More girl talk and Pinga learns

Having filled her stomach, Pinga felt worlds better. She hadn’t decided what sort of future she wanted yet, but one thing was clear now: the erotically charged atmosphere of the Seraglio wasn’t going to scare her off—whether or not she ever chose to join in.

Dressing the part didn’t faze her either. Not that she had much choice. She owned exactly zero pieces of clothing, and everything she wore—from skimpy panties to high heels—had been borrowed from the other girls.

She sipped a mug of tea, thinking quietly, when Macha slid into the seat across from her with a plate piled high with what looked like chicken salad heaven.

“If there’s still room in that belly,” the redhead said with a teasing smile, patting Pinga’s stomach, “you can steal a bit of mine. It’s a special salad I usually only make for myself.”

Pinga gave her a grateful nod and reached for a bite. The flavor exploded in her mouth—creamy, spicy, tangy, and impossibly fresh. Her eyes widened.

“Oh gods, this is incredible!” she said, chewing enthusiastically. “Are you sure you’re not a professional chef?”

Macha chuckled, pleased. “I dabble. Doctoring and cooking are surprisingly similar—both involve a lot of cutting and precise timing.”

As they ate, Macha glanced around the quiet galley. “Anything you want to talk about now that we’ve got the place to ourselves?”

Pinga hesitated, then nodded. “Actually, yeah. Well, there’s a lot I’m curious about, but this one’s kind of embarrassing…”

Macha arched a brow. “We’re on a ship full of women in lingerie. Nothing embarrasses me anymore.”

“Well…” Pinga took another bite and swallowed. “How can the Captain have sex so often? I mean, I’m not that experienced, but even I know most men are one-and-done. The girls back at the asteroid said guys only want it maybe once a week.”

Macha laughed—loud, clear, and delighted. It echoed off the walls of the galley.

“Oh, little bunny. The miners were suffering from half the ailments in the medical database! Malnutrition, radiation exposure, chemical damage—you name it. When they said once a week, they weren’t lying. They just weren’t healthy.”

She took a bite of her own salad before continuing. “A normal, well-adjusted man might want sex several times a week. Some more. Some less. Depends on the guy. Psychology, biology, mood, diet—it all factors in.”

She set her fork down with a fond smile. “But Luke is a different category entirely.”

Pinga leaned forward. “Because of his augments?”

Macha nodded. “Yes—but not just that. Luke’s story is his to tell, but I can say this much: he’s from Old Earth. His ancestors were part of genetic engineering projects back when it was still legal… or at least overlooked. So his baseline genetics are already impressive.”

She smiled wistfully. “And then he spent most of his life pushing himself harder than anyone else I’ve ever met. Augments, implants, relentless training… that body of his? It’s not just built—it’s earned.”

“You really love him, don’t you?” Pinga asked softly.

“I do,” Macha said simply. “Only Aslög has been with him longer than I have. We’ve been through hell together—and heaven too.”

She took the last piece of chicken before Pinga could devour it. “Anyway, yes. Luke has extensive work done. His physical performance, endurance, even recovery rate—it’s all enhanced. The man can go multiple rounds a day and still carry you over his shoulder!”

Pinga flushed, half-shocked and half intrigued. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone from Old Earth.”

“Don’t believe all the stories,” Macha said. “It’s not the horrible wasteland or the shining utopia people like to imagine. It’s just… a place. Complicated. Beautiful. Terrifying.”

Pinga nodded thoughtfully. “I’ve been wondering—what’s the difference between augments and implants, anyway?”

Macha perked up, shifting into lecture mode with a spark in her eye.

“Augments are biological. Implants are mechanical. Or in slang terms: bioware versus cyberware. Augments enhance or replace your natural systems—like muscles, organs, skin. Implants give you abilities that the human body isn’t built for.”

“Like what?”

“Like the comms implant Luke has. He can talk to the ship silently. Send and receive data. Communicate with others who have the same implant, all without saying a word. It’s seamless. Invisible. Very sexy,” she added with a wink.

Pinga gaped. “That sounds… incredible.”

“It is. But both types are expensive. You’ll only find them at the wealthiest colonies—or under the table in certain circles. And there are people who hate them. Some religions even outlaw them outright.”

She leaned back, sipping her drink. “Most of us here have some kind of mod. For example, we’ve all had the body hair removal aug. That’s why you never see us shaving.”

Pinga blinked. “Wait—what?”

“Mm-hmm,” Macha said smugly. “No razors. No stubble. Just smooth skin, all the time. Heaven.”

Just then, the galley door slid open and in strolled Amaterasu, looking like a hot mess in platform silver pumps and a stained white blouse. Her mascara ran in streaks, and there were damp spots dotting her neckline, but she smiled like she’d just come back from vacation.

“Don’t mind me,” she chirped, heading to the tea station. “Just grabbing something to drink before I go soak. The Captain was in a mood for a little rough play.”

Macha gave her a knowing grin. “And you loved every second of it.”

“Obviously,” Amaterasu said with a giggle.

Pinga stared as the ultra-curvy shortstack poured herself tea. Macha pointed discreetly at the corner of her mouth.

“You’ve got a little something…”

Amaterasu swiped a finger across her lips, then popped it into her mouth with a satisfied moan. “Mmm. Yummy.”

She strutted out with an exaggerated sway of her hips, miniskirt swishing.

Pinga watched her go, blinking slowly. “I thought I was getting used to this ship. But then she walks in, looking like a debauched porcelain doll, and I start doubting if I ever will.”

Macha pulled her into a comfortable side hug. “You will, little bunny. You will.”

Pinga was helping Macha clean the galley when Aslög entered, tall and statuesque in her platform boots, camo miniskirt and green crop top.

"There you are bunny!" She barked, making Pinga flinch and Macha frown.

"Cool it Aslög, you're not running a boot camp here", the redhead snapped back, making the Nordic beauty stop in her tracks.

"Right, sorry Pinga, an old habit of mine. We haven't had new members on the ship since Metzli joined us a year ago and I guess I got a little over excited", she explained.

"No harm done", Pinga responded and wiped her hands clean.

"What can I do for you, drill sergeant?" Pinga asked with uncharacteristic sarcasm, making Macha laugh out loud.

"Oh the bunny shows some spirit! That's good", Aslög retorted.

"Let's go over your training schedule. We have little over two days before we arrive at Novaya Zemlya at which point the crew will vote on your future. So I want to make sure you have a chance to impress everyone but also to give you a taster of what we do here so you can be an useful asset and not a liability if you do stay onboard", Aslög explained.

Pinga nodded, suddenly serious. Somehow she had forgotten that it wasn't just her decision whether to stay or leave.

"Macha already knows you well enough and you know the galley so let's start you with the triplets. The next twelve hours, you belong to them. Go down, introduce yourself properly, make a good impression and learn as much as you can, got it?" Aslög's tone was clear and commanding.

"Yes Aslög, I understand", Pinga responded, suddenly nervous.

"You got this", Macha reassured her and gave her a quick hug. Feeling the generous breasts of the taller redhead made Pinga blush but her words made her grateful.