Ship’s hum vibrates through the bulkheads like distant airport rumble. Nicolas 1er, our steel cocoon hurtling past the Solar System. I wake from hibernation, third time now, body slick with cryo-sweat. No windows, just screens flickering star trails—our endless runway. Heinrich’s pod hisses open nearby. His eyes lock on my ass as I stand in sports top, bare below. ‘What a butt! Wakes the dead,’ he grins. I snap back, ‘Big black ass talk.’ But tension crackles. Multivac beeps: speed at 1.82c, eight days to Proxima. Impossible. Stars blur on the console. We grab each other anyway. Anonymity hits hard—no one knows us out here. One cabin, like a transit motel. Electronic lock clicks shut with my palm scan. No keycards, just bio-locks. His hands yank my top. Skin still pale from sleep. We crash onto the bunk, no chit-chat. My pussy’s wet from the rush. His cock hardens fast. I straddle, sink down. Clit grinds his shaft first, teasing. Then full impale—wet slap echoes in the tight space.
Heinrich flips me, legs over shoulders. Balls deep, pounding my cervix. Orgasms hit like meteor strikes. Sweat beads, drips between my tits. Ship groans softly, corridors whisper with vents. Post-climax, we lounge naked, cum leaking down thighs. Multivac drones data, but fuck it. Ten days prior, same bunk: post-meteor dodge, I licked his softening dick clean. Salty pre-cum on my tongue. First time sucking cock. Ringed fingers at base, balls rolling in palm. Deepthroated him while he quizzed the AI. Then tribbed his shaft, clit on glans. Frustrated, grabbed it, rubbed till edges. He impaled me missionary, my legs pinned. Multiple Os, his quick spurt inside. Dream weeks of fucking everywhere—zero-G airlock flop, but cabins ruled.
The Layover
Now, urgency spikes. Two hours till wake others. ‘Fuck my ass,’ I demand. His shock—’You sure?’ Fingers first: index scouts rosebud, thumbs clit. Lubes from pussy, two then three digits stretch. I cum hard, shaking. Doggy prayer pose: knees wide, ass high. Screen glow lights my gaping holes. He presses glans—slow, gentle. Pain flares, but I rock back. Full sheath, his pubes on cheeks. Hands knead my back, tweak nipples. I finger-fuck myself, feeling cock through walls. He ramps: splats, slaps, grunts. My thumb stretches clit. Build explodes—ass orgasms chain, deeper than pussy. His load floods bowels, hot gush. Collapse laughing, creampie oozing both holes. ‘Why not sooner?’ ‘Religion.’ Spluff as he pulls out.
Shower-dry, quick chow. Corridors buzz faintly. We suit up, mag-seals click. Head to controls. Others wake soon. Screens show ‘Proxima’—but wrong. Multivac stutters: our Solar System, 4000 BC. Laughter erupts. Time loop? Biblical crew match. Parting glance at bunk—our naughty transit nest. Engines thrum, stars streak. Resume course, bodies humming from the layover fuckfest. Memory sears: anonymous space hotel, one wild halt before infinity.