Date: Wed, 8 Apr 2020 18:26:11 +0200
From: Dolphin Dan
Subject: Farm Planet Adventures (part 8)

FARM PLANET ADVENTURES (8)

By Dolphin Dan

I had been tasked by my father to drive my brother Chase to the spaceport
at St. Albans, 500 miles away from our farm, and see him off on the
spaceliner that would take him to military school. After our affectionate
(and sexual) farewell I had a three-day drive in our slag-wagon, basically
a big ATV, across the wilderness back home. There were very few paved roads
and I was alone, age 15. I thought the trip back home was going to be
boring but it turned out to be eventful.

The slag-wagon was powered by a small nuclear generator. After I was on the
road about eight hours after leaving St. Albans, down a muddy unpaved
pathway through a very dense forest, the control panel started blinking
warnings. Something about the nuclear generator possibly losing
containment. The warning went away after a while but then came back about
an hour later. "Containment Field Down 13%." There were things on board the
slag-wagon I could fix, but the nuclear containment field wasn't one of
them. The computer basically suggested "get help."

It's not fair to say I panicked, but I did start to get pretty concerned. I
started scanning the area for human life forms. The computer said there was
a very small settlement about 20 miles away to the south. I might be able
to make it before the containment failed. I turned south, going through a
long empty space of grasslands.

I was very lucky. The containment field was down 78% by the time I spotted,
way off in the trees beyond the grasslands, a plume of smoke rising that
definitely looked like a human-built chimney. By now the weather had turned
bad and it was raining and very cold. Eventually I brought the slag-wagon
to a halt not far from a log cabin hacked out of the trees. It was really
primitive. It was surrounded by some split-rail fences, a water well, and a
pen with a couple of very sorry-looking cows. There was a faint orange
light glowing in the cabin's windows. I zipped up my rain parka, got out of
the ATV and climbed down to ground level. I had to slog through mud to get
to the front door which was made of planks. I pounded on it, hoping that
whoever was inside would be friendly.

The person who answered the door was one of the strangest looking people I
had ever seen. Judging from the gray in his hair and beard I thought he was
about 50, obese but not grossly fat, with long blondish-brown hair,
streaked with gray, that was set in very thick ropy dreadlocks. He had a
mustache and beard and wore smudged glasses. He had on a flannel shirt and,
amazingly because it was so cold, cargo shorts. His legs were thick and
hairy. He said, "Good evening, young sir. What can I do for you?" but at
first he was almost unintelligible because he spoke with a very thick
Scottish accent.

I told him about the nuke generator on the slag-wagon and asked if he knew
how to fix it. His answer was pretty garbled and unintelligible, but I did
catch something to the effect of "we can try to find some instructions."
The man asked my name and I told him. He said he was "Mullenax" and I asked
if that was his first or his last name and he just repeated, "Mullenax."

The cabin he lived in, obviously alone, was the most rustic thing I'd ever
seen. There was a crudely-built stone fireplace with a big iron cauldron
hanging over it. The furniture was all wood and hand-made. There was a
table and a few chairs, a bed that was more of a box with some rough wool
blankets thrown over it, a shelf with a few old books but that was about
it. There was very little machinery of any kind. I did see some nuclear
lanterns, a heater or two, and some battered old computer equipment under a
blanket. There was also a strange cylindrical device attached to the end of
a metal swing arm, like a microphone stand, bolted into the wall. The arm
was folded at the moment but it looked like it could swing over the bed
when extended. An old dog, a border collie, gnawed a bone near the
fireplace.

The burly Scotsman told me that I had interrupted his dinner. I was sorry
about that; I explained my trip back from St. Albans and told him roughly
where our farm was. He said that he had come out to the planet on the same
colony ship that brought us, and he thought he remembered meeting my father
once or twice aboard the ship. He said this as he stirred whatever was in
the cauldron with a wooden spoon. "It's raining like all shyte outside
right now," he said, "and dark. Let's worry about your nuke thing in the
morning. I can put on some extra stew for ya."

We ate. The stew was terrible except for the meat in it which tasted
gamey. Mullenax told me a little about himself and the story was very
sad. He had come to this planet with his wife and daughter (he called her
his "bairn") but they died of a fever three months after arriving. He then
went into a completely bonkers story about meeting "white fairies" in the
forest, and a secret code that was being transmitted to him in flashing
light from an orbiting satellite, a message he said would take seven years
to decode. It was clear that Mullenax wasn't all there, mentally.

After dinner he took the blanket off the computer equipment and fired up
the terminal. There were some ancient CD-roms in a box and he plugged them
into the terminal, apparently looking for information. "Hmm, nuclear
containment, eh? Well here's something..." I played with the dog and looked
around the cabin. It was clear he had made everything in the place. The
books he had were classics, Jules Verne, Alexandre Dumas, Russian authors
like Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, "Kidnapped" by Robert Louis Stevenson, and
also technical manuals for nuclear engineering. My attention focused on the
mysterious object over the bed. The cylinder, about 18 inches long and
maybe six inches in diameter, was sticking out of a box with little
controls on it including a dial. The interior of the cylinder was lined
with a very soft spongy material. I asked him what this was.

Mullenax said, "Oh, that's me Mary McGregor." What? It had a name? He said
Mary McGregor was a girl he had a crush on back in school so that's what he
named it. Yeah, but what IS it? Slightly embarrassed, the Scotsman said,
"It's for hamshanking." Hamshanking, which from the name I assume meant
masturbation... you mean... it's a jack off machine? You stick your dick in
there? He said it gets lonely out here.

I was fasincated by the thing and kept asking questions about how it
worked. At first he was reluctant to talk about it but then he told me that
it worked with compressed air and a computerized timer. You would set the
speed and pressure you want and then "she" (he always called it "she")
would stroke you however fast or slow you wanted. On the high setting it
could make you cum in less than five seconds. On the low setting, one
stroke every minute, it would be much more drawn out, hours.

"Where did you get this thing?"

"I didn't buy Mary. I built her from scratch."

"You made this?"

"Aye."

I asked Mullenax if I could try it. He gave a big barrel laugh and said,
no, lad, afraid I can't do that. For one thing the settings were all
perfectly calibrated for him and it had never been used on another
person. Then he said Mary McGregor was dangerous. If you were careless and
set the dial too high and too fast it could literally rip your dick
off. Too low and slow, and it would become a form of torture. He said the
low settings were like drugs, they were addictive. He was afraid that it
was already driving him insane.

The conversation was turning me on. It wasn't even just the Mary McGregor
machine and my curiosity about it. Weird, shaggy and gross as he was, there
was something attractive about Mullenax. He obviously needed sex and there
was kind of a challenge in it, could I seduce a 50 year old man? The
thought of shooting my young seed into a man almost four times my age was
appealing and I don't know why.

I told him that I knew exactly what he meant by this planet being lonely. I
did stuff with people sometimes because there was no one else. Then I said,
"You don't need to use this machine tonight. I'd be willing to, you know,
do stuff with you." He asked me, what would you do? I told him, anything
you want. I was hoping he would agree to let me have anal sex with him.

It seemed for a few moments like Mullenax was really considering it. Then
he said, "Sorry, lad, but I have to say no to ye." He said that whatever I
could do was probably useless. The last few years he had gotten so used to
Mary McGregor that he couldn't get off any other way.

So I said, you have to show me. Let me watch. Again he was reluctant but
eventually he gave in. I sat in one of his hand-made wooden chairs at the
foot of his bed. Mullenax took off his clothes and laid down on his bed. He
actually wasn't bad looking for his age and weight. He had a hairy chest
and full, fat pecs that sagged like tits, but his round belly was smooth
and hairless and he had a nice round, fat butt. His penis was limp at first
but he shook and stroked it and soon it rose to a majestic length, at least
eight inches, circumcised, with the broadest head I had ever seen on a
cock. I wondered what that big dick would feel like inside me and I got
hard thinking about it. I had to rub my crotch through my jeans and I
squirmed a bit on the chair. Mullenax pulled the swing arm of Mary McGregor
toward him, stroked his dick a few times and lowered the cylinder down onto
it. He grunted as it went in. No lube was necessary. His machine was
perfectly calibrated. He spun the dial to his favorite setting and toggled
a switch.

At first it was boring. I could hear the machine make a mechanical pulsing
sound every time it stroked his penis. It happened about once every 30
seconds. For the first 20 minutes or so Mullenax looked calm, even
bored. He laid there with his hands clasped behind his head, showing no
reaction every time I heard the machine pulse. It was kind of like a
mechanical *THROB* sound. But after a while he started to react. After
about half an hour his body would tense up ever so slightly.

But then it got more serious. The tensing of his body was more
intense. Sometimes, after a pulse, he would sigh or say, "Oooh." I knew he
was feeling something because his big gnarly toes would curl up each time
it happened. Then he started squirming. The machine would pulse and his
whole body would quiver. It was mesmerizing to watch. I wanted to look
away, but I couldn't. My hand was fully in my shorts, caressing myself
through my underwear. I was afraid to cum.

Later he started to cry out when the machine pulsed. *THROB* "Ohhhhhh!" The
machine was silent for half a minute. I could see him bracing himself for
the next stroke, almost afraid of it. *THROB* "Uuuuuuhhhhhh!" He was at the
mercy of Mary McGregor. *THROB* "UUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Louder each time.

I couldn't take it anymore. My dick was hard as concrete. I bolted off the
chair, ripped down my shorts and my underwear, grabbed my cock, stroked
furiously and ejaculated. It was so intense I shouted in what probably
sounded like pain. My penis twitched up and down, spasm after spasm,
spitting my hot cum onto the cabin floor.

"Oh laddie, you finally got off." *THROB*
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"

After this it became almost painful to watch. Mullenax was red in the face
and beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead. The machine pulsed and
he screamed. His chest was heaving and it sounded like he was
hyperventilating. By now Mullenax's entire body was drenched in sweat. His
hands were balled in fists and he was flopping around on the bed like a
fish, his huge thick dick still stuck in the metal cylinder. I couldn't
tell whether the machine was giving him immense pleasure or excruciating
pain.

Ultimately he lost the power of speech. No intelligible words came out of
his mouth and all he could do was scream, wailing loudly after each
pulse. I literally thought he was going to have a heart attack or a
stroke. How much longer could it be before he came? Each precisely-timed,
computer-controlled pulse of the machine brought another shrieking, wailing
gasp. Mullenax's body was literally in convulsions.

Finally his orgasm happened. I heard the next *THROB*, precisely on time,
and Mullenax came so hard that his body seemed to lift off the bed. He
stretched his arms and legs out completely straight, his fat stomach was
pulled so tightly that it was perfectly flat, and he screamed so loud and
so long that it sounded like an air horn, so loud it left a ringing in my
ears. Apparently the machine was programmed to shut down when it detected
an ejaculation, because its tone declined in volume and lights on the
control panel blinked from red to green. Mercifully it stopped masturbating
him. The machine made a wet slurping sound as it sucked up his semen. His
body seemed to crumple in the aftermath of this inhuman orgasm. He exhaled
loudly and at the same time his sphincter collapsed and he emitted a huge
baritone fart that lasted six or eight seconds and stank up the entire
cabin. He lay there a long time, too exhausted to move. His now-soft dick
slipped out of Mary McGregor's metal pussy and fell against his fat
hairless belly, its tip still slightly wet with cum.

I was quivering, totally shocked at what I had witnessed. This was too much
for me to handle. No wonder Mullenax was slowly going insane. What would
this do to a man if he repeated it every night? I no longer wanted to try
Mary McGregor. In fact, even as hot as it was to watch this much older man
masturbate with his machine, I wanted nothing to do with it.

Mullenax remained too weak to get out of bed for a long time. He told me
where I could find an extra pillow and blanket. I lay down on the floor
next to the fireplace. I fell asleep as the fire was dying.

In the middle of the night I was awakened by a sound. The cabin was almost
pitch dark except for a few glowing electronic lights above Mullenax's bed
but I could not see him. The sound was the mechanical *THROB* of Mary
McGregor, except it was much faster, kind of like a *ThumThumThumThum* in
rapid succession. I doubt he had the machine on for more than ten or
fifteen seconds before it woke me up. I heard him draw in a breath
suddenly, "Oooooh?" that sounded like a question, and then he groaned
"UHHHHHHHHH!" as he ejaculated. Again the machine made a slurping noise as
it swallowed his cum. In contrast to the drawn-out torture of before, this
session lasted maybe thirty seconds. A few minutes later I heard Mullenax
snoring.

In the morning he made me eggs, bacon and English tea. He took a toolbox
and went out to the slag-wagon. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing
and had the nuclear generator repaired in less than an hour. "You should be
all patched up and ready to go, lad. Would you like some eggs to take back
with ye?" I thanked him for the eggs and climbed back up into the cab of
the rig. We did not say a word about Mary McGregor.

Two days later I reached home, our farm. My parents were beside themselves
because I was a day late but I explained what happened with the generator
(omitting the sexual details of course).

Among the books we had at the farmhouse was a directory that had been
printed and distributed aboard the colony ship that brought us to
Chalcedon, a passenger list. It was now more than 3 years since we landed
so it was irrelevant now, but one day I took it down from the shelf and
looked in the index for someone named Mullenax. I found a listing for an
Andrew Ewan Mullenax who was a member of the ship's crew, a nuclear
engineer. That explained how easily he fixed my generator. The amazing
thing was he was not in his 50s. When he landed on this planet he was 32
years old. That blew my mind. His addiction to Mary McGregor aged him far
beyond his years. I never saw him again.

More to come...



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