[**There is a lot of set up in this one, jump to the BOLD BRACKETS to get to the goods, you filthy meatbag.]**
*Worlds on the edge of the galaxy have a way of bringing people to them. Sometime it’s the call of adventure: the promise of untapped mineral wealth or dormant archotechnology vaults that make people climb into cryptosleep caskets and leave behind not only their families, but the very century or millennium they had been born into (Lightspeed travel is miraculous stuff, but time-dilation doesn’t cut deals). Sometimes glitterworlders just get tired of the endless orgies and buffets and feel the need for the one thing you can’t buy: unfulfilled desires.*
*Most of the time, though, people don’t end up out here by choice. Urbworld tradeships tend to cut corners on their onboard AI containment protocols for cost reduction purposes, and that leads to collisions, deflections, and outright rampant course plotting. Hence, any given Rimworld is littered with the corpses of hundreds of ships… and thousands of castaways. And if they can survive the elements, the mechanoid AIs-in-exile, the genetically engineered insectoid monstrosities, and the genuine alien nightmarebeasts that call the Rim home, refugees band together, carve out a living, and look enviously back up to the stars that shit them onto the barely-livable rock. Factions that scrape together enough ship parts to support a space program are rich… And become targets for the Rimworld’s other inhabitants.*
Kyra had been a gifted-enough PR representative that the Rimatom Corporation had hired her straight out of college to a lucrative position… on a Glitterworld far from her home system. How could she say no? To leave behind her family was agony, and they’d be dead before she’d finished her 60-year flight preserved perfectly in cryptosleep, but she’d have 150 years of anti-aging meds, anti-grav sex-sims, and anti-shame drugs to drown her nostalgia in.
She hopped the first shuttle offworld. She should have taken the second one.
As it was, her shuttle—full of young professionals with no survival skills and an onboard AI 2 weeks past its service date—went 200 light years the wrong direction and crashed smack dab into a 0.8g hell-hole.
She’d survived. Her youth and intellect kept her going through the horrors… but she subsisted on regret. She took what she could get and joined up with a faction.
Kyra’s faction was not rich. The Ravagers were comfortably middle-class, by Rimworld standards, which meant they only went hungry every few seasons, and had a handful of guns they could use to shakedown smaller factions. Truth be told, they weren’t Kyra’s first faction. Her original faction was long dead. She had made an attempt at leadership with her crashlanded compatriots, and all that had gotten her was fifteen dead friends, a missing left arm, and a bullet lodged in her abdomen. But along the way she had learned how to leverage her charm into getting a little more than was strictly her fair share, and the man who led the Ravagers was just hetero enough to be leverage-able without her actually having to commit to anything unsavory. She was comfortable with the Ravager lifestyle of killing, fucking, and taking what you want, and as long as she kept up her pleasant demeanor and shooting skills she wasn’t forced to work either the mineshaft or the king’s shaft.
Still, the Ravager King’s yayo addiction drove his ambition harder and harder with every season. When word came back that another faction calling themselves “The Delightful Enterprise” had accumulated enough tech to start synthing chems, every Ravager could see the King salivate. Scout reports that it was halfway across the continent didn’t deter the King, and he sent raid after raid out to bring back lab equipment and the scientists to run it. Defeat led to defeat, dozens were killed or captured, and the King’s druglust was reinforced by a new thirst for vengeance as he sent waves of Ravagers out to claim the riches of the Delightful Enterprise for himself.
So it was that Kyra found herself tucked in the corner of an old ruin on the scrublands halfway across the Rimworld, spattered with morning dew and wrapped in a sleeping bag and the naked limbs of her raid leader. She didn’t make a habit of indulging herself on raids, but the party’s new leader, Spelo, had proven quite charming. Like Kyra, Spelo had joined the Ravagers in the aftermath of disaster, though he had come from a tribe wiped out by mechanoids. The tribes had been on the Rimworld so long they had forgotten the stars, and Spelo had an enviable naiveté about the horrors of this world. To him, all this death and despair was just part of life.
She looked at his still-closed eyes, admiring the long, dark lashes and the way they fluttered in sleep. Besides his uplifting demeanor, the bastard was handsome, too, she thought. He was average height, which on a low-grav world meant 2 meters, and both he and Kyra both had the thin, chiseled musculature of those who worked too hard on too little food. His dark skin had kept smooth despite the Rimworld’s binary stars, and Kyra thought he was young, but couldn’t be quite sure. Kyra had been sunburned too many times, and she knew the wrinkles were starting to show on her face. Her partners had never seemed to notice or mind her sunbaked skin, nor her missing arm, but she knew that a few more seasons in the sun would make her have to work harder to slake her thirst. In the meantime, she could distract them from the sun’s damage with her bright green Mohawk and piercings.
They usually got distracted by her tits, though. Cup-size meant nothing on a world where you sewed everything together yourself, but Kyra knew she was in the sweet spot of big enough to be cute, but small enough that she could sprint away from insectoids without chafing or back problems. As thin as the meager meals on the Rimworld had made her, her breasts still reflected her youth. With that plus her training in PR (not entirely forgotten over the years), she knew how to flaunt her assets, and her new skills in tailoring meant she cut a distracting figure. Leathers, piercings, crop-tops and spikes. It was an old Urbworld style, but she rocked it well enough to keep her partners focused on what she wanted from them.
It was only fair; Had she not overlooked the scars (physical and emotional) that the Rimworld had gouged into her temporary lovers a hundred times over? Had she not distracted herself from whatever piece her partner might be missing, from their body OR their soul? They liked her tits; she liked their dicks. Fair’s fair.
She ran her fingers down the puckered, still-healing scar on Spelo’s flank, wondering whether it had come from the same mechanoids that scattered his tribe. She made it a point not to ask him. It was considered poor manners to ask too many questions about people’s pasts. If they had joined up with the Ravagers, their stories were inevitably tragic, blood-soaked, and desperate. Besides, they were a day or so away from the Enterprise’s compound. It would be foolish to get too attached to each other when possible death was that near.
**[Here you are. Hope you get what’s coming to you, you damn monkey.]**
He grumbled and rolled away from her, but in the twisting constraints of the sleeping bag it drew her in tight to him. The man had game even in his sleep, she thought, pressed tightly against his back with her remaining right arm still draped around him, now resting along his thigh. The feeling of his sinewy back against her breasts was enough to slough off whatever sleepiness remained, and she bit her lip instinctively. Her hand traced up another scar on his inner thigh. The scar’s path stopped too quickly for what she had in mind, so she continued up its trajectory, fingers moving from smooth skin to thick hair and on to turgid flesh. His cock, already saluting the morning, twitched at her touch, and she grabbed tight hold at its base. She extended her little finger down to curl around and cradle his balls. Holding him like this—asleep, bound up in a sleeping bag, and at the mercy of her touch, she felt a smug power over him.
Kyra waited there, slowly tightening her grip and enjoying the feeling of control. Soon, she felt his breathing change: a sharper intake and a difference in the tempo. She turned her head and lightly took his earlobe between her teeth. He groaned lightly as she squeezed him.
“G’morning boss” she said, slightly muffled by the earlobe she kept between her teeth. “Raid’s soon… Thought we should get started on things.” She knew he could hear the smile in her voice. As he started to shift and turn, she gripped tighter with teeth and hand and he froze, letting a small groan pass his lips. “And while we’re at it, I have some notes on the plan.”
“Oh yeah?” He chuckled, grinding his ass back at her but still held tight by her grip. “Well I don’t normally take notes from subordinates.” He wriggled but she bit down hard again and he froze.
“You’re gonna want to hear this out. I promise to be… persuasive.” She loosened her grip and slid her hand up his shaft at this. Just as she reached the tip, she quickly slid back down and held tight at his base again. She released his earlobe from her teeth and whispered in his ear: “Seems like the King put you in charge, but here I am, and I’m wondering: ‘Why shouldn’t I run things?’” She was echoing her flirtations from the night before, but it had worked then, so why not now? “I’ve been running with the Ravagers longer, and I definitely have a *firm* *grasp*” she squeezed tightly, “on my competition.”
Kissing down his neck, feeling his cock throb in her hand with each one, she continued “So here’s how things are going to be. I’m going to call the shots, run things behind the scenes. You can keep your little title of Raid Leader. And in return for my generosity,” she started stroking him again, “You’ll bury this magnificent cock in me, wherever and whenever I want it.”
His breathing was heavy now, and Kyra felt the warm slipperiness of his precum lubing her hand as she passed over his tip. She smiled into his neck, then lightly bit down where it met his shoulder. It was fun being in control.
“Your… negotiation tactics… are superb.” He said, lightly gasping between each phrase. “But what if… I refuse?”
She slid her hand back to the base of his cock, squeezing tightly again and hooking her pinky around his balls. “Then,” whispered, “I can wait. You’ll break eventually, and you’d be amazed how comfortable lying on my side has been since I lost my arm. I’m. in. no. rush.” Each word of her last sentence was punctuated with a squeeze, and he was moaning by the end of it.
“Counter-offer:” he shifted, despite her grip, and managed to get his arm back and around her. He slid his hand along her thigh and up under her ass, his fingertips grazing her clit and sending lightning through her body. *Fuck*, she thought, *damn those wonderful, fast hands.* “How about I remain in command, and you get to be my willing sex-slave?”
He had slid a finger into her by the end of the sentence, and she was already curling her toes and panting from its pressure inside her. He had contorted his arm in such a way that he was hitting *exactly the right spot*. If he kept that up, she just might accept his counter-offer.
*No!* she thought, remembering the feeling of control she had had over him. She wrestled with him, reluctantly sliding his incredible fingers out of her needy pussy, and managed to pin his arm back to his side with her leg. Spelo growled, and Kyra cackled directly into his ear in response.
“Aww, poor big boss-man.” Kyra loosened her grip on his cock again, the pre-cum on her hand now sticky and hot as she slid back up to his tip to collect more. She was still having fun controlling him, but her pussy was getting impatient. “How about this… I’ll let you stay in charge of the team, but I still get to be in charge of *you*.” She placed the tip of her index finger right on the sensitive spot underneath the head of his cock and wiggled slowly. His breath caught; she had him. Time to close in for the kill. “And you’ll suck my clit while I make you cum. Deal?”
He was still gasping, but managed a nod. She bit her lip again, leaving her index finger pressed into his frenulum, pausing as she felt his pulse within. This was always Kyra’s favorite moment, the anticipation of coming climax thick in the air, her partner’s breathing struggling under the weight of lust, knowing that she could finish them with just a few more movements. She liked to bring them this close just to pull away and make them wait for her to finish. That streak of cruelty had served her well throughout her time in the Ravagers, with both lovers and enemies.
She pulled her hand away, careful not to stroke Spelo as she withdrew, wary of making him cum before she wanted him to. He groaned again, and hurriedly reached up to unfasten the sleeping bag. Released from the tangling fabric, Kyra rolled and pushed down hard on Spelo’s chest, lifting herself up and flattening him down in the same movement. She swung her legs over his head, straddling and dangling her pussy above him. Shifting his hips, he thrust his cock up in her direction and reached up to her thighs. He pulled her down forcefully, slamming his tongue into her clit and sending sparks through her.
She moaned, leaning forward toward the cock she had delighted in tormenting. Clear precum was dripping down his shaft, and it pulsated lightly with each heartbeat. It wanted to be sucked– was desperate for it– but Kyra just stared down at it, smiling wickedly and pinching her right nipple. Spelo was much better with his hands than his tongue, she decided, but he was making a good effort. She helped herself, grinding her hips into his tongue. Riding his face was not her favorite way to fuck, but she was getting off on the position she had him in more than anything else. He plunged his tongue deep into her pussy and held there. That did it. Whatever spot he hit started the landslide that would ultimately end in her grunting and climaxing on his face, and she knew she didn’t have much time until that point.
Through the lust-haze, she focused again on his cock, wrapping her hand around it so that her fingers lined up along its underside. The lube of his pre-cum made her fingers slide gracefully along his shaft as she rubbed in rapid small circles on his underside. She longed to slide down his chest and ram his cock inside her, but a pregnancy would get her killed. All thoughts of this evaporated as his tongue returned to her clit, and she gyrated on his face again. Not long now.
She wrapped her hand around his cock completely and started pumping. She could feel his shaft start to pulsate after only a few strokes. *Not yet, you fuck.* She gripped hard at his base, again hooking her pinky around and beneath his balls. This time, she pressed up and into him, letting his pleasure build up, trapped behind her fingertip. *Me first,* she silently demanded. He was a slobbering mess beneath her, his brain half-caught between eating her out and his own orgasm, using his lips and exhausted tongue to suck at her clit wildly.
Finally, she felt the crest of pleasure and plunged over it. Her hips gyrated on his face, pushing him down into the sleeping bag’s pillow as she groaned. She leaned forward and dipped her head down so his cock lay across her lips, smelling the musk of his sex. She loosened her grip on his cock and directed it upward. Spurts of cum, thick from her attempts at delaying him, shot out and up. The 0.8g pull of the planet’s gravity meant Kyra always got a fountain for her efforts, and Spelo made an excellent show. His cum shot into the air, splashing down onto her face, hair, and hand. She twitched as her orgasm ran through her still, basking in the warmth of the afterglow and his cum on her skin as it dripped down her cheek and neck.
Beneath her, Spelo gasped. “I’ll take that deal any day.”
She rolled off him, gathering the rivulet of cum that now dripped down between her breasts with her fingers and slicking her Mohawk up with it. No hair gel on the planet meant she made do with what she had, and the lingering smell of sex was the least concerning thing that would follow her on the Rimworld.
“Time to get ready, Boss” she said, jumping up and tightening the straps of her prosthetic arm around her naked chest, “We got chemsynths to steal.”
**[If you want more from me you’ll have to let me know. I might be able to read minds, but I never can tell what you screeching fleshbags actually like.]**
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/kzk3ek/the_delightful_enterprise_part_1_long_mf
Definately want more of this