Lift-Off - [BJ]

"Pardon me for asking, Captain," Lieutenant Hammer looked up from his seated position at the Navigation-Communications station onboard the 5-EX, "But why did you tell me not to have Ensign Bauer turn on his visual?"

"He was probably with the daughter of the High Advisor," Commander Smith answered.

"So?" Hammer replied, "It wouldn't have mattered if she had seen the inside of the ship and we . . . Ohhhh..."

"Yes, Ohhhh," Smith grinned. He turned to the female miner, who had been waiting patiently through the exchange, and asked, "Ready, Comrade Farasha?"

"Ready, Comrade Captain," she replied, hooking her arm around his. As they headed for the access ramp, Smith reviewed the watch schedule once more before departing. "You are on duty until 1600 Hours. The Boatswain relieves you, and Lieutenant Moonwatcher relieves him at 2000 Hours. Correct?"

"Correct," Hammer nodded. "Have fun at the party and give Kevex my . . . regards."

"The middle one, right?" Smith replied. Kevex was the leader of the Sons And Daughters Of Freedom, a.k.a. the Disruptors. It was he who had taken Hammer prisoner and roughed him up a bit on the ship's last visit.

The couple departed the ship and Farasha got behind the controls of the hover-craft. The one that Smith had given her upon the ship's departure. She was wearing her typical miner's one-piece khaki jump-suit, for although they were going to a party in Smith's honor, it was being held in one of the numerous abandoned mine tunnels that the Troglytes inhabitted when all the ore had been removed.

As they drove out to the mine, she updated him on the progress of the negotiations, which were considerable. The Council had agreed to giving the miners fifteen percent of the revenue from the Zenite ore. Gross. She had first asked for twenty-five per cent of the profits and they had countered with ten. She dropped her request to fifteen, but added gross income, not profits.

"They would have been better off accepting twenty-five percent of the profits!" Smith exclaimed incredulously.

"I know," she nodded. "They have spent so many generations in esthetic pursuits of philosophy and art and beauty, they have become a group of inbred retards."

"Can you trust their numbers?" Smith asked. "I mean, they could always do the old 'two sets of books' trick."

"Not likely," she answered. "Like all things remotely related to work, they have 'house-Trogs' doing their accounting."

"Just out of curiosity," Smith half-turned in his seat to study her profile. "I know Doctor Boyce thinks you are of above average intelligence. As do I. But at the risk of sounding like Lieutenant Hammer, how did you get your vocabulary? It is my understanding that only a limited number of Troglytes get any kind of education at all. And for those who do, it is strictly related to their jobs. Like the accountants."

"My mother worked as a secretary in Stratos," she answered. "Until they accused her of theft in order to cover embezzlement and fired her. She taught me how to read and write. Right now, the first thing we are spending money on is educational equipment. Books, chalkboards, desks."

By that time, they had driven through what passed as a town and were nearing mine 213 when she slowed the hover-craft, dropping its speed down to a crawl. Smith looked at her from the corner of his eye, but made no comment. He had a pretty good idea of what she was up to.

Sure enough, she left the road and drove around behind a group of boulders. The same group that O'Connell and Lavella had . . . waited behind . . . when they drove her out to this mine after her first meeting with Ishlass.

When she killed the engine and got out to get into the backseat, she said, "Come on, Space Cowboy, and don't give me a hard time." As she settled in, she added, "Well, I want you to give me a hard time, but not a difficult one."

"You know, Farasha," Smith said as he joined her in the backseat and started opening up his pants. "You don't have to do this every time we are alone together. You don't 'owe' me for helping you and your cause." He lifted his butt and shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs, and sitting back down, he pushed them all the way to his ankles. "Or if you do, you have more than paid me back."

"Oh, here we go again," she rolled her eyes while climbing up on her knees on the seat. "Can't you just shut up and let me blow you?"

Smith's words might be claiming hesitation, but his cock was not. After two weeks in space, it was already hard. Farasha smiled at that. Curling her fingers around it and lowering herself down on her elbows, she added, "Maybe the first time I did this it was in appreciation. A 'thank you' gesture. But now," she paused to lick and kiss the sides of his stalk. "But now after getting to know you . . . I . . . I want to make you happy."

She raised up and kissed him. Several times. Each more intense than the last. All the while slowly pumping his rod up and down with a twisting motion. Staring into his eyes, her face serious, she announced, "You're a pretty good guy."

Lowering herself back down, she took the head of his cock into her mouth and sucked. Sucked hard. Causing the wide head to expand even more as she continued working his shaft.

"Just 'pretty good'?" Smith asked, rubbing the back of her head, petting it, touching her ponytail as she hovered over his lap. Hovered and Hoovered. "Not 'great'?"

She rolled her eyes up at him, her mouth caved-in and her fist pumping, but she did not reply. That would require taking her mouth off this cock that she had not sucked in over two weeks. Sadly, the thought occurred to her that this would probably be the last time she did it.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Farasha began to bob her head, sliding her lips wetly up and down Smith's meat-pole, her hand following along in unison.

"Oh, yeah," he moaned, reclining further in his seat while spreading his thighs wider. He closed his eyes and savored the sensations of her swirling, twirling, curling tongue.

For the next half-hour Farasha worked on him. Sucking and bobbing, squeezing and stroking, her other hand fondling and playing with his balls. When his hips started to buck, slightly at first but growing more pronounced, she again rolled her eyes. This time to look up at him. At the blissful expression on his face as he grew ever closer to his climax.

"F-Farasha," he panted. "I'm . . . I'm about ready . . ."

"Hmm, mmm . . . Hmm, mmm," she murmured around his cock, giving him encouragement to cum.

Which he did.

"FARASHAAAaaaa," he cried out, grabbing her ponytail (what she called her 'handle') and forehead with his hands while thrusting his hips up into her face. She sped up her motions and sucked harder, feeling his thick ropes of sperm splattering the insides of her mouth. Flooding it as he shot out jet after jet of his spunk. She swallowed repeatedly, keeping up with the torrent, until at last he was finished. Done. Drained.

Releasing her head, his hands falling to his sides, he looked at her with dreamy eyes. "Whew-ow," he sighed, shaking his head in awe. "That was fantastic."

He grabbed her ponytail again, but this time to pull her head up so that he could kiss her.

After they had cleaned up his groin and private parts with Smith's handkerchief, Farasha said, "There. Now we can go inside and you can drink all the **** you want without having to worry about a limp-noodle reaction."

By the time she dropped him off at the ship, everyone else was already onboard. Despite her words about drinking to excess, Smith had limited himself to two drinks which he nursed through the evening as the boisterous Sons And Daughters Of Freedom repeatedly pumped his hand and slapped his back, singing his praises.

As he walked around to her side of the car, leaning in to give her a last, tender kiss, she looked at him sadly. "I will never see you again, will I?"

He took a deep breath and when he spoke, his voice was as sad as hers. "Probably not . . . It is the nature of my job. But I will never forget you."

Starting up the engine, she tried to leave on a happier note. "Well, even if you forget my name," she reached behind her head, "You'll probably remember my ponytail."

She drove off into the night and Smith ascended the access ramp.

The ship was quickly made ready for lift-off, as most systems had been placed in standby mode rather than shut down completely when they had landed. An hour later they were far enough out to make the jump to hyper-space. Lieutenant Moonwatcher plugged in the coordinates for their next destination. Commander Smith placed the ship in 'Auto' and sounded the alarm, while making the announcement over the ship's inner-craft, "All hands to your acceleration stations. All hands to your acceleration stations."

After enduring the disorienting effects of entering Hyper-Space, even though protected by the Acceleration Fields, the crew staggered down from the raised platform. The Starboard Watch, Lieutenant Hammer and Ensign Bauer, sat down at their stations.

"Oh, shoot!" Ensign Bauer exclaimed. Everyone turned to see what was wrong. "I forgot to ask O'Connell . . . red-headed, green-eyed, freckled-face O'Connell . . . how an Irishman like him had wound up with an Indian first name."

"You can always send him a radio-text when we reach our next planet," Lieutenant Moonwatcher suggested.

"Yeah, and you should receive his reply in time for your retirement party from the Solar Guard," Lieutenant Hammer pointed out.

"That's assuming you stay in for thirty years, not twenty," Lieutenant Moonwatcher added.

The men not on watch headed off to bed as the 5-EX hurtled through Hyper-Space, heading for the next port-of-call on its third voyage.