I was staring out of my tiny cell on the third floor of the Justice Palace, and once again I couldn't sleep. Every night I gazed at the sky, illuminated by the eerie blue glow of the city's defense shield and the occasional flak fire. Small shock waves were rippling through the city each time the energy shield was hit by artillery shells or by bombs from intra-atmosphere fighter craft.
The palace was located on a hill at the northern end of the city, giving me a spectacular view of the planet's capital, spoiled only by the gallows that had been erected in the courtyard. Whether they were just for me or if some other unlucky sods would also have the pleasure, I didn't know. In any case, none of this helped much with my insomnia.
Fucking Mindats, I thought. This must be the most ridiculous reason in the galaxy to earn a goddamn death sentence.
*
"Where are we goin', boss?" I asked, but Morrison just grunted, and I knew better than to press for details. After all, keeping my mouth shut at the right moment was part of my job description.
After decades of flying solo, he had one day decided that he needed an assistant, and fresh out of jail for some bullshit formality, I had been lucky enough to land the gig. At first I thought he had hired me because of my skills as a pilot or cook, my loose morals, or maybe my indifference for the law, but in reality he just wanted a pretty young thing that he could fuck whenever he wanted.
At twenty-three, I was at least forty years younger than Morrisson, and he wasn't exactly my type -- or anyone else's for that matter. He was a fat, filthy alcoholic who had spent way too much time alone to be good company. But he was an awesome smuggler with nerves made of steel and an excellent network of contacts all over Ildaria, many of which I hoped to use to my own advantage one day.
Business was thriving, and as a result, my safe deposit box at the Ildarian National Bank was filling at an amazing pace. If war was good for business, then the full-out civil war on Ildaria was a dream come true for mercenaries, smugglers, and other lowlifes. In our case, we were running guns and ammo for various fractions, making sure people could protect themselves -- or settle scores with their neighbors. They all seemed to have legitimate grievances, and the situation was way too messy to keep track, so I didn't even try.
By my standards, life was good, and for the best paycheck of my life, I was willing to overlook certain indignities and less pleasurable aspects of our arrangement.
*
After another eventless cargo pickup on Ildaria, we were leaving orbit, heading for open space. Everything went according to the calculated flight plan, and we settled into our usual routine. I was kneeling at my designated place under the nav console, working on Morrison's cock for the second time that day when we received the call.
"This is Nova Control calling Mariah's Virtue. Cut your engines, and prepare to be boarded for inspection."
Morrison grabbed the mike. "Roger, Nova Control."
"Keep sucking, kid, everyone's been paid," he said, patting my head the way I hated it.
I slapped his hand away and let him feel some teeth before I continued my ministrations. Being boarded was not an everyday event, but it happened often enough. Ildarian authorities were notoriously corrupt -- usually they just wanted to renegotiate the bribe or extort a few bottles of Mandrovian whiskey. It was business as usual.
By the time the docking maneuver was complete, I had already swallowed my dose of cum and rinsed out my mouth with a sip of booze. I had even lubed up, just in case my ass would become part of the transaction, like it often did.
*
When the boarding party arrived at the bridge, I was seriously underwhelmed. It was just two guys in uniform, a sergeant and a young grunt carrying an assault blaster and a standard-issue contraband scanner. The rest were probably still sitting on their lazy asses and hadn't bothered to leave their shuttle. It wasn't a real inspection anyway.
Morrison and the sergeant shook hands.
"Checkov, old fag, how's it hangin'?"
"Same old, same old. Fucking rebels are on the move again, which means even up here things are turning to shit. We haven't had a proper supply run in a month, we're basically dry."
Morrisson grinned. "Don't worry, my friend, I got you covered. I've got a few bottles of whiskey with your name on it. For your young buddy, too, of course."
"Oh, he doesn't drink," said Checkov. "He says he needs to stay alert. Kids these days..."
"He doesn't drink?!" Morrison obviously needed a moment to process the information. How anyone could get through a day without a bottle of booze or two was beyond him.
"Yes, I don't drink," said the young guy. playing with the safety switch of his rifle and trying to sound tough. "I hope that's not a problem."
"Alright buddy, whatever. If you don't want my whiskey, you can tap that ass if you like," said Morrison, giving the mentioned ass a healthy slap. "Help yourself, she doesn't mind."
I didn't like being pimped out in such a casual way, but this, too, was business as usual. Smuggling was a man's world, and in certain situations I was expected to take one for the team. We were already behind our flight plan, and the sooner these guys left the ship, the better.
"Boss, you're an asshole," I said, but Morrisson just chuckled. He knew what I thought of him, and he couldn't care less.
"She looks like a lesbian," commented the trooper, and I could see where this farm boy's confusion might come from. Back then, I was wearing my hair short, in a style I jokingly called the "interstellar lesbian option number two."
Morrisson obviously had never considered the possibility. He gave me a long, hard look, then he shrugged. "Who cares, she's got three warm holes to fuck. Do you want her or not?"
"I'm standing right next to you, idiots," I said, shooting an angry glare at the lot. With guys like these, becoming a lesbian sounded like a plan worth considering.
Of course, the youngster didn't disappoint. Like any other straight guy I ever met, he wouldn't turn down free pussy. Evolution had built them this way.
"No, no, I'll take her."
"Now that's a relief," I said, well aware that horny grunts didn't understand sarcasm. "Come on, tough guy, let's get this over with."
Unwilling to waste even more of our precious time, I kicked off my shoes and stepped out of my work overalls. There was nothing else to take off, I never bothered with wearing anything underneath -- certainly not a bra or panties. The bridge was as good a place as any, so I bent over the engineer's chair, boobs dangling, ass towards the youngster.
"Nice pair of tits," said Checkov, giving my right breast a squeeze until I shoved him away. "Hurry up, lad, I'll go next."
Despite my inviting pose, the young trooper just stood there and didn't move.
"What is it?" I asked, getting impatient. "Don't tell me you need foreplay."
