Space station of the sluts

At last, the plastic cock slid from Zanthia’s grasp, slipping down into the seat of the chair to rest, its tip still nestled inside her, against one thigh. Zanthia opened her eyes and stared up at her reflection: breathless, disheveled, and very flushed, her cheeks almost as red as the blood-suffused folds of her cunt. She touched her clit tenderly and almost came again, feeling embarrassingly loose where her walls still clutched at the dripping shaft.

There was pussy juice everywhere, smeared in sticky swipes along both of Zanthia’s thighs, and her chin was wet where she’d apparently drooled on herself. The medtech blushed, adding to the roses in her cheeks, and hastily killed the reflective setting, wiping the ceiling back to blank white.

She didn’t know what had gotten into her — her masturbation was usually indulgent, yes, but not quite that pornographic. What had she even been thinking, leaving a message like that for Megan?

A little smile quirked Zanthia’s lips despite her misgivings. Well, it hadn’t been the most responsible thing in the world. But it would be fun to imagine the station chief listening to Zanthia’s graphic moans in the middle of her workday. Maybe she’d even queue it up while she was working with that tech. Zanthia could just see her struggling to keep a straight face as her lover whispered filth into her ears.