Chapter 3
R&R: Rescue and Recruitment
People and beings scrambled to get out of the way of the black-clad redheaded Alliance "Intelligence" woman as Quillan stormed down the corridor toward the penal holding facility.
Alliance Intel was known throughout the galaxy as being almost as ferocious as the Stellar Marine Corps. Despite the fact that the woman carried no visible weapons, she could probably rip a throat out with her fingernail. This one looked mighty pissed off; eyes narrowed, shoulders set, head slightly forward, face passive yet showing that "something." Better off just to move out of her way.
Quillan blew through the open door of the holding facility and made a beeline for the desk sergeant. She brushed past an enormous, eight-legged, tentacled Terthon who was about to growl at her when he saw that she bore no Alliance insignia, but wore the uniform. He shut up.
"Where's my commander?" she demanded, before the startled sergeant could ask her business.
"Uhhh...er...w-who?" he stammered. A pissed-off Intel chick...all he needed.
"Commander Wilkerson, you moron. Dressed just like me. Short brown hair. Drinks a lot. Probably has a broken hand. Where the fuck is she?"
"Cell fourteen, ma'am. Another woman is in the same cell," he said as he pointed toward a door marked, OFFICIAL PERSONNEL ONLY. "I need your thu-thumbprint for access, please."
"No, you don't. Just open the trashmatter door and let me see my officer," she ordered, as she turned and walked toward the portal. "It had better be open by the time I get to it..."
It slid aside. Good acting, she thought, with an inward smile.
Holding cells hadn't changed much over the millennia. Floor to ceiling, wall to wall bars, these being made of tritanium; a simple four-cot room with a toilet and exposed shower nozzle which would spew cold water.
As she stalked down the tight passage, a hand reached out of a cell to grab her breast. Without losing stride, she bent her own arm upward, trapping the hand against her chest, and let leverage do its work. She released the arm only when she heard a snap followed by a scream of pain as the bone broke, caught between her body's momentum and an immovable bar of the cell. She smiled.
Stopping before cell fourteen, she eyed the two occupants a long time, her stern expression plain. Charleen, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees as she stared at the floor, looked up, gulped, and dropped her head again. Lt. Klaksell grinned sheepishly and wisely remained silent. The uniforms of both women were torn and ripped in various places, their hands wrapped in gauze bandages. Small cuts and scratches adorned their forearms and faces. At long last, Quillan spoke.
"Well?" was all she said.
Charleen stood up a bit stiffly, sore no doubt, and assumed the posture of attention; Lt. Klaksell following suit. Backs straight, chins tucked, thumbs along the creases of their ripped uniforms, feet at a forty-five degree angle to each other. As senior officer, Charleen was in charge of relaying the tale.
"Requesting permission to speak, ma'am," the barrel-like commander said in a clipped voice.
"At ease. Normal tones. Make me WANT to get you out of here..."
The pair relaxed slightly and glanced at one another with sly grins, like high school kids getting caught doing something fun but slightly illegal; out after curfew.
"The lieutenant and I went down to the Cemetery because we'd heard that all sorts of interesting things happened there." Charleen grinned at Quillan. "Oh, yeah, there was LOTS of good shit there. Drinks, carousing, partying...we stayed away from the drug tables...for the record." Charleen cleared her throat and continued. "We wandered through there looking around and...er...imbibing...a lot of imbibination was taking place..."
Lt. Klaksell leaned over to whisper in her ear. Charleen glanced at her again, a questioning look on her face.
"You sure? Yeah? Pardon, Captain Margoles, the word is, 'imbibition.'" She cast a wary eye at the lieutenant, then went on, making a mental note to check that word for herself. "Anyway, Captain, we had more than a few drinks that were sort of a glowy-orange...tasted pretty good, we should find the recipe..." She trailed off as Quillan folded her arms and began tapping a foot impatiently.
"Yes'm...short story...there were eight or nine guys fucking the shit out of a slave and they woulda killed her if we hadn't stepped in and done something about it." Charleen inhaled deeply and spoke again, "So the lieutenant and I kicked their asses, pooled our money, grabbed the slave, threw the money at one of the doormen to pay for the slave and ran to the ship where Muffin was waiting for us and the girl is safe onboard and here we sit...uh...stand..."
Huffpuffhuffpuff.
"Can we have that advance on our next payshares you were talking about?"
Quillan stood in the security watch commander's office as she patiently listened to the woman next to her.
Vanessa Harbinger, commonly known as Nessie, was the wealthiest woman on the station. Her wealth rivaled that of Infernus. The only reason she didn't have more than he did was simple; he demanded forty-five percent of her income. In fact, every vendor and establishment on the station paid the exorbitant fee for the privilege of operating there. With over four thousand of these establishments, he was raking in over a thousand credits a second...on a bad day.
Nessie's thick, shiny, pitch black hair reached her soft shoulders and was immaculately combed. Her gold-trimmed, low cut, flowing black dress was contrasted by the bright red lipstick on her kissable lips and fluorescent red fingernail polish on her long fingers. Her massive chest, rivaling Charleen's, threatened to spill over, it appeared that her areolae were hidden barely out of sight. In one hand, she held a wineglass containing some sort of reddish-green liquid which seemed to pulse on its own. Her other hand held two leashes which were attached to collared, muscular, bare-chested male slaves who were sitting cross-legged before her, staring at the floor.
"The slave in question is of no consequence to me or my establishment, Chief Capino," she said, haughtily. "The way she was 'bought,' for want of a better word, is dubious. The procedures which were set forth by Infernus must be followed. She needs a full medical workup, quarantine, the transfer papers must be completed, and of course, the remainder of the credits for her price and repayment for the hospitalization of my patrons."
She took a sip of the liquid in her glass, it glowed brighter as it hit her lips. Then turned her haughty stare toward Quillan.
"And why would Alliance Intel want to purchase a slave, anyway?" She imperiously raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow.
Quillan sniffed disdainfully and gritted her teeth, not liking this woman in the slightest.
"The matters of Intel do not concern you, miss. Suffice to say that we have a vested interest in this girl. My apologies for the way she was acquired. As you are aware, slavery is punishable by death within the Alliance territories. Only the fact that this station is one million miles outside of Alliance jurisdiction is saving your hoidy-toidy ass from summary execution." Quillan brushed invisible lint from her sleeve and continued. "The Alliance will pay you for any damages incurred, as well as seeing that all of the proper paperwork is on file. You're lucky we don't just blow holes in the Cemetery...let the air out."
Quillan turned to the security chief, and smiled tightly.
"But, we're not monsters. We're here to protect, not destroy. I need my two officers out as soon as possible."
How do I get myself into these situations? Quillan asked herself.
Totally devoid of clothing, lying on her back on the Chief's desk, legs in the air, her ass and pussy were being torn apart for the second time today as the two male slaves shoved their dicks roughly into her. While not nearly as large as Infernus, they still managed to cause her a bit of discomfort. Especially after that four hour session with the Big Boy. The Chief had his pants around his ankles with his cock firmly stuffed in her mouth. Nessie, for her part, was nude on all fours with her face planted in Quillan's nude crotch, tongue working furiously. Occasionally, the black-haired woman would pull a cock out of Quillan, lick and suck it for a moment and then shove it back inside the redhead, allowing the male slave to continue pumping.
Quillan's tongue worked along the shaft of Chief Capino's dick, tickled the head, and then she deep throated him and gulped, causing her throat to contract around him. He groaned and blew his wad down her throat...just as she'd figured; no stamina. He sank back into his chair, slightly out of breath. She swallowed the slick load, doing her best not to let it contact her tongue. She hated the aftertaste of cum. Bet his wife sought better bed mates behind his back.
The slaves steadily fucked her at the same pace, emptying and filling her as one. Nessie raised her head long enough to order them to kiss as they worked on the captain. The two gorgeous men embraced without hesitation, their tongues fighting with each other.
"Mistress," asked the slave who's cock was in Quillan's ass, "I am ready. May I come?"
"I think not, slave," said Nessie, gruffly. "Hold it. Slow yourself down. Don't bother me while I'm dining." She dropped her head and licked and sucked in earnest. Quite tasty. This one would fetch a high price in the SexPits.
Chief Capino watched the mass of flesh on his desk for a moment, then stood, his erection full once more and slid it into Nessie. She tensed as the intrusion caught her by surprise, then kicked backward with a leg, catching the chief in the solar plexus and knocking him into his chair.
"You didn't pay for that, chief," she intoned, as her fingers sought Quillan's clit and began rubbing it with a vengeance. "That's a five thousand credit snatch. Ten, if you want the cybernetics."
Again, the chief again stood and shoved his cock back into Quillan's open mouth.
Quillan furtively cut her eyes to the wall clock as she sucked and laved the dick in her mouth. Dammit...fourteen hours left on that computer diagnostic. What was wrong with Alice? She sighed. Her sigh was mistaken by all who heard it as one of ecstasy.
Nessie, lapping for all she was worth, tapped the slave who was close to coming, an indication for him to come when he wanted. She tapped the slave pounding Quillan's pussy and snapped her fingers. You come, too.
Quillan gulped again, triggering another groan from the chief, smiling inwardly. This guy was easy. She swallowed the smaller load as he pulled out, and sat in his chair, breathing more heavily now. That guy's gonna have a heart attack if he's not careful.
As one, the two male slaves in a passionate embrace, lips still locked together, moaned into each other's mouths as they came inside Quillan.
Nessie sucked Quillan's clit hard into her mouth, her tongue pressed tightly against the nub, squeezing her lips together. Quillan arched her back and let out a yowl as her juices gushed from her in the most intense orgasm she'd ever had. She held the posture for a moment before her muscles gave out and she thumped back onto the desk to lie panting and gasping for breath.
The chief leaned forward in his chair and punched the intercom button.
"Cell fourteen," he said, still panting, "let 'em out." A snickering reply to confirm his order, then he punched off.
Nessie made obscene slurping sounds as she sucked up Quillan's juices from the desk, then looked between her legs at Quillan's heaving chest, the pointed nipples standing up proudly.
"Damages are settled and the slave is fully paid for."
Tenhells, I can barely stand, thought Quillan as she made her shaky way into the facility's waiting room. Charleen and Lieutenant Klaksell bowled a few people over in their haste to reach the captain.
