Jamahorn, a beautiful, lush planet of scenic mountains, waterways, and forests, was just a small star jump away from the Epsilon industrial sector. While field repairs were both possible and common, the damage from battling B’Ross’ pirate brigade would be too costly to repair en route to the next job. Industrial centers such as the Epsilon Cluster had factories, merchants, arms dealers, and an ample supply of Battle Crane parts. The easier access and significantly lower prices made the lost time of jumping there and then to the next contract worthwhile.
Ensuring that all the crew, staff, pilots, and others in the organization had plenty of rest time, as well as tons of credits to spend, Charlie pampered herself, having very little to do other than check in, now and then, to give a pep-talk. Her fondness of hot, deep baths was pursued with all the enthusiasm of a true fanatic.
Shanta had several itches to scratch. With the acquisition of a new Condor, a ninety-five-ton, hulking bird of destruction, she’d programmed the simulator to emulate the Crane’s configuration and lumbering quirks. In addition to her dedicated pursuit of excellence on the battlefield, Shanta’s celebrity status meant lots of groupies wanting to lay with her, interviews from every reporter and newscaster in the quadrant, and the ability to patronize the most popular clubs, bars, and restaurants without needing to stand in line or pay.
Jamahorn’s entire economy revolved around sexual tourism. There was much more to the system than just grunting, rutting, naked flesh, but the perverted, kinky naughtiness was the main draw. People from every sector in the settled sphere—at least those who could afford it—vacationed on Jamahorn. Almost every conceivable vice and fleshy pleasure could be had on the scenic planet for a price. It also happened to be the main headquarters of Lustrous Entertainment, the largest purveyor of adult-oriented television in the entire Terran sphere.
Roulph Hansen was the third son of Fyodor Hansen, of Hansen’s Rough Riders fame, a prestigious but now defunct mercenary outfit. Roulph struck out on his own, rather than receive the benefits of nepotism. Through the chaos and chance of battle, quite serendipitous for Roulph, he was recruited to join Pagan Vengeance following a skirmish that left his company decimated. While that was slightly over a Terran year ago, the official flow of time still linked to humanity’s roots; Roulph realized that his comrades in arms were now his family.
Ten days into his furlough, Roulph was in Lustrous’ studios, preparing to be broadcast live to the entire sphere. He’d split his time between gorging himself with gourmet food and draining his libido, fully loving his rising star status. But, on that day, the muscular, blond warrior sat in a comfy chair, several sexy, scantily clad women fawning over him, doing his hair and makeup. The invasive media was clustered around him, getting every second on video.
“Hello, Mr. Hansen. My name is Darla, and I’m the show’s producer.” The smartly dressed woman, tall and slender, with her green hair in a tight bun, which Roulph didn’t find attractive on her, walked into the chamber with a touch tablet in her grasp. “I’m sure our staff is taking excellent care of you.”
“Oh, they most certainly are, Darla, is it? Please, call me Roulph or Big-R.”
“Big-R?” the woman mused. She sucked on her tablet’s pen, looking seductive.
“Shants calls me that because I’m so big.”
“Yes. Rumors of your sizeable manhood precede you. That’s one of the many reasons we wanted you on our show.”
“Well,” he smiled, “I’m happy to be here, although I’m a bit nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before.”
“I assume that you’ve had sexual intercourse before, Roulph.” Her tone was lecturing.
“Of course, just not while being watched by a million or so people.”
“Actually, our viewership hits a few trillion per episode. Your little fella isn’t going to get stage fright, is it?”
“But no pressure!”
Darla laughed at his quip, losing a tiny bit of her no-nonsense, professional veneer. “I’m sure you’ll do more than fine. Do you know how it all works?”
“I’ve seen a few episodes, but that’s it. What I saw, though, got me off, big time.”
“Well, I’ll run you through the paces before we’re on air.”
A topless, muscular man, his skin as black as coal, wearing tight, translucent shorts, entered the room, carrying a big, fluffy chair. He placed it beside Darla and stood there silently.
“Good stud, Hamill.” She patted the man on the crotch. “Meet me in my apartment at, say, ten or so?”
The man nodded, smiled, and then left.
“The show’s concept is very simple. Donors call in bids and bets, either on how long you can hold out before you orgasm, or which of our ‘pleasure slaves,’ who are paid sex performers, will make you cum. All you need to do is hold out for as long as you can and answer every question instantly and honestly. Once you spew your sticky goodness, you’re done. All proceeds go to charity, feeding the hungry, housing the homeless, that sort of thing.”
“And for Shanta, the same thing when she comes on?”
“The rules are different for biological women. For us,” she squeezed her small but shapely breasts, then ran her fingers over her crotch, “the bids and bets are for how many orgasms we have, not how long we can hold out.”
“So, she and I will share the spotlight tonight?”
“No, Roulph. Your legendary stamina made us bump her to tomorrow’s show. If you blow your wad too soon, we’ll bring in another male celebrity.”
“So, I just go on stage and fuck and suck? I can do that! I mean, I guess I’ll subject myself to such rigors, seeing as how it’s all for charity.”
Thirty minutes later, the hostess, Jasmine Black, ironically known for her shimmering, long, blond hair, introduced herself to the mercenary pilot and walked him to the sound stage. The battle crane fighter was helped into his tear-away costume, a glittery mock-up of the standard jumpsuits pilots wore, and placed into the torture throne.
“Now, play it up like you’re going to blow quickly,” Jasmine said to him, winking at him with her gorgeous green eyes. “It gets a lot of pledges in early, and we only have three hours.”
The torture throne, as it was called, was a warm, opulently padded reclining chair. Perfectly curved for reclining and padded with soft cushions that felt like clouds, it had fur-lined shackles for both of the man’s wrists and ankles. Loving hands belonging to sensually alluring women who were dressed to arouse bound the mercenary into position. Roulph could not do anything but lay there and receive pleasure.
Darla’s voice came over the speaker system at the precise moment the stage lights came on. “Showtime in thirty seconds. Cue the lights. Places, everyone. Ladies, this is a huge show for us, so be your slutty best and make him cum!”
The live studio audience consisted of a couple of hundred people, mostly tourists and wealthy residents, but it was enough people to give Roulph a sense of trepidation. Ten-to-one odds on the battlefield was one thing, but sexually performing, even for charity, in front of hundreds of onlookers while being broadcast across the galaxy was intimidating.
Roulph reclined in his comfy seating, attempting to look nonchalant. However, when the women playing the roles of the sex slaves took the stage, he was enamored. A dozen women, all of them chosen for both their extreme sexual attractiveness and erotic skills, emerged from stage-right. Each of them was dressed in matching but different, gilded, diaphanous outfits, custom-designed to enhance their individual charms. All of Roulph’s body and hairstyle preferences disintegrated before his eyes. He was awestruck at their horny beauty, and his cock responded by growing in length and girth at the sight of them.
“Hello, Humes, and welcome Cumming For Charity, the hit game show with a happy ending. I’m your hostess, Jasmine Black, the blond bombshell of your wet dreams. First, give yourselves a round of applause; then, let’s meet tonight’s contestant.”
The video screen behind the stage lit up with footage of Roulph, taken recently. He was dressed in his pilot’s gear, all weapons and armor, his comm headset over his ears. The video showed him passionately kissing Shanta, then walking over to a damaged Battle Crane, the huge Horned Owl, and inspecting it.
Darla, the producer’s voice, did the voice-over.
“Roulph Hansen, known as ‘the penetrator’ on the battlefield, is one of the hottest rising stars in the entertaining field of war. Descending from a long and glorious line of Battle Crane pilots, this twenty-eight-year-old, blond hunk of man-meat hails from the Origami Nebula Cluster on the outer rim of the sphere, and his sexy body adorns bedroom walls throughout the sphere. Currently, a member of the elite mercenary group, Pagan Vengeance, Roulph enjoys sowing his wild oats, surfing, fine wines, and composes Haiku in his spare time.”
A radiant, blue spotlight shone on Roulph. Knowing that he was on camera, he tried to look handsome and cool, wishing that the ink-vine scar he’d received during a previous hand-to-hand melee wasn’t so prominent on his face. The crowd erupted with thunderous applause, and the pledge counter, a simple, numerical display above the video screen, immediately began rising into the tens of thousands.
“So, Roulph, before we begin, care to give the trillions of viewers a Haiku?”
One of the sex slaves, a buxom, toned redhead with a perfect ass and high, firm breasts, ran over to the tied-down merc and tugged open his jumpsuit, exposing his cock. She immediately began sucking on it as if her life depended on draining his balls.
“Um, I can’t right now.
I’m so very distracted.
I’ll need time to think.”
“See, Humes? Roulph is famous for keeping a cool head under fire, even while getting head! Our goal for tonight is ten million credits for Sam Spade’s organization. The Falcons, hailing from the Maltese system, recently destroyed the grain reserves on Malfoy Six, leaving the entire population of sixteen million settlers without enough food to carry them through the cold season. For those of you who don’t know the rules, here’s how to donate. Take it, Bob.”
A polished man’s voice rang through the studio. “You can bid or bet for or against our A-list celebrity, Roulph Hansen. Whether you win or lose, all proceeds go to this humanitarian cause. Pledge that your favorite sex slave will make him cum, or that he’ll last however many minutes, up to the full one-hundred-and-eighty. The choice is yours, but everybody wins! Back to you, Jasmine, you horny slut.”
Jasmine posed for the cameras, her hand down her skirt. “Just getting myself primed for the action. Well, Roulph, it seems the rumors of your massive cock are true! Are you busy after the show, because this bimbo wants some?” She waited for the audience’s laughter to die down. “I bet your girlfriend, Shanta, loves that cock of yours, doesn’t she?”
“Um…” the battle-hardened mercenary began.
His speech was cut short by two more of the sex slaves, a brunette and one with blue-dyed hair, running up to him. The woman pleasuring his shaft was the best he’d ever felt, and it took quite a bit of concentration to not jizz into her eager mouth. The brunette straddled his shackled hand, rubbing her hot wetness across it as she played with her breasts and moaned, staring into his eyes with an unbridled look of passion on her face.
