Pinga's first day - part 3

The galley was descending into beautiful disaster.

Bari stood at the stovetop glaring at a pan of sizzling oil like it had insulted her. Flour dusted her tank top and arms, and her hair was tied up in a high, impatient knot. “Who the fuck uses butter and oil? That’s just showing off!”

June, squatting by the oven, was trying to light it manually. “Do we have matches? Or like… one of those old-school flamethrower clicky things?”

Metzli was fanning herself with a cutting board, her cheeks flushed from either the heat or the tequila she’d snuck in from the pantry. “You people better be grateful. I’m sweating off a full contour for this dinner.”

Nepthys, perched on the counter with a glass of wine and zero intention of helping, twirled a spoon like a scepter. “This is already a mess. Just feed everyone protein bars and spank them if they complain.”

Pinga stood near the prep station, trying to peel potatoes with a knife so dull it could have been decorative. “Um… should these be green inside?”

No one answered. Or maybe no one knew.

Suddenly, the galley door hissed open, and Amaterasu stepped in—bridge-shift fresh, heels clicking, makeup still immaculate, long black-brown waves pinned up in a series of elaborate loops. She took one look around and stopped short.

“What. Is. Happening.”

“We’re cooking dinner!” Bari said, waving a greasy spatula like a weapon.

“Macha said she wouldn’t be able to walk by dinnertime, so we’re proving we don’t need her!” June called out.

Amaterasu sniffed the air delicately. “Smells like desperation.”

“Help or shut up,” Metzli groaned.

To everyone’s surprise, Ama glided toward the prep table and rolled up her sleeves. “Fine. But if anyone ruins my nails, I’m going to shiv them in their sleep.”

Pinga stared at her, awestruck, as the glamorous navigator grabbed the potato peeler and set to work with swift, precise motions.

“How do you even know how to cook?” she asked.

“I dated a chef once,” Ama said. “Actually, two. One of them kept trying to feed me molecular foam and the other liked doing it on the kitchen counter, so I learned to chop vegetables to pass the time.”

Pinga blushed and laughed, then winced as her thumb nicked the knife edge. “Ow.”

Ama immediately plucked her hand up and examined the little cut, then kissed it gently. “Careful, little bunny. We need your fingers for better things.”

Pinga went scarlet.

“Less flirting, more stirring!” Bari barked.

“I’m literally saving dinner, let me enjoy myself,” Ama purred.

Nepthys rolled her eyes. “This kitchen is a complete mess.”

Despite the chaos, smells began to meld into something genuinely promising—garlic, seared meat, the warm comfort of starch. June finally got the oven going and whooped in victory, Metzli poured more wine into the sauce than was strictly necessary, and Pinga managed to peel a dozen potatoes without further bloodshed. They were still making a mess, but it was a delicious one. And in the middle of it, surrounded by sensual chaos and laughter, Pinga realized she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

By the time dinner prep was wrapping up, the galley smelled delicious—roasted root vegetables, buttery sauces, and grilled meats filled the space with warmth. The girls bustled around in aprons and crop tops, hair tied back, laughter and teasing echoing off the polished metal walls. Amaterasu set down a steaming pot, sniffed with satisfaction, and then turned to Pinga with a mischievous smile.

"Come on, little bunny. Let’s go tidy up the Captain’s quarters before dinner. You’ll want to learn how to keep his space just right.”

Pinga followed hesitantly, still getting used to the ship’s rhythms—and the flirtatious, sensual energy that seemed to hum through every moment. They stepped into Luke’s quarters just as Macha—still in her French maid outfit—was rising from his lap, cheeks flushed, makeup slightly smudged, and legs visibly trembling. Her frilly skirt was bunched up around her waist, a hint of her black lace panties visible as she adjusted herself.

"All yours," Macha murmured to Amaterasu with a wink before collecting her tray and strutting out, heels clicking and thighs wobbling faintly. Luke was leaned back in his reclined chair, completely naked, watching with a satisfied smirk as the door closed behind Macha. He turned his head slightly, eyeing Amaterasu.

“Your timing is perfect.”

Amaterasu padded over with a sultry sway, letting her fingers graze the edge of his armrest.

“Dinner needed attention. But so do you,” she purred, sinking to her knees in front of him. Pinga stood awkwardly by the door, still clutching the cleaning supplies.

"Should I—?" “Yes,” Luke said without looking at her. “Start cleaning. And keep your ears open. I like to know what my crew is good at.”

Pinga blinked, nodded, and got to work in silence, dusting and wiping surfaces as Amaterasu leaned in. From the corner of her eye, Pinga saw the top of Ama’s glossy black hair dip and begin to bob slowly. The soft, wet sounds that followed made her cheeks burn.

“So,” Luke said conversationally, “What kind of work did you do back on the rock? Besides kitchen duty.”

Pinga focused on folding a throw blanket, trying to block out the rhythmic slurping from behind her.

“Uh… I worked the lines sometimes. Sorting ore. Maintenance when the machines broke down. I learned quick. Had to. Every one had to”, she explained, refusing to make eye contact.

“Hmm. Smart girl,” Luke said, his voice lower, laced with pleasure. “Any weapons training?”

“No,” she said, swallowing. “But I’m not afraid to fight. I've killed", she admitted. Luke laughed darkly. “You’ll fit right in.”

The pace behind her changed. Faster now. Pinga could hear Amaterasu moaning softly around his length. The obscene wetness of it all made her thighs clench involuntarily.

“That’s enough cleaning for today,” Luke said suddenly, his voice firmer. “Go help with dinner or something."

Pinga turned, ready to go, but froze as she saw Luke standing now, pulling Amaterasu to her feet. He spun her around, tossing her over the bed with casual dominance, the black hair flowing down to the floor as the astrogator lied on her back, her head just off the bed.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth properly now,” he growled.

“Yes, Captain,” came Amaterasu’s eager, breathless reply.

Pinga rushed to the door, red-faced, heart hammering. Just as it closed behind her, the muffled sounds of wet, relentless sucking followed—gluck, gluck, gluck—along with a sharp gasp from Amaterasu.

Pinga paused in the hallway, catching her breath. Her hands were shaking. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or arousal—or both.

Dinner was served in the galley but now it was a cozy space with warm lighting, rich smells, and music softly playing in the background. The long table was set with more care than usual, plates piled high with roasted meats, buttery tubers, creamy sauces, and crisp greens. Steam curled up from mugs of hot broth and glasses of chilled fruit wine.

Luke sat at the head of the table, freshly showered and dressed in colourful shorts and a bright, open-collar shirt, his hair still slightly damp. He looked rested—and dangerously handsome.

Macha was curled beside him, draped in only a plush white bathrobe that clung lazily to her damp skin, her cleavage peeking as she leaned over to feed him a forkful of honey-glazed carrots.

“Open wide, Captain,” she said sweetly. “Fresh from your favorite redhead.” Luke accepted the bite with a smirk, chewing slowly. “You’re spoiling me.”

"Oh, we’re all going to spoil you,” purred May from across the table, sauntering closer in a corset that cinched her waist dramatically and a ridiculous pink tutu that bounced with every step. She pressed a bite of seared meat to his lips. “Let me show you how a real engineer pampers her man.”

April wasn’t far behind. Her minidress sparkled under the lights as she took a bite of grilled squash, then leaned in to kiss it into his mouth, slow and teasing.

“Seriously?” Nepthys scoffed from her seat, but her smirk was all heat. She stood, shimmering in the same gold mesh top and black frilly bra from earlier, her huge earrings catching the light. “Please. The bridge bunny’s got this.” She approached, hips swaying, and knelt beside him, offering a plump strawberry between two long, polished fingers. Luke bit down slowly, his lips brushing her knuckles.

“Points for style,” he murmured.

“I always win on style,” she quipped, licking juice from her fingers.

Metzli strolled in, balancing a platter on her hip, her hot pants barely containing her curves and the cropped tank top leaving nothing to the imagination. She sat on the arm of Luke’s chair and held a spoon of rich gravy to his mouth. “You like it thick and creamy, papi?”

“You know I do.”

On the far side of the table, Pinga sat quietly, blushing, still adjusting to the sight of her shipmates in their increasingly ridiculous outfits. Her simple summer dress—a size too large—hung from her thin shoulders. But something in her chest fluttered when Luke looked her way.

“Don’t be shy,” he said. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”

Timidly, she picked up a fork and pierced a roasted fig, walking it over like it was a test. Luke met her halfway and let her feed him the bite, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt his warmth, the weight of his gaze, and a strange thrill of pride in her chest.

“That was good,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Pinga couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across her face. They continued like that—playful, flirtatious, with teasing jabs and giggles around the table as the women took turns pampering their Captain. Amaterasu, elegant in her pale silk yukata, fed him a cooling spoonful of sorbet, then pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“All this fuss,” Luke said as he leaned back, “and Aslög’s missing it.”

“She’d just bark at us for being unprofessional,” Macha teased, nuzzling his shoulder.

“And then sit in his lap and steal all the attention,” added Metzli. They laughed, the tension of the day melting into wine and warm bodies, soft fabrics and contented sighs. Pinga watched it all, still wide-eyed, still adjusting—but no longer an outsider. She felt like she was almost part of the crew now and she really wanted to belong.

By the time dinner ended, Luke leaned back in his chair, surrounded by the glow of beautiful women draped over him in various states of flirtation and satisfaction. His hand rested lazily on Metzli’s bare thigh, his other around Macha’s waist. Pinga sat quietly in her seat, heart hammering, still hungry—for more than food—and not quite sure what to do about it. As the dishes clattered and the din of cleanup began, Luke rose with unhurried authority. He crooked a finger, and both Metzli and April responded instantly, exchanging playful glances as they flanked him. April’s rainbow-streaked hair swayed with each step, and even in her sky-high heels, she still had to tilt her head up to meet Luke’s demanding lips. With a hand on each of their hips, he led them from the galley, their laughter and whispered promises fading down the corridor.

The rest of the girls groaned theatrically and began to tidy up, tossing utensils and innuendo with equal enthusiasm. Pinga quietly slipped away and padded down the corridor toward the girls' dorm. She was halfway into her bunk, pulling the thin blanket over her when Macha’s voice floated over, warm and teasing.
“Well, little bunny—how was your first day aboard Seraglio?”
Pinga smiled to herself, the sounds of laughter, moans, and gentle camaraderie still echoing in her ears. She nestled deeper into the pillow and murmured softly, “I think… I’m getting a really good feeling about this place.”
Macha chuckled. “Just wait until tomorrow.”

The lights dimmed, and for the first time in a long time, Pinga felt safe. And maybe even a little excited.