1 comments/ 45815 views/ 4 favorites Big Bang Theory By: Big Bang Theory "Who the hell knows. Not us." "Do you think--" "I don't know what to think!" Peters exploded. Gerry leaned across and gave him her mouth. This settled Peters in one respect, but excited him in another. Gerry put her hand on his crotch. "Cut that out," Peters said. "This is business." "This is business too," Gerry whispered. She wanted his tongue. Fuck that. . .she wanted his cock. "Take me to bed," she moaned, pushing Peters onto his back. They made out for ten luxuriant minutes and then Peters said: "We can't." Gerry said that she knew. "We will when we get back to the cabin," Peters said. Gerry said that she knew that as well. Peters whispered conspiratorially into her ear and Gerry's eyes opened wide. Then she laughed. Then she giggled. "Oh, my!" she choked. "You will?" "You just watch me!" Gerry looked at the polyhedron. "When can we go?" she demanded. Ten minutes later, they were back to sitting on their rear ends. Peters had his fingers steepled, tapping them gently against his lips. "You know," he said. "I don't think that's metal at all." "What is it, then?" Peters laughed. "It's what it isn't." Gerry waited. Peters ticked off his points. "It isn't magnetic. It has no metallic ring. It has not so much as a single scratch upon its surface and what we used should have put one there. When you tap on the side, there's no hollow ring. But it isn't solid. We could never have moved it if it was solid." They had rolled the thing awkwardly out of the hole and onto flat ground. It weighed almost nothing; Gerry easily could have moved it herself. Peters continued, "The surface shows no effects of atmospheric reentry. Or entry, in any case. The heat would have left scorch marks on the surface or it would be partially melted. Nothing. And nothing will stick." Rolling the polyhedron out of the hole, they were amazed to find that--even the section dug out of the ground--that it was spotlessly clean. Examined under magnification, they'd seen no soiling at all. "Even Teflon sticks to something!" Peters complained. Gerry didn't correct him. "Anyway, what I suspect is this is not matter at all, but some kind of materialized force." Gerry stypticly blinked. "Energy that's been converted to a matter-like state," Peters explained. "But isn't really matter at all. What physicists call force-crystalization." Don't try to explain that to me, Gerry's eyes begged, and Peters didn't. 106 "Can we open it?" Gerry said. "Ever?" Peters shrugged. "If we were God." Gerry took that to mean it was something man could envision, but never achieve. Peters stood up. "Let's go back to the cabin. We'll decide what to do later." Gerry stood up fast that Peters laughed. What? her grin challenged. On the way back to the path, Gerry led and Peters followed her out. He kept her in check with a finger in her back pocket--Gerry relished the touch. Even better, Peters occasionally let his hand play over her ass, bring Gerry to a low simmer. She loved her ass rubbed. She loved her ass fucked. Tonight, she hoped, she'd get them both. By the time they made it back to the turnout, it had grown dark; hers was the only car left. Looking back up the mountain, Gerry remembered the eerie, shimmering glow the object gave off. Suddenly, the idea of materialized energy seemed not so odd. What if it blew up? As though reading her thoughts--or at least her face-- Peters said: "Don't worry. Anything capable of maintaining cohesion in such an extreme state, has to be stable. It couldn't exist otherwise." "Then no one can set it off by kicking its tires?" Peters laughed. "Remind me not to try." Back at the cabin, they cleaned up, Peters showering first, then Gerry. Not out of any sense of propriety, or situational decorum, but because the cabin had only a cramped shower stall. And Gerry wanted to shave. She came out of the bathroom feeling clean, freshly vital, and dizzy with anticipation. She tried not to let it show. The main room with the loft above took up most of the cabin; the kitchen was the size of the bathroom and almost as cramped. With a postage stamp-sized stove and an under the counter fridge--the dishwasher consisted of Gerry's two hands and a dishtowel--it was a place Gerry stayed clear of. Standing in the middle of the cabin in her white robe and a towel wrapping her hair, Gerry felt the best that she had in a year. She took off the towel and Peters watched thoughtfully as she brushed her hair. It was short now, not shoulder length as when Peters last was here. "You know that diagram?" she said. "I can't get it out of my head." 107 Peters continued watching her brush. She was brushing now just for him. "That thing is not something that visits us every day," she said, feeling her robe open slightly. "Probably not ever." "I agree." "Then we can assume its not suppose to be here now?" "Let us presume." "Then," she said, stopping to open her robe and then cinch it back tight--Peters pupils flared and his hand twitched on his leg, "we can also presume it's been sent by some superior intelligence?" Peters got to his feet. His mouth had a tentative grin, but his eyes were intent. Gerry playfully backed away. "Wait," she said. "For what?" "Later." "The future is now." "I want to cook you some dinner," Gerry protested. "I'll take it now." Crossing to where Gerry stood, Peters took her brush and threw it aside. Then he kissed her neck. Then he kissed that place in the shadow of her neck than made Gerry moan. Her heart pounded hard and her chest rose and fell. I want you so bad, she thought. So very, very bad. Picking her up and carrying her to the surprisingly large couch, Peters lay Gerry down and lay down upon her. He opened her robe and he opened her legs, and taking her wrists, held her hands up above her. "Ohhhh, God, " she moaned. She ground her clitoris against his hardened cock. The bulge of it spread her lips, grinding hard against the flesh between. Inflamed by the rush of blood and the outpouring of hormones, her flesh grew molten. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" she choked, sucking in breath. Her orgasm began and began to grow stronger. Peters put his hands in her hands and entwined their fingers, and Gerry raised up, arched like a bow. And still Peters maddened her with his pent up cock. "Fuck me!" she begged. "Please, Peter! Fuck me!" Peters removed his cock from his trousers and put it into her vagina. Gerry began to fuck like a maddened dog. Her hands went to where Peters had held them against the armrest and clutched the armrest tight. They dug in like talons. Raising until only her feet and her head touched the couch, she exploded in astounding brilliance as sperm erupted inside her. Every woman deserves consideration at a moment like this, and Gerry will get it. It was four hours later. Spent, aching, mentally as well as physically drained, Gerry lay outstretched on the floor. Her chest rose and fell in a smooth, not-quite-effortless rhythm. Her heart beat visibly beneath her chest. Her small breasts, sporting a number of bite marks and bruise-colored hickeys, were tipped with small silver clamps. They ached, but Gerry enjoyed the pain. Just to be in it was enough. A similar device was between her legs, but instead of a small silver clamp, the nub of her clitoris and the surrounding tissues were encased in a clear plastic hood. This in turn was hooked to a small vacuum pump which, humming softly, had her captured flesh florid with blood. Gerry reacted with a low, continual shudder. "That's enough," Peters said. He turned off the pump. Gerry pleaded, "Noooo!" Peters removed the plastic hood. He marveled at the effect. Gerry had been in continual orgasm since seven o'clock. Or so it seemed. Gerry moaned again. "Peter!" "I said, no more. This isn't a healthful thing." Grinning with her eyes closed, Gerry said, "My life in a nutshell." Peters examined her over-used and raw-looking pussy. Tomorrow, he knew, she'd have a stiff-legged gait. If she could walk at all. And what he had done to her ass. . . Rising to a sitting position, Peters removed the clamps from her nipples--she again moaned in protest--and drew Gerry up. She could barely stand. "My God," she said, putting a hand to her forehead. She stood slightly bent, her rear end pushed out and her knees hobbled like those of a newly born foal. Peters covered her up with her robe. "Put this on," he said, threading in her arms. He cinched her up in the front and guided her over to the couch. Her movements were uncertain, as though unsure where she even was. "You okay?" he asked. She laughed shakily. "No." "Something to drink?" She laughed again. "Other than your sperm?" Going into the kitchen, Peters returned with a Samuel Adams beer for them both. He screwed off both caps. "Here," he said, putting the bottle against her brow. Gerry moaned thankfully and leaned in against him close. He'd used a cold bottle on her before, but not on her forehead. "Thank you," she murmured. "Ay-yup." For a time they just sat, Gerry draped on his shoulder. Her vagina ached and her rectum ached even worse. Tomorrow. . .well, tomorrow would be a challenge. "Carry me up to bed?" she murmured. That couldn't be done, of course, not with the loft, but Peters got her drift. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her to the base of the stairs, and then assisted her up. He then assisted her out of the robe and into her feety-pajamas. Peters loved Gerry in her feety-pajamas. They slept until seven a.m.