Band On The Run, Part 2 free porn video

Band on the Run Part II: Jurisdiction is better than Extradition by [email protected] We sat in the elevator, catching our breath. The memory of Snipe's eyes swamped by a flurry of shock clubs, fists and uniforms still burned in our minds. I was in shock that we'd made it. Well, almost all of us anyway. When the elevator lights dimmed and the first auto-greeting began, Sam and I relaxed back into our seats. Jessie burst into tears. I placed a hand on her back, but she shoved me away. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. Her lips curled into a snarl. She glared at me and said, "You knew!" I shook my head. "What?" She pointed a finger at me. "You knew he'd never make it through! You threw him to those... those jackals just to save yourself." "I... " I was blown away. What planet was she living on? After all I'd done or at least tried to do! "You're wrong, Jess. Tell her!" Sam nudged me. "I... I honestly didn't think any of us would make it through." It wasn't much as confessions went. "You gave him up to them. You dirty, filthy piece of-" "I did no such thing!" I'd had enough. I was steaming now, my cheeks on fire, tears of rage springing from my eyes. Even my ears were throbbing. I could only imagine what I looked like. "And even if I did, so what?" "Eric!" Sam exclaimed, forgetting my female pseudonym. I turned to Sam, so livid I was spitting. "Well... fuck him! He's the reason we're here! None of this would've happened if it hadn't been for him. This is all his fault. Just like when he turned up at Rector's office fucked out of his mind! He cost us some serious fucking bandwidth and she's sitting there acting like he's a fucking victim! He's been fucking us ever since he came on board and I say if I fucked him by turning him over to the damn cops then so be it, because he's been fucking us and fucking us and fucking us and I'm fucking sick of it!" It felt good. I finally said what none of us had been willing to say, and it was all true. I wasn't sure how much of it I meant, but I certainly thought I meant it at the time. I turned back to Jess, prepared to either defend myself or apologize depending on her reaction, but I never got the chance. She was past caring. Her cute face was twisted with rage; her clear blue eyes had become those of a predator. I regretted saying it now. "Look... Jess-" She was suddenly in my face and I was somehow knocked back out of my chair and on to the floor. I scrambled like a turtle on its back, flailing, but not getting anywhere. She leapt on top of me, straddled me and started to slap me. I was so shocked I took the first round of blows without even a decent defense. Then I was in a rage. I slapped her hard across the face, leaving a red hand print as clear as a henna tattoo on her lily white cheek. The next few moments were a blur of hair and nails and slaps and cursing. It felt like forever, but was probably just a few seconds. It only stopped because Sam grabbed Jess by the hair and pulled her off of me. The fierce expression of our red-headed singer was enough to stop us both. It was amazing really: her face was maternal, disapproving, and relegated us to the roles of misbehaved children. "Girls!" Sam chastised us, her eyes darting to the corner of the elevator. "We don't give free shows... remember?" The three of us glanced over and spotted four men, drooling like idiots. Part shock, part lust, they watched us like hungry voyeuristic wolves. I rolled my eyes and glanced back just in time to see Jessie doing the same. For the first time it struck my mind that men were idiots. In fact, I almost said, "Men!" but caught myself. Jess and I straightened our clothing and took our seats. Somehow the heel of my right shoe was broken off. I took it off and looked at it with disgust, noticing then that my hose was torn in not one but two places. After all these years, why hadn't they managed to make female clothing more durable? "Erica," Sam said with all the intonation of a mother. I started to ask, "What?" but then realized what she expected of me. I nodded like a regretful child. "I'm sorry, Jessie." Jess sniffled. The rage was gone and the only evidence of our battle was a red splotch on her cheek. I had a scratch on my neck and discovered another one above my eyebrow. "Jessica," Sam intoned again. Jess pouted, licked the tears from her lips and finally whispered, "Sorry." I knew right then the band was dead. Even if we were to get our male selves regeneticized tomorrow, even if we were to have Snipe delivered to us unharmed, too much had happened, too much had been said. I wondered what was next for us. Sam leaned over me and whispered to me, her lipstick smelling of roses and sticky against the back of my ear. "You know... I always thought if you and Jess got into a fight that you'd come out on top." I turned to give her a smack, but her grin defused me. We giggled, yes, giggled. I couldn't help myself. She surprised me by slinging a long arm around my neck and giving my ear a sweet kiss. It was a strange thing to do for men, but somehow it felt right as women. It was sweet and I found myself sort of cuddling with her. Jess's whining drew our attention. She looked at us, holding up the torn sleeve of her blouse. "Aww... I liked this top, too!" I took a page from Sam and wrapped my arm around her. I even gave her a quick kiss on the ear like Sam had done to me. "We'll get you another one, okay?" Jess nodded, pouted, sniffled. I shook her a little and she smiled wearily and squirmed closer. I was about to apologize again, and I was pretty sure she was about to do the same, and I was just starting to think maybe my assessment of the band's demise had been premature when the arrival chime sounded and the elevators door opened. A wall of black uniformed station cops were there to greet us. * * * We were isolated from each other and we hadn't really had a chance to get our stories straight. I stuck with the story we'd used to get us through the off-planet checkpoint and could only hope the others were doing the same. The man who sat across from me was such a stereotypical cop that I wondered if they weren't churning them out of some factory somewhere. The dark, impenetrable comm shades, the chiseled jaw, the broad chest, the thick matte of hair on his arms, the crewcut, the blue tinge of a half day's beard growth on his chin, he stood at least a foot taller than me, and wasted no time making me feel small and vulnerable. His first question was his first mistake, however, and I tried not to grin, because I knew he wouldn't appreciate the humor. "Can you tell me why you girls were providing aid to a known felon?" As hard as I tried, he caught the grin in my eyes, if not on my lips. He scowled at me. "Something funny?" I shook my head. My hair shook loose and fell in my eyes. I resisted pushing it away. Maybe it would help hide my face. "He's not a known felon." He nodded. "That's not what the authorities of Inser say." I did sweep my hair aside then, because I wanted to make eye contact with him, and because it was driving me nuts, tickling my chin and my cheeks and my neck. "You should know better, Officer-" I glanced at his badge, "-Harrison." He leaned across the table and clasped his large hands together. They weren't overly large; it was just that mine were now surprisingly small. They still shocked me every time I noticed them, the slender fingers, the long, red manicured nails. "Why should I know better? Why should I believe them over you?" I gathered my courage and leaned forward, clasping my small hands on the table, emulating his position. "Because they're liars." He studied my eyes. He sat back and took a sip from a ureofoam cup. "Enlighten me? What are they lying about?" "They probably told you that we-" I caught myself, but it was too late, "-that the band caused a riot, that they killed a bunch of people, but that's not what happened. The riot started when the Inser patrols showed up and started pushing people around." I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms and felt a smug self- righteous expression on my face. He raised an eyebrow. "'We'?" I shrugged. When you didn't know how to spin a lie, sometimes it was best to sit back and let it spin itself. "You know... the band." "So," he smirked, "it's your band now?" I smiled. Like I said, let it spin itself. "Sure. We followed them all around half of Europa. This was their first arena play. I've got every download they ever streamed." The nice thing about it was that it was all true. He shook his head and sighed, "Groupies." He asked a ton of questions, and then re-asked them. He spit my story back at me but changed details. I corrected him. He tripped me up, had me flustered, had me defending myself more than a few times, trying to straighten it all out, but I was smart enough to keep things very close to the truth. Hell, he'd expect at least a few lies. He and I were dancing in a way. Going back and forth, he leaning forward, me leaning forward, he settling back into his chair, me doing the same, he crossing his arms, me crossing my arms, and all the while I was trying my best to manipulate him with my female charms. Granted, I didn't have a lot of practice, but I did know men. I'd been one, after all. So if I leaned forward enough to let my blouse fall open a little, if I crossed my arms under my breasts instead of over them, if I swept the hair from my face, if I looked up at him with sorrowful, pitiful, pleading, big, brown eyes, if I bit my lip, leaving them wet and glistening... well... all was fair in love and interrogation. If it was having any affect, he didn't show it, but there were a few times where his voice wasn't quite as stern as I felt it could've been. He was holding back and I realized that nothing had changed. In all the centuries, men were still men and women were still women, and men might want to fuck and control the shit out of women, but they mostly didn't want to hurt them, and mostly still felt protective of them. I didn't know if he liked my answers. I didn't know what answers the others gave, but I did know that he still hadn't realized that we weren't aiding and abetting known felons; we were known felons. As long as no one put two and two together, we had every chance of not being extradited back to the planet. * * * Sam and I and Jess hugged and cried and stroked each other's faces in the holding cell. It was only later I realized how odd that was for us. Normally we would've been jabbing each other with playful punches and insults and grinning the entire time. After comparing stories, we knew we were safe, at least from the station guards. They didn't suspect who and what we truly were, though that didn't help Snipe any. Jess reminded us by wondering if he was okay. I risked slinging an arm around her and she snuggled up beside me. "I don't know how," I told her, "but we'll help him." "What are they doing to him?" she asked, aiming those worried baby blues at me. It broke my heart, but for the first time ever I managed to suppress the tears. I realized something else about girls. No matter how weepy they might be seventy-five percent of the time, they could lie when necessary. I wasn't sure if that fact made me respect them more or suspect them more. I pointed my baby browns back at her and said, "They have to try him first and that takes time, so he's in a holding cell just like us." "But," she asked, "they're not hurting him. Are they?" I shook my head, continuing the lie. "No. He's okay." Jessica tucked her head under my chin, nestling her cheek against my bosom and it felt nice. Another first: the usefulness of breasts. Other than distracting cops, they were good for providing comfort and solace. These new maternal feelings seemed to overwhelm everything else. I kissed the top of her head, wrapped my arms tighter around her and stroked her arm with such tenderness it surprised even me. Sam crossed her legs. Again. It caught my attention. I watched her for a bit. She leaned back and stretched her back, her breasts jutting proudly into the air. She leaned forward, bent her neck forward to stretch her shoulders and let her volume of auburn curls cascade forward. She rubbed her neck for awhile, then whipped her hair from her face with a head toss. She crossed her legs again and I finally followed an invisible line of sight to a man in a bar across the avenue. His eyes were glued to her, to her legs, her breasts, her hair, her lips. I whispered to her, "What in the hell are you doing?" She didn't just turn to answer me; she whipped her head around, tossing her curls over her shoulder and leaning forward, her skirt inching ever farther up her thigh. "What do you mean?" I blinked and let my eyes dart out of the field of the holding cell. She grinned. "Just having fun." I laughed. "So what... you're going to seduce some stranger in a bar into bailing us out?" She giggled, but it was an exaggerated giggle, it jiggled her bosom and sent waves of light coursing down the length of her hair. She was performing, I realized, showing off, posing. "No, of course not." I realized then how good Sam was at this. For all his whining and bitching and reluctance to become a girl, he was a natural. I had a sudden flash of him on stage, standing under the lights, one leg on a CC monitor, pointing to the audience, to the front row of girls, then stepping forward and thrusting his pelvis out and turning his head to the side, grinning knowingly at me while I riffed through a solo. Even when the spotlight was off him, he still managed to draw every female eye in the audience. He strutted and posed and there was very little difference between then and now. He had always loved himself more than anyone else. He had always expected everyone else to love him more than themselves, and usually, he was dead on. He'd fallen so easily into the narcissistic role of the high-maintenance super-diva that none of us had noticed. Whatever skill I'd picked up in the last few hours about how to turn men on, how to tease them, manipulate them, Sam had known all along without even realizing it. I stole furtive glances at the man in the bar. His drink had been drained, but he sat there transfixed. Then I noticed another man at another table in the same state. I would've noticed more, but I didn't want to give her away. Sam might be locked away, but she was still taking prisoners. A man in a uniform presented himself at the guard's desk. For a moment I thought Sam's ploy had actually paid off, but then I saw the insignia of Inser on his uniform. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but it didn't take long before his conversation with the station guard turned his face red. As his voice rose, it was easy to eavesdrop. "But... they're fugitives!" The guard on duty called someone on the comm and after a few moments another officer appeared. I recognized him. It was Officer Harrison. My Officer Harrison! That struck me. He wasn't mine. What in the hell was I thinking? The Inser cop started over calmly, but his voice quickly rose again. "They are fugitives! They're my prisoners!" Harrison replied calmly, so quietly I couldn't overhear. The Inser guard cursed. "I demand you release them into my custody!" Harrison shook his head, but all I could hear was the word, "Jurisidiction". The Inser guard wagged his finger in Officer Harrison's face. A second later there were four station guards surrounding him, arms crossed, impenetrable comm shades drawn, looking like stern authoritative statues. I didn't know if I'd had anything to do with it, if Officer Harrison was protecting me, but some part of me (strangely) hoped that was the case. Either way, we were not being sent back to Inser to face trial. Not yet anyway. An hour later we were processed for release. When Officer Harrison decided to process us personally, I noticed the surprise behind the reflective shades of the guard on duty. Did that mean something? Did he like me? Maybe it was Sam. Maybe he wanted to get close to Sam. Maybe he cursed the fact that he'd been ordered to interrogate me instead of her. My mind was racing a mile a minute; my heart fluttering like a trapped bird inside my chest. I put it down to being tired, being afraid that at the last minute they might decide to send us back down planet after all. The girls slipped ahead, graciously taking long sips of water from the cups of the guards who were doing their best to keep their admiration discreet. I was processed last, and it was just Officer Harrison and I. My mouth was dry. I felt like I was sitting on the edge of a razor, ready to giggle like a mad fool, to cry like a weepy kitten, so full of some indefinable mix of emotions I was ready to burst at the seams. Maybe I was sick. Maybe I'd contracted something in the cell. This wasn't right, this feeling. I could barely manage to look him in the face as I signed the release papers with my corneas. Something was going on. I didn't know what it was, but it was electric and it set my nerves on edge. He put his hand under my chin to direct my eyes toward the holo-jurat. He hadn't done that with the other girls. His hand was cool on my hot face. My ears felt like two molten saucers. My eyes watered. My forehead grew tight. I was very tense. It wasn't necessary, of course, the legal program could easily scan my eyes from any direction, but still I let him. I let him lay his hand on my shoulder, which was bare due to the style of my top. Now his hand seemed to be burning against my ice cold shoulder. His voice was low and gentle and I realized with a start that my nipples were hard. I was aroused. I was fucking aroused. I didn't have any idea what he said and I had no clue as to what I replied. He ushered me forward with his large hand on the small of my back, which also was bare due to the style of my blouse. (I was starting to feel naked.) I couldn't wait to get away from him. Yet... I didn't want to leave. Ever. I was finally at the door, the girls leading the way. I was almost out when he called out my name. I was worried. Was this the part where they decided at the last second that being sent down planet was actually a good idea? I walked back to him and didn't stop until I was much much too close. I was going to retreat a few steps, but when I looked up, he'd taken his comm shades off and I froze in his gaze. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I let out an embarrassing, funny sounding squeak. I heard giggling behind me. I turned and glared at Sam and Jess who were blushing and laughing. "Do you--" he began. "Do you girls have a place to stay?" "I... I don't know." I hadn't honestly thought that far ahead, despite the fact that I'd had plenty of time. "Well," he took a deep breath, "I can't do much, but I think it would be okay to offer you one of the low rent safe rooms we have." "Oh." My stomach was churning and I caught myself fidgeting. "Well... that's really really nice of you. You don't have to--but I mean I--we appreciate it." I had to get a hold of myself. I forced my eyes to make contact with his. "I want to thank you for all you've done." "I didn't really do anything." I corrected him, feeling a little more powerful. "You did. You kept us from going back down planet." "I was upholding the law. That's all." "Well... I guess I appreciate it anyway, and for the room and all." He took a deep breath, glanced at the girls behind me. "I did what I could, and you probably shouldn't leave the station. I may have more questions." I shrugged with a simpering smile, my cheeks burning so hot they were about to melt off my face. "We don't have anywhere to go anyway." He grinned. "Okay, well... be careful." I laughed and that made him laugh. He a nice smile. He had nice eyes. He didn't seem so distant, so stern now. He seemed more like a little boy who was trying hard to get over being grumpy. We were out of conversation so after a bit of loitering, I finally turned and tried to ignore the raised eyebrows and smirking grins of Jess and Sam. And, I could've been wrong, it could've been my imagination, but was I shaking my ass a teeny tiny bit more than usual? * * * We picked out our beds and relaxed for the first time in a month. I collapsed onto the softer than soft gel mattress and felt the bounce of my breasts. I was getting used to them. Whereas before, I would've pondered them, my arm covering them, trying to settle them down, reeling from the foreign sensation, now it passed into and out of my awareness with barely a thought. Jess giggled and bounced up and down like a schoolgirl. She, like Sam, seemed to have taken well to the gender change. Hell, she'd always been a little effeminate, the most sensitive and tender of us. Groupies always liked to take him underwing, as one of their own, which somehow served to get him laid more than the rest of us. I wasn't sure how he managed it. I was starting to think I was the only still a little out of place in this lumpy, curvy, ever-moving body. I laid back in the bed and sank into the gel. Letting out a long sigh, I said, "Oh, I could sleep forever." Jess bounced from her bed to mine, jostling the shit out of me. She straddled me like a lover. "Fuck that! I'm starving!" I gave her a poke in the ribs and laughed as she giggled and squirmed. "Fuck that... I need a drink," Sam said from his place in front of the mirror. I sighed, reluctant to deliver the bad news. "Ah, well, guys... " Our eyes met for a second, full of grins. I shook my head. "Whatever. You know what I meant, but the thing is... does anyone have any money?" Their grins vanished. "I've got a little," I offered, "so it's food or drink, but not both." We fell into a thoughtful silence, then Sam laughed. His eyes were on the mirror again. "Since when do three gorgeous girls need money for food and drinks?" I didn't like the implication. "What are you talking about?" Jess giggled and clapped her hands. "Cool!" I really didn't like the implication. "What are you guys talking about?" Sam activated the concierge. "Map the closest hippest club in this zone please." While it searched, I tried again to dissuade the majority opinion. "Uh, guys... what are we talking about here?" A warehouse three blocks away called Club A Zone was mapped for us on a holo-screen. Jess bounced into the bathroom to shower and get ready while Sam preened in front of the mirror. I shook my head. "Uh... guys?" * * * We were such girls. I don't know how it had happened. I don't know when it happened. I hadn't spotted the change, the tip over into second gender. Our money, which wasn't much, went into clothes and makeovers. I didn't know what to buy and I was too busy protesting to realize that decisions were being made for me. I really should've kept my eye on them, because by the time they were done, I had a new midnight glitter skirt, even shorter than before, stockings to replace the hose, new heels and a new feather-style blouse, white and soft and partly transparent. Ten minutes with a glamour stainer had my face cleaned, exfoliated, moisturized and enhanced with new color. They pushed me, stumbling and tipsy in my new heels, in front of a mirror and I broke off in mid-complaint. I'd completely missed the part where the salon port had twisted my hair into a loose bun, flyaway strands playing mischief with my eyes and earrings... earrings? I was out of breath, in shock, totally and completely in lust with myself. The brunette with the glistening lips and the wide eyes smiled with surprise and mouthed the words, "Oh. My. God." I turned to two breathtaking girls, stained, primped and pampered into a delicious female glory and didn't know what to say. A mantra made good use of my red lips. "What does this mean?" Jess's eye shadow brightened to a light blue, her cheeks pinkened, her lips gleaming as if they'd been soaked in some luscious oil. "Let's eat!" I recognized the style of makeup, it was dependent on body heat, triggered by galvanic resistance in the skin, the shades and colors enhanced by mood. "What does this mean?" I wondered, still half in trance. They dragged me, stumbling like a gawky doe, to the club where we were emitted without resistance. No checking of I.D.'s. No being stopped at the door; no verification of our value. Our looks were our value, and we were about to cash in on them. We made our way to the bar, though we were penniless. Sam and Jessica talked. Well, Sam talked and Jessica giggled. I was busy scoping out the club for emergency exits and finding only men. They were everywhere, and their eyes were on me, on us. Oh, there were probably plenty of girls as well, but all I saw was the testosterone monsters that wanted to do things to me that created a terrible uncertainty in me. The bartender asked what we would have, and Sam told him we were still deciding. He was no fool; he knew what that meant, even if I didn't. I knew there was a two drink minimum, and I knew we were flat broke. I was just about to voice my concern that they were going to kick us out, when the bartender returned with three drinks. Jess and Sam reached for them, while I gave the bartender a quizzical look. "But-we didn't-" "Compliments of the gentlemen." His eyes darted to a nearby table where two men were smiling at us. Jess smiled at them with gratitude, while Sam ignored them and knocked back the drink. I was still staring at my glass, dumbfounded, when the mantra returned to my thoughts, "What does this mean?" Sam giggled and whispered into Jess's ear, who then giggled on cue. We hadn't eaten in half a day, so drinking wasn't the best idea. Not yet anyway, though it was calling my name. I wanted it, but I didn't want to be head over heels inside of an hour either. Sam had a way of filtering the men. I wasn't certain how she did it. With her eyes, her body language, she somehow cued them to and away from us. They tried, the poor guys, but they had to pass muster with her first. Finally, apparently, three young men were selected for us. I was lost, of course, completely out of my element. Did we want to dance? Did we want another drink? Jess was already nodding, her eyes booze-happy, but Sam interjected. "We'd like to, but we really need something in our stomachs first. Maybe later." She turned away from them. She was good. She knew exactly what she was doing. They did not slink away with heads bowed; they stepped up to the challenge, understanding their roles, even if I didn't. "Oh, hey, we were just about to order some apps, too. Why don't we get a table together?" Sam glanced at us as if for a consensus, which I was too dazed to give, then turned and nodded to them with a smile. Somehow, between the bar and the table, we paired up. * * * Why did I get stuck with the chubby guy? Sam and Jess had the pick of the litter, both of them tall, lean, proud, leering, but I got the little plump shy one. Nothing had changed. We'd changed completely, and yet nothing had really changed at all! Sam was used to being worshiped. Girls who worshiped him found their efforts rewarded. He lavished them with attention, from tip to toe, but they had to be perfect and they had to be willing to serve. Jess might put on a shy act, but he wasn't. He was manipulative as hell. He played with the girls like a little boy playing with action figures (all anatomically correct). On any night after a gig you could park yourself in a corner and watch the females migrate back and forth between them, the two powerhouses, the polar sexual opposites. Girls turned off by Sam's ego somehow found themselves in Jess' corner, giggling and fawning over him. Girls disappointed by Jess's bashful act were inevitably drawn to Sam's starlight. Snipe, of course, had the pick of the strange. The princess-punk and the goth-whores ended up in his camp, leaving typically with more bruises and scrapes then they came in with, but also with a satisfied glaze to their eyes. Many of them showed up with his logo branded into their soft flesh, usually their asses. And I got the girls who were shy, who didn't quite know what to do themselves, but knew they wanted to do something with someone, but were inexperienced at the groupie trade. I was the professor apparently, giving them little tutorials on how to get into the shows, how to best approach a stage manager or a bouncer, how to follow band streams and the rest. They demonstrated the gratitude by riding me and going down on me in various ways and locations, and with various styles. I'd been a taught thing or two over the years. But I was also the one who cleaned up the messes, the wasted girls and the psycho bitches. When the girls woke up and wanted out, I was the one who advanced them a few credits and made sure they got home in one piece, secrets intact. And nothing had changed. My boy's name was Malcom and he knew what he wanted (me), but had no idea how to get it. I couldn't help myself. Without meaning to, I found myself trying to throw him a bone, trying to show him how it was done. I or my body seemed to do things designed to give him confidence. When he said something cute (and he was funny) I found myself laughing and touching him, sometimes on the shoulder, once on the hand, once on the knee. What was I thinking? This wasn't like with girls where I was focused on closing the deal. If I gave him too much confidence, too many signals, he would want to close the deal on me, and that wasn't going to happen. When they offered us a social contract, I had to suppress a laugh. I'd heard about them, of course. They were all the rage, and the courts had already chimed in on their legality. I'd never used one or had to use one. It was a basic agreement: we'd be their "girls" for a disclosed amount of time in exchange for food (a maximum of four appetizers, not to exceed fifty credits and with a minimum of twenty), drinks (only three required per girl, though it could exceed that), and dancing (at least three, one slow). There was even a little provision for kisses (lips only, no tongue), and so on. Sam sent the screen over to me and Mark (Sam's boy) and I negotiated. He wanted four hours, I wanted two, we compromised at three. Of course there was no sex requirement, which would've made the contract null and void, regardless of the station's ruling on prostitution. I understood the whole contract thing, even if I didn't agree. No boy wanted to spend everything they had on a girl only to have her turn around dance with someone else. It was a fair exchange, and when the contract timed out, we were all free to do as we pleased. I just thought the whole thing was a bit silly. If the boys were interesting and cute and fun, wouldn't the girls want to hang with them because they liked them? Still, it was the new thing, and the clubs and patrons all seemed to like it. When we were all agreed, we signed it with our corneas and the food arrived, followed quickly by drinks. Then more drinks. The food helped. We were starving and made short work of it. The drinks helped as well. After a little conversation, a few chuckles, a few awkward moments, we were all feeling a little looser. With that warm glow in our cheeks, we were laughing and teasing each other like best friends, even if some friends wanted to exchange saliva with other friends. Before I knew it we were all under the spinning lights and rocking out to some song we loved. I was feeling pretty damn light on my feet by then, plied by drinks as I was, and was actually relishing the bump and grind with Malcom. He wasn't a bad dancer. We laughed when we got out of rhythm and sizzled when we were in tune. I was no fool. Dancing was all about the female body. No first gendered man anywhere, no matter how coordinated, cared about dancing. It was a chance to get girl butts shaking, girl breasts bouncing, and let boy hands sweep down girl hips without getting boy faces slapped. It was a chance to get physical with one another without consequence, to get hot and sweaty and to feel one another's sexuality without actually having the sex. It was the idea of sex, maybe even the promise of sex, but it wasn't sex. Damn it all if I didn't really like it! I liked spinning, my hair loose and flying. I liked being a snake girl and letting Malcom charm me. I liked coming and going, dancing into him, making contact, letting our mouths breathe in one another, then dancing away and knowing he was going to follow, because he was no fool. The promise had been made by my feet, by my hips, by my glistening lips, and he asked for more by dancing closer, by coming up behind me and grinding his crotch into my ass in a vain attempt to seduce me. I was exhausted in no time, but happy, which surprised me. After all that had happened, maybe I just needed to unwind a little. Sam and her boy were waiting for us at the table, but Jess was nowhere in sight. I gave her a questioning look. She grinned and shrugged, her eyes darting to the back. Maybe I was naive, but I wasn't sure what was going on. I excused myself to check on Jess. We were underestimating our situation and I knew it. All of us. We weren't male anymore. We couldn't fight our way out of a bad outcome. We were the weaker sex now. That point had been made on the dance floor when Malcom had nearly boiled over with lust. After teasing him a tad too much, he'd swept me off my feet and into his arms. It surprised me, and maybe thrilled me a little, but also terrified me as I realized how strong he was, and how I'd suddenly fallen into his complete control and could only squirm away with his permission. I wasn't two feet from the table before I felt him behind me. I turned to see him smiling. I smiled as best as I could and wondered who's side he'd line up on if it came down to a standoff between his friends and mine. Behind the curtains I tried to find Jess. In the long corridor only three doors had on their busy lights. My first guess was dead on. I slipped aside the curtain and saw my band mate for the last six years being pressed up against the wall by her "man". Her blouse had been pulled down to reveal her milky white breasts, her skirt hoisted up around her waist, and her white stockinged legs wrapped tight around his waist. Her white heels bounced as they fucked. His mouth was firmly on her breast, sucking, abandoning it only long enough to give her a few deep hungry kisses. In shock I retreated as silently as I could. Back in the corridor with Malcom, all I could do was shake my head and tell him I needed some air. * * * Malcom was an inconvenience as he insisted on following me, well, everywhere really, like a forlorn lover or maybe more appropriately like a love-starved puppy. I made my way with him in tow to a balcony. I pointed the beacon outside and in a few minutes we were under the glass of the station atrium, floating under a starry sky. The air was chilly and I shivered. Malcom responded as any man might, by cozying up beside me and rubbing my bare arms. I didn't shrug him off, though it was my first impulse, because frankly his hands were warming me and they felt nice, and they were easing some of my anxiety. I was worried. I was worried about us. I was wondering if we would ever get back to our male selves. It had only been a few weeks and I was already having difficulty remembering what it was like to be male, to go a day without feeling weepy or afraid, to be as tall as everyone else, and yes, even to piss standing up. We certainly couldn't change back now as all genetic alterations were forbidden on orbital stations. Too easy for a revolutionist to create a virus and wipe out the whole place. Planets at least had some natural defenses. This was becoming less and less like a brilliant escape plan, and more like a Pandora's box. I thought again about Snipe, wondered what they were doing to him, but this time the anger wouldn't come. Yes, it was his fault. Yes, he was always fucking up, but he was our friend, and a kick ass drummer. I knew we should be making plans to rescue him, but we were hardly in a position to do so. "We don't have to, uh-y'know, just because your friend is," Malcom said, his voice breaking through my faraway thoughts. "What?" He shrugged and blushed. The dim neo-lights of the railings showed me a boy desperate for a girl's approval, but also desperate to get laid. I smiled helplessly and nodded. Desperation was hardly an aphrodisiac. "I know. I know you'd never force me to do anything." He grinned. "Unless you wanted to." I laughed. "It's a nice thought, but don't get your hopes up." Still I had to admit, he was sort of cute, all bashful and horny, but afraid to make that definitive move. On the other hand, I was sort of drunk and had the three second loop of Jess fucking her boy stuck in my head. ...skirt up around her waist, his mouth sucking on her tit, bouncing and moaning... Before I knew what I was doing, I'd planted a friendly thank-you kiss on his cheek. His hands settled naturally on my hips. As I withdrew, he jerked me back into him and planted his lips on mine. It was a slappable offense and my palm tingled with an eagerness to lay him out right then and there, but I didn't. I don't know why I didn't; I should have, but I couldn't. Before I had a chance to even decide, the whole thing was over. We were pulling our wet lips apart and catching our collective breaths. He tasted like rum. The fire was up in my cheeks and I could feel my nipples twitching under my top. The wet smack of our lips lingered in my ears for some time, as did the echo of my moan. "Sorry," he said. "Couldn't resist." I raised my hand and laid it aside his cheek, tenderly, though a part of me considered otherwise. "It's okay. That was pretty good. You really took a chance there." "I know!" he laughed. I could see the pride in his eyes. "But," I cautioned, "don't get carried away." "You mean like this?" He sat quickly and used his leverage to pull me down onto his lap. It was either that or fall flat on top of him. In one swift move he'd pulled me into a full body embrace, separating my thighs so that I was straddling him and causing me to let out a squeal of surprise. I started to fuss at him, but his lips were on mine again. I swallowed, wanted to cry, wanted to pull away and slap him, wanted to fall into him, wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and let go. I was in shock. I didn't know what to do, and my reeling mind refused to decide, which left my body on auto-pilot, which meant it was doing what came naturally. If you're expecting to hear some story about how I was swept off my feet and into the arms of a new love, flush and entranced and helpless, you're going to be disappointed. I was feeling a lot of things, the rush of adrenaline, the thrill of his lips, of our playing tongues, but I was by no means out of my head with pleasure. It felt good, but I was very aware of the location of his hands at all times, and very aware of the lump in his pants that was pressing against my panties. I was in no hurry to stop him, but I wasn't going to lose my head either. I could manage his hands and his lips, it was the other distraction I had to be careful of, knowing how easily it could break lose and get carried away. We kissed, broke, and I did wrap my arms around his neck then, falling into him, pressing my soft breasts into him, while his hands swept around and warmed my ass nicely. It felt good, but I was mostly distracted by that hard, soft, rubbery thing pressing on a very pleasurable spot between my legs. There couldn't have been more than a sixteenth of an inch of clothing separating his from mine, and part of me did want his pants to fall away, wanted my panties pushed aside, and wanted to feel it pushing up into me, filling me, but I wasn't Jess, and I just wasn't ready. He got a good grope of my tits, which I didn't mind. They were just tits, and as his fingers flipped back and across my nipples, and as his mouth sucked and nibbled first one, then the other, I suddenly realized I was extremely wet. I could smell the aroma of my own arousal, even if he couldn't. I could smell him, too, and I liked it. He was a little sweaty from all the dancing, a little musky, but it was turning me on. I could tell he was making a decision, not wanting to break the moment, but knowing he had to see how far he could get, so when his hand snuck its way under my skirt, I broke the kiss and giggled and caught it before it burrowed too deep. He laughed. We kissed some more, made out actually, nibbling necks and nipples and earlobes, while I moaned and sighed and got very turned on, but we were near the end and we both knew it. I stood once or twice, let him pull me back down for another round, but eventually made my escape. It wasn't as thrilling as our escape from Inser, but it was damn close, and the casualties came out the same. One little man deprived of freedom. * * * Back at the table I think we were all glowing a little. Jess more than the rest of us. She and her lover both wore glazed satisfied expressions and exhibited an intimacy only recent lovers could manage. The knowing smiles. The secret glances. The little giggles. The friendly touches that were no longer hungry, but were now mere echoes of not so long ago pleasures. It was kind of sickening, to tell you the truth, the way they doted on one another, and giggled and fed each other and smiled like silly children. Sam was still holding court at the table. He'd danced with just about every boy in the club apparently. We had whatever we needed, brunch dates, lunch dates, shelter, free drinks, and we didn't have to do much for it other than donate a little free time. Our little contract with the boys had been over two hours ago, though we were reluctant to leave. We were still having a good time, but we were also exhausted. The booze had worn off, the food was weighing us down and we hadn't spent a dime. Well, the clothes had cost everything we had, but those could be worn again, and would have to be, since all our luggage was likely confiscated back on the planet. I worried about Michael. I hoped he was safe. The boys looked like sad mutts as we said our goodbyes. We shared kisses and smiles and last minute gropes, and flagged down an auto for the flight home. Jess bounced and giggled and carried on the entire way back to the hotel. Sam and I rolled our eyes at each other, but we couldn't exactly be angry. She had done what neither of us had the guts to do. She'd gotten laid. She now knew what it was like to be a girl, the passion, the heat, the penetration. Sam scanned his eye at the door and we slipped inside. The concierge blinked quietly in a corner of the room. "Play," Sam said, and the thing lit up with a note. A note? Who left notes anymore? Sam giggled. "Uh... Erica?" The way she pronounced my new female name, Eric-a, let me know something was up. I came back into the room, my teeth half brushed and saw the two of them grinning like Cheshire cats. "I think it's for you," she giggled. I read the note aloud, not realizing until much too late who it was from. We'll get to see how a girl can blush from the top of her head, through the pit of her stomach, all the way down to the tips of her toes (and all the wet, warm, swelling places in between) in a minute. "Dear Erica... came by to make sure you were okay. Sorry to have missed you. Nothing official. Just worried. Thought you might need someone to show you around town or to provide a little distraction. Be safe. Sincerely, Officer Harrison." This was the point where I experienced my first ever thorough entire body blush, which until then, I hadn't even known was possible. "He... came... here?" I asked. Jess bounced off the bed, over to me, and threw her arms around me, kissing my ear and singing. "Erica's got a boyfriend! Erica's got a boyfriend!" "Shut the fuck up!" Sam griped, but even she was smiling. Jess stuck her tongue out at her. I was still in shock. "He... came here?" I asked. "He came to see you," Jess hummed merrily. I ignored her and tried a reasonable conversation with Sam. "But... but... why?" Sam blushed and laughed. "Why do you think?" I felt shaky all over. "To... arrest me?" They glanced at one another and roared with laughter. "NO!" Sam exclaimed, "Though he might have been willing to use the cuffs." I was getting it now, and it made things worse. My blush was the blush of a shamed child on flex, guilty, feverish, but filled with ecstasy. "Why would he come here?" I whispered. "Gee, ya think that's why he let us go?" Jess wondered. "Shut up," I whispered. My head felt two sizes too big. It was a hot air balloon, light and hot and ready to float away any second. My mantra came back. "What does it mean?" Sam jabbed me in the ribs. "Erica, what did you to that poor boy in that interrogation room?" I was glad they were having a good time with it, because I didn't know what to think. I still wondered why he'd come, was shocked that he had, wondered what he'd wanted, even though I knew. I was sick in the stomach, and excited. He wanted me. He came because he wanted me. He wanted to be with me. Then it struck me... what if we hadn't gone dancing? What if I'd been here? What would have happened? Would I have been able to say no? Would I have wanted to? This was no baby-faced boy in a club, this was a man, a stern, authoritative man, with bulging muscles and tight rippling abs and.... I couldn't go there. I just couldn't. I let them have their fun, but ultimately just tried to put it out of my head. Which lasted all of two seconds. We chatted about our plans for the next day, to go to the Embassy and see what, if anything, we could do for Snipe. We'd visit a creditor and see if we could had any access to our accounts. We'd call our agent and pray he wouldn't think we were just a couple of groupies that were out of our minds. Eventually exhaustion took us all, and we laid our pretty heads on our pretty pillows and closed our stained eyelids. I rolled around the bed in a tussle with the covers. Half-asleep, shy Malcom came to mind. I thought about that erection of his, trapped beneath his pants, soft and hard and cylindrical, how it felt pressing against my panties, against my wet lips, so ready and willing and eager to part, only this time his pants dissolved into nothingness. My panties dissolved as well and now we were both naked, and it was just flesh against flesh, and it was so much better. But when he pressed me back onto a bed, his hands wrapping around my wrists like two molten hot cuffs, he was no longer Malcom, but Officer Harrison. His beard scratched my tender cheeks. His lips were brutal and hungry on my tender lips, his teeth hard and devouring my tender breasts, his cock hard and penetrating my tender pussy. A noise snapped me from my dream. Groggy, bleary-eyed, I looked up into the familiar eyes of our would-be jailor from Inser. He grinned down at me, his teeth too white, too sharp, and said, "Back to sleep. You've got a date with a judge." By the time I realized I should be struggling, he'd pressed something cold and wet and stinging against my neck and the lights went out. Where was a handsome fuckable cop when you needed one? End of Part II