by Daddy X
When I ponder the possibilities of sex in space, what often sparks my imagination is the potential for altered physical reactions within the absence of gravity. How would the science differ from that of a hot fuck on earth?
Can we even imagine not being able to depend on a major force we’ve spent a lifetime taking for granted? A factor that’s been an unavoidable constant in virtually every aspect of our lives.
Just as heavenly bodies are affected by proximity of another mass, would there be similar gravitational attraction between two corporeal bodies (of the human persuasion) if we didn’t have to deal with an overwhelming force of pull in one single direction?
If not, what would happen if two people (one of them me) thusly attracted, were fucking in the center of a room without gravity? Not the center of the floor of the room, mind you, but the center of the volume of the room. With nothing to ground us but a reciprocity of equal and opposite reactive physical clenches, combined with predictable mathematical angular bounces off walls. Picture the old ‘Pong’ Machines.
Relying solely on a partner’s mass, would there exist even the possibility of entry into one another’s private orifices, without using deeply personal handholds or a wall (or ceiling or floor, not that there’d be much distinction in zero gravity) for a solid base to push against for leverage? Would any squirming force of effort not be effective by reason that any abandoned insertion in a dedicated area toward any (unwarmed-up) orifice turn against itself in that same equal balance of opposite reaction? Would both get pushed away? By simple laws of physics, they would.
Unless we held on to each other—really tight. And pulled. Yum.
Physical restraints would become mandatory in ensuring our object of affection can’t glide away. Hopefully there’ll be ductwork (or hooks, straps, rings and buckles) where someone could be fastened in a compromised position. Let your imagination be your guide.
Of course, penetration wouldn’t be the be-all-end-all to sex. There’d also be the random contact of levitating thighs, cunt, tits and ass (against my cock) slipping and sliding satiny soft friction slurping, sucking, slapping, hovering, hair-pulling, twisting, turning over and over, spread-eagled wet apex of the central spot between her dripping thighs leaking viscous juices. Something to think about.
And not to mention mutually magnetic effects of lips and mouths, pressing together, lapping slippery tongues drawn over and over, round and round needy genitals, joining to grab hold of something akin to a semblance of trust in our efforts, without the advantage of a solid foundation.
Probing tongue tips, whether arrowhead stiff and pointed, or wide soft and flattened, slip between pulsing quim lips and quivering buttocks, while her pliable slick long uvula folds over to allow for the ingress of the head of my cock. Forced deep cock in various holes, grappling, heaving, squeezing, eventually lodged somewhere beyond the hard ring of her cervix, desperately pulling against one another, fastened within a partner’s most private hidden depths to hold purchase where we’d otherwise expect firm footing.
Ahem… I digress… I’ll have to leave this blogpost… for the nonce.
La la. La lala la laaaah la la…
Okay, back again. I’m okay now!
But then again, would the spectral slow motion floating visuals, provocative in themselves, transport us to yet higher levels of stimulation? Would a gorgeous woman with long hair feature an enchanting floating framed nimbus of streaming auburn around her? Would a sharp, quick strike with a riding crop leave a similar welt on an unsuspecting ass cheek, leaving it twitching and twisting outside gravitational influences (trying to avoid the lash) as it would on earth? Would that sudden strike on her smooth, round assets set in motion the same quiver as a similar harmonic convergence upon the instant of impact, considering how muscle and fat may ripple outward without benefit of gravity? Would flogged tits wiggle, flop or recoil differently around a heaving chest? Would nipples grasped between thumb and forefinger and twisted three hundred sixty degrees snap back into place as quickly when released? Would the lack of pressure lessen or increase the inflamed, blotchy effect produced with a cat ’o nine tails on a flawless belly?
Liquids, there will be liquids. Would thick droplets of escaped male and female essences float around us in little beads? Like rain without purpose? Would that violently spanked sphincter, cock, scrotum or clit, subjected to strikes of impact, shake, shimmy or twitch in the same predictable patterns without the grounding effects of a gravitational base or pressurized compartment? Would the pain and shock of such blows feel more or less intense?
Of course, all this science would be all the more comprehensive if we had more women in the program. Like fifty more. Yessss… Let ‘em all in. Along with me and that first girl.
Hot, oversexed women of every color, race, size and shape would certainly bring a sense of vivid, varied carnality to the study. Crowd ‘em all into that same fucking weightless fuck room. You could have some fully dressed, some simply floating around in ragged underwear, (or leotard tights with desperate holes chewed away at the nipples, cunt and ass.) Others naked as the day they were born.
And maybe just one buxom blonde in pigtails wearing a light, breezy, sleeveless yellow and white checked sundress. Without underwear. But a tightly cinched waist. And Dutch wooden shoes. She would eschew restraints, floating without direction around the enclosed space, frock drifting flittingly free from her body, desperately opening and closing her legs while her pussy, trying to direct her magnetism towards me, (and tug mine towards her) beckons, voracious labia swollen, pink wet and inviting. Perhaps a breast with a crimson nipple slips out from under her top in its weightless meanderings.
Then she could lift her dress up high, make suggestive eyes to me and, with her back to a wall, spread her legs. And all the other girls would clear a tunnel with their bodies through the center of the room, to make way for me who is now squatted against the opposite wall, preparing myself as I guage my target.
And I would spring from that crouch to propel myself forehead first, hoping to calculate the correct force of trajectory to float across the room to her, relying only on gravitational attraction of the combined mass of two living bodies (while the remaining girls would applaud, rub my dick as they watched me drift by in slow motion and arrange their vaginas within sniffing distance) hopefully to land in the center of the blonde’s oozing cunt. And that, scientifically speaking, if only to experience whether or not I would bounce erringly off her belly or ass or inside thigh or successfully (splat) stick my floating face to her suction-cup wetness where she would hold me slurped into her fragrant cunt. If not taken away from her immersive aromatherapy, I could die.
Unless, that is, some of the more selfish girls wanted some cock for themselves. Wheeeee! They’d see this as a ‘now or never’ situation, (me being the only guy) and save me from a freak death from vaginal drowning,
All strictly research, of course.
Ummm… I’m thinking that’s enough science for today.