Story codes: Mg11, Mf16, mc (gM), cons, future
Summary: A group of children is freed from the influence of an evil alien life form. The only girl among them takes a liking to her rescuer, but there’s not much time; can she work her magic on the starship captain? And what lies ahead?
The following work of fiction is written by Admiral Cartwright (a pseudonym) and presented for entertainment purposes only. Copyright © effective 2017. Distribution of this material or of any predecessor(s) for profit and/or with this information abridged shall constitute a violation of intellectual property law and may result in some serious shit. Unless, of course, you ask the author first.
The author does not own the characters or situations adapted to create the events of the narrative hereinbelow, to which the author claims full ownership.
This work is presented under the Fair Use laws of its original country of publication (USA), as per:
Fire and Snow is not to be confused with Fire and Ice.
“As a literary exercise, I’m impressed with your deft handling of the prose artform. As human drama, easily on a par with what I remember from the days when I used to watch [the series].”
“Fun story, worthy of your best.”
“I’m still amazed that you took on this subject.”
“You have picked up the characters well, and it seems very authentic. Best [series] erotica I have ever read.”
“Now that’s a movie I’d love to see.”
PLEASE READ: written descriptions of sexual activity have been determined by numerous courts and legislatures worldwide to be lawful to produce and consume, including depictions of ‘UA’ characters. However, such law may not apply in your area of origin; further, readers may be required to be of legal age in their respective locations. If your local laws prohibit you from consuming such material, stop now.
The author does not endorse or condone sexual activity involving persons deemed by applicable law to be incapable of consent thereto.
Fire and Snow
Kirk was still pissed.
A group of children—children, dammit!—had taken over command of his ship, and wrestling it back was nothing short of horrifying. These children were under the direction of a powerful, ghost-like being who had directed the killings of their parents, and they were only now dealing with this trauma after Kirk and crew had revealed the alien for the monster he truly was. The children were now under the care of the ship’s doctor and the psychiatrists, but the healing would take a lot more time than their current trip to the nearest star base—years, perhaps. But Mary ... Kirk saw something in the eyes of the pretty, freckled, pigtailed blonde that unnerved him, even as he dealt with the lingering anger and disappointment at having lost his command, however temporarily.
Mary was eleven years old and small for her age. She looked nine, maybe ten, and adults were all too happy to act protective of her, and Mary was all too happy for the attention, especially whenever one of them carried her in his arms. As nice as that doctor was, though, Mary was particularly enamoured of the captain of this huge, suddenly intimidating starship. The boys in her group were already taller than she, even though they were younger; playtime was okay, but anything more substantial from nine- and ten-year-olds just wasn’t going to happen, either physically or intellectually—something of a surprise, given their lineage. As for the older boy, Tommy was all business when he paid her any attention at all, and this was true even before the visit from the at-first-charming alien and the powers he bestowed upon them for their mission to take him and the starship from their adopted world to a distant planet, for reasons at which she could now only guess. This otherwise tight-knit group and their parents, all research scientists, comprised the entirety of humanoid life on their adopted planet; so, as the only girl, relegated to being just one of the boys, Mary took to wearing only the dresses from next year’s stock to hide the beginnings of her transition into womanhood.
But Kirk—Kirk was different. His confidence, his swagger, that disarming smile that made Mary just melt. He was so gentle and comforting when the alien was exposed and her tears flowed; could Kirk possibly give her the true validation that she so desperately wanted?
The star base was only a few hours away at their present speed. She’d have to work fast.
A sense of normalcy returned quickly to the ship. Best crew in the fleet, Kirk smiled to himself. Still, he made a mental note to tell the ship’s chief medical officer to keep an eye on those directly affected by their ordeal.
No doubt the good doctor would remind him that he was on that list.
The children, meantime, were assigned adjoining VIP quarters. A central common room, sparsely furnished and with a touch-activated viewscreen, led on its opposite ends to connecting doors and smaller quarters, so the new guests could bathe or nap in some privacy and congregate when they wanted. Ship’s stores produced mostly uniforms—and, naturally, everything in adult sizes—so their own clothes were cleaned and returned to them. Mary was disappointed; if she was going to present herself to Kirk as something other than ‘just one of the boys’, she’d need to show it off, and her too-large dress was an obstacle.
Mary appraised herself in the mirror. Her breastlets were still more buds than boobs, but there was unquestionable growth. Her hips were just starting to widen a bit off her waist, and the tiny hairs on her young mound were getting slightly darker, showing the barest hint of the pubic hair she would eventually sprout.
Mary liked what she saw; would a grown man feel the same?
Dress back on, sash tightened around her waist, Mary went back into the common area and found she was alone; apparently, the boys had found something to do somewhere else. She started toward the door to see if there was anyone still standing outside who would escort her to the bridge, when the door chimed instead, startling her.
“Um ... come in,” she said, gathering her wits.
The door slid open with a whoosh, and Kirk obliged her, looking around for the rest of her group. “Where is everyone?”
“I dunno. I was just going to ask the man outside.”
“Oh, okay.” Kirk said, glancing once again around the cabin. That charming smile returned. “Is everything to your liking here? Anything you need?”
Mary gave Kirk that look he found so disturbing, and he began to turn and take his leave.
“Well, you just let me kno—”
“There is something,” Mary said, thinking fast. Her chance had just walked in, on his own, and she knew it may never happen again. “I’m hungry,” she improvised.
Kirk turned again to face this young girl, looking somehow different than before. Her hair, of course. It was still loose and damp, no longer in the pigtails she’d sported earlier. She was pretty, and Kirk rather preferred long, loose hair on his wom—
What the hell am I thinking that for? Kirk admonished himself. Mary was a girl, many years from developing into the woman she will be.
Will be someday, he finished the thought.
Mary noticed the sudden change in Kirk’s expression, and the quick, almost imperceptible glance at her body. With a slight smile, she turned and walked toward the table under the viewscreen, trying to replicate the more sensuous walk she had seen one of the boys’ mothers do when her husband had spent “too many goddamned hours” in the lab one day. Mary turned back toward the captain, planted one hand on her hip, and pointed with the other toward a bowl of exotic fruit. “Can I get something better than this?” she smirked.
Kirk had started to follow her, then stopped midway, suddenly quite uncomfortable. Regarding her question almost dismissively, he whirled and started toward the door, saying something to the effect that a yeoman would be sent to escort her to the officer’s mess. Mary, panicking that she’d lost her chance, pounded her fist in the manner taught her and the other children by their alien kidnapper. But he’s gone now. No way this is going to work, she thought.
And Kirk stopped dead in his tracks.
Mary had known what she wanted ever since that one night she interrupted her parents. They had forgotten to deactivate the door to their bedroom and Mary, curious about the noises coming from inside, tried to creep closer to the door until everything on either side was exposed with a whoosh. Engrossed, neither parent knew they were on display until Mary clapped her hand to her mouth and gasped.
Red-faced and apologizing, Mary ran quickly back to her own room and sat on her bed, taking in what she had just seen: her mother, straddling her father, his penis slamming almost violently into her vaginal channel. Mary knew all about the biology of the act; having scientists for parents meant a dry, clinical explanation of what humanoids have known for centuries as ‘the birds and the bees’.
Her mother knocked on her door and joined her daughter only moments later; once calm, Mary had tons of questions. Why were you sitting so hard on his penis? Did it hurt? What were the noises you were making? Are you trying to make another baby? And so on.
From there, sex became only slightly less clinical as mom curtly answered everything. No, it didn’t hurt, once you were old enough that the vagina can accept a penis inside. No, it was not just for reproductive purposes. Two people giving each other pleasure, and receiving it in turn, is a great joy. Some people waited until they were joined in matrimony, others did not.
It was a whole new universe for Mary, then nine. She was appreciative that her mother had opened up—yet disappointed that so much seemed to have been held back.
What exactly am I supposed to be too young for, anyway?
On the other hand, this was not something Mary was ready to share with anyone else. Tommy was not yet a teenager but, because he was at least two years older than the other boys, his involvement in their playtime activities was decreasing. (She didn't trust him to keep his mouth shut anyway; younger Tommy was a bossy tattletale.) The others seemed only to care about the next fun thing to do when they were not being schooled. Mary, of course, was the only girl; her mother had already demonstrated a willingness to keep any discussion on the topic to its barest minimum, and she wasn’t planning to have a talk with one of the other mothers as this, too, would come right back home, given such a small group.
Left entirely to her own devices, Mary began to experiment. A finger in her canal was followed in due time by two fingers, then three. Her clitoris was a pleasant, and pleasing, surprise, allowing even more waves of pleasure. Finally, one night, she reached her first real orgasm, prompting a visit from her mother, and a “must have been a nightmare” excuse that was not entirely convincing. Still, as expected, her mother left it rest there.
And Mary learned to be a lot more quiet.
HAIRBRUSHES HAVE BEEN pretty much the same for centuries, not that Mary knew that. Watching herself in the mirror one night after a sonic shower, Mary had an epiphany: the handle was not too different in size and shape from dad’s penis—or her memory of it, at least. Tucking her brush into her pyjamas, she took it to bed, and her pleasure to new heights. Her hymen long since gone—her fingers had removed that obstruction—Mary guided the handle into her wet, waiting orifice, and winced in pain about half-way. She waited for the pain to subside, maybe a few seconds, then eased out, back in, back out, back in, a little deeper, the pain a little easier, slowly, slowly—
And then it was in. Mary gasped, a smile of wicked pleasure taking over her face. Back out, back in, five-plus inches on each stroke, the bristles tickling her clitoris—once she figured out an angle that didn’t actually poke. A new feeling started welling up inside, like her orgasms until now, but more, and more, like warp factors different. Almost on instinct, Mary reached behind her head with the hand that wasn’t busy and pulled her pillow over her face, hoping it would muffle what exploded from her mouth as her orgasm exploded from her vagina, a series of screams that otherwise would have brought the entire colony over to see what was wrong.
You’ve heard the phrase, ‘hooked on a feeling’; Mary was undeniably, inextricably hooked. The only thing left to conquer was a real penis—and, given the circumstances, that seemed unlikely for the foreseeable future.
Kirk slowly turned back toward this young girl who was pumping her fist in the practised manner of her recent powers. My stars, it’s working. Mary felt a very real electricity as she strode deliberately toward one of the sleeping cabins, Kirk obediently in tow.
Once the door closed, Kirk was a barely restrained animal. Grabbing the backs of Mary’s arms, he bent over to compensate for their respective heights and pulled her in, mashing his face into hers, a kiss that only gradually got softer and more romantic as the pair settled into a mutual routine, their tongues playing, their lips parting, touching, parting. A short breath, eyes locked in pure lust, then back to their interplay, Kirk’s proud penis poking into Mary’s belly as far as his trousers would allow. Mary moved both hands from the small of Kirk’s back to fondle his penis and testicles through the material, drawing a groan from her captain.
Kirk unfastened Mary’s dress and it fell from her shoulders, drooping at the waist. Mary reached down and undid the sash holding everything to her young hips and her clothing fell the rest of the way, leaving her naked before Kirk. His expression changed, and she knew immediately why; she was losing him, her just-budding, not-at-all womanly body leading Kirk toward reality. Furiously, she pumped her fist, willing her man back to her. No! You’re not! Getting! Away!
Masculine hands slowly reached for her shoulders, and Kirk drank her in, a hunger restored. Mary reached for his trousers and fumbled with the opening. Succeeding finally, Mary watched as the garment hit the floor, and marvelled at her first up-close penis, almost in a panic.
Oboy! That’s a lot bigger than my hairbrush!
Mary didn’t get much chance to process the thought as Kirk practically ripped off his tunic and firmly, but gently, pushed Mary backward onto the bed while kicking off his boots in the process. He was atop her in a flash, his mouth making a beeline to one young breastlet, washing it with his tongue, still somehow both firm and gentle. Mary’s eyes grew wide with this new sensation—she hadn’t yet considered her tiny mounds to be erogenous zones, and Kirk was devouring one by its nerve endings, sending an electric shock straight to her vagina.
Kirk let the young tit pop from his mouth, and looked into Mary’s eyes, wide with newfound pleasure. He smiled, and dove into the other bud with equal zeal, and equal results; Mary, slowly growing accustomed to the feeling, sighed and closed her eyes.
They seemed to pop from her head moments later when the captain arrived at her mons veneris and, an instant afterward, at her clitoris. Kirk was suddenly more gentle now, tickling her clit with his tongue and tracing the length of her pussy lips, back to her clit, down to the opening of her cunt, savoring the taste of her young juices.
The stimulation of her clitoris and labia minora was totally new, totally electric, and totally explosive. Mary’s head fell back onto her pillow and she experienced an orgasm somehow different and still as powerful as her hairbrush caused, and she tried with only limited success to stifle a scream, lest it escape the bulkhead or the cabin door, to be heard by who knows whom.
Kirk watched intently as the girl’s cum subsided and her legs finally relaxed, falling knees-out to the mattress. Taking his queue, the captain mounted his young lover and entered her, once again in a near-animalistic frenzy. Mary gasped at the invasion and grabbed Kirk’s buttocks, holding him steady, hoping the pain would subside.
This was no hairbrush, but a proud captain.
Mary craned her neck up to offer her lips in a kiss, and Kirk obliged, mollified for the moment. Gradually, he felt her grip on his ass loosen, and he began a slow back-and-forth, somehow understanding her needs even through the haze of whatever was this power she held over him.
Without question, though, Kirk was fucking her, bumping headlong into her cervix with each near-complete thrust of his cock. Each time, a centimeter more made its way inside this hot child’s pussy, then another, and another.
Mary’s orgasm was building. She threw her arms around his neck and looked up into her captain’s eyes, all lust. When finally his penis was fully engulfed, Mary exploded again, all that and more, her neck bent back so far that she was staring into the bulkhead behind her—not that she could see it through the stars in her eyes as the rest of her body bucked, writhed, and shook with the violence of her first joining with a real man and his very real penis.
Kirk hadn’t cum yet, but he was close. Mary just did regain her senses in time; there was one more thing she had to do. Pushing her captain toward one side, he got the hint and rolled over, letting Mary straddle him from above. This would have been quite the concession from a man always in command, including the command over his women, but Mary was in control. She slid Kirk’s penis from the depths of her vagina and sat down on it again, awkwardly at first, seeking a rhythm. Presently, she found it and, with her hands atop Kirk’s muscular shoulders, she drove herself to her most powerful orgasm yet.
“Unnnngh!” Kirk grunted, his come slamming into him hard, his cock slamming deep into his first pussy in weeks. Mary had buried her face into his smooth chest, alternately squealing and screaming, riding him like a piston engine. His hands found her hips and took control of their pace, if only slightly deeper and faster, adding even more power to a cum that was impossibly strong already.
Kirk slipped from consciousness, completely drained. Mary slowed her pace, her orgasm finally subsiding; she, too, seemed to fall into a new, deep slumber, falling to one side off the still-twitching body of her captain.
At that moment, Kirk jolted awake.
This exhausted, sated little girl lying next to him was wearing the first happy smile he’d seen on her. He was wearing no such thing—nor anything else, for that matter. Ever so gently, Kirk managed to pull himself from underneath her arm and leg and got up from Mary’s bed.
He threw his clothes on and got the hell out of there, not even bothering to look to see whether an ensign was still standing guard at the common room door.
Kirk stood in the sonic shower for what seemed like a Solar day, as if it could wash off the disgust he felt. Not with the girl; clearly, she wanted this and, well, she sure got it.
His disgust rested wholly with himself—and in no small part because he seemed to need to convince himself that he was disgusted.
Kirk—all captain, all business—escorted his young charges down a corridor, into a turbolift, and down another corridor to the transporter room. They were silent for the entire journey, perhaps nervous about the next steps in their lives. Once on the pad, however, the kids couldn’t stop asking questions.
“Will we get new parents?” Tommy blurted.
“I’m sure someone will love you very much, like you were their own,” Kirk answered in measured, long-since rehearsed words.
“Will we have to go to school?” asked Don, his nose crinkled.
“Yes,” Kirk responded to a chorus of groans.
“Where will we go?” asked Ray in a panic. Don stiffened, also suddenly panicked. “Will they keep us together?”
Kirk assured them that everything would be taken care of.
“Will we ever see you again?”
Kirk tried to smile naturally toward Mary, then looked evenly and quite intentionally at each child in turn. Back to Mary, and charming as ever, he said, “It’s possible.”
Mary and Kirk locked eyes as the children shimmered from sight.
“Someone has a wee crush,” opined the chief engineer, wearing the grin of someone who had just made a naughty joke. A say-another-word-and-you’re-dead glare from Kirk, however, wiped it abruptly from the Scot’s face as his captain turned and left the room. The ensuing walk to the turbolift seemed longer than it was mere moments ago.
“Bridge,” Kirk barked.
With his log entered and the scene surveyed, Kirk practically jumped from the command chair. “Ahead to our next assignment, helm. Warp factor two.”
Relinquishing the conn to his helmsman, Kirk stepped quickly into the lift and directed it toward the officers’ quarters. More slowly now, but very much deliberately, he made his way to one of the doors and rang the chime.
Kirk plodded into the living area of his first officer, who seemed suddenly to stand taller over his captain than ever. Half-human, half-alien, and every bit friend and confidant, he was the one being aboard this ship who truly understood the inner conflict now tormenting Kirk.
“I need ... a favor,” the captain stammered. “I need to forget ... something.”
The petite, young blonde in her smart, new uniform walked toward the spot along the corridor where the class assignments were posted. She smirked slightly at the anachronism—while the headquarters were designed to mimic the feel of a starship, the bulletin-board style felt like a throwback despite the fully state-of-the-art display technology.
Shrugging off the distraction, she searched for her name: Janowski. Pressing the display, her schedule opened, and her smile grew wide. I got it, she nearly said out loud.
I get to see him again.
Kirk had had just about enough of this ‘Admiral’ business. His mission, commanding the finest ship in the fleet, had ended some three Solar years ago, and he was pressured almost immediately into accepting a promotion. “Think of all the experience you can pass on to an entire new generation of ships’ captains,” he’d been told. The memory still stung; forget the old midshipmen’s joke, he really was ‘Captain Dunsel’—tossed aside, useless.
Old. Forty years, old.
Kirk had been the operations chief for the entire fleet, but he was a glorified paper-pusher, and he was all too aware of it. After almost two years of that shit, Kirk stepped down and requested another command. Request denied, he returned instead to the classroom at the academy to teach the new guard, as it were. Not that this didn’t sting, too. “You want me to teach History,” he’d all but growled at his commanding officer. “History? Hell, I am history.”
“Give me something that means something!”
He’d literally barked an order at his own CO, but he didn’t care. And it worked. Kirk would oversee the hands-on training of the youngest, brightest cadets for their futures as officers, shipboard, exploring the far reaches of space. Out there.
It hardly filled the hole in his soul, but it was a step in the right direction: to make a difference.
Cadet Janowski had long-term plans for her future: she was going to be a science officer and a damned good one. Both of her parents had been research scientists, and she had the intellect and the aptitude, if not the cold logic, of her inadvertent hero. Short-term, she was determined to face that hero’s commanding officer—her personal hero—and her memories from some five years prior.
Happy memories, she thought, her smile returning. I wonder if he feels the same way?
“As ships’ officers,” Kirk continued, his students rapt, “you are the fleet’s representatives. Some worlds are so distant that you may be the only representatives they will ever see. Some beings are friendly; some are not. Some are deceptive; some are not. Your vigilance is every bit as important as your attitude. You are part warrior, and part ambassador. When to be which is one of the most important tools you will ever learn.”
Kirk had lost count of the number of times he’d given this same lesson, yet he’d never lost the fire underneath—losing men and women under his command was the one thing that still burned, and would for all his years; hell, any unnecessary death was one too many. Even the ones beyond his control ate at him.
Today was one of those days. “One mission,” he improvised, neither knowing nor caring why this particular memory surfaced, “involved some young children who were befriended by a terrible life force.”
One head jerked upward, a pair of striking blue eyes leaving their study materials to focus on the lecturer.
“He had granted them some sort of psychokinetic powers, and they led all their parents to their deaths by his command. They took over my ship in order to transport this being to some faraway star system to do—who knows what. The only way to expose him,” Kirk continued, ignoring the memory of his own anxiety at the temporary loss of his command, “was to force these very young children to face reality, the loss of their innocence, the loss of their parents. The loss of their lives, as they knew them. It was hell—a horrible waste of life and livelihood, just to lure a starship—and it forced a command decision I hope none of you ever has to make. But you must be prepared when your shipmates depend on you. You may be required to be that warrior. And the ambassador. And the father-figure. All at the same time.”
Murmurs began to bounce through the room. One lone cadet let loose one lone tear.
Kirk looked up from his desk, eying the pretty young blonde and wondering about the redness ringing her eye. “Something you want to say, Cadet ...?”
“Janowski, sir,” she replied. Actually, there was quite a lot she wanted to say, but her initial enthusiasm at seeing Kirk again had morphed into a profound trepidation; there'd been no sign that he recognized her. Besides, now was not the time. “I just wanted to thank you for today’s lesson.”
She smiled, nervously, then performed a crisp right-face and walked out. Kirk watched with an odd expression, and wondered what the hell that was all about—and why he felt an odd tugging at his memory.
Kirk would spend the next several weeks trying to ignore that feeling. Janowski spent that same time trying to find the courage to do something about it.
Kirk stood at the doorway of what was supposed to be the bridge simulation suite—except the last bit of corridor was taped off and the bulkhead was missing; only darkness lay beyond.
“Refit, Jim,” came a familiar voice from behind him. Without breaking stride, Nogura added over his shoulder, “but you’ll love it when it’s ready.”
“Why am I always the last person to find out about this shit,” Kirk muttered to giggles from his students. With a curt “As you were!” he turned and led them back to their classroom.
“At any given moment, you may face the no-win scenario. I say again, I don’t believe in them. There’s always a solution, some way, somehow. We can’t do this properly, but we’re going to do it anyway.”
Kirk directed his class to rearrange their seats to resemble the layout of a ship’s bridge, and had Cadet Willits take the center seat. Janowski quickly took the science officer’s position, Haskins and Finney volunteered for the communications and engineering stations, respectively, and two other cadets walked purposefully to the helm and navigators’ seats. The remainder stood along the back wall.
“You’ve just received a distress call from a freighter, heavily damaged, in enemy space. Some men and women are already dead; the rest will die soon if nothing is done.” Kirk then walked about the room, directing the action, mimicking the responses of the ‘crew’, watching the ‘captain’ react.
As usual, the simulation did not go well. ‘Captain Willits’ joined a long line of cadets who ‘killed’ some four hundred people, himself included.
This time, Kirk decided to just say it: “If I have any regrets, it’s the lives lost. Those under my command. Those not under my command. The evil—well, sometimes you don’t have a choice. The innocents, those hurt the most.
“You must be quick, but you must be sure.”
A hand went up. “Sir, how do you deal with death?”
Kirk paused. “That’s something we all have to figure out for ourselves,” he said, almost in a whisper. “Me? I deal with death by preventing the next one.”
With that, class was dismissed but for one straggler.
Despite his discomfort, Kirk liked the pretty, engaging science officer-to-be; that vague feeling, coupled with her seeming nervousness and her quiet concentration, didn’t change that. Standing before him now, she was clearly shaking, steeling herself for ... something.
“Feel free to speak up at any time, Janoski.”
“Yuh-NOF-skee, sir. I—you—you’re really affected by death, aren’t you?”
Kirk looked into the cadet’s eyes, and that familiar something was slowly getting less vague. “When it doesn’t have to happen, yes. You know death, don’t you?”
She nodded. “My parents. Five years ago.”
“And Tommy’s parents. And Donny’s ...”
The dam broke. All of the memories came rushing back. All of them. The blond hair; the blue eyes; the freckles. The come-hither expression. The power. The power. The tiny body underneath him, then atop him, rocking, sweating, cumming, cumming, hard! The satisfied, beautiful smile of this same child, fucked to blissful unconsciousness.
All at her own direction.
Kirk’s expession went cold. Slowly, he turned, walked to the door and waited silently, not looking at Mary Janowski. She took the hint and left, the door sliding shut behind her, its whoosh an exclamation point, as if mocking her.
Subspace communication established, Kirk greeted the familiar face on the screen, though it was not the face of his friend and former first officer.
“Ambassador! A pleasure to see you.”
“The pleasure is mine, captain.”
Captain? Kirk blinked. Surely the ambassador knows—no, forget it, the admiral quickly admonished himself; his purpose was self-serving already. Instead, Kirk asked to speak with his friend.
“My son is not available. He is preparing to undergo the ritual to purge himself of all emotion, and shall not reappear until such time as he is ready.”
The admiral slumped slightly, both perplexed and dejected. Off Kirk’s look, the ambassador continued. “May I be of assistance, captain?”
“Perhaps you can,” answered Kirk, forming his words carefully. “Let’s assume ... that ... a mind meld is performed to remove a memory. Can—”
“A memory cannot be ‘removed’, as you say, captain. It can only be supressed. It is possible that, with sufficient stimulation, this memory can return.”
Kirk fought back the ironic smile at the ambassador’s turn of phrase. “Thank you, sir. That’s all I needed.”
“If I can be of further assistance—”
“I will certainly let you know,” Kirk interrupted. “Give your family my best,” he added, attempting feebly to mimic the hand gesture offered in response.
The communication done, Kirk turned from the terminal. “‘Sufficient stimulation’,” he repeated under his breath, shaking his head.
For the next several sessions with this class, Kirk managed to avoid any interaction with Mar—with Cadet Janowski, gathering his materials and rushing off to ... well, anywhere else. Finally, Mary had had enough.
“Admiral, I need to speak with you,” she said, struggling to keep up with his much longer and much more purposeful stride.
“Jim Kirk! You will stop, right now!”
Even Mary was shocked by her outburst. Everyone within earshot turned to look, then chose to honour discretion. Kirk stopped, livid, his fists clenching harder as the echo in the corridor rang slowly softer.
Mary, not softly at all, nearly stomped to a position in front of Kirk. As she turned, her petite but very much mature chest puffed up, Kirk might have laughed at the near-tantrum were it not for the flames of hell burning in her eyes.
“You are not going to ignore me any longer,” Mary spat, in a voice too deep for her size.
Kirk was unimpressed, and every bit as venomous. “You ...” he began, fumbling for the right word, “stole”—that works—“something from me!”
Mary shrank suddenly; Kirk was not wrong. She looked down, the tears beginning. “You wouldn’t have given it to me otherwise,” she cried.
“And that’s exactly why it was wrong!”
A happy smile that Kirk had seen only once before broke through Mary’s twin waterfalls as she faced him again. “Bullshit. I’ve never known anything so right.”
An interminably long silence followed. The hug afterward lasted a while, too.
“How old were you? Ten?”
Kirk glanced around the commissary. He’d chosen this table quite intentionally: out in the open, but no one seated nearby, this was to be a very private conversation in an otherwise very public setting.
“Eleven,” she answered.
“What on Earth, or any other planet for that matter, led you to believe that you were ready for sex—and with a grown man, no less?”
“Because I was ready.”
Kirk absorbed Mary’s backstory as she continued, all the while ruminating over how he had reacted. The aftermath—a profound disgust—was what struck him, far stronger even than the memory of the unbridled fuck, nothing less, with the tiny, tiny girl. But why?
There was no bright-line ‘age of consent’ anymore; that had been abolished nearly a century before in favor of something called Affirmative Consent, a case-by-case structure by which all sentient beings would be required, upon demand, to demonstrate a legally acceptable belief in the ability of a partner to say yes to sex. Regardless, Kirk’s response had been entirely visceral; ever since his own teens, he was attracted to obviously mature women.
Cadet Janowski, at 16, was only barely there now.
“Do you still believe it was wrong?” she finished.
“Yuh-NOF-skee,” she corrected again, shaking her head, “and will you please call me Mary?!”
“I’ll think about it,” Kirk smirked, then took the sharp turn back to business, only now making sense of everything he felt. “It was wrong. Even if we ignore your age, how small you were. Even if we ignore my personal preferences ...” Kirk paused, ever the diplomat. “Yes, you wanted it—I accept ... that you wanted it, that you consented. I didn’t—and the fact that you had to use those powers to ... to force me to ignore my wishes in order to consummate the act, that is the proof. It was wrong.”
Mary buried her chin into her chest. “I’m sorry. You hate me.”
“You’ll get no sympathy from me, mister.”
She jerked her head back up, saw Kirk’s disarming, irresistible smile, and laughed, a hearty laugh that she desperately needed. “So, captain, my captain,” Mary leaned forward, chin on her hands, comically batting her eyelashes, “what do you think of me now?”
“Now? You’re all woman,” Kirk said with a wink.
The pair shared conspiratorial grins, got up from their table, and left together.
The pair stood facing each other next to Kirk’s bed, wearing their lust and not a stitch more. Mary felt silly, but she had to do this.
“Jim, I give myself to you, freely and completely.”
He understood. “Mary, I give myself to you of my own free will.”
She stepped to him and pointed her lips up to his. “Oh, fuck yes!”
If sixteen-year-old Mary had anything over eleven-year-old Mary—besides her height, now level with Kirk’s chin—she was a far more accomplished kisser. Kirk was quickly harder than he could ever remember; Mary was already dripping down her thighs. Her hands found buttocks only slightly larger than she remembered; his fingertips found each other behind her ears. Each tasted faintly of the coffee they’d enjoyed moments ago; their passion quickly washed that away.
Impatient, if just a little, Mary leaned toward the bed. Kirk took his queue and nearly fell atop her, bouncing slightly on the mattress. His kisses travelled to her neck; her hands to his hair.
Kirk lifted his head to regard her breasts once again. Not large by any means, but definitely a woman’s, and Kirk smiled before diving intently onto one of them. He kissed, suckled, and bit down just enough to draw a gasp from his young lover. Within moments, he was on the other one.
If Kirk was honest with himself, he’d admit that he was not so much into foreplay as control. Command. He was very much in the captain’s chair, directing his women’s pleasure, subtly (and not so subtly) pushing the buttons. His lovers never wanted for anything, but they got it when he wanted.
This time would be different.
Kirk fairly mauled two young tits with his hands as his mouth made its way to one very wet pussy. Mary’s orgasm was instant, taking Kirk by surprise. He let go of her breasts and grabbed her hips, hard, to keep his mouth from sliding off her bucking body, jerking with her pleasure, little squeaks escaping her lips rather than the restrained screams he remembered. When Mary finally came down off her high, she was gasping for breath.
Mary’s breathing slowly got less ragged, her mewling less intense. Never had she come like that, even during intercourse. She honestly wondered if she’d survive that now.
Kirk waited, patiently, caressing this amazing girl—this amazing woman—as she returned from her private orbit. When finally she relaxed, Kirk performed his signature move, climbing on, taking aim, and slamming his very proud cock all the way home. Mary came again, though much less intensely. Kirk smiled, then pulled all the way back out.
Mary, empty and confused, looked askance into her lover’s eyes. Kirk stared back with a passionate but firm expression that left no doubt: I’m in command here. Mary smiled and closed her eyes.
Kirk slammed home and slid out again. Another mini-orgasm from Mary. And again. And another. And again. Building and building. When finally she whimpered, Kirk kept contact and thrust back and forth, his own come imminent. They peaked together, Mary screaming, Kirk growling, their combined juices frothing with the speed and force of their coupling, until finally neither had anything left. Mary only barely had the strength to push him far enough off of her that she could breathe.
Their energy would be sapped further that night.
Fortunately for both lovers, neither had classes that morning; they’d have slept right through them. Kirk stirred awake, faintly aware of a soft hand caressing his half-asleep cock.
“I don’t know about you,” he joked, barely able to speak, “but I’m not exactly sixteen years old anymore.”
“Aye, sir,” she teased back.
Kirk lay there and enjoyed the sensation largely because he didn’t feel like moving. He couldn’t decide whether he felt younger than his forty years, or older. Damn, that was incredible.
“You know what’s weird?” she began. “I’m not exactly inexperienced; it wasn’t like I saved myself for you, or anything. I mean—sorry, no offence.”
“But I’ve never sucked a cock before. May I try it?”
Mary laughed. She leaned over Kirk’s leg and took his not-quite flaccid tube between her lips.
“Less suction, more tongue. Pretend your mouth is your pussy.”
My pussy. She still found that term hilarious.
Mary was just beginning to get a reaction when Kirk sighed. “You realise, of course, that relations between students and instructors have always been ... discouraged,” he said. “I’m going to have to transfer you to another class.”
His cock popped from her mouth, and Mary climbed atop Kirk, playfully pumping her fist as if to summon powers long since gone. “I don’t fucking think so, mister.” She backed up, lined up their sex organs, added, “You’re stuck with me” and, in exclamation, slammed down hard on his proud ‘captain’, standing in stiff salute to its commanding officer.
Spent, Mary lay next to Kirk. “You’re the best lover in the whole galaxy.”
Kirk pretended to be hurt. “Just this galaxy?”
She punched him in the shoulder.
“Janowski, status report!”
Mary smiled to herself; no one in Kirk’s class would ever be alowed to skate by—think or sink, went the long-running joke—but he’d softened ever so slightly, even teasing her with the now-deliberate mispronunciation of her name. In the middle of a tense situation, however, he’d finally nailed it.
“No change, sir. Still closing at fifty kilometers per second.”
“Estimated time to weapons range?”
Janowski checked her instruments. “One minute, seventeen seconds, present speed.”
Kirk glanced around the updated bridge at his cadets; each was handling things well, if sweating a bit. The simulator was a marvel; finished, fully tested, and opened this morning, Kirk would be first in line this time, dammit—and in the center seat.
Dozens of simulations were programmed in, each with unlimited, random, often Socratic possibilities designed to test cadets’ abilities to think and react.
No classroom can touch this.
It was Mary who first noticed the aberration. They were in orbit around a deep space station, an enemy ship in an identical orbit with the station kept precisely between them. The enemy vessel had increased its speed by a fraction, just enough to gain ground. Analyses and recommendations followed. The science officer’s was novel: “Sir, I can see no reason for this course of action except in preparation to attack. If we maintain present speed, and act as if we don’t notice, we can engage them first.”
Now, they were one minute from perhaps doing just that.
“Navigator, calculate coordinates for the moment that ship is in range,” Kirk began, “and feed that data to the weapons station.”
Mary was already monitoring. “Coordinates confirmed, sir.”
“What is their weapons status?”
Kirk looked to his left. “Weapons officer, what is their status?”
Cadet M’Randa came out of his trance. “Uh ... no sign of power to their weapons systems, captain.”
“Good. Soft-lock photon torpedoes on those coordinates and wait for my command.”
“S–soft lock, sir?” the wavering voice came back.
“Soft lock,” Kirk repeated firmly. “They may detect a hard lock and break off.”
“Aye, sir.” The cadet engaged soft-lock and reached for the firing control with a shaky hand.
“On my command, Mister M’Randa,” Kirk intoned deliberately. Cadet M’Randa took a calming breath and acknowledged the order.
“Stand by. Steady as she goes.”
Science Officer Janowski announced the ten-second mark, then counted down the final five. “In range, sir.”
M’Randa twitched slightly. On instinct, Kirk slammed a switch and cut off Weapons, only to silently curse himself for not allowing the scene to play out. “Helm! Phasers, soft lock, Stand! By!”
“Janowski, weapons status, enemy vessel!”
“No change, sir. No power to their weapons.”
Odd. “What the hell are they wait—”
“Sir! They’re backing off!”
Kirk looked toward his helmsman, then at the viewscreen. The enemy vessel was indeed beyond weapons range; tactical view confirmed it settling back into an opposing orbit. Kirk glanced around the bridge, smiled almost imperceptibly, and secured from Yellow Alert, ending the simulation.
Back in class, the remainder of this lesson would not be fun for Cadet M’Randa.
“Come,” Kirk called over his shoulder to the chime at his door. Mary entered, walked into the kitchen, hugged Kirk from behind, and buried her head between his shoulder blades.
“That simulation is something else,” she said in honest awe. “That was intense.”
“You seemed on top of it.”
“I’ve had to learn how to shut things off, I guess. It still hurts.”
“Is that why you kept the family name?”
“Yeah. I wanted to honour them. And ... I love my adopted parents dearly, but ‘Mary Ferreiri’? I don’t think so!”
Kirk turned to face her, and they shared a wicked grin and a kiss.
Dinner would have to wait.
In the audience, their instructors stood beaming with pride as the next generation of fleet officers was honoured in graduation. Cadets no more—most were ensigns, while the occasional standout earned lieutenant’s stripes—they were given their diplomas and assignments, and the freedom to mingle afterward. Hugs, handshakes, and kisses (of the innocent variety) were exchanged freely and often.
As the celebration broke up, Mary Janowski—one of two in Kirk’s class to be awarded the rank of lieutenant, Jamie Finney being the other—approached her teacher, her saviour, her lover, her friend, and gave him a chaste peck on the cheek that completely belied her wicked grin. “See you around the galaxy,” Mary joked, then turned toward her departing shipmates and their new assignment aboard the Saratoga. Kirk watched her ass wiggle, and smiled.
Years later, the freshly ‘demoted’ Captain—charged along with his crew with disobeying regulations, but rewarded by the fact that they had just saved their planet from likely destruction—was offered that same kiss and expression in parting by a different woman, leaving Kirk frozen in a moment of déjà vu.
Where have I heard that before?
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