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”A fine brew,” the Captain says as she refills your cup. ”I am glad we get to share this – this heady admixture.”

Then her toe pokes your leg. You raise an eyebrow, but she gives you a pleasant smile and continues to talk about the quality of the coffee. ”A note of spice is nice,” she says, ”but it should not be overpowering. Discreet one might say.” She pokes you again.

You open your legs and scoot closer to the tabletop. A toe reaches your crotch, then another. You stifle a moan. Her own posture looks awkward, but her smile is genial. ”I once, quite clumsily, of course, spilled some on a gentleman’s trousers,” she says. ”He did need to remove them, then and there. Quite the kerfuffle, but worth it. For the story, at least.”

Both her feet rest over your cock, and she tries to grip you through the fabric. You see her nodding, and you undo the belt and buttons. The tip of your erection pokes out from your underpants.

”I will say that he looked good in his underwear,” she says, ”shame about the mess.”

A naked toe touches the naked tip, and spasms run down your cock. You can see her point, and you do your own contortions under the table. Two hands and two feet peel away the fabric, and you leave her free to reign over your passions.

The Captain, gasping, grasps the tabletop. She is plainly unused to such acrobatics, but the control of her soles is sublime, and her breasts, slinking free of the dress, somehow look elegant.

”You may touch,” she says, finally dispensing with all fictions.

Her skin is hot, and she moans as you tease her stiff nipples. ”Hold me,” she mumbles, and you see that she no longer supports herself on the table. She moans again, and you have some idea where she has placed her hands. ”So close...”

You see her shudder, and her uncontrollable motions pull you over the edge. You spot satisfaction on her face and catish pleasure. ”My dress,” she coos. ”My leg. My table.” Some drips to the floor.

”More coffee?”

The time to part has come. Her dress is short and wrinkled. She no longer wears her slippers -- or any underwear. Your drying white runs down her legs, to her feet, and to the nails, polished red. You kiss her hand, she giggles, and you taste her lust on the tip of her finger.

”Always a pleasure, First Officer, and never a chore.”

There is a glint in her eye, a self-assured determination you never noticed before.