It’s been 36 hours. The hold is nearly empty, and the flood lights are back on for the second time. I know Tinoct has slept, and I went down for around six hours early this morning. I don’t think Hakho or Chinta has slept.

We’re ahead of schedule. The last of six convoys is here. The last truck is getting loaded. There are too many people to work on the last stack without getting in the way, so Hakho is supervising the last team.

I have a Mr. Coffee plugged in in the control bay, and I’m pouring myself a cup when Chinta comes over and rubs my shoulders a little bit.

I get a text when I step outside. It’s a selfie of Chinta, posing in front of a statue made of diapers. I think that means I should meet her near the statue made of diapers.

I look around for a statue made of diapers, then put my phone into the face of the nearest passerby. She nods like she’s seen it, and adds an expression like she’s seen everything. She’s young. It’s cute.

I give her the closest I can get to a “where is it?” expression, and she points further into the maze. I don’t even try, just set out in that general direction.

Dinner is yucca again. I’m feeling things about seeing Sacti, but she isn’t there. I’m worried, but this is a hotel so I put it out of my mind.

This time Chinta comes back to the room with me. I smell the sex in the room, which leads me to the thought that I desperately want a shower. I shed my cultural costume with a little bit of no idea what I’m doing.

Chinta immediately fastens onto one of my nipples, and murmurs, “I’ve been waiting so long to get you out of that,” as I cradle her head. We end up tangled in bed together.

This makes sense, I think to myself. Whatever is happening here makes sense. She pins my wrists against the wall at shoulder height. Why not let her…

But my surprise keeps me from kissing her back immediately.

She pulls back. “I’m so sorry! I was just… it felt like… ” She’s blushing a pretty blue color.

I don’t feel like going from make out mode to embarrassment, so I stretch out my neck for another kiss. Chinta makes a little growl, and slams back into me.

Big Bertha hits the atmosphere like a ton of bricks. That’s not my fault, I’m a good pilot, but the atmosphere control isn’t broadcasting in a format Bertha can recognize, so I had to guess. The guess took an hour to make, but flight control had me cooling my heels for six while they got their shit together. My credentials are forged, so that doesn’t help. I’ve seen three gorgeous sunrises to make up for it.

I must be a good guesser because I don’t bounce off the atmosphere and die.

It’s been another week on the run, I’m almost back on course, and I’m horny.

Really horny.

Really really horny.

How horny am I? I’m beginning to think seriously about toys.

Ci and Lia either didn’t have any or didn’t want to use them on me, and for that I’m thankful. I squirmed every time they tried to put something in my pussy, and after only one night they stopped trying.

Finally Carolyn pings me, and I have to put on pants. They’ve got the money.

To Ci’s mind, I check my terminal, then get up and immediately start dressing. I don’t have any way of telling her where I’m going, or that I plan to come back.

Do I plan to come back? Eleven wouldn’t have come back. 11 will.

Something has broken deep inside me. I cry on the inside, laying in their arms, while I try to process what has happened. Something has happened inside my head and it’s devastating.

Sometimes a hooker would cry after sex. I tried to get offended, but the truth was, I never really cared that much. Not even enough to look down on them for it.

Now the emotional tole of the last two days, hell the last three months, is hitting me more deeply than I thought I could feel. These damn lesbians have mind-fucked me.

I stir myself awake, and look around for a clock. They pulled the chip with my watch in it, so there are no little numbers on my wrist. I check anyway, like I’ve been doing for months.

There’s one on a table. I’ve been asleep for almost ten hours. Good for you, Eleven. A third of the day, just like they recommend. I sleep too much on the ship.

I lounge in the sheets for awhile. They’re very good quality. I think this is because this bed used to belong downstairs, and who wants to stay in a whorehouse with cheap sheets?

I fold up the dress really well, and it fits into the new purse. The old purse also fits in there. It’s not large and baggy, but I can fit a surprising amount inside. I sling it over my shoulder, and pose again. It’s perfect with the jeans and the jacket.

Hand on the door handle. Deep breath. Step through the door. No. Strut though the door. “I’m gonna wear these out,” I tell Marcus. It’s probably the boots that are making my hips move like that. I’m pretty sure I’m not doing it on my own.

I step out of the hanger, into the core, on the zero level, and there’s just ringed corridor with some personal elevators, and a bunch more freight lifts. D’Neesha’s is on level 2? I find the button, which is on a box, suspended from the ceiling, by a cable. The lift doesn’t close, just jerks to a start. I watch the innards of the tube scroll past, and look out on the first level for a moment.

I’m getting a welcome signal. Someone wants me to come visit them.

There’s a little HAM Digital receiver in the flight deck. I picked it up in a truck stop, with a wink and a nod, for $100 bucks, ten years ago. It’s about the size of a lunch box, with a four foot antenna cluttering up the deck. I’ve got a pretty heft load on the antenna, so it’s strong enough to pick up from inside the ship. There’s no jack for an antenna on the surface hull, and it would get melted into vapor on re-entry in any case.

Okay. I’m ready to touch my pussy now.

The clothes have me hotter than ever. I turn off the monitors, then turn them all back on again. Why do I want to watch myself? Why wouldn’t I want to watch myself? I’m hot as hell.

Still in the stockings and heels, still squatting, my fingers run down my chest to my stomach. It’s a straight line to the tip of my clit. On the monitors I can see it peaking out of my engorged lips. I don’t go straight for it, I’ve been around the block a few times. I know what a woman wants.

What this woman wants is tantalization.