Chapter 2: Sex-friend
The thrum of Waystation 7 was a different beast when you had a purpose. It went from a chaotic dirge to a complex, industrial symphony. My purpose, currently, was a fused motivator coil in a level-three cargo loader, its owner—a hulking insectoid named K’tharg—clicking his mandibles in anxiety above me.
“Time is credits, soft-skin,” K’tharg rasped.
“Broken loader is zero credits,” I grunted back, my hands deep in the greasy innards. The tools from the station’s grimy repair depot were crap, but my enhanced strength meant I could use a spanner as a precision instrument if I needed to. A little focused heat from my friction-resistant palms, a careful twist, and the warped coil snapped free.“See? Took less time than arguing.”
I slid the new coil in, feeling the components align with a satisfying click. My mutant talent had always skewed towards tactile intuition—understanding how things fit together, how force flowed through systems.The super-solider serum just turned that dial up to eleven. The loader’s engine coughed, then settled into a healthy whine. K’tharg’s antennae quivered in what I hoped was appreciation, and he transferred a modest stack of credits to my dataslate.“You are not entirely useless,” he conceded before clacking away.
That was high praise in this place. I wiped my hands on a rag, the faint, ever-present scent of ozone and recycled life hitting me. Underneath it, though, was a subtler thread: the clean, liquid scent of Teela.I found myself smiling. The work was simple, monotonous even, but it was mine. And it paid for the extra nutrient paste she liked to try, for the little trinkets I’d see and think she’d find amusing.
Our room was no longer just a closet. It had become an extension of her, a living space that reacted to our moods. The walls, once simple metal, now pulsed with a slow, breath-like rhythm, a soft blue-green light emanating from within the gelatinous matrix she had, over weeks, secreted onto them.It was like living inside a gentle, affectionate heart. The bed was a undulating slab of the same resilient jelly, conforming to every contour of my invulnerable body. Sometimes, when I came back exhausted, it would cradle me like water.
I pushed open the door—no hiss, it irised open at my touch, recognizing me—and the sweet, metallic-rain smell intensified.She was there, but she was… different.
Leaned against the far wall, she was sleek.Streamlined. Her usual voluptuous curves were trimmed down, her form athletic and tight, like a coiled spring. Her translucence showed a faint, minimal swirl of internal energy, a low amber glow.She was hungry.
“Long day?” she asked, her voice a little thinner, sharper.
“Loader, two jammed airlock doors, and a very angry chef whose soup replicator was making everything taste like feet,” I said, dropping my tool satchel. I walked over to her, cupping her cheek.Her coolness was more pronounced. “You’re running on empty.”
She nuzzled into my hand, a needy gesture. “The Z’nox poet was more into melancholy whispers than fluid exchange. Very tasteful, very unsatisfying.” Her large eyes looked up at me, not with sadness, but with a playful, predatory glint. “I’ve been waiting for my proper dinner.”
I could feel the shift in the room’s energy, in my own body.The long day’s tension transformed into a different kind of anticipation. My cock, always responsive to her, began to swell, heavy and insistent against my work pants.
“You couldn’t just have a snack?” I teased, my thumb stroking her jawline.
“And spoil my appetite?” She scoffed, the sound bubbling.“I want the full course. The seven-course tasting menu. The… banquet.” As she said it, her form shivered, and for a moment, her hips widened just a fraction, a phantom memory of fullness, before snapping back to their current hungry slenderness.That did it. The visual of her body remembering, wanting to be filled by me, sent a jolt straight to my groin. I kissed her, and her lips were eager, less pliable than when she was sated, more like cool, firm silk. My hands slid down her back, feeling the tight, smooth musculature of her hunger.She was strong like this, all potential energy.
She broke the kiss, her cartoonish lips curling into a mischievous smile.“I want to watch you work first. All that manual labor.” Her hands flowed down my chest, popping the seals on my grimy worksuit with effortless, intrusive grace. She pushed it off my shoulders, her eyes locked on the growing bulge in my briefs.“There it is. My maintenance tool.”
I laughed, a short, husky sound. Her brattiness was a language all its own, and I was becoming fluent.She got on her knees before me, the motion fluid. She didn’t use her hands; she simply leaned forward and her mouth opened, and her whole head seemed to soften and reshape to envelope me, swallowing my length in one smooth, cool, unbelievable motion.
I gasped, bracing a hand against the pulsating wall.The sight was, as ever, devastating. Through the translucent blue-green of her face and neck, I could see the outline of my cock, buried deep. She pulsed around me, tight and urgent, a conscious, milking pressure. Her eyes, now positioned somewhere above where her forehead should be, looked up at me, full of wicked delight.
“You taste like… sweat, and machine oil, and…” she hummed, the vibration traveling through both of us, “…potential. So much potential.”
She began to move, not bobbing her head, but rhythmically constricting and releasing from the base to the tip, a peristaltic wave of pure pleasure. I watched, mesmerized, as my shaft was worshiped by this shifting, glowing entity. My balls, already tight and full, began to ache with the need to fulfill that “potential.”
“Teela,” I groaned, my fingers tangling in what felt like her hair, though it was just a shaped extension of her essence.
She pulled back, my cock sliding out with a soft, wet sound.Her face reformed, grinning. “I’m just warming up the engine.” She stood, her body flowing upright.“Now, the proper meal. I want to see everything tonight. I want to see you lose control.”
She turned and bent over the undulating bed, her back arched, presenting herself. Her form shimmered, and the tight, athletic lines of her hips and ass softened, swelled, inviting. She looked back over her shoulder, a silent, shameless challenge.I was on her in an instant. My hands gripped her newly-formed, generous hips, and I guided myself into her. The fit was perfect, as always, but the internal sensation was different. She was tighter, hungrier, her inner walls actively pulling at me, sucking me deeper with a voracious need.I thrust hard, the bed jiggling wildly beneath us.
“Yes!” she cried, her voice guttural.“Feed me, Ron! Show me!”
And I did. I set a punishing rhythm, my invulnerable body never tiring, each drive pushing me to the hilt. I watched, my breath coming in ragged gasps, as my cock disappeared into her glowing core.With each thrust, she glowed brighter. With each withdrawal, I could see her stretched around me, clinging.Her body began to change.Not subtly. Rapidly.The tight runner’s form melted away, replaced by a lush, extravagant femininity. Her waist nipped in sharply, her hips flared out, becoming wide and generous. Her ass rounded, growing plump and heavy. Her breasts, previously pert, swelled downwards, full and weighty, swaying with the force of our joining. She was being sculpted by my need, by my essence, into a vision of pure abundance.The pressure built in my core, a tectonic shift. “Teela, I’m close…”
“Don’t you dare hold back!” she screamed, slamming back against me.“Fill me! I want to drown in it!”
The first eruption tore through me.A thick, violent rope of cum shot deep into her translucent depths. I could see it, pearlescent white against her blue-green, swirling and spreading. She shrieked, her body clamping down in a vice-like orgasm of her own, her glow becoming almost too bright to look at.And I didn’t stop. The orgasm plateaued, becoming a continuous, rolling explosion.Jet after jet pulsed into her, a seemingly endless reservoir. Her stomach, which had been flat, began to distend. A smooth, round dome pushed outward, filled with the swirling, cloudy evidence of my release.She looked pregnant. Gloriously, obscenely pregnant with my seed.The sight unhinged me. My thrusts became frenzied, animalistic. I was not just having sex; I was claiming, fertilizing, pouring my entire self into this miraculous being. She moaned, a continuous sound of satisfaction, her hands braced on the bed as she took it all, her body now a monstrously curvaceous parody of fertility, her distended belly leading the way.
“See…” she panted, looking back, her features now soft and blissful, “…see what you do to me? Look… at what you… give me…”
I couldn’t speak.I could only fuck, and come, and watch my essence flood her. The thirty-minute mark passed in a haze of ecstatic violence. Finally, the torrent began to slow, from a geyser to a steady stream, then to a trickle. I collapsed over her back, spent in a way that only she could accomplish, my weight sinking us both into the responsive jelly of the bed.
We lay there for a long time, the only sound our mingled breathing and the soft, wet sound of her body slowly, lovingly, absorbing the massive volume I’d deposited inside her. I could feel it happening, a gentle drawing inwards, a metabolism of intimacy.
Slowly, the huge bulge in her stomach receded. The ocean of my seed was being processed, digested, converted into the energy that sustained her. As it diminished, her settled form remained: impossibly curvy, heavy-breasted, wide-hipped.A well-fed, contented goddess. She rolled onto her side, facing me, a lazy, satiated smile on her face.
“Welcome home,” she whispered, tracing a cool finger down my chest.I kissed her forehead. “That’s one hell of a welcome.”
She giggled, a fat, happy sound. “You love it.” It wasn’t a question.“I do.” And I did. The hunger, the transformation, the shocking visual feedback—it was a feedback loop of desire that left me feeling more connected, more seen, than I ever had.The next few weeks settled into a rhythm. Work, come home, feed Teela.Our friendship deepened in the quiet moments between the bouts of frantic passion. She introduced me to her world.
We spent an evening in a chamber where the air was thick, sweet pollen, listening to a collective of plant-based beings called the Chloroph’ai create harmonic resonance by vibrating their leaves. Another night, we got lost in a zero-g bar frequented by brittle-boned null-G spacers, their long limbs moving with eerie, graceful slowness.
Teela was my guide, my translator, my enthusiastic curator of experiences. And I was her anchor, her safe harbor, her boundless wellspring.
One afternoon, after fixing a malfunctioning atmospheric scrubber, I returned to find our room darker than usual. The pulsing light in the walls was a slow, deep blue. Teela was in her “sated” form, lounging on the bed, but her expression was uncharacteristically pensive.
“What’s up, slime-girl?” I asked, stripping off my workshirt.
“Got a proposition,” she said, her voice lacking its usual playful lilt.“A… client request. A bit different.”
I sat next to her, the bed conforming around me.“Okay.Different how?”
“It’s a trio. Sslyssians.Reptilian, hot-blooded, very… hierarchical. They’ve heard about me.About my… adaptability. They want a demonstration of… symbiotic stamina.” She looked at me, her large eyes serious.“They want to watch. And then… they want to try themselves. To see if they can… match the example.”
A cold trickle, unrelated to her coolness, went down my spine.It wasn’t jealousy, not exactly. It was a territorial pang, mixed with concern. “Teela, your biology… can they…?”
“They won’t hurt me,” she said quickly, placing a calming hand on my arm. “They’re academics, mostly.Xenobiologists.It’s a… research curiosity. But.” She bit her lip, a surprisingly human gesture.“It would be a lot of credits. Enough to get that upgraded filtration system you’ve been eyeing for the room. Maybe even a real window simulator.”
I knew what she was doing.Framing it as a benefit for us. But I also knew her curiosity was a physical, driving force. She wanted to know what it would be like.“You want to do it,” I stated.“I want to know,” she admitted. “And I want you there.Not just to feed me afterwards, but… during. As my primary.My… proof of concept.” A sly smile finally returned. “It would turn you on, you know.Showing off.Letting them see what you can do. What we can do together.”
She was right. The thought of an audience, of other creatures witnessing the incredible, visceral spectacle of our union, of seeing her glow and change under my efforts… a dark, proud part of me stirred.My cock, always on a hair-trigger around her, gave a sympathetic throb.
“When?” I asked, my voice rough.“Tomorrow.During the third shift. Their lab is in the xenobiology wing.”
I nodded slowly.“Okay. But if I get a bad vibe, we’re out.”
She flowed into my lap, her heavy, wonderful weight settling on me.“My protective knight,” she cooed, kissing me.“Don’t worry. It’ll be fun. And afterwards, I’ll be soooo hungry.” She ground her full hips against my already-stiffening erection. “You’ll have to fill me up all over again, just for me.”
The next evening, a sense of focused tension hung between us as we navigated the clean, sterile corridors of the science wing. Teela wore a more stable, modest form—a simple sheath dress that nonetheless hinted at the voluptuousness beneath. I just wore my plain station clothes, feeling both exposed and armored by my own invulnerability.The lab door hissed open. The air was dry and warm, smelling of ozone and something vaguely metallic, like hot copper. Three Sslyssians stood in a semicircle. They were tall, bipedal, with sleek, scaled hides in patterns of charcoal and rust. Their eyes were vertical slits, catching the lab’s cold light.They wore simple draped garments, but their aura was one of intense, analytical observation.
“You are Teela,” the central one said, its voice a sibilant whisper. “And this is the donor subject?”
“This is Ron,” Teela said, her voice confident, a slight bounce returning to her step. “My primary symbiont.”
“Fascinating,” another hissed.“A human-derived super-soldier.We have read the reports. The speculated virility output is… extraordinary. We wish to observe the interface.”
There was no desire in their gaze, only a cold, scientific hunger.It was oddly less intrusive than a leering stare.
Teela led me to a central, cleared space, not a bed, but a sort of padded platform.“Here,” she said simply. Then, without ceremony, she let her dress dissolve, reverting to her natural, luminous state. She assumed her “hungry” form—sleek, tight, glowing with a low, amber light of anticipation.
The Sslyssians hissed softly amongst themselves, datapads activated.
My own arousal was a sharp, clinical thing under their watchful eyes.It was about performance, proof. I undressed, my own body a stark contrast to her fluid beauty—all hard planes and dense muscle. My cock, heavy and thick, sprung free, already fully erect under their scrutiny. One of the Sslyssians took a step closer, its slit-pupiled eyes widening fractionally.“The mass… the vascular density is confirmed. Remarkable.”
Teela lay back on the platform, opening herself to me. Her eyes were on mine, not on them.“Don’t think about them,” she murmured, just for me. “Think about filling me.Think about making me round.”
I mounted her.The audience faded. There was only her cool, welcoming sheath, the tight, hungry pull of her, and the profound, visual truth of our joining.I thrust, deep and steady, establishing a rhythm.
The laboratory was silent except for the soft, wet sounds of our coupling and the occasional hissed note from the observers. I kept my eyes on Teela’s face, watching her react. As I moved, she began to glow brighter.Her form softened, expanded. Her hips widened beneath my hands, her breasts swelled and spilled to the sides.I felt the familiar, unstoppable rise within me. “They’re watching,” I whispered into the hollow of her neck.
“Let them watch,” she moaned, her legs wrapping around my back. “Let them see what you are.”
The orgasm hit, a powerful, clinical release. I buried myself to the hilt as the first volley shot into her. Through her transparency, the Sslyssians would have seen the sudden, violent bloom of white.Teela cried out, her back arching, her internal light blazing.
And I kept going.The plateau of endless release took hold. My hips continued to piston, each drive pumping another thick stream into her distending stomach. She became a canvas, and I was painting her with proof of my potency.Her belly swelled into a perfect, taut dome, a moon of my making.
The hisses from the Sslyssians grew more urgent, fascinated. “The volume… it defies physiological storage models… the absorption rate is concurrent with production… astounding!”
I was lost in it now, the exhibitionism feeding the frenzy. I fucked her until my thirty minutes were a vivid, shared spectacle, until she was a moaning, glowing, massively pregnant icon of fulfilled hunger.
When I finally collapsed, spent, the lab was utterly silent. I rolled off Teela, who lay radiant and hugely transformed, her body slowly beginning its absorption.
The lead Sslyssian approached, its scaly face unreadable. It looked from Teela’s distended form to me, then back. It extended a clawed hand, not to touch, but in a gesture of respect.“The data is… conclusive,” it whispered.“A truly symbiotic extreme. Thank you.”
The other two were already transferring the credits—a sum that made my eyes widen. Then, without another word, they turned and filed out, leaving us alone in the warm, charged silence.
Teela finally sat up, her body already streamlined back to its well-fed, curvaceous state. She looked at me, her cartoonish face blazing with pride and a fierce, possessive love.
“Told you it would be fun,” she said, her voice husky.
I pulled her to me, kissing her deeply, the taste of ozone and my own spent passion on her lips. It hadn’t just been fun.It had been a revelation.Our odd symbiosis wasn’t just a private comfort. It was a fact of the station now.A spectacle.A testament.
And as we walked back to our pulsating room, her hand tightly in mine, I knew our life on Waystation 7 had just shifted again.We weren’t just a mechanic and a slime-girl anymore. We were an event.