Space station of the sluts

“Oh god, Zanth.” Megan forced her hand to unclench. She wadded bedsheets up in her other hand instead, turning her death-grip on the auburn curls into a clumsy, stroking pat. “Deeper, god — you’re so good with your tongue, lover. Let me feel it inside me. I want to oh god damn it!”

Megan broke off and jerked upright in the middle of her sexy-talk. A bright red icon flashed in the corner of one eye, casting an eerie glow on a quarter of Zanthia’s startled (and sticky) face. She swatted at the air angrily. The priority signal blinked once, chimed in her ear, and shifted to an open channel. Audio only — not video, thank you very much — but every bit as unwelcome.

“Cap…Captain Xio,” Megan snapped, coughing once to clear her throat. She made an apologetic face through the ghostly display at Zanthia.

The redhead grinned and sat back, folding her arms beneath her naked breasts. Her bottom settled comfortably onto her heels. Megan wrenched her attention away from her medical officer’s curves with real effort. No one on Saturn VI was exactly fat — you couldn’t be on a stationer’s heavily-regulated diet and exercise — but Zanthia certainly tilted toward the plusher end of the spectrum. Sitting half-curled on Megan’s floor she looked like a particularly delicious, thoroughly edible pin-up.