Vicky Peterwald: Target

by Mike Shepherd

  “Nice,” she said.

  “You’re all soaped up. Now rinse off,” he ordered. “This may be a yacht, but its water tank isn’t endless.”

  “Slave driver,” she said, and took his hand and put it between her legs. “You missed a spot.” He applied himself to cleaning her there . . . while she moaned nicely.

  “Now, rinse,” he ordered.

  She did.

  “Now it’s my turn,” Vicky said, and turned him around to face the shower flow. She started, as he had, on his back. It was large and broad and covered with nice, tight muscles.

  Really, I should have done this shower thing with more men.

  She was working his butt when he turned around way too soon. But that did give her even more delightful maleness to soap up.

  “The chest. Don’t forget the chest,” he reminded her when she might have run the tank dry on what she had in her hands.

  So she lathered up his nice chest. Strong pecs. She might have to study an anatomy chart so she could praise all of him properly.

  She would have lingered there, but he raised his arms over his head. “I do remember some woman complaining about the odor in the cockpit.”

  So she soaped up under his arms.

  By now the water was starting to run to the chilly side, so she obeyed when he insisted they rinse off thoroughly. But that still let her run her hands over him as he did the same for her.

  Water off, she toweled him down as he provided the same courtesy for her.

  She, of course, insisted he be dry everywhere, and when she finished, he made sure there wasn’t a drop on her anywhere, either.

  They might never have gotten out of the tiny bathroom; Vicky was coming up with several delightful ideas for using the close walls, when he led her by the hand to the bed.

  “This is taking forever,” she purred, wondering what Gerrit had about beds.

  “I hope you’re saying the same thing in a couple of hours,” he said through a deliciously mischievous grin.

  So she threw herself at him, wrapped her arms and legs around him, and gave him a long, wet kiss.

  “Now I’ll bet you want to towel yourself dry again,” she said when she came up for air.

  “Nope. Good, honest human spit don’t need no toweling,” he said, and tossed her on the bed so hard she bounced. “You may think you’re just a bit of nothing, woman,” he said, putting his hands on his back and stretching, “but at one and a quarter gee, you’re too heavy for that bit of the Kama Sutra.”

  She flipped herself around and began enjoying the lovely prize he was dangling there in front of her. He let her get a few good licks. Then he grabbed her by her hips and flipped her around and over, facedown on the bed.

  “Down, girl, this has got to take enough time for you to be complaining about this taking forever.”

  “Well, I was doing my part. So far, you were just standing there looking inviting,” she said with her face now squished into the pillow.

  He began massaging her feet.

  “Stop that,” she said.

  “Why, you ticklish?” he asked, not stopping.

  “No, but you’re making me feel things all over the place.”

  “Like here?” he said, and a hand wandered up to her thigh.

  “Kind of.”

  “Or here?” Now his fingers were exploring the soft inner flesh of her thigh.

  “Yes.” She moaned. “No. I’m not ticklish there.”

  “Or here?” His hand was back doing things to her feet.

  “No, I’m not ticklish there, I just don’t like the way you make my feet and a whole lot of other things feel. You sure you don’t have some sort of fetish?”

  “And if I did, would it matter to you?” now his fingers wandered up one leg and found the sweet spot between them.

  “Oh,” she moaned.

  “Yeah, I thought that would work just fine. Now, enough of that,” he said, and flipped her over on her back.

  “What?”

  She might have said more, but his mouth was on hers, caressing, exploring, getting to know every part of her.

  She felt him exploring other places as well.

  Whatever question she had wanted to pose evaporated.

  Then his questing tongue was working its way down her cheeks and throat before diverting to one breast, his fingers to another.

  “Nice,” she managed to get out around another moan.

  “No more complaints?”

  “Was I complaining?”

  “Might have been.”

  “Must have been some other girl you were doing this to. Couldn’t have been me.”

  His teeth closed urgently on her nipple; she felt explosions around a totally different part of herself.

  Now his tongue explored lower and lower on her. Quickly, his tongue and fingers switched places. She arched her back and spread her legs wide as his tongue reached her goal, while his fingers did wonderful things first to one breast, then the other.

  Vicky spread her arms, reaching for . . .

  “Oh!” She’d found something bobbing around beside her, and latched onto it. “Look what I’ve got,” she moaned as she began to play with it.

  “You are making it hard for a workingman to keep working.”

  “Or a hard man,” Vicky offered.

  He answered by sucking just the right place. Suddenly, Vicky couldn’t remember anything that she might want to do as she was shaken by one long shiver.

  She let out a long moan.

  And a shout when her world imploded and exploded at the same moment.

  A bit later, she came up for air.

  “I’m not done,” he said.

  “More, sir?” was somewhere between a question and open begging.

  He flipped her back over, facedown, and pulled her close. For several moments, his fingers did that magical thing in the soft spot between her legs. She would have thought herself sated, but she found she was hungry for more.

  Slowly, he pulled her hips up, brought her to her knees, and gently put her new, very favorite toy where she’d wanted it for, oh, forever.

  And then he took it away.

  She moaned at the loss.

  He brought it back, but this time let it play about where his fingers had.

  Then, ever so slowly, he drove it deep into her.

  She shivered, tensed, moaned, and smiled.

  When he tried to withdraw, she backed up, keeping it where she wanted.

  Thus it went on forever, him giving her what she wanted, then trying to deprive her of it. Her backing up against him, demanding what was hers.

  Finally, he seemed to lose the iron control that had allowed him to play this game with her. Now he pounded. She got, and gave as good as he did until the stars exploded, and he ended up atop her.

  Deliciously spent, she managed to wiggle around under him until she had his head resting between her breasts.

  “Now I’ve got you just where I want you,” she whispered.

  “Strange, I could say the same about you.”

  She listened as his heart slowed, and his breathing followed. So did hers. He was falling asleep. It seemed like a good idea to her, too, so she did, too.

  CHAPTER 39

  VICKY awoke to find the bed empty beside her, not an unusual circumstance. Gerrit’s clothes were in a heap on the floor, where he’d shed them before joining her in the shower. Apparently, the uniform of the day aboard the good ship Spaceadler would be scant.

  Vicky could live with that.

  Skimpy was better for Vicky than nothing as she discovered when she bounced out of bed and was reminded that the ship was at one and a quarter gees. Those girls bouncing about on her chest definitely needed support.

  With the same sigh she’d given many years ago when they showed up in middle school, she went looking for a bra and panties set that would catch the boy’s eye while maintaining a touch of mystery. Fortunately, the young woman officer had put some truly evil thought into what
Vicky might need if she was cooped up with one delicious officer for several long, tedious, or maybe not so tedious, days.

  Considering the pull of gravity, Vicky rummaged around in her bag for a wee bit of nothing for her bottom and something more substantial and supportive for those two mountains on her chest.

  The Marine had provided a rather sexy sports bra. Vicky pulled it on quickly.

  The commander was where she expected to find him, at the conn.

  “Anyone hot on our trail?” she asked him.

  “Not that your system has reported. Do you normally sleep that soundly?”

  “I’m a light sleeper,” Vicky insisted.

  “Yes, and you never snore.”

  Vicky did not honor that remark with an answer.

  The commander went on. “If we can trust these instruments, we now have the place all to ourselves. Even the Rostock has jumped out.”

  “Do you trust this set of gadgets?”

  “I trust the men who said they’d put them here. You want to step outside and take a look around?”

  “Not dressed the way I am.”

  “I notice that you are overdressed.”

  “Says the boy who enjoyed playing with what I have such an ample supply of. You want to play with them, you got to let a gal protect them from nasty gravity.”

  “I never thought of that,” he said with a wicked grin.

  “Men! If you ain’t enjoying them, you’re not thinking about them.”

  “And I thought it was a well-established fact that men never went more than seven seconds without thinking of sex.”

  “Sex, very likely. The problems we of the opposite sex have, not so much.”

  “Likely you have a good point.”

  “Do I notice your point rising?”

  He glanced down but chose to deny the obvious. “No, ma’am. What I hear is my stomach rumbling. Will you be so kind as to take a watch in the worry seat while I cook breakfast?”

  “You cook?”

  “I do lots of amazing things, some of which you may have noticed. Others of which, I hope to surprise you with later.”

  “Surprise me. I like what you’ve pulled out of your hat so far.”

  Vicky took the pilot’s seat. He give her a quick rundown on what to watch. Everything being in the green, it didn’t take much instruction. She’d stood bridge watches on the battleship Fury. She knew what she was looking at. Still, several people’s watch stations had been abbreviated down into one board.

  Once he was sure she could manage, he left her. Soon, delightful aromas began to emanate from somewhere below.

  He must have done more than just kitchen duty, because when he returned with two plates of ham, scrambled eggs, and hash browns, he was also sporting a set of delightfully tight and scant undies that the Navy would never issue.

  “So, supporting your fundamentals isn’t such a bad idea?” Vicky crowed.

  “Admittedly, my need is a bit lower than yours, but the idea did strike me as worthy of seconding.”

  “What do you know, an educable man. I might keep you around.”

  “For my educability, not my other fine qualities?”

  “I’ll have to see more of them before I’m sure they’re not just a flash in the pan.”

  “You want these eggs in your lap, or on it?” he said threateningly.

  “You can just hand me the plate.”

  “I’d like to have my chair back,” he said.

  “You one of those guys that always has to be in the driver’s seat?” she said, standing up and taking the offered plate.

  “No, but until I see your qualifications to command a ship in space, I’ll stay as close to the panic button as I can.”

  “I guess you have a point,” Vicky said, and managed to give said point a stroke as she transitioned from his station back to her own. Before digging into breakfast, she did a thorough eyeball of each readout. All were green. They were alone in this system if these sensors were to be believed.

  “Now that the Rostock is gone, what jump are we headed for?” Vicky asked as she took a bite of eggs and ham.

  The commander handed her his plate and then did several things with the controls. “Hold on tight, we’re going to one point five gees.”

  “Thanks for the warning, and yes, my boobies thank you for not doing this sooner or they would not have been able to come out and play with you last night.”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am. Now, can I have my breakfast back?”

  “In your lap or on it?”

  “Now, I was nice to you.”

  “But you were not thinking nice thoughts.”

  “Yes, but my nastiest thoughts are the most fun, aren’t they?”

  Vicky made a point of thinking hard for a moment. “Yes, again, you have a point,” she said, and handed him back the requested plate.

  She took another bite, this time of potatoes, and found she had to remark on them. “These are better than nice, Mister. A lot of times, hash browns seem to have been sliced apart and then glued back together. These taste like each individual one has been worshipped on the griddle and turned over lovingly.”

  “My, you’ve said two nice things to me in a row. Are you turning over a new leaf?”

  “And if I don’t, you’d likely turn me over yourself.”

  “But then I’d do such nice things to you from end to end.”

  “Now you’re the one doing all the promising.”

  “Yes, but I have a proven record of fulfilling my promises.”

  “And I don’t?”

  “You didn’t at the time.”

  Vicky made a face. “Okay, that may be the case. Now, turning to something important to my survival and ability to make and fulfill promises, when do we open my orders?”

  “After the next jump.”

  “And you’re holding out on my orders because?”

  “Actually, I’m not holding your orders. I was just told you should open them after we jump. I assume you have them.”

  Vicky chewed the bite in her mouth, swallowed, and dropped the bomb. “I don’t have any orders.”

  He looked at her as he finished his own mouthful. Vicky took another bite.

  “I don’t have your orders,” he said after he swallowed. “I assume that you have them and don’t know you have them.”

  “That’s great. The Navy Way. Give a girl some orders but don’t tell her she has them.”

  “Any papers?” the commander asked.

  “A small slip of paper was all I was handed. The one that had the dock where the Spaceadler was.”

  “Let’s look at it.”

  Vicky found herself blushing. “I was supposed to put it in water. The pier number appeared. Then I swallowed it.”

  “Oh,” was all the commander said.

  “Well, it was wet, and I figured I wasn’t supposed to have it on me if I was caught.”

  “Logical conclusion,” he said, then took another bite of breakfast and chewed it slowly, not taking his eyes off of her.

  “Would you please quit staring at me?” Vicky said.

  “It’s not you I’m staring at.”

  “Yes, I know, it’s my boobs. Haven’t you played with them enough for one day?”

  “Is that the only sports bra you were given?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s got three snaps in front.”

  “Yes,” Vicky said, glancing down.

  “One of them has a smudge on it. Something black. Don’t touch it,” he snapped, as Vicky reached down.

  “Don’t shout at me.”

  “Ever heard of a microdot?” the commander asked.

  “No.”

  “We use them in the undercover service. Would you hand me your bra? Careful. Don’t touch the snap.”

  “You talk about undercover, then want to uncover me. Guys,” Vicky said with a sigh, but she shimmied the bra up over her head.

  “I’ve got some tools in my kit below, but how good is that compu
ter you didn’t take off last night?”

  “Computer,” Vicky said, “can you read anything in the smudge on my bra?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The two of them waited for the computer to read the dot.

  The wait got long.

  “Computer,” Vicky tried again, “can you read that dot on my bra?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” it again replied.

  The commander laughed, “Just like a lawyer, it answers your question accurately but tells you nothing you want to know.”

  “Okay,” Vicky said, trying to control her exasperation. “Maybe Kris Longknife’s computer Nelly isn’t as bad as she thinks it is. Computer, please read me what is on the dot.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” did not sound good, but it went on. “From Admiral Waller, to Grand Duchess Victoria Peterwald. I’m sorry this is so informal, and that I didn’t have time to have this fully staffed out and run by a dozen advisors to make it sound better, but here are your options. Notice I didn’t say orders. The situation is too fluid for me to hope to give you an order that won’t be horribly obsolete five minutes after I give it.

  “Clearly, the palace is no place for you. As I see it, your only option is to run away, far and fast. The question is where?

  “I see three options, and I can’t decide for you which one you take. Here goes.

  “One, the boat you’re in can take you quite a ways. Do it. You should be able to reach some of the more far-flung planets of the U.S. Say Kaskatos, or better yet, Pandemonium. You can refuel and head further into U.S. territory. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t stop running until Wardhaven. There used to be an old custom of political asylum. It hasn’t been used much of late, but you could plead your case to King Raymond for asylum. It would be better to do it face-to-face.

  “Once you do that, you become his problem. If he can’t protect you, no one can. I’m betting he would give you asylum and protect you. The only downside of asylum is that it’s a one-way street. You can’t come back. At least you likely couldn’t come back on your own. Ray might put you at the head of an invading army, but I don’t think he’d risk that.

  “Your second option is to hide on an out-of-the-way planet like Kaskatos or Pandemonium and lie low until things sort themselves out here. Keeping you alive would be your problem and Commander Schlieffen’s.