Falynn Sandskimmer wondered how she had ended up in this position. The Y-wing simulator had malfunctioned. Not that she should have been in here in the first place - these simulators were old and needed a lot of care. This was had been transferred from the previously destroyed Folor Base, and though it wasn't in bad shape, it suffered metal fatigue, short circuits, and sticky latches. But Falynn was an Y-wing ace, and seeing the simulator awakened what she loved about the old bombers. True, they were slow and needed a lot of covering fire, but they were true bombers, flown low with heavy gravity explosives to be released in exact trajectories. They were being phased out for B-wings in many units, but her commanding officer, Wedge Antilles, knew the capabilities of the Y-wing, and scrounged as many ships and unwanted sims for their covert insertion and attack needs as possible. The squad itself was considered sort of a throwaway unit, filled with pilots on their last chance to serve the New Republic Starfighter Command. Falynn herself was constantly under threat of court-martial, due to her inability to accord respect to those she felt did not deserve it. Unfortunately, that list of people was long, and went deep into the military structure. But fortunately, Wedge Antilles was not on that list. She truly respected the man as a hero and a legend, as well as pilot and an officer of great skills.
Growing up on the streets of Mos Eisley spaceport on Tatooine, Falynn had a hard childhood. Her parents had been slaves for members of the underworld scum who served Jabba the Hutt; she had a burning final memory of her mother pushing her out a window and telling her to run, to be safe. Frightened, she ran, knowing she'd never see her mother again.
She'd lived in the sewers; some of the food sellers of Mos Eisley used the sewers to raise amphibious creatures that they sold at the markets. It was a cheap source of moisture, and children like Falynn were hired to feed and catch the aquatic monsters, in the many and encrusted narrow tunnels and wells. Sometimes, she could get extra money by offering to clean out the gray water tanks of visiting starships - sometimes, she could find new fish or plantlife that could be grown, and she'd be allowed to sell it to aquakeepers. But mostly, she stole or begged her way through her childhood and youth, until she was able to escape Tatooine on a New Republic cruiser as a disguised cabin boy. Her placement in the flight academy was won through a series of degrading situations, but at least she was out of the sewer.
And now she was face down on the lap of a superior officer, squeezed between his disabled body and the gunner's console. The Y-wing simulator malfunctioned during what could be described as a turkey shoot. Lieutenant Wes Janson, the most famous and successful gunner in Starfighter Command, had shown his proficiency in covering their craft, but the aging electronics had not kept up with his prowess. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the sim ended, not with the usual gradual darkening of the holos around them, but with a sudden bang, accompanied by sparks and smoke. When the smoke cleared, they'd noticed that the emergency features designed to release them had not cycled, and they were trapped. Falynn was able to manually release her harness, but Lieutenant Janson's harness was cutting tightly into his body. The small detonations they'd heard were old safety features that on impact would pull the body of the pilot rigid to the couch, to avoid injury to the back, neck or spine upon crashing. However, they served only to squeeze the air of of him and to crack some of Janson's ribs.
After discovering all communications had failed, including their personal comlinks, Falynn had kneeled on her couch and tried to open her hatch, but found it was sealed and the massive short circuit they'd suffered had melted the latching mechanism over the canopy. After nearly half an hour, she gave up trying to open the recalcitrant hatch and spoke to the Lieutenant.
"It's not opening, sir. I think the heat might have sealed the canopy shut for good. Cubber will have to take hammers and solvents to it if it's ever to open again. Our mechanic is going to kill us."
Janson grimaced, but not just at the pain in his body, "I'm not worried about him - he's a professional, and he'll do what's needed. What I'm worried about is how Wedge is going to take this."
Falynn grimaced also, "The commander told all of us not to touch the sim until it was checked out and repaired."
She heard a sigh behind her, "Well, it was my fault. I asked if you wanted to relive your days of piloting a Y-wing. I couldn't wait to be a rear gunner again. By the way, Sandskimmer, good flying."
Falynn twisted behind to look at the back of her gunner's head. The two couches were faced back to back, and each pilot had a hatch directly above them. The configuration wasn't exactly the same as in the real ship, but in a sim, it didn't really matter how you got in or out, just how the ship performed when you were seated and strapped in. "Sir! I'm not letting you take all the blame. If I recall, I was even more excited than you at seeing this thing delivered here!"
Janson snorted a laugh, "Not possible. And thank you, but Wedge is going to strip big, long pieces of skin off of me to pay for, first: disobeying direct orders; second: involving a junior officer; third, getting myself injured in the process. So let me do the talking when someone finally realizes where we are and has to cut us out of this can."
Falynn looked over Janson's head. The hatch looked undamaged. "Sir, may I try your hatch? I know you can't get out without spanners and webshears, but I might be able to open your side of the canopy. The only thing is I might have to kneel on you. Wouldn't want to hurt a delicate, old guy. I'll need to crawl around you, too, but I'll try not to take off your head."
Janson looked up and realized that her idea might be their only way out of the sim, short of just waiting for people to realize they were missing and figuring out where they were, then getting yelled at before being pulled out. The pain in his side was excruciating, and he wondered how much longer he could sit still. Then the cramping in his back and rib muscles started, and he decided any change in his situation would be better if it happened sooner rather than later. "Go ahead, Sandskimmer. Try not to hurt yourself. That's an order."
But in crawling over the Lieutenant's couch, the old upholstery cover gave way. Though she had been holding onto the latching mechanisms above them for support, the sudden shift in weight under her knees caused the latch to snap off in her fingers and for her to tumble headfirst in a sort of roll into Janson's lap.
Janson reacted quickly. He realized that Falynn was slipping, and grabbed her shoulders to make sure she didn't hit her head on his controls and stick, but had pulled her more of less directly into his crotch, crushing his gonads. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from screaming. At least this has made me forget about the pain in my ribs, he consoled himself.
Falynn realized the Lieutenant was trying to save her head from bashing into his console and controls, but the stick had caught the back of her loosened flight suit, which was threatening to choke her as she fell down. The scrounged flight suit finally gave way and had torn, which allowed her to breathe, but opened to reveal her back and underclothing, and the stick had stabbed her in the shoulder. The throbbing pain was hard to diagnose.
Janson was concerned, "Sandskimmer, are you okay? Try not to move if your neck hurts." And please try not to hurt my balls, too, he silently pleaded, as he bit his lower lip.
He heard her muffled response, "I'm fine. But let go of my shoulder, it hurts!"
"Look, Falynn, I'm sorry, and I'll try to push you back up, okay? It's kind of hard for me to get leverage, though, so I'll need your help." He moved his arms, one at a time, from supporting her shoulders to wrapping them around her back to try and hoist her upwards.
Falynn wriggled a little, then suddenly stopped. Janson wondered what she was doing, and hoped she wouldn't press down on his genitals. The pain of the initial impact was still quite fresh.
Then he realized the problem. Falynn had moved her legs around to get some leverage, but in the process had wrapped them around his helmeted head. He had the same view of her body as she apparently had of his, and she couldn't move backwards without taking off his head.
Just as suddenly, he felt Falynn's hand on his crotch, "I'm sorry," he heard the young flight officer say as he winced in pain, "I hurt you, didn't I?"
Janson swallowed, "Nothing us old guys can't handle. You learn control as you age."
"But youth has its purposes. Let me try to make it better for you, Wes." Falynn practically cooed the words out.
Janson started at the younger woman's use of his first name. No one with the Wraiths but Wedge called him by his first name. The pilots just called him "Lieutenant" which served to remind him of his status within the group. He was responsible for them; he served to train them to protect themselves as well as to damage the enemy. Even those of equal rank to him called him that, and he liked that he had behaved with decorum most of the time. He and Wedge referred to the pilots as "the children." They were of a completely different generation, even if some were older or only slightly younger than he was.
And by calling him "Wes," she made her intentions quite clear. He panicked, realizing that the hatch above them might open, and he'd be caught with a young, beautiful and nubile pilot in a tremendously creative and compromising position. Yes, he'd had fantasies. No, he did not intend to indulge them.
But he was strapped tightly into his couch, and he couldn't get away from the determined young woman. Falynn had started massaging his genitals, but was now breathing and biting at them through the fabric of his flight suit. She reached up and pulled the zippers of the flight suite down; for a sim, Janson didn't wear the life-support apparatus that normally formed a vest over the suit. In fact, Janson wondered if he'd even remembered the underclothing today.
"Sandskimmer, I think you should stop. No, I order you to stop. I swear, Sandskimmer, I'll drop you onto the control panel, Flight Officer Sandski--... arghhhhh ..."
Falynn's lips and tongue had wrapped themselves around his bruised testicles, and was softly mouthing and licking them. His penis was responding rapidly to the ministrations. What the hell, thought Janson at this rather surreal situation.
Falynn felt him tense up, then finally relax as she continued to lick and suck at the Lieutenant's equipment... at first, she was just upset at the unfairness of her plight, but then realized that this might be the only situation she'd ever have to molest her commanding officer. She'd always had general fantasies of people in authority succumbing to her charms, taking them down a notch by appealing to their lusts. But Commander Antilles was too much of a hero, and she found herself agog that she could be so close to him. He was a hero, and she worshipped him. She didn't like the way that felt, so she found herself being flippant and acerbic to him all the time. One day, he'd been pressed too far, and he challenged her to a race using sluggish ore-handlers, the huge repulsorlift vehicles that had been abandoned when Folor base was still a mining colony. He'd given her first pick of the vehicles, but she'd still lost in humiliating fashion.
Lieutenant Janson, on the other hand, was definitely approachable. His tight, compact, well-muscled body caused the women of Wraith Squadron to hang hungrily onto his every word at briefings and meetings. They had taken bets concerning which among them might be able to bed the handsome second-in-command first, but it was a huge joke. As big of a kid as Janson could sometimes be, he was completely professional and a hero in his own right, and he hadn't returned any of the hints or overtures the women had applied.
While she had him pinned down, she intended to take advantage of him. She'd be first among the admiring hoards of Wraith Squadron to have sex with the hot and handsome Lieutenant. She was pleased by this thought, and was more delighted to find him so well equipped - just as she imagined he would be. She had to work fast before he used his superior rank to order her to stop. She was satisfied that she'd succeeded.
Janson, his eyes now closed, had forgotten completely about the pain and cramps in his ribs. The whole universe was focused on his crotch, and what Falynn was doing to it. Perhaps the pain was enhancing the situation, or maybe it was the proximity and novel position, or that he was tied down, or maybe she was just really, really good at this, but Wes Janson was quite sure this was the most intense oral sex he'd ever had the pleasure to experience.
He slowly became aware of a new odor and a sense of heat, and opened his eyes to look directly into the crotch of Falynn's flight suit. He admired how the baggy suit did nothing to hide the petit frame, or the rounded cheeks of the young woman's rear end. Then he recalled that her suit was torn in the back. He reached forward to find the tear, and ripped the suit open further. He felt Falynn arch her back and move herself closer to his face. His helmet forced her thighs further apart. Wes grinned, knowing that when he had his face buried in her, she would not be able to crush his head with her strong, smooth thighs, I have to remember to wear the helmet more often on dates, he noted.
Wes had succeeded in opening Falynn's worn flight suit all the way around. He was not surprised that Sandskimmer was wearing a sensible pair of cotton briefs - it made him feel better thinking that she hadn't planned this liaison - which turned him on more than any expensive, lacey concoctions some women wore for his benefit. He nipped at the fabric with his teeth while Falynn moaned into his penis, now deep in her mouth; the vibrations drove him crazy. He tore that fabric, too, and was treated to the sight and aroma of a woman determined to have sex. He grew harder at the thought, and Falynn grunted in appreciation upon noticing.
His tongue thoroughly explored Falynn's sex, and he was rewarded with a grumbling moan as she drew his engorged member deeper down her throat. As he'd noted, his head was in no danger of being crushed, and as he moved his head forward, her legs spread wider to accommodate the helmet. It seemed more wanton this way, somehow.
The two of them sucked and licked each other like well-timed cogs of the same machine. As the rhythm became more intense, Falynn pulled her head away from Wes' crotch and crawling with her hands up the console, she arched her back and leaned upwards, pulling her legs away from around Wes's head. She drew her body down to sit on his lap, facing away from him. Understanding, he tore her flight suit a bit more and adjusted her onto his twitching penis. "Falynn, we don't have to -" he started, but she silenced him by accepting his throbbing manhood into her moist opening. He groaned while she cooed, and he pulled the zipper down the front of her suit and groped his way under her tight-fitting athletic bra to massage her firm breasts, to pinch and roll her hardened nipples. Tight space, tight underclothes, tight squeeze, thought Janson, I love tight.
Falynn felt an incredible satisfaction at finally feeling Wes Janson inside of her. Always highly sexed, she had behaved herself since joining the Wraiths. Not only was this her last chance at piloting, the opportunities were slim. She'd fallen in love with Myn Donos, a human from Corellia, and the depressed former leader of Talon Squadron, but he hadn't responded to her attempts to draw him to her. Looking after him took up a lot of her time. Grinder Thri'ag, the Bothan slicer, was always making passes at her, and she was intrigued to make love to a Bothan some day. But having sex with Lieutenant Janson might be worth losing Myn over. And if she and the senior officer moaning and gasping beneath her kept this little secret to themselves, there was no reason for the others to know unless she told them.
Falynn accelerated the rhythm of their lovemaking, and knew that Wes was close to exploding. He moved one hand down into her crotch and found her clitoris, skillfully applying pressure to her hotspot. Falynn felt her orgasm grow in a rush, and she and Wes bucked and writhed against each other until they were both screaming and yelling with release. Their bodies grew rigid as they hit their peaks, then slowly relaxed. Both lay back, breathing heavily, covered with perspiration.
Falynn heard a sudden banging overhead, and knew the others had finally noticed them missing, and were trying to open the sealed hatches. She admired their timing. Wes still had his eyes closed, savoring their lovemaking, when he heard the noises.
She felt him turn his head to kiss her cheek, "Well, Flight Officer Sandskimmer, looks like you are in trouble for disobeying a direct order."
She grinned, "Had good reason, sir. Would do it again, by the way."
He embraced her, then reached for the bottom of the zipper of her flight suit, and drew it up to close it. "So, what do you want to do?"
It felt good resting on the Lieutenant's body, but she knew his discomfort would be growing in his ribs. And they needed to find a way to get cleaned up before the hatch was opened. Not that anyone wouldn't be able to tell what we were doing when they unseal this can, and the thought made Falynn smile, wonder how I'll explain the torn suit?
"Well, I guess we can get tidied up. It was fun. Thank you, sir." And that, thought Falynn, is that. No strings, no commitment, no tales told. No need for anyone else to know.
Janson pursed his lips, and pretended to pout, "How callous of you. You won't call, you won't write-"
Falynn laughed and moved off of him. She turned around to face him, and grabbed his helmet, and planted a deep kiss onto his lips. They tasted each other for a short while, and she drew away. She managed to climb over him onto her pilot's couch, and did up the restraining harnesses and replaced her helmet just seconds before the hatch over Janson opened.
"Hi," she heard her gunner call up, cheerfully, "been wondering when you'd ever get around to missing us!"
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