Rough Trade at the Rainbow

A welcome relief from two months of the yawning black of deep space, the magical colours of the Rainbow nebula filled the upper deck porthole of Carlo's sleek black freighter. He was still far too far away to see the Rainbow itself but the signal from the hotel's deep space beacon was unfaltering on the deck's instrument panel. The signal faithfully guided the truck in like a benign tractor beam, pulling Carlo towards much craved human contact and luxurious five-star comfort.

Carlo knew the big station would be within visual range in a few hours and he'd commence his final approach for docking a few hours after that. He couldn't wait to get his feet on 'dry land' though. He had the service 'bot pull up his reservation details and transmit his projected arrival time to the check-in desk. He tingled with anticipation when a moment or so later, the confirmation pinged back along with the coordinates of his parking point and room number.

The truck streaked through the void like a vast black eel jetting through the lightless depths of an icy ocean. The silence and precision of its passing belied the furious reactions that raged within its A-matter drive. Complex technology hauled the enormous armoured freighter along at cataclysmic speeds.

Standing on the deck with his arms folded on his chest, Carlo watched the colours of the nebula brighten as it drew closer. Though he reckoned there were still six hours or so before mooring, as if it his preparation would speed his arrival he decided to make himself presentable for human company. Leaving the deck, he walked towards his room.

Carlo already knew what he wanted to wear -- 20th century motorbike leathers. He loved to swagger menacingly up to the door of Bar Spectrum, clothed in the heavy studded jacket, big steel-capped boots and shiny black trousers. He undressed and appraised his naked body in the mirror beside his bed.

He was still young at thirty eight, a bloody good eighty or ninety years left in him yet or so claimed the GP at his last annual check-up. His broad tanned six foot four frame reflected solidly back at him. Fierce blue eyes beamed intensity from beneath the mass of blonde ringlets that drove women and boys alike to spontaneous divestment. He hadn't shaved in a while and traces of a reddish-brown streaked his face and chest.

Corded muscle straddled and girdled his powerful frame and more reddish brown curls amassed between his legs as if crowding about the celebrity presence of his enormous penis as it slept nestled on his scrotal sack between his plum-sized balls. His voluminous foreskin comfortably concealed his shapely purple glans. There was no doubting Carlo was an impressive specimen though he himself could never really see it.

After donning white boxer-shorts, a black T-shirt and his beloved leathers, he left his boots by the door to his room and headed on black-socked feet back to the deck for coffee and an apple doughnut, enjoying the tickle of the clean silk on his perineum as he walked.

Standing on deck in the kitchenette alcove, he rubbed his hands together eagerly as the coffee grinder's harsh grumble drowned out the quiet hum of the instruments and atmosphere control. The fragrance of jinovian coffee filled the air. Carlo sniffed the beloved aroma with reverence. Divine-tasting and exceedingly high in caffeine and traces of other rare stimulants, the beloved beans contained the essence of Carlo's favourite drink.

Jinovia was a mysterious planet and one that was close to Carlo's heart. Every shot of espresso blasted from the workings of his antique machine brought nostalgic memories of the time he had spent on the planet years ago before he'd met Gregg.

He loved to coast through daydreams of the vastly varying terrain he had explored on the mystical world. In his mind, he floated over the countless miles of picture-postcard beaches on the coasts of the main continent. He fondly glided inland above acres of dreamy lush rain-forest, beautiful resorts hidden beneath the enormous spreading canopies.

He'd flown a rented craft over the stark icy mountain-ranges bounded by snowy foothills and vast impassable reaches of frozen tundra on the permanent dark side of the planet. He'd been moved by the stark un-inhabitability of the landscape in the wind-whipped gloom beneath him, an eternal winter locked in by a never-ending night. How it had contrasted with the light side! Finally, his memory would alight fondly on the jinovian ghosts themselves.

Jinovia's rare horizontal axis had allowed these remarkable creatures to evolve. Bathed in perpetual warm daylight near the sub-tropical landmass close to the equator where eternal daylight met ever-lasting night, the distant ancestors of the water ghosts had harnessed the water around them to strange and spectacular effect.

A single jinovian ghost consisted of a massive chain of identifiably distinct microbes, operating as a single life-form. Each complex unit manipulated a body of water and used it to form a larger body-mass. The water-ghosts could change a dog-sized mass of water to ice, liquid or steam or any combination of the three in a split second, appearing as spectres of steam, creaking columns of ice or eerily disembodied masses of water flowing over the ground leaving no moisture to mark their passage.

The microbes fed carnivorously on any life-form they were able to envelop and digest. Their energy requirements were exceedingly high and they were voracious and opportunistic feeders.

Carlo had seen footage that dated back to the planet's first settlement almost a million years ago from the planet's archives -- the awful water mask, the desperately clawing hands, the weakening struggles, the last few ghastly twitches, the time-lapse sequence showing the grizzly absorption of the flesh over hours and finally the sated ghost pouring itself away into the forest, thousands of engorged pink oily beads of stored energy clearly visible throughout the aqueous form. Nothing like welcoming the tourists, had been his only sober thought at the time. These days, human fatalities were a thing of the past -- humans knew the creatures better now -- and in the last millennium, the two species had begun to trade.

The creatures could be trained to apply their unique mastery of water to human flesh. Massage therapy across the galaxy had been revolutionised by the training of the water-ghosts and the jinovian spas were unequalled galaxy-wide. But the inevitably spin-off from the spas was what interested Carlo most in the jinovian water ghosts.

Many a time, Carlo had indulged himself in the jinovian brothels. If you knew the right people -- and Carlo did -- you would leave your resort whenever you felt the urge and make your way to a nondescript alleyway in one of the small towns set among the trees. There would be an ordinary looking door with a curling symbol near the bottom. If you knew no differently, you'd think it was just a scratch on the aging woodwork but if you were wiser, your pulse would quicken with excitement and you would hastily knock.

The door would swing open and a human attendant would greet you. You would be wordlessly ushered to the reception desk where the receptionist would take your money and your audio-visual preferences. You would follow the gesture of the receptionist down a hall to one of the numerous adjoining white tiled room dimly lit in black light and pink and you would go in, shut the door, sit on the bed provided and eagerly strip off. You would then lie on your back, tossing your clothing in a corner. Your video would begin on the ceiling and your cock would be hard with anticipation.

One or two fragrant, steamy spectres would quickly materialise beside your bed, pouring from the aquarium built discretely beneath the mattress. The ghosts would thicken into balls of water and move on to the bed, one swirling about your ankles, another on your chest in a delightful mixture of warm steam, warm water and tiny crystals of ice, forming and sublimating as they touched your skin.

Up your legs would come one of them, cleaning and massaging you. It would teasingly skirt your pelvic region just as it touched your inner thighs, washing innocently up your trunk and around your arms and shoulders, joining its colleague to lick your neck with lukewarm wet tongues and tease down your arms and fingers with warm water and cool mist. Minute icy teeth would nibble tantalisingly at your hardening nipples and warm them again instantly with caressing tongues of moist heat.

Then you would be hard and they would move down your body, nestling between your legs with a thousand warm tongues and gentle teeth of spray. Your inner thighs and your perineum would be lapped and your anus clawed at gently and wetly. Your cock would be twitching with pleasure but you wouldn't move your hands to stroke it because you'd know patience would bring greater pleasure than you could ever give yourself.

You would be looking up at the porn playing on the screen on the ceiling, Two cocks, dripping with pre-cum with their pulsing heads being rubbed over one-another, a shapely glans forcing its way into a clean pink anus or between two toned hairless thighs and pumping furiously until it emerged dripping white semen, some gorgeous shaven balls being expertly sucked and licked by an elegantly moustached mouth as a beating hand wavered at the top of the screen, another hand jerking furiously at an erect shaft until cum squirted and the hand slowed. Your eyes would take it all in while you lay back on the bed imagining the miasma of aqua-erotica caressing your body, to be the hands and lips and sensuously curling tongues of the human fuck-slaves on the screen above you.

Now the ghosts would envelope your balls, caressing and sucking them with a thousand tiny whirlpools. A silvery finger would coalesce gently inside your arsehole, growing thicker as it felt your sphincter relax, stroking your prostate as the rest of the moist pleasure moved up your shaft. If you had not cum by the time your glans was enveloped, you would be rewarded with yet more ecstasy as now your balls, your perineum and your entire shaft would be enveloped by the mischievous life-form, it's water-spout finger still gently drilling your arse.

It would agitate and manipulate your cock, jerking-come-sucking you off exquisitely, anticipating your state of arousal immaculately. You would soon groan and shoot your load into the glittering miasma enveloping your genitals. The ghosts would milk you down then sensuously recede, back down your legs and your ankles, tickling your feet as they slid away off the bed and over the ground leaving no trace of cum on your cock or moisture on your body -- glad of the protein morsel no doubt. If you turned over, they would return and treat you to a relaxing massage.

Standing on the deck holding his espresso, Carlo realised his reminiscing had given him wood. He sipped his coffee and gripped the hot bulge in his trousers, squeezing and rubbing it speculatively.

He thought of Gregg, down-to-earth sensible Gregg. Gregg had a sensible well-paid job unlike Carlo's highly illegal and stupidly lucrative one. The two were inseparable despite Gregg's constant nagging at Carlo to go straight -- something Carlo always pointed out would spell disaster for the relationship to which Gregg inevitably responded by slapping him playfully on the arse and screwing up his face in mock exasperation.

Gregg was away on business at the other end of the galaxy now and they wouldn't meet again for several months. Either of them might accidentally trade bodily fluids with some tarty morsel but it was an old and tried arrangement. They were only human after all. Even as he contemplated the imminent visit to Spectrum and the indecent diversions, he would no doubt feel obliged to indulge in, he missed Gregg.

He was soft again now and he headed to his study to read while he waited the last hours until docking.

***

A hulking upholstered frame approached the dark entrance of Bar Spectrum on the Rainbow station. It stopped as it was accosted by two enormous tattooed doormen, black-clad with shaven heads, their shiny domes glowing blue in the black light flowing from the entrance.

"Well, look who it is! Hello Stranger," trilled one of the enormous doorman holding out his arm in mock threat as Carlo approached.

"Hey Tony, see that?" Carlo flipped the bird at the muscular mountain of twittering campery, his voice was deep and gruff. "Fuck you Tony. Talk to the hand you fuckin' pussy."

Carlo barged through the playfully extended arm, disappearing through the purple UV glow of the doorway poorly disguising his playful grin. It felt good to be here again. Tony's high-pitched giggling bubbled away for minutes after Carlo had gone.

The other doorman sighed. "Get real Tone. How many fuckin' years has it been since he let you jerk him off on the dance floor?"

"You know what Damon? Huh? You know what?"

"What Tone?" The other's voice was bored.

"Go fuck yourself!" Tony giggled at his razor-sharp wit.

Now concealed in the shadows of the doorway, Carlo headed down a short dim corridor, checked his jacket at the counter then walked through the doorway to the enormous bar. He took in the first delicious morsels of eye-candy as he skirted the dance floor looking for a table. Half the bar was illuminated through a massive wall porthole through which the bright glow of the nebula poured. He thought of his voice at the door and how it had sounded weird after months of silence.

Being on a station, there was no real busy or quiet hour in Bar Spectrum. Crowds ebbed and flowed randomly. The service shifts rotated endlessly, a never-ending slutty selection of nubile young monkeys, lunch clearly on display in regulation G-strings for your viewing pleasure, getting you hard to take your mind of the price of your poison.

The pretty boys were paid little cash and big prestige for working here. You could get a job anywhere if you'd done your time at Spectrum. All it took was a hot body, a shapely bulge, a nice arse and the ability to make and serve drinks and flirt with patrons continuously for seven demanding hours. There was an endless supply of those young and eager enough and a constant demand for the drugs that kept them smiling as they worked.

Sitting at his table as his candle was lit, Carlo perused the drinks menu, holding the laminated card in one hand and cupping the appealing bulge in his waiter, Kevin's G-string gently in the other.

"Will you be dining with us tonight Sir?" droned Kevin.

"I don't know," said Carlo. "Depends what's on the menu really." Original, yes, original and its arse. But cheap sleaze was so blissfully indulgent.

He plugged his chip into the slot on the table and the service 'bot hovering beside Kevin's head turned its display away form Carlo so that only Kevin could see it. Carlo saw the glow of the display light Kevin's eyes as something appeared on it then suddenly Kevin's smile un-glued itself from his face took on human life. Carlo felt action down below too. Amazing what money and a reputation could do.

The monkey was chattering excitedly now, "Mr Sorelli, do you need a few more moments to look at the menu? Would you like a private booth for the evening -- on the house of course -- and can I interest you in some of our premier services this evening?" He winked emphatically when he said services.

The gorgeous wee thing had wood now, oh yes he had wood alright. Carlo stroked the impressive bulge idly as he continued to search the menu for something to drink. He traced the hard lump to the top of the G-string where its fat tip peeked over the tight elastic.

"No thanks to the booth for now. I haven't spoken with a human in months ok?"

"That's no problem Mr Sorelli sir, if you'd still like the private booth we can arrange some..."

"No it's ok alright," said Carlo firmly. "No booth," he added to clarify. "Maybe we'll talk about the servicing, er, did I say servicing? I'm sorry, I meant services, later. For now, get me one of these will you?" Carlo pointed to the menu. He felt negative action down below but the smile kept twitching hopefully.

Off went little Kevy to fetch Carlo's drink, back-pussy wagging enticingly behind him as he headed for the bar. Carlo played with the menu and surveyed the meat-market with the practiced eye of a terran cruise shark. He was not disappointed with the offing though one in particular caught his fancy.

Wearing the unmistakeable copper complexion of a jinovian, an elegantly dressed man, Carlo guessed in his late twenties sat at a table on the other side of the glittering dance floor. He was looking at Carlo. Target located! Tracking enabled. Requesting re-entry vector -- applying courage in holding pattern (that meant drinks). Fluff bounced chirpily back in a trice with a full glass. Carlo downed it and repeated the procedure a few more times.

The man had dark hair plastered to his shapely head. The gelled hair glinted silver and gold when it caught the light. Dark liquid eyes peered across the room at Carlo from a face radiating gentleness and a hint of mischief. Teasing little bitch!

Carlo wasn't a fan of cosmetics but the rest of this one made up for it. What with monkey boy fussing over him the excitement of being here and now this, Carlo was beginning to feel his own blood supply divert to his nether-brain. Gregg had fled to that warm and delightfully convenient little hideaway somewhere in Carlo's brain that was always just a tiny bit too hard to find in these situations.

He spotted a beaten up looking adolescent jerking about fecklessly on the dance floor and leaving the table -- nobody could pull his chip, it was finger-print locked, besides, he suspected his credentials made the table unofficially exclusively his for as long as he wanted it anyway -- he zeroed in.

The hapless adolescent's eyes widened in delight when Carlo stepped in front of him and took him by the shoulders. They began to move and Carlo manoeuvred in a certain direction, their bodies inappropriately close as they went. Carlo could smell alcohol and vomit on the young man's breath. He felt the other's hard cock against his thighs and a tentative little hand began to explore his groin.

Carlo stole a glance over at his glitzy hair-gelled objective. Yes! He was watching. There was no mistaking it now and Carlo was close enough to get a better look at him too. The man was wearing a very slick black suit, elegant shoes and the hint of a sliver chain glinted on his neck.

Can't be helped thought Carlo. The jinovian men all wore jewellery. The nakedness beneath the clothing looked promising, the bulges on the upper body were in all the right places. He had a bad angle for a proper groin-scan but imagining what swung beneath was half the excitement.

Carlo turned slowly back to his dance partner. The two were shuffling about slowly now. Puke boy's hand had located his dick now and was massaging inexpertly, well, not quite inexpertly, it was working. Carlo let him fiddle away but declined the invitation when the youngster turned his face up to Carlo's inviting him to devour his dry sick-encrusted lips. A junky, thought Carlo. Evasive action.

Carlo at first gently tried to disengage from the other but a desperate hand tightened on his T-shirt, He firmly prized the hot bony fingers from his clothing and pushed the little wreck away. He headed for his table, his erection tenting a little in his trousers. Steeling a glance at his quarry as he went, he was dismayed to see the other looking away and apparently talking to someone at the next table, Carlo couldn't get a decent look at the person at the other table without obviously craning his neck. The other looked big though.

Fluff flitted up with another drink and more squeaking and as Carlo raised the glass to his mouth, he saw his toxicity sniffer flashing amber. Touching a finger to the flashing gem, he turned the discrete sniffer back into an ordinary looking thumb ring and glanced at his wrist-watch.