Illianya Ch. 01: The Ride

Chapter 1. Illianya, The ride

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Illianya Tetsin {Elle-on-ya Tet-sin}.

5'2''. 20 years old. Her shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a low ponytail. It is dyed a vibrant neon cobalt-blue that fades into jet-black tips. Her piercing sky-blue eyes stare out with child-like wonder, the mega-complexes of UGC still so new and amazing to her; as a daughter of a roid-rigger, this is the first time she's been to a planet-sprawl. A delicate, upturned button nose protrudes just above thick and full lips. Adorable dimples frame her smug smile, youthful rosy cheeks beaming with joy. Her light chestnut skin is as smooth as porcelain. She isn't fat but also not fit, an average build with a healthy plump that she just can't seem to work off. Her 34d breasts are naturally firm and perky, owing mostly to growing up in low artificial-gravity. You'd be tough-pressed to grip those in a single hand-full. Her silken, ass is round and pert, and her hips are one size smaller than a fertility goddess'.

******

FUCK. fuck fuck fuck! She was late. She was going to be fucking late for the third fucking time in three months. With a loud screech she skidded into the elevator lobby. Glancing up at the digital display she huffed in annoyance; three of the lifts had bold red 'X' and were sitting at the station, 14 floors below her, and the other three were at least 30 floors above her, going higher. Fuck. Mr. Stephenson was going to be so pissed.

The last two times she at least had excuses. First, a couple of hot-headed gifteds' (wayyyy too passionate over the Imperial rokball finals) had forced a shutdown of the Ridley-Adoms E-platform. Man had that been a shit show, anyone trying to get from the freshman complex—seven 60 floor tall dormitory towers and attached recreational center—to the commerce department was forced to either walk a mile or transfer from multiple other tram lines. The second time, the research study (which she was required to participate in weekly) had run long.

Cursing herself out-loud for sleeping past her alarm, she bolted through the double-doors of the dorm stairway. With large bounding strides she skipped multiple steps, rocketing down the quiet stairwell. Grasping the railing, she flung herself around each corner, struggling to pull her arms through the sleeves of her jacket on the straight-away.

The jacket had been a birthday gift from her mother upon turning 15; Illianya had worn it practically every day since. It was her most cherished possession. A charcoal-black NuLoc-mat (an extremely durable, heat resistant, energy dampening, waterproof textile) bomber jacket with intricate diagrams of inter-planetary frigates woven along the sleeves with golden metallic-fibers. NuLoc-mat clothing was a staple of deep-space dark-drive and exo-station engineer uniforms, something Illianya aspired to be.

It had a high collar that, when fully zipped-up, sat just above her nose. The lining of the jacket was ruby-red, made of a silky conductive synthetic polymer and had a litany of technology in-bedded in the fabric. It monitored her body signs, warned her of any environmental threats such as dangerous radiation levels or toxic air levels, and was able to redirect and safely discharge electrical currents.

On the inside of the front of the collar, diagnostic updates and other information glowed out from the fabric, floating along the rim always visible at a glance. Her own little heads up display.

It had come with a matching pair of padded gloves as well, but unless Illianya was planning on doing some heavy-duty maintenance, she kept them safely stored away. The material was extremely expensive, and she was afraid of losing them.

"You spend every day maintaining your father's fleet of junkers" her mother had said when Illianya begged her to take it back, knowing credits were tight and her pappy might need it to bring on more crew; her father was just a lowly roid-ripper--Illianya had lived most her life being dragged across the outer-rim in a large decrepit asteroid excavator, as her pappy chased riches shooting through space. Her mother had dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. "It'll make me feel much safer, knowing you're properly protected working on those death-machines. Plus, considering what you've done, he owes you at least another dozen. Full suits, no less!"

As Illianya finally succeeded in feeding her arm through, a quick string of symbols flickered in alarm. She glanced at her flailing collar, the letters moving across the fabric as it bounced so she could read it with ease.

<warning. unsustainable exertion.>

Another burst of data scrolled below it, statistics displaying body weight, muscle mass, average physical capability. She growled in annoyance. "I get it, I'm out of shape", slapping her shoulder and disabling the offensive updates.

Her jacket flowed behind her, its lower half whipping up behind her like a cape as she soared downward. The frantic rustling was drowned out by the reverberating thumps of her heavy sneakers pounding against the carbo-crete stairs.

As Illianya flew down the last stretch of her 15-level sprint, using the banister to fling herself around the dog-legged corners, she quickly went through a mental checklist.

"Jacket, check. Shirt and pants..." she looked down. She knew she had put them on, but she still glanced down to make sure she hadn't put anything on inside out. Her white dress- shirt was obviously wrinkled, but otherwise clean and proper. "...check." Another bend. She winced in pain; her shoulder felt like it was being jerked out of the socket.

She glanced down to continue the checklist. Her form fitting, sky-blue leggings flashed underneath her with each stride. They were a gift as well, a parting goodbye from her sister before Illianya had left for UGC. At the bottom of each leg was a cute graphic design of a star-beetle napping under the shade of a tree. It faded from sky-blue at the knees to night-black at the waist.

Illianya let out a sad sigh. She missed her sister. The sleepless nights they spent staring out from the frigate bridge, into the majesty of space. She zipped around the last corner and bounded down the last set of steps, her momentum flinging her alarmingly fast toward the metro Archway. 'Too much light here to see anything but freighters...', her throat clenched as she held back a sob. She raised her arm to wipe the tears from her eyes with her sleeve.

"Hey!" a muffled high-pitched voice screamed.

Illianya was ripped back to reality and face-to-face with a hooded figure. She stumbled and tried to twist out of the way, but it was too late. Illianya grimaced apologetically and braced for impact. They tumbled into the connecting corridor; luckily for the person Illianya twisted enough that she only bumped against their shoulder.

Rolling head over heels, Illianya landed sprawled out on the cool tile floor. The sound of her ragged breath and the buzzing corridor lights was deafening. Shit fuck dammit.

"Sorry!" Illianya exclaimed, bouncing to her feet. The person had fallen flat on their butt and seemed to be in a daze. Rushing to the persons side, she offered them a hand up.

Peering underneath the bulky hood she saw the face of a skinny girl hidden in shadow. "Not much older than me" she thought, "maybe 21 or 22?"

The dark grey hoodie and baggy jeans the girl wore looked to be at least 3 sizes too large. Light rose-pink locks of hair poked out from her hood. Oddly, a surgeon's mask with a built-in filter hung from a broken strap around her neck. Wide-eyed and confused, the girl just stared at Illianya's outstretched hand.

Illianya sighed, she didn't have time for this, and grasped the girls fore-arm, pulling her off the floor. "You all right? hit your head or something?"

The girl looked at her blankly and murmured "sorry". Then, a flash of sorrow passed across her eyes and she raised her hands to cover her face. Twirling around, the girl shouted back another apology and sprinted to the stairs. Puzzled, Illianya, watched her until she disappeared up the stairs.

Checking that nothing had fallen out of her satchel, Illianya whirled on one foot and broke into a sprint. She glanced at the advertisements ling the walls as she whizzed past. They showed various on-campus art shows, exhibits, asked for volunteers for events, participants for studies, warnings for on campus illegal-substance use. same old boring shit.

As she pounded down the corridor, neon blue hair with soft black tips fell across her vision. The fall had messed up her ponytail. Pulling off the scrunchie she absentmindedly put it back into a high-ponytail. Her hair was just above shoulder length, but she preferred not having to bat it out of her face every five seconds.

She heard the jagged ratcheting clanks of dampeners engaging. She quickly tucked the rest of her hair into the scrunchie and double-timed it down the hall. The loud hiss of pressure tanks settling reverberated out of the doorway ahead of her.

Barreling through them and into the station, she weaved past the sparse crowd of students to the waist-high turn-styles. Tugging her the lanyard clinging to her neck, she fished her id card out from between her breasts. Drops of perspiration clung to the clear plastic.

She leapt off the ground, managing to just barely swipe her id as she flew over the barriers. A loud Bing of confirmation was emitted behind her and she let out a mental sigh of relief; skipping out on paying the fare would mean another demerit stacked on top of the late one she was about to get.

Landing flat on both, she slid across the smooth floor for a couple feet, smoothly transitioning back into a sprint. Not bothering to slide the lanyard back into its pouch, the thin plastic frantically bounced off her breasts.

"Oh come on!" Illianya wheezed as she reached the staircase leading down to platform D23. A wave of students, back from early morning classes were crowding the stairs. Scrunching her brow and grasping hold of her satchel tightly, she sprinted at the crowd and jumped. Shocked and disapproving looks followed her as she flew towards them. She didn't care, she needed to catch that tram.

People leapt to the side as Illianya landed with a thwack on the metal separator, her plump ass cushioning most of the impact. Whizzing past the people on either side, she giggled to herself. "guess I should thank April for convincing me to work out, and I thought focusing on my butt and upper abdomen was pointless slut stuff". She felt a pang of remorse, "...It's been a while since I've spent any time with April, hope she doesn't think I'm avoiding her."

Dismounting the rail back into a sprint she rushed onto the platform... Just in time to see it powering up the lavs and shooting out of the station with a loud vwhump. "FUCK!" she screamed at the roof.

Panting, she doubled over and gulped in air. Catching her breath, she tried to devise a believable excuse. A couple moments passed as she recuperated, bent over, hands resting on her knees, sucking oxygen into her burning lungs. The patter of another set of panicked footsteps reverberated from above. Then down the stairs. Her previous exclamation was echoed by a familiar male voice. She smiled coyly and turned around. "Well, at least I'll have someone else to share the wrath of Mr. Stephensen with" she managed to wheeze through ragged breaths.

Trevor Gainshaw let out a loud snicker and bent over to catch his breath. He was breathing much deeper than her. She watched as sweat fell down his brow, clinging to his jawline. She watched him take long, deep breaths, his chest rise and fall. His shirt clung to his body in a way that accentuated the muscles of his arms and the form of his upper body. It was tight enough that she could see his heart pounding. Slowly her eyes traced the edges of his abs, up along his pecs. She watched as another bead of perspiration fell from his temple.

"Man, my mind is really out of whack this morning", Illianya thought as a shiver ran along her spine and a slight warmth began to grow between her legs. Suddenly Trevor tilted his head back up and met her eyes.

It looked as if he was going to say something but instead Trevor just smiled awkwardly and averted his gaze. A prick of pain made Illianya aware that she was hungrily biting her lip. Illyiana's face flushed red and she also looked away, rubbing her arm, embarrassed.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Trevor straighten up. He was just over 6 feet 3 inches. Much taller than her. Illyiana was always picked on for being short. The top of her head barely reached his shoulders, at about 5 feet 2 inches.

He kept staring away from her and stammered "Your, um, your shirt, is..." She looked down and squeaked in alarm; almost half of her dress-shirt buttons were undone!

If that wasn't enough, not only was her bright blue sports bra quite visible from between the shirt, she had sweat enough so that it was also faintly visible through the damp white fabric. Flinging her arms up to cover her dignity, she scanned the platform in a panic. Luckily, no one else was there.

She spun around on one foot and jogged over to the closest large digital ad board. There was just enough reflection use as a mirror. She buttoned up the shirt and looked herself over. Piercing sky-blue eyes peered back at her. A bead of sweat glided down her rich, coppery-nutmeg skin. Her sis' had always said she was jealous of Illianya's porcelain smooth skin.

She glanced over at Trevor. He had a handsome enough face, marked with some slight acne scarring, but still good looking otherwise. Wisps of disheveled short brown hair hung just above his eyebrows. He was lanky, but in better shape than Illianya.

Returning focus to the make-shift mirror she tidied her hair and straightened out her jacket. She had just had the hair re-dyed neon blue last week, so it was still quite vibrant. Retrieving her Vincent-Vaugh multi-use puff-pod from her satchel (a glossy black cylinder that rested easily in her hand), she twisted its selector to her usual preset.

It whirred for a couple seconds then printed a small rectangle of plastic from its side. She grabbed the ends carefully and pressed it against her lips. After letting it dissolve, she smacked her lips experimentally. Perfect ombre matte lipstick. Red as sin. She flicked the pen out from its holster and traced her eyelids, applying a thick black eyeliner. Final step, she closed her eyes and lifting the pod to her face. Two quick puffs of air. Opening her eyes, she was happy to see dark metallic purple eye-shadow that really made her eyes pop. She slid the device back into her bag silently apologizing to Tracy for stealing it.

She trailed her eyes further down her body. Her leggings were as tight as ever, clinging to her sweaty skin, showing off her supple curves and plump but healthy thighs. She popped her leg out and stood on tiptoes, mimicking the slutty faces vod-models always made at herself in the mirror.

"Damn girl, you thicc" she purred, feeling another flush of heat was over her, then winced at her own cringiness. Checking her shoes, she noticed one of the black sneakers was undone and crouched down to redo it.

She heard Trevor approaching. "So, I had a late shift last night. What's your excuse?" He asked, brushing past the previous awkwardness. She looked up at him. He had his arm up and was scratching behind his ear.

"Nothing really, just didn't get to sleep until late." She replied, which was partially true. She had stayed up late hoping to release some pent-up stress from the upcoming exams.

- - -

A nice dumb holo-flic. A bit too dumb. Pretty soon the leads were getting rowdy and she was getting flush. But it had cut off too early, so she had resorted to sat-streaming her favorite audio porn site--A guy by the name of AsteroidRick12 had a gravely and gruff voice that just got her... sploosh. Gross. She hated that phrase and cringed at her own usage...but it was accurate.

She had settled in, wanting to let the moment and feeling last. Lounging comfily in bed. Rubbing her clit in rhythmic, soft motions. Caressing her folds and slowly tweaking her nipples. Every so often flicking her nipple shields—1-inch titanium cogs that snap onto a barbell piercing--sending a shiver of pain and pleasure through her chest.

His moaning was getting rougher. louder. He was whispering sweet nothings in her ear. then calling her a slut. appraising then demeaning her. her moaning matched his, but more subdued-- she was afraid a neighboring dorm room would hear her. She was getting close, his moans were getting fevered, she arched her back in anticipation. she was ready, she was close. almost there. almos...

BANG.BANG.BANG.

Three loud raps on the door caused her to jump and tumble out of bed. Hanging half off the mattress, dazed and breathing heavy she silently cursed the interrupter with every curse she knew.

"Illianya? Can you let me in? I forgot my key!" Tracy yelled.

Illianya knew she wasn't going to get any more time to herself that night. She had been denied by surprise, and, unfortunately, both of their beds were in the same room, so she hadn't gotten any more private time to herself. Luckily Tracy had doused herself in perfume before going on her date with some boring ass-hole from her med-lab, so she hadn't smelt Illianya's...fluids. Then Illianya had had trouble falling asleep with such strong heat between her legs. Frustration of incompletion overwhelming.

- - -

And now she was here. Staring up at Trevor. The guy that had helped her on the first day of orientation after she had stupidly erased her info-doc guides from her data-slab. They had shared so many of the these first few months helping each other study and eating cheap knock-off old-terra noodles. She had carried him through the endless grinding of 'Legion'. Watched crappy dumb movies together.

His body musk wafted down to her. She could so visibly see the lines of his body. Not toned, but not bad either. A slight bulge ever so gently throbbing just above her eye level...

She quickly looked back down at the ground and finished tying her shoe as another wave of heat flushed into her face and sex. Taking a deep breath, "not now, please" she murmured to herself. Then she kicked off the ground and bounced up, catching Trevor off-guard and causing him to take a step backwards. "So, you get around to finding the hidden cave in the Exes-nine map?'.

Surprised by the rapid change in conversation, Trevor stammered, "Oh, no, not yet. no. Um. Just got to the safe-lands before that though. Should, uh. Should have it by tomorrow and we can challenge the cell over the weekend." He smiled apologetically.

Internally she bit her lip and moaned. "Fuck, why is that stammering getting to me right now". "Cool, sounds good to me. I've got plenty of time tomorrow, my class-week ends today. Two days off if you're free, work today though" She said, bouncing to rush blood elsewhere and try to distract herself. Slowly, people started collecting on the platform as they continued small talk.

Work, games, schoolwork. etc. It quickly became completely crowded and she kept getting bunked in the sides with elbows. Tilting her head to the side, she asked absently "that sound like the train?". Before he got a chance to answer, a loud 'VWHOMP' and rush of air brushed past. A couple skirts flew up, followed by cat calls and whistles. She giggled, people never learn, and brushed through people into the tram, dragging Trevor behind her.

- - -

She and Trevor were packed tightly against each other. He whispered an apology to her as more people pressed in behind them. She looked frantically for a pole to hold onto, but all were out of reach. Looking up at the ceiling hand-bars she squeaked. A dude in tight black skinny jeans and denim jacket was lying casually on the roof reading an Imperial Pol-Sci text.