The Lucky Guess
Jak stared at the door to the "Lucky Guess". His heart pounded in his chest and he considered turning around and going back to his apartment.
He could do it. He could turn around now before the captain spotted him. He wanted to. He thought about the bottle of bourbon sitting on his bedside table.
The whole reason he had come this early was to keep himself busy. Get himself moving before he could rationalize starting the day out with a drink. But instead of a bustling crew, he was met with a cold, empty docking bay. The echoing silence closed in around him, and as soon as he put one foot in front of the other his mouth went dry.
The desire to turn back, and shut himself up in his little apartment, with a drink in one hand and his dick in the other was almost overwhelming. He felt ashamed that he hadn't flown in over a year. What kind of a pilot doesn't fly? That helped. The shame urged him on. Part of him knew that if he turned back now, he might not ever come back. He would sit on his shitty couch watching shitty porn and drinking shitty booze, and when Kali called he would lie to her. That pushed him over the edge.
He closed his eyes and imagined sitting in a cockpit. The feel of the controls beneath his fingertips, the thrum of the engines spinning up. The doc had promised him the fear would begin to fade when he got back in the saddle. Easier said than done.
He took a breath, and said, "Birdie, ping Captain Rossano."
His mobile chirped in his earpiece, acknowledging the command.
The ship's crew portal chimed and slid open, hissing as the pressure differential equalized. Jak was hit with the smell of recycled air. Inside, a light flickered on, revealing a claustrophobic hallway and a crew bulletin. high-definition images of plain-text notifications scrolled across the screen. "Next stop Whitehall, Ganymede." "See the Crew Service Lawyer for information about Power of Attorney and death benefits before take-off." "When was the last time you were checked for STIs?"
The scroll of digital messages vanished, replaced by a still image of the Captain. They had pointed features accentuated by the stubble short hair atop their head. Most spacers keep head and body hair to a minimum.
"Hey Jak. Head to the mess hall, I'll meet you there in a bit." Their tone was terse, but not curt.
The image flickered away before Jak had a chance to respond. Fine by him.
Jak had never crewed the Lucky Guess before, but he had been on plenty of other Eider models. He slid into the comfortable confines of the hallway, easily navigating the cramped labyrinth to the mess.
Rossano was already there, heating a pot of coffee and wearing nothing but a dirty, cropped tank top and a skimpy pair of bottoms that showed off their rump nicely.
It could get hot aboard a spacecraft, especially ones that were designed for speed instead of crew comfort, and light clothing was to be expected. Most spacers didn't show quite that much skin, but Jak tried his best to ignore his captain's delicious behind and get to business. "Flight checks?" he asked.
Captain Rossano noticed the pilot. They straightened and turned toward him languidly. "What's that? How am I doing? Oh, I'm doing fine, thanks for asking. How are you this fine morning, Jak?" She tossed him a lazy smile, letting him know she took no real offense at his lack of etiquette. They stretched as best they could in the tiny kitchen, drawing attention to the perky breasts peaking out the bottom of their top.
God damn, but the captain was fine. Jak wished they would do a bit more of that stretching. He shook it off and said. "I'm fine. Ready to get to work, Captain. Flight checks?"
Rossano sighed exageratedly. "Not yet. Paul is still doing some maintenance. We have another hour or two on lock-out." Their green eyes glinted impishly. She turned back to watch the coffee pot, leaning on the low counter, not-so-subtly arching her back, presenting her nearly bare ass to Jak, swaying their hips hypnotically. "In the meantime, I could sure use a wake-me-up, know what I mean?"
Jak had met Rossano on a handful of occasions and had heard about their reputation for casual sex, but he had no idea it was part of the first-day orientation for their crew. Jak thought of Kali but told himself to get over it. She still checked on him occasionally, but she wasn't coming back any time soon. "Sure," he said. "Lead the way."
He meant for them to lead him to lead the way to their bunk - or anywhere more private than the mess, but they took a different kind of lead. They reached between their legs and under the gossamer scrap of cloth that hid only the bare minimum of flesh to qualify as underwear. They stroked their vulva and hummed with pleasure.
Well, that was not what Jak expected. He wasn't much of an exhibitionist, so while he certainly found the Captain's lurid purs alluring, his nerves prevented him from initiating docking procedures just yet. A year of both alcohol abuse and self-abuse probably didn't help on the erection front.
"Well?" they asked between breathy moans.
Jak looked around the empty mess hall, suddenly worried there might be someone else in the room. Finding no furtive crew members, he shrugged. He crossed the kitchen and laid a hand on Rossano's back, slid it along the curve of their calipygean form, down the outside of their taught thigh, and back up the inside. His fingers touched theirs through their damp panties. He could smell their cunt already. He pulled down the black thong, slowly, revealing a tight little ass hole. Ropes of glistening drool trailed the cloth as he peeled it away from their wet pussy.
They were sliding one finger slowly in and out of themself, soft sucking noises accompanying each plunge.
Jak got on his knees and dove in. He licked the gush off their fingers and they gasped. Their hand flew from their twat to the back of Jak's head grabbing a fistful of his hair and hauling his face into the valley between their legs. He pushed his tongue between their engorged lips, the taste as intoxicating as any liquor. His nose was halfway up their ass. He worked his way back and up and gave the puckered sphincter a few good, hard licks and wiggled his tongue into the tight, little hole.
"Oh, fuck!" whined Captain Rossano.
That was enough. Jak stood up and dropped his pants. His cock was as hard as a drill bit and sprang free of his pants like a launched torpedo. "Fuck, yeah," said the Captain. "That's what I'm talking about." They grabbed their ass and spread it, showing Jak a beautiful target.
He wasted no time guiding his dick to the cozy, wet quim. He slid in slowly, savoring the delicious resistance. They both sighed in satisfaction as his girth filled her tightness.
Jak started thrusting in earnest, eliciting yelps of pleasure from the captain. They fell into a comfortable rhythm. Soft sucking and squelching noises filled the minuscule kitchen and dining area, along with Rossano's moans and Jak's throaty growls.
Suddenly, the Captain suddenly stopped their mewling and said "Answer."
Jak paused for a moment, but Rossano gave him a sultry look over their shoulder and threw their lovely ass back, urging him to continue while they said, "And how long is that going to take?" in a flat tone.
Jak couldn't hear the other end of the call that Rossano was taking over their mobile set, which they must have implanted since Jak could see no earpiece like the one he wore. He assumed it was a voice-only call, since why else would they use their normal speaking voice but to try to hide their off-screen activity? Jak thought back to when Rossano had spoken to him voice-only through the bulletin just minutes ago and wondered if this wasn't their first-morning pick-me-up.
"You're the best, Paul. Grab Syn and Jones, and come meet the new pilot in the mess."
Jak paused again. "Umm," he said. "Should I..."
"Keep fucking your new captain while the rest of the crew mosies on over here?" they finished with an arched brow and shrugged. "Why the fuck not?"
Something about the prospect of their little nice-to-meet-you fuck turning into a nice-to-meet-all-of-you show made Jak wish he had taken a little swig from his bottle before he left his apartment. But what was he going to do? Stop? Not likely.
Rossano had begun sliding their slick lips up and down his shaft, their call evidently over as they resumed their minxish purring. Their pussy gripped him each time they pulled away. Jak's head was practically spinning. He was enchanted by the slick, pink flesh that sheathed his throbbing tumescence. He resumed his rutting. Thinking of the crew that was on their way, he refocused his nervous energy into pounding his new boss into a happy puddle. But before they could achieve their satisfaction, the crew arrived.
Paul entered the mess first. Jak was startled by his entrance but recognized him as the ship's engineer from the crew introduction files Rossano had sent him when they offered him the job. Paul was hunched over, his six-and-a-half-foot frame was muscled like an ox, streaked with engine grease, and much too large to get around comfortably on a lightweight spacecraft like the Lucky Guess. The ceiling in the mess was only barely higher than Jak's five-foot-eleven height.
"Oh it's that kind of introduction," he said in a voice so deep it almost sounded like the ship's engine had fired up. "Should have known." He smiled at Rossano and winked at Jak, pulling his stained tee shirt off over his head.
"What's up?" came a raspy, feminine voice from behind the hulking engineer.
Paul unabashedly crossed the room, grabbing a chair along the way and pulling it up to a spot beside the counter. While Rossano pivoted from leaning on the counter to unbuttoning and unbuckling the big man's pants, Syn, the first officer, and Jones, the medic, entered the mess.
Syn was a stunningly beautiful woman with the kind of tits usually reserved for women painted on the noses of Defense Force strike-craft. "Ooh, fun!" she said clapping her hands excitedly. She had a girlish voice that didn't entirely match her mature look. She was certainly older than Jak, but probably not by over a decade.
The raspy-voiced crewmember, Jones, followed after. Jones had the peculiar look of a Venusian, with large, black eyes, and pale skin that had the slightest tint of blue. Jak recalled that Jones used feminine pronouns despite convention. The genetically engineered
Homo Venusius
was a hermaphroditic sub-species of humans, and usually used "ve," "vim," and "vis" for pronouns.
"You gotta be fucking kidding me, Cap!" she said taking a seat at the mess hall table.
Syn bounced up to Paul, slipping her pants off as she went.
By now, the Captain had gotten Paul's pants off and was stroking his formidable member, coaxing it into full erection. "You knew what you were getting into when you joined my crew, Jones. Too late to complain about it now."
