Friday, 1800 Hours

When Professor Sandstorm answered the knock on her door, she did not open it all the way. Standing outside was Captain Depardieu. "Listen, Pascal," she said, still not opening the door wide but peeking out around it. "I had a really busy day at your base today. I'm beat and am going to bed early tonight . . . Will you take a raincheck?"

"You don't even have time for a quick hummer?" he asked, trying to smile his most charming smile.

"Not tonight," she shook her head and slowly closed the door. He could hear the deadbolt being thrown in place.

Monday, 1100 Hours

As the briefing room was filling up for the meeting with Dr. Williams, Captain Depardieu looked up from his seat when Lieutenant Hammer sat down next to Ensign Bauer. The Captain said, "I'm surprised you were able to tear yourself away from your robot to join us this morning."

"All those Tech types are talking a language that's way beyond me," Lieutenant Hammer answered and nodded to Admiral Thorndike who was sitting at the head of the table. "I have a degree in engineering, but I can't follow half of what they're saying."

"Maybe Professor Sandstorm can explain it to you after hours," Captain Depardieu replied. But further conversation on that topic was curtailed when a Civilian contractor handed him a report on the delivery schedule.

Once the meeting broke for lunch and everyone began filing out, chatting in groups of twos and threes, the Admiral called out Captain Depardieu's and Lieutenant Hammer's names, asking them to stay behind. As the two Officers sat back down, looking like two school boys being called into the Principal's office, the Admiral asked, "Is there some sort of conflict between you two?"

The men in question looked at each other and then back to the Admiral. Captain Depardieu said, "No, sir. None at all."

Lieutenant Hammer shook his head as well, and the Admiral laughed. "I love it when my subordinates lie to me. As if I were a Plebe at the Academy and didn't know any better." Pausing for a moment, he leaned forward on his forearms, "Listen, if this is about Professor Sandstorm . . ." He looked from one man to the other, studying their reactions. "And she is a very attractive woman . . . I think you two are probably standing too close to the problem." Rising to his feet to indicate the conversation was over, he concluded with, "From what I've seen . . . I think she is more than enough woman to go around."

And he headed for the door.

Monday, 1800 Hours

Professor Sandstorm was all smiles when she opened the door and saw Lieutenant Hammer standing on her stoop. But her smile faded upon seeing Captain Depardieu behind him. In a chilly voice, she said, "Hello, Pascal."

"Can I get you guys a drink?" she asked, as she invited them inside and headed up the stairs. She was wearing a bright green spaghetti strap dress with a full skirt, black nylons, and black high heels. She had been expecting Lieutenant Hammer and had dressed up for him.

The men said yes to her drink offer, so she mixed up a pitcher of martinis, and the three sat down in her living room. "Now," Denise said after taking a sip, "What's this all about?"

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Jack answered, setting his glass down on the coffee table. "The reason for the Admiral's sudden interest in your robot is due to the fact that we are drastically . . . drastically . . . reducing the size of the crew on the EX's. Captain Depardieu," he glanced towards his fellow officer, "Convinced the Admiral that your robot would be a good 'back up' in case a ship lost a man while deployed. I had nothing to do with the Admiral's decision."

Denise looked at Pascal, who nodded.

"It was the tragic suicide of my predecessor which brought the problem to a head," Jack told her. "I'd hate to see you and Cap . . . And Pascal break up due to a misunderstanding."

"So where would that leave us, Jack?" she asked, staring hard at that handsome hunk of black sexuality. "Are we breaking up?"

"No," he shook his head. "No reason for anybody to break up."

"So what are you proposing," she asked, looking from one man to another. "Some sort of menage a trois?" The two men just looked at her. "Oh . . . You're not serious?" Still no answer from the men. Denise said, "You are serious!"

She sat there for several long moments, considering the sudden, unexpected turn of events. Then her eyes narrowed and a wicked smile spread across her face. Belting back the rest of her drink, she set the glass down near Jack's and stood up. "Alright, you fuckers. Let's see you put your money where your mouths are."

Crossing her arms in front of her, she grabbed the fabric of her dress at her thighs and lifted her arms, peeling the garment over her head. Underneath she had on only a garter belt and black stockings. She was calling their bluff.

But they were not bluffing. Quickly shedding their uniforms, tunics and trousers, socks and underwear, flung across the living room as they raced to ravish the curvaceous woman. For the next three hours, Denise had a cock in her mouth. In her pussy. In her ass. In numerous permutations.

She would be sucking Jack's dick while Pascal fucked her pussy. Then Pascal would be in her mouth while Jack was sodomizing her. Sometimes both of her bottom holes would be occupied. Pascal would lie on his back, Denise would lower her anus onto his erection and then Jack would enter her snatch. Denise really liked that, laughing and shrieking as she was double-penetrated. Other times it would be Pascal in her pussy as Jack buggered her.

Frequently, when the men changed positions, Denise would grab hold of both cocks, alternately sucking first one and then the other. She lost count of the number of times she orgasmed as she was spit-roasted and ass-fucked and her mouth used as a cum depository.

"Guys . . . guys, we've . . . we've got to stop," she announced at last. Her partners nodded in agreement. It was already 2300 Hours (11 P.M.) and they all had to be on base by 0800 Hours. The trio was out of breath, covered with sweat, exhausted, and cum was oozing from Denise's puffy pussy and her gaping asshole.

"Oh, shit!" Pascal exclaimed when he finally glanced at the clock on her bookcase. He knew that they had been at it for a long time, but he didn't realize it had been that long. Jumping up from the sofa, he started searching for his clothing. "My wife is going to kill me!"

The mention of Pascal's wife made Jack think of Angela at home. What was Jack going to tell her?

As she sat there on the couch, one foot on the cushion, her legs widespread, she chuckled in amusement as the two men scurried around like tardy children.