This is not the story of the Exoplanet trade protection society's attack on the orbital station above the frontier planet Mariachi-2, of the plan to resist by shutting down the post reactor, leading to the meltdown of the reactor, destruction of the station and a XII nearby ship, and a rain of orbital debris that devastated the fragile and crude ecosystem of the very planet they were trying to protect. You can get that story from the news show and, someday I'm sure, the chronicle book.

This is not the story of how my female parent, my sister, and I escaped that catastrophe, of how the starliner Pegasus II tried to take to the woods the tragedy into FTL only to be destroyed by junk, of our flying to and rendezvous at the lifeboats, of the 24-person lifeboat jettisoning with just the three of us aboard. There are at to the lowest degree a dozen such invoice from the 87 survivors from the Peg, and most, to be honorable, are more compelling.

This is not the story of the first tumultuous hr after the lifeboat launched, of our lifeboat getting pummeled with debris from the Peg, tumbling and burning for time of day before it stabilized while we cried and screamed, vomiting and pissing ourselves in sheer terror before the lifeboat finally stabilized and we collapsed into an exhausted sleep. I never want to revisit those dozen hour again so long as I live.

No, this is the story of the three month after that, the time between waking up on the lifeboat and getting picked up two month ago by a patrol ship out on the edge of explored quad. The level of what happened with my female parent, my sister, and I. It is a very personal story, not to be released before my death, but one that is very crucial to me. Even if no one else ever gets to say it, I wanted it to be written.

Before we get to that report, let me introduce the cast of case, my family.

We'll start with my dad. His name was Michael Bloom, and he was 55 when he died down on Mariachi-2. Long before I was born, he grew up on Hestia-3, went to college, got his MBA, got married, and started working in corporate finance. They had a couple of kids, but I guess thing just gradually started to decrease apart. My dad took a new job with a biotech companionship on Podarok-2 where he met my mother, the net nail in the coffin for his marriage. He and my mom got splice soon after the divorce, I was born a year later, and my Sister was born a class after that. He was a dependable dad, and seemed to be a good husband, although he poured so much zip into his oeuvre that we all kind of had to make the almost of the prison term he had unloose. And he was apparently great at what he did, because he got picked to be an executive frailty President of this big fiscal overhaul firm on Minos-4 not long before we took our trip. That's why we took it - he was taking a break between jobs to finally enjoy some prison term with his syndicate. He was a good guy.

My mom is Anne blooming, she's 37 but looks 25, about 168cm tall and maybe 65 kilos. She was a teenage mantrap queen on Podarok-2, but her family couldn't afford the kind of usance genic melioration needed for her to piddle a calling out of it, so after high school day she went and got a job as a receptionist. My dad picked her to be his new secretary on plenty, a sure mansion that he had already mentally left his wedding. She kept working until after my Sister was born, by that point Dad was really raking it in. She was a housewife after that, but the copious, glamorous kind. I don't ever remember her lifting her paw to do actual housework - that's why we had a household staff. Her primary job was to host company and await good, and she managed both with a great sentience of elan and an vex hourglass digit that was probably 80 % natural and 20 % biomed touchup. She never got spoiled, she is still a hapless kid from the Benny Hill in her meat, she's a good mom, and from everything I saw she was a goodness married woman, too.

My name is Stonewall Jackson blossom. I turned 17 banner years old a few calendar month before all this happened, and should have started my one-quarter year of high school about a month ago. I was genetically engineered at nascence and"updated"periodically ever since, just like 99.99 % of the man population, but while my rising slope were truly top shelf, I've always lacked the sort of motivating that would really let me live up to my potential. So while I am 180cm tall and 85kg of tend, athletic muscleman, I'd say I'm really a pretty convention teenager. Well, I am a little strange in one big way. Or two slightly smaller elbow room, depending on the function. I mentioned that Dad worked for a big biotech fellowship, and somehow he was allowed to give me some"special characteristic ”, things they had invented but would never release. Things like enhanced pheromones, and testes that can churn out more semen than a distinctive college frat house. Oh, and two gumshoe. Sometimes.

I have a regular penis. Well, not regular - it's about 15cm long when limp and more than 30cm erect, and a little more than 6cm across. I call it Honest Lyndon Johnson. But it is basically a fixture penis. Underneath it is where things get complicated.

The transmitted engineer at the company gave me a few new muscles, a few new sphincter muscle, and a second, more flexible penis. almost of the time, I keep those sphincter shut with no more effort or thought than you use to keep your asshole closed, and even during sex it is nothing at all to keep on Tricky shaft hidden away. The heighten elasticity lets it compact really low when not in use. But if I want to, and if Honest Johnson isn't already too put up ( it gets complicated, commit me ), a barely visible"knot"in my scrotum opens up and Tricky cock joins the party. The only real hang-up is that I only have so often line, so when both of the boys are in period of play they're only about 24cm long and 5cm thick. But they look and function more or less identically, one stacked over the other.

By the way, this isn't all as large as it sounds. I had to read to control all that as a toddler, and until then apparently my parents had some really worry experiences at bathroom times and when changing my diapers. And while my pheromones and genetically-ensured acrobatic good looks kept me reasonably popular with the Lady, most don't want anything to do with a dick that size, much less two. By the time I was 15, I had successfully gotten three girl to take a personal interest in my debris, and two of them had called it quits on the speckle - the third was intrigued and resulted in a brief but very educational human relationship. On the downside, one of the onetime two also talked about me to her champion, which quickly spread, earning me the nickname of"Tommy Two-Dicks"around school.

By the way, if you are wondering why my Dad gave me this particular"gift ”, I don't really have intercourse. I never mustered up the courage to ask him, and for obvious intellect no longer can. My honest guess is that he wanted masses to see me as a reflection of him, and contribution of that included some kind of sexual dominance.

Now before I get to the rest of the story, there is one more person to credit : my sister, Tiffany. spat was born exactly one received yr after me. My mother wanted a boy and a girl, wanted us to be close in age, and thought it would be cute if we shared a birthday. My dad wanted her to be happy and I think just appreciated the efficiency of the musical arrangement. She also got some significant customise genetic enhancements, nothing quite as outlandish as my own… I think. Dad let mom choose her features, and I don't think Mom really understood what she was doing. Regardless, Tiff has always been incredibly hurt and in excellent health, but by the prison term she hit thirteen she could pass for a few years former and attracted the persistent aid of every man ( and many adult female ) in any room she entered. She's about 157cm tall, maybe 50kg soaking wet, and her ratio are almost supernatural - long of leg and arm, diminutive waistline, nicely proportional tits and ass, and all perfectly harmonious. most of my friends ( all of the guys, and many of the girls ) had made passes at her and I was fully cognisant of how attractive she was… from a purely academician viewpoint, of course.

So that was us : an overachieving executive Dad, a beauty fag escritoire Mom, an underperform Ubermensch, and an elven goddess just coming into her own. A family, pretty wealthy and therefore a little more distant than most, but happy nonetheless.

Oh, one more than matter before we begin : The lifeboat.

The Ceres-Hastings line of lifeboats were pretty new but also pretty typical of those found on the overnice class of starliners. They were designed to get rider away from the ship as quickly and safely as possible, and then basically just wait for supporter to arrive. They were designed to keep 24 people live for 30 days, and not a good deal else - they offered safety, not comfort. They can't really set down anywhere with an atmosphere, and the passenger are deliberately locked out of matter like navigation to keep them from accidentally crashing it into the something, so let's just color over things like engine and armor plating and hokey gravity and focus on what we could actually put our bridge player on.

The rear section of the lifeboat had 24 acceleration seats in six rows of four with an aisle down the middle. There was a hatching at the rear by which we had entered, but it literally welded itself shut on launch, so it didn't really exist as a hatch anymore. At the very front there was a minuscule airlock big enough for a unity large mortal, and on either side of it a couple of"program line"nates with the fix controls and showing needed to provide the passengers just enough noesis and control to stay sane. In between was a diminished open area lined on one face with dispensers for rationing out nutrient and water system and a few storage lockers with some other supplies, and on the other with a laundry, toilet, and shower that could be isolated from each other and the rest of the ship by privacy dialog box - hygiene wasn't considered all that important but survivors might need to lave grave material off. In the very nerve centre of the floor were a yoke of board concealing the location of two automeds.

The front and the rear section were lined with display that simulated windows, connected to cameras on the outside of the armored Kingston-upon Hull, and the wholly blank space was normally kept heated to about 25°C, just a little ardent than normal room temperature. And that was really about it. Again, it was a lifeboat, not a pleasure yacht.

Ok. Let's begin .