for them.

  Her kiss was sweet as he lifted her high.

  “Keep your eyes open,” he ordered when she wrapped her legs about his hips.

  He guided his cock into her. She moaned and her eyes flickered shut as he slid deep. “Keep them open, I said.”

  “As you wish,” she whispered.

  Then he had to close his. She was feather light in his arms. Her thighs quivered and she began to pant as he raised and lowered her on his erection.

  “Come for me,” he said, kissing her mouth, her chin, her throat. “Come for me.”

  She rode him frantically, bucking against him. And then he felt her climax ripple through her slick body. Nothing fake about it. He remembered every nuance of her reactions. The hitch in her breathing gave her away. If he opened his eyes, he was certain he’d see the familiar telltale flush across the pale skin of her throat, spreading down to cover her breasts.

  He felt her orgasm ripple and grip his cock, and the answering clench deep within his body. Way down in his balls. It made his own climax erupt from deep down, too. He buried his face against her neck and groaned. He shuddered, shook with the force of the blast off.

  Her whole body trembled in his arms.

  He bent her back and licked her nipples, licked up the drops of water running between the small sweet mounds.

  “Thank you for choosing the shower scenario,” a cheery but familiar voice said.

  For a mad moment, he almost shouted at the guy to go fuck himself. Then he remembered he was simply a client.

  Evans slid gracefully out of his embrace.

  “The attendant will be happy to assist you in the cleansing process.”

  “Don’t,” he snapped when she reached for the washcloth. “Leave it.”

  He watched her go, her hips swinging in that sensual rhythm he remembered so well. Anger pumped through him almost as hard as his come had pumped into her.

  Why was he angry?

  He knew why. She might be taking a shower with someone else in the next hour. Having orgasms, sucking someone else’s cock.

  He hastily washed and left the curled cleverness of the shower unit. In the outer chamber a urinal and toilet slid from the wall along with a wash basin. The chamber was empty.

  She was gone. Nothing of her remained behind, not even the scent he remembered on her skin as though it was yesterday. It struck him that he had never been aware of her smell, during any of his visits to The Palace. They’d once made a game of finding each other in the dark, without touch. He had known her bunk by the lingering scent of her skin, her hair, her essence.

  How had they erased her scent?

  The hell with that, how had they broken her spirit? The Sara Evans he’d known ten years before would never have tolerated this don’t look him in the face, give the guest whatever he desires, bullshit.

  * * * * *

  Evans spread her thighs for the elderly doctor. He had a full mane of luxurious white hair, but his face was as lined as the Mars surface. Over one hundred, maybe even one-twenty. Med-Aide Jennel glowered at the man’s side.

  “What’s this for?” Evans asked for the second time.

  “Shut up,” Jennel snapped at the same time the doctor said, “Routine.”

  “Don’t question Dr. Owen,” the med-aide instructed.

  Evans swore under her breath as the doctor swabbed her insides out and Jennel sealed the samples in pouches. Once the swabbing was done, the doctor barked, “Irrigation.” Jennel retrieved a pouch of fluid with an attached tube and a basin. While the doctor flushed her vagina with a soothing wash, the med-aide caught the outflow in the basin.

  Good-bye, Link spermies, Evans thought and giggled.

  The doctor stood up and dipped his hands in a fluid that dissolved his sprayed on protective shield. She hiccuped.

  Dr. Owen lifted his eyes to hers. His faded blue eyes held a touch of amusement, and a touch of yellow in the whites.

  “I think you’re receiving too much B12, young lady,” he said. “Jennel, make a note to decrease her dose. We want her healthy, not giddy.”

  B12, my ass. Evans headed for her cell. And why all the health checks? Surely one test of Link’s come would show he was squeaky clean. Or had something popped up? That thought killed the giggles.

  Who knew who Link had been probing these last ten years?

  As she drifted to sleep, she felt her mood slide toward depression. It’s just the drugs, she thought. It’s just the drugs.

  * * * * *

  Each morning when she read her list of tasks for the day, she wondered if Link might be on it. Two days had passed since the shower scenario. Two sleepless nights spent aroused almost to the point of screaming, remembering the fullness of him inside her, the force of the climax that had been sparked by his demand that she come for him.

  She donned her robe and went to her first appointment. Her mind was half on Link and half on Angel Martinez and the hopelessness of finding out what had happened to the young woman. She’d at least found one attendant in the mess hall, a man who remembered Angel from his induction and early training but hadn’t seen her since. He was wildly handsome and strutted like a peacock, puffed up that he was now the third most frequently requested male by women fifty and over. And tenth with men under thirty.

  Evans shivered. What had become of Angel? Who was requesting her services?

  Her first client of the day, a well-built man who, from his sun damaged skin obviously risked excessive UV exposure to pursue outdoor activities, did not wait for her to open his robe. He pulled it open as he crossed the chamber.

  * * * * *

  If it weren’t for thoughts of Angel Martinez and her agonized father, Evans knew she might have been tempted to tell her last client, the arrogant asshole, that she knew fifteen very efficient—and painful—ways to kill a man. She’d settled for pinching him beneath the concealment of his robe.

  When she was back in the bathing room, washing her hair for the next client, the door behind her opened. A tall woman in a robe like hers entered. She was also an attendant, but one who had achieved the privilege of directing others. Her name was Heaven4.

  “You were not very polite to your guest.”

  Evans stood under a gently blowing current of air and jerked a brush through her hair. “He was hurting me. I thought someone was supposed to intervene.”

  “They decide when to intervene. Not you. This is not your first lapse of manners, is it?”

  Evans didn’t answer. It was, in fact, her third “lapse” of manners.

  “You will pretend to enjoy all facets of every encounter or the guest will not be properly served. Do you understand?”

  She swallowed her ready retort and lowered her head. “I do,” she said with pretended meekness.

  Heaven4 came up behind her. “Get on the bench and open your legs.”

  Evans did as directed, lying back on a soft, padded bench and suffered the indignity of the woman spreading her nether lips and inspecting her.

  “You’re a bit chafed.” On cue, a panel slid open in the wall. Heaven4 took out an iridescent bottle with a short nozzle. She sprayed a cold blast of liquid across Evans’s clit.

  She went numb.

  Heaven4 ushered Evans back to her cell. As she turned to go, she said, “That will wear off in about forty minutes. If you have a guest, fake it.”

  Chapter 7

  Link obtained a loan at a financial center. He put every credit on his brothel card through Brad’s bartender connection, thankful that once sober, Brad never mentioned accompanying Link on any adventures.

  “I’m addicted,” he muttered as he activated the card in his chamber. He’d be eating the proverbial beans from now on.

  He’d learned how to cut through the magic bullshit of graphics and enticing women to the matter-of-fact lists of services and prices—and attendants.

  Like a man hooked on the latest ecstas
y drugs, he chose Evans and, with a hard swallow but no regrets for the upcoming loan payments, selected a full night in a bed, with a level two privacy option.

  He didn’t care that the disembodied voice might invite him to upgrade or might warn him from touching or speaking at the wrong moment. He cared only that it was the most time he could get with Evans for his credits.

  The room he entered looked much like a luxury hotel room—a room that glowed with golden light. A very expensive hotel room. The opulent furniture, crafted of actual wood and upholstered in soft, gold-hued fabrics, was nothing like that found in his government-budget room.

  Across one wall stretched an array of tech devices for vids and music. He opted for a miscellany of piano pieces and set them on uninterrupted repeat. He crossed to the wall of glass, ignoring Evans, who, garbed in a long white robe, sat on one of the golden chairs.

  They were eight stories up in a thirty-story brothel. The building surrounded an inner courtyard. From the street, The Palace looked like a cube. Now, he saw it was more like a square doughnut.

  The gardens below were drenched in flowering bushes and plants. No one strolled on the meandering paths or occupied the benches in the center swath of grass. No one would dare, on such a blindingly sunny day. Too much exposure to UV rays. The maintenance crew must work at night. No sheltered areas were visible, so Link assumed the garden was solely ornamental—a pleasure for the eyes only.

  He turned from the view to Evans and stroked his fingertips down the shiny length of her hair. She turned her head and nuzzled his hand, her eyes closed.

  His male irritant announced the company’s joy that he’d selected the rich experience of free expression for a night. Link half-listened to admonishments against violence of any kind and a reminder that since his server was unimproved, he could end the session at any time if he chose, but, regretfully, no refund would be given.

  He couldn’t wait. He bent down and scooped her into his arms. They fell across the bed, her robe hiked up to her thighs. She fumbled beneath his tunic, tugged down his uniform trousers and wrapped her hands around his penis.