Touched by a Cyber-Angel Pt. 01

At this point, it seems to Howie that time slows down to a crawl. The first big wad of sticky semen blasts slowly and majestically upward, barely constrained by Ganymede's light gravity, as the Blue Danube Waltz plays in Howie's head. The cum hits the ceiling right inside the door.

The second gooey blob, just as big, and only slightly less powerful, arcs gracefully up and sails languidly across the office just as his boss sluggishly opens the door. He's still looking down the corridor and doesn't see the load of cum's slow-motion splat dead center on his expensive silk tie, newly imported from Earth.

Then time resumed its normal pace and, just as the older man turned to look at him, Howie finally managed to cover his gushing cock with the tissue. He then, with as much nonchalance as he could muster, shut down the vid as if he were closing out a personnel file he'd been studying. But it wasn't going to be so easy to get his boner back into his pants without his boss noticing.

"So, Ricardo…" Hardnutz began, taking a small step into the room, then stopping abruptly as he noticed the spunk drooling thickly down his tie. "What the hell do I have all over my best cravat?" he blustered. "It looks like…" he began, then stopped to lift his tie to his nose. "It smells like...like…semen!"

"Maybe you should taste it. Then you'd know for certain," muttered Howie under his breath. Napoleon Hardnutz was a pompous, preening ass and Howie had never liked him.

"What did you say?" the boss fumed, getting more upset by the second. "What the hell did you just say?"

"Oh, I said 'Maybe it could be….paste,…ummm...the kind you use on curtains'," Howie stammered.

"What the hell are you talking about?" raged Hardnutz. "It's not paste. Nobody uses paste on curtains and we haven't got a single curtain in the whole damn building. It's semen, and I want to know where it came from and how it got on my tie. It wasn't there before I opened the door."

"I'm not really sure it is semen," Howie answered timidly, stalling while he tried to figure out how to get his cock back into his pants. "It sort of looks like boogers to me. Didn't I hear you sneeze? Has your nose been running? Maybe you need to see a doctor."

"Bullcrap," yelled the HR Director. "I'm not sneezing and my nose isn't running, and it's not boog… nasal mucus. It's semen. What the blazes are you doing in here, Ricardo? Why is there goddamned semen flying around your goddamn office?

Looking up at his cursing boss, Howie could see that the first wad was now dangling from the ceiling, stretching into a longer and longer drip, directly above Hardnutz's head. He decided to try to divert suspicion toward whoever, or whatever, was directly over his office. "Maybe it came from the floor above us," he suggested, pointing up.

His boss looked up, but just as he did, the big gob of cum dropped from the ceiling and fell slowly and heavily to catch him squarely between the eyes. It splattered across the bridge of his nose and drooled down both sides. That couldn't have worked out better if I had planned it, Howie thought, barely stifling an explosion of giggles.

"Damn! Oh damn, that's disgusting," the HR Director screamed, instinctively wiping his face with the sleeve of his thousand-dollar suit. "Jeeezus! Get off your butt, you fool and go to the men's room. Get me some damp paper towels to clean my face and my damn tie before I ship you to Uranus to mine methane with an ice pick."

Howie knew that Hardnutz suffered from the "DuPimp Dive", and that, if he simply stood up and let his boss see his still-stiff cock, Hardnutz would probably faint and that, when he came to, it would more than likely be with no recollection of the last 15 minutes or so, getting Howie off the hook.

However, Howie wasn't that cruel, so instead he pretended to try to stand, then slumped back into his chair. "Wow!" he wheezed, "I can't even get up. My leg must have fallen asleep." He started pounding on his leg with one hand, while stuffing his penis back behind his zipper with the other.

"You're in big trouble Ricardo," Hardnutz bellowed as he stomped out. "You've got a review coming up next week and it's not going to be good one. If you ever thought there was a prayer that you might be promoted or get a raise, you can forget about it. And you can also forget about moving to a bigger office. In fact, I'm going to survey the company for the fattest, smelliest, most irritating employee we have - other than you, of course - and arrange for him to share this office with you."

Howie knew he shouldn't antagonize his boss, but he wasn't actually afraid of him either. Howie's father had been the Executive Manager of DuPimp's Ganymede mining colony for the last 20 years. Howie might never get a promotion, but he certainly wasn't about to get fired. He had been desperately hoping for a bigger office though. And at least a small raise. Even at a "nominal" price, the Beta model andro-companion would put a strain on his already tight budget.

Seconds after the HR Director slammed the door shut, Howie's friend, Tony Nelson, opened it and stuck his head in. "Just dropped by HR to find out when my biiiiig raise would be coming through and arrived just in time to hear that yours may be… delayed a little," Tony grinned.

"Fuck you, Tony," Howie explained.

"Old Nappy Nuts sure was steamed," Tony observed. "What did you do to him?"

"Me? I didn't do anything," Howie said. "I could have though. The old asshole has a bad case of the DuPimp Dive, and I could have dropped him like he was dead and made him forget what he was mad about, but I didn't. I'm too damn nice for that. So now I'll be stuck in this little cubbyhole - without a raise - for a Jovian century."

"DuPimp Drop?" asked Tony. "What exactly is that? It's the same thing as Galileo's Revenge, right? You hear rumors… some kind of new disease or something. But it seems like the company is keeping it quiet."

"Yeah, they're the same thing. But I never understood calling it Galileo's revenge. What's he getting revenge for? The Inquisition? What sense does that make?

"Anyway, yes, they are the same thing. And the company is trying hard to keep it quiet. But my father told me about it because he's a prime candidate to contract it. The medical name is 'Episodic Hysterical Low-G Maladaptive Hypomnesiac Pseudo-Necrotic Syncope'."

"Ah," said Tony immediately. "That explains it. And I can see why DuPimp would want to cover it up."

"That mumbo-jumbo makes sense to you?" Howie asked skeptically.

"Well, I can tell that it involves fainting, that it's brought on by emotional stress and that it is somehow caused by inability to deal with low gravity conditions. It's all there in the name. And does it also involve seeming to be dead and forgetting stuff?"

Howie was amazed. "If I didn't know how tight security is about this, I'd suspect you were putting me on. Yes, it's showing up almost exclusively in people who grew up under full gravity on Earth and have been out here on Ganymede for at least 15 years.

"It's almost like one of those allergies that becomes worse and worse with frequent exposure. Suddenly, after being here 15, 20 years, a strong emotional experience - joy, anger, whatever - will trigger an episode and the person will collapse like he was dead. No pulse, no breathing, nothing. It lasts for a few minutes, and when they wake up, they usually don't remember what happened for 10 or 15 minutes before they passed out."

"And why hasn't it shown up before, at Luna or on one of the space stations?" Tony asked. "Probably because those folks all cycle back to Earth on a regular basis," he continued, answering his own question. "They're never exposed to low-G for 15 or 20 years straight."

"That's what they think," Howie said. "And they also think that guys like you and me don't get it because we grew up in low-G. But our "friend", Napoleon, apparently has a pretty nasty case. The doctors don't think the condition is inherently fatal or debilitating, except of course that you can get hurt when you collapse or while you're unconscious. But, just to be safe, I try not to get Hardnutz too excited."

"Which way is his office?" asked Tony. "Maybe I'll go tell him you just posted a holo-vid on the company website showing him giving a blow job in the HR Men's Room to a…. uum… let's say a very large sumo wrestler with a very small dick - accompanied by another vid of his ugly old wife fucking a humongous cucumber and a bunch of other vegetables so hard that they all sort of disintegrate into gazpacho."

"Don't you dare, you enormous asshole," Howie growled.

"What do you care," Tony called over his shoulder as he headed down the corridor. "If you've been telling me the truth, you can't get in trouble. If he doesn't pass out, he'll check the website and know I was lying. If he does have an episode, he won't remember what I told him - probably."

Howie started to go after him. There were rumors that Hardnutz had been pretty lecherous in his youth, and in fact, that he had left Earth just ahead of a gigantic scandal and a mob of angry husbands. And there were also rumors about him showing up at the DuPimp plasti-pussy rental center in ridiculous disguises and returning his rentals with hard-use damage.

He was, however, the sitting chairman of the colony's Morality Movement affiliate, called the Ganymede Decency Standards and Civil Morality Council, and valued his current straight-laced reputation above everything else in his life. Howie didn't really think Tony intended to follow through on his threat, but if he did, Hardnutz would be apoplectic.

However, before Howie could get up to pursue Tony, his phone rang. It was Dexter Spielmann calling to tell him that his Sweetheart 459 Cyber-Angel had arrived and that he should drop by the store at about 16:30 that evening to check it out.

*

If you enjoyed Part 1 of this story, look for Part 2, which should be posted right around Valentine's Day (February 14^th).