A Saturday of Cheerleader Pleasure Part 3
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It was another boring day aboard this lonesome vessel. As the Chozo gunship cruised through deep space with no particular destination, its pilot listed about in the common area staring up at the ceiling looking either very melancholy or slightly annoyed, maybe both.
Samus Aran hadn't had a contract in weeks and had run out of ways to amuse herself. She wasn't in the mood for sight-seeing and besides she wasn't very good with social interactions. Most women were too intimidated by her to strike up a conversation and most men lacked the balls to approach her.
What was it with men? Either they were too insecure to hit on her or arrogant enough to speak to her like she was almost beneath them, like that would make her drop her panties for them. So she was generally forced to keep to herself.
The half-human, half-Chozo bounty hunter lived a lonely existence. No friends, no family, just the job. She made a generous living fulfilling contracts to hunt and usually kill all manner of criminals who had managed to elude proper authorities or otherwise prove to be a thorn in the side of the Galactic Federation.
Over the years she had racked up quite a body count and actually managed to save the galaxy more than once. She'd already made enough money to last several lifetimes depending on how she chose to spend them. But what else would she do with her time? After the military, the only life she'd ever known was the hunt.
That made her time in between contracts almost unbearable. She had a taste for fine foods and even owned a very respectable wardrobe which mostly just collected dust since she had no social life. She desperately needed a hobby. The closest thing she had to one of those was her visits to the gym to keep her body well toned, or to a shooting club to keep her marksmanship sharp.
She occasionally tried sparring to practice her hand to hand combat skills but that never went over well. Her potential sparring partners were usually men, which excited her, but most of them were too apprehensive about hitting a woman, especially one as physically attractive as her.
She wasn't vain or conceited but most people naturally assumed she was. She was perfectly muscled with low body fat. Her face was very smooth with soft bone structure and near perfect facial symmetry. From head to toe she was what most men would call a "perfect ten", at least as far as looks go.
Those who did spar with her usually tried to be gentlemanly and go easy on her which defeated the purpose of sparring. And of course after flooring a man who tried to "go easy on her", she found it hard to find another sparring partner for awhile. So the only time she really got to test her fighting ability was when she was in real battle. So besides maintaining her fitness and skills for the job, she desperately needed a hobby.
So here she was, staring at the ceiling while casually rubbing herself through her shorts, something that had become an unconscious habit since she hadn't had sex in months. She wasn't even thinking about sex or about anything erotic in nature. Her mind was on what she might do to amuse herself in her spare time while waiting for another contract. That meant she was awaiting her next opportunity to go hunt and kill someone, a notion which sometimes troubled her.
I'm financially set for life so why do I still do this? Do I enjoy killing so much? Do I have a strong will to serve justice or some other ideal or am I just a bloodthirsty psychopath?
As she unintentionally caused herself a tiny micro-orgasm from rubbing her clit, she thought she might be hungry for something else but she certainly wouldn't be getting contracts for that anytime soon. She made her fortune pimping out her combat skills, not her body. That was a disturbing notion considering her healthy self-respect, although she would be lying to herself if she denied finding the idea at least a little exciting. At least then she would be getting some human interaction that didn't involve liquefying someone with a plasma canon.
Her reverie was suddenly shattered by a loud and welcoming chirp from the communications console. She practically flew to the desk, her face glowing with excitement before good sensibility took hold and she abruptly stopped to compose herself, now appearing quite somber. A call meant either someone was in trouble or else someone or something needed to be killed, perhaps both. That was nothing to be cheerful about, unless she really was a psychopath.
Feeling her moist panties, she began to reconsider. At the moment, she was in the mood for a different type of excitement. Maybe she could sit this one out, she certainly didn't need the money. If she ignored the call and it happened to be a truly urgent matter, the caller would no doubt follow up with a text message.
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