Author's note: Each Mars Memoir follows directly on the previous chapter. Though you may wish to begin at the beginning, each episode can stand alone.
Nurse Lauren
***
"John, time to wake up..."
Confusion.
I try to slip back into my erotic dream of Oona, of her hands sliding on my cock, milking out jet after jet of cum...
Fingers clasp my shoulder and gently shake me. "John, it's time awaken. It's your week to be up and about."
My eyes snap open in shock -- it feels like I'm being goosed -- just in time to see Nurse Lauren Clemens removing her finger from a button on the panel above my head. I gasp as the tube slides slowly and smoothly out of my anus, leaving the muscular ring of my sphincter, which has been stretched wide for four weeks, agape and tingling.
Lauren's ethereal blue-grey eyes gleam as she grasps my penis -- it's hard and close to bursting from my sexy recollection of Oona -- and it jumps when her fingers close around it. Her other hand begins to slowly ease the catheter out of my erect and twitching tool. I can't help but shudder when the only-slightly deflated bulb which has held it in place in my bladder, pops out and begin passing up my urethra, stretching it as it goes. I instinctively put my hand on hers, stopping it momentarily.
"Relax, John," Lauren says, smiling. "Hmm. Were you dreaming of me?" Lauren's voice is seductive as she eyes my erection and rubs her thumb across the head. "You know it's my job to wake you, get you started eating and exercising, reversing any muscle or bone atrophy that's occurred during the last four weeks when you've been asleep. It's important that you activate all parts of your body and mind, so just lie back. Let me get you up and going." Her eyes twinkle as she adds, "Maybe coming?"
Her right thumb has continued stroking me, especially the small area where the shaft meets the head -- my most sensitive spot -- all the time she has been talking. Though I do lie back, there is no way I can relax. Especially as she shakes my restraining hand off hers and starts gliding the catheter up, and then surprisingly, back down my urethra.
I recall that her in-and-out method of inserting it four weeks ago had seemed as though she were sounding me. Now she definitely is. Lauren's eyes are on mine, checking my reactions, and she smiles when I begin wincing each time her thumb brushes my penis. Already aroused from my dream of Oona, in no time the fire in my tube from being probed matches the burn from her thumb's work on my spot. Her eyes widen eagerly when she sees me begin twitching, shuddering and convulsing as the first wave of a month's worth of accumulated semen is squeezed out of my testicles and begins to drive up my pole, searing every nerve as it burns ahead.
My consciousness, which has been totally focused on the fire in my pole, is drawn to the feel of surgical tape surrounding the head of my penis where the catheter enters, and I hear Lauren say to herself, "There. That will keep it in place." I understand the full impact of what she means when my boiling cum surges against the bulb of the catheter and is blocked. As the pressure increases, bulging my urethra, Lauren's hand over my mouth stifles my groans as the delicious agony builds.
I'm transfixed by her thumb rapidly rubbing my spot and by the exquisite pain from the blockage in my shaft. My penis keeps trying to shoot, but the opening in the tip of the catheter is tiny, designed for thin urine, so only a small stream of my thick, viscous semen can pass into the tube with each spasmodic contraction. Because so little is squeezed out with each ejaculation, my orgasm goes on forever, my cock needing to convulse over and over to empty the backed up load of cum.
My post-orgasmic twitches and Lauren's mellifluous voice pull me back. "Very good, John. That was a fine deposit. It's good to see you up," she chuckles at her repeated double entendre, "and functioning." My eyes open to see her holding up the bag, with large rivulets of milky cum swirling in a sea of urine.
I wince as she pulls the catheter all the way out. Lauren pats my cheek and murmurs, "There, there. It's all right now," as she runs her finger up the length of my penis, driving out the last dribbles. She wipes up the drops of semen that have oozed out, then leans over, kisses my forehead lightly, and begins extracting the IV from my arm.
"Ready? It's time to leave the sleep tube now," says Nurse Clemens, her mien professional. Though still dazed, I nod and she presses another button on the control panel. The pod rotates to almost vertical and her hand firmly plants on my chest. "Stay still, John. Your legs will be rubbery, so I want you to sit in the wheelchair first. We'll get you walking soon, then running, but we need to go slowly. OK?"
***
"Just one more set, John, then you can take a break." Though Jake's tone is supportive, in truth he is a relentless, merciless taskmaster. I grunt as I force up the bar. He's spotting me, counting each bench press, goading me until I simply can do no more. "Fine. Another 30 minutes on the elliptical and then you can have lunch."
By this morning, the third day of my week-long awake period, I've adapted to the daily routine in which mental work -- computer assisted research, reading, and puzzles designed to sweep the cobwebs out of the brain -- alternates with physical training, supervised by Jake the Demon. The activities fill almost every minute of every day, which is good, as there is nothing else to do.
After I finish on the elliptical, I insist that Jake spot me for one more round on each stage of of the weight machine. My muscles are burning, but I know that when I arrive on the Red Planet I have to be fit, totally ready, to assume my position as the new Head of Security. The company had first chosen a younger man for the job -- early-30s to my mid-40s -- but when they discovered some psychological quirk, like he really enjoyed beating people up, I got the job.
Security on the spaceship itself wasn't an issue, so other than the captain who had a stun gun, there were no police and no weapons. Of the 35 total passengers, workers upon arrival, 7 were up and about at all times. Each day one would be awakened, and one put back to sleep in one of the 28 slumber pods, packed like sardines into the hold. The ship had to be small to break free of Earth's gravitational field, and it was cramped, like a submarine. There was no unused or extra space, certainly not enough for all passengers to be awake at any one time.
The skeleton crew consisted of the 3 nurses who rotated 8 hour shifts with one on call constantly; 2 pilots, one of whom was the captain; 2 copilots; 2 engineers, who doubled as physical trainers; and a cook who did the janitorial work. The crew all shared rooms, bunking 3 per cubicle, and a larger barracks housed the 7 awake passengers. There was the bridge, engine room, exercise area, mess hall, kitchen, the nurses's exam room with an attached one-bed infirmary, and an O unit. Nothing else.
While security wasn't a concern on board ship, on Mars it was essential. The colony was a lot like the Wild West, and things often got rough, as the two classes of workers didn't much like each other. Like the cattlemen who wanted their doggies to roam free vs the farmers who wanted to fence those foragers out of their crops, natural conflicts, exacerbated by extreme isolation, were inevitable.
The farmers, who donned their solar protective gear and worked during daylight of the 24 hour, 40 minute days, or did harvesting, weeding, fertilizing, and built expansions of the base by floodlight at night, felt they were the essential element, as they grew the food which made life possible. The miners, who worked 12 ⅓ hour shifts in the tunnels from which the rare earth elements were extracted, knew their jobs were the crucial factor. Without the ore they mined there would be no economic incentive for the settlement to exist. Both farmers and miners worked 4-days-on, 1-day-off rotations, staggered so that the mines were busy and the fields tended 24 ⅔ /7.
As computers and robots had eliminated almost all jobs on Earth, neither group had much choice about "volunteering" for the expeditionary force. Everyone signed up for two-year tours, but a combination of pressure from Martian Minerals, Inc., the company that ran everything; cash incentives; and deceptive fine print in the contracts which gave the corporation the option to unilaterally extend a worker's contract; meant that once one landed on Mars it was unlikely anyone would ever see home again. All the space in the ships returning to Earth was needed for the minerals. Eventually, the mind-numbing routine of the dead-end jobs, isolation, and lack of female companionship made tempers grow short.
On their one day off, the farmers and miners left their cramped cruise-ship-sized shared quarters to partake of the amusements MM, Inc., provided in abundance. Bread and circus. There were cinemas offering free viewing of everything available anywhere on Earth. The several restaurants served whatever one desired. Of course, most everything was made from soya, but magically engineered to look and taste like whatever one might want. As long as your standards weren't too high.
The bars were similarly stocked with the same basic intoxicant, but it was doctored to mimic anything from a rare cabernet to rotgut grog. If one didn't cotton to drinking, greenhouse-grown weed was leavened with spices to taste like everything from Maui Wowie to Blue Dream. The robot go-go dancers in the bars seemed more real than some women, were certainly more cooperative, and could be rented for private "dances." Aggressions could be dispelled by participating in, or merely watching, cage fighting matches, and of course, there was gambling. In the long run the house always won, and losers worked off their debts by extending their tours.
Then there were the O Units. Like the orgasmatron in Woody Allen's movie, Sleeper, but real, they provided release for those not inclined to use the robowomen dancers. Private, equipped with first rate audio, 3-D video, and every device one could imagine, they guaranteed satisfaction. For a price.
Despite all the amusements, there were inevitable conflicts, and the last Head of Security, the man I was replacing, had mistakenly found himself between a shiv and its intended resting place. So I had to be in shape when I arrived, mentally and physically.
***
"The blood tests look good, John. Any other health issues we should discuss?"
I was nude, sitting on the examining table at my third-day-awake physical, and Nurse Clemens was in professional mode. She'd just done the prostate finger wave, and was discarding her surgical gloves. Anxious to get the exam over, I quickly answered, "No, everything's fine."
"No ill effects from the anal tube? Some passengers get fissures, or have difficulty defecating normally at first."
"No, everything's fine."
