Now We Are No Longer Strangers

"Speaking of Star Trek: which series, which ship, and which captain?"

"The Original Series and the Constitution class, of course; but the captains are a close tie, Jonathan Archer and James T. Kirk. I give Archer the edge because I like his spirit of adventure and his respect for women as something other than bedmates. You?"

"The same, but with the captains reversed, Trisha. Archer's a better diplomat, but Kirk's a much better combat commander. Plus which, Kirk got the exotic girls ... like you." He caressed her breast, one finger circling her aureola; she purred and snuggled closer, her hand reaching to gently grasp his cock.

"Which of Kirk's women is your favorite?" she asked.

"I think Elaan suited him best. He earned her respect and she chose him as her mate, even though it could not last and she had to know that."

She kissed him lightly on the lips. "As I have chosen you, my darling Master, though I hope with happier results. But let's continue. Beef or pork?"

"Beef, though I admit to being a sausage fiend. Beer or wine?"

"Dark beer with a strong flavor that isn't overwhelmed by the taste of what I'm eating. Whiskey or bourbon?"

"Too broad a question. Single malt or single barrel over blended, every time; but single malt whiskey over single barrel bourbon. Now, an important question. Nails: buffed or lacquered? Pointed or straight?"

"If I have a choice, pointed and lacquered, with a salon manicure. I usually keep them rounded because I use a computer so much; and I never wear acrylics because sexy as they can be, the glue they have to use to put them on tears up your real nails. Which do you prefer, nylons or fishnets?"

"Legs as toned and tan as yours don't need stockings. Bare and silky smooth."

"You flatter me, Master. Heels or flats?"

"Heels, preferably stilettos; it does wonders for the walk. Do you like spooned or separate sides for sleeping?"

"Oh, spooned, preferably with you behind so I can feel your cock on my ass. Cigars or a pipe?"

"I don't smoke; never got the habit and don't plan to start. Golf or fishing?"

"Fishing, salt water fishing by choice. 9mm or .45?"

"You shoot?" he asked.

"When I have the chance. When I graduated from college and took up teaching here, Daddy got me a Model 92 Beretta, the civilian version of the M-9, just in case."

"I prefer the 1911. I own two of them; a target model with Novak sights, and a combat model with lasergrips. While we're on the subject, M-16 or M-14?"

"Neither; I prefer the HK-91, it has a better action. I have one in the hall closet. Cars: foreign or domestic?"

"Need you ask? You've seen my BMW. You?"

"A '69 Vette I restored with some help from my brothers. I'll have to take you to see my baby; she's not my daily driver. Manhattan or New England clam chowder?"

"Please. Manhattan-style is soup, not chowder. Chocolate or vanilla cake?"

"Chocolate, always chocolate, the chocolater the better. I think chocolate lava cake is the most important contribution to Western cuisine of the past thirty years. Tea or coffee?"

"Again, that's too broad a question. Premium of either over swill of the other. Football or baseball?"

"Football, and the game is much more fun to watch with a group that's passionate about the teams. You're from New England, so I guess you root for the Patriots?"

"Inevitably, considering where I grew up. It's nice to finally have a team worth watching. What's your team?"

"We moved around so much I never felt any team was 'mine,' but I kind of admire the Green Bay Packers. I like that Green Bay owns the team, not a bunch of rich businessmen. Furniture: antique or modern?"

"Antique, of course; mahogany by choice, but chestnut and walnut are good too. Country or Renaissance Revival?"

"Renaissance Revival, and some of the Gothic Revival stuff is lovely. Just don't mention Provincial or Second Empire, I hate both of them. Can you say, 'overdone?' Ick. Chinese sculpted or Persian carpets?

"Persian, and silk or silk-wool blend by choice, not pure wool; they don't hold up as well. Would you rather have Japanese or Chinese food?"

"Chinese, though I developed a taste for hibachi and tempura when Daddy was stationed at Atsugi. Would you rather have a cat or a dog?"

"What a choice! I prefer cats, though I like medium to large dogs; just not stupid little ankle-biters. One of my aunts had a Shi-Tzu, and I swear that dog had no brain. He'd try to bite you if you stepped out of the room for a minute. Which do you like better, emeralds or sapphires?"

"Emeralds; they go with my eyes. A woman should always try to coordinate her jewelry with her eyes. Impressionist or abstract?"

"Impressionist. Warner Brothers or MGM?"

"Warners wins hands down for cartoons. I mean, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, the Tasmanian Devil, and Wile E. Coyote -- they're part of the world consciousness. But when you talk about musicals, it's no contest; MGM made the best film musicals ever. For modern animation, do you like DreamWorks or Pixar?"

"Pixar, no question." Wally got out of the bed. "On your feet, woman. Or more exactly, on your knees." He tossed a pillow onto the floor.

With no hesitation, Trisha knelt on the pillow and pulled him to her. Opening her mouth, she began to lick and then to suckle Wally's prick, cleaning her pussy juice off it. Opening her mouth wide, she fellated him, taking more and more of his cock into her mouth. With an effort, she relaxed her throat and suppressed her gag reflex so she could take all of him in until her nose rested in his trimmed pubic hair. She hummed as she bobbed her head back and forth, licking and sucking him. Looking down, Wally could see her nipples, hard little buttons sticking proudly out from her firm tits. She sped up, her hands coming up to grab his ass cheeks, urging him to pump her mouth. He did, reveling in the feeling as she sucked him off, working his cock, tongue lashing the underside of his cockhead until --

"Oh god, YES!"

His cock jerked and shot his sticky spunk into her mouth. As it continued to spurt, he grabbed her hair and shoved it all the way down her throat. She didn't fight him, just accepted the deposit of his sperm in her. When his climax was over, she once again gently and carefully cleaned his prick, licking and sucking to get every drop. Looking up at him, she showed him his cum on her tongue, then slowly and deliberately swallowed, opening her mouth again to show it empty. She smiled.

He raised her to her feet and for the first time they kissed, mouths open, tongues dueling as they disputed right of way. One of her hands latched onto his ass and pulled him to her while the other dug into his back to lock them together, while his kneaded her buttocks and twined into her hair to control the kiss. Guiding her to the edge of the bed, he pushed her down. Without being told, she lay back and spread her legs, offering her pussy to him. Putting the pillow under his own knees, he leaned forward and began to lick her labia, savoring her sweetness. He began to stroke her clitoral shaft with a fingertip, just brushing it with a feather touch. Trisha sighed and spread her legs wider. He spent a few minutes licking her inner and outer lips from bottom to top and back again, continuing to tease her clitoral shaft but avoiding the supersensitive tip that was fully unhooded. She moaned and whispered as he worked her body.

"Oh yes ... oh yes ... oh, what you're doing to me, Master! So good. So very good! Don't be coy, make me cum for you! Let me please you! Please! Please!"

He reversed functions. Two fingers slipped into her cooze, moving in and out; her hips involuntarily bucked to meet them and pull them deeper. He began tonguing her clit and she bucked harder, crying out.

"Oh god! Oh god! More! More! Please, Master! Lick me! Lick my clit! It's so gooood! Oh god, I'm gonna -- gonna -- AIEEEE!"

Wally had just put his mouth over her clitoris and clitoral shaft and sucked hard. She orgasmed, her hips locking her twat against his face, her hand beating the mattress as she came with an awesome force she had never before experienced from oral sex. As her ass dropped back onto the bed, Wally added a third finger to the pair already soaked with her female oils and began to flick his thumb and tongue on her clit as his digits slipped in and out of her cunt at a presto pace.

She screamed again, a second climax crowding in on the heels of the first, writhing on the duvet, her mind retreating and her primitive self coming to the fore. The primal woman that lived deep inside her was very aware that a dominant male who was pleasuring her powerfully was using her. She was only too eager to do whatever he wanted if only he would make her cum again the way she had before.

"YES! Use me! Use me! Use my pussy! Make me! Make me cum for you! I want to! Make me cum on your hand, in your mouth, any way you want! Use me! I love it! Don't stop, Master, please don't stop! Use me! Make me cum for you!"

She squirmed and tried to pull his whole hand into her as his mouth worked her clit, gasping as the pleasure waves rolled over her and crashed into her mind, the electric jolts of sexual power running from her cunt to her nips to her brain, inexorably driving her out of her mind until only the ecstasy remained. She surrendered to it and felt another orgasm explode in her loins, burning through her like a white-hot ball of fire as it expanded. The whiteness overwhelmed her and she faded to black, exhausted by the pleasure she had been given.

When she awakened from her short nap, she found herself in her bed, a blanket covering her. Wally, dressed in slacks, a white sport shirt, and a blue blazer with the "golden chicken" of a Strategic Sealift Officer embroidered in gold wire inside a shield on the breast pocket that he'd taken from his dry-cleaning on the back seat of his car, was sitting on the edge of the bed stroking her hair.

"Grab yourself a shower, and dress as if you're proud to be seen with me, Trisha. I've made reservations at the Capital Grille in Jacksonville for dinner."

"I am proud to be seen with you. I want our first appearance as a couple to be memorable, something people will talk about. How much time do I have, Master?"

"The reservation is for 2100, and I have in mind making a couple of stops on the way, so don't dawdle."

Trisha showered and attended to her personal hygiene in record time. Wally watched her strut naked out of the bathroom, putting on a show he knew was for his benefit as she selected an off the shoulder, green watered silk cocktail dress, stick-on brassiere cups, and black patent leather pumps with 3 inch stiletto heels. She went to her bureau and chose a pair of green, lacy panties; Wally walked up behind her, took them out of her hand, dropped them back into the drawer, and closed it.

"No, pet. When we are together, you don't need panties. I like you to be ... accessible." He wrapped his arms around her, his left hand cupping a breast, his right covering her mound and a finger slipping into her. She sighed and laid her head on his shoulder as he kissed her inviting mouth, her lips opening under his to welcome his tongue as he masturbated her. Her hips rocked as his fingers excited her, pushing her toward an orgasm on his hand.

"Ohhh yes ... ohhh yes ... oh, Master, don't stop ... don't stop ... yes ... yes ... yes ... yes ... ohhh ... ohhh ... oh, oh, oh, oh, oh YES!"

Her box clamped down on his fingers as she came on his hand. The sexual flush on her chest, such a contrast with her milk-white skin, faded. She kissed him again.

"Thank you, Master. I am yours to use, whenever you wish."

"Thank you, Trisha. I find your responsiveness ... intensely attractive. Go on with your preparations for our night out."

With Trisha's lily gilded, the couple drove toward Jacksonville. On the way, Wally pulled off into a strip mall. Trisha looked a question at him.

"There's a nail parlor here I've heard some women at the O Club speak well of. I am going to treat my submissive to a mani-pedi; we've time before dinner."

"As you wish, Master. I enjoy having my nails done; it's a little bit of luxury I like to indulge in, but not as often as I want to. May I choose my nail color, please?"

"Of course. Take your time, but not too much time. I'll find something to occupy myself while they work on you."

Wally hadn't told her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He had indeed heard women speak favorably of this nail salon and spa, but his real purpose in stopping at this particular strip mall was the St. Johns River Gun & Pawn Shop. When the Hull was in port, any port, one of Wally's pursuits was gold, silver, precious gems, and jewelry. The pieces he bought were investments, the sort of thing that a girlfriend might appreciate as gifts, even though he did not have one: earrings, necklaces, bracelets, cocktail rings; gold and silver coins, plus occasionally loose gemstones, flatware, objets d'art, and the like. Once in awhile he bought firearms, too. The owner was behind the counter and looked up as he walked in.

"Wally Michaels! I was just thinking of you. We just took in a Model 1907 'Cossack' Mosin Nagant rifle with no import stamp. The story is that a Yangtze River Patrol sailor brought it back from China before World War II. Interested?"

"Of course," Wally allowed. He examined the rifle, which likely had been carried to China by a White Army cavalryman after the collapse of the anti-Communist White Movement ended the Russian Civil War. The bore was in surprisingly good condition considering the corrosive-primer ammunition that had been its steady diet. The arsenal stamps were correct, all the numbers matched, and the original arshin-calibrated sights had not been replaced by the later Model 91/30 metric sights. After a brief negotiation, a price was agreed upon.

At that point, Wally made a request. The proprietor's eyebrows rose. Wally had bought a number of pieces of jewelry from him as investments in the past, but nothing like this. He disappeared into his office, reappearing with a black velvet tray. Taking his time, Wally examined the offerings, narrowing the selection down to five that received much closer scrutiny. Eventually he settled on one, bargaining began, and soon a deal was made.

As he boxed up the purchases, the shop owner said, "I tell you what. If it goes as you hope, keep the Mosin with my compliments. If it doesn't, pay me for it tomorrow."

After locking the rifle in the trunk of the Z-3, he returned to pick up Trisha from the nail technicians. She had had her nails pointed as much as their short length allowed, and painted a deep scarlet to match her lipstick. She took his arm, looking adoringly at him. They went on to the restaurant.

Heads turned as they walked through the door; Trisha was a stunner dressed to impress, and Wally himself cut an imposing figure in nicely tailored, casually expensive clothes. His lawyer father had taught him the importance of tailoring in making a positive impression, a lesson he had taken to heart. Their table was waiting.

Dinner began with shrimp cocktails, and continued through French onion soup, sliced filet mignon with onions and mushrooms for him and coffee-rubbed sirloin for her, and chocolate hazelnut cake for her and crème brulee for him as the dessert course, accompanied by a good cabernet sauvignon and followed by cups of Kona coffee.

As they ate, they continued the dialogue they had begun in bed.

"Waltz or tango?" he asked.

"Tango is much more fun than waltzing. Mom made me take dancing lessons when I was about 14 and we were stationed at Atsugi. It put me in touch with some of the rebellious elements of Japanese society. They look at ballroom dancers the way we look at people who engage in gangbangs.

"My turn. CSI or NCIS?" Trisha asked.

"NCIS doesn't appeal at all; I liked JAG better, even though that might seem like a busman's holiday. Although since William Petersen left CSI, it hasn't been the same.

"Silk sheets or cotton?"

"That depends. If it's cotton versus silk satin and the cotton thread count is 500 or higher, cotton wins. If it's smooth silk versus high thread count cotton, silk wins. I love the feel of silk against my skin.

"Gryffindor or Ravenclaw?"

Wally chuckled. "When you get the Harry Potter app, you have to face the Sorting Hat. It put me in Gryffindor. Although I sometimes wonder what would happen if the Wizarding World of Harry Potter had a Sorting Hat show ..." Trisha chuckled with understanding as he continued, "Earl Grey or Darjeeling?"

"Earl Grey, if those are the only choices. But if I get a say, I'd much rather have Jasmine Dragon Phoenix Pearls green tea. It's worth the extra time it takes to brew it.

"Waterford or Baccarat?"

"If those are my choices, Baccarat; I simply don't like overdone in anything, and I find Waterford seriously overdone. Besides, I know it's much harder to make clean thin crystal than the heavier Waterford style.

"Floral or spicy perfume?"

Trisha thought. "Floral, but not the ones that are as subtle as a thrown brick. I prefer something that you have to be ... closer ... to appreciate.

"Episcopalian or Methodist?"

"Pet, I believe in a Great Architect of the Universe. You can't have stood watch at sea and watched the stars wheeling across the sky and not believe there has to be some reason behind it all. What I have a problem with is organized religion; I've run across too many pastors and chaplains who see religion as a scam and too few who were, for lack of a better term, holy.

"Candlelight or firelight?"

"That depends on the time of year, the company, if the candles are behind glass or not, and what kind of rug is on the floor in front of the fire. I can say from experience that bearskin rugs are overrated. Mink throws, now -- that's something else again.

"Poker or bridge?"

"I'm not much for cards as a rule. But when I was at Maritime, three of my buddies and I had a standing date for whist every week. Every Thursday night, we'd get together for three or four hours of whist. I remember one night especially; it was during license exam week, the thing four years in Buzzards Gulch leads up to. Ira and I were in my room going over Rules of the Road, and about eight o'clock we looked at each other and said, 'If we don't know it by now, cramming won't help. Let's play cards.' We started for the door, and when we opened it Nicky and Tex were about to knock. They'd been boning up on Electricity, and they'd reached the same conclusion we had, at just about the same moment we had. We grabbed a passing 'young swine' and sent him to the ship's store with money to get chips, dips, and sodas; and then we played whist until four o'clock in the morning, with the day's exams due to start at 0830. We got about three and a half hours of sleep, walked into the exam room like zombies -- and we each got a perfect score!"

Trisha laughed appreciatively as he went on, "Mac or PC?"

"Oh, that's a toughie. At school, I use a PC, because that's what the school system is set up for. But at home, I use a Mac. Less worry about viruses and malware.

"Wallpaper or paint?"

"Wallpaper is a pain in the ass on several levels. First, you have to agree on the pattern, which can be like negotiating with the North Koreans. Then you have to agree on whether or not to hire it done, or try and do it yourselves. And if you do it yourselves, you have to agree on who does the edge-matching and on what the tolerances are. Dad said once that putting up wallpaper was the ultimate test of the stability of a marriage. If a couple could wallpaper a room and still be speaking to each other when it was done, they had a solid relationship. Personally, I like paint; it's easy to care for and you can change the whole look of a room for not a whole lot of money. But if I have a choice, I'd rather have paneled walls -- antique paneling, not the modern junk that looks like crap.