Title IX ((LitShark & KittenRin))

Title IX ((LitShark & SwanLake))

Kyle Fleener stepped through the sliding metal doors into the docking bay. He held a burning cigarette between his lips with his Deep-Space Stabilization Helmet tucked under his arm. He was on his way toward the three-stage deployment vessel to find the cryo-pod that would be his unconscious home for the next few weeks of hypersleep travel, when a mechanic in a grey jumpsuit halted him.

“Hey! You can’t smoke in here!” The mechanic was truly an oddity, a female in the male dominated field of deep-space machinery, moreover, she seemed way too bent out of shape over a dumb little cigarette.

“I’m almost finished.” Kyle answered dismissively, taking a long draw and blowing the smoke at her.

“Put that out! Are you nuts? There’s six metric tons of compressed rocket fuel in that rig just below your feet. Are you trying to blow us all to hell?”

“If you did your job right there shouldn’t be a problem. Are you trying to tell me that I’m about to step into a 3SDV with a fuel leak?”

“No… But—“

“Then relax, toots. See? All done.” Kyle smirked, stubbing out his smoke on the neoprene sole of his boot. “No harm, no foul.”

With the cigarette effectively extinguished, Kyle dropped the butt into the mechanic’s hands, ignoring the mystified and irritated look on her face. He was still exhaling smoke as he made his way into the shuttle’s cockpit area.

It seemed that Kyle was the first to arrive, so he began running preliminary diagnostics on the fuel systems, the hypersleep presets, the O2 guages and guidance systems. This vessel was taking them well outside of the native solar system—Kyle wanted to be damn sure that everything was well in order before leaving the atmosphere and the presence of a female mechanic didn’t exactly inspire a wellspring of confidence in him that everything was done properly. Kyle wasn’t the sort to take things like his wellbeing lightly—but after some tooling around, he was reasonably satisfied that things were as they should be.

Just as he was getting settled, he was joined by a second male recruit in the cockpit, this one seemed bookish and weak—for want of a more accurate term. He wore glasses, his eyes were weak, he was skinny, his body was weak, and he spoke softly when he greeted Kyle, a weak personality.

“Um, hi. I’m Byron.” The weakling muttered faintly, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Walking tank specialist.”

“Kyle, hover drone.” Kyle replied curtly.

It wasn’t a secret that of the three sent to the forward recon satellite, two would be going back with broken hearts and shattered dreams. Forward Recon was one of the most legendary and exclusive groups among all assignments available for Space Marines—they didn’t take just anyone, and they never opened up spots unless someone retired or was KIA. Only one spot was available now, the spot of a beloved marine who’d been killed, and only one of them was going to fill it. Kyle recognized Byron for what he was at first sight—competition.

Just as Kyle was about to begin getting inside Byron’s head, the hatch on the cockpit hissed again, indicating that the third and final potential recruit was entering the cockpit. Byron didn’t seem like he’d be much trouble—it was time to see who else would need crushing under Kyle’s boot.

The minute she came into view, Kyle’s mouth fell open and a derisive laugh tumbled out. A woman! He couldn’t help himself. She was slender, young and pretty—none of the things that a Space Marine was supposed to be. She looked nervous already, which made Kyle eager to press his advantage.

“What are you supposed to be, the stewardess? Ha! I didn’t know that the marines provided fluffers on these long-haul trips. Why don’t you go ahead and suck me off one good time before takeoff Sugar-Tits.” Kyle laughed, rocking in his chair in his lavish derision. “Holy shit, what a fucking joke! Don’t tell me that you’re thinking of actually trying to join up with Forward Recon, that shit ain’t for little girls.”

After a final scoff, Kyle composed himself. He leaned back and buckled in, taking care to get one last jab in before they began protocols for launch.

“Maybe if you’re real nice I’ll let you share my cryo-pod. I can wake up with your mouth around my cock. Wouldn’t that be nice for both of us?”

*_*_*

Commander Collins looked somber and miserable, looking down at his jumble of hastily scribbled and unorganized notes on the podium in front of him. No matter how many eulogies he gave, it never got any easier it seemed. To Collins, this was counterintuitive—he was used to drilling and studying, repeating actions over and over until they became second nature, it was a skill he passed down to his team. But eulogies weren’t like that.

“Dan Wainwright was a rare sort of man. He was the sort that did whatever was asked of him—whatever was needed—even when the person who needed it didn’t know well enough to ask. He was quick with a joke, but never silly and his laughs always came from the heart. He believed in justice, equality and making sure that no one ever went without. He gave generously to charities and never expected any sort of reward or recognition for his kindness. A rare sort indeed.

“He was a talented soldier, a trustworthy friend and a reliable wingman. He was blessed with a keen mind, a steady hand and a giving nature. Dan never met anyone who wouldn’t love him within an hour of meeting him. Dan was more than a Space Marine, Dan was my brother.”

There was a pause. The silence laid heavy across the assembled group of somber looking men, all dressed in their formal “dress blues.” No one cried, but that wasn’t because they weren’t hurting. Each man gathered around the military casket felt the same weight as Commander Collins, each felt the weight of the loss of one of their own and the silence just seemed to make the weight that much heavier.

Collins cleared his throat, pushing down that decidedly un-masculine catch that had almost crept into his voice. This was the job. It was his duty to train his men and when the time came, it was his job to let them go. It never got any easier though.

“Each time we pass through the airlocks, we pass the caskets that each of us brought with us, because we all know that our life out here is defined by death. On a good day, it’s the deaths of our enemies, the threats to our home-world, the death of worry for all those vulnerable souls we left behind. On a bad day, on days like today, it’s the death of one of our own.

“The cost of transit makes it impossible to return Dan’s body to his family, who no doubt share this terrible burden we all must bear. Instead, we return him to the source of all life—out into space where all that ever was first began.”

Unable to go on, Collins threw the lever which caused the casket to sink a fraction of an inch with a loud thud. The hissing of the airlock followed as the casket passed through the specially designed egress to be jettisoned out into deep space, never to be seen again.

“There’s no replacing a man like Dan Wainwright, he’s one of the few people ever to live who is utterly peerless and irreplaceable. None the less, we are marines—semper fidelis—always faithful. We go on protecting the world we know from that which threatens it, and we always will. Hoo Rah!”

“Hoo Rah!!” The bass reply was shouted back in unison by those gathered around the now empty jettison pod.

“Dismissed.”

Anna Kitts
20 years old
Blonde hair, blue eyes
5'6, fit body, D-cup

Heads turned to watch Anna Kitts as she rushed past them towards her shuttle. She wasn't late - just about - but she also wasn't as early as she had liked. No doubt the other recruits were already waiting. What a way to make a first impression!

Anna was a bit of an unexpected sight in the hangar in her Space Marine space suit. First of all, there were not a lot of female Marines to begin with - as much as equality had progressed in the last few hundred years, fighting a war was still widely considered something only reserved for men. Female soldiers, especially ones serving on the front lines, were somewhat of an oddity.

Secondly, Anna was enough of a looker to turn heads, Space Marine garbs or not. She kept her long blonde hair in a loose ponytail, now waving behind her as she rushed towards her shuttle - regulations allowed long hair for female Marines, but required it to be worn up on duty, and Anna was going by the looser definition of the word. Her Marine training had given her a well-trained, slender body, but had done nothing to decimate her feminine curves; Anna almost wished it had, since her ample bosom did make some of her physical tasks a bit more difficult and bothersome than they needed to be. But, well, all Anna could really do about it was blame her good genes.

Her parents hadn't approved of her joining the Marines, of course. Anna's father was a career Space Marine, and both of her older brothers had joined the Marines as well; but they had never felt it appropriate for their little princess to become a soldier.

"War is for men", they'd say. "You're too pretty for it", she'd hear. All her life Anna had been hearing these things. She was sick of hearing them. She'd be just as good a soldier as all her family - no, she'd be better. It had nothing to do with gender. All that mattered was guts and determination.

So, as soon as Anna turned 18, she enlisted, against her parents' wishes. Now, two and a half years later, she was a Corporal with a record full of nothing but praises, honors and commendations. She had worked hard, harder than anyone else, and she had more than proved herself in her old unit. She was well on her way to becoming what she wanted to be: the greatest Space Marine there ever was.

***

And yet, she had to deal with idiots like this.

“What are you supposed to be, the stewardess? Ha! I didn’t know that the marines provided fluffers on these long-haul trips. Why don’t you go ahead and suck me off one good time before takeoff Sugar-Tits. Holy shit, what a fucking joke! Don’t tell me that you’re thinking of actually trying to join up with Forward Recon, that shit ain’t for little girls.”

Anna rolled her eyes. Every time. Every fucking time there was one asshole like this.

"Well, aren't you a charmer, butthead", Anna replied coolly. She had to fight the urge to throw back some nastier insults of her own, but she knew it would do no good. The only way to shut up a guy like this was to show what she was capable of. Or, in this case, completely crush this guy during the trial period, and never have to see him again.

"And it's not 'Sugar-Tits', it's Anna. Anna Kitts. Stealth infiltrator. Nice to meet you." That last line was directed to the third man, the quiet one with glasses. Anna's tone made it quite obvious that she was having nothing to do with the loudmouth idiot if she could help it.

***

Anna had heard the news of her new assignment just under a week ago. Her old commanding officer, Commander Reynolds, had called for her in his office.

"I'll get right to the point, Corporal," Reynolds told her. "There's an opening for an elite Space Marine over at Forward Recon. Are you interested?"

Anna's eyes widened. Forward Recon? *The* Forward Recon? Possibly the most legendary group of Space Marines ever existed? The group which only takes the best of the best for the toughest missions? And it was offered to *her* - a mere Corporal, with only a couple of years' worth of experience under her belt? Was the Commander serious?

"Of course, sir. It would be a dream come true." Anna did her best to sound calm and composed. This could be it. Her big break. The one opportunity to become something great. There were a lot of stories about Forward Recon, no doubt most of them invented, but one thing couldn't be denied: if you made it at Forward Recon, you would become a hero. A legend. Just what Anna wanted.

Commander Reynolds narrowed his eyes. "Kitts, I'll be straight with you. Forward Recon is tough. Really tough. They think they're the best of the best. Maybe half of it is even true." He presented a piece of paper to Anna - details about the assignment. "You'd be one of three new recruits, but only one of you will get the spot. The other two will come home crying. Don't ask me how they choose which one of you stays - probably will run you through all kinds of tests and experiments. Who knows what they do over on their little satellite."

Anna listened intently. If she had learned anything of Reynolds in the past two years, it was that he was always painfully honest. If Reynolds said a post would be tough, it really would be.

It didn't matter, though. There was no way in hell Anna would let this opportunity go by. "I wouldn't expect anything less, sir. I'm looking forward to it", Anna said.

Reynolds hesitated for a bit before going on.

"One more thing. They've never had a female recruit there. Ever. From what I hear, they're somehow actually proud of that fact. Some sort of a macho thing, damned if I'll understand them. But it'll make things even tougher for you. You'll need to work five times as hard as the male recruits, if you want to prove you're better than them."

"The easy option for me would be to send a guy from my unit, instead of you. Sending you will... controversial. They won't like it." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes still fixed on Anna's reactions. "But they wanted me to send the best Marine I've got, and that's you. Hell, I've never seen an infiltrator as good as you. You're a natural, Kitts. So if you're sure you want it, you're the one who goes."

"Thank you, sir", Anna said, a bit flustered by this sudden praise. "Don't worry. I'm used to working hard. I'll make sure they have no other choice but to choose me."

"Do that, Kitts. Do just that." Reynolds' stare on Anna was intense. "Don't let them tell me that I shouldn't have sent a girl to do a man's work or some other bullshit like that. Don't embarrass me."

"I won't, sir. Trust me." A charming smile spread over Anna's face. Smiling like that, a young pretty thing, she really didn't look anything like a Space Marine. But her voice showed her determination - she was more determined than ever. "I'll do anything it takes to get in that unit."

***

“Maybe if you’re real nice I’ll let you share my cryo-pod. I can wake up with your mouth around my cock. Wouldn’t that be nice for both of us?”

Right now, it seems like "do anything it takes" means "resist the urge to strangle one grade A asshole", Anna thought bitterly. She decided to just ignore him and took her seat in the cockpit. If company was like this, cryo-pod sleep couldn't come soon enough.

“Ha! Anna Kitts, Sugar-tits! That’s perfect, we’re going to get along fine.” Kyle grinned, stroking his chin as his eyes made lewd passes over Anna’s body. “Corporal Sugar-Tits.”

Without meaning to, Kyle noticed the bars on the outside of her orbital space suit. They were the same rank, a cursory glance back at Byron confirmed that he too had a set of Corporal’s bars. It didn’t deter him from finishing looking over Anna’s body—though the loose space suit left too much to the imagination. He wondered if those tits really were as exceptional as they seemed through the baggy suit.

“Oh hi. I’m—um, Byron. Walking Tank engineer and pilot.” Byron stammered for a moment as the loud hiss indicated the closing of the external hatch. “We’d better strap in.”

The two men both did so efficiently, Kyle on the left and Byron on the right, leaving Anna to sit in between them. As he finished buckling the series of straps and tightening them around his torso, Kyle thought how lucky he was to have caught such weak competition for this highly competitive positing. He’d bully and taunt lil’ miss affirmative action until she broke—she was about to break already, any second—then like a perfectly placed domino, she’d fall onto his cock one night and that would break poor Byron’s sappy little heart. The dweeb was already stumbling all over himself like some love-struck puppy-dog. He’d throw it in his face too—they’d both wash out inside of a week, the spot was practically already his.

“Either of you two launched from a Three-Stage before? It’s like getting punched in the gut for a solid hour before the first engine craps out and the slow-burner takes over.” Kyle was jeering, continuing his campaign to try and psyche out the competition. “It’ll probably crush your little baby-maker into a plate, Sugar-Tits.”

Kyle placed his helmet over his head and locked it to the suit. Then he placed his gloved hand, high on her thigh.

Though Anna seemed amply able to take care of herself, Kyle’s taunting was beginning to get in Byron’s head already. He really hadn’t ever launched in a three-stage, he’d never even been outside of the Prime solar system. If the hour-long push was going to smash up Anna’s womb, he didn’t want to think about what that meant for his balls or rapidly hardening cock.

T-10—9—8—7—6—5—4—3—2—1—IGNITION

The rocket shook hard, the instrument panel rattled as everything rumbled and the push began. At first it was the type of thing they’d been trained for, like the tug of air in freefall. Then the cockpit lurched and the press got much worse—their eyelids peeled away from their eyes and were unable to close them, the corners of their mouths tugged away from their teeth and the rattling got much worse as they shook free of the atmosphere.

Once open space was visible through the central visor panel, the shaking and rattling ceased—but the press did not. Their eyes were pushed back in their heads, their organs all sent pain signals to their brains as they were shoved to the back of their respective cavities. Just as the tears started pooling in the backs of their helmets—when they felt certain that they’d be crushed by the G-Forces of the first-stage launch, the overall pressure plateaued. It stopped increasing, but didn’t stop, it just lasted, pressing their bodies and organs against the sturdy, metal chairs and held them there.

That hour Kyle had described felt like six. No one spoke a word. Not even Kyle, who’d never really endured a launch like this either, but didn’t want them to know it. They just sat there, in mutual anguish, leaking tears around the backs of their heads.

They cleared the Prime system, and slowly, little by little, the press relented and they were able to draw breath without hissing through their teeth again.

“What a rush!” Kyle panted, removing his hand from where it had been pinned between Anna’s legs for the entire hour-long press.

There was a faint clanking sound as they detached from the first stage rocket cluster and the larger, steady-burning, second stage rockets began their low hum that would carry them the rest of the way to the fringe outpost of the galaxy—where the First Recon outpost awaited them.

“Cabin pressure’s normalized, let’s get out of these fucking bulky things.” Kyle chuckled, unfastening his helmet and unbuckling from the chair.

In his eagerness, Kyle tried to stand too soon after having the blood drained from his extremities and fell down like a clumsy fawn when he tried to get up. Byron was still catching his breath.

Soon enough, Kyle was out of his orbital suit, wearing his olive-colored workout clothes. The word “MARINES” was printed in faded white ink across his muscular chest and his arms rippled with veins and sinew.

“So, Sugar-Tits Kitts—what kind of infiltration do you do? If you play your cards right I’ll show you how I like to infiltrate some time.”

By now, Anna had mentally tuned out, and she wasn't paying any attention to Butt-Head's attempts to wind her up. She had more pressing matters to think about: she had never done a Three-Stage launch before, and the stories she had heard of it made it sound anything but pleasant. She wanted to be as prepared as possible.

Anna took her seat between the two guys and strapped herself in as best as she could - which proved to be far more complicated than it should have been. In typical Marine fashion, the engineers had obviously never even considered the possibility that a woman might ever sit in one of their shuttles. Tightening the strap than ran horizontally below her breasts was simple enough, but then she was supposed to securely attach and tighten the shoulder straps running across her chest - completely ignoring the fact that she just so happened to have two rather large breasts right where the straps were supposed to run.

After a few minutes of adjusting and silent cursing Anna finally felt she was strapped in securely enough, although she definitely wouldn't call the setup comfortable in the least. One of these days I'll find an astroengineer and patiently explain to him the differences in a man's and a woman's body, Anna thought bitterly.

The last minute warning signal went off, clearing her thoughts. Anna put on her helmet and secured it, ready for takeoff -

- when she felt Kyle's hand high on her thigh.

Bewildered, Anna turned to Kyle. "Get your slimy -", she started, but too late: the countdown echoed around the cockpit and the engines were firing up, completely overpowering her voice. And then they were off.

The three-step launch felt every bit as awful as she had heard. She could feel her internal organs press against her muscles, she could feel her skin fighting to keep itself intact on her face, - and she could feel Kyle's hand pressed against her crotch.

With nothing to hold Kyle's hand still, the immense pressure of the Three-Stage launch pressed it hard against Anna's vagina. The rigid, protective space suit did help to lessen the pressure, but Anna still felt like she was straddling a wooden plank - while being pressed down by a car press.

Anna tried to say something to Kyle, but try as she might, in her state she couldn't form any kind of coherent words. She then tried to move her legs, to push Kyle's hand out; but the only movement she could manage mostly resembled her softly humping his hand. And to her dismay and disgust, her body was kind of enjoying the feeling - his hand pressed hard (very hard) against her clit while she was softly moving her hips, making it forcibly rub -

Stop it! Anna violently shook the disgusting thoughts from her head, and did her very best to ignore the mixture of feelings she was experiencing. There was nothing she could do about her situation now. In all likelihood, Kyle, being in the same situation as her, wouldn't be able to move his hand even if he wanted to. So all she could do for now was endure it - try to think of anything else than Kyle's hand and her own pussy...

But boy, would she let him hear it once the launch was over...

***

After an hour of absolute agony, the shuttle finally slowed down to cruise speed. Kyle, in his usual idiot bravado, promptly face-planted on the floor. Anna barely paid attention. She slowly removed her helmet and took a deep breath. Her face was flushed red from a mixture of agony, exhaustion and embarrassment, with a hint of arousal. Mostly exhaustion and agony, though. Her crotch area in particular was aching like never before.

“So, Sugar-Tits Kitts—what kind of infiltration do you do? If you play your cards right I’ll show you how I like to infiltrate some time.”

Anna got out of her chair slowly, making sure her body could handle it - it could - and took a vicious look at Kyle.

"If you ever touch me again, Butt-Head", she said, eyes fixed on his, "I'll show you exactly what kind of infiltration I do. It'll involve me, and a 12-inch power blade so far up your ass you'll feel shocks in your balls every time you shit. So - back - the - fuck - off", she finished, emphasizing each of her last words with a poke on Kyle's chest.

Anna then realized she was still wearing her cumbersome orbital suit. Satisfied with her outburst, she left Kyle to his own devices and went to remove her suit in the corner. She was still red and sweaty, and she couldn't wait to get out of the hot and uncomfortable suit she was wearing.

Like Kyle, Anna was wearing her training clothes under her suit: a green training tank top and a pair of training pants. The top wasn't exactly Marines standard, but she was used to wearing whatever was comfortable; and as long as it fit the general look of Marine gear, no one had ever minded.

Her top was slightly damp from sweat, and it clung to her every curve, leaving nothing of her figure to imagination. Anna had a body to kill for: a pair of round, well above-average breasts, yet absolutely no fat on her trained arms and stomach. Her training pants were loose and comfortable, but just tight enough on the back to show off a hint of her firm, round butt. It really was no wonder she turned heads, military gear or not.

Anna packed her orbital suit in her storage locker and fixed her ponytail. She was slowly starting to feel better. She knew the guys would be staring at her - especially Butt-Head Fleener - but right now, she didn't care. She simply wanted to get comfortable in her cryo-pod, and get this journey over with as soon as possible.

Byron was still catching his breath as the other two resumed their banter right where they’d left off before the first stage launch—threats, insults and more than a little bit of underlying sexual tension. Byron liked Kyle less and less, but was also starting to suspect that his heavy-handed approach was wearing the beautiful Anna down.

Guys like him got the girl, sooner or later. It was best not to hope for anything else.

Byron wasn’t here to pick up chicks anyway. He was after a job, the job, and the more these two were focused on knocking the other one down a peg, the better his chances looked. They could sabotage one another from now until rapture, as far as Byron was concerned. It was better to stay well clear of all that drama.

Kyle grinned as Anna threatened him, standing firm as she poked his chest with her gloved finger. Her face was flushed and it was clear that he was already getting under her skin. That was what he wanted, after all. The more focused she was on rebuking his romantic overtures, the less focused she’d be on winning the job away from him. It was a good way to turn her best advantages against her—the more uncomfortable he made her about her looks and her gender, the less she’d want to use those traits to her advantage.

“Been thinking about my balls and my ass a lot, have you?” Kyle sneered, watching intently as Anna slipped out of her orbital suit, “don’t worry, dollface. You’ll get plenty access to both when the time’s right.”

Kyle knew that he couldn’t smoke, they were in space now and traveling outside of the prime cluster, but he needed a fix nonetheless, more rattled by the ferocity of the press than he was letting on. He pulled a tin of dip from his footlocker and packed a horseshoe inside of his bottom lip, the nicotine flooding into his bloodstream almost immediately. He picked up an empty, plastic water bottle to spit the brown fluid into as he made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the shuttle, still intently watching Anna change.

“Look, don’t take things so hard, Anna,” Kyle remarked, using her actual name for the first time, “it’s all in good fun. Besides, my harmless little flirtations are kid’s stuff compared to what those hard-ass roughnecks up there have in store for us. I’m just trying to get to know you, that’s all. Might come a time when our lives depend on one another. I do like your grit though.”

With this Kyle spit into the bottle.

Byron seemed uninterested in either the interactions between his two compatriots or the conflict between them. He shed and stored his orbital suit without a word and dutifully made his way to the cryo-bed, setting the clock for one week, the time it would take them to reach their destination. He was all business.

Byron slid a clear mouthpiece into his mouth to prevent him from grinding his teeth or the cryo-fluid from infiltrating his lungs during the suspension process—he’d heard horror stories about new recruits who thought they could get by without a mouthpiece, inhaling fluid that burst their lungs from the inside when it froze.

After a deep breath, the pod flooded and in the time it took Byron to shut his eyes, the fluid had all frozen solid and he was lost in a dreamless, ageless suspended animation.

“So much for small talk,” Kyle remarked, spitting again, “I guess you’re probably not far behind him, given your feelings about my company.”

Kyle grinned big, with his bottom lip jutting out from the pocket of dip inside his lip, his teeth brown from errant leaves.

“Unless you had something else in mind.”

Anna took out her communicator to send out a quick "I'm okay" message to her family. She should be heading for the cryopods soon, but this would be her last chance to text home, probably in a long time - by the time they'd arrive at their destination, the Forward Recon guys would no doubt have a long and tough initiation / testing period planned out for them, and downtime would be scarce.

All the same, of course; they were already far enough in deep space that any of her long-range message would take a day or two to arrive. Writing the message was also an excuse for Anna to take a deep breath, calm herself, and try to relax, possibly for the last time.

Unfortunately, it was quite hard to relax with Kyle Fleener running his mouth non-stop next to her.

"Besides, my harmless little flirtations are kid’s stuff compared to what those hard-ass roughnecks up there have in store for us. I’m just trying to get to know you, that’s all. Might come a time when our lives depend on one another. I do like your grit though."

If that's your idea of flirtation, you really must have been raised by apes, Anna said, but only to herself. For whatever it's worth, for the first time Kyle was actually talking somewhat like a human being, rather than an overgrown monkey with manners to match. So maybe it didn't hurt to be civil towards him as well.

"Yeah, well, if that's you trying to make me want to take a bullet for you, it's not exactly working." Anna couldn't resist a quick jab, but for now, her voice was being more sarcastic than outright mean or angry.

And Kyle wasn't wrong. Anna would be lying if she claimed to not be at least a little nervous about what kind of a testing period they would be facing soon enough.

“So much for small talk,” Kyle said and spit in his bottle again - just about the most disgusting thing Anna had seen all year. Realizing what he meant, Anna watched Byron carefully prepare his cryopod and promptly enter it. She really should be heading there as well - cryo sleep made you groggy and disoriented, rather than refreshed like a normal night of sleep; and the more tired she entered her pod, the worse it would be for her when she woke up.

“I guess you’re probably not far behind him, given your feelings about my company. Unless you had something else in mind.”

Anna looked at Kyle's brown, nicotine-covered teeth in disgust. So much for him behaving like a human being. Anna wanted to say something nasty to him, but restrained herself. It wasn't worth it; better to just leave him to play with himself.

"In your dreams", she just mouthed and headed for the cryo-pods.

Anna had gone through her fair share of cryo-pod travel before, so she was no stranger to it, although it really wasn't her favourite way to travel. She carefully set up her pod, running through the official checklist, before sliding in her mouthpiece and entering the pod.

One breath later, she was deep gone in sleepless sleep.

Kyle sneered as Anna mouthed the words ‘in your dreams,’ at his remark—dismissive, but playful—she was warming up to him. He took full advantage of her walking away from him, staring at her round, firm ass as she wiggled her way over to the cryopds and bent double at the waist for a moment as she climbed in. He was suddenly conflicted about which he preferred, her tits or her ass—he’d likely need some first-hand experience with both before he could effectively gauge his preference. A moment later, the hissing seal and rush of fluids told him that she was gone into cryosleep.

“Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave,” Kyle remarked, to no one in particular, standing up and moving back into the cockpit, “we’ll see how much I’m dreaming…”

Kyle brought up the autopilot manifest menu, calculating the exact ETA of their transport to the docking hub on the Forward Recon satellite. 7d:2h:44m:35s—34s—33s— Kyle let the hub go back into its own sleep mode while he turned out his lip into the empty bottle, chasing out any stray bits of tobacco with his tongue and depositing them in the bottle after by spitting. He capped the bottle and set it aside. He had a decent head rush from all the nicotine now in his blood, enough to tide him over until he came out of cryo.

First, Kyle made his way to Byron’s pod. It was meant to be difficult to override the cryopod’s presets once sleep was engaged—the last thing that Kyle wanted was to mistakenly drain the tank and wake old Byron up now, but there was a sequence for overriding the time and Kyle had done this sort of thing before. Byron had set his wake-up call for 7 days from then, allowing enough time to regain feeling in his limbs and reacclimate himself to the feeling of blood moving through his system. Thoughtful, responsible, fitting for the uptight recruit. Kyle added three hours to his sleep time and changed the codes for the override sequence. They’d already be docked by the time Byron frosted out, stumbling like a newly birthed fawn when he set out to meet the new commanders who would be judging them.

With Byron’s new time set, Kyle made his way over to Anna’s cryopod, looking through the port-window at her, closed in faintly blue ice and immobile. He passed his hand slowly over the frosted glass, running his palms back and forth over her chest area, imagining the time they’d spend together. He could have changed her clock as well, but he decided that just under three hours was sufficient for what he was planning, it would give them both time and opportunity to straighten back up before they had to meet their new superiors. He left her dial at 7 days.

After stretching his body thoroughly, Kyle set his own cryosleep for 6d:22h—allowing him to get his body working again before either of the other two. When Anna came out of cryosleep, she’d be helpless for at least an hour, unable to muster any real force or resistance to whatever he wanted.

Kyle wanted a lot.

“In my dreams alright,” Kyle smirked at Anna’s cryopod, “when you wake up, I’ll make all those dreams come true.”

Biting down on the mouthpiece, Kyle locked the lid of his pod and was washed out of consciousness by a flood of hypercool gel.

***

There was a whoosh and a gurgling—Kyle awoke spluttering over some of the gel that had gotten into his nose. The loud blast of warm air from the driers followed and in a few moments he was dry and almost as he was when he climbed in. It was just shy of a week later, but for Kyle it felt like only seconds had passed. He tried to lift his arm to lift the hatch, but his body was still very much asleep, his blood would reach his extremities last.

Instead he just lay there, breathing in heavy, shuddering gasps as the intense pain of having been frozen for days crept into him like knives between his muscles. In Deep-Space Training they taught him that each day in cryosleep corresponded to about ten minutes of helplessness upon reawakening—as much as Kyle fancied himself a badass and always struggled to beat whatever limits were placed in front of him, he’d found that maxim to be about right more often than not. He continued shuddering and breathing hard through his nose—wake those lungs back up.

The lungs would remind the heart to beat, to send the blood moving through his veins again. After about twenty minutes of labored breathing, shivering and stabbing pain, Kyle was able to breathe normally again and the pain was almost gone. The hatch cracked and slid open—it could have been opened manually any point after the blowers dried him off, but without anyone on the outside and his arms still useless lumps he had no choice but to wait for the automation to push open the door for him.

Ten minutes later, he was able to wiggle his toes and fingers, which he did obsessively, over and over until he could move ankles and wrists again. After about fifty minutes of fidgeting and flexing, Kyle managed to sit up and at the one hour mark, he was able to stand up on his own and climb out.

The pins and needles were still agony, his legs barely awake enough to move, now bearing his weight, he had to steady himself against the wall once or twice but that part passed quickly. He drank electrolytes, sucked down a tube of grey nutrient paste and packed another pinch of dip into his lip. A few jumping jacks later, he was his old self again—for better or worse.

Kyle made his way back to Anna’s cryopod, placing his hands on the glass again while he checked the time. Less than thirty minutes left, perfect.

When the timer reached the last ten minutes of her cryosleep, Kyle took out the dip and deposited it back in the same bottle as the first. His fingers still had a few stray, brown leaves stuck to them, but that wasn’t important. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning waiting to unwrap his gift.

The whoosh, the gurgle and the blowers came next—as soon as she was dry, the pod unlocked its automated hatch and Kyle threw the door open triumphantly.

“You talk a good game, you sexy, big mouthed bitch. But you’re mine now and I’m going to make the most out of every goddamn minute of this last taste of freedom.”

Kyle wasted no time, grasping Anna by the back of her neck and lifting her up from the cryopod, with his other hand, still streaked in trace bits of tobacco, he slipped his fingers into her mouth to retrieve her mouthpiece, pulling it free and tossing it aside before using that same hand to unfasten his pants and set free his now fully erect nine inch cock.

“We’re going to get along real well, you and me,” Kyle reached down, roughly grabbing, squeezing and groping at Anna’s large tits, “whether you like it or not.”

Kyle’s fingers found the outline of Anna’s nipple through her thin training tank top and began pinching and faintly twisting, not enough to cause harsh pain, but enough to create electricity. He forced his cock past her lips and pushed her head down into his lap, his grip on the back of her head just below the ponytail.

“Don’t worry bitch, this is just the warm up round,” Kyle continued to sneer, abandoning his attention on the outline of her nipple while he quickly lifted up her tank to her neck, exposing her bare chest to his own appreciation, “I’m going to fuck you so good, you’ll forget all about trying to be a fucking space marine. Maybe the Commander will let me keep you as a comfort item, if you play your cards right.”

Kyle went back to fondling, his fingers working on her nipple to greater effect without the impediment of the tank top in the way.