Futanari Freighter 2
Carla was adapting to being a general purpose handywoman on the
FTF Tangerine
, learning the ropes of all sorts of general maintenance jobs, the minutia of keeping such a ship, even as automated as it was, operating sufficiently well.
What she wasn't quite adapting to was having had an intimate encounter with one of her non-human crew three days past. Utan had not made any further propositions, or overt advances, but more subtle flirts had not gone unnoticed. Well, 'subtle'.
Utan was about as subtle as a squeaky door. And the others, weren't much better, grinning and smirking at Carla on the sly.
The worst part was, Carla wasn't bothered by it for the reasons she
should
have been bothered for, namely feeling isolated and harassed.
Instead, it bothered her because it put all sorts of thoughts into her head. She hadn't quite stopped thinking about that day in the vents, jacking Utan off, getting the most exquisite head from them, the kiss they shared.
She might have resisted the urge to touch herself that day, but she did not succeed the following 'night', sinking her fingers into her pussy during her shower, and covering her mouth so no one heard her cum over it, somehow.
Her thoughts invariably drifted to other acts, wondering just what it'd be like to do something more... intimate.
Carla struggled to put these thoughts away; part of her was still unsure about the idea of doing anything further than digital sex... but she did receive some fantastic oral, and Carla felt a tinge of guilt not returning the favour, even if she had her reservations.
Whenever she wasn't working, eating, or doing something other than resting, she stayed in her cabin, watching pre-recorded lectures and the occasional movie, as well as reading E-books and perusing various scientific journals; she could still study as best she could, even if she only had archived stuff. It might help her land a better posting in the future, not that she exactly
hated
this freighter job, still relatively new as she was.
It was also to keep her thoughts from wandering, trying not to think about the Zamaar on board and the things they could do with her... the skills they must have...
There she went, head drifting into the gutter again. She shook it, mumbling to herself to put her back on track; these aliens were doing her in, and she only gave one a handjob.
But in the back of her mind, she knew it was only going to be a matter of time before she found herself in similar circumstances. She was just debating to herself whether it was a better idea to just... go with the flow.
She wasn't sure about it though... what if it distracted her too much? What if it devolved into something unhealthy? She had these thoughts, and had only partly concluded that maybe what happened with Utan should remain a one off. To stay focused, and disciplined. That way, maybe she could keep her sanity... she hoped.
It wasn't an easy course to commit to, because she kept wavering, coming back to the idea of 'going with the flow'.
She sighed; this job was supposed to be dead simple and dead boring... and now it was neither.
Carla slotted the fuse back into place, and the power relay hummed with renewed life, the full lights in the corridor turning back on in sequence. She picked up the old fuse, on its way to burning out, and placed it in a small container to make it ready for recycling or disposal.
She tapped at her PDA, marking the job down as complete. And no others were marked as available, and nor had she received any messages giving her a new, specific task.
She looked behind her, down the empty but now well lit corridor, and sighed; no one to give her praise for a job well done.
She didn't know why, but it felt good to be told she'd done well, that she was a quick learner. But because of that, she didn't as frequently need another of the Crew to tag along to teach her.
Well, she figured she could get a bite to eat.
It took barely five minutes to get to the cafeteria, the elevators and stairs making it quick to navigate the levels of the ship's rear; most of its 800 meter length was dedicated to cargo space, and she had few reasons to venture past the rear section. And she'd only been to the bow decks once, on a tour of the ship. At least she didn't have to walk all the way, a single tram running through the middle of the ship, allowing swift travel between the bow and the stern, and anywhere in between, helpful for the cargo teams. However, there wasn't much in the front of the ship, just another observation deck, a secondary helm if the main bridge, for whatever reason, became inoperative, and additional lifeboats.
There were some other things, mostly to do with the FTL system, but beyond that, the bow was pretty quiet and boring, and some even joked that, since it was a human ship, the front might have been haunted.
Apparently Zamaar don't think they can become ghosts. When they die, their 'souls', or whatever equivalent they have, dissolve into some background ether, a current taking them back to their homeworld for blissful, painless slumber. Something more abstract than an individual's restless spirit.
That they "believed" humans
could
become ghosts seemed to be another aspect of their ready adaptation towards other cultures.
She requested a tray for one of her allotted daily meals, receiving a lunch with a cheese and ham sandwich, a coffee with additional sweetener on the side, some dehydrated fruit, and a small stack of cookies.
All of it originally out of cans and containers, and most of it artificial. Fortunately, food science had come a long way from the early days. Her grandmother's brother was a spacer, and he said food for space travel used to be a lot less appetising to look at, and a lot less tasty.
It still didn't look that appealing, but a single bite of the ever-so-slightly spongy sandwich confirmed that it at least tasted like the real thing.
As she slowly ate away at the rather hefty sandwich, she was joined at the table by a Zamaar, one whose face was familiar...
Carla narrowed her eyes subtly, and then recalled the name.
"Heyto?"
It was the alien that had greeted Carla after stepping on board. She wondered if Heyto was chosen for that role for looking like the quintessential Zamaar; an average frame with an average if pretty face, red pupils, and moderately pronounced head spikes. Their lips pursed into a practised smile, though it seemed like it was habit rather than deliberate, Heyto seemingly forcing her lips into a less pronounced, more casual grin.
"The one and only," Heyto answered. "You seem to be fitting in well with the crew. I was worried, I had thought that you might feel homesick or uneasy around so many non-humans."
"Well, it's a learning experience," Carla answered, before giving Heyto a slightly suspicious look. "Why do you say that like it's your job?"
"Because it is," Heyto answered. "I'm responsible for crew relations, and PR if need be. I don't advertise it too much, because I've noticed humans have a habit of treating what you'd call 'HR' with suspicion. Apparently a deep-rooted belief that HR is not your friend, even if statistics of the modern day disprove this."
"Ah... yeah. You can consider that a holdover from our late-stage capitalist hellscape days. Well before my time, but the stories I hear... not pleasant. HR was there to protect the company, not you. So people learned not to go to HR with anything," Carla explained.
"I have read about that era... it seems tragic that a race with so many good qualities can be shackled by the greed of a few. But, I can't say it's unique to you... we've had our own share of strife caused by ignorance and greed. But enough about that. If you
do
have any concerns, do please come to me, or the captain, and we'll do what we can to help you."
Carla didn't think Heyto could help her with her current concerns. If anything, they might have made things worse; Heyto might have been 'plain' by Zamaar standards, but they were still very easy on the eyes.
In fact, Carla's thoughts started to wander again, thinking about Heyto running their hands up her bodysuit, caressing her rump, gliding them lower...
She shivered, wondering just where the hell
