by Purple Hazel
In time, she began to dream that she was now lying completely naked on the floor of a small room—colorless—pale white on every side—with no doorway or windows. White walls, white tiled floor, white tiled ceiling. This time however, the walls, ceiling, and floor would come alive with animated strands of electrical wiring. They’d burst through holes in the wall, or erupt from the floor underneath her. They’d snake downward through seams in the ceiling above her, too; and once again they’d reach out to ensnare her, wrapping around her ankles and wrists to spread her wide on the floor, exposed and helpless.
Even as she aged into her later teens during the return mission, the dream would reoccur; and develop even further, with the wiring now coming alive and creeping down her body to her crotch...entering her and vibrating on her clitoris to bring her to a spectacular orgasm.
In some dreams, she’d be driven to climax only once. In other dreams, she imagined the wires electrifying other parts of her body as well like her nipples and anus, pushing her over the edge of personal ecstasy repeatedly until she’d nearly faint with exhaustion. Those versions of the dream were her favorites. What’s more, practically any time she’d see the engineering team pulling out wall panels to perform repairs or checkups on the nearly infinite network of data lines, the very sight of that exposed wiring would trigger the fantasy all over again; then she’d rush off to see Ozzie—or if he was still on duty—head over to the VRC alone to personally pleasure herself.
Yes, indeed, by her late teens she was replicating that fantasy quite regularly inside the “Virch” and programmed in her own special scenarios to live out both dreams: the “Alien Forest” or the “White Room” as she titled them. No one could have figured out what she was doing in there, of course. If they’d loaded up one of her programs they’d have merely wondered what was the big deal. Nevertheless, when those images would come on screen, she’d diddle herself to a crushing orgasm, eventually squealing and wailing as she bucked and writhed...all the while spreading her legs, pinching and plucking her nipples the way she’d imagined it in her mind. It was her private little perversion—harmless and juvenile as it were—but quite real enough to her regardless…
* * * *
Others did things differently, not surprisingly. Many combined their own fantasies and personal perversions with programs that already existed...or manipulated devices within the ship, or found props available for use in “the Virch” to create their own private show.
For example, there were several programs that involved riding old fashioned “motorcycles” as they used to be called back in the 21st Century—sometimes across deserts on empty highways and sometimes racing through city streets in a kind of wild urban chase scene. But the highly-educated crew of the Santa Maria included some of the brightest young minds in electrical engineering. Wasn’t long before someone figured out how to rewire the “saddle bench” component inside one of the chambers to vibrate at many times its current intensity. They geared it so that when straddling it, and gripping the handle bars—or reins in cases where it was used for a horseback riding sequence—riders would feel an intense vibration between their legs.
Adding in a dildo shoved up inside their vaginas, and perhaps even a butt plug inserted in their rectums, most any of the women could straddle the device naked and “ride it out” until they’d reached orgasm—once or even twice if they could pull it off without collapsing in an exhausted heap slumped over the saddle. B.J. tried it out a couple or three times as well, just to see what all the girls were crowing about. Even let them join in sometimes, too; and “assist” by playing with her breasts and pinching her nipples to intensify her eventual climax. Time permitting, she’d almost always return the favor when the other woman “mounted up” for the next ride. Stories about things like this never made it back to Steinhart of course.
Meanwhile at least six of the male crewmembers were strictly homosexual; but two of them in particular were quite athletic. Muscular, fit, and clean shaven from the neck down, their special perversion was wrestling with each other naked, then following it up with vigorous manly sex. The program they chose was under the category of “Earth Olympics”, subcategory “Ancient Greece”. They played it old school, too, reenacting the ancient sport and traditions which went all the way back to 708 BCE—which they’d taken the time to research beforehand just to make it more authentic.
They used a program which created an ancient Greek stadium, complete with a crowd of jeering, cheering, exuberant men in togas or standing around them bare-chested, glistening in the hot Aegean sun. They’d enter the stadium nude, just like ancient wrestlers once did, and pay homage to the patron god Heracles. They fashioned laurels of victory to crown each other using scrap material they found in the cargo hold, even observed the ancient rules of the once wildly popular sport—such as no kicking, no deliberate striking with fists, a single point for touching the opponents back to the ground, three points for victory, and so on. Grasping the genitals however was allowed...not only permitted but heartily encouraged.
Conversely, several of the thirty-one female crewmembers were avowed lesbians—though no one really had a firm figure on just how many were exclusively gay. A couple of them were likely “in between” and trying it out only to see what it was like “playing for the other team”. Several people did so in fact. Both genders! Heterosexual men tried it out with other men, straight women tried having a go with another gal, etc. But among the lesbians on board there was a level of creativity that rivaled everyone. Some of them endeavored to put the Swimming programs to good use for instance.
“The Virch” had a program which would cause a force field to electrify over the surface of the floor. It also created a video image of a swimming pool, lake, river, pond, or ocean. This force field hovered at about 1.25 meters or so, enabling a person to stand on the floor if they wished, or “swim” by paddling and stroking through the simulated water. Several of the gay females tried it out in pairs—or threesomes if anyone else was “game”—and held mock Olympic competitions with each other, which the program would then time for them and score, depending on what “event” they chose.
Other girls, who were technically bisexual or bi-curious experimented with each other utilizing the Ottoman Empire program. This relaxing and soothing series of scenarios offered several opportunities for the occupants in the room to experience a real Turkish thermal bath (like the famous Keceli Hamami in Bursa, Turkey) or frolic about naked together in the Sultan’s infamous royal harem at Topkapi Palace in Istanbul. Several of the Asian and Middle Eastern girls especially loved these programs and B.J. was often a willing and active participant in some of their steamy, intimate scenarios.
Kissing another woman was something new for B.J., after all. She really enjoyed it! Rolling around naked with other females...fondling and caressing and even tasting of their salty sweetness between their legs...was yet another little peccadillo she’d have thought would never happen growing up back in Denver. Not as a woman who once ravenously craved men, and only men, for sexual fulfillment. Yet it soon became one of her more favorite naughty diversions whenever she knew Steinhart wouldn’t need her for an hour or so.
She never worried about it, of course. Wouldn’t have mattered if he did find out, really. It only made her more maddeningly aroused for him whenever he’d be “off duty” later. By then she’d be burning with desire for him. It served as a sort of sexy aperitif before the main course, so to speak. But there was more! Oh yes, much more indeed.
One of the fellows on board, a young crewman from Beijing, made his “playtime” into a mock profession, creating a virtual reality Asian Massage Parlor. He even found one of the Swedish gals onboard who just like him enjoyed pretending to be a masseuse—and they would team up to welcome “customers” into their “shop” for a very thorough, full body massage. To do it, they utilized the water simulation associated with the Turkish bath or Olympic Swimming Pool program to create an invisible massage table. They’d sim
ply reduce the gravity in the room to enable the person to “rise” above the floor while they wore weighted boots and moved about to manipulate tired muscles.
Because of this, the guest inside the room with them literally floated above the floor while they worked on their naked body. They also guaranteed a “happy ending” for each visitor during their one Earth hour session, by stroking or rubbing the genitals of the “client” until they reached climax or ejaculated.
Either gender was welcome. Most everyone tried them out, too. Frankly, they got really, really good at it over the years! Always did a good “job” for each visitor dropping by their virtual store...which they humorously titled “Móshú shöu” or Magic Hand just to get some laughs and “stimulate” more business.
Some of the crew took it even further—almost too far some would say. Girls who liked acting more “butch” paired off with bisexual or bi-curious gals to play cops and robber scenarios, setting up a Police Station or women’s prison scene (the computer had ten possible variations for this). And those girls who ever wanted to live out B.J.’s now legendary real-life story of taking on three—“or was it four, I can’t remember”—rugby players one night—those ladies found several decent prospects among the young men on board willing to accommodate them for group sex scenes.
One crewman—a rather well-endowed fellow who worked with Ozzie in the Pod Monitoring section—eventually became a specialist at that sort of thing. He was an American mechanical engineer named Gary Orem who’d graduated from Cal-Poly, and he was pretty much the ringleader, so to speak. He’d regularly recruit additional participants as needed—or desired—by intrigued females wanting “that little extra”. Thus, he named his skilled troupe of “beefy hunks”, as he’d like to boast regarding their special attributes, “Gary Kinkorama”.
For a time, Gary Kinkorama was a hot item on board. So many participated in his perverse sex shows, in fact, that Captain Stehter considered for a time having a little chat with the burly but affable young man—just to remind him not to “go overboard” with things. Steinhart never did however. B.J. continually talked him out of it. And Gary’s diabolical scenes perpetrated with hot, sweaty, naked bodies in “the Virch” were just as epic as they were shockingly realistic.
He thought of practically everything, left out almost nothing. He’d even interview the woman privately days in advance, often secretly, inside the big, empty cargo bay where no one could hear of their plans. Find out all she was fantasizing about—and her deepest, darkest most secretive, perverse, and filthy thoughts—in order to devise a scene for her that would thoroughly blow her mind. Often what he’d later come up with was something that would reduce the woman to an emotionally-drained and physically exhausted wreck. Sometimes they’d have to literally carry the woman out when they were done: it was that intense.
Prison scenes with evil “guards” interrogating then enjoying the favors of a female tourist who’d been arrested for disorderly conduct on the streets of some squalid third world city. Captured Russian slave girl brought before the Great Mongol Khan to be ravaged by his palace guards—all for the man’s personal amusement. White settler woman abducted by Apache Indians and made to serve the debased needs of all the strapping warriors in the tribe. Stranded female motorist on some desolate desert highway walking into a roadside bar only to find a group of lustful bikers glaring at her...and being made to pleasure them one by one in exchange for transportation into town. Oh yes, there were plenty to choose from!
Gloomy, realistic dungeon scene underneath some medieval castle during the Spanish Inquisition. Partying backstage with the members of some famous rock-n-roll band after a sold-out concert. A visit to the Gladiator paddock underneath the Roman Coliseum right after combat to meet the fighters “up close and personal”. Perhaps even a space alien ménage where a female human has been abducted and taken up to the alien craft for unspeakable “experiments” and “probing” to be done to her body by mysterious, vibrating devices and icy, slimy, alien fingers. Those were quite popular as well.
Indeed, the VRC offered just about every possible means by which Gary “Kinkorama” Orem could enhance or create some diabolical scene which replicated as closely as could be, what each woman he met with secretly desired...and had been fantasizing about all their lives. Nothing was completely out of the question; and it was done safely without fear or threat of injury. True, there certainly was one concussion and more than a few pulled groins, sore backs, and some skinned up knees to go along with all the sore jaws...and an unmistakable limp afterward when the woman would return to her duty shift.
But “the Virch” was quite an ingenious creation, no doubting that. It even had replicated smells and odors to go along with the visual imagery. Temperature and artificial humidity could be regulated. Gary could make it into the most realistic fantasy world the woman might imagine. If it needed to look, smell, and feel like a dank, moldering dungeon beneath an evil warlord’s castle—he could make that happen.
Or...if it needed to look and smell like a French bakery—that was easy to replicate as well. The Belgian woman for instance—the one whom Shamiso called a “slapper”, which basically means slut in Cockney—that was where she did her kinky group sex scene. Gary had his male cohorts carry in a big table and sprinkle it with powder so she’d be covered in “flour” during the sex scene. She was covered in much more than that when they were done with her an hour later.
Of course, the VRC’s weren’t the only place for casual sex. The athletic center was also popular—whenever a couple could find a spot to be alone in there amongst the elliptical machines and Yoga mats that is. Even the sleeping births could sometimes be found occupied by a couple making out or having wild sex inside—with the hatch shut up tight naturally. It was common courtesy more than anything else. Since everyone was bedding down with practically everyone else on board, the least they could do was seal themselves inside to muffle the moaning and groaning…
This was what Steinhart was hearing about going on—and occasionally witnessing in person—when couples weren’t being too terribly discrete with their liaisons. And as far as he was concerned, this didn’t seem to pose any direct threat to ship’s morale in and of itself. If consenting adults wanted to have hot dirty sex to relieve their stress, then who in their right mind could have objected to that? Certainly, he couldn’t. He was certainly “getting his” and then some, wasn’t he now?
All females were taking birth control pills while on the mission. That was a requirement. What’s more, crewmembers had been tested for venereal diseases long ago and checked out way back in 2086. No one could get pregnant. No one could get infected...not with anything more than an occasional influenza and there were plenty of antibiotics for that. Like with the Away Team—and the experiences with their many years in space—sex and open sexuality was an easy, clean, and safe way to provide a diversion to the crew and allay their constant boredom.
Nevertheless, Steinhart could see how this was degenerating and feared what it could ultimately lead to. He worried that someone might speak to someone else about the prowess and skill of another, making them more desirable to others in the process. Jealousies might arise. Conflicts might occur. And what of the opposite situation? When one individual might be scorned by another and rumors spread of their ineffectiveness or undesirableness as a lover? What might happen then, when a person’s sexual shortcomings (or lack of skills, offensive personal hygiene...meager endowment, etc.) might face public scrutiny...even ridicule?
Oh yes, Steinhart could imagine rather heated arguments erupting from those scenarios. Men might brag to their mates—that was in their nature, for God’s sake—and women would gossip about who had what and who was particularly good with what they had to work with. That was most certainly in their nature, too! But with such a small community of people—and over two-thirds of them sexually active with one another–problems were bound to occur.
He tried not revealing these concerns to B.J., thou
gh. She being the happy, positive-energy type of person, in love with her man and enthused about pleasing him—he couldn’t bring himself to warn her of the potential threats. Yet, it was often on his mind as the years passed. Year one of their return flight had been a breeze. Folks had a blast. The ship’s crew were delightful and easy to manage. Year two of the trip got a little more tedious, no question about that. A few minor incidents; but otherwise the crew managed themselves okay. Year three however, was even more difficult to bear; and cracks began to appear. Crewmen and women went from happy vacationers to more like exhausted tourists longing for the plane flight home after two weeks at a tropical beach resort.
They became like bored children packed into the family station wagon on a cross-country excursion to go visit grandma at the nursing home. About all they could hope for was “the day”: the now famous date on their mental calendars on which they’d rendezvous with Nautilus and be whisked away to their homes back on Earth “in a matter of months”.
Steinhart knew what was happening to them. They’d worn themselves out basically, and there was little or nothing left to experience except for that long trek home.
But what could he say, really? They were all so terribly adamant about that day, the 1st of September, 2106. Obsessed with it, they were. Practically the only thing that gave them hope! He almost couldn’t blame them, really: After all they’d been through during the building of the colony. How they’d been pushed and prodded and provoked and verbally abused by that “little turd” back on Kapteyn B—the tyrannical Italian who’d driven them so hard. They still talked about him, too!
