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Anal Etiquette: 2201: An Anal Odyssey


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Anal Etiquette: 2201: An Anal Odyssey

By: Lord Odie

Disclaimer:  The following is a work of pure sexual fantasy and is intended for adult audiences ONLY.  If you are under the age of 18, please stop reading NOW and go tell your parent and/or guardian that you need stricter internet supervision.  Any physical resemblance to a real person that any fictional character herein may bear is probably intentional and is meant as a compliment.  Furthermore, all fictional characters in the following fantasy are professionals and good at what they do.  So please, don’t try this at home; if such things were even physically possible.  If you still insist on trying this at home, please send all pictures and feedback about the experience to myself at: lordodietheauthor@gmail.com.  If I can’t stop you I can at least make sure you’re doing it right.  Consider yourself disclaimed.

 

Foreword

This story is based on ideas put forth by rbbc on RoseButtBoard, and a documentary I saw a few years ago about next generation space suits currently under development. The basic premise is how the Anal Etiquette culture would fair in zero-G space. So fast forward a hundred years or so past the current timeline, and here we go! The year is 2201, and some things have changed…

P.S. I’m undecided as to if the Days of Future’s Future plot arc is canon history in this setting. I’ll have to ponder that…

 

Part 1

Lieutenant (JG) Casey Mc Cavin, United Terran Space Force followed her younger copilot, Ensign Jeremy Stuller, through the hatch to their shuttle’s cramped cockpit. Their stubby craft was an older Dragonfly-E3 class maintenance shuttle. The Dragonflies were slowly being phased out but there were still a few of them left in Lunar Command’s inventory. Casey was glad to have the old girl as her first command because it could take a direct hit from an asteroid the size of a small auto moving at 11kph and only ding the paint – unlike the new Wasp class shuttles which would disintegrate into a ball nuclear fusion should it be unfortunate enough to encounter the same object. The likely hood of that happening was remote in the extreme, but it was still comforting.

Casey had to shake her head in exasperation as Ensign Stuller flopped around clumsily in the zero gravity – his arms and legs wind milling about seeming at random. This is why so few men qualify as pilots, Casey thought to herself; and why fewer still qualified for EVA operations! She kept her comments to herself and tried not to giggle as her male copilot banged his left knee on the NavCom console and then bumped his head on the near-collision radar display as he ricocheted from the first impact. He cursed out loud and finally steadied himself, floated into his command seat, and started buckling and tightening his 5-point shock harness.

Frack! she thought to herself, with all Wanderman’s flailing around, it was a good thing that maintenance shuttles weren’t armed! She’d hate to have to explain to Captain Kelly Wanderman – commander of UTSFS Exxon Mobil – why her shiny new shuttle bay had mysteriously materialized a pair of 10cm burn holes through the outer hull. Casey shuddered at the mere thought of the pitiless gaze of The Old Lady as she wrote up the newly minted Ensign Mc Gavin’s formal reprimand paper work and consigned the young officer to 90 days in the Mighty Mo’s extensive torture brig. She’d witnessed how much Master Chief Petty Officer Bianca von Kraus loved her job as the ship’s chief disciplinarian and head mistress. Master Chief was actually the only member of the Exxon Mobil’s 1800-member crew who could send The Old Lady herself to the brig – which only happened once a week or so when the Captain was getting a little too stressed from her demanding job.

The Human race’s gender imbalance had worsened over the last century to the point that now only 1 in 10 people were male. However, due to exacting qualification requirements of the UTSF, only about 1 in 100 service personnel were male. Which made Ensign Stuller one of only 8 men assigned to the Mighty Moe. Needless to say, while he was assigned his own private quarters like the Captain and Master Chief, he never had to sleep alone – unlike all the other personnel who shared quarters with 3 to 15 other spacers – depending on rank. Casey herself shared cramped quarters with 3 other lieutenants.

Speaking of torture brigs, Casey never quite understood the need for such cavernous bays that could otherwise be put to a more practical use. She understood the need for heavy doses of Masomaxicin and Voluptumax in the food and water supply for civilian populations, but she never understood the military necessity for a naval ship’s crew while it was underway. It seemed horribly impractical to the young lieutenant for naval architects to have to design ships with torture brigs capable of incarcerating a third of a ships normal crew. Normally, a ship’s brig contained roughly a quarter of any ship’s crew at any given time, but the need to throw more women in the torture brig at any time necessitated the extra capacity. Casey assumed no one had asked her lengthy and learned opinion on the matter because of a failure of military intelligence – or The Brass just didn’t give two fracks about what some random lieutenant (JG) thought anyway. It was more likely the latter.

Now that the Ensign was done tumbling clumsily about, Casey could enter the cramped cockpit without fear of getting accidentally backhanded – not that she would have minded it overly much. The lieutenant floated gracefully through the hatch, past all the shuttle’s displays and controls, and expertly into her command seat without coming within 25cm of anything hard, pointy or ouchie. She looked over at Stuller and blew him a mischievous kiss. He only groaned in annoyance at her grace and maneuverability.

The reason for Mc Cavin’s grace and Stuller’s awkwardness was simple: while he had all four limbs to worry about, Casey’s legs were bound behind her shoulders. And not just simply bound; female space suits were designed in such a way that having one’s legs behind one’s shoulders was the only way to fit into them. There was simply no other way to wear one! This kept the body’s center of balance centered high on the torso and made it significantly easier to get around in zero gravity. There were also less moving parts to bang into things. Women were used to being bound like this for sustained periods of time since they became of age and the strain on their joints barely registered. Men, on the other hand, were nowhere near agile enough for the position. It seemed that nearly 2 centuries of culturally instituted extreme BDSM had trained women’s bodies perfectly for space!

Unlike the ancient space suits of the 20th Century, 22nd Century suits more closely resembled thin wet suits from the same era. They weren’t pressurized either. They relied on the inwards pressure of strong, nano-fabric to hold the human body together and protect it from the void of space. Modern space suits were basically like whole-body corsets that kept the body from expanding and deteriorating. Only the soft plastic helmet that attached to the neck was pressurized with air. Centuries of wearing strict corsets and heavy bondage had also helped in preparing women better for the rigors of space travel than men. Men were just uncomfortable with the feeling of corset-like clothing. They hadn’t had generations to adjust to the garments as common, everyday wear.

Female space suits also had one more interesting design feature: the breasts were deemed as less necessary to be pressurized at the rest of the body, and so the skin-tight material over her healthy 34H breasts were considerably thinner than the material over the rest of her body. In a few minutes, when the cabin was depressurized for flight, they would quickly grow 2 cup sizes as the vacuum of space pulled at them. To protect the rest of the body from the expansion, the base of each tit was tightly compressed by a thick band of nano-fiber. The result was that Casey looked like she had 342 F-cup-sized orbs of tit-flesh protruding from her otherwise sleek torso.

All these factors combined together to make Lieutenant Mc Cavin a graceful swan in the weightlessness of space and Ensign Stuller a bungling ox. And this was why 99 out of 100 spacers were women.

Casey felt the sizable, 18cm wide, 50cm long realistically textured dildo sealed into her rectum make contact with her command seat’s receptacle and lock securely in place. At the same time, her headrest lowered down between her encased feet and the back of her head and retracted backwards. This pulled her already straining legs into the seat cushion hard enough that she grunted at the uncomfortable stress in her hips as they protested at the unnatural angle. Looking down, the outline of the dildo buried deeply in her rectum was clearly visible through her suit’s thin – yet incredibly tough – material. Finally, she reached to her left and then to her right for the last two shock restraints, connected them to the hardpoints built into the sides of the thick bands at the base of her tits, and allowed the seat to automatically ratchet the straps tight. Casey groaned as her base of her already bulbous tits contracted even further and her breasts orbs were pulled outwards and to the sides painfully.

Despite Stuller having a good 30 second head start on Mc Cavin, Casey managed to be fully strapped in before her copilot. She heard another groan of annoyance from the young man as they began to run down the shuttles preflight checklist.

Minutes later, the Dragonfly-E3 rumbled alive as her power plant came fully online and the fusion thrusters began warming up. The board was green and preflight was almost finished before Chief Petty Officer Samantha Corbin floated through the hatch to check in with the pilots. “We’re about all strapped in, Lieutenant,” she reported formally, “And the cargo hatch is closed and locked.”

Glancing over at the CPO’s massive 36J rack mere inches from her face, she replied, “Thank you, Chief.” Casey checked a few more readouts before hitting the intercom transmit button, “Helmets sealed, ladies. Depressurizing in 5 seconds.” She checked the cargo bay’s video feed as Chief Corbin’s repair detail donned their helmets immediately. All 20 women were strapped into their seats identically to Casey – each woman’s legs secured behind their shoulders and large, spherical breasts riding high on their chests. “Depressurizing,” she announced and hit the button.

Immediately, her helmet popped taut as it retained its pressure while the air in the shuttle was sucked out. Casey groaned in moderate pain as her breasts expanded in the vacuum. Glancing to her side, she could see Chief Corbin’s eyes were closed and her mouth open as her normally 36J tit orbs expanded to an impressive at least a 36L cup. Remarkable! If not for the vacuum in the cockpit, Casey was sure she could hear the older petty officer groan in pain.

Their mission today was to assess and repair a 800 million ton freight drone full of rare earth metals that had gone mysteriously offline. The drone was bound for Terra’s orbital smelters, and the industrial ring of orbital factories beyond.

“Better get locked in, Chief,” Casey commented as she cycled the environmental system and brought up the Exxon Mobile’s small craft net and requested permission to depart. The Chief nodded and disappeared though the hatch she’d come from. Glancing in the cargo bay’s video feed, the now bustier repair team sat and tried to get comfortable.

With permission to depart, Casey released the docking clamps and guided the shuttle out of the bay and into the infinite blackness of space. Expertly, she aligned the craft with the first beacon and throttled up the fusion thrusters to 80% power. Immediately, she was slammed into her command seat as 12 gravities of acceleration hurdled the craft forward. For nearly five minutes, the craft accelerated constantly before reaching the ruthlessly enforced speed limit for near Lunar orbit. Only the tightening of her nano-fiber suit kept blood in her skull and prevented her from blacking out under the strain. Regardless, 12Gs was a lot of acceleration and she was grateful to power down the thrusters for the 2-hour flight out to the remote mining station and the disabled freight drone.

She toggled the intercom again and announced, “Alright, ladies. We’ve got a 120-minute flight time. The temperature at our destination is a pleasant -240 Celsius and Sol will be behind Luna; so, no need for sunscreen!” She saw a few faces smile in the video feed at her corny joke. It was doubtfully the first time they’d heard it.

“Feel free to enjoy yourselves but be ready to deploy in 90 minutes,” Casey added. Deciding to take her own advice, Casey switched off the intercom and set it to the pilot-only channel. “You got this, Jeremy?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied professionally as her transferred primary control of the shuttle to his station.

“Okay, I’m going offline for 90 minutes. The ship is yours, Ensign.”

“Aye, ma’am. The ship is mine,” Stuller replied formally. Not that there was a single god damned thing to actually do in the next 90 minutes, but maritime tradition was maritime tradition and someone had to be in command.

Keying in commands on the arms of her command seat, Casey brought up the seat’s various pleasure programs. Choosing a particularly vigorous BDSM program, she set the timer for 90 minutes and hit the execute button. The program started and the words, “Please Insert Wrists,” appeared on her helmet’s HUD. Reaching down, she inserted her writs into the pair of loops at the side of her seat. Instantly, her wrists were pulled behind her body into a sever strappado and forced her to exhale from the strain. Before she could catch her breath, the collar of her suit tightened around her neck and began choking her. It wouldn’t actually strangle her, but it was enough to get her adrenalin pumping. At the same time, she felt her large dildo in her rectum come to life. The large slab of latex extracted itself nearly entirely before slamming into her nether hole with shocking force. Casey cried out in pain and pleasure as the speed and force of the dildo picked up.

Glancing in the cargo bay’s video feed, all 21 women of Chief Corbin’s team had their arms drawn up behind them. The outlines of 21 large dildos piercing their rectums could be seen moving up and down under their space suits at various speeds and forces. What else was there to do during an otherwise boring flight?

As Lieutenant Casey’s first orgasm approached, her eyes shot open as the sound of 22 groaning, crying and orgasming women suddenly exploded in her ears. Evidently, Stuller had opened all the mikes on the shuttle wide intercom. Casey thought about reprimanding him, but their combined symphony of voices was arousing to say the least. And that was enough to push her over the edge into orgasm.

It ended up being a routine 11-hour mission. The two-hour flight times in either direction were the most eventful parts of the entire mission.

 

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LOL! Maybe I'll go back and edit something in. I just typed that out quickly for fun and posted it. 

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You are incredibly productive at this moment. If I may give my opinion, I think you should keep Days of Future’s Future cannon. If you want to remove the asylum, I think it may be better to invent some events that lead to its destruction.

Congratulation for this depressurized breasts combination idea. I cannot resist to the temptation of giving more justifications to its existence.

The air pressure in the combination is not perfectly stable, the variations are not big enough to be dangerous but can still damage really small blood vessels like the one in the eyes or nose. Even if nosebleed or irritated eyes seem to be minor inconvenient, they can result in much bigger problems if they occur at the wrong moment. That why depressurized breasts are so useful: as the breasts expand they fill with blood, which mechanically reduce the quantity of blood in the rest of the body. Even if this blood shift is not enough to trouble the brain, it still cause a drop in blood pressure. And with this lower blood pressure the small vessels can withstand way more easily most of the variations in air pressure. If you want to go further, combinations can tighten more or less around the base of the breasts to control the blood that go in and out of it and so finely adjust its pressure in real time. Cups could also strongly squeeze the breasts when needed to increase blood pressure to prevent a lost of consciousness from a brutal acceleration. I hope for you that you've a patent on this one.

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I like all these ideas! This could be just another reason why men are physically incapable of qualifying for extended duration deep space EVA operations. I imagine that generations of breast suspension and general tit abuse have conditioned the female breasts to endure significant punishment. Near-zero pressure wouldn't be all that much more of a strain.

I haven't really thought much more about making Days of Future's Future canon yet -- though I probably will. It's just too much fun to write about.

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Great story, i would love to see a day in the captains life (preferably the day she gets a ride in the torture brig) .

Im guessing naming the ship Mighty Mo is paying homage to the USS Missouri ?

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I have no idea where I'll take the story from here. I initially wrote Days of Future's Future as a one-off and ended up writing three parts -- so far. So who knows.

The Mighty Mo's actual name is the UTSF Exxon Mobil. I figure we name arenas, race tracks and coliseums after companies now. In the future, might as well name naval ships after large political donors.

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Oh, Eternal Overlord Musk the Great (First of His Name) colonized the Red Planet in the mid 20th century and gave Earth the proverbial middle finger. Shortly after which, he discovered the secret to immortality and built an opulent, sprawling, underground palace in the planet's only active volcano. He now rules over planet Musk -- formerly Mars -- with an iron fist and plots his eventual return and conquest of Earth. Skirmishes between the UTSF and the Muskian Navay are commonplace as both reach out to asteroid belt to plunder its vast resources.

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Interesting, but obviously the Humans made a big strategic mistake by not using for themselves this technique of using female orgasm to generate power. I cannot fail to notice that in this manga, the girl is surprised because the extreme penetration doesn't cause any pain. So we could have on a side the evil robots that threat human as object and use vaginally induced and painless orgasm to generate power. On the other side the good humans would only use ethical way of producing energy: extremely painful and anally induced orgasm.

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15 hours ago, rbbc said:

On the other side the good humans would only use ethical way of producing energy: extremely painful and anally induced orgasm.

I snorted out loud at this! 

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Even thought tou had specified "wrong hole" when I rode page 7, third case "the women they imprisoned must generate energy by cumming with her pussy”, for a fraction of second I hoped that the girl would be to move aside at the last moment and take it the drill in the ass. As she had clearly specifyed the hole that produce energy, I assumed her plan would be to exhaust all the machine power by tricking it in trying harder and harder to make her cum, only resulting in anal orgasm that does not produce any energy it can use. Of course, there was no guaranty for drug allowing her to to enjoy extreme insertion in the pussy to work as well on her ass. But a rectum is a meager price to pay if that allow to win the war. I imagine latter the commemoration monuments: “Univer triumphing of the Jagaar”. Throw a coin in Univer and make a which.

No need to say I have been cruelly disappointed.

 

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I think we can all agree this manga would have been much better if the robots were powered by painful anal orgasms. Unfortunately, I am no artist.

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