Stress Relief II
Rating: NC-17 / Slash
Gillian F. Taylor
Back in his quarters, Wedge smiled to himself at the thought of Tycho dressed as a slave girl. The bikini was difficult to take seriously, but the thought of Tycho naked but for a collar and chain was appealing. Tycho did have a weakness for being bullied and dominated and Wedge loved to see his executive officer lose his cool, self-possession and beg to be used. Wedge was mentally calculating how long it was till his next lifeday when the door buzzer sounded.
Wondering if Tycho had forgotten something, Wedge was surprised to find Plourr outside his door.
"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked.
Wedge shook his head. "Come in."
She sauntered into his quarters, a small bag hanging from one shoulder. Plourr seemed relaxed, moving with a casual grace as she sat down opposite him. Wedge was grateful for her good temper, as an irritable Plourr took a lot of coping with, and he didn't want to lose the pleasant mood Tycho's surprise had put him in.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
Plourr surprised him by smiling, a rare look of genuine warmth. "I noticed at lunch that you seemed stiff in your shoulders," she said, putting her bag on the low table in front of her and unfastening it. "You've been spending too long at a desk, hunched over a workstation."
Wedge made an agreeing noise, watching as she produced a couple of small brown bottles from the bag.
"I know how to deal with those knotted muscles," Plourr told him. She stood up and swiftly moved to stand behind him. Strong hands rested on his shoulders, squeezing and relaxing. "A good massage will help."
"Well ..." Wedge said uncertainly. He had a vague feeling that being massaged by a soldier under his command probably contravened some rules he couldn't quite remember right now.
Plourr's thumbs dug into the muscles at the base of his neck, moving in small circles. Her hands were warm, even through the light shirt he wore. Wedge found himself submitting to the pleasure of having his neck and shoulders expertly kneaded. His eyes closed as he relaxed into her touch.
"That good?" Plourr asked unnecessarily.
"Mmmmm." Speaking coherently was suddenly too much effort for Wedge.
"Then let's do this properly. Get your shirt off and lie on the bed." Wedge obeyed, stripping his shirt off so he was clad in no more than his undershorts, and lay face down on his bed. Plourr knelt beside him and poured a little oil from one of the bottles into her palms. Leaning over, she ran oil-slick hands up his back.
"Not quite as tense as I expected," she remarked, moving the flat of her hands in circles on his shoulders and back. "Still needs some work though," she added, prodding a knot beside his spine that made him twitch.
"Carry on then," Wedge replied, his voice muffled against his bedcover.
As Plourr settled to her work, Wedge decided that he was going to widen the range of non-piloting skills he looked for in squadron members. Rogue Squadron needed more people who could ease knots in muscles the way Plourr did. Long stroking movements warmed and relaxed his back muscles, spreading a sense of well-being through him before she started the harder work, pressing with strong fingers. Wedge wondered how he could convince Admiral Ackbar to approve courses of massage therapy training for pilots. Perhaps he should get Plourr to demonstrate the benefits of her skills on the Mon Calamari.
Thinking became too much effort as Plourr continued. Wedge felt as though he were melting into his bed as her hands soothed and massaged. The oil she was using had a pleasant, slightly musky scent he liked. He closed his eyes and let his thoughts drift, only touch and scent keeping him in contact with the world. Plourr worked his back over thoroughly, then started on his arms. Wedge just lay limply as she stroked and kneaded every muscle from shoulder down to his fingers. Each finger in turn was gently pulled and rubbed, leaving a gentle tingle and complete and utter relaxation. When she'd done his arms, Plourr turned her attention to his legs.
She massaged them as thoroughly as she'd done his arms. Palms stroked and softened muscles before strong fingers did their work. Wedge's only comment was a blissful sigh as she rubbed each foot in turn. The bed creaked as Plourr shifted, fabric rustling softly. Wedge didn't bother to look at what she was doing; he was content to lie in a puddle of pampered contentment. A few moments later, her hands were on him again, sliding up his legs from calves to thighs. They rose higher, settling over his buttocks. Plourr's hands felt comfortingly warm through the thin material of his shorts. She circled her palms, rubbing the silky fabric against his skin, then her fingers dug into the firm muscles.
Drowsy with contentment, Wedge only gradually became aware that Plourr's touch was becoming more intimate. Her hands were inside his shorts now, caressing inner thigh and groin. His first thought was to assume a mistake on her part but that idea rapidly vanished. He didn't know anything really about Plourr's sexual experience, but he was certain that she wasn't so na´ve that she didn't know she was touching a very sensitive area. And the nature of her touch had changed. She was no longer massaging firmly, but stroking him in a way that sent delicious thrills through his body. Wedge was grateful that he was lying on his stomach, with his stiffening penis hidden from view.
Before he could make up his mind what to do, Plourr spoke.
"These are starting to get in the way," she remarked, withdrawing her hands from his shorts.
Wedge was still too relaxed from his massage to make any kind of protest before Plourr slipped her hands under his hips and started to tug the shorts down. The waistband snagged on Wedge's semi-hard penis. She reached inside them, holding onto his penis with an oil-slippery hand while she pulled his shorts free with the other. Wedge gasped, and nearly bit his lip, as the jolt of sexual excitement hit him. Plourr had stripped his shorts off before he got his breath back. A moment later, she'd neatly rolled him onto his back and was sitting astride his thighs.
She'd stripped off her light vest and trousers, leaving herself in nothing more than a skimpy pair of panties. Her body was well-toned, but unashamedly female; a slender waist and curving hips; ripe, round breasts jutting proudly towards him. As Wedge stared at her breasts, Plourr slid her hands across his stomach to his groin. Wedge shuddered at the delicious touch.
"This isn't usually part of the service," Plourr said, skilfully manipulating him to full stiffness. "But I make exceptions for exceptional commanding officers."
With that she shifted herself forward, leaning on her hands, and arched her taut body over his. His penis was pressing against her belly, and her breasts swung just over his face. Wedge accepted the invitation, pulling her lower so he could lick the pink nipples she offered. Plourr made a gentle sound of satisfaction as Wedge's mouth teased her nipples erect. He moved his hands, rubbing one hard nub with his fingers while stimulating the other with teeth and tongue. Her skin was soft and smelt sweet, so mysteriously different to a man's skin. As he switched from one breast to the other, Plourr began moving her hips against his.
Wedge thrust against her in response, rubbing his hard penis against her body. Plourr's movements became harder, more demanding. Still working on her breasts, Wedge slid his right hand along her side, moving it across her belly as he reached lower. She lifted her hips away from him, allowing him to slide his hand between the legs that straddled his, and inside her panties. Her breathing changed, shorter, shallow breaths as he delicately brushed his fingers through her pubic hair and beyond. Plourr moaned aloud as he fingered her, an uninhibited cry of pleasure. Steady, moaning gasps told him when he'd found the sweet spot.
Plourr's long, strong limbs trembled as her excitement increased. She lifted her breasts away from his face, and bent down to kiss him fiercely. In another swift move, she straightened up and pulled her panties off. Guiding his penis with her hand, she lowered herself onto him. Wedge held onto her hips as she settled herself. The warmth and slick wetness felt wonderful. He looked up at the magnificent woman straddling him, taking him wholly inside of herself. Her breasts stood out proudly, swaying as she moved. Plourr smiled, and contracted the muscles of her vagina. Wedge gasped at the exquisite sensation it caused to his penis. His fingers dug into her hips as he clung to her and started to thrust.
Plourr rocked her hips back and forwards, timing her moves to his. As they synchronised, Wedge reached one hand between her legs and found her clit. Plourr's gasps became more urgent with the doubled stimulation. She ground herself more fiercely against him, demanding more as excitement tightened her body. Her raw, uninhibited passion drew more from him. She came with a great cry, throwing her head back, arms flailing as her orgasm shook her body. Wedge grabbed her hips and surrendered fully to his own need, thrusting up into her. Moments later he came too, his body bucking against the bed.
Afterwards, Wedge lay where he was in a kind of haze. He barely stirred as Plourr carefully detached herself from him and climbed off the bed. It was an effort, but a worthwhile one, to watch her getting dressed again. She seemed to have as much energy as when she'd arrived in his quarters, gathering her things and packing the bottles of scented oil back into her bag. When she was ready, she sat on the edge of his bed and looked at him with evident satisfaction.
"I think you're going to sleep well tonight," she remarked.
Wedge nodded lazily. "Thank you, Plourr, for ... everything. It's deeply appreciated."
She gave him one of her rare, warm smiles. "It was a pleasure. Being in a position of power, of command, is harder than most people realise. It's difficult to switch off and forget the responsibilities that come with privilege." She bent over and kissed him lightly. "You're a good officer, Wedge."
He smiled at the compliment, knowing it was genuine.
Plourr stood up, sweeping her bag up to her shoulder. "See you tomorrow," she called, and left his room at a brisk walk. Wedge didn't feel like moving just yet. He pulled his bedcover over himself and curled up. He wondered about Plourr's comments about command; he'd got the impression she was speaking from experience, but she'd never held an officer's rank with the Rebellion. Wedge yawned and squinted at his bedside chrono. It wasn't that late yet, but his evening so far had left him pleasantly weary. He closed his eyes and drifted into a light doze.
Half an hour later, Wedge woke again. A long, leisurely stretch was interrupted by a growl from his stomach, reminding him that he hadn't eaten yet. He also needed to visit the bathroom. Wedge disentangled himself from his bedcover and went to deal with the most immediate problem. He had just finished in the bathroom when the door buzzer sounded for the third time that evening. Surely it wasn't either Tycho or Plourr again? Wedge began to wonder just how stressed he'd looked at lunchtime. As he grabbed a light robe, he tried to remember who else had been at the table. Tying the belt of the robe, Wedge nervously approached the door.
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