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Cruzing (ff/fff/mf/nc/bd/ds/alien/startrek)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Warning! Be advised that this story contains graphic, sometimes lightly
non-consentual depictions of sexual interaction, both hetero and
homosexual. The story also contains vivid, clinical, detailed
descriptions of sex with a humanoid alien. If you are under the age of
18, or if any of these subjects is likely to disturb and/or anger you,
please read no further, and save us both a flame.
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So there.
CRUZING
Chapter Six: Command Perogatives (part 6d)
Hicks knelt beside the Vargr. A small but lethal hand phaser seemed to
appear in the security officer's hand, as if by magic. Hicks pressed it
against the creature's lower eyelid. The scent of the Vargr's orgasm
seemed to emanate from the creature's *every* pore.
"How much did you pay her?" Hicks asked in an icy voice, mildly surprised
at the amount of emotion in it.
"Sh-h-h-she only ch-h-charged us half, man!" The Vargr could not help but
look at the wicked snub point of the phaser. It literally filled his
field of vision.
"And how much is that?" Hicks felt the muscles in his neck straining.
Was his finger tightening on the trigger stud?
"Oh, shit. . . Thirty apiece man! Thirty!"
A long moment of silence passed between the two. Then Hicks said simply,
"I think that the lady is worth more than that." He paused again for a
moment before adding, "Don't you?" He smiled at the marine. It was not
comforting.
"Oh sweet fuck! L-l-look man. My wallet is in my pocket. . ."
"Why don't you take it out?"
"R-r-right. . ." The Vargr slowly drew out his wallet, ever mindful of
the gun pointed into his face.
Hicks bent closer to the Vargr. "I think that she's worth at least
double." Each word seemed to whisper --I want to kill you---. "That's
120 apiece, 240 total. I hope you've got it. . ." The smell of the Vargr
was really making Hicks' upset. To think of *this* smell on *his*
commanding officer. . .
"Uhh, yeah! Shit yeah!" With trembling fingers, the marine counted out
the bills.
"Good. Your friend can pay you back later." Hicks and the marine looked
at each other for a moment. Hicks showed no sign of letting the man up.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
The Vargr now acquired a look of terror. That didn't happen often with
marines.
He was panting, his eyes wild, fear dripping from every pore. "Jesus,
man, what? WHAT?"
Hicks smiled icily at him. "The tip."
The Vargr Marine chose that moment to urinate into his camo pants, which
did *not* help his already funky odor. He gingerly took out the only
money left in his wallet, which consisted of four rather worn single
credit notes. He belatedly offered them to Hicks, along with a lame
smile. Involuntarily, Hicks's smile warmed a little. Marines! Hicks
took the bills, and then after a moment handed back two of them. "Buy
yourself a drink. You look like you could use one." Hicks abruptly stood
up, and offered his hand to the Marine. He took it warily, and stood up
as well, albeit a lot more painfully.
That's when Hicks turned to deal with the sound he'd heard a moment
before: a door opening. He was not surprised to find a huge black
marine, wearing naught but a white towel wrapped around his
thickly-muscled frame, lining Hicks up in the sights of his autopistol.
He had "sergeant" written all over him, right down to the cigar clamped
firmly in one side of his mouth. He surveyed the scene with quick darts
of his alert eyes, never taking them off Hicks for more than a moment. He
chewed on his cigar for a moment before speaking.
"You wanna put down your ray-gun, son?"
Hicks smiled. He hadn't been called "son" since his survival training
course at Starfleet Academy, which had been taught by a Marine. It
brought back memories. "Yessir," he said simply, putting the phaser
carefully on the dirty carpet. He then backed up a pace and put his hands
behind his head. He smiled again.
Chewing heartily, the sergeant actually switched the cigar to the other
side of his mouth, breathing smoke through his nostrils. --My God, it's
actually lit!-- Hick marveled to himself. Looking past Hicks for a
moment, he motioned to the wheezing grunt. "What's your ship, dog-face?"
"Uhh, the Savage, sir."
The black man grinned an evil grin. "Gorman's ship, eh? Might have
known." He sized up the trembling soldier. "Well, what did we learn
today, boy?" Hicks tried hard to keep the smile on his own face to
manageable proportions.
"Uhh, uhhh," the dumb Vargr seemed to be taxing his brain to the limit.
"Oh yeah! Tip the hookers, and pay 'em what they deserve, *SIR*." He
grinned stupidly. The sergeant shook his head sadly at Hicks. "Don't
know where there gettin' this shit nowadays." He motioned to his
unconscious companion. "Pick up your buddy and split."
The Vargr actually saluted. "Yes, SIR!" he almost shouted, as if it were
the best suggestion he'd heard in his life. He did as he was told.
At that moment, a enormous-breasted, nude blond human female appeared from
behind the sergeant. She slid her pale hand across the sergeant's broad
washboard chest before slipping it underneath his towel, caressing him
intimately. "Are you done yet?" she asked sweetly.
"In a minute, babe," the sergeant replied, not stopping the blond's
wandering hands. Nor did he lower the gun. "That was a perfect side-kick
you laid on those pussies. Marine style. You done some Corps time, son?"
He lazily cocked the hammer on his pistol, to emphasize his disinterest
in being lied to.
Hicks was already respecting this sergeant more and more. "No," he told
the huge black man, "But I've been getting some personal instruction from
one."
The sergeant chewed some more. The blond had now moved to her knees in
front of the big marine, and was energetically fellatiating him. The gun
did not waver one bit, as if it were an extension of the man's fingers.
"I know just about every Marine in this sector," he told Hicks, breathing
smoke. "Suppose you tell me who your teacher is. . ."
Hicks' evil smile was back. "Major Juanita Vasquez. Can't miss her;
Cruzer, short, textured white scar the size of your hand on her right leg,
I think she said it was an acid burn, and fucking *hairy*."
After some more chewing, the sergeant grim visage slowly spread into a
wide, genuine smile. He laughed to most jovial, honest laugh that Hicks
had ever seen. "Since Vas is on the Enterprise now, that must make you
*Fleet*!" The sergeant finally lowered the gun, and stroked the back of
the woman's head currently serving his sexual needs. "Don't that beat
all!"
"Sorry," Hicks offered politely. He lifted the lapel of his leather
jacket, revealing his Starfleet combadge.
The Marine threw his head back and laughed even harder. Then, quieting,
he told Hicks. "Sorry 'bout those boys. I'll speak to Lt. Gorman about
the situation. Privately." Hicks was sorry he wouldn't be around for
that conversation. "Two of his bucks get their asses kicked by a 'Fleet
boy, *I'll* make sure that whole sector knows about it." He bent his head
down to the woman. "Alright, sugar, that's enough of that. You go back
inside and wait for me, and I'll be along shortly." The blonde pouted,
reluctantly removing her lips from the Marine's engorged member. She
kissed the black man, letting him taste himself on her lips, before
scampering back into his room. "If you're going to be in port for a
while, I'd be my pleasure to show you 'round my ship, intro you to my C.O.
We'd love to hear how Vas is doing among the boys in blue; that little
badass has a rep as long as this sector!"
"Sorry, wish I could," Hicks politely declined. "And you call her little
again, I'm gonna test your speed on the draw. . ."
The big marine smiled broadly. He put up his hands in a gesture of
non-combatance, nodding with respect to the Starfleet officer. "Well,
when you see *Major Vasquez* again, tell her Master Sergeant Apone, off
the Paine, sends his best." Lifer marines were so polite. Hicks loved
them.
"You know her personally?"
Apone smiled a wise, man-to-man smile. "Oh yeah. . . she was the hottest
smartgunner I've ever had the pleasure to run a squad with, back about ten
years ago. A Marine's Marine, to the absolute fucking core. Good to see
she's shaking things up in the 'Fleet."
Hicks definitely felt like he'd been shaken up by her. . .
*****
After, he'd bid farewell to Apone (without telling him that Vas was
practically in the next room) Hicks cast a sarcastic look at the lock on
the door which bore the faded placard that read 'Room 214'. Removing a
small sonic inverter from his leather jacket, Hicks took a brief look
around. Plenty of groaning and moaning sifted from under the doors of
nearby rooms, but the coast was clear. He had the lock sprung in three
seconds. --Getting slow, old man--
Hicks listened carefully at the rather flimsy portal. He eased the now
unlocked door open just a crack. He smelled soap fighting for supremacy
with Vargr. The air beyond was warm, humid. Hicks's field senses kicked
in smoothly. He also heard, above the now clearly distinguishable sound
of the conventional liquid shower, a slight 'tink' noise. Hicks stopped
momentarily. --Oh, she's a smart little bitch, all right-- he thought.
Hicks ever so gently eased the door open another few inches, mindful of
the increased 'tinking' that the movement produced, until at last he was
able to get his hand in the door. Feeling around the edge of the door,
his hand encountered exactly what he had been expecting: a chair, pushed
right up against the door.
Hicks could only reach one of the chair's legs, and so, taking a deep
breath, he firmly grasped that leg and lifted the chair an inch off the
ground. Only the silence of his held breath betrayed the effort required
to lift and smoothly move the chair by one extreme corner, while keeping
it exactly level. The chair slowly pivoted into view on a graceful arc.
Balanced on the chair's far edge was a pair of marine-issue combat boots
and a stack of three heavy glass hotel tumblers. Nasty. Hicks relaxed
only when the chair had cleared the swing path of the door and rested on
solid ground. He slowly let out his breath, and took a short moment to
let it equalize. Then, he carefully swung the door open, mindful of
squeaks. There were none.
Immediately, Hicks moved the tumblers and boots to a less vulnerable
location: namely, the floor. However, as he was moving the boots, Hicks
noted an unusual scent: roses! Amazed, he traced the scent to the boots.
Sniffing lightly inside (and feeling a bit kinky), he noted the lingering
aroma of good, clean sweat mixed with a subtle, rosy musk. My God, a
marine ex-smartgunner drop commando who perfumes her combat boots!
Although amazed, Hicks wasn't really surprised. He already knew that she
was one of the most amazing people he'd ever met. Violent yet sensual,
fierce yet patient, experienced yet innocent. Male yet female, whore yet
madonna. . . Hicks smiled wickedly to himself. --Oh, Mr. Hicks, your
wake-up call!--
Hicks quietly removed his leather jacket, laying it carefully on the bed.
The smell of Vargr was strong there, and there were several damp stains on
the sheets. It pissed him off. Then he stalked silently up to the
closed door of the bathroom. He didn't realize that his penis was hard as
stone.
The door yielded very quietly to his subtle pressure. Through the hot
mist, the textured flex-glass of the shower stall revealed a dark shape
inside. A white ceramic basin sat on the floor near the shower's door,
filled with an inch of whitish-yellowish fluid which positively reeked of
Vargr. Thick, white strings of *something* were distributed throughout
the slime. Hicks began to sweat lightly, something he didn't normally do,
even in the hottest climes, and his white t-shirt stuck to his chest and
arms. He mentally prepared for a short but intense combat scenario.
Catlike, he crept to the stall's door. His hand grasped the handle, and
he quickly jerked it open hard, his open hand plunging inside. He grasped
something thick and wet.
A robe! The shower was empty, except for a tan terry-cloth robe hanging
from the shower nozzle. --My god! I didn't check my corners!-- Hicks
only emotion was one of deep surprise.
"Freeze, pendejo," a quiet voice hissed from behind him. Out of the
extreme corner of his right eye (Hicks had outstanding peripheral vision),
Hicks could just see the mirror. She was reflected in it. The angle of
reflection was such that he only saw her back reflected in the glass. Her
pearl-handled autopistol was held firmly in an outstretched, two-hand
grip, its rock-steady muzzle leveled directly at the back of his head.
She was totally naked and dripping wet, her short, dark hair matted
against her skull. Her small bare feet were planted wide apart on the wet
tile floor. The dimpled muscular cheeks of her ass were tense, as were
her broad, sinewy shoulders. Her compact, powerfully-built frame seemed
sculpted of gleaming bronze. Present was the same thin white scar over
the smooth, golden ripple of her right shoulder that he'd seen earlier. A
little string of clear, slimy *something* hung from the intimate area
between her legs, a continuing aftermath to her earlier coupling with the
potent Vargr marine.
"Hands up, slowly," his commanding officer ordered softly. Her sensual,
sexy voice was laced with restrained violence. "Away from your body,
fucker, or I'll blow your brains all over the bathroom." Hicks did as she
told him. "Now, turn around. . ."
Hicks did this too, moving very slowly. He wanted to see her. . .
A moment later, Hicks was looking right into her big, dark, bottomless
eyes, large, twin pools of ink. There was a tiny tattoo of a teardrop
under her left eye. --So, you've done some hard time somewhere-- Hicks
though to himself, a little more streetwise that Captain Picard, who'd
also wondered what the tattoo had meant. Hicks knew. --Probably
Lucifer's Rock Military Stockade, on Goddard III-- he surmised. Nobody
does time on Cruz, since there are no prisons, so it must have happened
during her time with the Corps. And most Marines do their time on the
Rock. --Well, despite the crucifix, my dear Miss Vasquez, you're no good
Catholic girl-- Hicks, with just the slightest hint of a mischievous
smile, gave her nude body a very practiced looking-over. He raised an
eyebrow and motioned with his head to her genital area, and the wet
products of the Vargr's lust which were slowly dripping from her.
"Have we been busy?"
Juanita Vasquez deliberately cocked the hammer of the big pistol in
response to Hicks's innuendo, and her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Blondie," she told him in a smoky voice thick with anger, "You came to
the wrong place for a free show!"
"Oh, I can pay, believe me," Hicks said easily. --Carefully, old man.
She's probably got reflexes that would amaze a Romulan.-- Hicks had
remembered something that Vas had said in her secret note, about getting
lost in the part. That would have to be his ace in the hole.
"I left my coat in the other room. . ." He motioned with his eyes to the
adjoining room's door. Vas' eyes flicked in the direction he had
indicated, as most people's will when given that subtle prompt. It was
difficult for Hicks tell, given that Vas had no corneas, but Hicks saw the
subtle movement of her head that accompanied the glance.
--Got you!--
The instant the woman's eyes flicked away from him, Hicks became a blur of
motion, lunging for her like a striking cobra. She'd made four mistakes
in all in confronting him: 1) she hadn't shot him immediately, 2) she'd
take her eyes off him involuntarily, 3) she'd targeted his head, when the
torso made a much surer target in such close quarters, and most critically
of all, 4) she'd held her gun in an outstretched grip, much too close to
her target. More than close enough for Hicks to reach it.
To her credit, the woman got off two shots, but by that time the gun had
been forced upwards by the talon-grip of Hicks's hands, now closed over
both the weapon and her hands gripping it. The gun exploded twice in
rapid succession, ripping dual holes in the ceiling. --Hope nobody's home
upstairs-- Hicks thought as he twisted her trigger finger against the
pistol's firing guard, dislocating it in one smooth motion. Vas gave a
short, quiet gasp of pain and surprise. She was looking deeply into Hicks
eyes, as if she were trying to look into his head to guess his next move.
--She was so fucking *strong*--
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