Sci Spanks
Page 9
The story behind Double Trouble has been flitting around in my mind for a while now. Enjoy this glance into a fairy shifting roller derby encounter.
Rumor Wasted laced up her skates, pulling the strings tight and thinking about the royal thrashing she planned on giving the other team. Adrenaline coursed through her body. The power and high she got on the track almost rivaled the glorious afterglow of a good fuck.
Almost, but not quite.
Tonight she planned on scoring on both fronts.
Before standing up from the chair, Rumor adjusted her kneepads and made a final check that her socks were tucked into place. Slouchy socks proved to be the bane of any skater. Her deep purple shorts almost matched exactly with the rink rash and bruise she sported on her right thigh, courtesy of the hellacious practice they’d had earlier in the week. The shorts needed a wee bit more green to match perfectly. The Del Mar Devil Rays were known for their hard-hitting and their even more bouncing beauties and Rumor was damned if she was going to be the one to give up the rail.
Tonight, the girls from the OC were taking on the Los Angeles Lake-hers in a battle for first place. It was “Double Trouble” to the extreme, and the winner took home all – the trophy and the dom position.
So that second part wasn’t in any official regulations, but if past history had anything to do with it, Rumor knew that when the night was over she’d have some sweet little thing licking the sweat and juices from her pussy.
The team’s white tank top pulled tight over Rumor’s bountiful bosom as she gave herself one final look-over. Time to move out of the singular zone and get into the team spirit.
Her love affair with Roller Derby started way back in junior high school when she used to watch RollerJam. Those chicks were tough, and for the scrawny and picked-on Rumor, all she dreamed about was growing up and bulking up. By the time she was 15, scars from skating in the street – sans pads – cross-crossed her knees, and she’d sprouted another five inches. She couldn’t count the amount of times she’d sulked home with ripped pants and bloody knees. By the end of her senior year, she stood 5 feet, 9 inches, and with long, sinewy muscles, no one was willing to mess with her.
They knew better.
Rumor was a lucky one, though. Not everyone grew out of their awkward stage, or could out-hit a bully, so she’d become the protector of others – always willing to step in and stop someone else from being beaten. That is, unless they deserved it. So it was more than right that she took on the role of protector on the rink. As Pivot, she called the plays to the other blockers, and no one got seriously injured on her watch.
Out of her mental zone, Rumor tuned into the chaos of the locker room around her and checked out an opponent across from her. Bomb’Shell Blue pulled her glossy blond hair up into a ponytail, showing off the sun tattoo gracing the back of her neck. Great camouflage for pedestrian jobs. With Shell’s hair down, no one was the wiser. Up, she took on a whole ‘nother persona. Rumor flashed to her repeat fantasy of running her tongue along the lines of Shell’s tattoo, and literally shook herself out of it.
As if she could read Rumor’s dirty thoughts, Shell glimpsed at her from the side, offering up a wide smile that sent Rumor’s blood pumping straight to her sex, batting those intoxicating blue eyes of hers and tilting just enough to provide a glimpse straight down her cleavage.
“You ready for tonight?” Shell asked, her voice gliding out like a silk kimono across dry skin.
“You know me, hon,” Rumor quickly replied. “I’m always ready for some action on wheels.”
Time to get her head in the game. Spanish Fly, Rumor’s “wife” on the track, grabbed her ass as she skated by.
“See you out there lover.”
A chuckle erupted from Rumor as she shook her head. Between Spanish Fly and Angel Kisses, no one came near to touching her. She wasn’t used to being coddled. How was she supposed to get action, unless she saw action?
She grabbed her helmet with its white stripe, and entered the stadium.
The roar of the crowd greeted them, and wheels hit the track. Ten women, twenty muscular pumping legs and forty wheels-a-rolling. The ref blew her whistle, and the eighties classic “We got the Beat” by The Go-Go’s pounded over the arena’s speakers.
Adrenaline pumped through Rumor’s body. She kept an eye on her teammates, and split her attention to watching the Lake-hers.
A blur of yellow and red smashed into Rumor, slinging her into the rail. She bounced off and landed on her ass. No fall small here. Completely down, but she recovered so quick, the referee never blew her whistle. She caught sight of a blonde ponytail bobbing away.
Hell no. She grumbled. No way the blonde bimbo was going to check her, and get off free and clear. Deep purple wings unfurled from Rumor’s shoulder blades, and she took off after her assailant.
The roar of the crowd turned into a dull hum. Rumor pumped her arms, focusing on the chase. Thighs pushing past her limits and muscles burning, she cut through the pack and targeted her goal.
“Oh no she didn’t,” the rest of Spanish Fly’s rant blurred into a stream of curse words in Spanish. She may be small, but she was definitely mighty on the track and she had Rumor’s back on a few occasions.
In Rumor’s peripheral vision, Spanish Fly and Angel Kisses kept pace, with each off to one side of her.
As they approached the turn, Shell executed a crossover, ankle over ankle, increasing her lead. A flash of movement – someone in the crowd hung over the railing, arms dangling, and he tossed a bag of popcorn on the track.
“What the fuck?” Rumor yelled. “Watch out!”
Shell glanced back at her outburst, moments before her wheels hit the debris. Rumor winced, knowing they’d seize, and down she went, tumbling. A shrill whistle pierced the night, and they slowed down, doing their best to maneuver around the spillage.
Medics streamed onto the track, assessing Shell, and Rumor pointed at the attacker. “There, get him.”
Big Jim and Bomber, two regular fans, tackled the douche bag. What she would do to ride right over his face. It would serve him right. By the time she’d finished a lap, Shell was up on her feet, being escorted to the bench. While she looked like she might be sore in the morning, nothing appeared to be broken.
She flashed Rumor an “A-OK” sign, as she passed by, and something burned bright in the base of her stomach. She recognized the sensation: her crush. Shell’s replacement rolled and Rumor knuckle-downed. She ground her teeth and pushed on.
When would this meet be over?
After the meet, sweat and adrenaline fueled the atmosphere of the locker room. A beat-up box covered in team stickers sat on a bench. A cacophony of women’s voices threatened to overwhelm, but Rumor cut through them, listening for the one she wanted to hear.
Surveying the box, Rumor contemplated if she wanted to draw.
SLAVE FOR A DAY
The tradition among the fairy derby players was exchanging services after a meet. Losers served the winners. Participation wasn’t mandatory, but optional. Who she got would be the gamble.
From behind her, a woman’s hand slid into hers. “I owe you this.”
The hairs on the back of Rumor’s neck bristled. She recognized the voice behind the sexy bobbing blonde ponytail.
An emptiness replaced the personal touch. In its place, Shell left a folded-up piece of paper.
“Don’t open it until I move away,” she whispered.
Rumor shut her hand, the weight of the paper much heavier than its physical presence.
“Hey Wasted! Good game,” Shell said as she pushed her way past. “Would have had you if it wasn’t for that asshole who spilled his popcorn.”
“Right. You just keep telling yourself that,” she replied. What the hell was up with that? It was like ’Shell sported dual personalities, and she wasn’t sure which one would show.
As the mysterious woman reached the corner to head into the showers,
she made eye contact with Rumor, and ever-so-slightly lifted her eyebrows.
How could she be so consciously aware of such a small piece of paper? She unfolded the white packet in half, and then once again:
Slave 4 U
Bomb’Shell Blue
“Who’d you get?” Spanish Fly snuck up, and peered around her arm. “Well I be damned! What are you doing to do with that hot piece of ass?”
Too floored to talk, Rumor responded with a grunt, and Spanish Fly laughed and slapped her on the back.
“My thoughts exactly. Do everything I wouldn’t do.”
Her teammate hefted a duffle bag onto her shoulder, flashed Rumor a last grin, and headed out.
The clank of the locker door shutting next to her broke Rumor out of her spell. She finished stuffing her supplies into her bag, and took off after Shell. If she had her for the night, no way in hell she was going to waste their time.
***
A silver convertible parked on the street in front of Rumor’s house. She’d gotten home twenty minutes before, and straightened up, tossing her laundry in the hamper and putting out some fresh towels.
She reached the door before ’Shell had a chance to knock.
“Nice place,” she said, stepping in, and looking around. “Never thought you’d live in a place so coordinated.”
Heat warmed Rumor’s cheeks. So she liked pouring through home design magazines, and DIY boards on Pinterest.
“Thanks. Would you like something to drink?”
“Sounds great.” Shell placed her purse on the corner of a chair. “Are you sure you don’t want me to get it, though?”
As she walked, Rumor noticed her pace seemed stiff and off. “Hey, are you feeling all right?”
She tilted her head from one side to the next, stretching out, before answering. “Just a little sore.”
“Relax. I’ll get it.”
In the kitchen, she poured two glasses of ice tea, and brought them out. Shell sat on the floor, among the brightly colored beanbags. She patted the floor beside her, and Rumor took the spot.
With a soft touch, Rumor ran her fingers along the edges of Shell’s wings, and the other woman relaxed against her. As a fairy-shifter, she knew the feeling was akin to having one’s hair caressed. Except the gossamer-like wings were stronger and possessed so many nerve endings, it was even more sensual and titillating.
Rumor spread her legs wide, and Shell tucked between them. As the tension from the match released, the other woman sighed, leaning against Rumor’s stomach.
“I can’t believe I fucked up so badly,” Shell said. “I let competition block out common sense. I’m sorry for how I treated you.”
Out on the roller derby track, Bomb’Shell Blue skated without mercy. She chucked opponents into the walls without caution. Alone, she softened and questioned. Rumor brushed aside Shell’s long, blonde hair, draping it over one shoulder. Hidden beneath lay her tattoo – a rich gold and Aztec blue sun god with its rays streaming out toward her muscular shoulders.
How often had Rumor watched her archrival’s ponytail bobbing and her tight ass sway when she raced after her on wheels? Too often she’d fantasized about this moment, being here with her crush.
Her gut clenched. Now was the moment.
“I forgive you. It’s all part of the game. But, you can’t live life regretting things you wish you hadn’t done,” Rumor whispered. “Regret those you never had the courage to try.”
She wrapped her arms under Shell’s breasts and drew closer, pressing her lips into the center of the tat, and then stroking her tongue along the path of the design.
Within her arms, Shell shivered and turned toward her, mouth against mouth. The kiss was electric, and Rumor lost herself in the sensations. She tasted sweet and tangy, like the tea, with an undercurrent of spice. As fae shifters, most were still very connected to their natural habitat, and it made her wonder what Shell did in her downtime.
“Is this my punishment?” Shell asked, breaking the connection, but keeping her mouth mere inches away.
“We’ll have plenty of time for that later, after you’re back on your feet.”
“Good, because right now, I can go for more of those kisses.”
As their lips met again, naturally they shifted to the side, until they lay against the pillows. Shell trailed her fingertips along Rumor’s inner thigh, stopping right before she reached that sweet junction. She wanted to scoot down, encouraging her to make contact but control had transferred to the other woman.
“I hear the hitch in your breath,” Shell said, teasing with small circles against Rumor’s bare skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be commanding me?”
“Touch me.”
“I am.”
She rolled Rumor until her back against the floor, and Shell took the top position. Her hair hung over Rumor, sunlight streaming through the golden strands. From this viewpoint, it appeared as if Shell wore a halo of color around her head. Her wings stretched out, beating softly, bathing them both in a hue of raining shimmers.
When fairies get turned on, they glitter. Ever wonder why you find so much stray sparkles in your bed?
Author Bio
A Southern California native, Louisa Bacio can’t imagine living far away from the ocean. The multi-published author of erotic romance enjoys writing within all realms – from short stories to full-length novels.
Bacio shares her household with a supportive husband, two daughters growing “too fast,” and a multitude pet craziness: Two dogs, five fish tanks, an aviary, hamsters, rabbits and hermit crabs. In her other life, she teaches college classes in English, journalism and popular culture.
Visit her online at www.LouisaBacio.blogspot.com, www.Facebook.com/LouisaBacio and www.Twitter.com/LouisaBacio
Skin
By
Leigh Ellwood
Andromeda watched her captain pace his ready room, his dark locks unmoving though he shook his head with perceived disappointment. “Lieutenant, you’ve put us in a rather precarious position.”
“I have apologized, Captain.” Had she ever. First shore leave for the Allegiant crew since departing Earth, and how does she impress the people of Carsus IV? Standing close enough to a flower to allow its pollen to float in a light breeze onto her uniform. She’d only wanted to admire the flora indigenous to the planet...how the devil was she to know she’d come upon a rare breed of plant this civilization sought to revive? How was she to know the flowers of the plant produced a nectar used in the majority of their medicines, and that with mass cultivation the Carsans would need no longer to depend on foreigners for aid?
How could she control the air patterns of an entire planet? She liked flowers and simply leaned in for a sniff. The wind did the rest.
“The Carsan government has charged you with trespassing and reckless endangerment,” the Captain admonished. “You had no authorization to enter that particular garden, Drommie.”
“There were no signs,” muttered Drommie, and knew immediately the Captain would find reason to argue. Of course there were signs. Carsus IV was full of blasted signs...written in the primary Carsan language. Drommie hadn’t thought to search for warnings, since most of the natives she’d met spoke the Earth languages.
Rookie mistake, she realized, to think all alien lands were like home.
Thankfully, the Captain showed enough mercy in his speech to lecture her on could haves and should haves. He glanced at her briefly as he paced, and smiled. “At ease, Lieutentant,” he said, and she relaxed her rigid stance. “It’s the least I can do for you, considering the punishment you face?”
“Punishment?” Everything from a short prison sentence to death haunted her in quick flashes. She hadn’t logged in as many travel hours as her fellow crew, but she’d researched the Allegiant’s accessible logs. Law enforcement in certain systems would blast you into oblivion rather than gather evidence for an informed decision. Drommie hoped the flower-lo
ving, seemingly peaceful people of Carsus IV proved less spontaneous as they doled out sentences.
“Am I not entitled to a trial, or at least the opportunity to explain myself, Captain?”
The Captain’s face turned grim once again. “You forget we’re not on Earth anymore, and we’ve no diplomatic immunity here. We’re fortunate the Carsans have allowed you to return to the ship. We’re locked in a tractor beam as a show of good faith.” He stepped closer to Drommie, and in one movement brushed her shoulder with his arm. Even the slightest contact sent a shiver of excitement through her, odd considering her situation. Perhaps, she decided, she’d intentionally trespassed on the gardens as a show of rebellion, in order to receive punishment. She’d long courted danger in her life, before she enlisted. Of course, she preferred a touch of kink in coupling to possible execution.
The Captain’s intercom pinged and he strode to his desk when the communications officer announced that the Carsan governor wished to speak. Drommie listened to the gruff, foreign words grating through the speaker and cringed. It didn’t bode well, she assumed. The Captain’s reply, in deep and fluent Carsan, soothed her nerves.
He switched off and straightened, tugging at the hem of his dark blue tunic. After this pause, he signaled on the comm for the Chief of Security to arrange an away team to accompany. “We will transport to Carsus IV immediately.” With that, he gestured for Drommie to exit. “I’ll give the Carsans some credit,” he told her as they walked to Transport. “They are amenable to compromise.”
Drommie’s heart lifted. “I’ll get a trial?”
“No, you will receive punishment.”
Fear gripped her.
“But,” the Captain continued, “as your superior, I will administer it.”
****
Drommie stood with her captain and those in the Allegiant crew present, numbly listening to foreign tongues mete out her sentence. It seemed for every full minute a Carsan spoke the Captain offered a few seconds of rebuttal. Each time, his voice took on the language with a sensual melody that cause Drommie’s heart to throb. She’d feel embarrassed to admit aloud that her superior’s deep, accented voice touched her in other places, too.