Babes in ArmsBy Executrix
Page 2 of 4
3. Judo & Jujitsu"Now, Lucy has the purity Along with the unsurety Which comes with being only twenty-one, While Jessie has maturity And plenty of security, Whatever you can do with 'em, she's done."
"This form of unarmed combat uses the attacker's own strength and weight against him," Cally said. Against her. rather: she was paired up with Jenna for the demonstration. She stood behind Jenna and hooked one of Jenna's ankles out from under her. They landed in a heap. Jenna bounced once when they landed. Cally continued bouncing somewhat longer. All the comforts of home, she thought dreamily.
Vila wasn't sure what the strategic value of patting Jenna's ass was, but he did see why Cally thought it was a worthwhile tactical objective.
Blake cleared his throat, and Cally rolled off and held out her hand to help Jenna get up. Then she twisted the arm behind Jenna's back. Jenna dropped down on one knee, and Cally followed, with an arm around Jenna's neck. It did not seem strictly necessary for the hand on this arm to be down the back of Jenna's blouse, or to slide beneath the strap of Jenna's bra. This feels awfully crunchy, Cally thought. If the straps are lace, the cups must be...
"As you can see, in this move, the hands are joined and pressed forcefully against the solar plexus."
"The solar plexus is rather lower down," Avon said.
"And your hands aren't exactly joined either," Vila said. "Have another melon, Cally baby."
"Mmmmmhhhh," said Jenna.
"I saw 'My Fair Lady.' I sort of enjoyed it."
Cally's emotions were strong enough for Jenna to receive clear words and images that Cally was sending. But she didn't understand all of them. Cats, she knew, were small domesticated felines kept as pets. But was Dinahshore the correct pronunciation for the long-extinct Earth reptile? And what was a U-Haul?
"Why don't we go to my cabin?" Cally asked faintly.
How lovely Jenna looks in her pert tap pants! Cally thought. How provocatively her polka-dot blouse clings to every delicious curve! How jaunty the little bobbles on the socks that protrude from her pristine white canvas shoes! Oooh, and they're tap pants, I can just slide my hand in from the bottom and get a good handful of that perky little arse!
She certainly looks interested, or at least intrigued, Cally thought. Errrm, is it more embarrassing to ask her or more embarrassing to be wrong? It's easier to get forgiveness than permission, and the hotter I can get her, the better an idea it's going to seem...
Auron pheromones, spicy, woody, and resinous, flooded the air. Cally undid the knot securing the tails of Jenna's blouse, and undid the bottom one of the three large mother-of-pearl buttons that mimicked the polka dots. She bent forward, and kissed the flat plain running from Jenna's ribs to the waistband of the shorts.
Jenna decided that her duty as a conscientious crewmember required her to improve her martial skills. So she performed a simple foot sweep, which dumped Cally flat on her ass on her own bed. Jenna tripped on the edge of the bed and tumbled on top of her. Cally slid her arms under Jenna's armpits, resting her hands on Jenna's shoulderblades. They began kissing, gently and quickly, slower and harder. Cally removed her hands from Jenna's back, with a lingering caress, and unbuttoned the other two buttons.
A lace underwire half-bra was not Cally's choice for athletic wear, but she thought it looked damn good on Jenna. And even better off Jenna and thrown into the corner of the room so Cally could get her face into Jenna's cleavage and her hands in the waistband of the tap pants. I'll leave the socks on, she thought. They're so cute.
This feels good, but it's sort of strange, Jenna thought. Or else it's sort of good, but it feels strange.
Cally wriggled out of her loose v-neck top and canvas drawstring pants.
Gotta lose the Aertex vest and the knee-length bloomers, Jenna thought. And Cally did. No, I meant permanently, Jenna thought.
Cally pushed Jenna up slightly, so Cally could lie down between her legs without sliding off the edge of the bed. Jenna was already a little excited, and Cally thought she smelled and tasted like blue flowers. A few minutes later, Jenna's legs scissored, and Cally kept licking and kissing as Jenna clutched a pillow over her face and rode with the contractions of her muscles. Cally slid up Jenna's body, kissing and caressing all the way, until she paused, embracing Jenna fully and nuzzling into her neck.
After a few minutes to recover, Jenna began to feel like a bad hostess, or perhaps an ungrateful guest. Perhaps a thank-you note the next day would suffice, but she didn't think so. She nudged Cally gently, until the other woman slid away from Jenna and half onto her side, half onto her back. Jenna licked gently at one very hard nipple (which, Jenna noted with fascination but a touch of repugnance, was fuchsia and pulsated), then the other.
Well, this usually works when I do it myself, so it's worth a try, Jenna thought. She licked her index and middle fingers, pressed them against Cally's clitoris, and rubbed not as gently as all that. Cally murmured encouragement. Jenna kissed her lightly on the mouth, then more fully. Jenna slid two of the fingertips of her other hand inside Cally. Cally was very wet and ready indeed, but Jenna thought she felt different--cooler than Jenna's own moisture, and fluffier. Almost like whipped cream. Jenna increased the pressure on Cally's clitoris, and enjoyed the rippling of her muscles. Like sea waves and sea foam, she thought.
Right, Jenna thought. I've just jilled off a lady-loving alien who smells like a Christmas tree.
Mother always said there'd be days like this.
4. Fencing"To seek revenge can lead to Hell, But everyone does it, and seldom as well"
"I can't see the point of all this," Vila said. "What do we do, just hope that someone's left some swords around for us to ponce about with, and hope that at the same time they haven't got a paragun?"
"You'll learn both aggression and the discipline of aggression," Avon said. "Very valuable for combat." Avon unzipped a very large bag, and withdrew a gleaming weapon--three feet of cold steel harnessed to a bell-like grip.
Throwing it impressively from hand to hand, he settled his fingers around the grip, raised the weapon in a chivalric salute, advanced his hand, and leapt into a lunge. If you liked that kind of thing, it was magnificent to see the pure line of his body, the stretch of his working leg, the perfect right angle between the calf and thigh of his standing leg.
Today, Avon wore his usual style of athletic gear, but the round-necked shirt was the faintest coffee-and-cream color, the trousers deep purple. In violet and planning to stay that way this time, Avon perched on a bar stool he had brought in from the galley, and drew something out from beneath his shirt. Something round, suspended by a knitted cord of black silk. A stopwatch.
He demonstrated the proper stance: the feet at right angles, a couple of feet apart; knees turned out; the non-working hand behind the head, the working hand holding the gleaming weapon. He showed them how to advance and retreat, the feet never straying from their alignment. How to move smoothly into a lunge, and how to pull back and recover. (Vila thought it was called recovery because, in his case, it took twelve steps to get back up.)
Then, for the next thirty never-ending minutes, Avon sat on the stool and made them do footwork drills, meticulously marking on a clipboard how long it took them to advance from one chalk line to the next, and immediately retreat. (If their feet turned out or in, or if they stood up from the mandatory fencing crouch, he erased the time and made them start over again.) At last he relented and showed them the basic en garde position and the three basic parries. After a few minutes' drill, he let them put on masks, gloves, and jackets, and chase each other around the room poking at each other with the foils. Plenty of time later to teach them proper technique.
"But worse'n'that, A person that, Titillates a person and then leaves her flat Is crazy..."
"I feel awful," Blake said. "What were you trying to do, kill me?" Every muscle in his lower body ached, and his stomach muscles were also constant in their reporting of information.
"No worse than learning to ride a bicycle," Avon said bitterly. "Still, I thought that a treatment with the portable therapy unit would help." He sat down at the end of Blake's bunk and summarily moved Blake's right foot closer to the wall, Blake's left foot closer to the edge of the bed.
He triggered the small mechanism. It gave a metallic grunt of unadmitted pleasure and began to emit pulses of heat.
Defensively, Blake clapped his knees together, and regretted it instantly.
"Excellent idea, why don't you just leave that here and I'll get on with it?"
"I doubt it would have quite the same effect," Avon said, continuing the deployment, starting at Blake's left knee, moving maddeningly almost far enough down, then breaking off and resuming again at Blake's right knee. His dark eyes looked almost dreamy (Almost as if he were dreaming, Blake corrected his thoughts).
"Ah, perhaps I'm flattering myself here, but I really should tell you that, well, I don't with chaps. Never have."
"Never? That speaks ill of the initiative of your Boy Scout troop, Blake." For a moment, appalled, Blake considered a half-size Avon in Boy Scout uniform, bandoliers slung over his Sam Browne, a couple of grenades dangling from his D-rings, using his scarf to garotte a rival patrol leader.
Blake contemplated rolling over onto his stomach, to conceal the evidence. That would be like pouring oil on troubled oil fires. And rolling over hurt too much anyway. He grabbed a protective pillow and draped it over his midsection.
"Don't worry, there's a lot of technology transfer," Avon said, "Except you don't have to worry about putting anybody in the club. I could teach you whatever you need to know to get started in...well, a couple of hours."
Carefully keeping his free hand half an inch or so from Blake's ankle, he continued his therapeutic ministrations. He was curious about what was going to happen. If Blake didn't want to have sex right now, then it could wait. There was more than one way to drive someone crazy in bed. Eventually, at the perfect point between the peak of anticipation and deciding the grapes were sour after all, he would eat his Blake and have him too. As for a temporarily unused erection, worse things happened in space.
"All afternoon doing every little chore The thought of you stays bright. Sometimes I'll stand in the middle of the floor Not going left, not going right."
"Jenna, I'm sorry," Cally said. "I was well out of line. I simply forgot myself, that's all. At home, we never go long without bonding with our clone sisters."
With your sisters? Jenna squicked.
"But, well, we're not even related, and I know that Earth ways are not the same as ours. So I really, really should have controlled myself better, and I won't do it again." Cally paused.
No, no, not at all, didn't mind a bit, do it again, do it again RIGHT NOW, yes yes do lots more of it, Jenna didn't say.
"If you knew how miserable I was, you'd forgive me," Cally said. "It's pathetic, really. When I'm so scared, and feel so wretched, and I don't know what's wrong with me, it sort of makes sense that I'd try to do something normal to reassure myself. But it's not fair to you."
Something normal, Jenna thought. Right! "Shall I make us a cup of tea? That always seems to help." At home, tea was served at only three times of the day: early morning, elevenses, and of course teatime. Jenna's more plebeian crewmates always seemed to have the kettle on, and Jenna had fallen into their ways.
"Oh, yes, thank you! The canister marked 'Decaffeinated Gurnivian Slime Spice,' please." When Jenna returned, with a mug of Darjeeling and a couple of biscuits for herself, and tea and umeboshi plums for Cally (Aurons don't like sweets), Cally was on the verge of tears.
"I've tried so hard to fight it," Cally said. "No one wants to be a freak. But I just can't help myself. At first, when I fell in love with Roj, I thought that it was just admiration. Hero worship. A schoolgirl crush. I thought it was just a stage, and I'd get over it. But now I know that, however much I don't want to accept it, well, it says something about me. Who I really am."
"Blake? He's not a king, he's just the same as anyone we know," Jenna said. That's not true, she thought, but it sounds good.
"He scares me so."
"He's brave, of course. He's got a lot of ambition. But at the end of the day he's just a bloke, and usually blokes won't...[turn down a free jump]...reject a girl who shows that she really likes them. Why not tell him how you feel, Cally?"
"But what if he just laughs at me?"
"You'll have to take the risk, or you'll never know. Anyway, I didn't laugh at you, and I don't even like girls."
"But I know how to get girls into bed. I don't know anything about seducing a man."
"Easy as falling on a log," Jenna said.
Back to B7 Top