Chapter 7
Brooke opened her eyes and stared up at the dark ceiling. It was space morning, though obviously there was no glowing sun to light up the room and remind anyone of the time of the day. Her body felt drained, though her mind was active and in a mischievous mood. Her hand was already between her legs, finding her mound still sticky from the delicious dream she had just woken up from, but which was already fast fading from memory.
The only fragment remaining was being bent over a carryall on the planet, someone slapping a short tune on her bare ass before...before...it slipped away from her and she was left blank trying to think of what might have happened next.
Her fingers slipped inside, trying to tempt the dream back, but as much as her clit buzzed, and her imagination ran, she couldn't quite fasten onto something that she could surrender to. In frustration she gave up and accepted she'd have to go to work instead. Sitting up, she slid her legs to the bedside and sat there idly staring down at her dark bush of hair.
"Brooke, lights, low," she instructed the AI, watching the dark patch brighten into blonde, some of it matted down with glistening wetness. What was happening to her? She went blank, trying to summon the energy to get up. Her stomach twinged with a sharp bite. "Not again," she sighed. Food, she needed food to settle it down. And she just didn't have the will to shower. She grabbed a pair of dark panties and a long black shirt and put them on, but as she bent to put her long pants on, her stomach flared in a sharp burst that stood her up straight trying to ease it.
"Ok, maybe not today then," she patted her unsettled tummy, throwing the pants onto the bed, and headed off to start her morning routine.
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She ambled down the corridor into the mess hall. Maybe she should just go back to bed, call in sick, pull an extra shift later to catch up. But she couldn't do that, she had to soldier on and get it done. She plodded over to the auto menu and idly flicked through screens of breakfast options. What did she want? Really, what was it she wanted? She flicked the screen and let it roll quickly through options. She needed a good fucking, that's what she needed. She flicked it again into another scroll. Definitely doggy style, she needed it from behind.
She pulled herself back to the now with a shake of her head. What was she thinking?
"Brooke, autochef, latte, caramel, extra strong, extra creamy, end." She didn't even punch it in, she barely had the will to even say the words. With a shuffle she went to the rack of serving trays, finding only the bottom shelves still stocked. Oh great, she'd have to bend over. She put her hands on the middle shelf and eased herself over until she was bent over, her stomach immediately breaking into a sharp pain.
"Oh," she moaned, unable to straighten up without the pain returning. She hunched there a minute, unwilling to move and bring the pain back, and just as unwilling to find the energy to even move. The autochef hummed peacefully making her drink, and obviously some other order, as she could smell the strengthening aroma of mint. Which was just as well, as it seemed to be clearing some of the fog from her mind.
"What should I have for breakfast?" asked a voice behind her.
She knew that voice. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Rolley leaning on the doorway, towel draped over his bare shoulder, eyes looking up and down her legs. How long had he been standing there, taking in the view? She should have put her long pants on, she chastised herself. But that didn't stop her bending over further, reaching to the very bottom shelf, fussing over the top serving tray down there.
She stood back up, cuddling the tray to her chest. "Just after one of these," she smiled, her own eyes drifting up and down his body. "Oh, you'll want one too, won't you?" She slid hers onto a nearby bench and then doubled over to fuss in the bottom shelf again. "One of these must be clean," she said, juggling them around.
"I know what I want for breakfast," he said.
She wiggled her hips. She knew what he wanted, and she was happy to tease him about it, thankful that her long shirt wasn't that long and the hem had risen enough to show her ass off. In fact, there was enough of her on show for him to... and then it came back in a rush. The hands that were tapping out a tune in her dreams were black. Her body tingled with the realization.
"What shall I serve you?"
"I feel like something hot, tender and moist. Have you got something like that on your menu?"
She giggled. Going any further was probably going just a little too far with this. She stood up and skipped across to him, offering up the tray. Their laughing eyes locked, their grins beaming at each other.
"Oh, I feel I don't have time to whip up something that quickly. I'm just in and out on my way to work." Her eyes drifted down below his waist to his tented boxers.
He struggled for something to say, so she filled in the empty space. "You're really fit, I should get a workout in some time, instead of all my research."
The autochef dinged that her latte was ready, enticing her back to the bench. Lifting the cup with both hands, she took a sip of the heavenly brew.
"I'll give you a workout anytime, Brooke. And you can help me out with some research."
She walked out past him, their eyes locked again while she grinned wickedly. "I wonder what research that might be?"
"When you go black, you'll never go back," he mumbled to himself, watching the hem of her shirt dance with every exaggerated step she took down the corridor and out of sight. What he failed to notice was her blush at hearing him, or the extra sway she put on show in reply.
Walking around the corner out of sight, she felt good, really good. Her stomach had settled down, there was a bounce in her step, and a big, stupid grin on her face from Rolley's flirting. What a great way to start a day.