Chapter 4
Time was sparse. Something he’d almost forgotten watching her undress. On the run to the ship’s bridge, Baz thought about Ember Trinity, his new guest and rescued CESS agent.
She was cute enough to stick on a cake and call a decoration with those long legs, red hair that flipped about her face, and little twirly skirt that revealed ass. Even his lesser dick agreed with that assessment. Cute but suspicious. Something odd had occupied air space in the room and flitted about her. He’d glimpsed what seemed moving glass before it was gone again.
Data extractors were not your average IT people. They were gifted with all the newest fandangled research before it hit the systems and the shops. Thing was, he’d surreptitiously scanned for foreign creatures and artifacts and come up empty.
Nothing was here. Nothing his ship could see.
Unnerving. Suspicious. Cute and sexy. What a combination.
And she had a mouth on her. Standing up to him was probably just her I’m a fucking superior CESS operative attitude. To the fiery hells of a collapsing sun with that.
He swung into the corridor to the bridge, smacked the wall beside the door to remind it to open, the fuckin’ thing stuck sometimes, and jogged to his cocoon.
Lock in, punch on the hyperspace prep routine, watch the blue shimmer flicker into existence that meant he was protected...and then...
He took a big breath and realized how much he was looking forward to this.
Then, synch with her cocoon console, squeeze his hands over the virtual controller, and zone in 3D so he could see her well enough to maneuver and insert the tubes. He hadn’t lied. He really was the best on board. The program really had glitched.
Just, he felt like the nastiest pervert doing this.
In all her naked glory, this woman was stunning. Lying on her side, with her eyes closed, and he had no one and nothing to stop him pausing and admiring. Yeah, move on. Do what you have to do to keep her alive. He pushed the mouth tube through those dark pink, precisely curled lips, over teeth, down further. The sound was on so he heard her small whimpers and protests. Her swallows as she took it in and down. That his very real balls squeezed on hearing those...totally normal. Move on. All the minutiae of adjusting the gastro-intestinal system space was automated correctly. He moved on.
To the real game. The camera view skimmed over her lushly tipped breasts with those swollen nipples. Gods, he needed to bite something, or lick it. Those preferably. He might just come doing this. His phantom dick throbbed in time to the dribble of sweat down his neck. This should not be erotic. He’d done it to that Bruffer smuggler who’d hitched a ride. Male, he’d been male.
This, her, Ember, was exuberantly female.
Hyperspace in five. How he wanted to make this take longer.
Quietly she breathed, muffled by the tube, half asleep, no doubt, while he violated her ass.
Baz paused again to wipe away sweat then grabbed the controller.
That ass in need of violation hove into view. The camera slipped and slid over the glorious butt mountains and down into the deliciously deep valley.
Her cunt was first. Vulva and vagina, he reminded himself, technically correct. Fuck-it. This was pussy. Her slit looked puffy, engorged, and when he began pushing the tube in she actually moaned around the mouth tube and wriggled.
“Don’t fucking wriggle,” he whispered desperately. “Please?”
Wriggling was unfair. Professional, he was a professional, trained, tube-fucker and should remember it. The tube forced itself inside, the smooth slide of it snakelike and continuous. Meters long and it could certainly reach to the very end of this Ember’s cunt. Though self-lubricated, he had to wonder at some of the wetness dripping from her – glistening as it undulated down the lower ass cheek.
More of her wriggling happened when it bumped and stopped entering her. That told him the tube had run out of cuntspace.
Cuntspace. If it wasn’t a real word before, it was now.
He adjusted the tension on the straps around her neck, waist and ankles, tightening them. Just enough to prevent her disturbing the tubes or denying him entrance.
Asshole next.
“Fuck. Fuck.” He palmed his face, slid his hand down, rolling out his lower lip. Didn’t help.
He had to reach down and squeeze himself. Was it safe going hyperspace with blue balls?
“Stop being a fucking pervert.”
Baz ground his teeth a second then took control of the ass tube. Sweating and cursing, he managed to stick it in there without doing more than what he had to.
Then he sat back, blinked, and switched off the 3D. Very professional.
Was tempted instantly to turn the camera back on.
Her all tied down and with those tubes inside her mouth, ass, and cunt would be an image he’d never forget. Though, since he’d already screen-dumped the whole procedure into his personal filespace, remembering wasn’t that essential.
Where was the in-hyperspace-flight whisky sip-tube? He yanked it over and took one slurp.
“I need help,” he rasped. Preferably help with a soft female mouth on his own not-so-soft parts.
“You okay, captain?” Rangoo yelped.
“Sure I am,” he muttered back. Through the shimmer of his activated cocoon Baz studied the cloud of blue surrounding Rangoo. Everything else in this world, on the Leaf, seemed fine. Only he was off kilter. “Let’s hit hyper.”
“Yes, sir!”
He braced, then banged on the green GO button at the same moment Rangoo hit his – the synchronicity enhanced of course by ship-board computations.
Everything went to black and white, and the ship...she rang with heavenly speed.
Here went bye-bye.
The fizz hit that told him hyperspatial flight was doing stuff to his atoms and trying to rip him into microcosmic fragments but his cocoon held, resisting the subatomic forces. The gods that be, the powers that be, had decided he was best kept in one piece.
Several...a cyborg was never one piece of man. He was a frickin jigsaw.