15-2. 31-2. - [BJ]

After dinner, Chief Wallace had the watch. Petty Officer Dawson was off the ship. Commander Smith, Lieutenant Hammer, and 'Miss' Farasha were crammed into one of the two Passenger Cabins that she was using as her quarters, discussing today's meeting on Stratos. While out on the Mess Deck, Lieutenant Moonwatcher was teaching Lavella the Centuries-old shipboard card game. Cribbage. Security Guardian O'Connel of Merak II's Centralized Banking Commission was watching the game. At another table, Doctor Boyce and Commissioner Anderson were hunched over a chess board. And Senior Guardian Gladden was outside, sitting at the table Doctor Boyce had used, keeping an eye on the ore loading process.

When Ensign Bauer came onboard, he told Chief Wallace that he needed to see the Captain. Crossing over to the Communications and Navigations Station, Wallace picked up the inner-craft microphone and spoke into it, "Captain to the Control Room."

Almost immediately Commander Smith appeared, followed closely by Lieutenant Hammer. Chief Wallace pointed to Ensign Bauer.

"So, what news from upstairs does the Middleman of Stratos bring us?" Commander Smith asked with a grin.

"Some good news, I think," Ensign Bauer answered. "I have persuaded Ishlass to forgive Lavella and take her back." Seeing the Captain's single raised eyebrow, the Midshipman added. "Well, I had support from Darcina."

"Do you trust him?" Commander Smith asked.

Ensign Bauer did not answer right away. Finally, after a long pause to consider the question, he replied, "No, Sir. I don't . . . But I trust Darcina's influence over him."

"I agree," Doctor Boyce piped in. "If you will forgive a cliche', his daughter has him wrapped around her little finger."

All eyes turned to Lavella and she looked from one man to the other, her gaze finally falling on Commander Smith, asking, "What should I do?"

"That is up to you," Commander Smith answered. "I can not . . . and I would not . . . **** you to go back."

"Can't she come with us?" Guardian O'Connell asked.

The Captain took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I can not do that, either. Despite Ishlass's charges that I am meddling with his society, I have only gotten involved to get the Zenite ore and to insure its uninterrupted flow in the future."

"What if I authorize it?" Commissioner Anderson asked.

Commander Smith shook his head, "You don't have that authority." Unexpectedly, Commander Smith laughed. "Technically, I'm in violation of my orders right now. But with thousands, hundreds of thousands, lives hanging in the balance, I think I can justify my actions to my Admiral."

"Make that millions of lives," Doctor Boyce 'corrected'.

"I'm going back," Lavella announced, rising from the table to collect her possessions from her cabin.

"May I join them, Captain?" Guardian O'Connell asked as Lavella left the Mess Deck.

"I figured you would relieve Gladden outside at 2000 Hours," Commander Smith answered.

"I'll cover for Ramesh," Lieutenant Moonwatcher volunteered, "That is, if it is o.k. with you, Captain. Besides," he added with a shrug, "I've lost my cribbage partner anyway."

Commander Smith nodded his approval. He knew that his crew liked O'Connell and that O'Connell liked Lavella. "But you two be back by midnight," Commander Smith said to Ensign Bauer and Guardian O'Connell. "We are lifting off tomorrow morning."

"Hrumph," Chief Wallace 'coughed' into his fist. A wide smile slowly spread over Commander Smith's face as he looked at the Chief Petty Officer. "What's the matter, Boats? You got somebody in town that you want to . . . say goodbye to?"

The Captain did not wait for an answer, instead he addressed Ensign Bauer and Guardian O'Connell again, "Very Well. You two be back by 0400 Hours. At the latest! And pick up the Doctor's and Commissioner's gear while you are up there."

About five minutes later, Lavella re-joined everyone back on the Mess Deck. She carried four shopping bags. Two in each hand.

Meanwhile

As soon as the evening meal was over and the Mess Deck and Galley were cleaned up, Petty Officer Dawson had requested a sidearm from the Captain, and left the fenced-in landing zone. But he did not go into town; he did not make it past the wide, asphalt-covered area where cargo containers were parked. The lights mounted high atop the tall poles scattered throughout the storage sector were just starting to come on.

Four 'Ladies of the Evening' were leaning against a container near the road. As he slowly approached the group, his eyes scanned their faces, looking for one particular person. When he saw who he was looking for, his face lit up. The women, in turn, were watching him come over, sizing him up, calculating their chances of turning a trick. The woman that Dawson was seeking did not recognize him at first, but when she realized he was smiling at her and not the group in general, she suddenly remembered.

Pushing away from the corrugated metal wall of the container, she headed towards him, calling out to him when she was within speaking distance. "Hello, Willie," Callova said. "Back for another round?"

"Yes, M'am," he answered, his eyes scanning the face and form of the considerably older woman. As before, her face was caked with make-up. A thick foundation base covered with powder. Heavy mascara. Bright red lipstick. Her brown hair had the same permanent wave. She was wearing a red, sleeveless fit-and-flare dress and a pair of black flat sandals. The snug top of the dress dipped low, accenting her cleavage, and the full skirt ended several inches above her knees.

"I'm glad that you came along when you did," she said, heading towards a group of containers that were some distance from the nearest pole lamp, Dawson walking along with her. "I've been out here since mid-morning and was about to head home. You'll be my last knobber of the day." Suddenly swivelling her head to look at his face, she added, "I assume that's what you want? A blow-job?"

"Yes, M'am," Dawson answered as they turned into a corridor between rows of containers.

She gave a knowing smile and nod, "Most men do."

"I hope you don't mind," Dawson quickly replied. "Cause . . . I mean if you do . . ."

"You're so sweet," she chuckled, stopping at a container, obviously choosing that spot to perform her task. "But blowjobs are my stock-in-trade. That's what I do for a living." Dawson did not know how to respond to that, so he said nothing.

"Uh, Hon?" Callova prompted. "The money?"

"Oh, shoot!" Dawson exclaimed, embarrassed by his faux pass. He dug into his front pants pocket, pulling out a wad of script and peeled off the required amount. He could feel his face going hot and he hoped the sun had gone down enough for her not to be able to see him blushing.

She put the money into a pocket of her dress and smiled up at him, saying, "Now just lean back and relax and I'll make you feel good."

Rather than kneeling on the rough asphalt, Callova squatted in front of Dawson and reached for his fly. There was a rasping sound of his zipper being lowered, followed by the feeling of her hand digging around inside his boxers. As soon as her fingers made contact with his member, it started to harden. By the time she had tugged it from the layers of his clothing, it was half-erect.

"Now," she said while squeezing into Dawson's dick, clenching and relaxing her fist in a kneading motion, "Let's take a look at this nice young cock of yours."

As his cock continued to grow from Callova's skillful massaging, she cooed, "Ohhh, look how big it is getting." She changed from squeezing to stroking, sliding her curled fingers and thumb along the length of it. "It is so pretty," she told him, shaking her head in awe (most likely fake, of course. But a man likes to hear what a man likes to hear). "Just so pretty. All big and hard and firm. Ooooo, so firm."

She leaned in, kissing the head of his cock, then kissing along the side of it. Gripping his manhood at the base with one hand, she reached up with her other, grabbing hold of his belt for balance. Her open mouth moved forward, taking him inside and locking her lips around the pulsating pecker. She released his peter to grab his belt with her second hand and started to rock forward and back.

"Mmmm," Dawson moaned, his eyes closed and a broad smile on his face. His feet were widespread and his shoulders and the back of his head rested against the metal wall of the forty-foot long cargo container. Her clinging lips slid back and forth along his hard shaft, her wet mouth drowning him in pleasure. As she bobbed her head to-and-fro, she slid her hands from his belt, across his upper thighs, and around behind him, gripping the backs of his legs.

The warm evening air was filled with the slurping, scarfing sounds of Callova sucking off Dawson. His shaft got wetter and wetter, drenched with her saliva. As she continued to make love to his cock with her mouth, she added a slight head-shaking movement to her repertoire.

Again Dawson moaned, his hands coming up to cradle Callova's bobbing head, lightly touching her brown hair. His hips began making a circling motion in rhythm to the older woman's head actions. She encouraged him by gripping the back of his thighs tighter, speeding up her forwards and backwards swaying, her painted lips milking his shaft.

"Oh, gosh," Dawson groaned, "I . . . I am about ready to cum, M'am."

Pulling her mouth off his rigid phallus with a loud 'pop', her right hand snapped around to grip his spit-coated wang, tugging it while looking up at him. "Where do you want to shoot it, Hon? Mouth? Face?" She glanced down at her chest, "My tits?"

"M-mouth, M'am," he panted. "If . . . you don't mind."

Callova couldn't help smiling. Here she was, smoking his pink cigar out in the open (albeit hidden from view), and he was still all shy and nervous around her. "That'll be fine," she assured him, "just give me a warning when you 'nut'."

Plunging back down on him, she released his dick, grabbing the backs of his legs again, and bobbing her head fast and furiously. Sucking hard. Trying to finish him off. He muttered incoherently, his hips bucking. In less than a minute, he cried out, "M-M'am! I'm . . . I'm . . ."

She took the first blast like a trooper, her eyes widening only slightly. Her head continued working backward and forward as her mouth was filled with cum. Her cheeks bulging from the repeated bursts of thick, salty sperm. Splattering against the roof of her mouth. Splashing the back of her throat. Flooding her oral cavity with his heavy load. Some of it spurting from the corners of her mouth.

When his body went limp and he collapsed back against the container, his spent dick slipping from her lips, she turned her head to the side and hoicked out the large glob of sperm onto the black asphalt. She had to spit twice more to get rid of all the spunk, then she returned her attentions to the softening cock. She gave it a goodbye kiss and tucked it back into his pants. Once she had zipped up his fly again, she stood up, grabbing his belt as a hand-grip to assist.

"Gonna see you again tomorrow, uh, Willie?" she asked, having to pause to recall his name.

"Afraid not, M'am," he answered. "You . . . you see, my ship is leaving in the morning."

"Well," Callova touched the side of Dawson's face, "If you ever make it back this way and need your ashes hauled . . ."

She winked and sashayed from the corridor between the containers.