Dry, No Lube Ch. 03: Disrupted

And, in case she forgot, he was already reminding her.

Strong, confident fingers found the sides of her face, gripping her head, lifting it from the pillow, and Pixy gasped across the surface of that jumpy penis as she dropped her jaw and strained forward. He pulled her onto him and she ignored the protest at the top of her spine, the position totally unnatural but deeply exciting. He tasted rich, gamy, wild as he began to harden against her tongue, and suddenly Pixy needed to do something with her hands; no, not just something. She needed to feel this man's body, his muscles. Blindly her fingers lunged toward him, finding his legs, shooting straight up to the ass she'd seen as she dragged his briefs down, and she squeezed hard as she stared up along his abs, searching for his eyes, already starting to work her throat.

The stench was overpowering, racing right into her nose and into her primitive cavewoman brain: the smell of a powerful male. Her vagina, she knew, was already a sloppy mess, and she pulled herself further down his cock, swallowing desperately, the drool flowing in thick gleaming waterfalls down her chin. Those pitted black eyes just glared down at hers, the relentless pressure of his hands crushing her head just a dull afterthought now that she was sucking his cock.

He relaxed, though, once she proved she could take him all the way down, even in such an awkward position; she read satisfaction in his face once his pubic hair found her sharp little nose, and after she was able to hold herself there for about ten seconds or so without passing out he finally let her head go, resting his hands insolently on his hips as he towered over her. "Good bitch," he nodded distantly, so she held herself there, daring herself to maintain her composure even as the tears began to tickle the sides of her face and she heard the faint sound of herself, gagging.

And then she jerked her head violently back, releasing his ass only to clamp eager fingers on his dick; it took both hands, too, to lift the long, ridged shaft toward his belly so that she could drift lower, teasing, licking as she learned the shape and texture of his nutsack.

Big.

That was the overriding impression she got when she lifted each meaty ball with her tongue, experimenting. He tasted musty, in the cracks and crevices where his scrotum met his shaft, and especially behind: the workout was only part of it, for hygiene opportunities aboard circuit ships were not what they were in the broader Fleet. Pixy didn't care; she'd been told to prepare him, and she would, cleaning every centimeter of warm, eager male flesh until the subcommander decided it was time to fuck her. His penis jumped in her hands while her tongue darted along the shadows between his legs, and she could feel every part of him vibrate when he sighed; she'd found his anus. "Very good, bitch," he laughed, and not a pleasant laugh either.

Pixy was on fire by the time the man eased himself back away from her face, hairy thighs brushing along her own eager tits, and she let her head fall back while the sudden ache in her neck subsided. She watched through lidded eyes, her breath deepening through the constant tinnitus of her new ears, while the man positioned himself, seeing the harsh planes and ridges of his muscles, the cruel smirk on his full lips, the strong fingers grasping a long, purpled cock still gleaming with her spit. Almost clinically, like a researcher wondering about a hypothesis, the man put his other hand out to twist harshly at Pixy's waiting nipple, and she felt her mouth go wide in a silent, startled scream. He kept glaring down at her while she writhed, the pain exquisite, and then when he finally let go it was like cold, clear water to a man in a desert.

"You're a fun toy." She was panting now as he lifted her legs. "I'm surprised it took me this long to play with you, lieutenant."

She arched an eyebrow. "Fuck me." It was time. His flavor was still acrid in her mouth, and the itch was growing, growing, and holy lord was it time; she'd gone through the entire course without getting properly laid, not even once. "Fuck me now."

He pushed down on his cock, dipping it toward her overheated cunt, his eyes glinting with the conceited power he had over her, and when he let his head graze against her long inner lips she moaned despite herself. "What's the magic word?" he murmured, his penis a pencil writing along her slit.

Goddamn arrogant asshole. But of course she'd say it; he was holding all the cards here, and they both knew her body needed him. She found his face with her purple eyes, feeling the tears still running there, and inhaled a big wad of snot as she shivered to the touch of his dick. "Please."

"Gladly," he said after a wolfish pause, and then she was gasping, the moment of entry always so sudden even though she knew it was coming. His cock slid into her slowly, and not because the commander was aiming to tease; he was just that thick, spearing her like she was a zebra kebab; there was triumph in his dark eyes, and sure, excitement, and more than a little contempt. But mostly she just saw pride.

He owned her in that moment. It was the pride of possession, and Pixy Pfeiffer hated that she enjoyed it so much. He was perched above her, those sturdy exercise-swollen arms bracketing her, his weight pinning her in place while he thrust, invading her body, and Pixy felt her head roll back on his pillow as her body arched and good god, it felt good to be so full of cock.

He paused when he'd bottomed out, letting her feel how deep he was, even flexing himself inside her so she could feel the pressure of his head against her cervix. "A fun toy indeed," he whispered again, his face just inches away now, and Pixy didn't even want to imagine what she looked like; she just wanted to take his cum, and her eyes, the flush on her chest, the desperate twitching of her pussy told him that more clearly than her gasping mouth could.

Her feet rose high along his thighs, opening herself all the way; he clamped his hands onto her shoulders, curled his lips in a cruel sneer, and she shuddered into another silent screech as his ass rose and, with shocking suddenness, fell. All around her face was nothing but noise, the rhythm of the mattress, the blubbering gasp as he breathed, the wet slurping sound his penis made in her vagina, the slapping of their sweaty flesh; that, plus the smells of their bodies mating and the endless rhythm of his cock driving into her body, combined to submerge Pixy into a trembling, low-groaned wave of pinkish, hazy pleasure as he overwhelmed her.

"Jesus H Buddha," he spat into her face, mocking her, "did you cum already, you dumb slut?" and all the while he kept nailing her to the bunk while Pixy, as confused as she'd ever been by a too-sudden orgasm, just gripped harder with her thighs and tried to hold on while the commander thrust into her. Goddamn; it had been so sudden!

"Fuck," she whined hopelessly, distantly, but she was starting to recover already; she never came this early, and the shock of it had forced her awake. "I want it from behind," she managed.

The commander laughed as he smacked her breast. "Why should I care what you want?" he demanded, still with that same fluid motion as their bodies took their pleasure, but Pixy just summoned her strength and shoved at his chest.

"Take me like a dog, motherfucker," she snarled, already twisting her legs under her, moving, wanting a better response from the man inside her and growing annoyed that he wasn't cooperating. She sank her fingernails into his back and slapped his face with the other hand. "Come on. Get up." He rolled his eyes, the fucking prick, but Pixy didn't have time for his arrogance. She didn't feel like being crushed; she filled her lungs gratefully as she got herself onto her hands and knees, backing into him, her ass wagging for his penis. "Do it!"

"Bitch," he hissed, but he sank his cock into her anyway, the both of them gasping. "I already did my cardio, lieutenant; you do the work." And so Pixy writhed, her muscles taut, humping back against that splendid body behind her, making him fill her again and again. For his part, the man just stood with his hands resting lightly on her ass, an immovable object for her to back her needy body against, and Pixy was more than happy to do just that. For, this time, she knew what she was doing to him.

He'd be staring down at the best ass aboard this ship; granted, that wasn't saying much. But Pixy Pfeiffer knew her own worth and was proud of how she looked. He'd be seeing a set of carefully maintained back muscles, churning as they forced her body back into him; he'd wonder about the scar, but fuck that. If the excellence of her greedy pussy couldn't get his mind off a scar, Pixy reasoned, she might as well just go become a space-nun. His mouth would be dropping, she figured, at the sight of his own strong, rigid cock winking in and out of view as she ran her wet pussy along its length, tirelessly, in that fast rhythm she could tell he liked.

And if she came again, along with him? No harm done.

In fact, Pixy needed this man to feel like she was worthy of him, but that last orgasm had felt great; why not double-dip? She snaked her hand back along her body, ignoring where he was now reaching confidently underneath to play with her tautly quivering tits, and found her clitoris warm with friction and ready to be pinched.

She squeezed.

He probably thought she was moaning because of his cockhead, battering her cunt; nope. That one pinch was like the air being let out of a balloon, explosively, uncontrollably, leaving her warm and pink once again with her senses mounting, the second orgasm drowning her. "Fuck yeah," she bit out, her own fingers busily playing while his swinging ballsack battered them on its way in and out; god, the intensity of it! She was straining back now with every propulsive heave of her legs, twisting, feeling his grip tighten on her nipple, both of them spitting out unintelligible words, when at last he grasped her body with punishing force, and she at last slung her head around with her violet eyes staring. "Yeah, baby. Cum in that pussy!"

His response was a grunt, a steely clawing hand hauling her back, and then he arched tightly forward to stab her as deeply as he could; Pixy's body sang when she felt his dick, twitching and shuddering madly inside her, for she knew what it meant. There was nothing as clichéd as her feeling his cum pulse into her body; there was just a sudden, hot sensation of fullness, delicious and breathtaking as she heard his exultant whoop. "Take it," he hissed, and she was certain she'd be bruised where his fingers clutched at her flesh.

They stayed a moment or two more, in tableau, both of them breathing hard; sweat and cum were staining the sheets beneath them, the 'fresher already trying to drag the linens off to clean them. The whole space stank of perspiring skin and that gamy, bleachy-starch odor of sex. "Fuck," the subcommander sighed, pushing her unceremoniously off his dick and watching as she collapsed to the mattress, wild-eyed. And there she stayed, gulping air, staring up at him as he loomed above her with their fluids all over his penis.

God, she thought. This man had a magnificent body.

Too bad he was such an arrogant jerk.

* * *

He didn't kick her out of his quarters afterward, which was how Pixy knew she'd performed well. Men like him didn't waste their time on aftercare for substandard poon. So she snuggled into him willingly enough, still pretty sure she didn't like him but absolutely certain she liked his dick.

"A coding course, huh?" He scratched complacently at his pubic hair. "I remember my days in commo, too."

"Commo?" Pixy frowned; fuck. It had been years since she'd been a communications officer. That was a junior lieutenant's job. "No. I'm supply. The Second Officer, acting First." It was amazing, she thought, and hardly for the first time, just how quickly passion could cool. Two rutting animals in heat could turn into two spiteful strangers within seconds after ejaculation, and that's what seemed to be happening now. Pixy began thinking about how soon she could leave.

The man raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Your captain must be a useless dumbass, sending a supply geek to a coding course."

Pixy bristled; she liked Captain Reye, so far. "Watch your mouth." Her high was winding down; the world was swimming back into sharp focus. She was rapidly deciding the man was an asshole, which was the sort of thing that made her regret his semen in her body. "Coding. Not the secret-squirrel bullshit for beams or radios. Supply codes. Like, ordering the right supplies. Differentiating between, say, adhesive bandages and wrap bandages. Or between consoles and condoms."

He visibly, and with evident difficulty, suppressed a chuckle. "You need a course for that?"

Pixy sniffed. Definitely a dickhead. She made up her mind there'd be no anal for this guy. "There's a new system now. Look, not all of us can be lofty fucking subcommanders aboard Combat ships. Somebody needs to order the fuel."

"Okay! Okay." He raised a calm, placatory hand, then let if flop lazily onto Pixy's arched, naked butt. A squeeze calmed her down. "I'm just teasing. When are you due to make subcommander, anyway? You're not on the list yet, obviously."

"No," she scowled. There was a new list due out soon, that was probably already out, but she'd been whizzing uselessly around on the circuit ship for weeks. "I doubt I'm on it, but I might be. All I needed was this last course. The credits." He raised both eyebrows this time.

"No shit," he blurted. She watched as his eyes roved along her body, calculating this time. "You might be on the list? No way are you older than thirty. That's pretty early for subcommander."

Despite his arrogance, Pixy felt herself flush; she'd just turned thirty-two. "I've got almost twelve years in. Most people get promoted around sixteen; I'm not that far below the zone." She relaxed; his hand on her ass felt good, the fingers now burrowing idly into the crack. "I've got merit points," she admitted. It wasn't something she liked to talk about. "Medals."

He laughed, deep and rich, reminding her why she'd been attracted to him. "Medals." He sounded snide. "Like, for ordering the right quantities? Proper stowage? That kind of thing?" Yup. No ass for him. She glared back at him, deciding how badly to wound his ego. Yes, he was Combat and she was "only" Service, but he didn't look like he'd seen much action.

"I've got a Silver Cross," she told him softly. The fingers stopped burrowing, the whole hand flexing instead. She glowed a moment; like most people, she always said awards and medals didn't matter, but like most people she was lying about that.

"Do you."

"Yes. Oh, wait. Almost forgot." She shrugged, her neck aching slightly; she'd strained herself when she'd twisted around to stare at him as he drove into her. "I've got two of those."

He recovered quickly, at least; there were only a handful of officers with a bar to their Silver Crosses. "Oh. Is that all?" She could tell he was controlling his surprise carefully; he hadn't realized he'd just fucked a hero.

"Just about." She was enjoying this now. "The Army gave me their Combat Cross, too. Some random shit I did out by the Flasbard homeworld." He was looking at her more speculatively now, judging, evaluating, and she felt his hand drift up along the top of her ass; she stiffened slightly when his fingers reached the base of her spine, the jagged scar there. She forced a smile. "Ouch."

"I was wondering about that," he admitted. She shivered when his fingers traced along the ridged flesh, the unexpected deftness in his touch. Only Janelle had touched her there, in just that way. "Looks like quite a wound." It came out as a slow, husky murmur. Pixy glanced idly down, her eye attracted by the twitching movement of his sticky cock once more growing hard. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes.

Dude was getting off on what a badass he thought she was.

Well, she decided, he could go fuck himself. Quite suddenly she remembered getting that scar, the fear and pain, and poor Okonfwe lying in three big bloody pieces on the deck, like a smashed doll. This guy annoyed her, and Pixy Pfeiffer was not a woman who liked to be annoyed. She smirked over at him, then curled her legs slowly underneath her so that her ass rose high and sleek in the pittance of starlight coming in through his little viewport, still so much better than the portless cabin she'd been allotted. She watched as his throat tightened, those dark narrowed eyes of his fixed on her smooth space-pale flesh. She gathered her legs underneath her and raised herself up onto her knees, ignoring the achy scar when she arched her back; she liked displaying herself, especially for an appreciative partner.

And just one look told her how much she was appreciated; his scrotum was already tightening, the thick stubby shaft above it firming with impressive rapidity given his age and the workout she'd already given him. She made certain he could see her eyes, almond-shaped and purple, wander down his hairy torso to look with great satisfaction at his penis. "Quite a wound," she agreed, her voice dusky-quiet as her hand reached slowly down between his brutal thighs to cup his balls. The man's skin was warm, funky with their fluids. "Ever been injured yourself, commander?" She let her mouth fall open as she fondled him, enjoying the power now, her fingernails busy in his moist crotch.

"No." It came out as a drawl, the confident tones of a man used to getting what he wanted. His hand lay hot on her thigh. "Can't say I have." His strong mouth grinned up at her, and kept on grinning until Pixy clamped her fingers tight against his nutsack, squeezing hard, with just enough twist to make the grin freeze suddenly. She waited until his eyes went wide, a gasp starting in his throat, and then she leaned quite deliberately down and stared into his eyes.

"Give me a few moments, you arrogant fucking asshole," she advised him softly. "I can make that happen." One more squeeze, hard enough to make him grunt into her face, and then Pixy released his balls and got casually to her feet. She heard him panting behind her as she sauntered nude to his doorway, where she bent carefully at the waist to retrieve her clothes. "Bye, now." She kicked the hatch and stepped naked out into the corridor, opting for dramatic effect over prudence; she was gambling that nobody else was likely to be haunting the senior officers' corridor at precisely that moment. Not with three berths.

And, like most of Pixy's gambles, this one paid off.

* * *

Three days, she reflected, and still the subcommander hadn't said a word to her.

It amused her a bit. She had neither the time nor the inclination to hole up in her quarters to avoid him; she missed the starlight through the viewport, and besides, what had she done to be ashamed of? They'd given each other a fun, if messy, evening's entertainment; if he wanted to be a sulky little bitch about it now, well, let him. The commanders didn't usually hang out with the junior officers, anyway.

The voyage was definitely wearing on her. The robots were very deliberate in not allowing their passengers to know where the ship was in space, so there truly was nothing to do but wait. It was funny, Pixy reflected: mankind had conquered all of space within sight of Sol III. So why were voyages now no better-informed than they'd been when the Vikings had sailed?

Potrek, the other full lieutenant aboard, was stellar navigator aboard a dreadnought, and even he was flummoxed. He'd sit for hours on the little stool next to the galley, staring out the wardroom viewport, apparently hoping that somewhere among the infinity of stars in that visible patch of deep space, he'd recognize one familiar pattern out of the uncounted millions of patterns out there. He sighed. "Fuck this."