Take as Prize Ch. 03

Aron was still ready for round two.

Vynn was taken, then, in the style she had expected and longed for. Her palms pressed to the walls, the bed too distant for the mere few moments it would take to stagger there. Her rump had pressed to the air and her feet had planted from side to side. This had given Aron a perfect chance to step up behind her, like she was a common back alley whore and he was merely a common customer. His hands had squeezed her hips, scars and callouses adding to the delightful feel of skin on skin contact. But then that mild delight had been eclipsed, as the sun was eclipsed by the supernova, as the man was eclipse by the Emperor. It was outshone, obliterated, sent running for the hills and driven into its burrows, bayoneted and slaughtered by the sensation that was that amazing, perfect, manly cock pressing to her wanting cunt and thrusting in deeply enough that she felt as if her whole body had been rocked to its very core.

Vynn opened her mouth, but she could barely make a sound higher than a whimper. Her lips opening had given a place for Aron's fingers to slid home. They were slick with her juices, his hand having spread her sex for his member, and she sucked on them wantonly as Aron started to fuck into her. It was almost mechanical, and yet...and yet that implied a lack of connection between her mind and his. But she knew that he knew her body better than she knew her own. For he fucked her with the deep, intense rhythm of the autobellows not because he was careless of her wants. No. He knew those wants, and was rewarded by the silky pleasure of her cunt clenching upon his cock with the third thrust. Her wails were no mere whimpers then. She threw her head back, his hand sliding from her lips to her shoulder to root her into place as she rocked and shuddered.

"Ohhh Sky Father!" she moaned, forgetting six years of doctrinal training, as well as all thoughts about soundproofing and remarkably thin interior corridor walls. "Oh fucking yes! Oh yes! Yes! Fuck me! Fuck my slutty little pussy, fuck it so hard, fuck me so hard I can't swim for a week! Ah! God-Emperor, yes! Yes! Yes!"

Her moans had been heard and taken at face value, and the thrusts had sent her breasts mashing against the wooden reliefs that decorated the wall. The face of St. Celestine, as pious and dour as any had rendered the winged living saint, had provided the rough rasp of sensation against her puffy nipples, while her juices had splashed the armor of the Salamander chapter marines as they stood between the Orks of Armeggedon and the civilians. Impiety? Without a doubt. But Vynn had more vital things on her mind than desecrating iconography with her passion. One being the simple fact that she had dreams beyond being yet another girl in Aron's harem of bastard-bearing cohorts.

A Trader needed a dynasty.

But she wished a career.

And so, she had hissed. "M-My...ass..." she gasped.

Argon had paused, then slid his hands to her hips. He had slid from her deliciously well fucked pussy, leaving her panting and whimpering and regretting the lack. But the lube had squirted into her anus and she had tensed as his finger had rubbed it home. The tension had faded as his finger quested in there, finding her rigorous hygienic standards – born of a life constantly exposed to salt and slow acting painless neruotox emitted by thumb-sized jellyfish – had not failed her. And then that thick, thick cock had pressed to her anus and Vynn shuddered as she felt him take her second virginity in the same night. No, third. Third. She hissed, her head rolling back.

Pain, yes.

But she was a death worlder. And she knew to deal with pain. And as Aron worked his member back, then forward, then back again, her anus relaxing with every thrust, growing more and more used to the member filling her, Vynn had felt a buzzing pleasure start to throb through her body. It tingled along her sex and buzzed through her nipples as she continued to grind against the oh so dour Celestine. And then as Aron had picked up his pace, his breath coming faster and faster and faster, Vynn had felt her own third or fourth climax rush towards her. Then...then...then...

Aron had filled her. His member had spurted and that same perfect stream of cum that she had felt splashing her face and her breasts and her belly and her cheeks and her shoulders, that same perfection had filled her anus. She felt warmth and glorious fullness fill her, her toes tingling and curling, her eyes closing. She had quivered, gasped...and become limp. Aron had barely managed to carry her to bed before he too became limp. And, with a languid happiness as ancient as the stars and as new as young lovers, the two had lain, arm in arm, leg coiled against leg, dripping and panting and smiling.

"Vynn..." Aron rumbled, his rough hand caressing her cheek. "Why did you...not..."

Vynn snorted and tossed her head. "As if I wanted to be a mere Trader's war-dog my whole life. Tied to you by blood, I may never leave. But..."

"A mere Trader?" Aron had sounded utterly shocked and completely delighted by Vynn's tone and turn of phrase. She had grinned, teeth sharp and body trembling with an excitement that went beyond physical lassitude. It was the excitement of the racing equine, the hunting canid. An excitement of a dream that was too big to fit in a breast, that had to be let out. And let out it was, in a single declarative sentence.

"I want to be a Captain. Of my very own starship. I will become more famous than you, Aron Vanderbilt, see if I do not."

And in the present, her body slightly aged and yet still buzzing and filled with that dream, Vynn relaxed into the blankets and the comforters and the pillows, her cunt dripping from around the sex toy that had filled her since she had started remembering to this moment. She lay there and enjoyed the feeling of satiation. And, as if the God-Emperor had heard her deceleration then and listened for it and found the time to finally respond, a rising and falling whistle echoed through the corridors and the PA crackled: "All hands, vortex ahoy! Vortex ahoy!"

###

Vynn stood upon the bridge and looked through the telescopes with the same baited breath and eagerness that the rest of the crew had – save for Janus, who seemed to be perpetually in a funk that Vynn refused to trouble herself over. The plume that stretched out behind the craft that was sailing in from the outer edge of the system was as lubberly as she had ever witnessed. It had great deals of lateral and vertical yaw and pitch, the sign of a crew that used the main engine and its automated systems to keep the ship on a straight course, rather than a more efficient and less showy secondary system, as the Hegemony used. Such a system took twice the work, but it would leave a plume as straight and true as one drawn by a razor.

The rest of the ship, though, remained irritatingly low on the precious arithmantic formula that would translate to weaponry and armor and shielding. Albedo was low and silhouette was rendered murky by additional rock-armorplast, while the secondary power signatures and heat plumes were made muddled by a series of bizarre flares that came up large and then stopped nearby, then emerged again at a different area near the ship. If it were not for Desna spotting some dark spots on the stars, where small craft passed between the telescope and the light of those distant twinklers, they would be entirely in the soup.

As it was, they knew that the ship was approaching with maybe five or six monitor sized tenders.

"What say you, Lieutenant Janus?" Vynn asked, desperate instead to ask Desna or Mr. Khan but knowing forms had to be followed.

"Strike craft, like as not," Janus said, nodding. "Definitely an Imperial derivative, though, the silhouette lacks the spines for an ork ship, and the albedo is definitely too low for an Eldar corsair. The Codex Astartes has several passages on enemy starships and their deployments, which I feel may be applicable here – we may wish to deploy cutters to screen against boarding shuttles."

Vynn clicked her tongue against her teeth, while Desna looked as she wanted to brain Janus with her telescope. To prevent a promising young officer from being vented into space with her career, Vynn said: "Well, Lieutenant Janus, I think those smaller plumes are a mite, ah, large for strike craft. And there are too few for squadrons. What say you, Mr. Khan?"

Mr. Khan tugged on his beard. "Xebecs, I think. Flotilla rigged."

"And those are?" Vynn asked with deliberate ignorance, hoping to drag Janus from his Ultimarrian mode of thoughtless supplication to moldy tomes mostly about ground assault.

"Well, ma'am," Mr. Khan said, his face a mask and his voice as placid as the deepest void. "When a ship enters the warp, it opens a vortex using the engine. When we travel in flotilla, the flag syncs their navigators together, and we follow the flag. That's how a fleet arrives in time, in relatively stable positioning. So, a xebec is a system ship – it has an engine, a hull, but no warp drive. But if they have a warp capable ship alongside, and are willing to risk stranding, they can lash themselves to their flag and trundle along like a fleet."

Janus looked as if he had never heard of something so revolting in his life, his face twisting with displeasure enough to make him seem even more like a corpse. But, alas, he was a corpse assigned by the Admiralty and so Vynn had to make do. And he did have a quick way with orders – he set the ship to sailing on and sent down a cutter to scoop the doctor up - "I don't care if he is busy collecting bugs and finding new ways to make juvinat, I want my bloody surgeon up here right now, good-goddamn it!" - all in a quick wink. But once the Hegemony was on its way and the auspex strained for every little detail they could clean from the new arrival, Janus went back to merely doing what he needed, not what he ought.

It was frustrating, like being abroad a ship with several thousand tons in gravitic anchorage trailing behind, and no one seemed to want to cut the cable or reel it in. Vynn chewed on it, and barely noticed Jon arriving on the bridge as bronzed as a Scintillian noble's cultivated joyboy. She didn't notice the five minute diatribe about interrupting a man at his work, nor the invections about the discoveries that would be forever left undiscovered that waited below, the jewel of evolution that was a world at this particular age, the fact he had nearly captured something called a 'treeworm' that had eluded him for the past two days, two days do you understand Vynn?

And, with the last word leaving the good Doctor panting, Vynn turned to him and said: "Why bring a transport xebec along a smuggler's route? That's five, six more people that will be checked by port authorities – five, six more chances for your contraband to be sniffed out, eh? So, why do it?"

Jon, face flushed as red as the rest of him had been bronzed by the sun, chewed on metaphoric lemons before finally throwing up his hands. "It's as lackwit and halfbrained as the rest of what you thrice damned void-sucking atrophied de-oxygeniated brains, shriveled from lack of true air, mutated and unfolded by gravitational anomalies while developing, a diet of naught but grox-meat and hard tack leads to nothing but short sighted scurvy and unbalanced humors, God-Emperor's oath."

Vynn laughed. "Exactly. It is lackwit. But if a smuggler's a lackwit, how do they keep their ship, their Navigator, their crew?"

Jon scowled. "They do not, Commander Vyn." He paused. "Those are not trade xebecs at all, are they? What is a xebec?"

"A single engine ship designed for system work, no warp drive," Vynn said, frowning. "But if they lack a warp drive, know what they have room for?"

"Well, if the word trade means what it did when I left this ship, I will hazard a guess and state that the room is partitioned into cargo holds and the like," Jon said, reaching up to take his spectacles off. He polished them. "But to remove the trade, you must add-"

"Guns," Vynn said. "Large bore, short range cannonades and armor enough to make them more asteroid than ship." She grinned, fiercely. "Mr. Khan! Be a good gentleman...and beat to quarters."

TO BE CONTINUED