A Man with the Power for Thousands of Years: Unbridled Ennui

As usual, a woman is naked in your lap, getting you off before your morning cup of coffee. Some things never change planet to planet. And some things you don't let change.

Her tits more than fill the space between you, naturally engorged to the point that they are completely between your torso and hers, spilling out to the side of your tight embrace. The drab, pearly flesh ripples with each thrust of her wide hips. Blonde, curly hair spills down her soft, feminine back, and outlined her humongous, pert breasts perfectly. Her body, her movements, her mind, are all perfectly tuned to your every desire, your every whim.

You rub her back with one hand, kneading the flesh, and gently cup her side with your other. She probably moans in arousal, feels a spark of pleasure at your display of affection, but you're just listlessly staring at the wall.

This feels good, of course. Amazing, even. It's just...

With a sigh, cum in her pussy, thrusting up into her hot snatch. She screams, your cum setting off her orgasm, and wraps her arms tightly around your upper back. The warmth of her pussy gushing, her arms, and her sweaty face against your own all feel nice, in a way. Her boobs compress on your toned chest as she squeezes you tighter, and the sensation is wonderful and soft and loving.

Still, each pleasurable throb of your orgasm brings with it a sense of deep pleasure and pain. Pleasure, for obvious reasons. Pain, because...

As soon as your orgasm subsides, the girl's does too. She coos, snuggling into the crook of your neck, and your arms wrap around her thin waist. She kisses you lightly on your jaw, and you gently caress her lower back as she settles into you.

The feeling of her boobs against you is exquisite, the soft orbs covering every inch of your torso and upper thighs, soft and comforting. You raise a hand and pet Ashley's head.

Behind you, a loud dings signifies breakfast. You sigh, push the hot, glorified fleshlight off your lap, and walk to the window, putting off breakfast for a moment longer.

As usual.

The garden that you see out of your window stretches out for well over a mile, ending in bushes tall enough that they're easy to see from where you're standing. Flowers of all shapes and colors dominate the ground, with skinny dirt paths winding between them. Everywhere you look, there are ponds, insects, sculpted bushes, intermittent benches, and women having sex or masturbating.Trees stretch to the sky, some like the ones on your home world, others blue and veiny like the natural foliage of this planet.

It's a beautiful slice of nature, a place unlike the smoggy city below the hill your palatial home sits upon, hidden from the locals. A place of open sex, puppet women, and carnal delights. A place where a man can sit and relax, taking in the smell of the flowers or the chirp of a bird, or where he can partake in the sex that's always occurring.

A part of you considers joining in with the two women closest to the window. Their names elude you, but it's not like you try all that hard to remember. They're scissoring each other in a flower bed, one with short, purple hair and a large rack, and the other a blonde with meticulously crafted makeup and no curves to speak of.

Despite not knowing their names, you remember them. They were enemies for life; One was a literal princess with a holier-than-thou superiority complex, while the other was a punk rebel with a foul mouth who tried to expose the crown.

It was fun all those years ago to switch them around. Make them into the thing they hated the most, all while infusing them with a sick love for each other. The rebel turned princess, and the princess turned rebel. But now... now it feels empty. Still fun, still arousing. There just has to be something more.

More.

Why not? Why not at least try?

Your eyes roam the garden, their previous lazy meandering replaced with purposeful roaming. What is truly interesting? It isn't the immediate change, the leading questions, the playing before the catch. It's not even the reality shifts, the aliens. It's all interesting for a moment, nothing more.

Your eyes alight on them. The twin researchers. One had worked on the premier space station, studying social behavior in space and in confinement, while the other had studied the same issues on a single planet by breaking up her target groups and brutally testing their reactions to different stimuli and leaders. A feeling flutters in your stomach, one that you haven't felt in a long time, and you begin to stride towards them, thinking quickly.

It's time to do some tests. Something is bound to be interesting; you just have to figure out what that may be.