A dorky female ensign serving on a space station

A gentle pneumatic hiss announced the opening of the cabin door. It was enough to start rousing Cassidy from dreamland, but she didn’t fully jolt awake until a feminine voice called out, “Hey, wake up! Alpha shift’s already started.”

Cassidy groaned, pushing herself up with her elbows. “Lights,” she mumbled, and the room became lit. In the direction of that evil, sleep-disturbing voice, she saw a familiar figure silhouetted in the doorway.

Ensign M’zetna was a tolarian—a humanoid species distinguished by their reddish skin and long black hair. She was technically a couple years older than Cassidy, though it was always hard to tell with tolarians. While their early maturation took about as long as that of humans, their aging slowed down significantly once they reached adulthood.

M’zetna put a hand on her hip. “Thought you said you were going to make a point of arriving for duty early today.”

“Got distracted last night,” Cassidy groaned, rolling out of her bunk. “I finally got that diagnostics report from Andersen and stayed up reading it.”

“Well… I’ll make some excuses on the bridge, but don’t be much longer!” M’zetna said as she departed, the door swishing shut behind her.

Cassidy scratched her head and yawned, then walked across the room. Despite being an ensign, Cassidy had her own quarters—one of the perks of serving on a station instead of a starship. They were small, sure, but private.

They were also, she had to admit, quite messy. The floor was littered with laundry, books, datapads—and a dildo that she’d had the sense to at least toss a shirt on top of. It wasn’t exactly up to Corps standard, but Captain Sharaf rarely inspected quarters, and besides—there was just never enough time for something like tidying! Cassidy stepped around the detritus and trudged into the tiny adjoining bathroom.

She turned the shower on immediately. It didn’t really need time to heat up, but she liked the steam that would accumulate from leaving it running for a moment. In the meanwhile, she idly inspected herself in the mirror.

Cassidy liked her appearance, generally speaking. She was short, and leaned slightly toward the chubby side (a small part of her held out hope it was just baby fat, but at twenty years old she had to admit it didn’t seem likely). Still, most of that went toward her bouncy boobs and soft thighs, so she wasn’t too bothered. Her hair was long, frizzy, and ginger, and her cheeks were smattered with some freckles.

She ran some fingers through her hair, trying to guess how much work would be needed to tame it this morning. From the way it was sticking up, it seemed she’d slept mostly on one side.

Yawning again, Cassidy turned to the tower. Tossing her loose pyjamas out into her quarters (where they joined the pile) she stepped into the hot shower. Warmth rolled over her shoulders and down her back, and she let out a pleased sigh. She would have liked to stay there and just soak for a long while, but she didn’t have that luxury—she rarely did. Instead, after just a bare minute to enjoy the heat and the steam, she started quickly lathering up.

When she got down to her legs, her fingers brushed her vulva and found a small amount of stubble. She grabbed her razor off the shower shelf, then held it near her pussy and flicked the switch. The device hummed as a small amount of directed energy effortlessly disintegrated the hair, leaving her cunt perfectly smooth in moments. She was tempted to put her work to the test, but knew that if she started rubbing now, she wouldn’t be willing to leave this shower until she’d squirted half her body weight.

Reluctantly finishing up her wash with a thorough rinse, Cassidy exited the shower. She quickly toweled off, then tugged a brush through her hair. Stepping back into her cabin, she rummaged around for a clean uniform—thankfully finding one. She threw it on. It was of the newer style, introduced last year, which was now becoming standard on all stations. It had a sleek design, white and grey primarily, with steel-blue accenting that marked her as being part of the station’s logistics division. The single-spined badge on her lapel similarly marked her as a lowly ensign.

Finally, she tossed on her glasses. The red-wired frames were something of an anachronism, considering the station's doctor could have fixed her nearsightedness with ease. She was nervous around surgery, though, no matter how much Doctor Lago insisted that the procedure took only thirty painless seconds. Besides, she liked how the glasses looked on her.

She spared a glance out the window—the planet, Melsin III, around which Lamarr Station orbited was just coming into view—then rushed out the door.