The planet Luxos 4 was a world that tourists visited in a continuous string of spaceliners. With little surface water, the weather tends to be benign and predictable and the whole surface of the planet within the temperate zones was covered in a thick carpet of ancient deciduous trees, hundreds of feet high.
The first settlers, a thousand Earth years before, felled a few trees and built their simple wooden dwellings in clearings. They ultimately failed because the Luxos day was about 40 Earth days long or just under 1000 Earth hours. Earth crop plants couldn’t grow in the short window of each Luxos day. When night fell, so did the temperatures, down to -200, and remains that until dawn, a thousand hours later.
The bare trees bud as soon as the dawn sun warms the air and burst into leaf within hours, the bare black branches covered in verdant green. Soon insects hatch out and feed on the detritus of “yesterday’s” leaf mulch. By the time the insects can fly, the trees are flowering and the air thick with pollen. The insects feast and fatten, to be eaten by predator insects who hatch maslak escort out hours later. The flowers bear inedible fruit, which the early settlers fermented and distilled a clear but potent spirit still popular today. No higher form of life ever developed on Luxos.
The last 200 hours of each day was known as the Glorious Fall, because the trees would turn off chlorophyll production, withdraw moisture from the leaves and shut down for the winter. The leaves turned into reds and golds before falling as litter thick enough to cover a ‘copter on the forest floor hundreds of feet below.
Bev Cantor was just as glorious as the Glorious Fall, her Lt-Commander flying suit hugged her curves like a second skin, her flowing honeyed hair framed her beautiful face, but today she was distraught. Her shuttle carrying tourists from space liner to the Lux City space dock malfunctioned and launched a pod containing six valued customers into an area of impenetrable forest the size of Australia.
It was in my sector, which is why Bev came to my modest ski lodge with the rescuers. There istanbul escorts are dozens of hotels dotted around the equator, making the most of the Glorious Fall, moving around the planet. Joe’s Lodge was just on the Northern Tropic, on the edge of the temperate zone, where the trees thinned and petered out before the permafrost. I was a grizzled ex-Space Navy Commander, having served my 30 years a decade ago and cashed my pension on a small tourist lodge catering for skiers.
“Joe,” Bev said, “the pod’s instruments fried on re-entry and we can’t trace them. My onboard computer tracked them to south of you and they have enough rations for ten meals. The company have given me three copters and two pilots, can you use yours to help?”
‘For you Babe, anything,’ I wanted to say, but Bev Cantor was the Ice Queen, if anyone ever did her, no-one believable ever confessed.
I left it at, “Sure, Commander.”
Forty hours later, I dropped into my gym to ease my muscles, after twenty hours’ flying, and shower. My lodge has one storey above ground and seven below; we escort beşiktaş have seriously long nights. Bev rode an exercise bike, expending her frustrations at finding the wrecked pod, but fallen leaves covered which direction all six survivors went. They had maybe twenty hours of daylight left.
Naturally, my eyes feasted on her killer ass. Silent as I was, Bev turned and caught me.
“Find those tourists, Joe, and my ass is yours,” she said, grimly, “I’ve never lost a tourist.”
The red sun dipped below the horizon, plunging Joe’s Lodge into darkness. We’d worked around the clock for 100 hours since the shuttle pod went missing, but everyone cheered as my copter landed.
The debriefed tourists were adamant; only through Tom’s antique compass had they found the isolated ski cabin, emergency rations and my direct line. Tom, a retired antique dealer was an embarrassed but contented lifesaver.
Using three fingers to lube Bev’s tight ass, she moaned. I slicked my knob in her dripping pussy before pressing my glistening purple head into her puckered poop hole.
“Fuck! That’s tight, Joe.”
I paused.
“Don’t stop!” she begged, then laughed, “all because some old duffer had a fucking compass!”
I shook my head silently as I pushed deeper and Bev’s noises grew unintelligible. Luxos was totally without iron.