Another installment in my "Valentine's gift series", which I hope is once again enjoyed by my mate across the country
Lots of kids want to be astronauts. 32%, in one survey Venus could recall. Lower only than ‘professional athlete’. There are fewer astronauts. Venus had not, however, been just one amongst the pile. While the young horde of aspiring Neil Armstrong’s colored rocket ships, maybe even looked up at the stars through at-home telescopes they got for Christmas, Venus’ approach was much more practical. Being a foster kid breeds a certain kind of practicality. Days spent at the public library before her nights staring up at the stars had given Venus a realist’s impression of what it really took to get to space. The roadmap, demographically, was a good enough rough instruction manual it turned out. Most astronauts had an engineering or hard science background, most came from the military, many had some degree or other from MIT. A young Venus found this to be plenty work with. From her under-funded high school, the already intimidating valedictorian shipped off to the best undergraduate astrophysics program a foster kid with no college fund could afford, at UCLA. She cruised through long hours of studying, picked up a double major in engineering along the way, ruled her mostly male ROTC cohort with an iron fist. From there it was off to MIT for her PhD: once again dispatched in what- for graduate school- was considered short order. She had developed a much improved algorithm which could confidently read putative signs of life from distant planets using ambient gas signatures detectable by telescope.
“Putative”. The word had irked her, though despite her confidence in her work she could hardly logically protest. She of course had no actual proof these planets harbored life. But with a now bolstered resolution to dispel that dirty word and provide solid empirical confirmation for her well-received algorithm, Venus enlisted. As an ROTC veteran and college graduate, Venus entered the Navy as a modestly high-ranking officer. Naval aviation was the first of Venus’ endeavors which did not seem to come to her so naturally. She was, nonetheless, resolute, eventually earning (as she always did) the respect of her peers and instructors, along with the ire of her rivals. When she finally got the call back for her astronaut application from NASA, Venus let out a sigh of relief which had been building all her life. And she had done it all on her own. Her biological parents- before ODing or otherwise fucking off- had done her only one small favor before their departure: her name. Was it fate? Some semelparous version of “good parenting”? Venus didn’t care. She only knew that every barb every foster sibling or school bully had lobbed about “Venus the astronaut” getting up to space like Venus the planet, would be put right back in their faces. Success was the best revenge; and Venus was indomitable.
After getting her sea legs with a few missions on the ISS, Venus could officially call herself an astronaut. It felt a tad hollow though. At some level, Venus’ astronaut aspirations were borne of a desire to properly leave Earth behind. She of course felt the same transcendental awe at seeing the blue marble from orbit, but her life had worked seemingly from its start to tire her of the blue planet. Foster care, public school, grad school, academic politics, then the military hadn’t exposed Venus to humanity’s best angels. She was also not left with any living family, many friends, and certainly no romantic partner. Although as much a specimen physically as she was mentally, Earth’s men were often (perhaps understandably) intimidated by Venus. Even when bumping elbows with her fellow elites at UCLA, MIT, or NASA, Venus was intense, single-focused, and, although beautiful: somehow otherworldly. She had had short relationships, sure, but nothing lingering to tie her to the mast against the siren song of space.
This was one among many reasons why Venus was such a natural candidate for the MEEV mission. The Manned Extraterrestrial Exploration Voyage was funded- in part- with the intent to test Venus biological prediction algorithm. A candidate world which her method indicated high confidence in was chosen. A craft which could navigate to the world, some 6 light years away or so, was constructed. The last necessary breakthrough was biomedical. Travelling even at a reasonable proportion of the speed of light (about 1% being the best humanity could hope for with current technology), the journey to the distant star system would take about 400 years. To reach even that fractional cosmological speed, the craft’s payload had to be very small: not much more mass than what a single human might need to survive. Human lifespan being what it was, these limitations were a major impediment; that is, until a breakthrough in human hibernation technology occurred. With the ability to stall a person’s metabolism in suspended animation, a human in deep sleep could go under for the long nap and wake up 400 years later feeling a tad groggy but not substantially older. Retrofitting the craft to accommodate the hibernation chamber did add slightly more weight, but even this was a mark in Venus’ favor. Her slight 5’4” frame made her easily the most qualified trained astronaut to fall under the threshold for keeping the craft’s payload under capacity. Venus was now well and truly going to space.
Science fiction would have you believe that one doesn’t dream during hibernation. Venus Hargraves, the first person to ever travel beyond the gravitation pull of the Earth’s star, could attest otherwise. Venus dreamt incessantly as her body slipped through the cold dark of space for hundreds of years. She did not, perhaps, dream dreams worth thousands of nights of sleep, but her brain- even slowed down as it was in hibernation- maintained some activity. She dreamed of the immense tug of several G’s of force during her launch to orbit, of dispassionately arranging the logistics of her departure from her indistinct apartment, of several admittedly emotional goodbyes to her few friends. But mostly she dreamed of the exciting possibilities which awaited her on the planet which she now hurdled towards. Perhaps there, unlike earth, she would find kinship, compassion, stimulation amongst the resident life, however rudimentary it might be.
“Happy 428th birthday, Venus!”, the ship’s computerized voice sang. Was she still dreaming, Venus wondered? The message repeated again. The miasma of her post-hibernation hangover established an air of reality to the otherwise dreamlike circumstances. She was really awake. 400 years. Could it really have been so long? Her head pounded, but as she examined herself in the mirror of the ship’s lavatory space, Venus certainly looked every bit her originally 28-year-old self. An examination of the ship’s instruments dispelled paranoid concerns that Venus had been the victim of history’s most expensive practical joke. 6 light years from earth. 379446 astronomical units. The star that faintly lit the cabin of The Stamina was one which had never before bathed a human being in its warm radiation. Already, there was so much to do.
Wrong. The great Venus Hargraves had been wrong. A month had passed in orbit around the chosen exoplanet of Barnard’s Star. She had examined seemingly every square meter by telescope, every soil and water sample delivered by probe, rechecked every equation and line of code in her original algorithm. It had become inescapable. Venus had made some mistake. Now here she was, separated by incomprehensible space and time from the only living planet she knew, with no plan. This of course, wasn’t strictly true. The NASA team which had planned the mission of course accounted for such a contingency. Venus herself, however, caught up too much in pride or blind optimism, had never given it much thought. She had enough life support to give one more leap in hibernation a try. One more bite at the apple, one more at-bat. There were other star systems on her list, ***********ed with only marginally less confidence. But Venus was quietly, despite her 400-year nap, exhausted. Her whole life had seemingly led to this existential failure. She wasn’t sure another few hundred years of sleep would offer her enough rest.
This mission had always been broadly symbolic. Borne from an age of excitement amongst the scientific community and broader public about- if not experiencing extraterrestrial life- the search for it. Venus was sent out into the cosmos with no real hope of return from her generation’s perspective. Indeed, no hope of even delivering any news one way or the other to any living human left on earth upon her possible return. The amount of time Venus would spend in hibernation on her outbound and return trips alone (even ignoring the effects of relativistic time dilation due to her high speed) would mean the Earth she might eventually return to would be perhaps 1000 years older than the one she left. Venus had never given this much thought either, had never really cared if she had. For her, this was a mission to satisfy a deeply personal curiosity about the universe, to escape a world and a people she felt had failed her. Venus never intended to return. So, she had three strikes. The one extra hop which had been allotted for, and one more using the fuel and resources which had been allocated for a return journey to earth. A question began to erode Venus’ emotional exhaustion: could she really be wrong thrice?! With this remaining self-assurance held closely to her slowing heart, Venus slipped back into her deep sleep.
No birthday well-wishes greeted Venus like a gentle alarm on this exit from her slumber. Alarms blared. The cacophony could seemingly have woken the dead (or cryogenically hibernating), even if they hadn’t- by design- triggered the waking protocol on Venus’ hibernation system. In combination with her already audio-sensitive hungover state, the alarms assaulted Venus’ pounding temples like the construction crew wrecking ball which had (now centuries ago) demolished her old apartment building back on Earth. Her ears rung, but her eyes scanned the visible information panels. Her heart sank as cortisol crashed through the effects of her hibernation hangover. “HULL BREACH”: an astronaut’s worst nightmare.
Venus, blessed with the effortless lithe of zero gravity, leapt from her bed. As she floated horizontally to assess the panels for more information, some indication of her recommended next course of action, she suddenly slammed to the floor.
Gravity. ISS research had demonstrated its necessity for plant growth, normal cell division, bone density: a panacea of orientation offered (at no addition charge!) to all life on Earth. But when one has grown used to weightlessness, there is such thing as too much of a good thing. Venus’ bones ached as she groaned on the ship’s floor. Suddenly the alarms stopped. Indications about the waning atmosphere in the ship began to show normalized oxygen levels. Could this all have been a false alarm, Venus wondered? Something major, however, was still amiss: the gravity. The ship had no means of generating artificial gravity, and while the portholes still weren’t open to observe the outside of the ship, Venus strongly suspected given the intact nature of herself and the ship that she had not somehow crash landed onto a heavenly body which could provide this roughly earth-like gravity. There was almost no possible explanation. But then, Venus felt a psychic tug. A voice ushered from within her head: “do not be afraid”. Almost no possible explanation.
Venus had done it! Not how she had expected, and perhaps not thanks to her brilliant algorithm, but done it, nonetheless. Alien life. She might have been happy enough with microbes: not much for conversation, but proof (at least in principle) that she was not alone in the universe. But intelligent, sentient life?? She had barely even allowed herself to hope. Nonetheless, her guard was up. “Do not be afraid.”, just what any predator or invading army might say to pacify their quarry.
“We are neither predator, nor invading army. We truly mean you no harm”, the voice rang again.
This confirmed a fear Venus had regarding psychic communication: inadvertent candor on her part. This identical phrasing confirmed her thoughts were not safe, though her body was alleged to be.
“Would you like to come aboard?”, offered the oddly polite extraterrestrial.
Still part of some charm offensive, no doubt, Venus thought. If the alien detected this ideation as well, they offered no indication.
What choice do I have anyways, Venus thought? Any alien civilization with sufficiently advanced technology to detect and gracefully intercept a probe this size and speed moving through wide open space was formidable. She was at their mercy. “Sure, I’ll come aboard. What choice do I have really?”, she articulated in her mind. As the only response to her half-hearted consent, one wall of her craft suddenly blinked away. There was no crunching sound of metal breaking away, no hissing pop of equilibrating atmospheres, the wall merely vanished. Silent, instantaneous, like a glitch in reality. Formidable, she once again thought. At this mental concession of “formidability”, Venus felt a very subtle affirmative sentiment in response. Perhaps as her brain adjusted to psychic communication, she too might garner some degree of two-way relay. For now, though, she sensed only the faint sentiment of agreement, not clear words like: “yes, we could make you too vanish as easily”.
“Welcome in”, the polite, mental verbalization resumed as she entered the now open vestibule of her interceptor’s ship.
The interior space was a barren metallic tube which proceeded into the distance. Light emanated from the ceiling only in the meter or so surrounding her current position, leaving the interior of the tube further ahead of her obscured in darkness. Despite the clinical feel of the empty space, a warm comfortable temperature invited her deeper into the dark capillary.
“I’m just at the end of the hall”
As Venus proceeded, the light followed her, revealing more of the same: empty cylindrical space. Venus began to notice a slight increase in the diameter of the cylinder the further she walked. Before she knew it, she stood in the interior of a broad sphere which seemed to dead-end the tube. In the center of the spherical room stood a man. Not a man: but a biped at least. It stood just shy of 7 feet tall, but without the commonly gangly proportions of a man that height. The creature appeared well muscled, but details beyond its stature and proportions were obscured by plated clothing which seemed to be constructed of the same metallic material which lined the walls of the room. The creature’s face too, was covered by a flat, simple metallic mask, with contours reflecting a head similar in shape to a human one. Venus had so many questions: Was this organism carbon-based? Did it encode genetic material made of DNA? What lied beneath the metal shell? Where had it come from and why?
“All in due time”, the psychic voice sung calmly in her head.
“Have a seat”, the voice offered further, as a fusiform metallic “chair” rose from the floor like a love seat pressed upward through a layer of steel dough.
“What should I call you?”, Venus offered, as she took a seat: her first official foray into cross-species diplomacy.
“Mind-to-mind communication leaves no need for names. Recognition of the individual in perfect two-way linkage is instinctive, as is reference to others.”
This made intuitive sense to Venus.
“And why the mask?”
“We find an initially simple visual representation less off-putting during first contacts.”
Sensible once again, though suggesting something potentially unnerving beneath.
“Are you scientists like me? Explorers?”
“This vessel houses some of my species’ finest scientists, warriors, explorers, artists, strategists, and politicians.”
This answer was the most detailed so far, yet still the most confusing.
“That’s quite a crew. Are you looking to settle somewhere new with the best and brightest?”
“We will return home eventually. We have ventured out with a singular goal:”
The psychic speech paused slightly. Venus’ natural question requiring no direct thought to solicit an answer.
“We are tasked with finding a new queen.”
Venus was taken aback by the absurdity of this answer. It had to be some failure of language.
“A ‘queen’? A female ruler? Head of state?”
“Dam to the next king”, the creature offered. Though it was unclear if in supplement or as correction.
“Wouldn’t that search more logically take place on your home world? Amongst your own population? Why are you out in space?”
“Perhaps some answers to your first few questions are in order first”, the voice redirected.
“We are indeed carbon-based life forms, encoding genetic information with DNA. Our species, however, is only male. Male is a best-approximate term in this case, more precisely: The sex producing very many small cell-sized motile reproductive cells”
“But how does that work? A species can’t be maintained like that.”
“Our reproductive cells function differently from yours.”
“And how would you know that?”
“The mental communication goes beyond language. We also have access to your memories, your knowledge.”
This revelation sent a chill down Venus’ spine, but she maintained course. Even despite this invasion, the facts remained the same: she was at the mercy of these creatures, and her whole life had built towards their discovery.
“So, then what do you mean ‘differently’?
“Our reproductive cells are more flexible in their choice of conceptive partner.”
The wheels in Venus’ head began to really turn now.
“Any female egg, large cell-sized reproductive cell, will suffice.”
This, Venus felt, followed almost necessarily.
“Also unlike the reproductive biology of your species, our conception is a cooperative process.”
“Well clearly you didn’t get all my knowledge then: human sperm and egg demonstrate a remarkable degree of cooperation. Secretions from the egg cell guide sperm cells to target, provide suitable substrate upon arrival. The process is very bipartisan.”
“The cooperation is between different partners.”
As her mental attention shifted from scientific discussion back to her present situation, she began to consider the implications of her new information.
The creature continued, “A male’s reproductive cells contain only the genetic material encoding his highest fitness attributes.”
Once again Venus wondered at the biological plausibility of the statement, but the creature continued,
“A lek of males mate with a chosen female in series, each passing on a proportion of the necessary genetic material to achieve a fully diploid gamete.”
For the first time since the exit from her initial hibernation, Venus wondered if she might somehow still be dreaming.
“A queen is created when a lek of the species’ most accomplished individuals *********** a female of impeccable genetic stock for reproduction.”
Venus immediately understood the weighty implications of the last statement. But this was not the fate she saw for herself. She began considering paths for escape but even as her mind began to race, she felt the weight of her limbs and torso increase substantially. Gravity, that first traitor of this doomed mission, seemed to increase dramatically to press her securely into her molded metal chair. The towering creature left his initial standing position for the first time. He stalked confidently towards Venus’ position, as the “chair” raised and flattened to become a table on which she lied pinned.
“You will make a most excellent queen.”, the invader in Venus’ head cooed, as the intense gravity or some change in the atmosphere pulled away her consciousness.
When Venus awoke, her body was strewn across the same table in the same room. The atmosphere had grown warmer. Despite her continued immobility, the perfect imprint of her body manufactured by the table housed her comfortably. The lights in the room had dimmed slightly, and the creature was nowhere to be seen. Venus tried once again- with more deliberate effort- to move her limbs. She didn’t feel any discomfort as one might under immense gravity, nor did she harbor any hangover-like feeling which she might have if drugged. It felt as though her limbs and body belonged to someone else, like the force required to animate her muscles simply lacked adequate motivation. Venus reasoned accurately that her paralysis was yet another overreach of the creatures’ psychic abilities. They were massaging her mind in such a way that the lobes responsible for moving her limbs felt less inclined to obey their original owner’s commands.
It was also during the course of her physical self-evaluation that Venus realized her clothes had vanished. Her position on the table too, had been altered. In yet another lascivious allusion to the process about to unfold, Sabrina’s arms now extended above her head towards the corner of the rectangular table, her legs spread out towards her sides with the knees bent. Venus was helplessly strewn naked across the table of an alien spacecraft, ready to be bred.
The first male to enter looked much like her original acquaintance clad in the metal armor. Venus only knew for certain this was not the original male because of the difference in size. This male made the already hulking previous individual look comparatively lean. He strode in with a walk that to Venus identified him from the given list of professions onboard. A soldier walks the same way in any species, Venus realized. The apparently mighty warrior seemed less interested in psychic conversation than did the last male. His eyes, though, exuded a heat through the holes in his mask announcing a raging lust. Venus wondered how often these males had the opportunity to mate, but reasoned by the look in this one’s eyes it was less frequently than he might have liked.
Venus was no stranger to sex. She had participated in her share on Earth but was broadly underwhelmed. She reasoned, given her mental fortitude and the inescapability of her situation, that this development could all be suffered through for the sake of scientific curiosity. She would experience something new to her entire species. This platonic apathy waned slightly when the hulking creature stood flush with her table. The creature slid a finger down some groove on the side of his plate-mail and the plates covering his lower half tumbled silently as they were reabsorbed by the floor. At this, Venus felt her first twinge of fear. The creature’s phallus, standing already erect, had to be nearly a foot long. Venus had not had that much experience on Earth. Before her mind even had time to ponder how an object that size could fit between her legs, the tip of the male’s cock began to press against her opening. Venus squeaked slightly with surprise. Whether as another feature of her body’s psychic takeover, or via some animal reaction to the male’s presence, Venus’ opening was already slick with anticipation. This was the only possible way that the creature’s cock began to make headway into her. Venus groaned as with each eager, powerful thrust the creature burrowed itself deeper into her. As he stretched her open with each pump, Venus’ body couldn’t help certain natural reactions. Her back arched up slightly, her heart quickened, she felt even more wetness generate between her legs. She still felt the fear. This was still not her choice. But her body, perhaps eased slightly by her psychic massage, betrayed her in these small ways. This male, at least- for all his waiting- concluded his mission rather quickly. With a final mighty thrust into her, Venus felt the exceptional volume of his genetic material spread against her walls, some seeping out of her opening. With this, the male removed himself from her, offered a slight, almost ceremonial nod to her, and departed the room without so much as a mental word.
As she lay awaiting her next sire, Venus considered what could be taken as data from her previous encounter. But as she tried to recall the finer details, her mind felt subdued slightly by a warm haze. Her heart, too, had failed to return to a normal pre-arousal rhythm. With what energy Venus’ mind had left, it wandered to what she knew about promiscuous sexual life histories in the animal kingdom. She recalled specifically that in some instances of serial copulation for reproduction, compounds released by the male during intercourse ushered in a positive feedback loop of sexual desire in the female. This chemical cue left the female more ravenous with each encounter, ratcheting her libido until she was able to sample an adequate variety of the available mating stock. Her growing attitude of mild non-scientific anticipation towards her next encounter left Venus wondering if some similar chemical trick might now be at play. But she was strong, she could keep her grip on her objective mind to continue documenting pertinent information.
The next male entered with slightly more consideration for his future sovereign.
“I was chosen from my people as a great scientific mind. It will be an honor, my queen.”
He too, approached the table, releasing his lower body plates with the same mechanism. Unlike the warrior, this male’s scientific curiosity seemed equally eager to his conspicuous erection. Though clearly physically prepared for the mating act, he ambled around the table slowly. He leaned in slightly to examine Venus’ splayed body.
“Hmmmmmm”, she felt his mind hum in some blend of scientific and erotic approval.
He began to explore the lengths of Venus’ comparatively slight frame with his long flat hands. He palpated her inch by inch with a surgeon’s grace, noting physical (or perhaps mental) reactions she offered when touched in certain places or certain ways. His attention was especially captured by her response to his gently squeezing her nipples between two fingers or brushing a hand lightly against her neck or inner thigh. Continuing his examination, he effortlessly lifted Venus’s body. rotating it sagittally to lie flat on her stomach. The table graciously accommodated Venus’ face with an opening facing downward. She continued to experience the male’s exploration without sight. He caressed her back, once again noting how she warmed slightly to a light brushing up and down. He explored the muscles of her legs and buttocks with firm palpations. Finally, as if knowingly saving her most erogenous region for last, the male focused his attention on the space between Venus’ legs. Once again with surgical precision and supernatural attention to her positive physical responses, the male explored Venus. Her legs spread once again, some remnant of the last male still no doubt seeping from her opening, the male’s steady fingers took in her responses to a manual insertion. Pressing in and out with two fingers, he increased to a steady pace when she exhibited clear signs of arousal. His broad finger curved up ever so slightly as she responded bodily to their touch. His other hand began to gently massage her other opening, surprising Venus as a welcome addition to the increasingly erotic exploration.
Finally, perhaps sensing she was growing closer to her ultimate physical response, the male removed his fingers. It was time now for his official business. He slid himself slowly into her welcome pussy, readied by his practiced fingers. Venus remained blind, her eyes still facing only the metal floor, as the pace of his thrusting increased. He continued (with some apparent consideration for Venus, or persistent personal curiosity) to massage the rim of her ass with his fingers as he neared his release. Venus nearly met him at the peak this time, as his load filled her completely, once again dripping slightly out on to the table. With similar ceremony as the previous male, the scientist slid his still throbbing cock from her now eager pussy. The libidinous chemical delivered with this second insemination was now certainly demonstrating an effect. The male grasped her body again with a firm tenderness and rotated her to lie again on her back. He re-spread her legs and briefly examined his handiwork.
“Your species is a delight. It was indeed an honor”, he offered with a light bow before leaving the room.
Venus undertook- with similar cadence- countless more breedings from a swathe of the species’ finest males by chosen attribute. Some identified themselves by their trait or profession. Others undertook their sacred duty with a rugged stoicism. With each successive mating, Venus grew more eager, more insatiable. Any trace left of her analytical pursuit as it pertained to this experience had vanished. She lived, in her current state, to be used and bred.
This made her final surprise a welcome one. Not one but two males now stood before her table. By this point, Venus’ hair was wild, her body flushed and slick with a fine layer of perspiration, her heart racing, a wild look in her eyes. One of the two males reached his familiar mental voice into her mind.
“Hello again”, Venus original greeter offered calmly. “I am esteemed amongst my species as a great painter; my comrade is our finest sculptor. It is our honor to serve as the concluding act of this courtship.”
The pair approached the table from the door confidently. As they arrived near the edge, one at her head, the other her feet, Venus’ limbs became her own again.
“You’ll need the extra help to handle two males”, the voice offered rakishly, all politeness dashed.
Together they rotated her from her back onto her hands and knees. Before she could express just how ready she was for the challenge, Venus was pounded into from both sides. Her mouth, as yet uncharted territory by even the more exploratory males because of its hard teeth, was filled suddenly by the painter’s cock. Her now free hands worked vigorously up his shaft and balls while her mouth endeavored to take in as much as it could. From behind, the sculptor teased her opening with his cock’s tip, removing it periodically to massage her clit with its soft underside, lubricated thoroughly by a mixture of her now countless previous inseminations. Venus moaned loudly, having to remove the cock from her mouth, as climactic pressure from her clit neared a tipping point. The males chuckled, mentally, at her primitive audible cry.
“I’ve waited long enough”, the painter now said, his mental timbre now unrecognizable from its original calm.
The males lifted and rearranged Venus again. She now laid flat on her back, her legs spread, her head hanging off the edge of the table. The sculptor now began to thrust his cock into her mouth with her head tipped over the table’s edge, pushing against her cheeks and tongue. When she felt on the verge of gagging from his deepness, he amused himself by smacking the weight of his cock against her face and outstretched tongue, choking her lightly with one hand. These males, a far cry from the others in terms of their creativity, were clearly utilizing their psychic abilities for the task. No doubt taking input from the shared previous experience of their comrades and comparing it to Venus’ own inner mind and internal responses, the experience was perfectly tailored to her desires.
While the sculptor made use of Venus’ mouth, the painter lifted Venus hips up ever so slightly, the table conforming to maintain her slightly upright angle. He pressed himself into her greedy cunt, teasing her with just the thickness of his tip until her body writhed downward to push him in deeper. With this demand, the painter pressed into her. His thrusts pressing now against the depths of her clit buried in her upper wall.
Venus felt her climax growing absolutely inescapable. At the psychic hint of this, the sculptor abandoned his post at Venus’ mouth, seemingly eager to meet her at the peak. With the painter still pounding away and clearly unwilling to cease in the heat of his own passion, the males repositioned Venus again. The painter now sat on the modified table, Venus atop his lap with her legs spread as he continued to enter her from below. The sculptor approached Venus from the front, her cunt spread and facing him as the painter slid in and out of her. Venus was growingly impossible close to her edge. With the painter unwilling to cease, and Venus’ desire growing absolutely feral, the Sculptor pressed himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her already occupied cunt. The two massive cocks wrestled for entrance into Venus. No compromise could be met, until both managed to slip into her, now absolutely stretched to her limit. The growls of the two men rang in Venus’ head as they both pounded as deeply as they could into her. The alternating in and out slide of each cock pressed against every delicate inch of Venus cunt, and the symphony of stimulation became too much. Whether by psychic bond or perfect physical synchrony, the two males exploded into Venus. Just when her cunt seemed impossibly full, the press of two massive payloads of hard earned cum coated any remaining space. The warm explosion sent Venus finally over the edge into climax. The pulsating grip of her pussy squeezed every last drop out of the males deep into the back of her womb.
At this moment of intimate synchrony, the psychic bond which until now had only given the males access to Venus’ full suite of knowledge became reciprocal. As the males exited her pulsating opening Venus received the complete knowledge of another world. After a long journey, Venus had reached her ultimate goal. She had achieved the utmost enlightenment of otherworldly knowledge; she had found a people who embraced her. As she laid flat on her back, the cunning table angling her hips upward allowing gravity to drain every last drop of genetic material into her womb, Venus knew joy for the first time in her almost 500 years of life.