His office looks better furnished than my apartment. A couch sits along one wall, a desk in front of the other. Large paintings hang on the wall; all display scenes of ships and seas. An end table has one of those antique sailing ships in a bottle. It is strange to see such luxury so far out in space, but then Captain Rileymen had many years to collect it. He is a graying old man now, approaching retirement, but I think he must have once been a young ensign on the seas of earth in the infancy of planetary space travel.

"Debbie," I introduce myself, attempting to sound confident when we shake hands. "Please, call me Debbie. I'm a civilian scientist you know; not an officer."

"Then Debbie it is," The Captain agrees. "I know you're a scientist, but I must say that you don't look like a scientist."

I am not sure if I should take this as a compliment or an insult. I suppose he expected some preppy, stern old lady with her hair tied tight in a bow at the top of her head. Instead, I am a young woman, 34-years of age, short in stature, with brunette hair that comes half way down my back.

He motions to the two chairs sitting in front of his desk. They look like they are made from finely lacquered wood. So does his desk, although I figure both must only be plastic simulations. Even a person of Captain Rileymen's esteem could not gather the resources to get real wood this far into space.

"Now Debbie, do you know why you are here?" He asks me. I notice he properly waits for me to sit first. He is the perfect gentleman, nurtured in the romantic traditions.

"No one told me anything, but I think I know." I answer. "I suspect it has something to do with the lost satellite."

"Excellent deductive capability," He speaks a thought. "You are correct, but that is only the beginning."

He fumbles with something in his desk and then hands over an orange colored file. "This explains the mission, provided you care to accept it."

I take it with interest. Orange means Secret. Higher than Classified but lower than Top Secret, it sits in the middle of the echelon of classified information. My security clearance allows me to read Secret, but I seldom get the opportunity. On those rare occasions when I do, it is like candy to my eyes. I feel an urge to look inside.

"You'll have plenty of time to go through the file later," He speaks before I get the chance. "You can take it with you. For now, let me explain."

I let him, of course, and lay the folder on my lap unopened.

"As you already suspect, we lost a satellite," He dumps his big arms on his desk. "Two days ago we lost contact with Spy-3. No warning signs. No messages. It simply stopped transmitting."

He is right. I already know this. As a research scientist, it is my job to study the images radioed back from the three surveillance satellites orbiting the planet. The pictures from Spy-3 stopped in mid-frame two days ago, just like he said.

"What you don't know is that it dropped into the atmosphere," He continues. "The Engineers don't know why, but they theorize one of its maneuvering thrusters stuck in the open position. It lost orbital velocity, which caused it to lose altitude, and it fell into the atmosphere. We just located the spot where it crashed. You have the details in your hand."

I never could be patient. I undo the clasp of the envelope and pull out the lap-screen computer when he pauses. When I touch it, a keyboard appears on the display. I have been around classified information enough to know this is where I am supposed to enter my personal identification code and password.

"Most of the satellite burned up in the atmosphere," Captain Rileymen speaks uninterrupted as I page through the file. "But it looks like the most dangerous segment survived - at least partially. The nuclear reactor core landed largely intact but heavily damaged. The first set of pictures show it resting at the bottom of a crater, but later images show it moved. We do not know where it was moved to, but we assume it was to one of the surrounding Longton villages. Naturally, we are concerned about its plutonium fuel causing injury to anyone who might choose to investigate. We also have concern about its advanced technology creating a danger to the pre- industrial culture living on the surface. The Longtons are an inherently curious people, and we expect they will eventually want to investigate it."

The "Longtons" that he talks about are an alien civilization that inhabits the planet. I know a lot about them because it is my job to study them. It is the reason I live in deep space and the reason I analyze satellite imagery.

"I would say there's a near certain chance they will try to open the container," I tell Rileymen, assuming he wants my expert opinion on the subject. "They are an inherently curious culture, much like Humans of about 300 AD. However, even more dangerous, they are a religiously fragmented community. There's danger they might discover the satellite and treat it as sign of a deity; a God..."

Rileymen puts up his hand to stop me in mid-sentence. "That's not why I called you into my office."

I sit before him confused.

He explains. "Our mission is to research on a non- interference basis. That is why we use spy satellites. Some say this is wrong. It is an evasion of privacy, even dishonest, but it allows us to look down upon the planet without interfering with the natural order of things. The crash, however, presents a problem. It creates a potential for interference, and we need to take action against it."

I look at him confused. I agree with everything he says, but who am I to do anything about it?

"We plan to organize an expedition down to the planet's surface," I think Rileymen reads my mind. "The plan is to land at night in the central desert, away from any substantial Longton population. The expedition will then travel first by vehicle and later by foot into the Longton village closest to the crash site. You will pose as visiting travelers from a far off land. The mission is to interface with the Longton culture, discover as much as you can about the crash, and then take whatever steps are necessary to prevent any damage."

I notice he uses the word "you" - as in "me" or "myself." Me, Debbie Kitlras. At first I think he makes an inadvertent slip of the tongue, but from the way he looks at me I can tell he has not.

"You don't mean?" I look at him in disbelief. "Not me! I can't possibly go on such an expedition!"

"Why not?" He questions simply. "I'm told you are the most qualified expert in the lab. You selected the Longtons for your master's thesis. You've worked at the analysis lab for two years. They tell me you are better than anyone else at speaking their language."

"Well, yes but..." I start to say. What he says is true, but...

"I am even told," Rileymen interrupts. "That you criticized the past expeditions. You voiced objections to the director about your training of the Military teams. You said it would be more valuable if a civilian research scientist was included in any future expedition."

I feel embarrassed. "That's true, but I didn't mean myself," I explain. "I said it in a moment of desperation." Two previous expeditions traveled down to the planet's surface, but that was years ago. The teams consisted of Military professionals with months of preparation. "I am just a civilian scientist."

"This is your chance to put your money where your mouth is," He continues as though he does not hear me. "We need to remove the satellite, and we need to remove it as soon as possible. The longer it sits on the surface, the more danger it could potentially create. There is no time to gather a Military team together and do months of training. We need someone down on the planet's surface in a week; if not sooner."

A buzzer rings on his desk. It interrupts his speech.

"I said not to be disturbed!" He practically yells into the phone. I feel sorry for whoever might be on the other end, but then he nods and calms back down again.

"I need to go for a few minutes," Captain Rileymen apologizes. "I'm very sorry, but something's come up that demands my immediate attention. Why don't you stay here and read through the rest of the file. I think you will find it very interesting."

He rises before I can object. He leaves me alone in his office. I am left sitting in confusion and disbelief.

The news overloads me. The information is too much to process at one time. It is too shocking; too much out of the ordinary of my every day life. I am accustomed to obediently go to my job each day on the research station Crion, located on the dark side of the moon by the same name. At night I walk a few feet outside the lab to return to my quaint cabin to study and do my exercises. I have been on Crion for three months now, orbiting the Longton planet and secretly conducting my research. It is the same monotonous existence day after day after day, and now this.

It is not at all what I expected when I received the call to fly up to the Starship Cruiser Atlantis and meet with the Captain. I suspected he sought my advice on the lost satellite, but not to go down to the surface and pick it up myself. I need time to think.

I look through the rest of the secret folder and find it is worse than Rileymen lets on. One page shows an overhead picture of the crash site, no doubt taken from one of the two remaining satellites. I see a streak of burnt forest with a crater at one end. I think I even see a few Longtons looking down inside from the rim. Obviously, the plutonium remains safely intact inside the reactor. If it leaked out, the Longtons would already be dead. I can't help but think they soon will be. I know from my own studies that they will eventually crack open the reactor.

The next page shows the location of the crash site on a planetary map. It is near the central desert, which is good news. The Longtons do not dare venture into the central desert, so an expedition can easily make a landing close to the crash site. They will not have far to walk.

Another page is a written assessment of the situation. It speaks of the Longtons as a curious people who will almost certainly want to investigate the contents of the crater. If the reactor's plutonium core isn't open already, the assessment predicts it soon will be. I have to agree. Then it talks about the religious factions and mentions the same thing I told the Captain about the Longtons possible attempt to worship the satellite as a religious deity. I agree with everything it says. I could have written it myself, and maybe I even did write parts of it. Some of the sentences look as though they might have been pasted directly out of earlier reports.

The Longtons first came to my attention back at the University. According to the most popularly accepted theory, they descended from the same ancient seed as humans, planted by an unknown and very advanced civilization some 1 million years ago. This means they greatly resemble Homo sapiens in appearance. Their bodies enclose the same basic structure: The same double arms and legs, the same two eyes, two ears, and a single nose. Everything of importance looks the same, but only in general terms. As with any two humanoid species separated by a hundred light years distance and million years of evolution, subtle differences exist.

The two most noticeable differences exist in the facial area. The first is a flattened Longton nose that makes it look as though they have all just been punched squarely in the face. The second is hair just above the nose. It is a single eyebrow that goes straight across the forehead. Another difference derives from height. The Longtons live on a planet with 80% the gravity of Earth. This makes them grow taller. The average Longton male is about 20% taller than the average human male, although this only occurs with the males. For some reason, Longton females tend to be slightly shorter than human females. No one has yet been able to explain why.

More important differences are cultural, which is the reason for my research. My job is to study how a civilization totally foreign to Humans can live, communicate, interact, and do the thousand other things we take for granted every day. I often think my job is no different than the National Geographic researches who first went to study the ancient stone-age tribes of the jungles of Magascascar in the 19th century. My only advantage is technology. While they wore cameras around their necks, I rely on cameras that look down from orbiting satellites.

I also listen. Several years ago - back when I was still in graduate school - humans made two high-risk expeditions down to the planet's surface. A group of three young men received plastic surgery and several months of specialized training on the Longton culture and scientific research methods. All three were military men, specially selected because they were quick to learn and strong enough to defend themselves in case they got into trouble. They landed on the planet's surface, traveled to a distant Longton village, and posed as fellow Longton men traveling from a far-off land. Although unable to speak the Longton language, they made face-to-face contact and were able to communicate on a limited basis. The expedition taught us things we never could have learned solely from satellite imagery.

Lucky for me, the expedition also planted microphones. While on the surface, they buried miniature microphones under the soil to listen to the Longton conversations in the hope of deciphering the language. It is these microphones that got me my job, and most of them remain operating to this very day. I've always had a gift for languages, and the language of the Longtons is no different. Called Longtonese, I first assisted and then later became its foremost expert. I now translate the language for others.

***

"Sorry about the interruption," Captain Rileymen walks back into the room. He walks in quickly, as though he is in a hurry. He appears out of breath.

"As I was saying, we need to send an emergency expedition down to the surface," He talks fast from behind his desk. "Your purpose will be to find the satellite's reactive core and dispose of it. This may be done by burial or by returning with the core. You are given leeway to decide for yourself once you reach the surface and study the landing site. We know the core is fundamentally safe because we witnessed Longtons in close proximity. They physically moved it with no ill effects. The reason we chose you for this mission is obvious. We have no time to train someone new, and you speak Longtonese fluently."

I accept this, but his conclusion is wrong. "Not fluently," I correct. "And I only translate it. I have never spoken it to a live Longton before."

"At least you speak it better than anyone else," He proposes.

I nod my head. We both know this to be true.

"In any case, it will be sufficient to conduct the mission. You will pose as Longtons from a distant land. You are on a quest for knowledge. This should give you sufficient cover to make up for any language deficiencies."

I nod again. It is the same cover used by the previous expeditions. I realize if the previous expeditions made it without speaking any Longtonese, I should have no problem.

"The choice on whether or not to accept the mission is yours." Captain Rileymen offers me with his hands. "I need not disguise the dangers involved. This is especially true for you. You, being a woman."

I suddenly remember. The thought rushes into my head like a bolt of lightening. I should have realized it the moment he first suggested I go down to the surface, but I guess I suffered from information overload. It is the one thing about the Longtons that disgusts me.

"As you know," The Captain tells me what I already know. "The Longton culture is still very primitive when it comes to relation between the sexes. As I am sure you are aware from your studies, men are in charge and the women are essentially the equivalent of servants."

I know this very well. In fact, I know it exceedingly well, and it is the one thing I vehemently dislike about the Longtons. Captain Rileymen's use of the word "servant" is actually too kind. "Slave" would be a lot more accurate. Although not physically abused - at least not as far as we can determine - Longton women are treated more like property than real people. It is the ultimate male chauvinistic society.

I try to push this aside. By inherent definition - as I have to continuously remind myself - alien cultures are supposed to be different. Most of the time it comes from the way they look or the way they act. For the Longtons, it happens to concern the relation between the sexes. A colleague once told me that a visitor might be equally disgusted with Humans of the 17th or 18th centuries if they witnessed the subjugation of African Negroes. I must continually remind myself of this as I study the Longtons, and now I remind myself again.

"I understand sir," I try to act like his explanation is no surprise. "I will have to play the part of a female servant."

The Captain nods. This seems to please him.

"Then you are also aware," He goes on. "You will need to blend in with the alien culture. This means, of course, you will have to dress like them."

I momentarily forgot about this as well, but now it comes rushing back to me.

"You look as though this greatly disturbs you," The Captain notices before I can recover.

"No, not really," I almost choke on my own words. "I mean it does, a little, I guess, but I know all about it. After all, I see them every day on the satellite images," I let out a nervous laugh. "I guess I've just become so accustomed to the way the Longtons dress that I forgot about it for a moment."

"I hope it does not disturb you," He emphasizes. "Because it can't! If you are going to blend in with their culture, you need to dress like them."

"Of course," I agree with fake confidence, remembering the clothing of the Longton women - or more specifically, the lack thereof. I realize this is even truer in the southern desert region where the satellite crashed.

The planet of Longton is hot. It experiences temperatures a lot warmer than Earth. It is so warm that plants and animals only exist at the poles. The entire equatorial region is one big, massive, desert; a thousand times bigger than the Sierra. As the sea covers two-thirds the surface of Earth, so a desert covers three-quarters of the planet Longton. The Longtons live north of this desert, north of 50 degrees latitude, in what would be roughly equivalent to Northern Canada or Siberia on Earth. But even here, the heat remains. The Longton climate at the Arctic Circle is roughly equivalent to the equator on Earth.

People who live in a warm climate naturally wear little clothing. It is true on Earth, and it is true on Longton. And it is especially true of the women, given their subservient cultural position. The women, in fact, walk around in the bare minimal of clothing. This is one of the reasons why I got the job to study them to begin with. The sparsely clad women keep distracting the men from doing their jobs.

"I do not mean to embarrass you," The Captain interrupts my agonizing thoughts. "There is no way for me to say this delicately, but this expedition may be especially difficult for you, given your..." He brings his hands to his own chest. "Let's say, your physical makeup."

I know what Rileymen means. He is referring to my size. That is, he hints at my big boobs. I am a short girl with ample breasts. Longton attire will leave little to the imagination.

"I understand Sir," I try to retain my composure against the unavoidable embarrassment.

"In fact, the very reason you are best suited for this mission is because of your physical makeup. As I'm sure you already know from your studies, men with the highest status are often served by the women with the largest..."

He does not need to continue. It is another oddity of the male dominated Longton society. Female breasts are used as a way to display status. The leader of a village nearly always has the mate with the largest boobs. The same is true for an unusually rich or successful man. My own double-D cups means my male companion would be a very important man, but that assumes I will have a male companion.

"Can I assume I will be with someone?"

"Of course," The Captain fills in the blanks. "A woman traveling alone on the Longton planet would instantly arise suspicion. It would be culturally incorrect, and it might also be dangerous. You will be the female traveling companion of Lt. Stockton."

"Brian?" I questioned. "Do you mean Lt. Brian Stockton?"

The Captain nods.

"But sir, he only just arrived a few weeks ago. He doesn't have any experience."

"But he is the most suitable," Rileymen does not appear to hear my objection. "He is an ex-Marine, specifically assigned to your analysis lab to learn as much about the Longtons as possible. It was our intent to eventually use him on another mission down to the planet's surface once we got approval from the politicians back on Earth. He will just be going down a lot earlier than planned."

"But sir," I try to object. "A lot of others know a lot more about the Longton culture than Brian... I mean Lt. Stockton."

"I see you are already on a first name basis," Rileymen notes. "That is good. It will make the training go easier."

"Training?"

"You need to give Lt. Stockton - or Brian - a crash course on the Longton culture. Forget about the structured course. He needs to learn as fast as possible. The doctors tell me it takes 5 days for the swelling from the plastic surgery to go down. You will have that long to work with him."

"But Brian?" I continue to object. "Beg your pardon sir, but there's others in the lab who are a lot more deserving."

"But the others are all female," He points out. "Out of a staff of 32 personnel, I believe there are 30 who are female. And we can't very well send two females down there together."

His numbers are correct. That is one disadvantage of a lab full of women.

"The mission is yours if you want it," He tells me. "As I already hinted, we don't have much time. We need an answer right away. A doctor is already standing by in the infirmary. He tells me the operation will take about two hours, and you are on his schedule for tomorrow morning."

I feel a momentary desire to jump at the chance. I picture myself leaping up and telling him that I am honored to accept the mission. It is the opportunity of a lifetime, a chance to put my many years of study to the test. I often dreamed about going down to the surface and meeting a real live Longton. I feel stupid to resist.

Yet when the opportunity is thrust upon me, I hesitate. I feel only anxiety. I worry my knowledge is inadequate and my assumptions are all wrong. I can't help but imagine in my mind what it will feel like to walk around in the sparsely clad Longton clothing. I grow with trepidation.

"The mission is yours if you want it," Captain Rileymen offers me again. "Your acceptance will be a tremendous service to your country. It will even help to serve the Longton people, and you will probably save the lives of whatever Longtons eventually succeed in opening the reactor."

His words fall heavy on my mind.

"However, I will not disguise the fact some danger is involved," He argues against himself. "The mission is far from safe, and I am sure it will be very difficult. Many things could go wrong, including a radiation leak."

I haven't considered this, and it frightens me. Even a small radiation leak could put me at a higher risk of cancer for the rest of my life.

"Do not accept right now," He cautions wisely. "I want you to check into the infirmary tonight so the doctors can conduct some tests. If all goes according to plan, you have until morning to make up your mind. You need to sleep on it and think it over very carefully. I obviously prefer you to accept, but you need to be certain for yourself. There will be no turning back."

I look up to see him standing. We are done. Rileymen is a busy man and has many other jobs to do.

"Thank you for the offer," I shake his hand. "It is a lot to consider."

I bid him goodbye and ask his secretary directions to the infirmary.

***

I laugh at Captain Rileymen's instructions to sleep on it. If he expects me to sleep, he is greatly mistaken. I lay wide-awake in bed. I lay on a hospital bed in the infirmary, dreading the morning and feeling confused and very hungry.

The doctors refused me anything to eat after they completed the physical. "It might have a negative effect on the operation," they told me; something to do with the drugs they will have to give me to perform the plastic surgery...provided I am still willing to go through with the surgery.

I still am not sure. There is a lot to consider.

There is the fear of failure. 'What if I can't speak the language well enough?' I ask myself. I never conversed with a Longton before. 'What if I do something stupid or make a mistake?' And there is the further danger of walking into a village contaminated with plutonium. Radiation cannot be ignored. I might have to walk around the rest of my life in fear of an increased risk of cancer.

But on the opposite side, it is the opportunity of a lifetime. It will be a chance to fulfill my curiosity and pose all my questions. It will be my only opportunity to test my knowledge of the Longtonese language and interface with the subjects of my study. I know I will never get a chance to go down to the surface again. Any future expeditions - assuming the politicians back on Earth even allow any future expeditions - will almost certainly be by all- male teams. They will never let a woman go except for the most dreadful circumstance.

Yet the very fact I am a woman scares me. I will have to live in a society where the men are masters. I will be merely a slave, forced into subjugation of my male owner, forced to wear the clothing of the Longton women.

And then there is the clothing to consider. Longton clothing scares me, especially given my figure. I am not accustomed to wearing provocative clothing, yet on the surface of the planet I will be forced to wear little. The most clothing I will ever be able to wear is the equivalent of a small bikini.

Another problem is Brian. I couldn't voice my objection in front of Captain Rileymen because he would never understand, but I don't like Brian. The problem is that he's been trying to hit on me since the first day he got to Crion, probably because of my big boobs. I despise men who treat my boobs as a prize and my body like a piece of meat. I haven't known Brian for very long, yet I already get the impression he is a stereotypical young Marine who thinks he is God's gift to women. I have difficult time with him in the lab. On the surface, I know it will be much more challenging.

Still, Brian does have one redeeming feature. He has a tall, muscular build and handsome appearance; traits specifically selected so he would someday more easily fit in with the Longton men. This will make him look excellent, I know, when clothed in the attire worn by the Longton men, for their clothing is just as meager as the females. I like looking at men in loincloths.

Chapter 2: The Surface D-Day

"Are you ready to go?" Brian asks.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I guess," I answer hesitantly, already having second thoughts about accepting the mission.

We stand on the planet's surface, almost 600 miles from the nearest Longton village, at the top of a sand dune with only the glow of the two moons and a thousand stars to light our way. We already receive our first taste of the Longton heat, for the temperature still hovers at around 40oC. I already feel perspiration on my brow and dread the thought of the sun beating down on us.

The sand shifts below my sandals and scratches between my toes. All I see around me is sand; dune after dune of shifting sand. The nearest tree, I know, is about a hundred miles away. It is like the Sahara Desert on Earth, but even the Sahara is nothing compared to this. We stand on the edge of the vast equatorial desert that is a thousand times bigger than the Sahara.

Next to us sits our mode of transportation. It looks something like a jeep or maybe a go-cart designed for desert travel. It is an open- air vehicle with no roof and only the bare minimum of a frame to hold it together. We tied out supplies securely down in the rear: food, clothing, radio, a little tent, and certainly plenty of water. The two seats positioned in front look too small to carry a grown human. The contraption, in summary, looks like a toy a young teenager might use to play around in a dirt field.

Behind us, down between the gullies of two large sand dunes, sits our spaceship. There sits the shuttle that bought us down to the surface. We purposely landed it in a low place to keep it safe and out of sight from the rare desert traveler. I do not plan to see it again for at least a week.

"We better get going," Brian appears anxious, standing next to the jeep. "Best if we go as many miles as we can before sunrise."

I agree, of course. We are allowed to travel in the jeep only at night.

Then he adds: "You realize, of course, from this point on we're not supposed to wear any Earth-based clothing."

I notice him look at me, and I distinctly notice him look mostly at my chest. Now I know why he is anxious. It isn't to travel; he is anxious to see what will pop out behind my loose fitting blouse. All men like a big set of tits.

I do not feel nearly as anxious as he does. "Don't worry," I comfort him. "I'll take it off when we leave the vehicle."

Brian shakes his head. "You know the rules. Captain Rileymen's instructions were clear. From this point on."

He already wears his Longton clothing. It reminds me of those little Indian outfits worn in old Western movies. A flap comes down in front and another in the rear. His thighs remain nearly bare with a thin string that goes around his waist. I have to admit he looks sexy in it.

I know the rules. I'm supposed to change into my Longton clothing too, but can't bring myself to do it. "Can't we fudge a little?" I try to back out. "I mean, what's the harm?"

"Listen," He speaks in a rare moment of sympathy. "I know it'll will be embarrassing, but it doesn't make any difference. Now or later, the result will be the same. You might as well get it over with. We can't have you walking around all bashful and embarrassed when we meet the first Longtons."

This is true. I even thought it a good idea when he first proposed we get accustomed to the Longton clothing as soon as possible, but now I feel some serious objections.

"All right!" I take a deep breath and accept the inevitable.

I turn away to unbutton my blouse. Underneath, I wear the most conservative of the three outfits commonly worn by the Longton women. The "outfit" is what I nickname the string bikini back at the lab. True to its name, it is constructed mostly out of string. One goes around my neck and the other ties behind my back. The only fabric covering my extra large pair of boobs is two white, triangular-shaped cups. Looking down upon myself, I see they do a bare-minimum job of covering. In keeping with the Longton style, it looks as though I wear a bikini sized for a B cup girl on a set of double-D cupped boobs.

I toss the blouse aside and lower my shorts. A sigh comes from the jeep to remind me of my ass. The rear of the bikini panty is little more than a thong that runs up my behind. The front is a small triangle of white fabric that thankfully covers everything of importance, but just barely.

I have never worn such a small bikini before. In fact, I have never worn a bikini at all. My large breasts and wholesome Northern Minnesota upbringing bestowed me with conservative values. I was always taught that naughty girls wore bikinis and good girls wore one-piece bathing suits.

Reluctantly, I take a deep breath and turn around.

"Wow!" Brian amplifies my embarrassment.

"Please!" I instinctively cry out, and than quickly try to cover my chest with my hands. "Can't you be a little more discrete about it?"

"Sorry, but it was just a natural reaction!" He tries to apologize.

It is dark and I know he can't see me very well, but his reaction and the look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know. This will be a very long trip.

"It's just that you look so much different," I think he tries to apologize. "I mean you usually dress so professionally, but now..."

His words trail off, but I know what he means.

"Let's just get going," I try to push things along.

The vehicle feels as small as it looks. I am forced to press up tight against him when I sit down in the little seat. The bare skin of my thigh squeezes up against the bare skin of his.

"You ready?" He asks.

I notice the lights on the simple dashboard. They do not shine bright, but in combination with the headlights they give him additional light to see me by.

"Let's go," I accept.

"You might want to hold on for safety," He tells me, his eyes referring down to my hands. Both of them still cover my chest. "It might get bumpy. I don't want you to fall out and get injured."

"I'm just fine," I refuse. "Let's get going."

The little jeep takes off. It goes surprisingly fast considering its small size. I suppose the weaker gravity helps move it along. We go up one drift of sand and then down the next. Ahead lay more dunes, and then even more. We drive on and on with the rear wheels kicking up sand and the jeep bumping from the occasional rock.

"Be careful," I warn him as we are forced to attack a particularly steep dune at an angle.

"I told you to hang on," He argues and does not appear to slow. "At least use one of your hands to hold on."

I know he is right. I hate it when he is right all the time. The last week's worth of training taught me that he is often right. I found Brian to be smart and a quick learner, well chosen for the mission. I only had to tell him once, and he remembered everything I said. I found him especially good at learning the Longton language. I still know it far better than he does, I think he learned more in the last 5 days than I learned in my first 5 months.

Knowing I might as well get it over with, I lower both arms and hold on. My right takes hold of the railing and the left squeezes between us and takes hold of the seat. Immediately, I feel Brian's eyes upon me. I know he has been looking at me all week long. Back in the lab his eyes seemed to roam down to my blouse at every chance they got. It felt embarrassing before, but now...

Now, I don't know what to feel. I continue to feel embarrassed, but I also notice a tingle of excitement in the air. I have this erotic sensation that I sit next to him topless, which isn't too far from the truth. I feel as though I am a voyeur strutting my stuff.

I suppose it is inevitable that he look. I am so close, right next to him, and I am so big and so exposed. My left boob almost touches his right arm. I feel a brief temptation to chastise him, but I know it will be to no avail. I take a deep breath, knowing I must bear it.

I try to let my mind wonder, but it is difficult in this bleak landscape. Up one dune and down the next, the headlights of our little jeep illuminate nothing but sand before us. It seems to lack power, but keeps up its ever- constant push. The motor moans as we travel up a dune, and then whines as we coast back down the opposite side. At the same time we slow going up the hills, and then accelerate as we travel back down again. Moan and whine. Slow and accelerate. The same motion over and over again. It is no wonder the Longtons live only in the Northern Hemisphere. They have yet to discover the equal landmass in the south. Even a technologically advanced civilization would have trouble crossing this desert. It would be impossible for a Longton man traveling on foot or even with a beast of burden.

We travel for a few miles more before I notice it. It happens when I look over to the instruments to check our heading. I am afraid Brian might be paying more attention to my bust than the proper heading, but the dial continues to read straight North. This makes me momentarily think he stopped glancing over to my sparsely clad chest, but then I notice it. The dim lights of the dashboard illuminates it. I do not know if he sees it too, but I notice a clear and very distinct bulge pushing up his loincloth.

It shocks me at first. I think I might be seeing things, but then I casually allow my eyes to lower, and I see it again. The front flap of his Indian-like loincloth lifts up and pushes away from his body. It is clearly noticeable. I think I can even see the outline of a pole beneath it.

I take a hard swallow. It shocks me at first. I do not know what to say or what to do, but then figure it is best not to say or do anything. Brian does not appear to notice it himself, although I know he must feel it. He is clearly very aroused and very hard. He is at a full erection. Even better, he does nothing to cover himself. His hands remain on the steering wheel. He continues to drive the jeep, as he must. I am left free to admire him for as long as I want.

And I do admire it! As we continue driving, my head remains pointed straight ahead but my eyes look right at it. It feels good to have the tables turned. It feels exhilarating, even a little thrilling, knowing what my big boobs and my tiny bikini are doing to him. It even makes me feel a little aroused - I have to admit. I think of the male meat only a short distance away.

I like cocks, but not just any ordinary cock. The pictures of naked men in the centerfolds of Playgirl never thrilled me very much. I will never forget, however, the first time I saw a picture of an erection. It was in my freshman year of High School. I had just transferred from a pale parochial grade school when one of my newly made girlfriends showed it to me on a library computer. I thought it the most amazing thing I had ever seen. It looked so big! And it looked so long! The thing looked like a monster, like it was about to attack me. From then on, I always got aroused when I saw an erect cock.

Then I think about why he is aroused. Obviously, he must be having nasty thoughts about me. He fantasizes about me. As he drives, his eyes must roam over to my boobs. This makes me wonder what is going through his mind. 'Is he squeezing my boobs in his mind?' I ask to myself. 'Is he reaching over and lowering my top? Is he playing with my tits or perhaps imagining himself teasing my nipples?' To my surprise, this both scares and delights me. In a strange sort of way, I find myself wishing I was topless and wanting him to massage me. Despite Brian's ego and his subservient attitude towards women, I have to admit he is a very handsome man.

Even better, Brian looks to be of impressive size. I can tell by the bulge he makes. It looks to be substantial, although it is difficult to tell in the weak lights of the dashboard. I more properly need to see him in the headlights. Or even better, I need to take a look at him underneath. It would not be difficult to do. My hand is already so close, grasping hold of the seat between us. All I need to do is reach over and lift the little flap.

I chastise myself. I think about what I am doing and can't believe my own thoughts. I scolded him earlier for looking at my chest, and now I repeat the same sin with his cock. I am no better than he is, observing the opposite sex not as an equal but as a sex object.

I try to move on to something else and erase the thought out of my mind, but the task proves more difficult than I anticipate. Brian further complicates matters by keeping his bulge. I don't know when it started, but I know it has been several minutes since I first noticed it. He has remained hard and erect now for the past ten minutes, which makes me wonder how far along his fantasy has progressed. 'Am I naked yet?' I question to myself. 'Is he now fantasizing what it will feel like to reach over and lower my panty? Is he now imagining himself playing with my sex too?'

The thought makes me squirm in my seat. Brian looks over, but I simply ignore him. No words have been exchanged between us since we left, but I don't mind. I don't feel like talking.

As I wonder about his fantasy, I begin to experience my own. It is my standard fantasy, the one I get whenever I see a particularly handsome gentleman sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table or down at the end of the bar. It starts with the guy standing at the foot of my bed where I order him to strip. In my fantasy, naturally, he obeys. He removes one article of clothing and then another, until he stands before me in only a tiny bikini panty or perhaps one of those fishnet briefs. In either case, I order him to remove this last piece of clothing too, and soon he stands nude - absolutely nude. I picture Brian standing at the foot of my bed, totally naked without a single stitch of clothing anywhere on his entire body.

The covers of the bed are drawn, but now I pull them back to display a sexy little nightie that does a superb job at showing off my sizable assets. This naturally makes the man aroused, and I now picture Brian developing an erection. I watch from the bed as it grows from a tiny dick into the monster I know must be hidden underneath his loincloth. I picture Brian with a big, long, perhaps an 8-inch organ standing upright and at attention. I see him standing at the foot of my bed, motionless and obedient, allowing me to look as much as I want, waiting for my next command.

Then I fantasize myself ordering him to turn around with a single hand. I say nothing. I just use my fingers to have him turn so I can first have a look at his cock from the side and then take a good look at his ass in the rear. I admire his naked body all over, and then I motion him to come closer. He does so, and in my fantasy the big man is soon standing at the side of my bed with his big cock within my reach.

The fantasy continues when I take advantage of the opportunity and begin to play with his cock like it is my toy. I imagine what it will feel like to touch Brian's hard organ and feel up his entire length...

***

"You getting tired?"

A question interrupts my fantasy. I realize I am looking down, starring straight down at his waist. I realize I have my head bowed, which Brian must have assumed to mean I was tired.

"No, I'm okay," I first answer and then decide to play along. "Well, not too tired. Just taking a rest for a moment."

"We're almost at our first stop," He tells me. "The map shows it should be just up ahead."

I look to see a dark outline against the stars above. I know it is the outline of trees from an oasis. It is not hard to find an oasis at this high northerly latitude. Springs bubble up out of the ground every few dozen miles. Around them blossom a forest of trees and bushes.

The headlights of the jeep illuminate green vegetation as we travel over the summit of the next sand dune.

"You better slow down," I warn, seeing we are going downhill at full speed. "I think this is it."

Just as I say it, the ride suddenly turns rough. We drive into a pile of rocks. The wheels of the jeep are unable to stay on the ground. It is like hitting a stretch of potholed asphalt.

"Slow down!" I say again, this time more forcefully as I feel my body lift completely out of the seat and then come crashing back down.

"I'm trying!" Brian counters. "Damn brakes!"

We slow, but not before hitting several more rocks and then the protruding roots of a tree. Another large jolt hits the jeep. My body again leaves the seat. It is large enough to fear my boobs might have left their protective covering. I look down to check, and then look over to see Brian check too. I see he has taken advantage of the situation and looks at my bouncing chest.

"The road!" I remind him. "Keep your eyes on the road."

I can't believe he is looking at my bouncing boobs instead of the road in front of us. I realize what he has just witnessed and start to feel embarrassed.

"Sorry, but that was the first time I had to use the breaks," He tells me as the jeep eventually comes to a near stop and then weaves between the trees. We drive closer to the source of the oasis: A small pond of water formed by a seeping spring from below. Before the jeep has a chance to come to a stop, I jump out and head for the water.

It feels good on my face when I kneel down and splash myself. The water is surprisingly cold. It is nearly freezing cold, in direct contrast to the hot temperature of everything else on this sizzling planet. I cup another handful of water and splash it onto my face.

"How is it?" Brian asks from somewhere close behind me.

"Great!" I keep splashing myself. "Cold! Feels like it must be coming up from a deep spring."

"You know you can jump in if you want," I hear him step past me. "There's nothing in these waters that can hurt you."

It sounds great, but the idea of walking into a strange body of water in the dead of night scares me. Luckily, Brian comes to my rescue. Instead of stopping at the shoreline, he walks right in. He walks into the water as though it is no more than a friendly fishing pond back on Earth.

I already wear the equivalent of a swimsuit, so it is an easy matter to take a swim. I follow, but the water is too cold; surprisingly cold. It is cold enough to prevent me from jumping in all at once. I find myself having to step in slow and leisurely allow my body to get accustomed to the drastic change in temperature. Brian already stands in the middle, deepest part of the little pond. I can't help but feel disappointed at what I know the cold water will do to his swollen member.

The water is pure, and my body feels dirty all over. It feels like a thin layer of grime from the open-air vehicle covers me from head to foot.

The pond is not very deep. Even in the center, the water only comes up to my waist. I am forced to go down to my knees in order to cover myself up to the neck. I must then bow my head down lower to wash my sand-encrusted hair. The pond is also small, only about the size of a large swimming pool, but this is normal for such southerly latitudes. Later, as we travel further north, the ponds will grow into lakes. Oasis will grow into forests.

"We better get going again," Brian suggests after what seems like only a minute, although I know we have been in the water for much longer. "We have a schedule to keep you know."

I know well enough, but I do not want to leave. The water feels refreshing. It is like a relaxing evening bath after a long day at work, but I also know we have a long way to go yet. It is only about midnight. We are supposed to drive another 5 hours before stopping for daylight.

I follow Brian and step out of the water into the sizzling night air. We step into the lights of the jeep where I can see him clearly. His bare thighs look terrific. His whole body makes me hot.

As I look at him, a mischievous idea comes to mind. It is a naughty, sneaky, mischievous little idea; but I can't help but consider it when I think about his deflated member. I get the nasty idea of changing into the next iteration of Longton clothing. I think about the next, more provocative article of Longton clothing. The reason I want to change into it is equally naughty.

"I think I should," I say before I realize I have said it. "I suppose I might as well get accustomed to my new wardrobe, exactly as you said before."

This seems to take Brian by surprise. He steps back, almost as if in shock. It is as though he perhaps guesses at my real intent, but I have no way of knowing for sure.

"I'll just step over here behind a few trees to change," I tell him as I untie my pack from the back of the jeep.

I see him take a deep breath and then swallow before answering: "Whatever you're comfortable with."

The second piece of Longton clothing contains more fabric, but it is more erotic and exposes more than the bikini. I call it the vertical swimsuit because it is composed mostly of two vertical strips of cloth that rise from the panty and go across my chest. A snap at the back of my neck connects them. Technically, it is a one-piece suite, but in reality it more closely resembles an erotic nightgown.

The two vertical strips of cloth both give the suit its name and make it so erotic. Because nothing goes around my chest in the horizontal direction, nothing is left to support my boobs. My tits are left free and natural. They swell out and make their slight plunge down from my chest just as though I wear no top at all, and the strips of cloth are narrow enough to allow someone to examine me in great detail.

I know this new article of Longton clothing will make me look especially sexy when someone looks at me from the side, as I know Brian will have the opportunity to do in the jeep. It fills me with ecstasy, although it also fills me with trepidation. I look down upon myself to see my entire line of cleavage exposed down the center of my chest. If I had a mirror, I would even be able to see my own undercleavage. I grow with trepidation at the sight Brian will encounter. My only solace is Brian's assured reaction.

"Ready to go," I step out from behind the trees. Brian already sits in the jeep. He looks only briefly as I join him. I notice the feel of metal against my buns and back when I sit down, reminding me that my entire back lays exposed and a thong again rides up my rear.

"Figured I might as well get it over with," I confess to Brian as we again drive off in the jeep.

It does not take long. Although I do not see him look, I can tell that he does so by his reaction. This time I do not hold up my hands to cover myself. I allow him to look as much as he wants, and soon I notice his reaction. A bulge again rises from his shorts.

It looks as big and substantial as before. I can't help but think what I would like to do with it. I imagine myself reaching over and casually lifting the little flap of fabric to give myself a better look. I am tempted to look, but of course I do not. I am not that kind of girl. I must remain content with my imagination.

I attempt to remove his cock from my mind, but Brian again makes it difficult. His bulge remains. I try not to look, but every few minutes the temptation overcomes me. I move my eyes without moving my head. I take a glance over and see it continue. It continues for a long time, and it is difficult not to notice.

Up one sand dune and down the next. We continue on. The journey becomes monotonous, but my mind remains occupied. I can't get him out of my head.

The fantasy returns. I again imagine him standing at the foot of my bed while I order him to first disrobe and then to harden. In my mind, he stands within arm's length, and I am taking advantage of his closeness. My arm is outstretched and my hand his encompassed around him. I imagine myself holding his toy cock in my hand.

I start with small, short, deliberate strokes on the base of his member. I make him aroused, and then I use my hand to increase his arousal. Soon, I see the resulting evidence of my actions as drops of pre-cum slowly ooze out of the tip of his cock. In response, I increase the speed of my pistoning motion yet further to witness his reaction even more. One of the best things I like about a man is the feel of his thick cock in my hand. By the look of the bulge under Brian's shorts, I am sure his will feel very fine.

Much later, after I judge him sufficiently lubricated and most likely dripping, I imagine myself stroking up and down on his entire length. I imagine holding my hand out to his member. I fantasize pumping it up and down. I think about pistoning on the entire length of organ.

The fantasy turns more vivid as I imagine myself reaching for it now, reaching out my hand to the driver's seat. I imagine what it would be like to reach out right now and give him a slow, deliberate, and ever-constant stroking action.

I shake my head in an attempt to erase the fantasy out of my mind. This is not like me. 'Here I am sitting next to a man with a firm cock between his legs, and all I can think about is what a pleasure it would be to have sex with him.' But not just any ordinary sexy, but kinky sex. 'If Brian only knew the thoughts in my mind!' The thought makes me blush with embarrassment.

But then I realize he must be having equally vivid fantasies. 'He must be!' There is no way he can remain hard without it. The realization makes me wonder what he is thinking. 'Is he fantasizing about my boobs?' I ask myself. 'Or maybe he is picturing me topless and trying to figure out what my hard nipples must look like.' A hot wave of ecstasy travels through my body as I consider it. I find myself wanting to show him. I know he wants to see. He's had his eyes locked on my chest all week. I caught him several times during our lessons with his eyes firmly locked on my chest. I even caught him trying to look down my top when I bent over on the one day. His actions disgusted me then, but for some strange reason I find them exciting me now.

I shake my head again to get the thoughts out of my mind. It is not like me to have such fantasies about a man while I sit so close to him. My dreams usually come at night or in the early morning hours. They usually happen only after men are far away and I have time to think about it. But this is different. There is little else to think about.

"There's another oasis not far ahead," His voice interrupts my thoughts. "If you want, we can stop for dinner. It's getting to be about that time."

The clock on the dashboard reads 2:00 AM, Longton time. In reality, it is closer to 7:00 PM Earth time. We purposely landed with our bodies still on daylight hours to avoid falling asleep while driving through the Longton night. I failed to notice my hunger before, but the mention of dinner quickly reminds me that it is past my normal dinner hour.

"That sounds like a good idea," I agree. "I do feel awfully hungry."

A naughty idea fills my head. Brian looks at me first with a look of shock on his face, and then he smiles. I am not sure, but I think he has read my mind. I think he understands the hidden meaning behind my words. I really do feel awfully hungry, like I said, but not just for food. I also feel hunger for his cock.

"I need a rest stop anyway," He quickly recovers. "I know it's still a couple hours before I should be feeling tired enough to go to bed, but all this driving can be really tiring on the body."

I can't help but think about how tiring it must be for all the blood to constantly flow down to his hard erection too.

"I can take over, if you want," I offer. "I mean after dinner, if you don't mind. I would like to take a turn behind the wheel of this thing too. It looks like fun."

"Are you sure you can?" He questions. "It's not as easy as it looks."

"Don't you think a woman can handle it?" I guess his thoughts. "I bet I've had a lot more experience driving this sort of vehicle than you. I used to drive around in little three-wheelers all the time as a kid. And besides, with the way you drove into the last oasis, it wouldn't take much to better you."

He shrugs his shoulders and refuses to respond. I know Brian does not like to be bettered by a woman, which only encourages me to tease him further. I notice the bulge in his shorts has diminished too. I must remember not to tease him too often.

***

We stop to eat dinner a few minutes later at the next oasis. The jeep is parked right up next to the life- giving water. The headlights remain on, and Brian hangs a lantern by the rollover bar. This gives him lots of light to see me by, but I really don't care anymore - especially after what I just experienced.

I have just walked back out of the water. Before we ate, both of us decided it better if we first washed ourselves off and cooled ourselves down. I walked into the water almost as soon as he brought the jeep to a stop.

Pleasant to my delight, I discovered the pond at this oasis was both larger and deeper than the first. The water came up to my neck in the middle of the lake, which gave me the idea of unsnapping the rear hook and lowering my top. After all, there was no way he could see anything under the water. I did it to feel more comfortable and to better wash myself. I never expected what else it did.

"Not as cold as the first spring," I attempted to make idle conversation as Brian walked in after me. Being taller, the rose only came up to the middle of his chest, giving me an excellent view of his chest and bulging biceps. I couldn't help but think about what he would have seen had I been just as tall.

"Water feel good," Brian attempted to switch languages and speak to me in a type of broken Longtonese.

"Me think so too," I agreed in more proper Longtonese, although I must admit that even I do not speak it very well. "Try lower all under," I suggested.

He was close enough for me to see a look of intense concentration on his face. For a moment I thought he was looking at my boobs, but then I realized he was only trying to translate my phrase.

"I said you should try to lower yourself all the way under the water," I repeated the same in English. "Dunk your head under. It feels good."

He did so, and then I did the same, but careful not to bounce up too high.

We continued our little conversation, talking about little bits and pieces of information without really talking about anything at all. The main purpose of our talk was to practice the Longtonese language, not to communicate any worthwhile information. I remain amazed at how well Brian speaks it after only 5 days of lessons.

As we talked, an unexpected sense of eroticism came over me. It occasionally dissipated, but then I kept remembering again my near nudity under the water. We stood only a few feet apart. I occasionally thought he might be able to see my naked boobs through some weird reflection of light off the water, but then I always came back to my senses. He in fact saw nothing at all. I think that is why he conversed more openly with me. He was less intimidated when I was better covered.

His bulge made it worse. I no longer saw it because it was under water. In fact, I hadn't seen it for a long time. I observed it dissipate while still driving in the jeep. By the time we got to the oasis, I noticed it no more. Our brief conversation in the jeep must have erased whatever dirty little fantasy he carried in his mind.

But I couldn't help but think about how long it remained hard. He remained at a hard-on for nearly the entire drive. He was hard almost the entire time since our last stop, and that was almost two hours ago. 'Impressive,' I kept thinking to myself, and then considered what a waste it was for his hard cock to remain unused for so long.

This gave me a thought. It was a naughty, very erotic thought. I wanted to slap myself for considering it. But I couldn't help it! As we continued practicing simple Longton phrases in the water, I raised my hands up to my chest.

"What eat for tonight?" I questioned what we were planning to have for dinner as I felt over my own nipples.

"Bread...lettuce...carrots," He hesitantly attempted to list the menu in Longtonese as I pinched my nipples. It tingled and even hurt a little, but it also gave me a sense of erotic voyeurism. 'If he only knew what was going on just under the surface,' I couldn't help but think to myself.

"Anything for dessert," I asked as I next moved my hands down and supported my boobs from below.

"Cookies."

But what kind?"

"Oatmeal to simulate the grains on this planet," He said in English as I heaved the heavy mass of my tits up into the air.

'I bet he would really like to see these,' I naughtily thought to myself as I carefully sunk lower to keep my tits under the waterline. They never in my life felt so heavy.

"Now in Longtonese!"

He has forgotten the names of the three most common cereals cultivated by the Longtons, so I tell him.

We talked for several minutes more, and the whole time I continued to play with my tits under the water. I squeezed them, pushed them together to give myself cleavage, rubbed across my nipples, and then squeezed them once more. I did this as I continued on a normal conversation with a man who stood only a few feet in front of me. It was a wonderful experience.

Briefly, I wondered if Brian was doing the same. I pictured him taking hold of himself, feeling himself, massaging up and down his own length as we continued our pleasant little conversation. But then I shook my head. It was a ridiculous thought. His hands remained mostly floating on the surface where I could see them. And with the water being so cold, I doubt if he could have done anything at all. As the cold hardens my nipples, I realized it also shriveled his cock. Still, it was interesting to consider.

"Think lunch be now," He told me in Longtonese that it was time we got something to eat. "Keep schedule must."

He was right. I came back to reality. We had a job to do and needed to stay on schedule.

I followed him out of the water, discretely putting my top back on as we left the relative protection of the dark water and entered the light of the jeep again. We walked back to the jeep and now eat a light dinner.

*** As I sit on the back bumper of the jeep with a cookie in one hand and a cup of water in the other, I find myself wanting to give him another hard-on. My vertical suit is no longer enough to do so, even in the substantial light of the lantern. I see he has become accustomed to my sizeable tits. It is then when I think about the toga.

I shiver at the thought. The toga is the third and most revealing of my Longton outfits. It is far more revealing than the bikini or the vertical swimsuit.

It is called a toga for obvious reasons. It looks suspiciously like to the toga worn by the ancient Greeks and at uncounted numbers of college fraternity parties. One part wraps around the woman's waist. The other swings up and over her right shoulder. The only problem is that there isn't enough clothing to cover everything of importance. Specifically, the piece that goes over the woman's shoulder is too small. It is only wide enough to cover a single breast. My other boob will be left completely exposed.

"I'm thinking about changing cloths again," I tell Brian. "Into the toga."

He almost falls off the back bumper. I smile, almost giggle; pleased at his reaction.

"I'm thinking I might has well get accustomed to it," I try not to show my elation. "I don't want to, but I figure the sooner the better."

It takes several minutes for him to gather himself enough to answer. "It's up to you," He finally says.

"I think I will," I conclude, seeing the bulge again start to form beneath his shorts. It forms amazingly fast, and it does so long before he even has a chance to see me. The mere suggestion gets him hard.

"Yes, I think I will," I conclude for certain now. I finish eating the oatmeal cookie for dessert and then reach into my backpack and pull out the toga.

"Don't look!" I warn him as I walk away, and then think about how ridiculous my statement sounds after considering the clothing I am about to put on - or lack there-of.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," I say to myself as soon as I am far enough away to know he cannot hear. I was afraid to wear a bikini a few hours before. Now I am about to leave a breast uncovered. 'And it is such a substantial breast,' I think to myself as I look down upon it. My tits have never felt so big before. The toga covers my left boob far better than the bikini or vertical swimsuit, but I do not wear a single stitch of clothing on the other.

***

"You still want to drive?" He asks from the passenger seat as I approach.

I see he has packed up everything. Even the lantern is turned off and packed away. It has taken me several minutes to change clothing, but not so much just to change. Most of it was spent gathering enough confidence to join him.

"Sure," I accept.

I know he has seen me. I notice him take a quick glance up from the passenger's seat to look at my bare boob. But very politely and probably with great control, he does not draw attention to it.

I sit down next to him, right up close to him, our hips touching. Much to my trepidation, I realize it is my closest boob that remains bare to him. I wish the strap of the toga covered the opposite side of my chest.

"I want you to know," He speaks shyly, looking away. "I really admire you, I mean at what you are doing. I know how difficult this must be for you, and I think it's really great the way you are willing to put yourself through all of this in order to help these people you never met."

"Thanks," I appreciate the compliment. It is a very nice thing to say.

I notice him take another glance at my bare tit. This time, I see him look. He even pauses for a long moment when he looks, as though he is trying to freeze the image on his mind.

"Thanks for not being a jerk about it," I return the compliment. "If it was with anyone else, I don't think I could do this."

"I'm not doing anything special," He counters. "You're the one who has the hard job."

"True," I have to agree.

He glances at me again. This time he does not look down at my tit. He smiles at my face. And then I smile back at him.

"Why don't you look?" I offer. "If you want, just go ahead and take a look. You're going to eventually see me anyway."

I'm not sure what I am doing, but I feel as though I have to do it. Someone has to break the ice.

Brian accepts, but only for a second. The expression on his face makes him look even more embarrassed than I am.

"Really, it's all right," I prompt him. "I'm sure you've been to strip joints and seen it all, especially with you being a Marine and all. I've heard stories about you guys."

"What kind of stories?" He accepts and turns to face me again. This time it is more than just a glance. He looks hard, almost stares right at my bare boob. He looks directly at my naked, exposed, and what feels like a very large boob; and he keeps on looking. I ignore his question.

I wonder what he is thinking. 'Is he imagining what my boob feels like?' I wonder. 'Is he pretending to squeeze it? Or is he just trying to freeze the image in his mind?' I wish I had the ability to read his mind.

"Like it?" I try to break his stare after what seems like ten minutes but what is probably closer to only one or two. I start to feel uncomfortable.

"Better than any strip joint I've been to!" He tells me with a big smile. "It's hard to believe you're the same person from back at the lab. You look magnificent!"

"Thanks, I guess," I meekly accept this rather embarrassing compliment. "Would you like to see a little more?"

"More?" He looks at me strangely.

"Yea, more!" I'm not sure what I am doing, but I do it anyway. I do it on a whim, without thinking. I take hold of the strap of cloth going over my opposite shoulder. "I mean, what the hell? You can already see half!"

"Wow!" He exclaims the moment the strap comes down. I sit next to him topless.

His reaction surprises me, but it is not unexpected.

"What I mean is, you really look beautiful," Brian tries to take a step back. "Sorry about that, but I didn't mean to come across quite so strong." He looks away.

"I understand," I console. "You were just being honest I suppose."

I know what he really meant, of course. What he really meant to say was that I have a big set of jugs. He probably wants to say something about how unusually firm or what strangely big nipples I have too. He doesn't have to say it; I can see it in his eyes.

"You going to drive like that?" He breaks the silence.

"What the hell!" I remember that I sit in the driver's seat. "I suppose we might as well get going again."

"Might as well," He agrees.

*** Every bump of the jeep jiggles my tits as we speed our way across the desert. The cool night tingles my nipples as it blows in my face.

What am I doing? I yell at myself. Am I crazy?

I've never done anything like this before. I usually get embarrassed at just a low cut blouse, and here I am topless. It feels so dirty, so wrong; but at the same time it feels so right.

The jeep distracts me when we first set out. I haven't driven a motor vehicle in over 3 years. The gas pedal does not feel like I remember it. The sand and tall dunes constantly fight my attempts to keep us headed on a straight path. Brian gives me a few pointers. I momentarily forget about my exposure.

But it soon returns. Driving becomes second nature. My naked chest overwhelms me.

"I think it's cooled down," I say because I have to say something.

"But still hot," Brian glances in my direction.

I think about his crotch but fight the temptation. My own boobs are enough for now. 'One thing at a time!'

"I can't wait until morning," I start again. "Sitting back up in the lab, I used to often try to imagine how hot it really got down here. I'm finally going to find out."

"You might not want to know," He answers after a pause. "The heat will kill you if you get caught in the open."

I know he looks at me. I notice his glances. He takes quick, fleeting glances every few seconds. He tries to be discrete about it, but he fails miserably.

"What if we break down?" I ask.

"Unlikely," He answers. "This jeep was double and triple checked before we left. Even if we do break down, we have enough provisions and survival gear until they send a rescue party."

I know all of this already. The military briefed us before we left. The only reason I ask is to make conversation.

We continue to converse; first about the jeep and then about our upcoming encounter with the Longtons. I want to talk more, but I find it difficult with Brian. He acts shy and even bashful, which I find curious. I couldn't keep him quiet the last couple of days. He always wanted to talk about things other than work, and then he would suggest continuing the conversation over dinner or back in his room. But now I see a complete turnaround, and I know what it is. It comes from my big boobs. My nudity makes him shy.

"Sorry if I blabber," I decide to be honest. "It's just that I feel really uncomfortable, and I'm one of those people who talks when she gets uncomfortable."

"Me too," He admits to my astonishment. "This feels weird."

He glances down, and I make the mistake of glancing down with him. I see his bulge again.

"Oh my!" I mistakenly say out loud.

I think I know why he doesn't want to talk. It must be difficult for a guy to casually talk to a girl with a raging hard-on. I wonder if it comes from his imagination, like maybe he is imagining himself fucking my brains out. 'Is it only my tits?' I can't help but question. 'Or has he progressed yet to my pussy?' I wonder about his fantasy and then can't help but have my own.

Taking another glance, I wonder how thick it is. Then I wonder how long it must be. My left hand holds the steering wheel. My right hand rests upon my right leg. It would be an easy matter to reach over and take a look.

To my astonishment, I let my hand move to the right, closer to him. I don't try to do it. It just happens. My hand slides over and I allow my fingers to touch his thigh ever so slightly. His bare skin sends a thrill through my entire body.

He fails to respond. I wonder if he has even felt my touch. I figure the only thing Brian can feel is his own raging hard-on.

But then he surprises me. He moves his leg closer. He presses his leg against my own, opening both legs in both direction. My pulse doubles and a hot wave of sexual energy travels through me. It is as though he offers himself to me.

I don't know what to do! I am not sure what he wants! 'Is this an invitation?' I question. 'Or was the movement of his leg just a normal, casual movement?' It certainly doesn't look normal or casual. He spreads his legs so far apart the loincloth drops down between them and his right knee sticks out the side of the jeep. He resembles a male whore who offers himself to play. I find it difficult to pay attention to the jeep.

I wish Brian would just tell me what he wants. Better yet, I wish he would demonstrate it. I would love him to reach over and grab my tits. I would enjoy it even more if he decided to take his fingers and start to tease my nipples.

My fingers remain pinched between our legs several seconds more. I pull my hand up to brush my long hair out of my face, and when I rest it back down again I find myself touching his leg. I can't believe what I have just done. My fingers rest only a few inches below his balls and the erect cock above them.

I feel strange. I feel erotic. I think I could even be wet. I am not accustomed to being in this position; behind the driver's seat, in control. I often fantasized about taking control of a sexual encounter - the daydream about the bedroom encounter comes to mind - but in real life I behave like a tremendous pacifist. I don't know what to do.

His bulge remains. I think it is even bigger now. The loincloth, when it drops between his legs, serves to amplify its size. I am shocked to find myself trying to figure out his length. 'A minimum of 7,' I think to myself. '7 inches, minimum length, maybe even a fraction of an inch longer!' I find it hard to make an honest estimate in my heightened state of arousal.

I can't stand it any more.

"Do you mind?" I decide to question him. I take a glance down at his waist as I say it, indicating my intent. His eyes follow, and then he smiles.

"Do you mind if I take a look?" I decide to be more blunt.

My foot lifts off the accelerator. I slow the jeep down to a crawl.

"It's up to you," He serves the choice back to me.

My decision is obvious. I look at my own fingers, hardly believing they are mine, as they take hold of the flap of his shorts and begin to peal it back. Brian says nothing. He fails to answer my question with words, but his inaction tells me all I need to know.

"Very nice," I tease him before I can see anything. The darkness makes it difficult to see. I know how men like to be complimented on their merchandise. All men are impressed by their own cocks. Given Brian's personality, I figure he thinks his is the greatest of all.

I think I see an outline, and then I think I see even more. Yes, I definitely see it now. I have enough uncovered to see the general outline of his erect member. I raise the flap of fabric above his waist and take a look.

"Yes, very nice," I make sure to continue complimenting.

It fails to fulfill my wild fantasies, but it is not small either. It is difficult to tell for certain, but Brian looks to be at least a little longer than average. His length does not attract me so much as his bulk. Brian has a wide girth.

Looking closer, I also notice he is uncircumcised, a little fact that I relish. I've always felt it a sin to circumcise a male prick. Men should be left as long as possible to give as much pleasure as possible.

Looking closer still, I think I might even be able to see wetness. I see pre-cum at the tip. 'Of course he has pre- cum!' I realize. 'He's been hard for almost the last two hours!'

I notice the jeep slow to a complete stop. It is I who bring it to a stop, although I'm not quite aware of doing so. In a wild feat of ecstasy, I decide to take advantage of the situation.

"Get out," I tell him sharply.

"What!" He looks back to me in surprise.

"Get out and take it off," I clarify. "Take it all off. I think if I have to wear this toga, then you have to take it off. Put your shorts in back. As long as I have to bare a breast, I want you to show me all of you."

He hesitates and stares back at me with a shocked look on his face. For a moment, I think I have gone too far. I don't know what he will do, but then he rises.

I watch as he gets up, unties the thin string that goes around his waist, and then removes his shorts completely. He places them in the back of the jeep and then gets back in. Now naked, he sits down beside me.

"Is this better?" He asks.

"Much," I answer simply.

We start off again. This is a dream come true. A naked man sits beside me. Better yet, he is a naked man with a hard erection poking up at attention. "That's better," I tell him again. "That's much better."

As he glances over at my exposed right tit, I glance down at his engorged erection. I no longer need to imagine it. I know exactly his size and what it looks like.

My fantasy continues. In my mind, Brian again stands beside me at my bed. I find myself stripping and stroking him again, except this time I add an element that I have never considered before. As I stroke him, I tell him not to cum. I order him to remain hard and allow me to stroke him for as long as I want. I say I do not want him to cum and to get soft, for I want to continue to play with his member.

In my fantasy, predictably, he obeys me and remains hard. I see by the expression on his face that he desperately wants to eject, but I keep telling him that he cannot. "Not yet," I fantasize myself ordering him. "Not yet! Not until I finish playing."

I stroke on him some more, and then I stroke on him even more. In my fantasy, Brian is like my ultimate sex slave. His organ is mine. I own his erection. Only I can give him permission and tell him when it is time to spurt, but I refuse to do so. I keep pumping on his organ and watching his anguish. It is as though I sexually torture him.

Of course, I know my fantasy can never come true. It must remain just a fantasy. Men cannot master their cocks no more than a woman can master an orgasm. If I should start pumping on Brian right now, I think he will cum almost immediately. He has already remained hard for so long. In fact, it is impressive how long he has kept up his erection. I do not know for sure, but I think he must have already been hard for a combined total of nearly three hours this night. Deep inside, he must be ready to burst.

Yet he does nothing about it. He does not touch himself. He does not touch me. Despite the incredible desire that must be burning inside him, his hands remain firmly planted on the handrails of the jeep.

I want him to do something. My tit swells out from my chest from only a few inches away. My nipple clearly shoots forward from the very tip. And from between my legs, although I know he cannot see, my pussy radiates heat and wetness. I want him to fuck me.

I shake my head and come back to reality. This is too much. I must stop my fantasies, but they are difficult to stop as long as Brian remains sitting beside me. I see his stiff prick; his hard, wet, and very erect prick. The lights from the dashboard do not provide much illumination for his prick, but it is enough to see the head sparkle. I can tell he pre-cums.

Brian repositions his arms to take hold of the rollover bar above his head. He lifts his hands above his head, allowing me an even more open view of his stiff prick and his naked body. It is as though he is putting himself on display for me. I feel like I am at a strip club where the men not only strip down to nothing but also entertain the female audience by making themselves hard.

Then I consider yet another erotic aspect of his nudity. It hits me from out of the blue, although I know what triggers it. The way Brian holds his head above his head makes it appear as though he is bound. A hot wave of excitement comes over me as I think about tying him myself.

The fantasy turns to a direction never traveled before. Usually, I end my fantasies with a long fuck and an eventual orgasm. This usually happens as I stroke in and out of myself with a dildo.

But now I consider a more erotic suggestion. I wonder what it would be like to change positions. Instead of fucking me, I wonder what it would be like to fuck a man. I imagine myself encircling a rope around Brian's wrists and tying him up to some convenient tree.

Suddenly, the big cock before me no longer belongs to him. He no longer owns it. I feel as though it is mine. Although it still projects out from his body, I have the weird and incredibly erotic sensation that he only holds it in storage for me. I think Brian's cock is really mine. I purchased it. Just as the men in this Longton society own their women, so I own my man. Or more specifically, I own Brian's cock. And as its owner, I can do with it as I please.

This is a new high for me. I've never considered these things before. More than just being a passive recipient, I wonder what it would be like if the male agreed to be my sex toy; my slave. Or more precisely, I wonder what it would be like if Brian agreed to be my sex slave.

I have to stop. Shaking my head, I come back to reality.

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