Dry, No Lube Ch. 07b: Armor

Not anymore. Now there were a host of delicious sensations, things she'd never felt. It was almost like a tongue, but longer; almost like a finger, but thicker. And always, at the front of her mind, there was the heady realization that this was not a tongue nor a finger: this was a cock, filling her. Pleasing her.

She tipped her head back onto her captain's sheets, already well along toward her first orgasm, not even realizing that the vox box was warbling once more.

* * *

Pixy grew annoyed. The replenishment operations were finishing up on schedule, which was fine; transmissions from Regillia indicated the Army was more than holding its own on its raid, but she was hungry and her fucking steward wasn't answering up. "Pass the word for Juno," she snapped once again to the OOD. "Have her bring me some matzoh."

"She still isn't answering." The officer, Romario, hesitated by the vox box. "Are you sure she's in your quarters, ma'am?"

"That's where she said she was going, Mr Romario. It's also her place of fucking duty, right? So, what, you think I should send someone to find her and kick her ass? The Officer of the Deck, say?"

Romario paled a bit; Juno's reputation as a killer was fairly well-known. "I, uh, need to supervise the resupply, ma'am."

"Pussy." Pixy swept to her feet. "I'll go get her myself. And some matzoh, while I'm at it." The bridge hummed around her, all the officers working hard to get the resupply done and get back on-station. She paused at the commo station to raise Captain Stellato over on the Leith. "Hey, thanks for the fast turnaround. Where was it you were going next?"

The mid-beam pulsed back through the little squawker. "Key Polaris, I think. It's about seven light-years, give or take."

"Cool." Pixy waited while her implant did some math. "Okay. I'll have Lt Malavongsy head over with the next shuttle run to get with your First Officer ASAP about some rendezvous data, for next time. Sound good?"

"Your guy doesn't need a shuttle." The reply sounded a little tetchy. "My First is over there now."

Pixy frowned. "Lt Amisuul? He's here?"

The pause which followed was not reassuring. "He said he was heading over to meet you for lunch. About fifteen minutes ago? Twenty?"

Bullshit! Pixy raised an eyebrow and stared at the squawker for a moment, her mind focusing slowly. "Oh," she said at last, hoping for a tone of innocence; Amisuul had always been kind of a devious little turd, but he was basically an okay guy and she didn't want to get him into trouble. "Never mind. I see him right now. Thanks, Captain."

"No problem." The mid-beam squelched off with its usual friendly chime, and then Pixy was stalking aft with a cloud over her face and a long, cascading series of nasty thoughts drifting through her mind.

Fucking Amisuul.

Pixy turned her head to the nav station, up above on the port side. "Hey. Mr Malavongsy? Can you take a quick meeting with the Leith's first officer? I think he's already aboard."

"Oh." The navigator frowned. "Sure. Usually we do it on vox, but whatever. Can you give me a few minutes to get my calculations done, ma'am?"

"Absolutely. Take ten, then come on back to my conference room. I'll see if I can find him." With all the trolleys being used for the busy resupply, she had to walk the entire length of the ship, so by the time she reached her quarters she'd spun up into a fast, eager stride. Her conference room waited quietly for the next planning session, the next placer operation, but as her outer hatch slid shut behind her she leaned against it and listened.

It didn't take long. "Oh my fucking god!" came a cracked wail from deeper in the Great Cabin: Wrae Juno, orgasmic. Of course. She sighed and peeked through the open hatchway into her quarters, seeing a blur of grappling bodies on her own bed, and she frowned in distaste: Juno had her own perfectly adequate bed in the next room. Why were they using Pixy's bed?

She padded through into the galley, the sounds much louder now: she heard the wet slap of thighs on thighs, the cruel little giggle that Amisuul liked to do as he brought off human women (she knew it well, dammit), the breathy moans of her steward as she took his cock. The place even smelled like sex already, though they couldn't have been at it for more than a few minutes.

Juno was a fast worker, though.

Pixy pulled a slice of matzoh out of the tin, then ran it under the dispenser for a sheet of cream cheese, hearing her mattress creak rhythmically from the other side of the partition. She shook out a little salt, then balanced the snack carefully on her fingertips so it wouldn't fall. A broken matzoh was the last thing she needed right now as she leaned against her fridge and watched them thrash on her bed.

Pixy's lips twisted into a cynical smirk. He still looked the same, and he still fucked the same: Pixy had taken Amisuul's dick a time or two, back in the day aboard the Pulver. Three years ago? Four? She'd been Second Officer, he'd been... well, she couldn't remember, now. Because now he was still toiling away on a GP Service ship, while she was in command of a Combat Warship taking back enemy planets.

So. A lifetime ago.

He had her on her back, squirming, her little legs flailing above like antennas in a high wind while he loomed over her. He wasn't even thrusting, really, other than one of those occasional leg-smacking collisions, just to keep things interesting. Mostly, he was just holding himself above her, his penis plunged deep inside her with a predatory smile on his face while he let his dick pleasure her in whatever ways it wanted. And whatever he was doing, it was certainly working; Pixy had never seen her steward so far gone.

She let it go on for a few more minutes, munching on her snack, before she cleared her throat very loudly. She had to do it twice more before, with a lazy lift of one eyebrow, the Tygon swiveled his head to look at her. "Nice to see you again, Mr Amisuul," she told him dryly.

"Um. Pixy," he nodded, his wild eyes slowly filming over into that odd, hooded expression he'd always used with her. Beneath him Juno still strained, her body all twitchy as his cock continued to writhe within her. She just blinked when she saw Pixy. "Uh, congratulations? On your command?"

"It comes with awesome quarters," Pixy snapped. "The bed is particularly nice." She watched him cringe, then turned her attention to her steward. "And you. I had to get my own goddamn matzoh. What the fuck is that all about?"

"I was busy, ma'am," Juno gasped, her nails leaving marks on the Tygon's back. She gave a low groan. "Fuck. Still am."

Pixy favored them with a theatrical sigh. "Whatever. Look, go ahead and cum, Mr Amisuul. You've got a meeting with my navigation officer, ready or not, in about five minutes." She jerked her head behind her. "Right here in my conference room."

"Fuck."

"Duty calls, Lieutenant." She glared at Juno. "You can wash the sheets, meanwhile."

"Aye aye, ma'am." She barely got it out before she screamed again, cumming one last time as Amisuul rushed to finish up. Pixy booted her hatch closed behind her and headed back toward her bridge, shaking her head.

* * *

A smattering of applause rippled through the Army wardroom on the Barracks Barge as Lieutenant-Colonel McMerckx slipped an Army Combat Cross onto the tall corporal's chest. He'd done something heroic, clearly; Pixy hadn't read the briefing notes about his achievement, but she'd earned the same award once for blowing up a Flasbard tank battalion and leveling half of one of their cities. So the guy had to be some sort of badass.

"Congratulations, Corporal!" She gave him a warm smile as she shook his hand. Pixy had long since decreed that Army people couldn't come aboard the Tirving and Fleet people couldn't go to the Barracks Barge, but that didn't apply to Pixy or her XO. She knew bad things happened when sailors and soldiers mixed too often. "Hopefully your wound will clear up," she added, nodding at the man's missing arm.

"Not a problem, ma'am. The clone's already been dismembered; surgeons say the new arm is already on its way." He smiled back, gazing frankly at her chest.

"Clones, huh?" Pixy never knew what to say at times like these. "You never know when you'll need them."

"That's right." He gestured toward his new medal. "This thing comes with an extra clone. They've voted me three already." Pixy blinked at the rest of the guy's chest, festooned with bright ribbons. He grimaced. "And now? Ma'am, the Eugenics Ministry is on my ass, trying to get me to breed." He shrugged. "Fuck that. Still, I know they won't shut up. So? I guess I have to bend over and spread 'em."

"Right." The guy was annoying. "Dry. No lube, as we say in Fleet. Well. Nice meeting you, Corporal. Keep up the good work." She was already moving on to the next awardee, a stocky little woman who'd saved her company commander.

Crazy Jack McMerckx waited at the end of the line, the two of them shiny in their dress robes. "We still on for that planning conference, Captain Pfeiffer?" he smiled. "1400?"

"Yes indeed, Colonel McMerckx." She nodded back, regal and polite, thinking not so much about the planning session for the invasion of Helvidius IX, but about the sweatily debilitating orgasm he would no doubt give her afterward. She often wondered how many people, on both the Fleet and Army sides, knew the two of them were fucking.

"Until then? Please, feel free to enjoy some refreshments." The Army had set up long tables off to the side, loaded down with booze and cakes. "Unfortunately, I've got a meeting to attend to. I'll catch up with you later."

"Of course." She schmoozed a bit over at the refreshments table, having her usual queasy reaction to Army ways and customs: they did things way too formally. Nobody who wore green ever really seemed to unbend, or even smile in a genuine way. She caught her XO's eye. "We should just go ahead and bail out of here, Commander."

"I'm right behind you, Captain." She'd been impressed by Kees Jatsupa. All her previous experiences with XOs had been during her own makework tour aboard Pulver in Service, or in the jumbled wreck of broken officers she'd found on the Outer Parabolic Sector. Here, even in a community as new as Placer/Extraction, she'd been impressed by the man's competence and tact. "Well. That's after I get my hands on some of those Rendang eggs over there by the samovar."

She chuckled. "What, your steward doesn't feed you well enough?"

He looked at her, his expression curiously veiled. "We don't all have stewards as accomplished as yours, ma'am."

"Wait. You mean you don't get along with him?" Jatsupa's steward was a part-timer, like Juno had been back aboard the Desperado. "He seems competent enough."

"Oh, he's fine." Jatsupa frowned. "I'm just not used to being waited on. And his cooking... well. He's from a place where they eat a lot of pork."

"Oh. And, you don't?"

"Well. I do now." A boisterous Army captain vomited in a garbage can in the corner of the spacious wardroom. A broad window showed the inside of the Vag, studded with the Army's many shuttles and placer craft, with her own Tygon Interceptors forward. Well, Pepper Laredo's Tygon Interceptors. "It's fine, ma'am. I don't mean to complain."

"Damn well shouldn't," she sniffed. Lighten up, she reminded herself. The man was only about a year behind her; they were both subcommanders, which could be awkward. Pixy was under-ranked to be in command. "Look, if you want, I can recommend him for the Fleet chef school? Juno went there; she learned a lot." Like how to handle Cyclone knives, Pixy reminded herself a bit uneasily.

He thought about that one, then shook his head. "No. I'm not worried, Captain. Thanks, though."

She nodded at the table. "Go get your eggs, XO. I'll see you back aboard."

"1400, ma'am."

"You got it." She frowned, glancing around through the thinning crowd. "Any idea where the latrine is?"

Jatsupa blinked. "Through the airlock. Back aboard our ship. Down the hall. First hatch on the right."

Pixy chuckled. "No, I have to take a shit. I might as well stink up the Army's latrine instead of ours." The XO smiled, the smile of a man who has no idea whether he's being joked with. "1400."

He nodded, still eyeing the appetizers, and Pixy peered around for a latrine. She picked out an Army officer who looked senior enough to know the answers, but junior enough not to give her any shit. She'd noticed the soldiers tended to be disdainful of Fleet officers, and they were bad at recognizing rank. Pixy knew she looked young enough to be mistaken for a lieutenant or something. "You," she said, nudging a submajor who looked to be on the younger side, "where's the latrine?"

His eyes roved quickly across her chest, then apparently decided there was nothing there worth leching out about. "Corner, over by the bar," he shrugged.

"Thank you." She strode off toward what looked like a nice wood-paneled door, though it had to be made of nano. Very clubby, the Army. She had two doors to choose from there, both identical, and one was locked. She listened outside the other door, but heard nothing much over the hubbub from behind her; she wondered whether she should knock, but then decided she was being silly.

Surely, anyone in there would have locked the damn door.

She shouldered through it, and she'd already closed and locked the door behind her when she realized she wasn't alone. "Well. Shit," she drawled once she realized what she was seeing: a nice latrine, in keeping with Army officers' wardrooms, with what looked like slick marble and a nice big static mirror over the counter.

There was something else over the counter too, though: her own fighter chief, Pepper Laredo. Who wasn't supposed to be aboard the Barracks Barge. And she certainly wasn't supposed to be looking straight into the mirror, her face pained and sweating with one bare leg hitched way up on the counter while Subcolonel Crazy Jack McMerckx pounded her sturdily from behind. Pixy sighed. "Walking in on people fucking. That's starting to become a trend with me."

Crazy Jack glanced at her in the mirror, then his head swiveled calmly around with a rakish smile. "Hi there, Pixy."

"Fuck!" Laredo groaned from her position by the sink, one of her healthy tits squashed through her uniform top by McMerckx' groping hand. She glared up at her captain, eyes wide. "Get the hell out of here!"

"Get the hell out of here, ma'am," Pixy told her in a voice edged with ice. He was still thrusting capably. "Do you mind, Colonel? I'd like to speak with my lieutenant now."

"Hmm?" He stopped, but stayed inside her. Pixy couldn't see where they were joined, so she had no idea which hole he was using. Not that it mattered. "If you need to use the 'ponic toilet, go right ahead," he nodded genially.

Pixy ignored him, glaring down at Laredo through the static mirror. "I'm curious Promotable Lieutenant Laredo," she began, all of them knowing that when a superior uses a subordinate's full rank, it's seldom a good sign, "why you've violated my order by coming aboard the Barracks Barge."

"I'm not cumming aboard the Barracks Barge yet, dammit," the fighter pilot grated. "Get the fuck out of here."

"Ma'am," Pixy reminded her softly. The little room stank of sweat and sex. Crazy Jack just stood there with his trousers down, looking curiously between the two women. Pixy finally gave him a withering glance. "You know my orders. I don't want my officers aboard, especially if they're serving as your booty call."

He shrugged, completely shameless. "She's your officer, not mine. If she's breaking rules, it's not my problem."

"Jesus H Buddha," Pixy swore under her breath, her teeth clamped shut. "Colonel McMerckx, if you'd be so good as to withdraw your dick from my lieutenant's foul little crotch and kindly leave us? I've got some things to say to her."

He raised an eyebrow, but at least he complied; Pixy, mostly out of curiosity, looked down at where his wet, well-known cock slid neatly out of Laredo. Ah, she noted: pussy, not ass. He nodded politely at her as his staytab got his clothing back together. "See you at 1400, then."

"Count on it," Pixy replied tightly, hoping her expression told him there would be no extracurricular activities with her after the planning session. Pixy Pfeiffer was no prude, but she wasn't into taking sloppy seconds off Pepper Laredo today. She waited while the door slipped shut, then shot the lock before she turned toward the bottomless lieutenant in tight-lipped silence.

Pepper Laredo. The woman had been prickly from Day One, but she could do her job so Pixy had never let it bother her much. She was not in the habit of caring much about others' motives. But Laredo certainly did seem to care about hers; the fighter pilot always went out of her way to let everyone else know she was deigning to speak with you, by her choice.

Pixy had no problem with arrogance, but she did find it annoying.

She leaned against the door and regarded Laredo, who stood there seething with her pants on the floor. Neither of them spoke at all until Pixy knew she could trust herself to keep a calm tone. "So. Why am I mad at you?"

"Because he's fucking me, not you," Laredo spat back, entirely predictably. Pixy let the silence stretch a bit, then sighed.

"Guess again."

"Look, you already ruined my fuckdate and stopped me from cumming."

Pixy sighed and prayed for patience. She'd worked with idiots like this before; everyone in Fleet had. "Ruined your fuckdate and stopped you from cumming, ma'am."

"Ma'am." The pilot drew back, glaring sullenly across the little room as her pants rather sheepishly put themselves back on.

"Why am I mad at you?" Pixy pressed. Laredo hesitated, meaning she knew the answer. And she also knew she was in real trouble. "I'm mad at you because you've violated the restriction I placed on Fleet people coming onto the Barracks without my permission. Surely you know that?" She paled a bit, but said nothing. "Do you? Or don't you?"

"I know it, ma'am." It came out as a hiss.

"Okay. So. I'm going to think long and hard about how badly I want to bust your ass for this fucked-up situation I find us in. I'll let you know once I've decided. Meanwhile? Get your non-orgasmic twatty little bitch-ass self back aboard my ship. Now." She said it quietly, firmly. The door was thin and there was a wardroom full of soldiers out there.

"Not going to just kick my teeth in, Captain?" Laredo sneered. "You're good with your feet, they say. Why not just have it out with me right the fuck now?"

Pixy just stared. She admired spirit in an officer, and was willing to make allowances for the aggressive attitudes of Interceptor pilots, but this? "Are you drunk, sailor?" she asked sharply.

The pilot jerked back as if she'd been struck. "What?"

"Because that's the only conceivable explanation for speaking to your captain that way. Comprehend?" Pixy still spoke with those low, firm tones she often used with miscreants and Marines. "And even then? I'd bust you down to the shittiest fighter we have and give Sublieutenant Adrian your job."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me." Pixy turned on her heel and spoke over her shoulder. "Make yourself presentable before you pass through the airlock. Whoever was on watch duty when you came over to the Barracks? You've screwed them, too, because I'm going to rip them a new asshole. So might as well let them know on your way back through." She snapped the lock open. "I'll expect you in my office at 2000; we'll see how pissed I am at you then. As you were, Lieutenant Laredo."

When Pixy came striding out of the latrine and made a beeline for the exit, people noticed she seemed more than a little perturbed. But around that time a new platter of potstickers arrived, so that drew more attention.