Ready

She was not at all what I expected.

I imagined her to be gentle and delicate and inexperienced. In my fantasies I saw a beautiful, naked body, perfect little blonde curls at her crotch, exquisite breasts with suckable nipples.

I expected a thirty-year-old woman with the sexual maturity of an adolescent. And, I must admit, that naivet. it turned me on.

But she was not at all what I expected.

I suppose I never really thought we would end up in bed together. I thought we would continue as we had  silently screaming our sexual frustration at one another, the occasional brush of skin when none was warranted, a not-so-subtle glance as we passed one another in the corridor. It seemed we were both doomed to another 60 or so years of loneliness, and I think I'd resigned myself to that fact. "It's lonely at the top," they say, and it's true. You don't get to be a Star Fleet captain by needing somebody with you twenty four hours of the day.

And then one night, she surprised me.

I was curled up on my sofa, book (appropriately enough, Sappho's verses of love) in hand, cup of coffee (decaffeinated) sitting steamily on the table. I was clad in a wisp of sapphire blue satin that called itself a nightgown (occasionally, even I like to feel sexy), and my hair was all drawn up off my shoulders with tiny little bejeweled clips that sparkled blue when I moved my head.

She rang the bell. Strange  she'd come to my quarters before the evenings, to chat, to drink a cup of tea, to go over work. . . excuses to spend time together, I suppose. But on those occasions, she'd never rung the bell.

I stood, smoothed the cool material against my skin, and invited her in. She openly drank me in... I hadn't wasted all those replicator rations on a nightgown that didn't fit just-right. She licked her lips and then pursed them slightly.

"Captain," she greeted me as I gestured her to the chair while I sat back down on the sofa.

"Seven," I said amicably, "What brings you here so late?"

"I. . . wanted to see you."

"Any particular reason?"

"I wanted to touch you," she said without hesitation.

My breath caught in my throat, and I thought, This! This will be the night when my fantasies will finally come to fruition!

I was wrong, of course. Though the time seemed right, and the situation was right, we just. . . couldn't. She left suddenly, and we were both merely more frustrated than we had been before, aching for one another. . .

I touched myself that night and thought of her moaning my name. . . and it wasn't pleasurable. I wanted *her*, not my own hands. I wanted her lips upon my breasts, not my own fingers pulling at my nipples trying desperately to get off so I might be able to function as a human being without my arousal destroying all rational thought.

It was weeks before we were alone again. I was in my Ready Room after hours, pouring over reports and read-outs about the sector of space we were passing through, a lovely area with five sun systems and dozens of planets with sentient creatures. She came in, unannounced as usual, and greeted me with her traditional, brusque, "Captain."

"A delight, as always," I smiled sarcastically, although the joke was lost on the woman before me.

I stood, stretched my arms above my head to work the kinks from my back. I was moving from behind my desk when she effectively stopped me with, "You are attracted to me."

I choked back a half-laugh and shrugged. "I. . . What brings on this sudden revelation, Seven?"

"I am attracted to you." She stepped towards me and her eyes bore holes in my uniform. "Your body is aesthetically pleasing. I would like to touch it."

I should've been surprised. I should've been shocked at her audacity.

But I wasn't. It all seemed perfectly natural, like that was exactly how it was supposed to play out.

I went along with it.

"Your body is aesthetically pleasing, too, Seven."

"Would you like to touch it?" she asked, a hint of breathiness.

"More than I can tell you."

She shuddered visibly, and I was suddenly very wet.

"You should," I said quietly, as she moved closer to me slowly.

"Should, what?" she asked.

"Touch me."

"Do not worry. . ." she started, and was suddenly upon me.

Her lips were just as soft as I'd ever imagined, but the way she kissed was simply a prelude to the way she fucked. Hard, fast. . . her tongue snaked its way into my mouth, and she was teasing me and tasting me and bruising my lips with her intensity.

It was happening before I had a chance to react. She was pulling at the closures to my uniform top, pushing the jacket off my shoulders and onto the floor, palming my nipples and once again attacking my mouth. The taste of her mouth was surprisingly sweet, but I was distracted from the kiss by her hands attacking my breasts. Kneading, pinching, touching me just how I wanted to be touched. She pushed me back until I was leaning against the desk for support.

I discovered that Seven was no blushing flower when it came to sex.

I regained enough of my cognitive ability to realize that this prize I'd been waiting so long for was finally within reach. With as much gentleness as she'd afforded me, I went at her nipples with my teeth, through the ultra-thin material of her clothing. She lost her breath, and pushed me out of my pants and panties with extra vigor.

While I'd often imagined Seven softly caressing me until I had a long, languorous orgasm. . . she was nothing like I'd imagined. Her fingers found my slick opening and were deep in me before I knew what was happening.

While she stroked me with a hand and pinched a nipple with another, I slid my hand between her legs and rubbed with my palm against the warm dampness. She groaned against the touch and suddenly added enough fingers inside of me until I felt myself stretching with a pleasurable pain. I rocked against her probing fingers, attacked her mouth with mine, ground my palm into her crotch until she was moaning aloud.

Of course, I came first. It was inevitable, and I'm quite sure that I cried out when it happened from the pure release of it all. Months of lust culminated in a shattering orgasm that left me breathless.

She didn't let me finish what I'd started. Without even giving me time to fix my clothing, she left. I leaned back hard against the desk and stared at the closed doors for a few moments until, with a start, I realized my state of undress. Straightening myself out, I retreated to my quarters and a hot bath.

Of course, I wondered about her sudden retreat. But I dared not question it, thinking that if I did, I might actually have to consider the repercussions of what had happened.

I was dressing after the bath in another satin nightgown, when she came to my quarters, eyes sparkling. Without pause, she said, "I am ready."

"Ready for what?"

"For you to touch me," she replied, matter-of-factly, as she reached for the top closure to her clothing.

I smiled to myself, and moved to help her with the clasp.

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The End