A private pleasure station 400 km above Earth. Zero gravity. Zero rules.
Explicit • zero-gravity sex • voyeur windows • group • bondage • luxury depravity • 18+
The shuttle docked with a soft kiss of metal. Seraphina floated out in a liquid-silver dress that defied gravity in every direction, nipples already hard against the fabric. A masked attendant handed her a glass of something neon and alcoholic, then unclipped her heels. The dress floated away like smoke. By the time she reached the central atrium she was naked, hair drifting like ink in water, and every eye in the zero-G lounge was on her.
Floor-to-ceiling windows looked down on the blue curve of Earth. Seraphina pressed her palms and breasts to the glass while a stranger in a tailored suit entered her from behind, slow and deep, the lack of gravity letting him bury himself to the root with every lazy thrust. Another guest floated over, fed his cock into her mouth, and the three of them spun gently in place like a lewd mobile while half the lounge watched and stroked themselves through expensive trousers.
In the private sphere, gravity was optional. She was bound spread-eagle with silk tethers that drifted like seaweed. Four guests took turns — mouth, cunt, ass, both hands — passing her body through the air, spinning her slowly so every hole was used from every angle. Cum floated in perfect spheres around them, glistening like tiny moons until someone caught them on their tongue.
Word spread. The outer ring became an endless daisy chain of bodies locked together, drifting in a slow, rotating orgy. Seraphina was in the center, riding one cock while sucking another, fingers buried in two more cunts beside her. Someone switched on the corridor lights — strobes that made the floating cum and sweat sparkle like stardust while Earth rolled beneath them once every ninety minutes.
Sunrise over the Pacific lit the station in molten gold. Seraphina floated alone in the central sphere, covered in dried and fresh cum, hair drifting like a halo, bruises blooming across her throat and thighs. The windows dimmed to protect retinas, but she kept her eyes open, watching continents slide beneath her while aftershocks of pleasure rippled through her body. Somewhere behind her, someone was already hard again.
Departure shuttle in six hours.
Most guests never take it.