by Loki Renard
“Yessir,” Mixer said. This time his tone carried an appropriate amount of humility.
Chapter Four
Eden was starting to very much enjoy her incarceration. The simulation machine was incredible in the way it allowed her to feel sexual pleasure without physical touch, and she was eager to get back into it.
As if reading her thoughts, Ghost’s tall, athletic frame filled the door. “Time for another session,” he said.
She practically jumped out of bed, eager to return to the lands of electronic pleasure. When they reached the simulation chamber, Mixer was already present.
“Both of you this time?” She arched a brow and let her lips curl in a teasing, suggestive smile.
“This is for exercise,” Ghost said. “You’ve used the simulator twice now, but you’ve not actually moved your body—even if it felt as though you did. This time is different. This time the tread-pad will be activated. You’ll walk and run as the simulation requires. Mixer will play catcher. I’ll run the simulation with you.”
“Catcher?”
“It can be difficult to keep your balance the first few times,” Ghost explained. “Moving your body while the simulation also moves isn’t easy. Mixer will catch you if you need it.”
The headset went on and a new world was loaded. This one wasn’t as detailed as the ones before it. It looked more like a video game. Laid out before her was a cartoonish athletic track. It glowed red and stretched long into the distance. Everything that was not track was just black, a void of non-existence.
“Try walking.” Ghost appeared next to her in the simulation.
She took a lurching step and squealed. Unseen hands reached out, grabbed her waist, and steadied her. That had to be Mixer. It was so strange, to know he was there but not be able to see him. When she looked around, she saw nothing but the track. But she could feel his hands firmly on her hips as she lifted her foot and tried another step.
The tread-pad under her moved, providing real world feedback as she advanced through the simulation on wobbly legs.
The grip shifted slightly to cover her bottom, not her hip. She took another step and Mixer’s hand moved again, fingertips sliding up between her thighs to press against her pussy. She gasped.
“What’s wrong?” Ghost frowned across at her.
“N…nothing,” she lied, trying to compose herself as strong fingers rubbed her pussy through the fabric of her scrubs. Mixer was a naughty boy. She liked that a lot. Each step came easier, gave her an excuse to press her thighs together and enjoy a little more of his touch.
“She’s unsteady,” Mixer said. “I’ll get up.”
The tread-pad moved a little as Mixer stood on it, planting his feet on the non-moving sides and pressing his body against her back. It meant he moved his fingers away from her pussy for a moment, but his hand soon slid around her waist and cupped her pussy. Walking was not much easier that way, but with her clit grinding against his palm, and a thick erection pressing between her cheeks, Eden soon found herself moving along nicely.
As she walked, Mixer’s hand slid up and then under her scrubs and panties. The touch of his warm, strong skin against her bare lips was more than she could handle. She let out an audible moan.
“If you two are fooling around, there will be tears before bedtime, I promise it,” Ghost drawled.
Mixer moved his hands fairly swiftly, leaving Eden bereft of his touch. She was starting to get the hang of the tread-pad though. She could move in any direction, toward Ghost or away from him, side to side, any diagonal she chose.
She practiced by putting enough distance between her and Ghost that he started to dwindle, leaving the track completely and dancing off into the darkness surrounding the sides of the track.
“You can’t get that far away in this program,” he said calmly as she was rubber-banded back onto the track. “Try running.”
Running was easy. Easier than her first tentative steps had been, for sure. The tread-pad moved smoothly under her feet and she moved along the track, her progress measured by little green markers that sat at the side of the track and turned red when she passed.
“Good,” Ghost said. “This is one of the ways we keep fit. You’ll need to spend at least an hour on this every day.”
“In this? This is already boring,” Eden complained.
“Let’s switch things up a little then.”
She could hear the smile in Ghost’s voice. The track dropped away from under her feet and was replaced with a dirt track winding up the side of a mountain. Beneath her feet, the tread-pad rose, making her climb.
The graphical quality of the program was much better; in fact it was so good that it felt real. Skittering pebbles beneath her feet made her want to pull back from the edge, but a swat delivered by the omnipresent Mixer urged her forward.
Ghost ran up beside her, taking the precipice and leaving her with a narrow path between rock face and his body. His body was very different from Mixer’s, but no less impressive. He rippled with toned strength, moving with agility and alacrity over the rocks and bumps that were not really there.
Eden felt a fresh flush of arousal. Both her captors were handsome, both were commanding in their different ways. It was only natural that she should be attracted to them. Her feelings were more animalistic than romantic; prisoners did not have the luxury of emotional connection.
Ten minutes in, she began to falter. She had been fit once, but several months’ incarceration on Earth, followed by the flight from hell had left her weak. Cursing under her breath, she tried to push on, but it was too hard. Her lungs were burning, her heart pounding, her muscles aching with acid buildup.
“Slow up,” Ghost said. “We can walk the rest of it out.”
She was glad to slow to a walk, putting her hands on her hips in both the simulation and real life, breathing hard.
“Mixer,” Ghost said, “you can go. She’s got the hang of it.”
There was a sound in the distance, a quiet thud of the door closing behind Mixer. They were alone, she and Ghost walking along the mountainside together.
Eden felt uncharacteristically uncertain. She felt she should say something, but she didn’t know what.
“You and Mixer were getting comfortable earlier today,” Ghost said conversationally.
“It didn’t end that comfortably for him,” Eden pointed out. No doubt Ghost knew precisely what they’d done. He seemed to have eyes everywhere.
“I don’t think I need to tell you that it’s not acceptable to hit either one of us.”
“No,” Eden said. “You like to do the hitting.”
“When we do it, it has a disciplinary purpose. When you do it, it is because you lost your temper.”
“That’s an arbitrary distinction,” Eden replied, panting slightly. “We all hit because we want something. You feel justified because you have a big organization behind you telling you to hit. But hitting is still hitting, whether you do it because you’re a rebel or a soldier.”
“There’s some kinds of hitting you don’t seem to mind,” Ghost said, giving her a sidelong look. “The hitting that happened in your cell today, for instance.”
Eden blushed. “That was different.”
“No, it wasn’t. You liked it though.”
“Finding pleasure in pain is a talent of mine,” Eden shrugged mid-step. “It’s what got me this far.”
“Halfway to a penal colony.”
“I didn’t say it was a useful talent.”
“Cute,” Ghost remarked, his voice rich and husky.
She smiled at him. He wasn’t a bad guy. He was doing his job, and he was doing it without being an asshole, which was more than she could say for Mixer most of the time.
“Let’s get some flatter terrain and run it out,” Ghost said, manipulating the settings again so the road melted beneath her feet and turned from a mountainous incline to a golden sandy beach with blue waters lapping the shore.
He picked up the pace and s
he did too. It was nice to move her body faster and feel all that it was capable of. Once upon a time she’d enjoyed exercising. Granted, most of her exercise came in the form of quick sprints between shadowy places to avoid the attentions of various authorities, but cardio was cardio no matter how you got it. They would have called it interval training if they hadn’t called it ‘criminal evasion of the law’ instead.
There wasn’t much in the way of conversation after that point, just a whole lot of exercise, more than she was used to or comfortable with. She stuck with it because she knew it was going to come in handy. Every criminal planning to go on the run needed to have a decent level of fitness if they hoped to stay alive. Hell, if worst came to worst and she did end up dumped on a colony somewhere, it would be useful there too.
“Good work,” Ghost praised as they slowed to a walk for the last time. “I’m impressed.”
“You’re impressed that my legs work?”
“I’m impressed that you behaved yourself,” he said, flickering a wink in her direction. Her heart skipped a beat in response, and she blushed. Fortunately there was no way for him to tell that she’d blushed, as her cheeks and upper chest were flushed with exercise anyway.
“What you call behaving myself is really just our interests coming into alignment for an hour, nothing more or less,” she informed him.
“Discipline is the art of showing someone why their interests should align with yours,” Ghost said, unfazed. “No matter how much you hate to hear it, you were a good girl.”
“Ugh,” Eden said. “Enough with the paternalistic rubbish. I don’t need you to tell me I’m a good girl.”
The problem was even as she argued, she could feel a little rush of happiness bolting unbidden through her system as a result of his words.
“Well, you’re going to hear it regardless,” Ghost said. “Now, time we both got cleaned up, I think.”
“You mean time I got locked away for the rest of the night slash day slash whatever time you call it in a place with no sun.”
“Not necessarily, if you can keep being a good girl.”
“I’m going to kick you if you keep calling me a good girl,” Eden growled, taking the headset off to glare at Ghost in person, all near seven sweaty feet of him. They were both covered in the dew of their exertions, almost as if they’d run through a rainstorm. The thought triggered a question. “Is there a rain simulation?”
“To address your first statement, you kick me, you get your bottom spanked. As to the second question, yes. These machines were designed so travelers could adjust to conditions on new planets before they got there. Any weather system you can imagine can be simulated.”
“I’d like to stand in the rain one time,” Eden said, unable to help the wistful tone that came into her voice.
“Maybe tomorrow,” Ghost said. “Something worth behaving yourself for.”
Eden narrowed her eyes at him. She did not like the way she felt handled by Ghost. Mixer was forceful and domineering, true, but he didn’t get inside her head or under her skin like Ghost did. Ghost was the dangerous one. She would have to watch what she said around him.
“I’m going to shower,” she said, hanging her headset up.
“Good girl.”
She snarled at him, but he just smiled, unaffected and patted her bottom. “Go on now,” he said. “Before you get yourself into trouble.”
“It’s a little late for that,” she sneered. “I’m a high security prisoner exiled from Earth. You can’t get in much more trouble than that and stay alive.”
“Mm-hmm, the good girl wants to be a bad girl,” Ghost drawled patronizingly.
“Oh, my god, I am going to beat the hell out of you if you don’t stop that!”
“No, you won’t.” He looked at her with those patient, pale eyes and she knew he was right—which only served to make her more irritated. She resolved then and there to find Mixer. At least he took her seriously.
She stormed out of the simulation chamber with Ghost on her heels, and was glad when she reached the relative privacy of her cell. Stripping off her dirty scrubs, she fled to the shower where the vapor soon fogged her away from prying eyes. It was the one little bit of privacy she could actually get, and she reveled in it.
It gave her a chance to think about what was going on. A lot had happened that day. A sexual connection had been established with Mixer, and something potentially more dangerous with Ghost. One obvious escape plan was to seduce both her guards and have them turn her lose. The problem with seduction was that it put one’s fate in somebody else’s hands. It meant using underhanded means to try to manipulate a situation, and that had never been Eden’s strong suit—hence her current situation. Besides, she was fairly certain that both men would be on their guard for such an attempt.
“Don’t get distracted,” she lectured herself. The sexual stuff was probably more dangerous for her than for either of her captors. For them it was a pleasant distraction. For her it shaved precious hours off her escape.
The first order of business was working out a way to override the cell door. It didn’t open from the inside in any obvious manner, but there had to be a failsafe of some kind. What if the sole occupants of the station locked themselves in a cell by accident? Would they simply starve to death? She thought not. There had to be a lever, a button, a code word, something. Once she had that, she would be halfway to an escape.
Satisfied with her plan, she exited her little tube of solitude and got dressed in fresh scrubs. Then she walked about the little cell, letting her fingertips trail across the walls. Somewhere would be a panel, she was sure of it. She tapped her fingers against the metal, hoping that the resonance wouldn’t be picked up by her captors. It was certain that they had a camera in the cell, but she didn’t know if it had an audio feed.
Most of the cell sounded fairly solid, but here and there she heard hollow tones. Pressing on the panels didn’t result in any immediate response, but there was a little creaking sound that was somewhat promising on the panel next to the door. Maybe there wasn’t a lever. Maybe she didn’t need a lever. Maybe prying off the panel and messing with the electronics would be enough to get the door open. Of course, that would make it a one-shot sort of deal. Mixer and Ghost would notice a bunch of broken wires for sure.
She was thoughtfully rubbing the panel when the door slid open. For a second, she thought she might have opened it, but Ghost appeared a second later.
“Hungry?”
“Sure,” she said, curious as to what was happening. Protocol stated she was supposed to be contained to her cell unless being exercised or trained. Ghost seemed to be quite happy to ignore protocol as he beckoned her out of the cell.
The bridge of the station was quite impressive. Three great tempered sheets of translucent fiber gave the occupants line side seats to the universe, though Eden noted that they were not actually windows, but screens upon which all of creation was projected.
“She should be in her cell,” Mixer grunted upon seeing her. He had been messing with a slim tablet, the contents of which remained a secret as he placed it down on the surface in front of him. The seductive man with the talented hands had been replaced by the domineering hard ass yet again.
“This station is a fairly effective cell,” Ghost said, dismissing Mixer’s concerns. Ghost didn’t actually think she was capable of escape. He was underestimating her. That was a very good thing.
She smiled triumphantly at Mixer and sat down in one of the plastic padded seats that sat before a console. Most stations didn’t have bridges, she thought to herself. Bridges were designed for… ships. Looking around, Eden came to a startling realization. Yes, the station was in static orbit. Yes, it was used for a staging platform for unfortunate victims of the penal system, but it wasn’t actually a station in the true sense of the word. It was a ship in its own right.
“She shouldn’t be in here,” Mixer lifted his voice in objection yet again. “There’s sensitive equipment.”
He was right. There was a lot of sensitive equipment. What was Ghost playing at? He was all but giving her the key to the emergency shuttle and sending her off to a rebel base with a packed lunch and a pat on the head.
“It’s alright,” she said sarcastically. “I’m not a magnet.”
“Better to keep physical eyes on her rather than leaving her to her own devices,” Ghost said. “It will be harder for her to get up to something with us both watching her.”
“That’s what a cell is for.”
“Some people are capable of getting into trouble in an empty room. Eden is one of them. Besides, we will only be here a minute, I was picking up some rations for the simulator.”
“You have to feed the simulator?” Eden was confused.
“No, but you can have dinner inside the simulator. Dinner out is a reward for good behavior.”
“Mmm. Pixels. Tasty.” Eden rubbed her stomach and licked her lips.
“Don’t eat in the simulator, eat here,” Mixer said. “If you’re going to throw security out the window, why not have a picnic on the bridge? After you’ve had your sandwiches, you two can make daisy chains from data cables and work on synchronizing your periods.”
Eden snorted.
“If you want to be insubordinate, we can have a different discussion,” Ghost said grimly, not at all amused.
“Is it insubordination if your superior officer is breaking all protocol?”
“Yes,” Ghost replied. “It is.”
There was tension in the ranks. Eden wasn’t surprised by that. Two men stuck out in the middle of space with nothing but one another for company? That would wear on even the closest friendship. Throw a woman into the mix and there was bound to be trouble.
“You want to eat tonight, soldier? Or do you want to sit in the barracks and think about your language?” Ghost’s husky growl contained significant warning for his younger comrade.
“Oh, my god, he patronizes you too,” Eden guffawed.
Mixer’s scowl grew deeper and more displeased. “Back in the unit, they used to call him Daddy.”
