Deep Space Lust Series

Space pirates are bad news, right? But what if they are smoking hot and you find out that any physical contact sets your body on fire...and theirs too? Sal and Donna think the blue males who boarded their ship are the hottest things they've ever seen. Until these guys showed up, their cargo ship was as much fun as a woman's prison. And there is some kind of weird sexual chemistry thing going on between the species, too. Every time one of the soldiers grabs a female crew member, he gets rock hard and she finds herself wanting it hard and furious. So that part is damn hot...not to mention frequent. But since pirates are bad news and all, they probably ought to stop them. Somehow. ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ Sal groaned. She didn't mind being on a third-class ship for one cycle, but this smacked of being in a woman's prison. Not that she saw anything wrong with eating other girls; it was just that she did like having a choice in the matter. "What about the first mate? Does Jason do her too?" She pictured Jason being passed down the ranks like some sort of icon of office. But Donna shook her head. "She could be a virgin as far as I know. She's tight-assed like one. I haven't noticed much of a human streak in her." That fit with the initial impression Sal had gotten from the lecture the mate had given her when she came on board. The mate went on endlessly about propriety and observing the rules. Well, in small, old and tatty cargo ship there was little privacy. Other than the Captain and the mate, who had their own cabins, the entire crew shared these living quarters, which were nothing more than some bunks and lockers with this table and chairs in the middle for card games or doing correspondence courses. The bathroom was just open showers, no stalls, and sinks and toilets. Propriety was hard to come by under the circumstances. It was an effort just to stay civil during a long passage. Jason slipped on his cotton pants. On an old ship of this class the air con didn't work well, and the standing orders gave priority for cooling the spaces with electronics equipment, and the two officers' staterooms. So the crew dressed lightly...even minimally. That was one reason they often sat around naked in the compartment. That situation compounded the frustration.

Is there such a thing as too much sex? My name's Isadora and I'm an interplanetary smuggler. When Bernie and I got talked into ditching a package in a passing sun, we took the job for the money. Of course en route Bernie had to see what was in the package and that's how the hitchhikers got loose. I'm not quite sure what they are, but they slip inside and take you on a wild ride. A pretty wild one. They control the sexual chemistry of the host and they like it to be in high gear—randy and ready—constantly. Having them in control turns ordinary sex into something truly mind blowing. No matter who or what you screw (they don’t let you pick and choose and anything is fair game) it’s mind-blowingly better than the best sex you’ve ever had before. The problem is that it isn't them having the sex, and the greedy bastards aren't willing to let a creature take a break. ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ "You fix us up with this crappy cargo and now you want us to do you a favor?" I looked at Caleb, giving him my best what-the-?? glare. He shrugged it off. I think we've done business together too long and the jerk knows me better than I'd like. "Isadora, it's a little one. All I'm asking you to do it jettison a small package, a box for me. You're already hauling my cargo to Arabelle II. Doing this for me just means you approach the nearest sun and shoot the box into it." I snorted, trying to sound derisive. "That isn't a little favor Caleb. It's a big deal. The sun isn't just down the street you know? That task not only adds a lot of distance to the trip, it means that we are visible to tax patrols for at least three extra days. We aren't making diddly squat on this run as it is." "It does increase the risk," Bernie, my partner put in. He sounded far too reasonable for my taste. "And risk should be paid for." When he added that I forgave him. He'd made the right point. "I'll sweeten the pot then," Caleb said, looking tired. "The thing is...an important client asked me to get rid of the box for them. I have no idea why it needs to go in the sun, but it seems important to them. Because I want to curry their favor maybe I can give you a few hundred credits in return for doing this little thing." "More likely they are paying you two or three times what you are offering me to get rid of whatever it is." I was in a bad mood. Smuggling was always a rough business, but the authorities were making it almost impossible for a girl to make a dishonest living. Here I was, an entrepreneur, an employer, and they were trying to put me out of business. What possesses people to act that way? And now Caleb, one of my best customers in terms of both imports and exports, wanted to complicate my life. "Is it radioactive or toxic?" Bernie asked. "Yeah, good question." Caleb shrugged. "I don't know. It isn't emitting anything detectable from the box but I have no intention of trying to find out what's inside. If you are incredibly curious, don't blame me." Reluctantly we took on the additional chore. We needed the money. BEYOND HOPE, our ship, was almost as bad off as her name implied. Repairs, expensive repairs loomed high on the schedule and we didn't have the money to pay for it. Before doing the repairs though, I wanted to make this run and then get laid. I needed the release.

Interplanetary travel requires that you adapt. We'd been sent to negotiate a trade deal. Our Commerce Union needs their Feelinite; the female leaders of this planet want our help. There's a war going on and they need a woman to negotiate with a rogue faction to achieve peace on the planet. That means I need to get along with their all-male army. Seeing how these guys are hung, it's an assignment I can throw myself into with some enthusiasm. ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ "Your leader should come with us." I'd stuck my head out of the doorway of our space ship to get the lay of the land and found him standing there, waiting. Four other men stood behind him. Having said his piece, the tall man stared at me. I think he was trying to decide if I understood him. His concern was reasonable, seeing as we'd just arrived on his planet in a space ship. "Hold on a sec," I said. We'd swallowed our biotranslators before landing and they were assimilating into our systems. They'd make us conversant in the local languages for a week before digestion returned them to basic proteins. Pic and I had military issue units that lacked the nuance algorithms, and speaking slang could come out weird. The Foreign Planet Service people got the good ones. Ours gave us the gist of general conversation pretty well when the units didn't crap out, but we didn't always get the full picture. "I am the Ambassador, "Jenna told him, stepping forward to face him. "I am the leader of this mission and represent the governments of the Commerce Union. These are my escorts and must attend me." I have to admit that Jenna had the moves down. She held her chin up and had her shoulders pulled back as she stepped ahead of us. It was all intended to seem imperious. Unfortunately, to me it just looked silly. Her people were squarely built, rather hairy and anything but regal. Being fortunate to be of a race that is slender, hairless and with golden skin, I try not to show my prejudice, but when one of them assumes that posture it strikes me as ludicrous. The man was looking at us cautiously. Clearly he had no idea what she was talking about. Sometimes it's funny the way politicians are positive you've heard of their group when there is no reason why you should. "Why are you hiding under fabric?" I should put his question in context. The question undoubtedly seemed reasonable to him, given that he and his four men were naked. They each held a spear that to my trained eye appeared totally ceremonial. I didn't think it could cut paper. As far as clothing went, forget it. "We aren't hiding," Jenna said. "In our culture we show our rank by wearing these." He didn't get it. "What do you have under the cloth that we shouldn't see?" "Nothing." Although Jenna didn't know it that wasn't entirely true. Both Pic and I carried stun wands under our robes. Ambassadors like to think that protocol protects them, but Pic and I are marines. Being responsible for her security, we lean more toward the might of concealed weapons. While Jenna considered the situation, weighing the political, moral and social aspects of his request, the man stood, waiting. We seemed to be at something of an impasse.

Landing the ship on the planet while screwing their brains out was probably a bad idea, and when Zelda heads off to see what sort of barter might work out to fix the ship, she learns that some negotiations require a bareback approach to her back door. Toss in a closer-than-close encounter with wazzies and Zelda has to revisit her views on the joys of rear entry. ~~~~~ Excerpt ~~~~~ I stared at the image of Rodeo, the planet we were approaching, on the large monitor. It was pretty. Most of them are. Truth is, you can’t tell anything by staring at the images of planets unless you have a shitload of special filters, but I like to see the places I’m going to be walking on, get a sense of them, even if it doesn’t mean shit. Hey, it’s just a harmless quirk. Veteran space travelers are entitled to a few quirks. On the other side of our console area, I saw Rollo shuffling his light blue bulk into the navigator’s chair. He grinned and started strapping himself in. “You know, Zelda, this one is going to be a rough entry.” I smiled at Rollo. “Aren’t they all?” “Any entry into an atmosphere is a little rough, but the atmosphere on this planet is what we technical types call lumpy.” “Lumpy, Rollo? Really?” “There are weird swirls distributed randomly throughout the middle regions that contain micropockets of energy. When we hit them it will fuck over our trim and make for a wild ride. Temporary loss of control and all that. Goddamn bouncy, I expect. I bet it makes predicting the weather hell too.” He toyed with some of the nav controls like he knew what he was doing. “Zelda, are you sure you want to put down here?” That made me laugh. “Seeing that the engines won’t get us to another place where they might be repaired... yeah, I kinda think we better. Floating around in space is fun only if it’s on purpose.” He shrugged. “Okay then.” Rollo is a great partner and we are well matched for our work, which is running a rather rundown interstellar tramp cargo ship. It takes a special bonding for a crew to work and we were right there. Think about it. First, there’s the hassle of being partners in a venture that is rather shaky from the start—that’s always a source of tension. On top of that, the cargo ships that outfits like ours can afford tend to be slow and steady, as well as kind of dirty and held together with baling wire. That means the runs between systems can be rather long and boring. If you aren’t well matched... well, you hear those stories of ships found in deep space with the crew dead but no sign of intruders. Close confinement makes murder understandable. Happily, Rollo lacks the nasty habits that can make being confined in a small space with another creature for a long period of sheer torture and doesn’t seem to mind mine. On top of that, he’s a good cook if you don’t mind simple food. I like simple if it means I don’t have to cook. Rollo is a beautiful teal-blue Zand. I don't think I’ve met any other Zands, although I’ve read the little about them that’s been published. I met Rollo in a sleazy bar where he’d landed, having run out of money. I was there because my mate had quit, deserted me in the middle of a cargo run, hauling some crap in WONDER, which is my dodgy ship. I didn't like the bastard, but he was also my navigator. In all fairness, he quit because I couldn’t afford to pay him. Rollo suggested we form a partnership, which only costs me cash if we actually make any money and he gets sweat equity, although Zands don’t seem to sweat. Luckily we hit it off.

Isadora is on the run. Convincing Captain Roma to give her passage on his freighter means accepting his terms--satisfying his lust and that of a hermaphrodite Demrik. She is sharing the cargo hold with a couple of illegally genetically engineered studs. What can possibly go wrong? But hot, erotic action with multiple partners triumphs over adversity every time. A creature has to be adaptable. ~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~ Climbing the boarding ramp of the Stella Buena, I experienced a moment of actual fear. The ratty old freighter was my lifeline... if I could convince the captain to help me out. He had to help me. Suddenly, the otherwise routine task of getting off Tyrsa II had become the most important thing in my life. In fact, without delving into nauseating detail, if I had to remain on Tyrsa II much longer, it would likely be the last thing I ever did. I wasn’t ready for the last thing in my life to come up. Not yet. Fortunately, I didn’t have to be sneaky about my intentions to get off planet as fast as possible. After the unfortunate events that had played out, I wasn’t the only one on that planet who thought me leaving immediately was a good thing. The authorities made that clear. “Now!” was the word the magistrate used. Checking the flight schedules, I found this ship, the interplanetary freighter Stella Buena, was the only ship leaving the planet for the next week. But a lack of transport was, in the words of the same magistrate, my problem. I was to be gone ASAP. I noted that Stella Buena’s scheduled flight plan involved a long hop and then a three-day layover on a planet I would rather avoid if that was possible. Not that I was in trouble there, nothing major, anyway, not the kind of situation that risked my life and liberty, but it wasn’t a nice place to while away the time. The second issue I had with what appeared to be my only option was that Stella Buena, despite its name (Good Star), was at best a rather sketchy freighter. But choice was a luxury I didn’t have. I had a passing acquaintance with the ship’s Captain, Oscar Ramo. Whether that would prove to be a plus or minus remained to be seen. Oscar was a Rigel Blue. Not to profile or diminished the ability of any creature to become more than the sum of their genes, but it was a race well known to produce skilled traders who tended to be less than conscientious Captains. Oscar was the poster boy for that. I knew him to be incredibly fond of himself... self indulgent. I doubted he willing squandered a great deal of love and affection on his ship, much less any significant money. The saying: “if it ain’t entirely essential, jury rig it,” comes to mind. Rigel Blues are fond of a fat and juicy bottom line. The look in his eyes when I came on board told me the plant’s rumor mill was grinding away at full tilt. Oscar didn’t look the least surprised to see me. He’d heard the story and he knew the schedules better than I did and would have predicted my arrival with a probability of one-hundred percent. His smile said it all. Seeing me coming to him, walking on his ship and knowing that I needed to ask him for a favor, pleased him a lot.