Chapter 3
by 
Garf
But first they must deal with customs and immigration.
Even microgravity cannot prevent bureaucracy from functioning but tits can.
Then:
"You may think that you are hot shit now that you've passed Selection", the capital-S was obvious in the voice of the instructor, despite the scar running across his face giving him a slight speech impediment. "But that would be a grave mistake on your part", he continued, slapping his hand against a table. "You have a modicum of stamina, that much is clear. But now we'll see if your brains can keep up as well. If you score less than 90 percent in any of the tests coming up in the next three weeks, you will be immediately returned to your previous unit where you can continue to gloriously serve the Fatherland as you shovel shit from one pile to another. Use that as motivation. Needless to say, any cheating will lead to corporal punishment and dismissal. Now, steel your eyes at the screen and pay attention", the instructor finally paused to breathe as he fiddled with his tablet. Luke resisted the urge to peek at the others in the class. Making friends at this stage was useless, his instincts told him, most people in this room would wash out or so the scuttlebutt had told him.
Now:
"Welcome to Novaya Zemlya. Please deposit your luggage on this trolley and prepare for identification. If anyone here is a Luddite, let me know — we have a manual scanner somewhere," the low-level civil servant droned as Luke, Aslög, Metzli, Macha, and Amaterasu floated out of the airlock.
Luke wasn't surprised that the man's bored gaze sharpened immediately at the overabundance of curves that even fur-lined winter clothing couldn't fully hide. Amaterasu hadn’t even bothered to tie down her ridiculous mass of black-brunette hair, letting it cloud around her like some gravitational anomaly. Luke was pretty sure she did it on purpose — the only thing that could possibly pull attention away from her jaw-dropping 124cm bust.
But the girls knew the drill. Even in microgravity, they made a little show of it, crowding the bureaucrat and his two flunkies — customs and immigration officers for this sad little station orbiting the frozen blue-white ball below.
Somehow, scanning Metzli’s identity required her to unzip her catsuit down to her navel, flashing pert, jiggling nipples and all but daring the flustered men to stop her. Meanwhile, Macha shrugged out of her parka entirely, her red ponytail whipping through the air as she "accidentally" stuck her tight, curvy butt at one flunky while presenting herself for scanning to the other.
Not to be outdone, Amaterasu "lost control" in zero-G, spiraling into the lead bureaucrat with a squeal and wrapping him in a full-bodied hug, his head vanishing between her titanic tits.
Which meant nobody noticed as Aslög casually tapped the luggage scanner with a gadget she'd palmed from inside her overalls. She gave Luke a nod.
He pushed their cargo pallet through — the scanner remained calm, obedient, and most importantly, silent.
"Okay, Amaterasu, let the poor man breathe — he still needs to verify my identity," Luke said once their boxes were safely through.
The civil servant, red-faced and pitching a tent in his trousers, managed to tear his gaze away long enough to glance at the scanner’s display. Seeing nothing unusual, he flashed Luke a smile.
"Mister Daghur, owner-captain of the ship Seraglio? All looks in order," he chirped, eager to please. "Are you staying on the station or heading planetside?"
"Some of my crew will stretch their legs a little, but we’ve got business planetside," Luke said smoothly.
"Excellent. A shuttle will be launching down shortly. Once your comms sync with the station’s network, it’ll guide you to the shuttle bay," the man said, still sneaking longing glances at the retreating backsides of Luke’s crew as they moved forward, pulling themselves along the handles bolted to the tunnel walls.
"One day, some station, they'll all be gay, and we’re fucked," Aslög muttered under her breath as she helped push the pallet. "I can’t believe this still works," she almost-complained, her voice tight with professional annoyance.
Luke snorted.
"Nobody works out here willingly," he said. "Every day eats your red blood cells, your muscles, even your bones. A year here, you might recover — with good exercise, top-tier meds, and lucky genetics. Couple years? You're done. So guess what kind of men volunteer for this hellhole?"
Aslög nodded grimly.
"I know, you've explained before. Still annoys the professional in me," she said, putting a special sneer on professional that made Luke chuckle.
"Just be happy we can pull this off. It's safer — and a lot cheaper — than sneaking around in shellsuits, dragging cargo by hand."
Aslög shuddered theatrically.
"Fuck that. Spacewalks give me the worst combo of vertigo and agoraphobia. Between a shellsuit and a push-up bra, I'll whore myself up every time."
The station barely deserved the name. It was dug into a tiny moonlet, maybe two hundred meters across, and nowhere near spherical. As standard, ships docked at the ends of long spindly tubes stretching out from the central hub — no centrifugal gravity, just a mess of rock and metal stitched together where goods and people were manhandled through cramped tunnels.
Clearly, Novaya Zemlya wasn’t exporting anything mass-produced.
"There’s not even a restaurant here," Amaterasu whined.
"Stop obsessing over food," Macha teased her. She pointed at a side room hacked into the porous rock — a grim little "shop" made of old vending machines. Amaterasu pointedly ignored it.
"There's only one shuttle, at least we can't get lost," Metzli said, pointing at the battered black-and-brown lander with skis bolted to the bottom.
"Let's get aboard and pray the pilot’s awake," Luke suggested.
The pilot turned out to be an ancient woman with a face like a leather boot. She also didn’t give a single fuck about customer service.
"One launch down per station rotation, one launch up. That's the deal. Sit tight," she barked at them.
Luke knew a losing battle when he saw one, so he strapped himself into one of the battered passenger seats and settled in for a wait.
Of course, Macha had other ideas.
She whispered something to the others. With a few giggles, the girls maneuvered themselves into a human wall between the cockpit and the cargo hold. Their four boxes were strapped down, and now Aslög, Metzli, and Amaterasu sprawled over them, playing music and chattering loudly.
Out of sight, Macha floated over, all predatory smile and naughty sparkle in her eyes.
Giving a blowjob in zero-G wasn’t easy, but Macha had experience. Luke had strapped in with a four-point belt, boots secured under slings on the floor. Macha wrapped her curvy legs around his and, grinning up at him, freed his cock with nimble hands. She gripped the belt for leverage — and dove down.
"Oh, fuck yeah, Macha, suck it," Luke growled, grabbing her head in both hands to help.
Between the thumping music and the human sound shield, nobody outside the cabin would hear the messy, **** noises she made struggling to deepthroat him. Macha worked hard, drool building fast in the low gravity, and within a couple minutes she was swallowing his cock down to the root like a starved woman.
Amaterasu, distracted by the sloppy scene unfolding behind her, turned around to watch. Luke caught her eye — just in time to see her shed her parka and squeeze her O-cup monsters through a sheer red bustier, teasing her nipples shamelessly.
She winked. Luke winked back, feeling the hot flush of pleasure and pride.
He pulled Macha off his cock briefly — the redhead gasping for breath, eyes wet with tears — and nodded toward Amaterasu.
"She can take over if you need a breather," he offered.
Macha didn't even look — she just growled and dived back onto his cock with single-minded determination.
Between Macha’s furious sucking, the sight of Amaterasu playing with her monstrous tits, and the semi-public risk of it all, Luke’s resistance shattered.
With a deep groan, he came — thick pulses flooding down Macha’s throat.
Eyes wide, she pulled back in time to catch the last spurts in her mouth — only for Amaterasu to lunge in and claim a deep, hungry kiss, stealing her share of the prize.
The two women floated apart, giggling, licking their lips.
Luke leaned back, satisfied.
"Thanks, Macha. Excellent work. And Amaterasu, the show was very much appreciated," he said warmly.
Both girls beamed at him.
"Can we kill this shitty music now?" Aslög deadpanned, prompting laughter through the cabin.
"Well, you two had your fun. My turn," Metzli announced, wriggling her way over. She plopped down beside Luke, unzipped her catsuit again, and guided his hands inside.
"I might be the smallest, but the girls still need love," she pouted.
Luke smiled and gladly indulged her, groping her big, heavy tits as they made out lazily, killing time.
Almost anywhere else, Metzli would’ve been considered busty.
Not aboard Seraglio, Luke thought with pride.
Eventually, the PA crackled and their leathery pilot barked for launch prep. Everyone zipped up, strapped in, and got ready.
"Aslög, you've been here before," Macha said as she buckled her belt. "What’s it like?"
Luke smiled — he remembered Macha hadn’t left the ship last time.
Aslög thought for a moment before answering.
"It’s half-Earth gravity at best. Less dense too, so you’ll bang your head if you’re not careful. That’s the good news. Bad news: it’s cold as fuck. Only the equator’s habitable — rest of the planet’s under so much ice you couldn't melt it with a fusion engine. Even where people do live, it’s colder than hell. Colony was started by one of the old Terran nations... Hard people live here. Don’t pick fights. Stick together. And don’t linger outside unless you want to lose toes."
The mood sobered fast. The girls double-checked their boots, mittens, and parkas.
Luke gave Aslög a thumbs-up — his second-in-command always knew when to flip the switch back to serious.
The ride down was bumpy thanks to the high winds, but the old woman flying the shuttle knew her stuff. They circled the planet once before descending and landing on a snow-swept open-air pad, the shuttle’s skis scraping the frozen surface before a tractor towed them inside a hangar.
Only once the hangar doors sealed did the pilot unbuckle herself and open the hatch.
"I go back up in exactly one rotation. Miss it, you’re stuck here until next," she barked — then stalked off without a backward glance.
"Wow. Five-star service," Macha said, watching her retreat.
"Don't push your luck," Luke said, slapping her butt lightly. "Four ladies, four boxes. Grab one and move. We’ve got a business meeting to make."
He jumped down to the icy floor — and the girls followed.