Velvet touch. Perfect rhythm. Pierre closed his eyes and willed her to come all over him. She obliged, her eyes flying open, her body overloaded.
“Captain!” The computer’s flat voice cut in with a special note of panic. “We’re leaking atmosphere!”
Pierre leaped up, flailing to cast aside the simulation. It collapsed in on itself in a cacophony of scattered light and garbled sound. “Fuck! Get it sealed down!” He groped at the edges of his jumpsuit, trying to force his disappointed cock back inside.
“Don’t bother,” said a silky voice beside him.
Pierre froze. Someone was standing right behind him, her long-clawed hands draped over his shoulders like the ends of a very sharp scarf. Her breath, like rose petals and old books, prickled at the spot just behind his ear.
There were no females, human or alien, on board his ship beyond the models contained in the AI for virtual reality. He steeled himself against the distinct possibility of death as he turned around.
She was incandescent: sparks showered all around her, but these winked out of existence before they came into contact with anything real. Her whole slender, black-clad body—or was she clad? It could have been downy fur—shimmered as if not quite present. If her claws hadn’t been digging into his neck, Pierre would have guessed she was a hologram.
“Down, boy,” she purred, and he tumbled back into the simulation chair. Instantly she was straddling him, rubbing her tight-wrapped crotch against his cock, still dangling out of the jumpsuit. Pierre shuddered towards her.
“Who the hell—”
“An inter-dimensional being hell-bent on getting laid. Now, are you going to fuck me or what?” The creature began to peel off her own suit, and Pierre saw that she did indeed have fur, but it was a rich blue and curled in tight kinks. He reached up a hand without thinking and touched it; she hissed and snapped at his fingers, her teeth puncturing the air where his skin had been seconds before.
“You’ll break the slipstream,” she mewled. “I’m riding behind a warship. I’ve got about…” She glanced down at something on her wrist, though Pierre saw nothing there. “Forty-five seconds.”
He shrugged and tugged at his cock, his eyes taking her in. She had no reason to be here, on his ship—there were hundreds within range, silently orbiting the Zeus station. As if in answer to his unspoken question, she said, “Size matters,” and then settled her entrance right over the tip of his cock.
There was an audible rush of air, and he found himself sucked up inside of her. He flinched, expecting pain, but instead a very active set of muscles rippled up and down the length of his shaft, bringing him to the brink in seconds.
“Aahhwraanbeffflisshhhhh,” he attempted. The creature grinned and buckled down to the business of riding him. Pierre fell into it, relishing the touch of real flesh instead of the half-hearted squeeze of a simulation; his head lolled on the simulation chair and he tried to size her up, figure out what kind of a being she was, whatever he could think of not to come too soon.
Her claws were dangerously close to puncturing his skin, but rested lightly enough that she never drew blood. Still, she raked them down his sides, drawing responses from nerves he had never even known were in his body. Suddenly, she rippled and faded, almost gone, her face contorting as her vagina tightened around him.
“Gods!” she screeched, and as Pierre’s whole body rippled with an orgasm, the tension released from his cock and he spurted into the air. There was only a lingering scent of roses and ancient pages as the roar of a warship passed by.