When Shane opens the door to his room we are greeted by a very demanding Borg. Rubbing around my calves and Shane's, she's meowing at us loudly and incessantly.

"Do we have food for her?" I ask, knowing that’s the only thing she ever asks for.

He points toward the far wall of his room, and I see three large containers.

"All the stuff from your car is over there. If you packed cat food, it should be there."

I had packed some, but not a lot because Borg was augmented to not require food and I had limited space in the backpacks.I dig around in the crates until I find the container of food, then give Borg a small serving–about half of what she'd usually expect. She scarfs it down quickly and immediately takes up meowing at maximum volume again.

I wonder if we should just cryogenically store her the whole time we're here. She's going to be pretty miserable without an unlimited supply of her favorite cat food. And she'll meow at us about it the whole time.

"We have a raw protein paste that is a base ingredient for a lot of our food production. We can check tomorrow to see if she'll eat that. There's a pretty much unlimited supply," Shane tells me, as if reading my mind.

I guess I have always been pretty easy for Shane to read.

"So where's this shower? Am I going first?" Hopefully, it's a real shower, with real water. It's a space station after all–maybe there's water rationing.

Shane doesn't answer me, so I look at him.

He is weighing his words, considering what he wants to say. He seems to come to some decision because he straightens up and asks, "Do you remember our safe word, Honey?"

"Papaya," I answer instantly.

"Good girl," he says, moving closer to me so that he's towering over me as I kneel on the floor next the crates, "And do you remember our signal?"

I nod my head. The signal is a way to ‘tap out’ if I can't use the safeword. Like if I'm gagged or my mouth is otherwise occupied. "What—" I move to stand up, but he puts a hand on my shoulder holding me down in a kneeling position.

"Show me the signal."

I reach out and tap his thigh three times in rapid succession.

"Good," he runs the fingers of his other hand into the hair at the back of my head. They quickly snag on my curls, and he makes a tight fist using it to arch my neck, forcing me to look up at him sharply.

My eyes water at the stinging pull on my hair, my arms suddenly lax and light, like a kitten held by the scruff. And I gaze into his gray-blue eyes, they are narrowed on my face, assessing.

He continues to fist my hair as his other hand moves to his shoulder, and I watch as he unfastens a closure then unzips from his shoulder diagonally across his chest and stomach to his waist. He has to let go of my hair for a moment to free his arms, then he’s pretty much naked in front of me, his outfit bunched around his legs.

"Push my suit down the rest of the way,” he says.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I take my time with it, reaching inside to run my hands over his heated skin. Scratching him gently at the tops of his thighs, pushing the bottom half of his suit down as I caress his legs.

He steps one foot out, then the other, kicking it away.

I know what he wants, obviously, but I stay kneeling in front of him, held by the hair, waiting for his next command. I look up at him, not even acknowledging the hardness jutting out right next to my face. Ignoring the gorgeous body that’s enticing me to ogle.

Heated anticipation is pooling in my core as I wait.

"Put your hands behind your back. Hold your left wrist in your right hand."

I immediately comply.

"Lick me, root to tip. Get it all wet."

The grip on my hair relaxes a smidge, allowing me enough movement.

I start on the underside; I follow the vein there at the base all the way up to the tip where I circle lightly around the crown. I'm tempted to take it into my mouth, to suck him exactly the way he likes it, but I don't. I continue to lick him the way he told me to, savoring his taste and smell. He’s warm and a little salty. He always smells and tastes good–I’ve missed this so much, being in this headspace where he's in charge and I'm his ‘good girl’ doing what I'm told.

Holding eye contact as much as possible, I see his jaw tick although his gaze stays narrow and heated. I feel him pulse and jerk a little bit against my tongue, like he might come just from this. He takes a deep breath, the muscular expanse of his chest drawing my notice.

"Doll, you've got a beautiful mouth. Open up."

He grabs my hair with both hands now, the salty taste of precome gliding over my tongue as he uses my mouth, gently at first. I hold my lips over my teeth and try to relax my throat as he nudges against the back of my mouth.

"Such a good girl. Look at you. Can you take more for me?"

It's not easy, but I’ve had some practice with this. He's being insistent, pushing a little harder at the end of each stroke. Tears prick my eyes as I consciously swallow, struggling to let it push into my throat. And then he's shuttling quickly, going down my throat a little more every time, making me gasp around him.

I keep my hands firmly behind my back as he told me to.

"So good. God, you're pretty. Look at that face."

I swallow convulsively on his next stroke, and he pulls me close, all the way down, my nose meeting his body until I can't breathe. Swallowing again, I grip my wrist tightly as he huffs breaths mingled with sharp, wanting words.

"Oh-- I'm coming–" His fingers dig into my scalp, his whole body tensing as he—

I start involuntarily squirming in his grasp, whimpering and swallowing as the need to breathe overwhelms everything

Still gripping my head, he slowly removes himself.

He kneels down in front of me and kisses my forehead.

"That was amazing. You are amazing."

He's stripping my scrubs off, then pulls me into his arms.

"I've missed you so fricking much."

I let his warmth and his praise soak in.

And then he picks me up and he's carrying me. Hopefully toward that shower he promised.

"Do you want to wash your hair?"

I shake my head.

He grabs a shower cap from a drawer in the bathroom. He brings me into the stall–sure enough, it's a real shower with real water.

He stands me up in front of him, facing away, and wraps an arm around my shoulders in the lightest of holds–but his arm is firm and heavy across me, even so.

"Hold still."

First he turns on instantly warm water and then his free hand is moving down my body.

"You're wet," he growls into my ear, pushing his fingers past the slippery seam to toy with me, "Does sucking me turn you on? You like feeling it all the way down your throat?"

I whimper.

"Answer me," he demands, squeezing his arm around my throat just a touch.

"Yes. I like it."

Rubbing the pads of two fingers over my clit, hurtling me towards an orgasm, he hugs me tightly to him and asks, "Do you suck Rick like that?"

I freeze.

"Answer me."

"No," I gasp, "I've never done that for him."

"Maybe you should.” He spears me with those two fingers, and continues abusing my button with his thumb. "You should swallow his cock while I watch. Or we could take turns. Could you do that for me, Honey? Be a good girl for both of us?"

I picture it. Going down on Rick while Shane watches. I remember how heated he looked as he watched Rick and I on that video call. He was hard, jerking off as he watched us—

I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand against me as I come so hard I shake in his arms, stomping one foot while my channel squeezes down on his fingers.

"I take that as a yes," he chuckles.

I don't even know what he's talking about. I lean back against him limply, my body quaking in aftershocks.

He kisses my cheek. "Let’s get you washed up.”