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Floating in Space by Dena Hankins
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On September 18, 2014, all authors will be revealed!
Important Note: The content for these stories belong solely to the authors that wrote them.
Warning: Ahoy! Explicit sexy times ahead. NSFW.
Floating in Space
By Dena Hankins
The airlock hatch bumps my shoulder, trying to close. I swallow at the sight of Cyfal’s ass cheeks, bisected by the safety harness’ straps.
She is naked and I already want her so badly that my breathing hitches.
The harness holds each thigh, hips, ribs, and shoulders. The single side of a Y strap attaches to the bulkhead and the double side is clipped to her shoulder rings.
Cyfal started without me. Her hand is between her legs; her elbow moves in jagged circles. Perhaps she thought I’d chicken out. She is brash, volatile. Her come-on made my pulse pound in my cunt. I may be quiet and steady, but I want to see her explode when I fuck her.
I push into the airlock and float to her attachment point. The airlock auto-seals behind me and Cyfal jolts at the clang. When she turns to me, I unzip my jumpsuit from neck to crotch, exposing the safety harness against my skin, as instructed. The slick webbing slides against me, warm, when I reach for a tether.
Before I can clip in, Cyfal tugs her tether and shoots toward me. I catch her and absorb most of the impact. She settles into me, arms around my shoulders and one leg between mine while the rest of her energy rebounds us toward the middle of the airlock. I restrain the impulse to grab for the attachment handle.
The girl is good in zero gee. We end up floating near the end of her tether. With her face above mine, I can tuck my lips into the hollow of her collarbone and inhale her smell, unmasked by perfume. It glows from her heated pores and floats, concentrated, from her cunt.
Cyfal says, “You came.” Her voice carries excitement and vibrates my lips as I kiss my way across her throat.
“Of course. I want you.”
“Have you ever been naked in vacuum?”
I lift her breast into my mouth and scrape her areola with my teeth, then suck. Scrape, then suck. Cyfal hums and stretches her arms above her head. My hand slides down the floating curve of her breast to her ribs and waist while I create a slow rhythm, pulling on her nipples. When she shivers and contracts, her hands shove at the shoulders of my jumpsuit.
I release her to pull my arms out of the suit. Cyfal scrapes her nails across my back and I purr against her sternum. At the sound, she turns them edge on and scratches me hard. I grunt at the sudden pain and bite the side of her breast.
Cyfal turns wild in my arms. She runs her hands and nails over my shoulders, around my waist, across my belly. She clamps her legs around my thigh so I can’t drift off and thrusts one hand into my jumpsuit. Digging through my pubic hair and seeking out my clit with one hand, the other pinches and twists my nipples. I twitch and moan. Too much, too hard, too quickly.
Cyfal squeezes my clit between two fingers and makes small, fast circles. An unexpected rush convulses me, a quick and dirty orgasm that flattens me with amazement. I push Cyfal down on my thigh, hard, both hands on her waist, and she lowers her head for a deep, sudden kiss. Our first.
We get to know one another’s mouths until my back bumps gently against the airlock bulkhead. Cyfal pulls a double tether from an attachment point and clips it to her hip rings. “So. Are you a vacuum virgin?”
I had forgotten the question. “Naked?”
Cyfal’s lips curl. “That’s a yes.”
She clips the other ends to my shoulder rings and takes up most of the slack. I hold her to me by the strap around her hips and we press our lips together again. Breaking the soft suction, Cyfal raises her head. She rocks her clit against my thigh muscle, writhing in slow motion. I can smell my cunt on the hand she grips my shoulder with. It mixes with her cunt’s smell soaking the nubby fabric of my suit. The blend makes me breathe deeply, intoxicated.
“I’m going to start the purge cycle.”
Vacuum can be survived for about ninety seconds, but consciousness only lasts about ten. The biggest danger is bursting a lung trying to hold my breath, but that’s a rookie move. I won’t make that mistake.
I don’t know this woman, really. We’ve worked on this ship together for six weeks and we’ve been dancing around the sexual tension since we met. Adrenaline rushes through my body. I’m alive and alert, brilliantly lit inside, and I want to do this with Cyfal. She could need an hour of stimulation to reach orgasm, but I have a feeling that she is actually very close.
She stares at me, intent on my reaction, and I say, “Set a five minute delay.”
Cyfal punches the command buttons. I massage her breasts while sucking on her nipples. Her moans change to cries and I move down her body, biting and sucking as I go, panting with excitement I don’t try to hide.
When I reach her pubic bone with my mouth, Cyfal sighs and lets her legs flow up and part in front of my face. I move in and draw my tongue up her cunt lips from back to front. Licking and sucking, I gnaw on her thick outer lips and spread them. Her smell is salt water, but her texture is cream and I moan against her cunt. I want to exhibit some finesse, but Cyfal responds strongly when I burrow in, when I suck her clit into my mouth and move my head in tight circles, nearly out of control.
The airlock opens.
Air rushes out, pulling us hard against the tethers, making my jumpsuit slide down my legs. It is replaced by silence and a pressure inside as we realize that we are full, stuffed with blood and guts, tight with need and desire. I release my breath and Cyfal makes one last gasp, but my mouth is still full of her taste and I do not stop.
Cyfal shivers, shakes. Her legs tense and she drums my back with her heels. I plunge two fingers into Cyfal’s cunt, searching for the spot. When her belly jumps, I know I’ve found it. I pull down and press up against her clit with my tongue, as though licking my fingers. As my body begins to shake with its need for oxygen, I pull more and more desperately until, deep in fear and burning with arousal, I feel Cyfal freeze, then push.
Holding tightly against her muscle’s spasms, I know only her cunt, her clit, her orgasm. It devours me and I feed on it.
The airlock closes.
Sweet air blows and we both gasp and cough. The spasms force us apart and I pull myself back to her by the tether. Holding her close, thigh to thigh, cheek to cheek, our hearts pound together. When I pull back, Cyfal is smiling. “Where is your jumpsuit?”
I look out the airlock and, sure enough, there it is. Floating in space.
******
About the Author
Dena Hankins writes aboard her boat, whether on the high seas or in a quiet anchorage. She spent eight years as a sex educator at Babeland, soaking up the most stimulating stories of human sexuality, and is honored to provide some tales in return. Her queer/trans* romance novel, Blue Water Dreams, explores magnetism, self-sufficiency, and travel, much like her published erotic short stories with their far-flung settings—India, North Carolina, a gym, and deep space. Traveling in the physical world or ranging far in her imagination, she is happiest accompanied by her partner of seventeen years.