My first Sci-fi Erotica…Adults Only

 Deep with you


‘The pounding is incessant…he won’t give me a second to breath. My back, it aches…I need a reprieve.’

Anissa Ife, was referring to her captain’s constant thumping on her bedroom door. He wouldn’t except that their day’s interaction was over, and so was continuing an aggressive one-way conversation with the automated door to her private quarters. She was exhausted from their earlier argument about the performance of the ship’s crew – who, she had personally vetted and recruited for their six month-long voyage to the slaver’s moon of planet Omega Seven. He was like most three star captains – stubborn, but so was she. Anissa Ife, the last pure-blooded black princess of Earth II, had tamed many powerful men, some sought to exert authority over her domain because of her fledgling years, others attempted to manipulate their way into her body’s darkest and most mineral rich places. Although a diminutive figure of regal grace, when she deemed it necessary, her gravitas was palpable, like feeling her will inside your flesh, the majority found it very unnerving and would shy away from her in these special moments. However, Captain Drayke D. Hamilton found them exhilarating, all his senses would almost sizzle themselves numb at the sight of her true uncompromising self. For him, like when his Father would purchase a wild New Mexico stallion on the cheap, (because it had already badly injured six men) then challenge him to break it in – the difficulty of the task, and strong likelihood of physical pain before pleasure, was exactly what he thrived on. After all, this was one of the few non-academic hardships available for the Deep Space Program’s youngest ever recruit.

Anissa, for now was tired of their highly charged relationship, and sought to sooth her mental and physical complaints with a hot bath. Cocooning her consciousness in classic Earth I Jazz music, and the gentle tranquilizing glow of slow dancing candle light. All of which were scented, and carefully placed around the ceramic womb her soft naked body was to be submerged in, as if it were an offering to the four tribe Gods of her native Zantili. Thus, his relentless requests to be allowed inside were ignored until they became a silent acceptance. Her sleeping quarters were relatively modest for someone of her station – this was of her design. While on this half-year mission she desired to keep the connection between herself and the vessel’s crew as intimate as feasibly possible. Her father, a great psychologist in his day, had taught her the many ways in which to elicit feelings of trust and loyalty from people – she employed them diligently. This connection was just one of the many things she pondered while soaking herself in the sauna warm cocktail of luxury bath salts, and the soapy run off of golden gel she lathered across her blemish-less body. After she’d finished caressing the full length of her leg, she sighed, tilted her head back to rest on the reflective white tub’s ergonomic headrest. Slowly, this obsidian princess drowned her entire glistening leg into the water, like one would a tender loin passionately seasoned by caring hands, making sure every inch was elevated in both flavour and feel – before immersing it in a liquid slumber, to only rising again for the nourishment of the one you love.

As Anissa’s worries dissolved off her and into the water, so did any tension she felt towards Captain Drayke –as it was customary to address officers of this Earth. Now instead, her meditating mind rolled away layers and layers of memories to reveal the first time she’d experienced him. They’d crossed paths the day before, at a dinner gala for the retiring president of Earth II’s foremost quantum energy industrial empire. However, to hear of the captain’s effortlessly rugged demeanor or intellectual domination of lesser mortals, and experience them, are two very different things. Therefore, although this was their second meeting of eyes, it was on this day, that her body was truly introduced to Drayke D. Hamilton.

She recalls an ordinary morning at her family’s estate; she’d gone out into one of the northern fields in the hope of observing the behaviour of the undisturbed wildlife. All manner of fascinating creatures congregated there by her planets famed crimson petal oak tree. To her surprise, she wasn’t the first there. It was still very early and the sun was lazily hanging above the horizon, painting the landscape in morning amber. However, there stood three male figures, seemingly doing some kind of obnoxious dance that supplemented loud groans of vulgarity. It was only after twenty or more inquisitive steps forward did she recognise one of them as Drayke.

In that moment, Anissa’s understanding of the scene in front of her became vivid, as though suddenly conscious that she had painted it into existence herself. If that were the case, she, with all her affinity for the arts, couldn’t have done a better job – before her was a masterpiece, a seducing display of brawn the likes of which her senses were not prepared for. Drayke was stood naked from the waist up, the other two men also, however neither could boast a physique so well-developed – Drayke had the stature and presence of a warrior. As she became transfixed on all that he was, she was simultaneously being disarmed of her own power, his beautifully caramel complexion looked gentle and soft as the perspiration on it glimmered in the early sun. However, before she was stripped bare, the base in his voice reverberated through her thin dress and chest, it startled her into focus. His eyes however were firmly fixed on his two opponents as he punished them repeatedly for their inexperience, bringing them to their knees like lost boys before the original man. Although only seeing his whole face in glimpses, his eyes sucked at her soul, she couldn’t help but become weak at the way their darkness, combined with the curl in his eyelashes escaped the bearded ruggedness of his other features. Creating a portrait of safety and danger that spoke to her baser instincts, this induced the first quiver of feminine appetite from between her.

She ambled around in this memory for a while, but before long its accompanying sensations slowly drew her back to the present, her marauding mind was being ushered here by drowning butterflies of lust. This, at times could become an insatiable animal…consuming all who awoke it in their entirety. Although its vast hunger was evident by the salivation within, if she fed it now, it could be appeased with just a little feel of flesh – her hands travelled to where they were needed. The left, applying undulating pressure to her breast, the right one in-between her thighs with slender fingers slowly stroking. Despite the water around it, she could still differentiate the feel of soft moisture within it. Anissa’s hunger purred with each caress, the butterflies of excitement rose into her abdomen – she was now committed to the act. She thought about the last time Drayke was inside her, and the movements of her fingers became more purposeful in response. She remembered the deeply satisfying intake of his firm manhood as she played to her writhing desires. Her thoughts, now flickered to the strength of his grip on her waist and neck – his power, enough to hold her still as he sought different rhythms at which to slide pleasure into the wet wanting spaces. The force of which, would be dictated by her compliance to the whispered commands in her ear. The feeling of pleasure emanating from her centre was so delicious it began to make her feel weak, she didn’t resist its call for climax, and instead let her body melt into the feeling. Now, so feverish was her appetite that, she shed all teasing distractions and focused only on how it felt to massage her pulsating lips – with extra vibrating attention applied to the soft protruding tip – she was on the precipice. Anissa was relentless, the speed of her efforts rippled and splashed outwards in the still warm bath water, her perfectly contoured legs started to stiffen as her breathing deepened further and further. Each rapid left right shift of wetted friction brought the arcane contractile explosion from her pelvic floor closer and closer. Seconds rushed by, and before she could bare her soapy chest in a final breath before bliss, it hit her – every muscle in her lower abdomen clenched as the ecstasy jolted out from the spaces between her squirming shivering thighs. Then, after a few more numbingly pleasurable seconds, her orgasm completed its sensual healing with slow radiating waves that relaxed her entire body completely into the water.

The next day.

 Breakfast was served by the on board kitchen crew at eight am Earth time, they consisted of the finest culinary androids and waiters available anywhere in the known galaxies. The Captain was always the first one to arrive at the communal dining hall – he liked to observe how and in what order the crew assembled to eat their most important meal of the day. Ten minutes in and most of the upper and mid level crew were seated and enjoying various delights from their home world and beyond. The lower level crew, whose main job it was to attend to the mechanical and engineering sections of the vessel, always strolled in later than the rest. There were rumours of grievances emanating from within that section of the ship, however Captain Drayke didn’t want to address them at this particular moment, plus crew relations were Anissa’s department. Just as his attention was returning to the half-eaten meal of random protein and vegetables in front of him, a tall slender shadow eclipsed his surroundings. It was the shadow of Dr. Jasmine Samoy, a brilliant biomolecular engineer…she had the look of the girl next door, but the cunning of a wild street fox. Dr. Samoy had a complicated history with Drayke that dated back to their time at the Space Program’s Academy, the whispers on the ship were that he had taken her virginity back then, and although remained friends, she harboured ill feeling towards him and his relationship with Anissa. Another, more popular theory was that they had taken part in a ménage à trois that went terribly wrong.

After a quick interaction of trivial small talk built on a scaffolding of hidden agendas and repressed feelings, the Captain began to notice the missing piece. Perhaps it was the speculative presence of Dr. Samoy that sparked it, but he was now aware of Anissa’s absence. They usually had breakfast together, comfortably sharing space and focus the way in-love couples did. He never feared what the crew would make of their very public relationship, and he was the kind of leader whose authority and actions were never questioned – publicly anyway. He recalled the sour way in which they’d left things last night, and hoped that she weren’t still upset about what he’d done. This made his heart ache slightly, he wanted to see her and peacefully reconcile their affections. In that moment, Dr. Samoy knew that Drayke was no longer paying attention to her; she frowned at the idea that he was thinking about her, however, for now she knew her place and divulged Anissa’s location to him. Without too much acknowledgement of her civility, he stood up, and as he did, so did the entire hall of more than a hundred people, all of notable specialist skill and military stature. However, in front of this man, all knew themselves to be less, and thus showed him almost regal respect as he entered or left a room. Then to the sound of a hundred men and women seating themselves, he disappeared to find her. The Doctor watched his broad shoulders prop up the medal studded blazer she once helped him try on as he strolled away hatefully, like when she had to watch her father go off to see a ‘work friend’ as her mother lay upstairs sobbing pathetically. Months before, she had already vowed to never become like her…the mechanisms of her plan were already in full motion.

“Why would she be in the Star Chart Observation Room” was the only thought that circled in his head as he made his way to her. Knowing the ship as he did, made getting there from the dining hall seven levels down relatively quick, and as he stood before the metallic entrance – he thought over what he would say to alleviate any concerns she may have about his dedication to their future plans. Once ready, he accessed the room with his key card and walked straight to where she was stood. Anissa Ife was standing facing the star chart on the ‘starboard’ side black wall of this colossal room. It resembled a dark canvas with countless diamonds poured onto it, with some mystically spiralling together to form galaxies and others becoming cloudy like the dying stars they represented. The centre space within the room was akin to the layout of the ancient libraries of the 21st century. She must have felt his presence as she turned to face him, because the doors of this ship slide inaudibly. Drayke, walking with the humble valour of a returning solider, stopped only a few steps away from her as their eyes met – she was the only woman who could give him pause. Before he could preach his rehearsed concession, she stepped towards him, and placing her hands on his firm chest said, “Fuck me.”

In only a few seconds Drayke had already tore her blouse half off, and was attending to her exposed chest and neck passionately. As one of his large hands grabbed her full and curvaceous ass intently – the intention being to forcibly lift her onto her toes, the smell of the moisturiser she’d used radiating off her blood warm breasts, drove his desire to eat her uncontrollably to the surface. He gnawed at her perked nipples and felt her grip him tightly in response. As his left hand, reached around her slight waist, beyond her laced underwear and seductively manipulated the entrance to her female passion; he whispered with hot bated breath, “I can’t wait to feel my hard dick slowly open up your tight wet pussy.” She reached under his arms, dug her nails into his upper back musculature, and pulled him in closer, like she was about to open up and consume him whole. The strength of the primal creature within her was growing; she grabbed a fist full of the hair at the back of his head, jerking it back so she could look into his dark covetous eyes and said, “Before that, I want to taste myself on your lips.” Without hesitation he picked her up, legs wrapped around his waist and found her a large finely crafted table to rest upon.

Kneeling down before her, he removed any man-made fabric that obstructed his view of the deliciousness between her thighs. Sharply pulling her forward to the edge, he then grabbed her ankles and put both legs over his shoulders. He loved feeling the weight of them on him; their sensual denseness concealed a heat that, when escaped from between her opened legs, made him wild with thirst. Supporting the small of her back as she lent backwards in throbbing anticipation, he delved into the warm moisture that lay amid the soft inner and outer lips of her intimacy. He wasn’t playing games with her today; he knew the exact flowing patterns to draw on her and make her climax rush forward like a lit match to a fuse. As he nibbled, licked, and sucked on everything he could get his profuse lips on, she writhed around on the table trying not to alert the rest of the ship with her echoing moans of pleasure. She massaged the back of his head as he worked her into a frenzy; she could feel the lukewarm trickle of his efforts slowly trace their way down the space between her two weak spots. The feel of his and her essences wetting the skin on and around her currently unsought to privacy, multiplied her desires exponentially. She grasped his wrist and led him to it. Almost immediately after feeling, the combined, oral, and tactile caresses – her primary opening screamed together with the other in ecstasy as her climax jolted through her entire body – back, front, head to toe, contorting her in wild screeches of passion. Drayke held her tightly by her waist and mid back, supporting her through the convulsions. Just as they settled, he stood up, face and mouth glistening in his achievement and kissed her, in Anissa’s still aroused state – she loved the flavours. Drayke was bulging unashamedly; she could see its promise, and stroked the full length of it before groping as much as she could through his attire. Anissa teased his girth briefly, she could sense his desire to fill her with it until she ached. Biting her lip in expectation, she pulled back just in time to see his mouth move, and a deep tone accompany the words, “Bend over.”

To be continued…

By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh

Deep With You-Part Two: Green Eyes

© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Part 1 of a new short story! Trying something a bit different, and if it gets a lot of love I may turn it into my next novel!


The year is 2055, the world has progressed in ways unforeseen by the brightest minds, becoming deformed in its social structure and economic powers. On this restructured earth, a group of prominent figures have used their celebrity to ascended to a monarchy of their own creation, referred to as The House of West. Though controversial and fiercely opposed this monarchy used their influence and wealth to create new wonders, liberate the oppressed and heal many of the planets social and economic wounds. Nevertheless, the success of these endeavours could not do enough to convince their enemies; and the 5 years following their establishment brought large-scale civil unrest in their home continent. Many factions of their society plotted and schemed for war and rebellion, although the true economic and political gravitas for change eluded them. The most influential of these factions were The Free Smokers Guild, The Peoples Republic and The Kardites. These social groups, by concealing their own agenda’s managed to unite against their common enemy, and with the funding of a mysterious fourth party began to oil the cogs of the largest civil war ever seen.

Year 2060

The continent’s political virtue ravaged by the unwanted advance of civil war, its resources choked into extinction by the weeds of espionage and treachery. The death toll amounting to half its original population…the continent is dying a death slower than the worst cancers…bleeding out its plague into the surrounding seas, neighbour’s sealing their borders in fear of infection. However The House of West still stands, and as has been proven throughout history the rich and powerful find ways to escape the fate of the poor and enfeebled. On these bleak and desolate lands lacking joy, hope and freedom the only form of escape is one manufactured, one forsaking the real and confining itself to the virtual. The House of West had created ‘The lonely island project’. Made from the majority of the remaining funds of the Federal Reserve and born from the minds of the their brightest Neurobiologists and physicists this was a virtual reality like no other before it, and the program was available only to the few left in the Monarchy’s favour. ‘The Lonely Island Project’ was an experience where an individual could travel to a choice of four different Islands, each one with its own social and economic properties. They were called; The Lonely Island of Choice, The Lonely Island of Warriors, The Lonely Island of XY, and The Lonely Island of The One also known as the Loneliest Island. The only restrictions imposed on the traveller were that only a single person could be present on each at any one time, and for a maximum duration of 24 hours. Although very different they had one important thing in common, they were not here, not in this broken, inhospitable purgatory of a place once called the Americas…yet, this was the very reason they were so dangerous. Though the embers of civil war were still burning, it had consumed most of its political fuel, finding itself in a near vacuum state of incident-less apathy. But with the birth of the Lonely Island Project, a window was opened, air rushed in and life was given back to the flames…who now had a whole new battlefield to burn into black.

Part 1

A tall elderly women, is walking down a long red-carpeted path within a vast dimly lit hall. Her hair, long ago having relinquished its dark brown tone and vitality to the days and age, is now grey and straw like. That morning she’d casually tied it into a pony tail of lazy design, which was in stark contrast to the rest of her appearance. She was wearing a long violet dress of expensive fabric that shimmered; it was well-tailored and fitted to her still impressive physique. Her body was something that she still passionately looked after, it was in her DNA, and prevalent since her childhood days as a gymnast.

Although walking through an empty stone hall her steps were silent, the lush red carpet embraced every landing of her crystal heels muffling any potential sound. Eventually the red path ends, she arrives at an unassuming wooded door, knocks twice, and there is a brief pause…then a raspy voice calls out.

“Who is it?” The women replies firmly “ It’s Jess.”

“Ah hello Miss T, just hold on a sec, let me just find this damn key so I can let you in”

-“I don’t know why you insist on using those ancient things, figure print keys were invented for precisely that reason.”

“Yes I know but there’s just something very satisfying about hold a huge set of keys like an old-fashioned security guard”

-“You are such a weirdo John, and I don’t know why a scientist would want to play act at being a mall cop.”

“Being a mall cop is an honourable job! Well…If there were any such things left”

-“Yes yes lets not get into this again”

John finds the correct key and unlocks the door, his beaming face greeting her, as the door swings open, he then timidly steps back to make way for her entrance. As she steps in, she’s greeted by the familiar sight of the large white laboratory of a thousand apparatuses, each one more clichéd than the next. She had always been convinced that most were just decoration as she had never seen John use them, he was a man strangely attached to the past. But then again it perhaps wasn’t so strange considering his family history.

John walking over to his desk says to Jess “so which one will it be today?” She replies immediately “ The Lonely Island of The One please”. John turns back towards her in surprise and says “ really? That’s not like you miss T, are you okay?” She could sense the sincerity in his voice and so replies honestly “ Not so much…I’ve just been having some troubles with the gran kids and need some time away”. Not wanting to pry any further John ceases his line of questioning and instead leads her towards the far corner of the Lab. In this corner resided a grand chair of stainless metal finish and above it a semi-sphere casing with countless cables and circuitry protruding from it. Its wiring stretched all the way into a colossal structure that was situated on the opposite end of the lab. This huge black box and its two blue glowing lights were the brain and power source of the ‘Beach chair’, as its more frequent users knew it. It stood humming quietly in the background, its presence like that of a statue deity built by an indigenous people to watch over and protect them. Some seeking guidance from it, others solace and a few just permission to indulge in their carnal desires.

“Have a seat” John says calmly, Jess obliges. The chair was cold like always, but it never bothered her much, she gets as comfortable as she can and lays her head back. John slowly descends the VR head unit on her and recites the rules of The Lonely Island Project.

“No interacting with unlicensed objects, the time limit is 24 hours after which the experience will automatically end and what happens on the Island…”

-“…Stays on the Island” Jess replies with a smile as she closes her eyes. Hearing those rules always increases her pulse and sets lose a kaleidoscope of butterflies in her stomach. She begins the count down in her head…5..4…3…2…and with the count of 1 her mind was inundated with soft sounds and bright lights, which raced past like a night-time recording of a busy motorway played at high-speed. After several seconds of this Technicolor dream, the colourful light show slowed, it began to turn into a gentle blackness with an orange hue. It was a familiar thing and signaled that she had arrived, for it was the colour seen when you close your eyes to the brightness of a summer’s day. It was always summer on the Islands and she was eager to bathe in the heat of its rays again.

Jess slowly opens her eyes, expectantly gleeful. She had spent most of the morning pondering what this so-called ‘Loneliest Island’ would look like…? The sensory quality of the virtual reality program was always true to real life but never in her wildest dream did she imagine this. As her eyes accustomed themselves to the light, and her senses began to decipher the saturation of data she felt confusion become her. ‘What is this? Why am I here? Did John mess up the machine?’ she asked herself. She was not on an Island; tropical trees were replaced by architectural beams of metal and brick, sandy shores by tarmac, and Island birds by passenger planes. Jess knew where she was but it took her a moment to believe it, she hadn’t been inside a working airport in 5 years, let alone the number of people who were swarming around her like bees in a hive. This was the buzz of before the civil war, and it frightened her. She closed her eyes and tried to communicate with John via the cerebral ilink “John! What’s going on?? Where have you sent me? Is this some kind of new Island??” there was no answer.

“Erm excuse me?! Do you mind?! I’m trying to board a plane and you’re making me late?!” a women’s voice yells from behind her.

-“Oh sorry” Jess says as she steps aside apologetically. She was still trying to get her baring’s when dark voice spoke from inside her head.

“Jessica, listen to me very carefully, John is no longer able to help you. You are alone in this and the only way back for you is to do exactly as I say. Failure to do so will mean the death of not only John but everyone you’ve EVER known.” Jess was paralyzed to the spot; she could sense that the man’s words were not a bluff. Before she could find enough composure to form her next thought, the voice continued. “I’ll take your silence as compliance, now walk over to that newspaper on the seat in front of you and pick it up” She remembered that there was a screen in the lab that permitted who ever was operating the Beach Chair to see what ever the subject in it could, So she did as the voice asked. She slowly walked towards the folded newspaper that was resting precariously on the edge of the seat, making sure not to step on the feet of the people who were sitting, calmly waiting for their flight to begin boarding. She picks it up and feelings of nostalgia flowed through her, all news was now digital and she had forgotten how much she liked the texture of a newspaper. Jess was abruptly woken from her momentary daze by the dictating voice in her head. “What is the date on the newspaper?” She paused as she unfolded it to find the date…when she found it she promptly replied “It says September the 11th, but I don’t understand why a date has any meaning in a virtual reality program?”

-“you poor old women…you really have no idea what this program really is do you? Look around you…feel the environment around you…how could you think a computer simulation could have this level of authenticity?” Jess had always been impressed by its digital quality…thinking that the eerie realness of the experience was just her mind filling in the gaps. Little did she know that the Lonely Island Project was not virtual reality at all, but something else entirely. The voice ominously reaffirmed this to her “This my dear is an opportunity…an opportunity to succeed where others have failed…to exacerbate what was once underplayed and to begin the re-moulding of this broken world from its gluttonous insides. And thanks to you, September the 11th…the darkest day in your generations history is about to become a whole lot darker.”

To be continued

© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc. 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc. with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.