Salvage

Ha.

They went overboard with the climate adjustment. The atmosphere was like a jungle all the time. She's always sweating buckets now. She's ruined the leather upholstery of her chair—the sweat of her asscheeks made the rich chocolate-colored leather fade to sickly yellow and start to rip in a couple spots. Semen had contributed too. There was always semen leaking out of one of her orifices, felt like. They got regularly refilled. She'll have to get a new chair, when this is finally all over. You'd think the other crewmembers would bitch about the heat. If they have, they don't do it to her. What would be the point?

Is she addicted to Flow yet? Probably. If she's not she's pretty close. They told her the stuff wouldn't hook you but they were junkies themselves. They snorted it up their nose. She never took it that way. They'd sprinkle it on their cocks before they pushed them into her or made her suck them. It made what they did to her tolerable, anyway.

The pilot, Travar, almost never looks around at her from the control board. And the few times she does, the girl can't do it without smirking and blushing. Kruger can't believe she agreed to go along with the others. She would have thought she'd try to help her somehow. Make some kind of protest, at the very least. Kruger always thought Travar had great respect for her. Now she's lost it, if she ever had any. Maybe she thinks Kruger deserves what's happened to her, since she gave in to the blackmail. Or maybe she's always secretly resented the Captain for her looks and her nobility, so seeing her brought low is pleasurable for her.

The other guy always on the bridge, Gorzon, is nonhuman, a hulking shaggy species called the Dogged. They're not really very doglike, despite the name. They never wear clothes themselves. He keeps pretending like he hasn't noticed anything amiss is going on, or doesn't understand the implications if he has—and just possibly that's true. He frequently sports a boner when she's around, and its gigantic—sticking up through his belly hair, blood-red and glistening. But that used to happen before, just not as often. It's something you learn to put up with when you have a Dogged on your crew. They all do that; they don't mean anything untoward by it. It does appear more frequently since her enforced exhibitionism began, and it looks bigger than it used to, but that might be her imagination, and if it's not, it's understandable. Even complimentary. He won't try anything unless she asks him to.

She's been tempted, to be honest. At this point, there's a voice in her head that keeps whispering, "Why not? You're gonna get fucked again anyway several times today. He'd probably be a lot more fun than the other bastards always are. You might get a proper orgasm out of it for a goddamn change."

Actually Captain Kruger has had many orgasms, the last four days and the nights in between. It's disturbing how many orgasms she's had, and how quickly they can make her have them. She doesn't count any of them because of the Flow. She gives all the credit to the powder, none to the men. She imagines she would have another orgasm if she just snorted the stuff, the same as they did it.

And there's another aspect to the idea that she's toying with ... If she gives herself to Gorzon, maybe she can get him to help her. He's big and he's tough. Could probably tear Shavi and Rojjo limb from limb without it boosting his heartrate. Of course killing the guys isn't her real problem. She could kill them both herself; probably wouldn't take her more than a couple seconds, even in the rough mental shape they've lowered her to. She wouldn't need to worry about a weapon. In fact just about every time she's letting one or the other of them fuck her again, she thinks about this—about how easy it would be to throw her sleek muscular legs up around their heads and snap their necks. It's a delightful fantasy—often, in fact, she comes while she's imagining it. The trick would be to do it fast enough. To get both of them down for the count before their goddamn recording got broadcast ... especially in light of the fact they don't often doubleteam her anymore, like that first night. They usually take turns instead, one keeping his distance while the other has his fun. A wise precaution, the shitheels; it's kept her on her best behavior all this time. A tame little sexpet.

What she needs to get Gorzon to do is set up a jamming field of some sort around the ship without the fuckers realizing. Then she could go to work without having to worry. Only she's not sure it's the kind of thing a chap like Gorzon is bright enough to know how to set up. Or that she can trust him not to give her away, if she suggests the idea to him. Maybe she can or maybe she can't. Probably she can't. If he didn't stick up for her at the very beginning, why would he change his mind now? Unless she can win him over with some real good sex. That might work or it might not do her any good at all.

There's a ping from the control board. It startles her out of her reverie—and she jerks her finger away from her clit. She hadn't realized she'd been rubbing it, the last few minutes. Isn't the first time she's caught herself doing it when she blanks out. There's goo on her finger. She wipes it dry quickly on her armrest and straightens up, pressing her knees together.

"It's Shavi calling," Travar says, and Dyon's belly lurches, "Says you're needed in the engine room, Captain. Right away. Again."

"All right," she says, not acknowledging the sarcasm. She gets up—her sweaty bare butt wrenching free from the sticky soiled leather with a humiliating noise like a fart—and goes out the hatch. Swaying and stumbling a little. Her clit is throbbing and every step aggravates it more. As the bridge seals behind her, she hears Travar chuckle. The heartless bitch.

God, her feet hurt. Most of the flooring throughout the ship is mesh paneling, allowing easy access to the pipes and cables that run beneath the walkways. They're murder to walk on barefoot. She's stubbed her toes in the goddamn gaps like a million times. Even when she doesn't, they still make her feet sore. The mesh gets printed across her heels and the balls of her feet. She begged Shavi to let her wear her boots, or at least some socks. He wasn't having it. He's too obsessed with her bare feet—he's fucked them and cummed on them just about as many times as her pussy and her ass and her mouth—and he loves tormenting her too much. She just has to put up with it. Anything the fucker wants, she has to give him.

They all pretend like she's still the captain—really it's a sick horrible joke. She's an absolute pathetic slave. Or a whore, more like. Shamefully whoring herself, in the vague desperate hope it will save her from a greater and more permanent shame, across the entirety of Living Space. Will he stick to his end of the bargain, at the conclusion of the tour? No way to know. If he doesn't—if the recording gets released in spite of everything—she'll probably kill herself. But she'll make sure she murders him first, and his so-called brother. Maybe the rest of the damn crew, on top of them.

Somebody crosses the corridor ahead of her ... It's the last member of the crew, the medic. Vara. She doesn't stop or say anything—just gives her so-called captain a quick sideways glance, before passing out of sight down the side passage, her boots stomping loud as she goes. Her expression was furious. No surprise; it's been like that since the start of the madness. It's like she wants to punch the captain in the face, whenever they cross paths, or maybe take it even further and strangle the life out of her. Vara clearly blames her for this situation. The medic doesn't sneer or giggle at her like Travar keeps doing, but she's shown no compassion either, not a shred, not for an instant. Kruger honestly can't decide which attitude is tougher to put up with, Travar's or Vara's. They both sure pack quite a wallop.

She goes through the hatch at the far end of the corridor to the engine room. There's an observation platform, when you first walk in, a little balcony that lets you look over the whole heart of the ship at once. Then you gotta climb down ladders to the open workspace, underneath, when you need to pull out parts from inside the engine to repair them or replace them. They call it the pit, though it's not really a pit. Just a square of open floor facing the engine, with a lot of scuffs and stains.

And the Outrage is standing down there, looking at her. Flexing its arms and huffing steam out its nostrils. They'd patched its bullhead back together.

Shavi pops up behind her, at her shoulder. He must have been crouching against the doorframe, to surprise her.

"Look what we got for you, Madame Captain. Look how pleased he is to see you again."

"Oh God." Her legs shook so bad, her knees literally knocked together. She thought that was just a stupid expression. She had to clutch the balcony rail with both hands to keep on her feet. Her toes dug into the spaces of the mesh, squeezing to grip the floor. "You brought that thing aboard? I had no idea."

"Of course we did. Don't be daft. We fixed it up too. That's a rare and valuable machine, Cap. Those things are worth a fortune! We're still working on the other guy, with the lion head. He's not ready yet for testing."

"Don't. Don't do this. Not this. Not to me. Not again. Give Travar to it!"

"That's not a bad idea. I'll keep that in mind for later, for the lion. But right now Mr. Horny—that's what me and Rojjo call him, cause of the horns, you get? Mr. Horny wants you, babe. Just you. You're way better looking than Travar, you know. She's cute, all right, but not a gorgeous perfect goddess of Avonlea like you are. They should make paintings and statues of you, seriously. One day I bet they will. And hey, what are you scared of? You'll be fine. You'll love it. Just like before."

"I'll do anything else. Whatever you want. You can fuck me again, right now." She bent over the railing and spread her legs wide as she could and shook her ass at him, on her tiptoes. "Shove it right up my butt! Put some Flow on your cock first, I need another hit. Then pound it in your captain's pretty ass and make her scream your name. I know how much you love making me do that. So make me, Shavi! SHAVI!"

But he held back. He fondled his crotch a bit, then shook his head at her, looking almost sad. "Nice try, Cap. But no. Not just now."

She started to cry. "Please don't give me to that ghastly thing. Please. Please! I'm begging you! I can't stand it! Not again!"

"Sure you can, Cap. You'll be fine. And I'm right up here with my blaster to pull you out if anything goes wrong again and it starts getting out of hand. Just relax!"

"Please no! No! God no! Please! Can I have another hit first? At least let me have a fresh hit!"

"Is that an order, Madame Captain?"

"Yes! That's an order! I order you to administer me another dose immediately!"

"All right, just a tiny one." He took a vial from his pocket, and poured out a dab on the tip of his forefinger. This would be the first time he didn't use his cock to put it in her. She was actually disappointed, she realized. Just 'cause it would have been a bigger dose, if he did it the regular way. Yeah, that must be why. "Ass or puss, Cap? Where shall it go?"

"Whichever."

"No, choose. You choose. Tell me."

"Pussy then."

"What? I didn't hear you."

"Pussy, I said. Pussy! Put in my pussy! Please! I need it!"

"Are you some kind of slut, Captain? You sound like such a depraved wanton slut. Wouldn't all your highminded people far away on Avonlea be totally ashamed of you, if they saw you acting like this?"

"Yes. I don't care anymore. I'm a slut. I'm your slut, Shavi. I'm a Flow junkie too. You did this to me. You turned me into this. You've ruined me. Put it in my pussy! Please. Pleeeze!"

"Bend over the rail more. Put your ass up high as you can, and stretch that pretty Avonlean pussy open for me. Is it wet? I bet it is. Show me!"

"It is! Look! Look! Ahhahhh the juices are leaking out and it's burning inside ... Auuhhuuuh!"

He reached down slowly, so slowly ... She moaned with anticipation, bouncing on her aching toes, hooked into the mesh of the balcony platform. "Shaaaavi! Ohhhoohh Shavi!" Then at last with a quick flick of his finger, he brushed the powder along her dripping crease. That was all it took.

"AAAHHUUHHHAAAHHHUUUHHuuhhhrruhh ..."

She would have collapsed to her knees, except Shavi, laughing, grabbed her around her waist as she slumped, and then he flipped her right over the rail with one mighty heave. She tried to keep hold of the railing, but of course failed—her hands were too sweaty, or she plain wasn't strong enough. She plummeted, the pitch of her scream jolting to a higher key.

She might have busted her neck, if she'd hit the floor of the pit from that height ...

She didn't. The Outrage caught her safe in its four arms—not safe at all, of course—and swiveled her around into position for fucking. Never let her feet touch the floor. It was going to have her the same way as last time. Drilling her from behind, as he held her spread-eagle at a slant, by her wrists and by her hips. Both cocks at once, pussy and ass together. Just as before, he started working them both in slow and careful, inch by inch. No need to rush.

"Oh! Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Oh oohoohhhuuhhh OH! OH! OH!"

When she looked up at Shavi, he was pointing his hand scanner at them. She should have expected that too.

At least she would get to orgasm again. Soon. Very soon. And many, many times, no doubt. And each one would be more intense than the last time, while she was high on the Flow.

She might not recover from this. She might lose her sanity for good, like in the legends. The idea didn't worry her.