Dry, No Lube Ch. 04a: Desperado

"Aye aye, ma'am." The lead tech was a massive woman who looked like she'd been slinging chow on Fleet ships for twenty years. She was grinning openly. "It'll be a pleasure to serve you."

"Damn straight." She nudged Polye again, wiping his blood off her toe, then swung around to face the shocked room. She raised her voice through the excitement clogging her throat. "I'll say it one more time. I do not want to be hearing about any of you fucking around on this passage. I'm not going to ask if I'm making myself clear, because I know I am. Spread the word in the main bay for those who aren't here." She waited for the few moments of silence that followed, her leg screeching now, and walked out slowly enough that she wouldn't be hobbling. "As you were," she called over her shoulder as she shoved through the door.

Her foot was still a mass of pain when she strode down the corridor to her quarters, but at least the leg had started to work itself out during her choppy march up from the mess deck. She took her hatch shoulder-first, her brain still a mass of startled energy, and barged bright-eyed into her quarters, standing just inside the door with her skin flushed and her lungs panting. "Good," she growled when she saw Jeyne lounging under her covers, his eyes still sleep-mussed. "You're still here."

"I follow orders," he yawned, watching with curiosity as she hit her staytab. The clothes slid off her body. "No offense, ma'am, but you stink." He frowned when he saw the little bruise where her forehead had connected with Polye's nose, but he said nothing.

"Life stinks, Mr. Jeyne," she sighed, crossing to the bed. She stood over him, bare and bristling, her whole body still shaking with her adrenaline rush. "So. Still got that hard-on?"

He blinked up at her, then flopped the sheets sideways. His penis lay across his thigh, pleasantly girthy even though it was soft, nestled in a dark spray of pubic hair over a pair of big balls. "Sorry. Must've gotten bored with nothing to do."

"That's okay," Pixy managed, her voice hoarse. "That shouldn't last long." She was already swinging her leg across his thighs, wincing as the pain flamed through her groin. He showed no surprise, even when she settled in his lap with her pussy weeping on his legs. "I'm a little worked up," she admitted.

"I can see that." Jeyne looked above him at a snarly, needy bitch, small and fierce with her nipples nearly bursting out from her firm breasts, and he had very little time to prepare before she swept down to clamp his lips into a bruising, explosive kiss. Pixy felt the heat and power as his dick hardened swiftly against her belly, her groin protesting as she arched to give it room.

Jeyne tasted like her toothpaste, which didn't surprise Pixy; he'd arrived with nothing last night, and she'd told him to make himself at home. He was her bedwarmer, and he was about to use a lot more than her toothbrush anyway. He was a good kisser, she decided, but then given the raw lust with which she was devouring him, it hardly mattered. At first he struggled to keep up with her powerfully sucking lips, his tongue disappearing against hers even as he strained instinctively back, but eventually he brought himself around and began giving it all back to her, forceful, even feral as he drove back up off the pillow.

Pixy felt the slick little patch his precum was leaving on her navel, his body responding to hers already, the power growing as they tested each other. She tossed her head sideways, bumping noses so that she could push her tongue deeper, needing him to taste her, needing him to feel her euphoria; she was already halfway to her orgasm, she knew, and she hadn't even put him in yet. Her body ached from what she'd done to poor Polye, that one sailor the target for almost a year of pent-up dirt duty at the pre-command course, the weapons coding course, the staff course... too much. Pixy Pfeiffer was a woman who needed action.

Chad Polye had found that out in the cafeteria, and Felix Jeyne was about to find it out in her bed.

She sucked her fill from his mouth at last, her body stretched atop his, every muscle tensed until, finally, she spat his lower lip out from between her own, and then it was all just eyes and breaths and bodies smearing against each other for a moment while she let the angst evaporate. He saw it in her eyes, the wildness melting slowly into something else, and when she looked her question at him he nodded.

She raised herself high and writhed over his body, her hand falling to spread her lips wide as she lifted his cock. It was pleasingly weighty, the girth perfect for her, an altogether great dick, but to be fair, in the state she was in, she'd have settled for anything. She stared down at him, laying one hand on his chest as she pushed her juiced slit over his dark-velvet head and, in one smoothly liquid motion, fell all the way down his length.

She loved it, that first time a new man entered her, especially when she was so worked up. Her mind had been maxed out since the moment Uulmar had jarred her awake, every part of her alive with the need to vent her fury, and now she needed oblivion, so she took it, her body thrashing back upward the moment she felt his root nudge her clit, then back down in a sensuous slithery rhythm that took what it wanted.

Jeyne watched her move with his teeth gritted, working hard in those first moments to avoid blowing his load straight into her; she felt that good, all tight wet warmth dragging along his dick, squeezing him whenever she bottomed out against his thighs. And the entire time she kept her hand on his skin with deceptive gentleness, caressing now his chest, now his face, her wide eyes boring into his. She worked herself toward her climax with gritty determination, and when at last Jeyne could feel sure he wasn't about to lose it, he risked a look down at where her slim, tight little body ground itself over his.

For a moment or two his brain was scrambled, seeing white froth all over himself; had he cum, and somehow missed it? But no; she was simply that wet, her body needing what he could give, so he humped upward with abrupt urgency and began to fuck her back.

"No." She slapped him then, hard, leaving him stunned even as she kept up her rhythm. "This is for me." She was almost there, running her clit steadily against his invading cock, her upper body dipping low to give herself more friction. "Just lie there, Mr Jeyne." She never did this, taking, disregarding her partner; it wasn't usually what her heart needed. But today was different.

"Aye aye, ma'am," he managed, but just barely; her face was a mask of lust like he'd never seen before, not even when he'd fucked his wife after that first voyage when he'd been a Junior Lieutenant. He dared to reach around, cupping her ass as she bucked, her nipples now grazing his chest, and he focused on holding her gaze and watching the steely muscles of her abdomen twist as her body writhed.

It was probably the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.

"Fuck. Ma'am... Pixy..."

"Gonna cum?" Her taunt was quiet, a low singsong chant, her churning hips slamming hard down on his trembling legs. "Go on, motherfucker. Cum. Show me you can't stop yourself, Mister Jeyne." His name left her mouth in a contemptuous hiss, the wildness back in her eyes as she tightened her pussy around him and seized his hands in hers, crushing them together in a jumble of fingers against the headboard, their skin touching everywhere as she mashed her lips back onto his and, with a breathless wheeze into his toothpaste-scented mouth, shuddered in orgasm.

He was right with her, amazed that he'd gotten her there, his balls quivering as his pent-up semen blasted hard into her pussy. "Ughh," she gasped, their lips still touching, all four eyes wide as he pumped hard within her. "Fuck. So good," she panted, her hips fading into slow, gyrating motion on top of him. He lay there, sweat-soaked, his dick still twitching within her as she rose up off him with her hands cupped around his ribcage. Her smell, compounded of last night's workout, this morning's beating, and the torrid fuck just past, filled his nostrils. "Well," she sighed, looking down at him inscrutably.

Jeyne, his chest panting, wended his hands behind his head and gazed over Pixy's shoulder at the distant stars. He waited until she looked back at him, then cleared his throat. "So. You were mentioning ground rules, earlier?"

* * *

She was back on the bridge weeks later for the first transfer, invited back by Uulmar; this time, there was no trace of Subcommander Jukarlo. "I invited him," the captain shrugged, "but no sign. Well, be that as it may. After today?" He smiled at Pixy. "He'll be Senior Passenger."

"Sir." She felt nervous, uncharacteristically so, her own transfer coming up in the second lift as soon as they reached her ship. Outside hung the broad curving hull of the Maharamia, waiting calmly for its fifteen new sailors and its new Lieutenant of Marines. Pixy was keeping her mouth shut, intimidated; she'd always known GP ships were small, but she'd never really thought about how fucking big the capital Combat ships were. She'd seen plenty, even boarded plenty, but she'd never really kept station up close like this. Most Service transfers were done using barges and shuttles.

And she'd never seen a warship that she was supposed to run.

Maharamia was the same frigate type as her own Desperado, now visible on the far-beam monitor, some eight hours out at 2.3 LY closure. So fast! Pixy found herself swallowing tightly. "He'll manage, sir." Jukarlo's ship, according to the complicated task org diagram posted in the wardroom, was a patrol sweeper about four light-years away, making runs between their Rose Nova Squadron and the ships of the Lesser Bight Squadron out toward the galactic center.

The scale bothered Pixy. She was used to GP Service ships, on solo runs to far-flung destinations: no station-keeping, no maneuvers, just speed and occasional collision drills. This was going to be a new way of thinking about everything. She caught the captain, out of the corner of her eye, looking skeptical. "Well," she qualified, "he'll only be aboard another week, sir."

"Mmm." Uulmar sighed. "He's the last stop. I have to say, Commander Pfeiffer, that I can't remember such a quiet voyage, passenger-wise. You're to be commended."

"Oh, sir." She held her hands up. Things had been fine after Polye for nearly three weeks, before she'd had to deliver a kicking to a pair of women who'd gone way out onto the clobbet for some thrill-sex. But other than that, there was nothing to complain about. And Pixy's foot was nearly healed. "It was nothing."

He shook his head firmly. "No. You can be modest if you want, but I've already got a transmission ready for Captain Ledecki, singing your praises." Pixy knew she was flushing. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Mmhmm." She cursed in her mind. Pixy was not a woman comfortable with the praise of others, and the last thing she wanted was her new captain getting a fawning memo from this Transport weenie. She glanced aside at the plot repeater, studying the converging courses. "Desperado is speeding up a little, sir," she lied. "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to head out and get my group ready to disembark."

Uulmar smiled warmly. "You carry on, Commander. Good luck and good hunting." She strode from the bridge, reflecting dimly that this might be her last trip to a GP ship's command center; thirteen years of service in General Purpose vessels, ending now as a passenger. Countless hours on bridges just like that one, manning every station.

She knew GP systems like she knew the folds of her own pussy. The great, curving, meteor-scarred hull of the Maharamia had jarred her into realizing she now had a new pussy to explore. And that, as XO, she better get to know it quickly and well.

Felix Jeyne's little cabin was her first stop, her knock more discreet than his usually was. When the hatch slid open, the place was in spotless order... and why not, Pixy asked herself. He was never here. "Hello, Mr Jeyne."

He scanned her with his usual quick, searching depth, like he was looking for weapons or something. He ran a hand through mussed hair. "Ma'am. I was napping."

"Don't get used to it." She'd caught the invitation: if he was napping, she was welcome to join him. But not today. "We're off this ship today. So there will be a lot of things you might need to stop getting used to, actually." She was glad when his eyes sobered, his head nodding. She spent a lot of time just looking at those eyes. Like almost everything else about him, she found those green eyes soothing. "Desperado is a little over seven hours inbound. So it's time for us to start getting busy." She colored when he smirked. "Wipe that fucking smile off your face, Lieutenant," she snapped, but she was having a hard time keeping her own mouth straight.

"Of course, ma'am."

"You'll learn, Mr Jeyne, that Pixy in bed and Pfeiffer on the job are two very different people. I think you'll make the adjustment well enough." She hesitated, seeing the pitfall that always lay between bedwarmers, the endless risk of the double-entendre... "You're flexible." She flushed again when he just stared, his smile so slight it might have been a mere trick of the corridor lighting, as he well knew. "So, Mr Assistant to the Senior Passenger, it's time for a new job description. Commander Jukarlo is now Senior Passenger, and he can do whatever the fuck he wants. I am, once again, the mere XO-in-transit of the USS Desperado, which makes you just another Desperado officer."

"Ma'am."

"So here's what. Intercept is plotted for 2240 hours today. All the sailors assigned for Desperado need to be packed up, in formation, ready for my inspection by 2200. Clean, sober, and ready to report. All of that? That's your task for today, Mr Jeyne. And if any of them are not fit for duty at 2200, I'll make certain they are by 2240. And then I'll take it out of your ass. Comprehend?"

"Aye aye, ma'am."

"When I'm XOing, I don't fuck around." She sniffed, nodding as she began to turn away. "As you were."

* * *

Pixy stared at herself in the photomirror, the latrine off the frigate wardroom almost the largest she'd seen on a Fleet ship. All around her the Desperado hummed and shook, the rattles far less scary than they'd been aboard the Pulver, or even aboard the Seville, when it had been brand-new from the yard hauling young Fifth Officer Pfeiffer around.

She'd kept her mouth shut coming aboard, enduring the curious glares of her new shipmates: so many of them. So many corridors. So many systems. She'd nodded distantly at everyone she saw, feeling like a fake, like she wasn't supposed to be there. Everyone aboard had more time in Combat Command than she did, and yet everyone worked for her. Pixy's mind was having trouble coming to terms with that.

Well, except the captain.

She'd been summoned immediately, the Boarding Officer all ready to deliver the message. "Welcome aboard, ma'am." He'd been respectful enough, the salute snappy; his nametag read Golightly. "Skipper's expecting you in her quarters. Lieutenant Tatuu here will show you the way, if you need it?"

"Thank you." Tatuu was a Tygon in a Marine uniform, his green skin and sideways eyes fixed curiously on the new sailors as they drifted through the airlock. "Lead the way, Mr Tatuu."

"Oh. Okay." The two men had glanced at each other, Pixy immediately realizing she'd made some sort of gaffe. Of course. In her first moment aboard. "Follow me, ma'am."

She fell in behind the gangly Marine, her duffel case trailing along behind them like a forgotten pet. She felt she should do something about that. "Uh, Mr Tatuu? You should take me by the wardroom first so I can drop off my case." Sailors streamed past around them, every one of them looking curiously at the new XO; naturally, they'd know who she was. Other than the surgeon, she'd be the only subcommander aboard.

He passed a veiled glance back her way. "She wants to see you right away, ma'am. I'd be happy to take your case and drop it off after I see you to her quarters, though."

"Fine. Thank you."

He hesitated, glancing from side to side, then dropped back toward her when they reached a clearer part of the corridor. "Ma'am, it's really not necessary to call me 'mister.' Most Marines just prefer their rank."

"I know. I've been dirtside for almost a year, Lt Tatuu, with no Marines around," Pixy lied immediately. In fact, she'd never served on a ship with Marines aboard, and had only ever met about four of them. She plunged gamely onward; her instinct was always to attack. "If that's the only thing that's slipped my mind, we're all very lucky."

"No doubt, ma'am." The Tygon gave a carefully modulated laugh. The captain's cabin, of course, was isolated from everyone else's quarters near the stern, the hatchway guarded by a Marine sentry. "Straighten up, Croxley," Tatuu muttered to the sentry. "This is the new XO."

"Ma'am!" Croxley looked half-drugged, but Pixy gave him a brief nod anyway. He rapped on the door, a complicated series of knocks, and Pixy grew vaguely aware that Tatuu was waiting superciliously with his hands behind his back.

"Oh. Thank you, Lt Tatuu. That'll be all." She felt obscurely like she should tip the guy. He nodded, coldly correct, then took the leash of her duffel case and started back the way they'd come, leaving Pixy in vague dread that, sooner or later, she'd need to leave here and track down the case herself. She had no idea where her quarters were.

And it was unthinkable for the XO to ask directions.

"Subcommander Pfeiffer?" The man waiting as the door slid aside was a small, neat fellow, the captain's steward. She looked down, which was unusual; Pixy was usually the shortest person in any given room. "Captain Ledecki is waiting. She'll want you to take your boots off down below."

"Is that her?" The voice floated up from down the long, winding staircase that led into the big hull blister that contained the captain's suite. Pixy had guessed the senior officers' quarters would be huge on a ship this size, but she wasn't prepared to be standing on a balcony at the top of the staircase, gazing down on what looked like a hotel lobby. "Get her down here, Payne!"

Pixy glanced over at the short man. Must be the captain's steward; she remembered old Limahl Gouper, the steward aboard the Pulver when she'd left, practically running the whole ship from behind the scenes. She smiled. "Thanks. I'll go find her."

"Boots, ma'am."

"Oh. Right." Pixy punched her staytab, the boots untying, the ship throbbing powerfully all around her. She wondered how long it would take before she no longer noticed.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, ma'am." Payne nodded deeply, almost a bow, then backed off into whatever cave the captain kept him in as Pixy slid down the steps. She was not enthusiastic. Pixy Pfeiffer was a woman who did her homework, and meeting Commander Lina Ledecki was not something she'd been looking forward to.

The first search hit on Phaceboox Intergalactic had been coverage of a third-place performance at the Inter-Service Parcheesi Tournament from five years back, an epic battle that one of the more breathless commentators Pixy found had called the match of the century (at least in this star system), a dragging two-day duel against the reigning intergalactic runner-up in which Ledecki had gone flaming down in valiant defeat.

Apparently, the actual championship match at the same tournament had taken just 48 minutes. She'd found a podium picture, the champion and runner-up looking like they wanted to be somewhere else, Ledecki tall and broad-shouldered off to the side, glaring over at the third-place guy. The guy every commentator agreed had played the best game of Parcheesi ever seen. For third place.