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Handle With Care
By
Annie Windsor
Chapter 1
Earth, 3012
SETI-WHO Main Research Compound
Isis, Arizona
Tia Belmont groaned as she massaged her aching clit with a tiny egg vibrator.
“Come on, baby,” she murmured. “Come on.”
The pink machine purred against her damp folds as she pressed and released,
pushing herself closer and closer to orgasm.
Around her, in the deserted SEARCH lab’s shiny surfaces, she could see herself
reared back on the stainless steel counter. Bright lights illuminated her 5’8” full-figured
frame, her large breasts hanging from her unbuttoned white blouse, her hiked white
skirt, and the silky purple thong she had pushed aside for better access to her vagina.
The thong was actually a moisture-activated sex toy, too—but for the next few
minutes, it wouldn’t trigger. Tia had tugged the waistband to engage the time delay
while she enjoyed the egg’s more direct stimulation.
Sweet goddess. Please don’t let the night janitor come in, unless it’s a horny guy with a huge
cock. As if that could ever happen.
Her red hair fell across her shoulders and teased her nipples as she moaned and
arched her hips. Even darker red down tickled her hand as she worked between her
legs. The egg rumbled against her slippery clit, twirling flesh like a skilled tongue. Tia
was so close to the edge she wanted to scream. Once more, she stole a glance at herself
as she spread her legs farther and hunched against humming plastic. Her arousal
scented the pristine laboratory air with musk.
How wonderful it would be if a man appeared between her thighs to bang her silly.
“Yes. Yes!” Tia stared at her reflection and imagined her fantasy man’s powerful
pecs and thick cock. She could see him, muscled arms braced on the countertop as he
drilled her throbbing slit.
Would he fuck her too hard?
Could he fuck her too hard?
Black hair would be nice, shoulder-length—so she could pull it as she came.
The phantom image was just enough to do the trick. Pressing the egg full-force
against her clit, Tia shook with her orgasm. Her body bucked on the counter three times,
four—and then it was over, quick as that.
“Ah, well. That’s mechanical satisfaction. Love it or do it yourself.” She laughed as
she slipped off the countertop and stood on shaky legs. Even a thousand years after
women’s sexual liberation on Earth, there was still something naughty about
masturbating at work.
 
“Colleen would shit a brick if she caught me.” Tia allowed herself a wicked grin,
thinking about her willowy blonde second-in-charge. Colleen was so … proper. So
starched and self-righteous. And so enamored by the thought of Tia’s job.
Yep. If Colleen had walked through the door, she’d have fallen right over. Then
hopped right up, run to the digimail, and fired posts to every higher-up in SETI and
WHO. Tia’s gone crazy! The fat bitch is masturbating on the lab counters! Give me her job. I need
her job…
Tia shook her head. If ever a woman needed a good fuck and some solvent to get
unstuck on herself, Colleen did.
Well, Tia needed a good fuck, too. She had a sudden image of Colleen’s snide
remark on the subject, just last week. Honey, those hips are getting out of hand. Better get to
work on yourself. If we actually find a planet full of men, they won’t want you.
Whatever.
Colleen’s lame opinions didn’t stop Tia’s fantasies, one of which involved an
incredible fuck at work. Unfortunately, that was about as likely as getting struck by
lightning sixteen times in one month. Tia knew she was consigned to her own fingers or
the myriad of available toys—and occasionally, one of the willing lab techs who wielded
a mean dildo.
If only dildos could give real, lasting pleasure.
Even the BigMan 3013 , the latest in a long line of android pleasure protocols, couldn’
t approximate the real thing, according to women who actually had the real thing.
Tia wasn’t one of those women. At thirty, she had yet to experience flesh-and-blood
sex—a situation unlikely to change. Earth’s males had become an endangered species,
thanks to a y-linked genetovirus loosed in 2800. Women now outnumbered men by
roughly 1413:1, and male births had slacked to zero in the last three years.
“Not good for the survival of the species,” Tia noted as she repositioned her thong.
After a few seconds, the time-delay ended. Silken fabric hummed across her pussy, more
a comfort than a relief at this point. She didn’t tug the waistband to shut it off.
For the millionth time, Tia wondered how a man’s hand would feel, rubbing her
sensitive labia. Drawing out her pleasure after long hours of body-melt fucking.
What a dream.
It had been fifteen years since Tia Belmont scoped a fertile Earth male—and that one
hadn’t been too interested in her. Boobs too big, hips too wide, tummy actually in
existence—if a girl didn’t look like a twig with tits, she didn’t stand much of a chance
with the flesh-and-blood-dick bunch.
And fertile-male sightings had dwindled to nil now, especially in big cities like Isis.
To ensure the viability of the human race for as long as possible, sperm donations
from the FM’s were picked up by the men’s union, the Earth Male Association. EMA
sent eunuchs (genetic “almosts”—hairless no-muscles who couldn’t get a hard-on even
with medical help) to retrieve vials and transport them to World Health Organization
Masterbanks via air-shuttle. In exchange, EMA received hefty payments from WHO,
which all of Earth’s remaining men, FM’s and “almosts” alike, used to support
themselves and their mates. Consequently, Earth’s males had no need to work
traditional jobs.
Instead, EMA members hid in the millions of acres of protected wilderness with
 
their chosen mate or mates. Otherwise, they’d have no peace. Women would pursue
them wherever they went, eager to experience live-action fucking.
Tia slowly buttoned her blouse. Her breasts were so sensitive she gasped as fabric
brushed them.
What would it feel like to have a real man suck my nipples until I couldn’t stand it any longer?
The thought made her pussy twice as wet. Her self-stimulating thong hummed
faster and faster.
“God.” Tia leaned against the counter and closed her eyes.
The thong tightened and slid up and down her slit. It moved gently at first, then
harder. Tia pinched her nipples through her shirt. The pressure between her legs felt just
right. The fabric super-heated, doubling her pleasure. Her knees gave, and she pitched
against the counter as she came.
This time she shouted, despite her best effort to be quiet.
Clamping one hand over her mouth, Tia forced herself to stand upright in case some
well-meaning night staffer ran in to make sure she was okay.
No one did. Thank the universe for small favors.
Once more, with determined effort, Tia straightened her rumpled clothes.
“Enough fooling around for one night,” she said. “I have work to do.”
Still basking in the relaxation from her orgasms, Tia padded across the wide
expanse of tile to her desk in the lab’s north corner, near the entry doors. Her cloth
lab-boots barely made a whisper as she walked the length of the room, and the only
other sound was the distant, incessant thrum of SETI-WHO’s giant satellite array. There
were 130 high-powered dishes in all now, linked to 360 Hubble 10-strength telescopic
visual and sonic monitoring ports above Earth’s atmosphere.
The dishes were searching. Which was, of course, the point of the SEARCH program.
To search for, find, and contact new worlds, in hopes of righting Earth’s dearth of viable
males.
Tia, SEARCH’s scientific director, opened her upper left-hand drawer and tossed the
egg vibrator inside, next to the tempting full-length, solar-powered Fleshcock and the
spare access card to her BigMan 3010. Good old “Mike” was at home, of course.
Masturbating on the clock was one thing, but bringing an android sex unit into the lab
would be in poor taste.
Still thinking about her fantasy man, Tia returned to her array of computer screens
on the far side of the lab. The machines were soft to the touch, like satin-wrapped foam,
and created in the latest aesthetically pleasing colors.
Robin’s egg blue.
Soft moss green.
Dove gray.
That much comfort, SETI-WHO offered their employees without hesitation.
“A new satellite dish would just kill ‘em, though.” Tia settled in her chair. She often
worked all night, hoping for a miracle. Nothing like the charge of finding a new planet
with humanoid life forms.
Unfortunately, the 68 worlds SEARCH had catalogued and contacted thus far hadn’t
 
been able to help Earth. Many had their own reproductive problems. Some weren’t
biologically compatible. A few had difficulties with Earth viral strains, and another
group, known as the Hostiles, were too dangerous to approach beyond first contact.
The Hostiles were typically male-dominated societies. All-female cultures—or
mostly female worlds—certainly had their perks, even though they lacked in some
obvious areas. Earth’s natural resources had been reclaimed and protected. Global
warming had been arrested. Weapons had been eliminated, and there hadn’t been a war
in nearly 700 years. Science, research, health-care, food-production—everything was
now a worldwide cooperative effort. The advances in women’s healthcare were
astounding. Menstrual problems, eliminated. Cervical, ovarian, and breast cancer,
cured. Osteoporosis an ailment of the distant past, like sexually transmitted diseases
and pre-term births.
Yes, women and society on Earth had been reformed in the image of the Goddess.
Even childrearing was a cooperative effort. And yet, without men, Earth’s energy lacked
a certain charge. Women had become arrogant and complacent, like their male
st
century. Scientific advances slowed from inertia and
lethargy. Thousands and thousands of women had never known sex beyond vibrators,
BigMan androids, and the pleasures women could offer each other. Some little girls had
never even seen a male, and ran screaming if they passed an EMA donor shuttle full of
“almosts” on the streets.
Worst of all, the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence-World Health Organization
joint projects received almost monthly funding cuts.
Tia tapped < scan> on the main screen and meticulously studied the pictures and
soundprints fed to the mainframes by the monitor disks.
It was less than three weeks to Eostre, the modern festival that had once been Easter.
Most people celebrated Eostre on the second day of Spring Solstice, during the balance,
when night and day were of equal length. It was a time of cleansing and renewal, when
women prepared for the lighter days of the year. Millions of women would be lighting
yellow candles on yellow altars marked with images of the wild hare. Celebrations of
spring and fertility would abound. They would dance and sing to the Goddess, place
wildflowers on hearth and sill, and say their own silent prayers for the salvation of
Earth.
Maybe this Eostre, during the time when sexuality rekindled and young girls
reached maturity, the Goddess would bless them all.
Tia still clung to a basic faith, though she shunned the magical aspects of Wicca and
Paganism. Unlike her many foremothers, who proudly practiced healing and mystical
arts, Tia was a stone-cold scientist. An experimental geneticist with cross-training in
astrophysics and computer engineering. If it couldn’t be broken down into karyotypes,
RNA, DNA, bits, bytes, or algorithms, she wasn’t interested.
Still, Tia knew how to hope.
And sometimes, she prayed.
In those rare moments of connecting to the greater energies, Tia conjured images of
her mother, her grandmother, her great grandmother—and many more ancestors across
the centuries. From holograms, digital images, ancient photographs, and even paintings
rendered by one of her crazier aunts, Tia could see these women in her mind. Some had
counterparts in the late 21
 
hair darker than night or whiter than the moon. Some had cropped locks the nut-brown
of Earth’s ground. A few were redheaded, like she was. At times, the women wore
modern clothes. Other times, ceremonial drapes and dresses adorned their ample
figures, or they were naked. Every now and then, Tia’s prayer-visions danced about
fires, chanted deep in primeval forests, or conducted ceremonies on ancient altars of
stone or wood, with daggers of glittering silver.
Well, to be truthful, one dagger. An Athame , blessed and consecrated for spellwork
and ritual.
“A-tham-ay.” Tia said the lyrical word aloud, lost in thoughts of her mother’s
colorful stories.
Athame seemed like a disturbing weapon. Tia had dubbed it “Widowmaker,”
because of its thick silver handle, irregular jewel-tipped hilt, powerful down-turning
guards on either side of a centered—and strange—red stone … and that long, menacing
double-edged blade.
Widowmaker glinted in moonlight or firelight when wielded by the foremothers in
Tia’s daydreams and prayer meditations. The knife never did damage, though.
Summoning, soothing, empowering—those seemed to be its primary purpose. Still, if
Widowmaker chose to do harm, Tia had no doubt she could.
She . As if the stupid dagger were alive.
“ Athame .” Tia had seen the dagger in person only once, when she was near the age
of six. After that, it disappeared.
“ That’s the way of things, sweetheart.” Tia’s mother had smiled when Tia asked what
happened to the silver knife with the flickering red stone. “Our family Athame comes when she’s
needed, and leaves when she’s finished changing everything. Don’t worry. She’s been with us for
millennia. She won’t let you down.
Tia shook her head and sighed.
If only such magic and nonsense were true, beyond the simple comforts of spiritual
ritual. Tia was aging quickly. Earth was dying. Eostre was coming. If ever her mother’s
fabled Athame could make an appearance and change everything, now would be the
time.
Get a grip, Tia. That’s ridiculous.
Gazing into the depths of the robin’s egg, moss green, and dove gray monitors, Tia
dismissed thoughts of foremothers, magic, and ceremonial daggers. Instead, she offered
a new, logical, and scientific request to the Goddess.
“Please. Let this be the year. Let number 69 be the planet we need.”
As if in response, a gentle buzzing echoed through the quiet lab.
Tia startled and examined her computer screens. No indicator lights flashed—and
the computers would have spoken if they made a hit.
No …
That buzz came from the other side of her room. From around her desk.
“What the hell?” Tia pushed away from her consoles, got up, and walked toward
the source of the irritating sound.
Yep. Her desk. More specifically, the drawer where she kept her vibrators and spare
Bigman access card . The metal was … well, vibrating.
 

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