Metzli gets her turn

Pinga leaned back in her chair in the galley, patting her belly and letting out a mighty burp that startled Macha and Nepthys. Both of them burst into giggles.

“It’s good to see you’re eating well,” Macha said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “But the others are right—we need to teach you proper table manners before we reach civilization.”

Nepthys nodded, adding, “Every now and then the Captain takes us to fancy restaurants. We can’t have you embarrassing him… or us… or yourself.”

Pinga stared down at her plate, cheeks flushing, and mumbled an apology.

Nepthys caught Macha’s eye. “Let Bari handle it?”

Macha drummed her nails on the table, long and lacquered red. “Well, Pinga’s handled everything else so far. Bari won’t break her—and she’s the noble-born, after all.”

Before Pinga could ask what that meant, Aslög and Metzli swept into the galley. Aslög was again in a green singlet and camo miniskirt showing off her athletic frame; Metzli wore skimpy black denim minishorts and a tank top stretched tight over her ample chest.

“New girl!” Aslög called, voice crisp. “The triplets tell me you show promise, which is good!”

Metzli let out a small cheer beside her.

“So, next Metzli here will teach you the ways of the airlock. After that, Amaterasu and Bari will cover astrogation and piloting. My goal is that you become familiar with every aspect of the ship. That way, you’ll be able to choose what position you want to master—and be backup for anyone on the crew,” Aslög instructed.

“That sounds good. Challenging, but good,” Pinga agreed.

“That’s the spirit, bunny!” Metzli said, patting Pinga’s fuzzy scalp. “Oh, your hair’s starting to grow back. Nice!"

Pinga blushed. It actually made her a little happy that Metzli noticed.

"Captain likes to have something to hold on to when he fucks your thro-"

"Metzli!" Macha barked and the Latina shut up. The two women stared at each other before the irreverent payload master shrugged:

“Okay, clean up here and then meet me at the airlock,” Metzli said, blowing a kiss to the other women before strutting out.

Aslög turned to Nepthys. “Hey, Twister Hair, when was your last actual workout?”

Nepthys flinched, trying to shrink into her seat.

Aslög laughed and seized her elbow. “That’s what I thought. Let’s go, you lazy bitch. Or do you want to get fat in all the wrong places?”

Nepthys opened her mouth to protest but closed it again with a sigh. “Yeah, okay.”

Macha watched them leave, chuckling softly.

“Is she like that with everyone?” Pinga asked as she gathered her dishes for the washer.

“Aslög? Oh, definitely,” Macha replied. “But you’d better hurry down now, little bunny. Don’t keep Metzli waiting!”

The airlock was quiet except for the low hum of the reactor and engines—a sound Pinga was finally getting used to. Metzli was wiping the porthole with a damp rag, leaning just so that her meaty rump, barely covered by the tight shorts, was pointing at the ladder. The tap of Pinga’s heels on the metal floor made her glance over and grin.

“Hey, chica! Let’s get started right away!” Metzli said, her energy infectious enough to make Pinga smile despite herself.

The next couple of hours flew by. Pinga learned about ballistic shields, the bulky shell suits and how to maintain them, the weapons and equipment lockers, and the workings of the airlock itself. Metzli proved a lively, hands-on teacher—both with the gear and with Pinga. By the time they wrapped up, Pinga wasn’t sure whether she was sweating from all the physical work… or the simmering heat of Metzli’s constant closeness.

“Well, you’ve got the basics down, chica. Next time, we’ll cover advanced stuff,” Metzli announced. She grinned and clapped her hands together. “Now let’s grab drinks and chill in my garden before I hand you over to the bridge bunnies.”

Metzli changed into a tiny jaguar-print bikini that barely covered anything while Pinga had to settle for her workout clothes. The Latina mixed a pitcher of lemon water, and with a happy bounce in their heels, the pair made their way to the hydroponic garden on Deck 8.

After a few refreshing sips, Metzli suddenly grew serious.

“So… what’s your preference? I mean, sexually,” she said.

Pinga spluttered into her drink. “What—what do you mean?”

For once, Metzli didn’t giggle. She leaned forward, her voice calm and matter-of-fact.

“I know we all say there’s no demands on you, and that consent matters. But as the junior crew member, I feel like I should give you the full picture.”

Pinga’s stomach tightened. She could feel bad news hovering.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Metzli said quickly. “The Captain’s not going to force you or anything. But there are… expectations. Call them unwritten rules.”

She began counting them off on her fingers:

“One—we’re always in sexy outfits and heels, and we always act sexy even if just wiping a porthole.”

“Two—we keep ourselves flawless. Glamorous, feminine, long hair up top, no hair anywhere else. Nails, makeup, the works.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Pinga interrupted. "Though I don't know how to act sexy like you."

Metzli smirked. “Three—we have sex with the Captain whenever and wherever he wants.”

Pinga’s eyes widened.

"Wherever?"

"You heard me. Girl's dorm is our sanctuary and he never comes in there but everywhere else is fair game", Metzli explained before continuing with her counting.

“Four—we play with each other. Both for his pleasure and ours.”

She raised her pinky. “Five—we don’t pry into the Captain’s business, and we definitely don’t whine if he’s doing… questionable legal things.”

Pinga stared at Metzli’s hand. “And? Is there more?”

Metzli dropped her hand, laughing softly. “No, chica. One hand’s enough, don’t you think?”

Pinga was silent for a moment, thinking hard. Finally, she confessed:

“Seraglio’s not perfect, but it’s way better than the asteroid mine. Before that, I was basically homeless, bouncing from one awful situation to another.” She hesitated. “So none of that really scares me. You all seem so happy here. I’ve never… been with a girl like that. Or really had much experience with guys, either.”

Metzli’s expression softened. “Well… speaking of happy… you should know that Luke isn’t just an ordinary man. He’s genetically engineered. Augmented, implanted. We don’t even know everything that’s been done to him. And he’s got decades of experience.” She shrugged. “Whether it’s natural charisma, some kind of magnetic pull, or… I dunno… something primal, he has an effect on us.”

“Yeah. I’ve felt it already,” Pinga admitted, her voice low.

Metzli nodded. “It’s not nanobots crawling in your brain or anything. But the longer you’re around him, the stronger it gets. We all love him. The other girls have been with him so long, they don’t even question it anymore. Aslög would kill for him. Hell, she has killed for him—many times. Macha, too. Though she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Metzli paused to take a long drink of lemon water, ice cubes clinking in her glass.

“I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. Seraglio isn’t some prison, or a steel cage for pretty birds. But if you stay… eventually, you’ll join in. And it won’t be reluctantly. You’ll want it.”

Pinga swallowed hard, uncertain how to answer. Metzli read her expression and gave her a reassuring smile.

“Anyway. Didn’t mean to scare you, chica. Life here’s good. I don’t regret a thing. I just wanted you to have your eyes open.”

She stood and stretched, muscles shifting under her golden skin.

“You should go change and head up to the bridge. They’re probably wondering what’s taking so long.”

As Metzli turned to leave, Pinga caught her around the waist in a quick, tight hug.

“Thanks, Metzli,” the bald girl whispered.