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The Commodore , The Pirate

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“Officer, send encryption to the guards at the brig,” the Commodore declares. “I’m going down there for to visit our unauthorized boarders.”

In the aftermath of the melee, members of the crew on Starfleet Deltoid look tired and out of sorts. A young woman with tussled hair handles the message, which she sends on a monitor with a cracked screen. The majority of the fighting took place in the forecastle, but two of the attackers had managed to penetrate defenses and storm the command bridge.

But in the end, the Imperial training won out. Now the Commodore’s black boot heels echo in the gangway on her way to the cells where their prisoners are being kept. She glances out the narrow, rectangular windows that look out onto the vast void.

She feels a pang of guilt: if she hadn’t chosen this route, so far from any Imperial check-points, the kleptonauts would never have targeted them.

Kleptonaut is, in the Commodore’s mind, and undeserved euphemism. She sneers to herself as she clears the gangway, the portals opening automatically to let her pass. Pirates. That’s the only proper way to talk about the low-life scum who hover in the blackness of space with their radars off, waiting for unsuspecting vessels to rip off.

Space pirates.

The Commodore reaches the brig and goes to the surveillance booth. The on-duty guard takes one look at her and opens the portal without question – he hadn’t even opened the encrypted message, but he knew the Commodore was not going to be in a patient mood. The Commodore has an intimidating presence, despite her youth. Her eyes are hard and amber colored, and her golden-blond hair is perpetually pulled back in an unforgivingly tight braid that rests on the shoulder pad of her crisp uniform jacket.

Entering the brig, she takes her jacket off, revealing the dual stun-gun holsters on her hips. She hangs her jacket on a hook and enters with a stony expression.

As she does this, the guard watches her dumbly. He (like most crew members) has never seen her without her jacket, without the chevrons on the right breast signifying her many honors. Now, in only her long-sleeved white button-down, the curve of her chest and the taper of her waist are more visible. The guard is watching her backside – which fills out her navy blue dress pants quite nicely – and having thoughts that would get him court-marshaled if he were ever so unwise to say them aloud.

The Commodore snaps him back to attention with a word. “Officer,” she says. “I want you to allow entry for ID# 0604 to Cell 8.” She narrows her eyes. “And power down surveillance cameras.”

“Wait…are you sure we -” the guard reacts instinctively. Then, stopping himself in the middle of this idiotic sentence, he obediently switches off the surveillance cameras.

The Commodore glowers at him until her bidding is done. Then she smooths down her shirt, inhales deeply, and lets out the breath with her eyes closed.

The portal opens. The Commodore strides directly to Cell 8.

The walk is silent, save for her footfalls. Each of the cells in the space station brig are soundproofed, so even if unlawfuls were calling out and taunted her as she passed, she wouldn’t hear them, nor would she see them through the tinted glass. She comes to the 8th cell and holds her eye to the retinal scanner. It recognizes her identification number, which flashes on the screen as the computer informs her that her entry into cell 8 has been noted, and that she will be held accountable for any changes to the cell or the occupant, all in three simple words:

#0604 ACCESS LOGGED

She frowns purposefully at it.

With a hiss and a heavy thud, the door to cell 8 springs out from being completely flush with the wall. She slides it back and enters, and it closes behind her with another heavy click. As the door recedes into the wall, its outline becomes invisible, as though there weren’t a doorway there at all.

The Commodore stands stock straight until she hears the door close behind her. The cell is completely dark, and the Commodore sighs, annoyed.

“Lights on,” she says.

As the cell is filled with bright fluorescence, the light reveals the sole occupant of the cell sitting at the edge of her cot.

The woman is lean and tall, with long legs and torso. Her hair is jet-black and unruly: even now, strands of it hang in her face and strand straight up from her unevenly cut front bangs. Her clothes – a rugged pair of canvas pants ending at her mid-calves and a heavy leather jacket – and are torn in places: the tee-shirt she wears beneath the jacket is dark at the neckline and armpits with sweat. Despite her disheveled appearance – or perhaps because of it – she is breath-takingly gorgeous. Her lips are full and pink, and her teeth are brilliantly white. There’s a chip in her left canine that the Commodore can see as a grin spreads across her face. Her eyes are unnaturally violet – or, at least, one of them is. The other is obscured beneath a plastic eye patch.

“Well, well, well,” bilecik escort the woman says. Her voice is soft and raspy, yet somehow commands attention like the sound of a telecom cutting out of signal. She stands to her full height – taller than the Commodore by at least half a foot – and grins down at her malevolently. “The Commodore herself, here to visit lil’ ol’ me. What an honor!”

“Cut the shit, Luce,” the Commodore snaps. “I don’t have time to be cute.”

Luce steps back in mock-surprise. She points to her chest and says, “You think I’m cute?”

The Commodore ignores her. “I’m here because I want to know why.”

“Why?” Luce arches one fine, dark eyebrow. “The fuel supply on this ship alone is worth 10,000 standard creds. You have to ask why I wanted to steal it?” She puts her hands on her hips and shifts her weight. “C’mon, Keira. You shouldn’t have to ask that.”

“I don’t mean why you tried to steal it,” the Commodore says, gritting her teeth. “I mean, why are you stealing anything at all?”

“Because I’m a space pirate, silly,” Luce says simply. She turns and goes to her cot again, making a show of sashaying as she steps. Then, she drops her butt down on the cot with playful suddenness, gripping the edge of the mattress with both hands. She tilts her head at Keira. “Or what do they call us at Imperial? Kleptonauts?” She wrinkles her nose. “Bureaucrats. Always making up names for stuff, just so they don’t have to call things what they are.”

“I mean why are you doing this,” Keira says, and there’s no longer a question mark. “Your record at the Academy was damn near flawless. You could have been a Commodore in Sector 3 – hell, you could have been Ministerial!”

Luce smiles, more kindly now. She pats the space beside her on the cot. “Sit with me,” she says simply.

But the Commodore makes no move to do so. “Top marks throughout, and you were hardly trying. Then graduation comes around, and you’re nowhere to be found.” Sincerity seeps into her steely voice like a hull leak. “When I heard the reports, I thought they were joking. Then I thought they were lying.” Her voice hardens again. “And now I don’t even know what to think.”

The space pirate laughs. “You’re scolding me like you’re about to give me a spanking,” she says. Then she gives Keira a coy smile and, leaning back on her hands, adds: “Have I been naughty, Keira?” She arches her back, angling her petit breasts upwards. “Do I need to be punished?”

The Commodore purses her lips.

“Come on, sit with me!” Luce says again, whining. She pats the space beside her insistently.

The Commodore doesn’t move. Her jaw tightens only as she looks down at Luce like something caught in the tread of her boots.

Luce sighs, giving up. Her shoulders sag. “Fine, be that way.” She drops back onto the bed and rolls over onto her stomach, kicking up one bare foot over her behind. She pouts at Keira like a sullen teenager, her face pressed into the pillow, her hair loose over her forehead.

Keira’s expression still doesn’t change… but her eyes flicker to the lovely curve of the space pirate’s resting bottom. There’s a tear just beneath Luce’s left ass cheek, a triangle of fabric standing up to reveal the bare skin of Luce’s thigh, the same creamy brown color as coffee liquor. The Commodore notes, discomfited, that she doesn’t see Luce’s underwear through the hole. Keira’s insides flutter.

Of course, Luce sees this. She sees all of it: the glance, the shifting feet, the slight widening of her amber-colored eyes. All of this happens so quickly and discreetly anyone else in her position would have been forgiven for thinking the Commodore had been replaced by some kind of lifeless mannequin. But for Luce, the signs are as obvious as thunderclaps.

She smiles to herself and lifts her head. Her nostrils flare as she sniffs the air, and yes: it’s undeniable. She can smell Keira’s arousal. Like sweat and ocean spray and some pungent tropical flower with broad red leaves. Even as Luce is raising her head, a faint pink blush is spreading across the Commodore’s cheeks, soft and subtle, but as sure as the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Luce shrugs off the jacket and rises into a seated position, stretching casually as though she were about to yawn. Now she’s only wearing the small, tight white tee that hardly covers her shoulders or midriff: the fabric is practically sheer, and Keira can see – partly confirming her fears – that there’s no bra beneath.

“It’s been, what?” she begins, “Five standard terran years since we left the academy? Well, since I left the Academy.” She smirks. “You saw it right through to the end, didn’t you? And look how it’s paid off.”

Keira’s stance tightens. Her fingers curl up into fists.

“You’re a Commodore now! For an Imperial starship! I bet that made your mother proud. How is Diana, anyway?”

The Commodore’s eyes narrow at the mention of her mother’s name. She lowers her chin.

Undaunted, Luce escort bilecik stands and clears the distance between them in four calm, limber strides. “But I swear, Keira,” she says, circling the Commodore like a mountain lion stalking a herd of genetically modified antelope, “you don’t seem to have aged a day. What are we now? In terran years, I mean. 27? 28?” She raises her eyebrows and sighs. “I can never keep track. I haven’t been in a regular orbit for more than a few rotations in… I can’t even recall.” She grins. “Time flies when you’re having fun, I suppose.”

“You mean it’s hard to keep track when you’re getting chased out of every star system,” the Commodore growls.

Luce laughs breezily. “Oh Keira. I don’t get chased out of anywhere.” She leans close to Keira’s ear so that she can feel the tickle of her breath. “I go exactly where I please.”

“Not anymore,” Keira says, managing to keep an even tone. “You and your crew are prisoners of the Starfleet Deltoid now. As soon as we reach the nearest Imperial space station, we’re transferring you into their custody.”

Luce heaves a heavy sigh. “And then will I get my spanking?”

Keira flushes darker and looks at the ground. “I-I just don’t understand it,” she says. Her voice is quavering now. “You threw away a perfectly good future in the Imperial Guard. You threw away a valedictorian position in the Academy, and all of your ties to power. You threw away…” She trails off, not wanting to finish the thought. She has to clear her throat before continuing. “And for what?” She curls her lip. “To carouse with rebel forces? To go floating through the Void on a hunk of space-metal hardly better than a satellite? To get blown to bits by Imperials in a battle you could never win?”

“Oh!” Luce says, so suddenly that Keira flinches. “Is that what this is about?”

She reaches out toward the Commodore’s face, and Keira’s eyes widen with panic – but before the four star military strategist can properly react, Luce gently takes a strand of Keira’s golden hair that had strayed onto her forehead and tucks it behind her ear. Luce continues as though nothing had happened… only, her face is now getting closer to Keira’s, and she’s looking down at Keira’s shifting eyes with steady confidence.

She goes on softly: “Are you worried… that I’ll get hurt?”

Keira’s eyes flash. She lifts her chin and raises her face to meet Luce’s gaze.

“You’ve always looked out for me, Keira,” Luce says, practically in a whisper.

The Commodore’s pale eyebrows twitch. She clenches her jaw. “Not that it ever did any good.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Luce says. “I’m not blown to bits yet, am I?” She pulls her own wild black hair behind her ear, and the bracelets on her wrist kiss the silver rings in her ear with a soft clink. “As a matter of fact,” she goes on, “I’m pretty sure I owe you my life.”

A line at Keira’s brow darkens; she looks at Luce now with confusion.

Luce explains. “I attacked your vessel, Keira. You could have easily told your guards to shoot me dead, but you didn’t. You told them to capture me.” She grins, then gestures at the small, well-lit room around them. “And here we are.”

“The Empire doesn’t kill its enemies without cause,” the Commodore says.

Luce sucks her teeth. “Now, that I’m not so sure about.” She tilts away from Keira, motioning to a small, bluish half-globe mounted at the corner of the ceiling. “But I do know one thing. Imperial starfleet ships are flush with cameras. So I wasn’t surprised to see that I was going to be watched during my stay.”

She turns to Keira.

“However, I was surprised to see the camera light flash off – you can see through the tinted glass, you know – and I couldn’t imagine why the Empire had suddenly lost its interest in spying on my cell.”

She leers at the Commodore, flashing her brilliant white teeth and the tiny bicuspid chip.

“Until, of course, you arrived.”

Keira starts a stammering response, but Luce cuts her off by placing her cool hand on her cheek. The Commodore intakes breath sharply and raises her arm… but she doesn’t know Luce’s hand away.

“You may not know why I do what I do – I don’t even fully know myself sometimes,” she says with a shrug. “But I sure as hell know why you’re here, Keira.” Her mouth splits into an even broader grin, and the gleam in her eye glows brighter. “And I know exactly what you didn’t want them to see you do.”

Then, without warning, Luce takes Keira by her arm, her hand tight enough around Keira’s bicep that she winces softly. It’s the first crack in her composure, and it’s enough. The taller woman pulls her close and locks her lips to hers, forcefully enough that her own near-perfect teeth clack softly against the Commodore’s – but instead of pulling away, she moves as though she’s pulled closer, as though a magnetic charge between them had been activated, bringing her own chest to Keira’s until they touch.

Keira, for her part, is partially bilecik escort bayan stunned. She gasps, a feeble response, and her blush darkens as she’s humiliated by the weakness of her own reaction. She stiffens, her arms locking at her sides. Her eyes go wide even as Luce’s close…

But then, the tension leaves her.

She seems to sink down into the kiss and Luce’s embrace like a woman lowering herself into a warm bath.

Her chest sinks as the air leaves her lungs, slowly at first, and then in a rush. The strain leaves her back and goes to her legs, lifting her onto her tiptoes. With her hand, she timidly brushes her fingers against Luce’s elbow, and then pulls them away as though she’s touched a hot stove. As Luce’s lips release hers, she sighs the final air in her lungs, and then inhales with her mouth agape before leaning into to another kiss.

Her nose touches Luce’s cheek, and her kiss touches Luce’s grinning mouth. Their wet lips touch and pull away, softly clicking as their breathing syncs. Keira swallows and realizes that it hurts, because there are tears already brimming in her eyes.

Luce wipes them away with her finger and then puts it under Keira’s chin to raise her face. Keira can barely stand to look at how beautiful Luce is – her high cheekbones, her dark eyebrows, the widow’s peak over the smooth, clear skin of her forehead, and of course the one violet eye. At the same time, she can’t look away. She can’t even close her mouth.

Luce laughs. “Oh, Keira,” she says softly.

“I-I can’t -“

“Shhh,” Luce says, softly placing her finger on Keira’s lips. Then her hands go to the buttons of Keira’s blouse. One by one she opens them, until Keira feels a cool draught against the top of her breasts. “No need to say anything, Keira,” she coos. She grins “I’ll take it from here.”

Keira purses her lips and says nothing. But she lifts one foot and starts unlacing her boots.

Luce’s grin widens. “Good girl.”

Keira gasps as Luce reaches beneath her arms and unclasps her bra with an expert’s nimble touch. Her bra is flung across the room and her shirt follows soon after. Keira’s breasts are as white as two scoops of vanilla ice cream, and her face is a raspberry-sorbet red. She cups her hands over her nipples just as they start to stand up, and she closes her eyes, her breath coming in bursts, as Luce’s hands go to her pants.

“It may have been six years, Keira, but god, I’ve remembered those tits,” Luce says. As she’s removing Keira’s belt, she takes Keira’s wrist with her other hand and moves it away, then swoops in to give her exposed nipple a rough kiss. Keira’s gasp becomes a whimper as she hears her pants shhhing down her pale thighs, followed quickly by the sound of Luce flinging her shirt to the growing pile of clothes at the corner of the room. Luce gives Keira’s other breast a lick for symmetry’s sake, then pulls her pants down and steps out of the leg holes.

Keira opens one eye and sees that she’d been wrong about Luce’s underwear: she is wearing a pair. But when Luce grabs Keira’s hand and plants it on her behind, she feels cool, bare flesh and realizes it’s a thong. She squeezes: Luce’s ass is firm and round, too much for her to palm. She massages Luce’s wonderful backside and thighs as Luce kisses her, their passion increasing, the aching in Keira’s loins rising to a fever pitch.

Then, with a great gasping breath, Luce pulls away from their kiss and takes Keira by the waist. She squeezes her small body into her own, their heat coming together, their backs arched so Luce can look deeply into Keira’s face with her one violet eye, which darts between Keira’s their chests heave and they catch their breath.

Finally, she laughs.

And before Keira can even react, she’s being lifted, completely naked, off the floor. Luce has one hand hooked under Keira’s bare bottom and the other on the inside of her thigh, and she half-carries, half-throws her onto the cot. She face down lands with a small bounce.

“Oof – “

Thwack

“AH!”

She cries out as Luce slaps her right buttock hard enough that the clap rings out through the cell like a shot, and her ass dances with the impact. A handprint blossoms on her rear end, and Keira glances back over her shoulder, pouting.

“That was for fraternizing with the enemy,” Luce says. She climbs onto the bed, straddling Keira with her long legs. “Although, really, weren’t you the one who was going to spank me?”

Keira gives a crooked smile into the pillow. “There’s still time for that,” she says. “You’re my prisoner, after all.”

Luce raises her eyebrows and makes an impressed O with her lips. “Ho! Sassy, aren’t we? Tell me, Commodore,” she says, bringing her lips close over Keira’s shoulder as her right hand explores the space between her thighs, “why don’t I feel like I’m your prisoner at all?”

Keira moans as Luce’s fingers plunge into her, sinking into her with the steadiness of a hovercraft coming to earth. Her eyes roll back as the fingers push deeper into her cunt with a soft wet squelch, her pussy so completely wet and ready that Luce slides in both her pointer and middle finger to the knuckle with hardly a pause. Her toes curl as Luce fills her, and she lets out a breath she’d been holding as though she’d been waiting for this moment all day.

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