~*~ Cora ~*~

Three months to go. That's all. Three short months and then we make the injection into Jovian orbit for daddy's new placement at the embassy on Ganymede.

That means only three months left for Rodrik to notice me.

I've tried everything: completely ignoring him, lavishing him with attention, dressing like a nun, dressing like a whore. Everything except ordering the burly marine to take me in his arms and... I'm blushing just thinking about it. Sometimes I think I should just give up...

And then I remember Parthenope.

We were the best of friends from kindergarten, but then one day in high school I noticed something had changed: she was wearing the same uniform as the rest of us girls but it somehow fit her differently. The straight white blouse which was so flat and plain for me clung to her blossoming curves. The pleated skirt, unbearably frumpy to the rest of us, she made to look risque. Even the school blazer, ostensibly identical to the one worn at our twinned boys' school, looked more flattering on her.

As my breasts stubbornly refused to grow, her beauty and sexuality developed and she became aware of the attention she was getting from both men and women. We started to drift apart as she spent more time with the more developed, more predatory girls in my year, discussing boys from older years.

At sixteen I was still a virgin, unlike -- it seemed to me -- every other girl in my year. In desperation I asked Parthenope for advice, and all I got in return was public humiliation as the whole school discovered my shame. I became a recluse. At lunch I ate on my own, threw myself into my school work. That was two years ago.

"Well," I tell my reflection in the mirror, "those bitches are so far away now, if they wrote me an email it would take 45 minutes to get here. Out here, I can be whoever I want..."

The question is... who do I want to be?

My bedroom fabricator can print me any outfit from a catalogue of millions in less than an hour. I stand in front of the mirror and try on identities like borrowed gloves: a comfortable one-piece and a high end communicator and I'm a computer nerd.

I could be a businesswoman in tailored trousers and an aggressively cut jacket. Or how about shorts, a sports bra and a loose-fitting top? Voila! A track-and-field star.

I even tried on a mesh party dress from the restricted section, gave myself smokey eyes like the girls in those videos I found. The dress leaves both everything and nothing to the imagination. The way the fabric is woven together supports and lifts my breasts, emphasizing my cleavage and darkening my nipples without the need for a bra. I looked like a porn star.

It turned me on so much.

I put on a casual loose dress and some fitted jeans and head out to find Rodrik. In homage to porn-star-me, I leave my bra in my dresser, savouring the feel of the light fabric caressing my nipples as I strut down the corridor.

If I remember correctly, about this time Rodrik will be joining the crew to check the long range sensors. The sensor tech is cute enough but a bit boyish for me, I mean he doesn't even look like he can grow a beard yet! He is a sweet kid though. Sometimes he lets me sit with him while he's operating the sensors, shows me what all the different displays mean.

I knock tentatively at the door. No response. No, he must be here. I push the door and immediately freeze in shock at the sight which greets me:

Rodrik is sat on one of the chairs, his military shirt open exposing his rippling chest. The sensor tech is kneeling between his legs, his lips and right hand wrapped around Rodrik's ample manhood, his eyes closed in bliss as he bobs his head up and down, milking Rodrik into his mouth.

For a moment I stand there open mouthed just watching. Neither of them have noticed me. I watch as Rodrik laces his fingers through the sensor techs's hair, forcing his head down and his thick shaft deeper into the young man's mouth. He starts to gag on Rodrik's thick weapon just as Rodrik discharges it deep inside his willing mouth. He eagerly swallows Rodrik's hot load, milking every last drop from his thick shaft.

The young crewman, two red chevrons on the bicep of his blue-gray uniform, looks up at me and gasps. Rodrik spins around in his chair and I can't help but drink in his beautiful body and still rigid shaft, glistening with his own emission.

"Come in and close the door," he says, command in his voice.

I am still in shock from what I've seen, my mind and heart churning: The man I thought I loved... loves men? But that voice cuts through all my turmoil and speaks directly to my body, commanding me like I am his puppet. How can I refuse that voice anything? I obediently step into the small room and shut the door behind me.

He stands from his chair, shirt still open, glistening semi-rigid cock still protruding from his fly, and walks purposefully towards me. The light from the consoles glitters blue off the two silver bars on his collar. The younger crewman is standing sheepishly in the corner, not meeting my eye. Rodrik leans back against the door and looks at me.

"You must tell no one what you just saw."

Responses war in my mind: Why would I tell anyone about this humiliation? or How could you do this to me? or Wait, why is that screen flashing red?

"Wait," I say, "why is that screen flashing red?"

As one they turn and look at the screen.

"Shit," says the sensor tech.

"Fuck," agrees Rodrik.

"What?" I ask, "What's going on?"

"That's the proximity alarm. Short range sensors have detected something on a collision course with the ship."

"Like an asteroid? How did it get so close?"

"Not your concern; let's get you to a refuge."

The refuges are like safe-rooms inside the ship, armoured and stocked with supplies, where we go during solar storms or when passing through a cloud of micrometeorites.

Rodrik has tucked himself away and straightened his uniform. It's hard to reconcile this archetype of military discipline with the open and carnal congress I saw taking place only a few moments ago.

"Come with me; I'll escort you."

He opens the door and beckons me through into the corridor. Throughout the ship, an alarm is warbling but the captain on the tannoy, his voice firm yet reassuring as he urges people to proceed to the refuges, as if this happens every day.

This section of the corridor is empty. Rodrik glances over his shoulder once and then trots briskly towards the airlock door to the refuge, outlined in glowing green lights. At the door he cups my chin in one strong hand. My heart hammers in my chest at the brush of his cool callused fingers. His storm-grey eyes lock onto mine and his gaze seems to bore through my skull into my brain.

"Remember: you saw nothing. Say it."

"I saw nothing."

He smiles, "Good girl."

There's no steward in this refuge yet, so Rodrik helps me buckle me into the five-point harness.

"Shouldn't we go to my father?"

"No, policy is to take you to the nearest refuge. It's probably nothing, but we have to do this by the book. Someone will be along shortly to get you out. Just sit tight and watch something on your communicator."

And with that he's gone, slipping easily back through the airlock which clicks locked behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

So he's gay. Suddenly his professional, detatched, and slightly amused attitude towards me over the journey -- the same attitude which I found so alluring -- makes more sense. I think back over all the scenarios I'd played through my head about how we would meet and he would fall for me and take me in those strong arms. My cheeks burn red with shame.

"Stupid girl," I mutter to myself.

At least Parthenope isn't here. How she would laugh if she learned how I threw myself, oblivious, at a much older gay man. I grimace at the thought of it, and try to think about something else... like why Rodrik was being so secretive? Sexuality has been no barrier to social acceptance for a hundred years, and no barrier for military service for eighty. What was it about what he was doing that had to be kept secret? I wish I'd done more than just pretend to pay attention when Rodrik was telling me all about those boring military rules and regulations...

My mind keeps drifting back to that scene in the sensor room: Rodrik's thick weapon in that young sailor's mouth. A tingle runs down my spine, between my legs, and a very wicked thought blossoms in my mind.

I shouldn't. I could be caught. Someone could come through that door any minute and tell me it's all over.

That thought sends another shiver down my spine. What if Rodrik caught me? What would he say? What would he do?

My mind is made up. Rodrik did the harness up tight, but if I breathe in, I can squirm one hand down under the waistband of my jeans, down between my legs. There. My jeans are so tight they'll hold it in place, right where I need it, pressing it hard against my pelvic bone. I tap the controls on my communicator, and waves of vibrations radiate out across my crotch.

My communicator tucked into a pocket, I close my eyes and lean back, gripping the arms of the acceleration couch and let my mind wander back to that scene, except this time it is me on my knees, my lips wrapped around Rodrik's shaft. I imagine those callused hands in my hair.

"Good girl," he smiles down at me.

There's a thump which I feel more than hear as it ripples through the frame of the spaceship. I wonder vaguely if I should be worried, but the refuge is safe and warm and the low-power lights soothingly dim.

Rodrik will keep me safe. In my mind I am mounting him as he sits in his chair, straddling the seat, feeling his thick weapon plunge deep into my virgin flesh.

I could go for hours like this, carefully skirting the edge of orgasm, but I want to be pushed over the edge. Hard. I reach one hand up to my pocket and dial up the intensity. Gripping the arms of my seat, I feel it building deep inside me, like a coiled spring ready to be released. My eyes are pressed tightly shut, my mouth is gaping open, panting.

I'm so close.

*CRASH* *BOO-BOOM* *SLAP-AP*

My eyes fly open to see a space-suited figure towering before me. Is it one of the marines? I look up and see the glowing symbol on the figure's chest, a sigil so old it predates the birth of my nation: a grinning death's head above two crossed thighbones.

Pirates!

I go to undo the harness and flee but my hands are suddenly immobile. I look down and see two globs of clear, amber resin binding each hand firmly to the arms of the chair. Oh God, and my vibrator is still on!

Fear flushes my body with an eye-widening rush of fight-or-flight chemicals. These mingle in strange ways with the equally base emotions of arousal and my swiftly-cresting orgasm, churning into an intense chemical cocktail that seems to swirl through every extremity of my body, gathering momentum. I feel something being drawn from me like the sea going out just before a tidal wave... and then it's coming, rushing up my spine and slamming into my hindbrain like a freight train full of heroin.

I cum. Hard.

I was a virgin then, but I was still a horny teenager on a lonely voyage, and I'd had many many orgasms by that point, and have had many more since. This one remains the most intense, incredible and memorable of all. If you ever have the opportunity to get yourself enslaved by bloodthirsty space-pirates while diddling yourself with an illegally strong bullet vibrator, I heartily recommend it.

I must have blacked out for a second because suddenly I am slumped forward in the five-point harness, my throat raw like I've just bellowed my lungs out, my whole body rippling with waves of pins and needles and orgasmic aftershocks.

The pirate has leaned in closer, and is saying something in a heavily distorted voice: "-aving an orgasm?!"

I hear a laugh, not nasty but genuinely amused, behind the distortion of the space suit's tannoy. The question was apparently rhetorical, because before I can get my wits together to answer, he is reaching out with one spindly waldo hand and plucking my communicator from my top pocket. Shit. It's not locked.

The pirate steps back, and I look up at the blank mirrored faceplate, my eyes pleading. The bullet vibrator still squirms and thrums against my tender clitoris. His visor is opaque to me, but I know that on the other side there must be a man, a man who might hear the appeal of a frightened teenage girl.

The pirate plugs a data-cable into my communicator and the vibrator slows and turns off. My senses slowly return to me. I can feel my body, aching all over as if I've just gone for a long swim... except between my legs where the ache has a warmer, more satisfying glow. I pant slowly as I draw air into my lungs. I still can't wiggle my fingers, but at least I can feel them. I start to hear sounds from throughout the ship, banging and shouting. The tromp-tromp-tromp of heavy boots on expensive carpet.

I look at the figure standing in front of me. Six and a half feet tall, covered from head to toe in mirrored black armour, faceted like a gemstone. He's like something out of a VR game, or the nightly news: "Rogue habitat pacified; renegade CEO in custody."

"What's happening?"

"This ship and it's contents, including you, are now the property of the Captain Roath Privateer Company, New Tortuga registered. Don't worry too much missy, we'll just hang on to you until we can secure the payment from your K&R insurer, and then we'll sling you and your family on your merry way to Ganymede."

My heart sinks.

"But I'm a US Citizen. Kidnap and Ransom insurance is illegal under the Danegeld Law."

The blank faceplate is unreadable.

"But you bought some anyway on the dark web right? Everyone does. Hell, they won't tell you, but all the big white-market K&R insurance firms get their contracts underwritten by Jameson's of Tortuga."

"Not daddy. He's a diplomat."

"Well shit."

The pirate reaches around the back of his head and I hear a quiet click as he unlatches his helmet. Gripping both sides he carefully lifts it from his head. I look up in shock. Where I imagined the hard-jawed, scarred face of some asteroid-dwelling ne'er-do-well, instead I see a space-siren: green eyes glittering with mirth as she runs her fingers through a long auburn french plait. The rusty red tresses, crimped from the plaiting, cascade down over the mirrored black shoulder of her armour, reaching almost to her waist.

"Well."

She crouches in front of me, servos in her armour whirring and a wicked grin playing across her lips, "I guess I will have to make you my sex-slave."

There is something about the way she moves that makes her military-grade powered space armour look as graceful as a ballgown. She really is the most beautiful creature I've ever seen. Apart from the usual girls' school explorations, I've never found myself inclined that way, yet once again I find lust and fear at war in my heart.

She still has that wicked grin: half smirk, half pout.

"That was a joke; only pretty girls get enslaved."

"Hey!"

"I mean, pretty girls who can't pay their ransom. But you're kinda into that aren't you..."

I look down, feeling the heat rising in my cheeks, conscious of my nipples hardening under the thin fabric of my dress. The pirate grins, cocking her head on one side and I feel the vibrator stir into life between my legs.

"No," I say, "please stop."

Yeah, it didn't sound convincing to me either.

"Do you want to know a secret?" She leans in close.

I feel the intensity increasing, "Ngh, what?" I grunt out.

"I have one of those too," she smiles and I watch as her eyes slowly widen with arousal, "there's a surprising amount of... ngh... waiting in piracy."

I grin back, squirming in my bindings, "And you don't always have a pretty little sex-slave with you..."

In another part of the ship I hear the unmistakable rattle of automatic weapon fire. Adrenaline flushes my system again and I feel that orgasmic cocktail washing back and forth...

"What's that?"

"I'd guess your company of marines decided to be... mmm... disagreeable."

"Don't you have to go help them?"

"I think I'll stay here," she looks me up and down, slowly, like a hungry wolf deciding which part of the wounded gazelle to devour first, "to stay and guard the booty. Captain's prerogative."

In the back of my mind I know there's something significant about the marines, but her gaze is hypnotic. Her eyes are green, not the green of a forest glade, but of the shadows between the trees. I am drawn into them, deeper into her. She surrounds me on all sides, wise and ancient. Intense waves radiate out from my clit, washing back and forth through my body, the energy building.

Her suit opens all at once, blooming like a steel flower. She steps out of it, graceful as a ballerina and built like one too, her skin-tight matte black flight-suit clinging to every magnificently woven cord of muscle that wraps ber beautiful body. Her eyes are still locked on mine and she stalks towards me, feline, always with one hand or one foot on a bulkhead grip. I see her full lips softly parted, I imagine what it must be like to kiss them, to feel them on my lips, on my neck, between my breasts...

Suddenly: silence! I'm falling, strapped into my seat. The ship is falling!

"Relax," Captain Roath smiles, "they've just cut the engines. Now we're not under acceleration, there's no apparent gravity."

Her beautiful martian-red hair starts to lift from her shoulders and takes on a life of it's own, arranging itself into elaborate shapes in the zero-gravity, forming a perfect frame for her fine cheekbones, undulating sinuously across her body, drawing my eye to the curve of her hip, her breast.

She traces one fingertip down my chest and her touch is like electricity on my skin. She's gripping my acceleration couch with one hand, her feet hooked underneath. Suddenly I realise we're not falling, we're orbiting eachother. Two binary planets locked in eachother's gravitational pull like Pluto and Charon, our faces tidally locked together, waves of arousal washing back and forth between us... I feel myself getting close again, the tension slowly building...

Then the vibrator shuts off. I cry out in frustration, struggling against the resin. All I can think about is getting myself off.

She takes my hands in hers and before I know it the globs of resin have turned to two balls of jelly. Then her strong hands are on my hips and she's undone the harness and is spinning me around, entirely at her mercy in the zero gravity.

I find myself facing the wall above the seat, the resin hard again, welding my hands together to the wall, just in front of my face. Her nimble fingers are attacking the button of my slim jeans and then I feel them being slipped down, over my hips and tugged off. I feel the warm air of the cabin, the gentle breeze of the circulating fans caress my exposed lips, smooth and glistening with arousal.

*SLAP-AP*

Two more blobs of resin weld my knees to the arms of the chair. Now I am entirely at her mercy, my bare ass in the air, my lips and cleft exposed to her. Out of the corner of my eye I see one long-fingered hand snake out and grab my vibrator as, now liberated from my tight trousers, it drifts slowly past my face in the zero-gravity.

I feel her hands on my hips as she dips her head. Her breath, hot and slow on my lips. I feel her tongue dart out, hungry and eager, caressing my lips, tasting me. A growl involuntarily escapes my throat.

*SLAP*

I feel it this time, the resin as it coats my clit, hardening around the vibrator, holding it in place. I waggle my ass from side to side but it's not coming off. I feel it stir into life, the vibrations radiating through my bones, settling my nerves jangling.

"Mmm. I like your smooth cunt lips, rich girl. Good of you to get yourself ready for me."

"S'not for you," I grunt between the pulses of powerful vibration that ripple through my body.

"I've a good mind to leave you there, let my whole pirate crew take their turn with you. I bet you'd like that."

I feel like I shouldn't; the idea of a whole crew taking it in turns to fuck me and empty themselves inside should disgust and upset me. I feel scared, definitely. I imagine feeling some scarred, outer-planets roughneck forcing his thick shaft into me. I think about how it would stretch me, how it would hurt as he callously takes my virginity, his rough hands gripping my teenage hips tight as he roughly thrusts into me with his thick weapon into me before discharching himself deep inside; then slipping out of me for another to take his turn.

I imagine what it would be like for the tenth, the twentieth guy. Full to the brim with the seed of a whole crew, feeling it slopping out around the edges as he slips into me, stretched and abused though I am. Each thrust drags more out and it beads around my lips and glistens on his shaft.

My orgasm builds slower this time, and is less intense, but more drawn out. Not an atomic bomb, but a smouldering fire that consumes me from the inside. A slow burn that starts between my legs and ripples out in tremors throughout my whole body until I am bucking and writhing in thr restraints. As it subsides into glowing embers in my loins, the incessant stimulation of the vibrator grows intense, almost painful.

"Hey, I've cum, you can stop now..."

"Nuh-uh, rich girl."

She pushes herself off the floor and spins elegantly in the air, planting her feet either side of my shoulders, hooking them under the sides of my acceleration couch. I look up between her legs as I see her draw open a zipper on her flight-suit. It starts in the small of her back, runs down between her ass cheeks, and apparently all the way up the front.

In the twilight glow of the emergency lights I see her exposed pussy, completely denuded of hair, her lips parted and glistening with arousal. The sensations from the vibrator are very intense and I am struggling to think, my body squirming involuntarily against my restraints as intense waves of pleasure-pain wrack my body.

Then she is pulling herself down onto me, and her scent and taste is filling my mouth and nose. She tastes of arousal and sweat and too long in a space-suit.

It turns me on so much.

I have no idea what I'm doing but I start to hungrily devour her, eager for anything to distract me from the delicious agony wracking my young body.

She pulls away and I see another blob of restraint-resin in her hands. She's rolling it into a long shaft between her long fingers and then *SLAP* she plants the base on my chin, and I feel it harden in place.

The vibrator between my legs is delicious agony and she's easing herself onto this chin-dildo. The resin is so clear I can see easily through it, up inside her pussy. I watch it stretching her as she takes the long, thick dildo deeper and deeper into her. She grunts as she slides the last half-inch, until her clit is resting on my top lip.

She tastes so good.

She leans forward and I find her clit between my lips. I draw it into my mouth and caress it with my tongue, feeling her fingers tighten in my hair as I carefully lift the hood.

"Fuck!" she ejaculates, the word expelled involuntarily from parted lips.

Frantically I toy with her with my tongue, feeling the dildo slip and slide inside her as I move my jaw. My arm muscles twitch and my hips buck and thrust involuntarily as the vibrator between my legs grinds my nerves into dust.

She's not even holding onto the bulkhead now, but gripping my head between her hips. I can't see a thing but I can feel her cumming, feel her writhing as her body is wracked by the powerful climax.

And as she tops the crest, so do I, my fingers clenching impotently in their resin restraints, stomach muscles rippling, a string of expletives and made-up-words and grunts and animal noises emerging in an uncontrollable torrent from my mouth.

I must have blacked out again, because when I come to the gravity is back on, my hands and knees are free of resin, and Roath is perched on a foot locker opposite, puffing on a stimulant vapouriser.

"Good news rich girl, Daddy's negotiated a ransom!"

So I won't be a sex-slave. I'm getting out of here, rejoining my family and heading back to where I belong, to fine apartments and embassy balls on Ganymede.

"It's Cora. My name is Cora."

Why aren't I more happy?

~*~ Captain Roath ~*~

Things are so fucking boring with the gravity on. There's carpet on the floor and paintings on the walls. I want to stomp on the paintings and climb the carpet. I want to play that game where I imagine myself swimming through a tunnel, then falling head first down a well, then shooting like superman up a chimney.

I flex my fingers, feeling the tension and play in the synthetic muscle fibres. It still feels fucking gritty! I swear, when I get back to Tortuga I'm going to give that suit technician a piece of my mind...

Business first. Servos whining, I slip through the airlock into the shuttle.

"Ambassador."

He has a military bearing, wears his well-fitting suit like a uniform. Strong jaw, tidy close-cropped salt and pepper hair. He turns from the controls in the small shuttle-craft as I duck through the small airlock.

"Captain."

Already strapped into an acceleration couch is an attractive middle-aged woman in a comfortable but finely made evening gown. Perhaps a small-town beauty queen in a former life, now D.C. socialite and philanthropist.

"I'm afraid it won't be a comfortable trip to Ganymede, but you'll have plenty of fuel and supplies. If you want the space to stretch your legs, it's not too late to ransom frigate too..."

The ambassador barks out a laugh, "The ransom for the three of us will just about clear out our savings, there's no way I could stretch to the frigate as well, even if I did know what to do with it.

"Well, I can't say it's been a pleasure Captain, but you have at least been professional, and for that I thank you."

I nod to him, but his wife interjects:

"Where's our daughter? Where's Cora?"

I look at her, "I'm afraid Cora is staying here. Goodbye, Ma'am, Ambassador."

"What do you mean she--" the ambassador cries, standing quickly from the console.

But I am already back onboard the frigate, and punching the button to cycle the airlock and undock the shuttle. I catch a single glimpse of the ambassador's shocked face before the doors slam shut and the airlock depressurises with a hiss.

"Captain, the shuttle is requesting to re-dock."

"Reject it. Use the override codes and send the ambassador on his way. Wouldn't want to make him late."

I glance through the porthole in time to see the little craft's engines blaze blue-white in the darkness and soon it is gone, indistinguishable from all the other glittering stars.

* * *

She's waiting for me back in my quarters, reclining languidly on my bed. She glances over as I enter and her lustful gaze caresses my body from dark-lidded smoky eyes. Her body is wrapped in some kind of semitransparent mesh party dress which is somehow even more revealing than if she were naked.

"Captain?" she purrs, "Why don't you come back to bed?"