Lucky
Part One: The Lottery

I was in the middle of an orgasm when I heard the news that changed my life.

I was laying on my back, in a bed, my cock being ridden by yet another bored and frustrated space station security guard who was able to pay for my services. We were in the guards living quarters, not far from the malls, offices, and laboratories on the fifth level of the Machby-Enceladus Space Station. The media screen was on; playing het pornography, but it didn’t interest me. I just watched my own stiff penis slipping into and out of the guard who bounced on it rhythmically. I watched the guards back muscles as they flexed to keep balance.

For some reason, this particular guard liked to watch the media screen as he rode a hooker’s dick. That was fine with me – this guard (every Tuesday, 3pm, in his quarters just before work) wasn’t really my type. He was fit enough – you’d never find an out of shape Station Guard anyway. But there was something about his face that bothered me. He wasn’t ugly. It wasn’t that. He was actually quite handsome, in a generic kind of way. But he never really smiled, not really, not happily, not even after a particularly energetic sex session, which this clearly wouldn’t be.

I had suspicions that I may have been fucking an Evangelical for the past six months, but I never asked. Best not to know. Money was money, fallen Evangelical or not.

I could tell I wasn’t gonna cum. The guard was riding me slowly, loosely; content just to have a cock in his ass.

I looked out the window, watching the cargo boxships pass back and forth. They seemed so graceful; giant moving rectangles, steering thrusters puffing orange heat, maneuvering for docks on the space station, like pods of whales in the Enceladus Ocean. They would unload their cargos, refill with something else and then jet off again. Probably to get construction materials from the Lunar Base, or, if they had lightdrives, to other, farther systems, like Shiva, or Locton.

Now, if I owned a boxship – that would be a lifestyle change. Instead of fucking a few dozen Station workers (and the occasional tourist) just to pay the rent on my living quarters, I could start a shipping business of my own. I could quit my regular job cleaning the station restaurants and cafeterias. I could just have a normal, lucrative career, ferrying passengers and materials from colony to colony, planet to planet, owning a ship with luxurious living quarters for captain and crew. No more being stuck on the Machby-Enceladus Space Station (those of us who lived and worked there lovingly called it the MESS). Being paid top money just to pilot a ship and see the universe – not a bad gig.

That is if I could ever afford the cost of a boxship. I barely had