Atlantica Dream

Kirk Skelling had orgasmed multiple times.

The drug Atlantica Dream was coursing through his veins, charging his sexual energy beyond anything any human could ever dream of while he celebrated his twenty-first birthday at his father’s sprawling ranch, a ranch that herded Boonta bovine. Exporting fresh milk was a lucrative trade, especially to the outer rim planets where such a product was in demand. The reason Kirk was able to afford a couple of grams of Atlantica Dream in the first place was because of his father’s money.

Kirk had never wanted for anything.

The night was young, but already he’d given seven blokes his drug soaked attention. They were the first to arrive at his birthday bash, multiple orgasming with him when he came to look upon them proper in greeting. One of the guys was in so much ecstasy, writhing on the floor, touching himself uncontrollably, panting and begging for more, he had to be escorted away by two house slaves and given a sedative.

Kirk found his guest’s disablement by orgasm quite amusing, but soon turned his attention to another arrival. A stunning young man named Wiks who had turned his eye many times. Yes, Wiks was a friend—ex-lover to be exact…sort of. Whoever said friends couldn’t enjoy each other on a sexual level was a crazy old prude, even if they were no longer bed partners. Kirk prided himself on the fact he liked guys. After all, no girl in his experience could suck his cock right. Not like how he did it, anyway.

He looked at Wiks with a deep, passionate stare. The Atlantica Dream quickened his heart, making his pulse beat loud in his ears while he concentrated his full attention on the man who would be his next interest tonight. With that glance, and after a wonderful moment of anticipation, Wiks shuddered, his eyes rolling in their sockets for a split second. Without a touch, a word, or a promise of what was to come, both of them came simultaneously.

Kirk knew his underwear would be soaked with his cum, because his balls ached with so much use. Even his skin would be sweat soaked, his odor strong, but to tell the truth, he didn’t care. He didn’t even care if he had a wet patch for all to see.

He was having the time of his life.

Wiks came over to Kirk, a look of surprise and intrigue on his face. He looked adorable, like a puppy who had been rewarded for being curious. “You…you made me blow my load in my pants, birthday boy.”

Kirk smiled. Wiks, of the eight people he had made orgasm already tonight, was the one who he would actually take to bed…again. There was one problem. Wiks had a boyfriend. Not just any old man either, certainly not one to push around or to dismiss as something insignificant, but a rough, tough construction worker who lived in one of the ring cities orbiting Ardross Major. Ganymede Tuesday was the name of it from what Kirk recalled. If Wiks’ boyfriend found out Kirk had made his man jizz in his pants, contact or not, he would weld Kirk’s balls to his chest, no questions asked. “I got some Dream the other day. Given seven other lads a good time just by looking at them, as well. You’re the eighth.”

“Fuck, Kirk, now I’m gonna have to go change. I only washed this gear, now I’m gonna smell like a Boonta whore on pay day who’s been through half the construction fleet, even after my cum dries.”

“Ouch. You want to get that cleaned up before then. Cum is a bitch to get out of pubes once it dries up solid, you know.”

“Lucky for me I shave.”

“You do?” Kirk almost gasped out the words. To hear such an intimate detail about Wiks sure was alluring. The last time he had seen him naked was the year before, when they were lovers. They’d played truth or dare. Wiks dared Kirk to blow him, so Kirk, being a man who never backed away from any challenge, took down his friend’s pants with enthusiasm and sucked his smooth, magnificent foreskinned length until he blew his hot, sticky load down Kirk’s throat. Wiks had pubic hair back then. Those were the days. Pity Wiks had to go and get himself attached to some hunk of a man, all muscles and sexy.

“Yeah, Dodger loves to lick my smooth skin all over. He doesn’t want me to be hairy, anywhere.”

“Even your crack?”

“Everywhere.”

“Fuck me, that’s hot, Wiks.”

Wiks let out a laugh. “You should have made your move when you had the chance at graduation last year and told me you loved me. I was ready for you to say it—wanted you to say it. Fuck, I’d even wanked myself red-fucking-raw the night before thinking about how you were going to tell me. Why you didn’t, I don’t know, but Dodger now gets to worship my body any damn time he damn well feels like it, and I love that.”

To tell the truth, Kirk did want Wiks. Unfortunately, Kirk got in the way of Kirk. He’d become distracted by one of his latest ideas, a scheme which would ensure he no longer lived in his father’s shadow, but could become his own man in his own right. After graduation he was going to buy into a manufacturing company that had claimed they were able to produce Genopills which could guarantee any woman would have a boy, one-hundred percent of the time. Everyone knew a girl who had a baby boy was given money for that boy to be used—and abused—in the slave trade. Boys were money in the bank, and the peasant families of Boonta were left with no choice but to sell their sons to survive, if they could produce them reliably.

Therefore, any company who could promise such a breakthrough pill, and deliver, would make their shareholders rich beyond imagining. Kirk couldn’t pass up the chance, and straight after the graduation ceremony he’d rushed off to meet the directors of the company, standing up Wiks in the process.

Trouble was, the scheme was a con.

Thankfully, Kirk saw the scheme for what it was before it was too late. Actually, scratch that. Kirk’s father had seen the scam before Kirk committed. He’d gone into Kirk’s room late at night to snoop around, finding the fake brochures of a company which didn’t exist and could never fulfill its promise of producing pills, geno or otherwise.

His father never trusted him from that moment on. Still, good thing…in such a case. The man was overprotective and thought of Kirk as a useless waste of space who only wanted to fuck and dream of ways to waste money. Kirk would have lost a lot, including any shred of dignity he might have had left in his father’s eyes. At times such as that, Kirk wished his mother hadn’t passed away after his birth. Sometimes, to have her touch upon his head would be enough to cure all his ills. Maybe if she was around he would have been more responsible.

“I was tied up with business. You know that,” Kirk lied. “Besides, I don’t want to know what you and your man do in the bedroom, it’ll make me fucking jealous and then I’ll have to jack off thinking of you with no pubes, being licked all over.”

“That’s the idea, handsome.” Wiks grabbed Kirk’s hands, squeezing them tight. “Now, where can a man get out of his cum stained clothes and into something more comfortable around here?”

Before Kirk could answer, a shadow came over him. He turned, but all too late. A man built like a robo-dozer, the kind like they used on the space amplifier those creepy Schism beings ordered be constructed to complete their ancient genocide against all shifters, landed a meaty fist straight onto Kirk’s jaw.

As Kirk found the marble tiled and gold adorned floor, tasting his own coppery blood flooding into his mouth from the hit, Wiks’s boyfriend, Dodger, shouted, “Get your filthy fucking hands off my man, rich boy.”

Whether the effects of the Atlantica Dream he had taken earlier had worn off, or whether the drug had another strange effect on him now that his sexual energy had been expended, he couldn’t be sure. All he knew was, with blurred vision and while he struggled to his feet, he once more found the ground unable to support his own weight.

An agonizing moment later, one filled with intense pain all through his body, unconsciousness found Kirk.