In the year 2147, the Elysium Drift drifted through the Orion Arm like a silver needle piercing velvet darkness. Nova Reyes floated in her private zero-gravity chamber, the artificial gravity turned off for “maintenance,” though she had disabled it deliberately. The room was small, intimate—walls of seamless obsidian alloy that reflected faint starlight from the porthole, air scented with synthetic jasmine and the metallic tang of recycled oxygen. At twenty-eight, Nova was a xenobiologist whose body had been sculpted by years of microgravity training: long limbs, full breasts that floated weightlessly, hips that curved like the arc of a comet tail, skin a warm caramel glowing under the soft blue emergency lighting.
She wore nothing. In zero-g, clothing only tangled and irritated. Her long black hair drifted around her head like living ink, strands caressing her shoulders, her nipples, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. The sensation was maddening—every hair a tiny tongue teasing her.
Nova activated her neural implant with a thought. The holo-display bloomed before her eyes, translucent crimson letters floating in mid-air: literotica.ca. She typed with mental gestures, searching for “sexiest stories” then refining to “eroticness” because the word itself made her clit pulse with anticipation. The search results scrolled past like shooting stars, but one title burned brighter than the rest: “Zero-G Surrender” by VoidWhisperer.
She opened it.
The story began with a woman—dark-haired, thirtyish—strapped into a zero-gravity harness aboard a derelict station. Her partner, a silent, masked figure, floated above her, his breath warm against her ear despite the vacuum suits. The harness was lined with haptic sensors that translated every touch into amplified vibration. The man trailed a gloved finger down her sternum; the suit translated it into a slow, burning line of heat that made her nipples harden instantly.
Nova’s breath hitched. She reached between her legs, finding her pussy already swollen, lips parted, slick with arousal. In zero-g, her wetness floated in tiny glistening globules, drifting like liquid pearls around her fingers. She gathered one on her fingertip, brought it to her lips, tasting the faint salt of herself while she read.
In the story, the masked man peeled away the woman’s suit layer by layer. Each seal breaking released a hiss of pressurized air that vibrated through her body. When her breasts were exposed, they floated free, nipples dark and erect in the cold. He cupped them, thumbs circling slowly. The haptic feedback turned the touch into deep, rolling pressure that made her moan. Then he pinched—hard. The pain translated into sharp electric pleasure that shot straight to her clit.
Nova mirrored the pinch on her own nipples, twisting until the sting made her gasp. In zero-g, her breasts drifted upward with the motion, nipples pointing toward the ceiling like dark cherries begging to be tasted. She rolled one between thumb and forefinger, feeling the texture—velvet skin over firm peak—while her other hand circled her clit in slow, deliberate strokes. The little pearl was engorged, hypersensitive; every pass sent tremors through her core.
The story escalated. The man secured her wrists above her head with magnetic cuffs, legs spread wide in stirrup-like restraints. Her pussy was exposed, glistening, lips puffy. He knelt between her thighs—floating, weightless—and lowered his mouth. His tongue was hot against her chilled flesh. Long, flat licks from perineum to clit, then circling, flicking, sucking. The zero-g made every movement fluid, deliberate; no gravity to rush him. He savored her, tongue delving inside, curling against her walls while his nose pressed against her clit.
Nova’s fingers plunged inside herself—two, then three—curling to stroke that spongy front wall. In zero-g, the motion was effortless; her hips bucked freely, sending her body drifting slightly. She added her thumb to her clit, rubbing tight circles. The first orgasm built slowly, a deep coiling heat in her belly. When it hit, her pussy clenched hard around her fingers, a hot gush of fluid squirting out in slow-motion arcs that floated like liquid stars around her.
She cried out—sharp, broken—the sound echoing off the alloy walls. Her body convulsed, breasts bouncing weightlessly, hair whipping around her face.
But the story continued.
The masked man rose, cock already freed—thick, veined, head flushed dark purple. He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing the head along her soaked slit, coating himself in her juices. Then he thrust in—slow, inexorable, letting her feel every ridge, every vein sliding along her sensitive walls. In zero-g, there was no weight to drive him; he used the harness straps to pull her onto him, inch by burning inch until he was buried to the hilt.
Nova reached for her toy drawer—magnetic latches opening silently—and retrieved her favorite: a thick, curved silicone dildo with internal vibration settings synced to her implant. She coated it with lube that smelled faintly of vanilla, then guided it inside herself. The stretch was fuller, deeper than fingers alone. She activated the lowest vibration setting; a gentle hum resonated through her core, matching the engine’s distant throb.
In the story, the man fucked her with long, deliberate strokes—pulling almost all the way out, then sliding back in, grinding his pubic bone against her clit each time he bottomed out. Her breasts floated with every thrust, nipples grazing his chest plate. He leaned down, captured one in his mouth, sucking hard while his hips rolled in deep circles.
Nova matched the rhythm, thrusting the dildo slowly, grinding the curved head against her g-spot. The vibration intensified automatically as her arousal climbed. Second orgasm rolled in like a slow wave—deeper, more diffuse. Her walls fluttered around the toy, juices coating her hand, floating away in tiny droplets that sparkled in the starlight.
She did not stop.
The story’s man flipped her harness, turning her so she faced the porthole. Stars streaked past in hypnotic lines. He entered her from behind, hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto his cock. The new angle let him go deeper, hitting her cervix with every thrust. One hand slid around to rub her clit—fast, relentless circles. The dual stimulation was devastating.
Nova turned onto her stomach—floating, weightless—ass raised slightly. She thrust the dildo harder, angling it to hit that spot. Third orgasm crashed—violent, body arching, a fresh squirt arcing toward the ceiling in slow motion before the recyclers pulled it away.
In zero-g, aftershocks lasted longer. Her pussy fluttered weakly around the toy for minutes.
The story continued relentlessly.
The man introduced toys of his own: a vibrating plug he eased into her ass while his cock filled her pussy. The fullness was overwhelming—dual penetration, every nerve singing. He fucked her slowly now, savoring the way her body trembled. Fourth climax built from the base of her spine, rolling upward in long, luxurious waves. She sobbed his name—still unknown—into the void.
Nova added a second toy—a small vibrating bullet pressed to her clit. The triple stimulation pushed her over the edge again and again. Fifth with deep anal penetration, sixth with the plug vibrating in rhythm with the dildo, seventh when she imagined alien tentacles joining the fray—phantom touches everywhere at once.
Hours blurred. The story’s couple moved through the derelict station: against glowing crystal walls that pulsed in time with their heartbeats, on anti-grav beds that let them float freely, in zero-g showers where water droplets orbited their bodies like liquid moons.
Nova lost count of her orgasms. Eighth standing—floating—against the porthole, dildo thrusting while she watched stars. Ninth on her back, legs spread wide, toys in every hole. Tenth slow and tender, clit only, letting the aftershocks roll through her for minutes.
When the story ended, Nova was spent, body trembling, skin flushed, hair matted with sweat. Cum-like lube floated around her in tiny globules. The room smelled of sex—musky, sweet, overpowering the jasmine.
She deactivated the holo-display. The cabin lights dimmed to emergency red.
But the hunger lingered.
She activated the comm to Captain Thorne’s quarters.
“Captain… I need to discuss the artifact we recovered.”
A pause. Then his voice, low and rough: “Door’s open, Reyes. Come now.”
Nova smiled in the darkness.
The real story was just beginning.
