Harriet and the Heman
Published by: eXtasy Books
Author : Lark Westerly
Word Count :10500
Publication Date :2011-06-19
Series : #
Heat Level :
- Product Code: 00316
"Don't you just hate it when your favourite sex-toy is taken off the market?"
Harriet Barnstormer pilots the 'Cornish Pisky', the only original strat-ship left on the deep-space run. Like any other member of the Skyjockey guild, Harriet is bound over to keep herself in top physical and sexual condition. To this end, she has relied on her antique purse-pecker, but this has now been taken off the market. Three quasi-human Hiram Heman Seductors have failed miserably to satisfy her needs, and Harriet takes out her frustration by writing rude letters to the Heman company rep, who promises her an upgraded model. When a man dressed in spacers' greens appears outside the "Pisky" just before launch, Harriet has no choice but to let him die in the blastoff or allow him on board... But, IS Xander Heman a man? Or is he the promised upgrade from Heman Inc.? If so, is he likely to call her a rose of mauveness and stick his head in her boot or suggest she's a fackable starfish?
Harriet Barnstormer arched her spine backwards until her shoulder blades almost touched. She reached out with both arms, striving to reach the narrow walls of the cockpit with the tips of her fingers. Up went her right leg, until her booted heel propped itself in the niche well above head level. Two seconds later, the other leg joined it. Harriet raised her chin, then rolled her head slowly to the left. The wall was blank.
Most of the pilots on the deep-space run filled this wall with holographic pictures of sexmates, real, simulated, or imagined. Harriet had had no sexmate since she'd bounced Hiram Heman Seductor Mark 3's sorry ass down the disposal chute on Xenon 9. She'd had more fun complaining in writing to the Heman company than she'd ever had from Hiram Heman Marks 1, 2 or 3. As for the promised upgrade--it had not yet arrived. Nor, alas, had her yearned-for Pursepecker.
Harriet sighed. The Skyjockey Licensing Board endorsed Heman products, but what did they know? There were plenty of other brands on the market, and Harriet Barnstormer truly believed she was no slave to convention. She glanced at the schedule that was counting down on the display. Three minutes to takeoff. There might be just enough time to zap off an order to Aphrodite Atlas… but would that be any better? Bulging biceps and bouncing balls would lack entertainment value when the brains were made of plastic, and seductive pillow talk soon palled when it was engraved on a silicon chip. If the Skyjockey Board didn't insist on regular internal workouts, she'd give up sex for good.
She thought longingly of her trusty Pursepecker. It had served her needs for almost a decade before its power pack had finally failed, leaving her stranded halfway to orgasm on the Polydeuces run.
She hadn't had a decent climax since.
If only she could get another Pursepecker. She sighed, remembering her failed attempt to detach the relevant part from Hiram Heman Seductor Mark 1. The thing had simply crashed due to a claimed 'service malfunction'.
Fortunately, there was more than one way of keeping fit, inside and out.
Harriet rolled her head to the right, and waggled her fingers. "Looks like it's just us, girls," she said aloud. She gave her flexible muscles one last stretch and relaxed. Maybe if she made herself really calm, she could sit out the thrust without needing any workout. She was closing her eyes when her brain jolted to attention. So did Harriet.
There could not be a man peering in through the window. It must be a hallucination.
The Cornish Pisky was docked snugly in the launch chute, so any such person would be fitted equally snugly between the chute and the Pisky's curved wall. In less than three minutes, he would be a nasty smear of cinder.
Harriet stared fixedly at the thickly curved diamasheet of the window. The man stared just as fixedly back.
"Scat!" said Harriet. Knowing he wouldn't hear her, she gestured for him to leave.
He shook his head, showing large, square teeth in a grin.
"Go!" ordered Harriet, jabbing backwards with her thumb.
The man continued to stare. A loud ping from the display alerted Harriet as the countdown entered the final sixty seconds. If he didn't leave right now, he'd be—