Space Debris


by Jess Faulks


I'm going to die out here.


Lieutenant Claire Gaynor sat back in the dark cockpit of her lifeless, Jaguar-Class Interceptor, staring through her helmet's visor and a cracked canopy into the void of Proxima Centauri. The blackness of space sparked with the remnants of a massive battle, and shattered ships and debris caught light from the system's red dwarf star as they spun, forever stuck in the inertia of whatever impact or explosion had destroyed them.


Another small craft would occasionally drift past the slow rotation of her tiny ship, either another Jaguar or the enemy's equivalent: the Jiàn Scrambler. More often, it would be pieces of either and sometimes one of the bombers, gunships or battle cruisers of either faction would pass by her spinning view. The scale of the battle had kept the goriest aftermath out of view and there was hardly any reminder that each broken husk of a ship meant at least one person was dead.


Claire hadn't been paying attention at the start of the mission briefing, as was typical for her. It was the part when they explained whatever this particular battle's righteous justification was for the Alliance and why it was a cause worth dying for. There was an obvious formula to the ready room presentations that not many fellow pilots caught on to, but she had after the first few missions out of the Academy. It struck her as silly, attempting to inspire the troops as if they weren't already motivated every time they flew into battle by a desire to not die. There wasn't any real risk of pilots deserting when their small fighters could never make it back to a habitable planet or station under their own power. Space Force was a choice but leaving it before they were ready to let you go wasn't.


There was always a dramatic pause when they started discussing the real details of the mission and that's when she would start to pay attention. This battle was over a disputed, helium mining site and it must have been valuable to justify throwing away several divisions of the United Allied Space Force's best and brightest and so many of their expensive toys over it.


After her Interceptor had taken a direct hit that disabled all engine power and Comms, she'd spent the next hour watching the fight spin in and out of view. A United Alliance Interceptor would take out one of the Red's fighters and on the next revolution, a Red fighter would take out an Allied bomber. Attack Frigates of both sides were split into twos and threes or tens by torpedoes, far enough away so she couldn't see their crews being sucked out into the cold, darkness of space among the other debris.


In the end, it appeared to be a stalemate from her limited vantage. The battle died down, with only an occasional, stray ion bolt or an explosion in the distance. Eventually there was nothing left but remnants of ships, silence and the repeating view of the red dwarf star and the guilty planet they'd all killed each other for the right to plunder. It was possible =every last one of them had died, as apparently nobody had signaled for either fleet to come clean up the pieces.


Claire unbuckled her harness and floated out of a sculpted seat that hugged her almost as well as her void-certified, flight suit did. Twisting her torso to see around the inconvenient bulk of her breasts, she looked to her suit's Life-Support Control Monitor on the right side of her abdomen, below her bottom rib. The issue was non-existent for most female pilots but still, a system designed by men and for men.


Most prominently on the small, white box was the coupler where a messy braid of different-sized, black tubes and wires tethered her to the ship before flattening out into ribbons of tubes concealed in the weave of her suit. Most of them led down to the hub of her life support: poly-mesh underwear which were likely the most expensive boxer-briefs in the history of humankind. Universal Life-Preserving Undergarments was their official name but "iron undies" had become the informal nomenclature throughout Space Force rank-and file, a jab at their utilitarian lack-of-comfort. They were thick, a flattened out micro-factory that handled all the functions of keeping a soldier alive: on-board oxygenation of the blood, waste disposal and nanobot charging and servicing for health maintenance and trauma response.


There was enough slack in the braided cables and tubes to let her move about in the coffin-sized space but little more. The coupler could be simply detached from the suit with a twist but there'd be no need for that until she left the cockpit. That might not ever happen again.


She read the small, screen on the top of the box. Her suit's air scrubber and waste disposal were both functioning properly, though the clock was always ticking on oxygen. Water recycling was still working and there were a few days' worth of Calorie-Cap rations to be shot straight into her stomach via feeding tube. With some quick math, she determined the lack of oxygen would be what killed her, in about forty to forty-four hours.


With a sigh, Claire turned and reached around behind her seat then to fetch an emergency flare signal beacon. In the unlikely event of a second attack wave or rescue mission in that small window, she might need to signal them manually, as the distress beacons of the Jaguar Interceptors were foolishly connected to the rest of the comm system, which meant they were as dead as the rest of the ship. The advanced scout and rescue ships had thermal sensors to scan for life-signs but their lowest-bidder quality was a poorly-kept secret among Space Force personnel. It wasn't the kind of technology to trust your life to.


Flare in hand, she pushed against the cracked canopy at the metal frame to push back down into her seat. She buckled her harness again then waited to die.




*                 *                 *




Twelve hours passed with no sleep and with heavy eyes, Claire flicked through pictures on her datapad, which she'd plugged into her suit's comm to listen to a calming piano concerto. Her attention lingered on a childhood photo of her class at the Space Force School on Proxima: thirty-two, six year olds trained to live and breath the life of Space Force, including a young and bright-eyed, dirty blonde-haired, bob-cut Claire Gaynor. Another photo, dated four years later had the same group, now only twenty-three of them who'd passed all the flight training simulations. The others had been transferred to other military specialties that weren't so reliant on quick thinking, reflexes and hand-eye coordination, but she never saw any of them again.


A third class photo had an eighteen-year-old Claire in a graduation gown and cap, surrounded by the same group but now with fifteen strong. The rest had been removed for subversive ideologies, training accidents, suicides and two had just disappeared, including Claire's first boyfriend, Kevin. That was the last picture she had from Space Force School, before the lot of them were sent off-planet to one of the three Space Force Academies, where she would become a pilot and an officer. It was the last time she'd seen most of them.


The next set were pictures she snapped when she'd first arrived at the Academy Space Station. The bold, neon sign was strikingly un-militaristic and would be more appropriate for a Casino and the statues of various, long-dead Generals and Presidents were lined up out front. There were pictures from the Academy Hanger of cutting edge ships she'd never seen back on Proxima: her first up-close look at the venerable Eagle Fighter that had hung on her bedroom wall, the famous Humpback Torpedo Bombers and her favorite, the-then prototype, ultra sleek F-118 Jaguar Fighter Interceptor. It was in much better shape than hers was now.


The next picture was a selfie: a smiling Claire in front of the first "Upright" she'd ever seen: a six-foot two, regal German Shepherd, standing upright like a man, with broad shoulders and a tail tucked behind him. He wore a Military Police armband over green camouflage and carried a rifle, straight-faced, eyes-forward and scowling.


Uprights were animals genetically modified and hybridized to have human characteristics in addition to their animal ones. Home-grown, cheap labor, always kept very separate from humans. She'd never seen one on Proxima B but at the Academy, the dog-men were the posted guards of the highest security areas. In the two years that followed, she'd seen several breeds known for their strength and obedience, all standing like men and carrying guns.


Uprights were capable of speech, but they were never in any role permitting communication with humans. She had not heard one talk and it was strictly forbidden to initiate a conversation. Of course, that hadn't stopped some of her classmates from teasing them when they had the chance but the Upright canines were too disciplined to show any reaction beyond the focus of their sharp eyes. The only way they were allowed to interact with anyone outside of their Commanding Officer was a loud boot stomp of a deterrent, aiming their rifles in warning and shooting anyone who failed to heed the previous two.




The Upright canines were used for their strength, speed, sense of smell but in particular, their obedience. There were said to be entire infantry divisions of them in the United Alliance Army and Marine Corp but some of the most vicious stories were from them being used as Riot police on Earth, crushing uprisings and other civil disobedience without question.


In the years since the Academy, the MP dog-men were the only ones she'd seen but had heard of other species of purpose-bred Upright laborers, particularly in colonies, mines and more hostile planets. Some worked aboard the same space carriers she'd deployed from as ordinance loaders but their decks were the lowest of the ships and completely separated. The rules remained the same everywhere in United Alliance Space for Uprights: complete and total segregation from humans.


Since that first day, she'd been curious what they might be like and just how human these animal people really were. What would they have to say? Would they slur and pause like some slow children? Their orders were simple after all. Yet they were given weapons and others were trusted to load dangerous munitions correctly into fighter and bomber craft. The canine guards acted with a discipline so strict it was almost robotic and must require some intelligence. What were their lives like off-duty? What would they talk about over a beer?


Claire flipped pictures faster than with an impatient sigh. Bases, capital ships, space stations and sometimes a shot of a new galaxy or planet from afar. No trees. No deserts. No beaches. She was part of Space Force and Space Force stayed in space. All "shore leave" was taken in Virtual Reality simulations in the budget-conscious vastness of space.


There were no people in her life outside of her Division beyond a couple of confidants from School plus a handful of casual friends and shallow relationships. Nobody was going to cry for her like they did in the datapad movies, when they read off her name among the hundreds or thousands that had died today.


Thirty-one years of life to become an elite fighter pilot only to die fighting over a rock full of helium. Would suffocating in space even count as dying in battle?


A noise broke her train of thought: a dull thud of impact.


Something had hit the hull, echoing through the space-frame, small but a direct hit. That was nothing unusual in the drifting wreckage of a battle until she lurched forward against her harness and dropped her datapad at her feet, unplugging it and silencing the music. Her view stabilized and the ship was no longer spinning. She was being towed.


"Oh fuck."


Claire was awake now with a surge of adrenaline. She fumbled around the cockpit, the flare falling out of her lap and to her feet before she drew her pistol from a holster on her left thigh then slipped its tether around her wrist, a necessity of zero gravity. With the muscle memory of practice, she checked the magazine and chambered a round before pulling the weapon in against her chest, breathing deeply to steady her nerves. "Nobody takes prisoners in space" was what her teachers had always told her but there had always been whispers around the class that space pirates would take people alive as slaves: a far worse fate from what she had heard. All of Space Force were trained to fight til the death if ever captured by the enemy regardless and that's what she intended to do.


The canopy's view of space was framed by a well-lit overhang above her before it blocked the light of Promixa's star. The sides of a ship's hull came into view next and was between them. In her head, she ran through all the different spacecraft she'd studied but even as her dead Interceptor stopped and left her looking at the inside of a small cargo bay, it didn't click. No Space Force or People's Republic ship was laid out like this. Which meant it was a civilian ship: either junkers or space pirates.




The magnetism of the cargo bay floor faded up in intensity until her dead spacecraft drifted to the floor. A nervous shiver reminded her of the weight of her life-support tether, and she reached down with her right hand to blindly disconnect and toss it. She unbuckled her safety harness then and shrugged it off before replacing her hands on the pistol, lowered it into her lap and out of sight from the canopy glass.


The cargo bay doors crept closed in front of her and when they met, the room was in total blackness for a long moment before lights were switched on, flooding the space with a harsh, bluish white, LED array. She waited, frozen in her seat for far too long before the silence was broken by the hard footsteps of electromagnetic boots approaching in the slow, menacingly cadence of a deliberate walk.


There was only one set of footsteps. Good. They were approaching from her starboard side and she leaned forward enough to see a little more, out to the short wing of her Interceptor, right as a huge form stepped around it.


Fighter pilot space suits like hers were fitted, prioritizing mobility and the need to fit in all manner of cockpits and cabs. They were made from advanced synthetic weaves that were notoriously expensive and it was easy to tell the build of a person in a Space Force pilot suit. That was less true for support crew and their suits were bulky and generic, with just a few sizes meant to be shared across builds, heights and genders with polarized, black bubbles for heads. The silver foil figure that stepped into view made the support crew suits look positively svelte.


It was as if a regular suit had been inflated like a balloon, bulky in a way that couldn't have afforded much range of motion at all, as if the entire thing had been made of stacked tires of various sizes. Legs were undefined and the torso was almost spherical, with bulky arms which couldn't fall anywhere near perpendicular to the floor. The reflective glass, bubble head of the suit was cartoonish in proportion and four of them standing would reach the wearer's full height. Only the gloves of the suit appeared capable of any amount of dexterity. Whoever it was, was unarmed and in the shapelessness of the suit, quite anonymous but she had a gun and it didn't. A surge of relief followed.


It was the comical proportions that threw off her perception of its size until it walked past the wing, giving her a relative height. The faceless, balloon person was enormous, seemingly above seven feet tall, a size suggesting it was likely not human and her alertness raised again. It was getting closer to the ship and would see her at any moment.


Lurching forward, she brought the pistol to aim in the tight confines of the cockpit, her left elbow against the canopy and her right, mashing into her breast. The wearer jumped in surprise at the sight of her and the gun. At least it tried to but one electromagnetic boot kept it attached to the ground. Puffy arms flew out to its sides and huge hands splayed, presented empty.


Without her harness on, she started to drift out of her seat but stopped herself by pushing out her feet and elbows to half secure her. The formless person slowly moved one hand to point to the short-range radio antenna on the side of its helmet. Her helmet had one too but was built in, with technology about seventy years newer.


The hand of the figure came upright then, signaling numbers to her. One. Three. Claire glanced down to her right forearm where the suit's short-range radio controls lived and tuned it to channel thirteen, without taking her eyes off them.


"Who are you?" she barked.


"My name is Sam," a deep, male voice replied. "I'm just a junker. I swear I had no idea anyone was alive in here. Your ship is intact and your power core is still hot. It's worth a penny."




"Comms and drive are all down. I've been spinning for hours."


"Maybe they just hit your controls? Your drive still looks good on the scanners. Everything else out there is basically obliterated and only good for scrap. You got lucky." He had a slight drawl to the way he spoke, like cowboys did in the movies. She said nothing for a moment so he spoke again. "What's your name?"


"Lieutenant Claire Gaynor, UASF."


She heard a breath of a chuckle before he replied. "Well Lieutenant Gaynor, what do you want me to do here? I'm no threat, I promise. Maybe I can give drop you off somewhere?"


"A Space Force Station?"


"That's not really safe for me. But I can get you to where you can get a ride."


"Okay, deal."


"You want to come in? Or you got enough oxygen to ride back here?"


Claire paused before she holstered the pistol and pulled the emergency release of the canopy, triggered several tiny explosions that spider=webbed the thick glass more. She slouched in her seat and brought her knees up to donkey kick the canopy forward and clear of the cockpit before she started to drift up and clear of it.




"Whoa," Sam said quietly as Claire emerged but the radio, old as it was good enough to pick it up.


"Whoa what?"
Claire glanced back before she pushed off the ceiling, descending toward the floor beside her ship, her own electromagnetic boots engaging. His height was much more evident now.


"Ummmmm... your flight suit," he said, his deep voice abruptly more nervous than before. "I've never seen one so... tight. These older suits make me look like the Michelin Man."


"What's that?"


"Never mind. Come on," he turned his back and beckoned her to the airlock, a smallish room that would be claustrophobic with two of him in it, bringing them into close proximity. There was an empty, glass-door cabinet, presumably to hang the bulky suit when not in use.


She followed but kept her back to the wall, facing him, a hand hanging near the gun still. When she was clear of the door, he pressed the button to re-pressurize, a big button like a toy version of the sleek, military designs she was used to. It matched his ridiculous suit. The bulkhead door to the hold closed and red sirens flashed before oxygen hissed into the room, obscuring their vision in mist. The gravity drive slowly started to pull on them, normalizing to Earth gravity as was the standard for space-faring craft.


"So. How'd the battle go? Did you win?"


"I don't know. Kind of looks like nobody won."


"That's what they usually look like when I show up. Nothing's moving out there."


As the mist cleared, she watched him and in their closeness, saw her own reflection and her face beyond the glass. The canopy of a space fighter was already polarized so the visors of the space suits weren't so he could surely see her face from behind his helmet. "Well, I'm alive and I'm not going to suffocate in my ship so there's that. Thank you, Sam. Please don't make me use this gun."


"Happy to help and I don't intend to," he said. "I apologize for the accommodations. I live on this ship alone and I don't get much company."


"I'm sure it beats a Jaguar cockpit."


"Never had a human guest on the ship either. Just a few inspectors, shaking me down in deep space."


Claire bit her lower lip and nodded. "You're an Upright." The canines at the Academy were tall but never this tall.




"Good guess. I hope that's okay because there's not much I can do about it," he finished with a chuckle as the sirens flicked to Green and the air vents stopped. He reached up to his helmet and freed several latches before pulling it off and over his head.


The Upright standing before her was a horse or at least he had the head of one. Free of his giant helmet was an equine head with a chestnut coat and a darker brown mane. He shook it out with a bestial huff of breath. His face with long and chiseled like a regal, war statue that some general might ride, but she'd realized she had never seen any live horse in person. The neck supporting it was strong, thick and long, much of it having been in that giant helmet. "Hi," he raised a few fingers from the helmet in a wave and she gazed from him to her dumbstruck reflection in his helmet.


"Sorry, I..."


"Your fine," he smiled and turned to place his helmet in the closet. "It's not like I've seen a lot of human women up close. Especially... never mind." He definitely had stolen a glance at her chest.


Claire had half-tuned out as it was difficult to hear him with her helmet on and his off. She unlatched her helmet with a simple twist and rolled it forwards and off before taking a deep, satisfied breath of slightly better processed air. Leaning back against the wall, she sighed in relief. "Much better."


"If you want to wait inside," Sam reached over and pressed another toy-like button to open the opposite airlock door into the cabin. "It's a little clumsy getting this thing on and off and the airlock isn't huge, you know?"


With a nod, she tucked her helmet under her arm before stepping up but Sam's bulky suit was taking up more than half the width of the room. With her back to the wall and Sam's as well, she slid herself past him with a winced as her chest dragged against the crinkly bulk of his suit. Thankfully, it gave way with ease, unsurprisingly hollow. Once clear of him, she stepped through the doorway into a short corridor with a lit room at the end of it. Halfway down was an intersection and she slowed as she approached, her hand hovering by her gun again.


"Just me in here, I promise." Sam called, perhaps hearing the slowed cadence of her footsteps. She rounded the corner with caution regardless and found the door to the head, left open. A tile floored and stainless-steel-walled room with a sink, shower, toilet and an EZ Wash cabinet for laundering clothes. The sink was taller and the shower head higher than standard. A second look at the toilet had her realize it was also larger than standard: the space had been build for him or at least someone his size. A hanging towel was purple and plush, clashing with the cold aesthetic of a spacecraft head and it looked softer than any towel she'd used in years.


Even from the doorway she could spot the discoloration in the corners and build up under the faucets, hair at the drains and the uneven color of the toilet with a jumbo-sized seat left up. A man lived here alone and the room needed a thorough cleaning, beginning with fire. She winced and turned away.


Across from the head was another open room, little more than a closet with two, military-style and human-sized bunks on either side with storage lockers in the wall between them. The room seemed unused for some time and rightfully so as Sam was far too tall to fit in any of them.


Claire relaxed and walked the rest of the way to the cargo ship's bridge, with the light of the red dwarf star shining into it through the auto-darkened view glass that made up almost the entire far wall. She paused in the bulkhead to survey the scene.


The bridge didn't hide well that it had once a pure utility had been all but converted into a studio apartment and it was the messiest space she'd ever set foot in. The walls were covered in posters and mementos, personalized far beyond what the military would allow, looking more like a bar room's bathroom. A recess in the back corner had been converted to an extra-large-sized bunk with mismatched sheets and an old blanket, untucked and haphazardly strewn across the non-standard mattress. There were a few drawers left half-open of a bolted-down and mismatched cabinet.


What remained of the bridge functionality had been makeshift-relocated onto cable-wrapped arms that hung from the ceiling, bringing together the consoles of what was three different stations within reach of a single, central and massive Captain's Chair in the middle-front of the room.


The chair was built for someone his size and was sleeker than any she'd seen, with the armrest-to-seat-to armrest in a single, gentle curve and high back, tapering toward the top. The entire thing was wrapped in leather, probably synthetic as the real thing was impossibly expensive this far from Earth. It was on a track, allowing it to slide back and forth from the modified control console, complete with a long lever at the base to release it. The chair appeared to be the only expensive thing that hadn't come with the ship.


Walking in, she glanced over to a huge pair of boxers on the ground before stepping up to the chair, currently slid back from the console at the far end of the track. The engineering of the whole setup wasn't up to code or any kind of standards but everything appeared to be working and she moved closer, between the seat and the three-section console. The controls were different but familiar and key functions had been modified to bigger buttons, dials and grips like the airlock doors had been. The ship could have been a former military transport or a civilian craft but from the buttons and the fonts of the controls to the state of the exposed pipes and conduits, the ship was likely older than she was.


"She's an old ship but she's never let me down," Sam's voice was behind her now and she turned around to find him leaning in the doorway, a very different silhouette now.


Sam's now fully-exposed neck was solid beneath his equine head, a pyramid down to shoulders so broad they almost touched both sides of the bulkhead. He stood in a red, flannel shirt that fit him perfectly, conforming to the inverted triangle of his torso and hugging massive arms like canon barrels, with the cuffs ending right where they should at the wrists over bowling-ball sized fists.




The shirt mostly concealed the bottom of his torso and from under it started a pair of gray, sweatpants that were baggy and a little too short, hugging muscled thighs as thick around as her waist before loosening around his knees. She blushed as her eyes caught another tightness between those thighs, as if he'd shoved two coconuts down the front of his pants.


He cleared his throat and glanced around nervously before stepping in and fetching a blue and white mesh and cloth baseball cap, fitted for a head shape and size like his. The cap read "Hawaii" across the front but as Uprights weren't allowed in many places on Earth, it was unlikely that he'd ever been.


"Impressive work, running this whole ship by yourself." Claire stepped back from the console as Sam stepped closer towards his seat. He grinned crookedly.


"Thanks. I guess you fighter pilots keep your hands full but these larger craft have a lot of redundancies. It's really nothing special. You fly your ship by yourself, I do the same. This ol' girl used to be used for laying mines in transit lanes, back when that was legal."


Human eyes broke away from the stallion to look around the room again, slowly appraising. "I've spent a lot of time learning to ID ships and I have no idea what this is."


"They haven't made them since before our parents were born. This is a S-12 Manta-Class Minelayer. She's a big pig meant for carrying a whole space-lane's worth of ordinance but when you clean all that crap out, you've got yourself a decent hauler that you can pick up at government auction prices."


"Even then. How's an Upright afford their own ship?"


Sam snorted as he laughed and it was the first time he sounded like a horse. "Long story. Short version is that it's better to be born into the free market then the military. I worked in a private shipyard and I learned to rebuild spacecraft so I didn't need to buy a nice one when it came time to do my own thing. I knew I could make her nice." Claire glanced from Sam back to the underwear on the floor and he chuckled again. "I wasn't expecting company."


Claire smiled and looked up to the towering stallion man, who had come to rest his hands on the back of the Captain's chair. "Sorry, that's rude of me. Space Force beat making messes out of me when I was young. They're pretty fascist about cleaning."


"Yeah. Just cleaning," Sam's leftover smile went crooked with a huff of a laugh and he glanced away. In the awkward silence that followed, her attention turned toward his cabinet.


"I don't suppose you have a change of clothes? I've been wearing this flight suit for entirely too long."


"Right. Those flight suits. They have the thing that goes up your butt?" He watched her with a crinkled grin and turned up his index finger for emphasis.


"Iron Undies!" Claire scrunched her face before she nodded and smiled with mock pride. "You've heard of the waste disposal system, I guess. You're always getting fucked in Space Force."


Sam blinked and straightened out his neck slightly instead of laughing. Perhaps he was even blushing but that would never show through his chestnut fur. He glanced away and towards the floor, bringing up a hand to scratch the back of his head, waiting a moment to speak.


"Hmmmm. I don't own many clothes since I invested in the EZ Wash and certainly nothing in your size." She chuckled. "I keep some blue jeans around for when I have to visit a hub and these sweats around for the ship. I haven't set foot anywhere with weather in so long, I don't even own a jacket. I've just got this shirt and... aww heck, you need it more than I do." He hurriedly unbuttoned the red, flannel shirt, embarrassed he had not led with the offer. One button. Two, three, four. Claire watched as the towering stallion revealed the physique his the shirt had been both hinting at and hiding, raising her brow as he neared the bottom. When he shrugged it off in a rush and balled it up to offer it to her, she bit her lip and stared.


Sam was absolutely jacked. The few, human junkers she'd met had been closer to the shape of his spacesuit than the shape of his body, with neglectful diets and habits from solitary lives at the fringes of society. But Sam's towering stature and doorway-blocking shoulders wore muscles like only a near-eight foot tall, man-stallion could. His shoulders were more broad than her legs were long, with perfectly sculpted pectorals like small end tables. A thick, sculpted core supported all the mass of his chest, shoulders and that giant, corded neck with ribbed lats and an eight pack of abs, cut short of complete by the crinkled waistband of his sweatpants.


Claire was unresponsive to the offered shirt, her jaw hanging open and Sam glanced away shyly. "Sorry I don't have more clothes. The EZ Wash. And they only make coveralls in my size. Anything like humans wear is a specialty item. Expensive. stuff" He took a step closer to a combined arm's reach and offered her the giant, flannel shirt again.


"You work out," she finally spoke, still not finding his eyes. Her mouth care to rest biting her lower lip, dumbfounded.


He nodded. "It gets pretty boring out here. I'd lose my mind if I didn't stay active. I just do body-resistance stuff without a weight room. Bands, pull-up bar," he nodded upward to another addition she hadn't noticed before. "Lots of downtime out here so it's a lot of working out and reading."


"You read?" Her attention returned to his, finding his eyes. He offered the shirt again and this time she took it. It was the first time she'd touched real flannel. Natural weaves were rare in space and this one was quite soft and still warm and she wondered if this was what his pelt would feel like. "What do you read?"


Sam chuckled. "Oh, mostly contraband. Hemingway, Vonnegut, Douglass, Chomsky, Marx."


Even as she nodded, Claire realized she didn't know any of them but it certainly answered some long-burning questions that he even read as a hobby at all. "Where can I change?" she said softly.


"You can use the bathroom." He gestured back to the corridor but she pulled her lips crooked over gritted teeth at the thought of it.




"You should maybe spend some of that free time... cleaning. Just turn around and close your eyes. No peeking." Modesty wasn't a strong value for anyone who grew up in the close quarters of the military.


"Sure, I'll be a gentleman," he gave a small chuckle and turned his back away. "Besides, you're a human."


"Right," Claire nodded, crinkling her brow. What did he mean by that?


She set down the shirt on the armrest of the Captain's chair and clicked off her suit-mounted control monitor before she unfastened the front of her flight suit down to her crotch. She pulled her shoulders free before shimmying the suit down her chest, revealing the black, nano-fiber weave sports bra that kept her breasts breathing and fairly-comfortably restrained despite their size, thanks to active-dampening technology. The military wouldn't be so generous as to make such a bra standard issue but it was a personal and worthwhile indulgence for a woman with her figure.


From the flayed upper body of the suit to hips was the ribbon cable of life-support functions, from the monitor box to her iron undies and she felt around on the underwear side to find the quick-disconnect and detach it.


She was always excited to get them off which made the last few moments tortuous. Cadets often whispered that they were engineered to be mildly annoying, even without the probe engaged. Soldiers and pilots weren't meant to be comfortable.


With the connectors detached, she glanced to Sam before she doubled over to pull the suit down around her ankles then stepped out of the skin-tight flight suit. It had no separate shoes or boots as there was no need. Each pilot suit was custom fitted from head to toe, which made it possible for women pilots with her proportions to fly at all. Support crew weren't so lucky, her mother had once warned her when she was a developing teen as a thinly wrapped encouragement to study harder.


She looked back to Sam once more and his back was still turned and so she pressed the button to power down and disengage her thick, high-tech underwear. With a hiss, a yellow light at the front flashed and they slackened but did not release. She tapped her foot with nervous energy, feeling a warmth in her lower back as the nanobots that had been recharging in there rushed back into her bloodstream. A nanotube withdrew from her bladder, a pin prick followed by the worst part: the slow, careful withdrawal of the anal probe, a vital part of the waste management system that was also used to monitor body temperature. She gave a relieved exhale as it slipped free of her then the yellow light turned green and the underwear slackened further, allowing her to bend down and peel them off completely. They fell the last few inches from her ankles to the steel floor with a heavy thud.


Unfolding herself, she came to stand wearing only her bra. She glanced to Sam again but this time her eyes snagged on the chiseled sculpture that made up his back, arms and neck. A shadow drew over him, then her. In a moment, the entire room was darker and it drew her attention to the window. The ship was in a slow drift and the red dwarf left the view window, leaving them in artificial light only now.


Claire reached for the flannel shirt and rested her hand on it, squeezing the soft fabric between her fingers again. Flannel was the kind of textile she only knew from old shows on her datapad. The soft, smooth and still-warm fuzz reminded her of a petting a dog or a cat, like she hadn't done since she was a child. After another glance back, she tugged off her sports bra overhead, casting it aside on the armrest before reaching for the shirt again.


And then it disappeared along with the rest of the room in sudden, momentary blackness.


"COLLISION WARNING! COLLISION WARNING!"


The ship's computer barked from the console and the room lights came up red, just enough to see. Claire whipped around to the console and Sam did the same, at least until he noticed the naked, human woman across the small bridge from him. His eyes doubled in size and in the front of his sweatpants, a log-like mass dropped free. A slow-motion giant erupting into action, like a sea ship launching from the drydock of his equine sheath, pushing out a tremendous tent in the confines of his sweatpants before it was reclaimed by gravity. Instead of falling back in, it fell forward, still lengthening and gaining speed until it ran out of length like a stone on the end of a rope and it was tight for a moment before slackening tension sent it into a wobbly collision with his thigh. The concealed horse cock was down to his knee and with his height, that made it longer than her arm from her elbow to her hand.


"What the fuck!?" she screamed and covered her mouth, staring at the animal act, far different from how humans worked but obviously to the same effect. Sam brought his hands to his head, knocking off his cap as he clutched his head in panic.


"Shit! Shit! fuck! Shit!" Panicked, he stared down at himself with open hands, his body betraying his discretion. "I'm sorry!"


"COLLISION WARNING! COLLISION WARNING!" the computer reminded them impatiently before something hit the hull of the ship with a clunk and a tremor, sending them both staggering off balance. Sam's arms spread out to brace himself as he backpedaled toward the wall but his eyes couldn't tear away from Claire and the jiggling echo of the impact on her bare naked body. He hit back first roughly then slid down to land on his rear. Claire had managed to hang on to the Captain's Chair and her feet left the ground for a moment but she caught herself, her heavy breasts mashing against his nicest and most important piece of furniture. The tent in the front of his sweatpants rose with a throb, ratcheting up with arousal. After recovering her balance, she was staring right back at him, slack-jawed.


With a nervous chuckle after a long moment, Sam ran his hand through the top of his mane. "That wasn't so bad." But the red light was still flashing in the corner of her attention and Claire ripped her eyes away from Sam's monstrous swelling to the cockpit glass.


"Shit!" She rushed to the center-console of the horse-sized helm and tugged the long lever of the steering control hard to the right, squatting to move it with her entire weight.


Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the beautiful, naked, human woman flying his ship until the last minute when the silvery steel outside the front cockpit window was bigger than the space beyond it. They were about to run right into a massive chunk of a capital ship!




The ship banked as Claire leaned harder into the stick with all her strength and weight. She lifted a leg to kick the throttle and the retro rockers roared at full blast, spinning the ship and much as stopping it. With some delay, space started to reclaim the view and Sam sighed in relief, getting back to his feet. "Nice flying."


"COLLISION WARNING! COLLISION WARNING!"


The next impact was much harder and it threw Claire back into the Sam-sized seat before a second bump knocked her sideways out of it, like a rag doll over the armrest and she landed hard on the metal floor before a third impact changed the ship's direction again, sending her sliding near him enough that he pushed off to intercept her before she slammed into the wall. The light of the room were strobing between the red dwarf's light and total occlusion of the window by a steel hull. They were tumbling against the Capital Ship they'd nearly avoided.


He caught her, wrapping arms around her and ducking his large head over her shoulder just before they tumbled up unto the wall and across the ceiling, banging into the pull up bar. They rolled on the far wall before the ship's local gravity re-synced with the ship's rotation, sliding them back to the floor again before a spinning view of the Promixa Centauri system and a giant ship section that they were drifting away from.


Settled on the floor and stationary once again, Sam slipped out from behind Claire before limping briskly to his seat. With the long, seat lever, he slid it forward to the console before he jockeyed the control stick, countering the ship's rotation to reduce its rate with a practiced focus.


Claire sat up and surveyed the damage to the ship, Sam and herself. She looked down at her skinned knee and elbow, warm with the activity of the rushing nanobots in her bloodstream and within seconds they were reweaving the flesh of her scrapes, stripes of skin writhing under the blood. She stood shakily before they were finished, folding her arms over her chest and looking around for the shirt. Being military, she wasn't uncomfortable with her own nudity but the religious influence of the United Alliance gave half-efforts to ensure segregation by gender. Being naked around an Upright was horribly inappropriate! Especially such a handsome one. Her eyes rested on his chiseled, shirtless form for a moment in the search, finding him still tensely manning the controls and a shiver of excitement shook her.


The shirt had gone flying but in the small cabin it was easy enough to find and she hurried to it, slipped it on and buttoned it up enough to be decent. It was massive on her in every dimension, like a child wearing the clothes of an adult but it was incredibly comfortable. She turned back turned to Sam at the helm and approached before she draped herself heavily on the wide armrest of the seat with a relieved sigh, looking to the window first then back to Sam. He was tense and focused as he stabilized the clumsy ship and steered it away from the wreckage of the battlefield, toward space's serene blackness. With relief, he gave the kind of heavy sigh that only lungs of much more than human capacity could give. Only then, did he look aside at the now-dressed Claire. Eyes locked before he gave a smile and a chuckle. She huffed a laugh before her own smile cracked. Her eyes narrowed.


"Did we almost die because you were staring at my boobs?"


"Whoa! Hey! I had my back turned until the collision warning went off. The light flashes way before the voice kicks in. I should have been at the helm. We almost crashed because I was being a gentleman."


"We WOULD have crashed while you were staring if I wasn't such a good pilot and jumped in when I did," she jabbed playfully but he frowned and turned away. "Hey, I was teasing!" She gave him a light, backhanded tap of his bare arm, resting it there for a moment. It wasn't unlike the flannel, if the flannel had been wrapping a hot stone and Sam glanced back with his eyes but his head remained turned away.




"I wanted to make a good impression. This is so embarrassing."


"What's embarrassing? That looking at me naked gave you a gigantic erection? There are lots of ways that could be not okay but it was an accident." The stallion didn't budge and she reached out to take his chin in her hand and gently turn his long face towards hers. The thin, short fur of his face was soft like velvet over his jawbone. "Seriously. It's fine. You're... fine."


Her eyes fell, looking over his shirtless, upper body and its statuesque musculature. "I haven't seen many Uprights. Never up close. I didn't know there were horses. I thought you'd be..." she held her words, thinking to the biases of her education. They were animals, bred for jobs requiring hands and strength. A bio-engineered working class for jobs beneath humankind. They were supposed to be the lesser to human's greater but looking down at a bicep bigger than her thigh, it didn't seem that way. "I'm surprised you're turned on looking at a human woman, to be honest. I thought you'd only be attracted to horse females."


With a huff and weak smile, he cracked but tried to hide it by looking away again with a boyish bashfulness despite his mature age. "I am attracted to horse women. But they're built like us: workers. Muscle mass and obedience. Not a lot of curves or... softness. No softness at all. You. I've never seen anyone like you. In person anyway. You're gorgeous. Not just your breasts but... they are bigger than anything I've ever seen!"


Claire gave a small laugh and leaned in a hair closer. "Well, nobody has figured out exactly why yet but girls who grow up on the Proxima B terraforming colony have some hormonal differences with girls who grew up on Earth or other Solar System bases. The boys at the Academy called it 'Promixa DD.' It'd be a great place to open a bra shop."


Sam glanced back at her, a dart of a look to her plunging cleavage before they found her eyes again. "I'll keep that in mind for retirement."


With a small nod, Claire gave a light laugh and a waggle of her brows. "Of course, I'm big even for a Proxima girl." Sam swallowed visibly and she continued, looking down to his lap and the apparent poster tube beneath his sweatpants that rose from it, tugging taught the pant leg around one of his gigantic thighs. She continued, a bit softer now. "What about you?"


"What about me?" he repeated with an endearing authenticity. He didn't know.




Her smile broadened and her eyes found his: dark and glossy, like giant marbles but she could see the slivers of white at their edges like a person. His kind were supposed to be just animals but the darts of his eyes and his unsure demeanor in their closeness was more endearingly human than she was used to from macho, military men. Men who Sam could toss across a barroom, two-at-a-time. Men who were looking for bar fights at all while Sam would spend his time quietly reading.


"You're a horse, Sam. If horse women don't have breasts, how is that a thing for you?"


"I don't know. It just... I mean, you saw it. It just happened."


Claire looked down on him, moving her hand from his chin to his shoulder, at the outer curve of his deltoid. His muscular physique made his body hard but the heat under his coat was welcoming, a sensation much more pleasant than the friction of touching human skin. She bit her lower lip and glanced back down at his lap. She'd never seen a man embodying all that men were supposed to be, yet supposedly, not a man at all.




They were all alone in the void of space, surrounded by an impromptu graveyard of ships and dead. She was alive only for his intervention. Surely she owed him some gratitude, she told herself but knew that was an excuse to act on her welling desire. Her eyes flicked back up to his intently. "Do you want to feel them?"


Sam gave a startled shake of his head, the most horse-like thing she'd seen him do yet. "Sorry, what?"


"Do you want to feel my breasts?" she over-enunciated with declining patience for his relative innocence.


"I... ma'am your the first human I've ever met and..."




Her hand grabbed his wrist before he could finish, taking his hand from the armrest of the chair and slapping it to her breast, palm first on the flannel-wrapped softness. He blinked and when his eyes reopened, they were twice their size, looking at his saucer-sized palm mashed into her breast, fingers splayed out unable to totally grasp the soft mass of flesh with his thumb tip at her sternum.


The tent in his sweatpants throbbed again, any life in his equinehood that was lost in the nervousness or the collision overcome with a triumphant surge that hiked his concealed erection higher than before, hiking up one pant leg several inches toward his thick calf. His eyes were transfixed on her chest but his hand found the agency to oblige her and give a gentle squeeze through her shirt.


Stepping in front of him, she slung a leg over his lap before shimming up his lap to kneel in his broad Captain's Chair, facing him, feeling the warmth of his erection like a hot, baseball bat beneath her. His other hand launched free of the control stick to grab her other breast and he rolled and squeezed them with the care of a gentleman who knew his own strength but the eagerness of a very horny one.


They were mirrored as her hands fell over his strong pecs with a similar admiration, pushing against them and tracing their contours. They dwarfed any human man in size and strength. She reached down, tracing the gap down his eight pack, not finding a soft spot anywhere on a body that was everything she'd ever found physically attractive about a man's but in glutinous and velveteen abundance.


Claire leaned in close to his muzzle, closing the gap but it was only when her face blocked his view that he could tear his eyes away from her soft and rolling chest, ballooning out through his own shirt in the gaps between his fingers and below her wrists. And by then her eyes were closed and her lips were to his, pushing her tongue into his mouth.


The kiss was one-sided for a long moment as she explored the new sensations of kissing a horse. The big, incisor teeth in the very front of a squarish head and nothing but inner cheek, tongue and palette beyond them. She didn't know much about horse anatomy, upright or otherwise but it stood to reason that the natural herbivore would have different teeth. Pushing deeper until her tongue was straining, she found a solitary tooth deeper into his mouth on one side, and another below it before her eagerness woke the sleeping giant of his own tongue.


Easily twice the size of hers, the mass of flesh concealed within his mouth poured out forward and into hers, slick and warm, rippling with power as it distended her lips. It forced her own tongue's quick retreat to make more room for his and her eyes jumped open with the sensation of a flesh tsunami filling her mouth, hungry with lust. She gagged and jerked back her head reactively, gasping for air and his hands immediately moved to her shoulders. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry! I never kissed a human girl before!"


She looked to him, little coughs fading. With her forearm, she wiped the mixed saliva from her lips and gave a wry grin. "Your tongue is fucking enormous."


Sam's eyes fell shamefully and aside with a slow nod but Claire was undeterred. She planted her hands on his shoulders and pulled herself up, moving her feet to plant on either side of his lap until she was squatting over him. Looking over her shoulder at the cockpit front window again, Claire ensuring that all was clear in front of the ship before she pulled on his shoulders again, this time to stand. She balanced herself, standing over him before moving her hands from him to hold the back of his chair and making sure she was steady. Then one hand grabbed a handful of his mane and mashed his huge, equine face-first into her passion-soaked pussy.


For the first time, he didn't hesitate and his tongue launched right into her, forcing a sucking gasp of shock from the human woman. He was not timid with his desire now and with ease and strength, his curled organ slipped into her wet heat to push as far as it could reach inside of her. He mashed his fore teeth against her clitoris and she clutched the back of his head now with both hands, somewhere between support and dear life. She felt the friction and thickness of it blanket all her inner walls simultaneously. The difference in scale between woman and stallion put his tongue in competition with the biggest human lover she'd had for length, his tip finding her cervix but flattening against it mercifully rather than the angry battering of a too-big cock. In thickness, there was no competition but it wasn't just girth: he was pushing against her every, secret angle at once, conforming to her shape yet challenging it to take more.


Claire howled out in eye-whitened madness with handfuls of his mane between her fingers as her body surged with pleasure, his deep and thick but conforming penetration combined with his muzzle, rubbing his teeth against her clitoris is tiny circles threatened an orgasm far sooner than she'd ever thought possible. He'd been shy and boyish with her for her being a human but he was clearly not an inexperienced lover.


Huge, equine hands held her by the backs of her smooth, strong thighs, his grip reaching more than halfway around them despite their sculpted thickness from her own fitness regiment. His tugging buckled her knees and she held on tighter so he inched them both upward until the tops of his index fingers parked against her gluteal cleft.


"Oh my god,you're fucking amazing!" she stammered out, freeing one hand to pet his head he snorted with a delighted neigh that shook his head against her, coaxing out another unconscious squeal of delight.


Holding his head to help balance herself, she brought her free hand up to the flannel shirt, undoing the three buttons that held it on her. Eager, equine eyes did not miss the action and were aimed upward when the shirt fell open. His vantage was of their undersides and his eyes were awe-filled at her soft, tremoring globes that dominated his view, every small action or movement of her body or his echoing an overreaction in the sloshing sea of her bosom. A hand launched skyward to grab one again, with purpose but care.


Thick fingers and a plate-sized palm mashed in her soft flesh, up and out and against her rib cage, overflowing from between them before fingers came together to pinch her nipple. Her hand fell on the back of his, encouragingly squeezing his broad palm until his huge, bestial grip and her abundant bosom were a lock and key, her soft flesh a near perfect fit for his handful.


Sam's working tongue didn't suffer for the split attention and it splashed through her insides, a flood of flesh, crashing into her every need with warmth and vigor. She squealed and squirmed against his face, her hips almost rhythmic with their grinding, dancing against him. She held her grip on his mane as the blissfulness of his attention welled up the volcano of her lust to a gasping, moaning eruption.


Her body was wracked with a welling pleasure that started familiar but kept going and going past her every experience, to a frightening intensity that had her on the edge of any control whatsoever: a nuclear bomb of an orgasm. She held onto his head with arms that were latent in their response to not collapse over legs that felt that jelly. Every cell in her body was in on the orgasm but somehow, Sam was supporting her enough that she didn't just splash over him like a bucket of hot water.


Crashing waves of ecstasy beat her body like the tide, two orgasms back-to-back then three before she found enough wide-eyed cognition to legitimately wonder if she was ever going to stop cumming but Sam wasn't done tongue-fucking her pussy.


The relentless torrents of her climax began to disperse, returning control of a body now transformed by awareness of a new peak of intensity. It dispensed through her into a tingling glow, the frothy foam retreating from the shore and she looked over her shoulder to see his lap and the full extent of the excited tent of his sweatpants. In its strain, it didn't leave much to the imagination as it rose a full halfway to the angle between his lap and her body, hiking up a pant leg to his knee now, an arm's worth of equine dick strained against its heather gray prison, a coaster-sized damp spot dotting the end of it.


"Doesn't that hurt?" she mused through still-shaking and he nodded against her in reply, brushing his upper lip more against her clitoris and coaxing a bespoke shiver and moan from her. "Take it out."


Frantically he obliged with the hand that was not full of her breast. Thick fingers took his waistband and stretched the pants up and clear of it. She was blind to most of it with her chest blocking her view but over her shoulder she saw revealed his slick, pinkish cock head, the size of a large apple. The presented length was unlike a human's penis beyond its vague, mushroom shape. The tip of it was flared, with a surrounding fringe of lumpy flesh like a crown, like a swollen pastry crust of flesh. Clear of the elastic, it sprung out to slap the back of her thigh with some force, revealing more of its unusual shape and splotchy, brown and pink coloring. It tapered down from its head, thinning out to a wrist-thick girth before broadening again in a gradual swell, interrupted two-thirds of the way down by a ring of flesh the girth of her two fingers. Along its underside was a fat pipe of fuck-plumbing, more familiar than the rest of its anatomy while mocking human men in its clear capacity to deliver torrential volume. Somewhere under her were those gigantic testicles.


Hearing his bellowing voice and looking over his supremely chiseled physique, it has been easy to humanize the horse man but now, looking down at a towering penis build with no consideration of human anatomy, she was starkly reminded that he was still an animal like she'd always been told. A moment of clarity and hesitation followed and her jaw hung open, wondering what she was doing but the conforming mass of his tongue that filled her didn't know to relent and continued to wash over her every, inner, sensitive touch.


She looked down to his groping hand, conformed to a breast that had dwarfed every other lover's fondling attempt. His thick thumb was against her sternum and his index finger brushing the outer curve of her breast, with the entire volume in between filled with the bulging softness that conformed to him, flesh rising like dough between his fingers.


Claire looked beyond his hand down to his equine face, diligently lapping at her insides but his eyes were massive, staring up at her in admiration. The whites of them were more visible than they had been before, making those dark orbs look quite human again and they were looking not at her body or chest but her face, studying her reactions and he was adjusting according. Perhaps he saw her hesitation because his tongue gave an extra push, reaching deep and spreading within her, offer a sensation that no man could ever give her and showing a desire to please that few of previous lovers ever had.


It worked. Just as her previous orgasms had left her almost back to normal, he had her cumming again, like there was some button inside her that only his tongue could reach. Hunched over, she hung on to his head in both hands, the awkward reach of his long skull requiring some adjustment but then she was pulling his head against her pelvis, giving him no room to draw back. He snorted an equine snort with a vibration of his skull and a shot of hot breath blasted her clitoris, weakening her knees. "Holy Shit!" she gasped and squeezed his head harder in disbelief. His hand dropped from breast to her rear, catching her off-balance in the precarious situation and supporting her, with a handful of her asscheek.




He did again with full awareness of her reaction and the distinct equine, sound reminded her of her inhuman lover at same moment he gave her another jolt of ecstasy. Tightening her grip, she felt her balance failing along with other basic, motor functions as orgasms compounded in intensity once again. Lungs emptied with impassioned moans, barely able to suck in air fast enough to feed them. Unable to see him while she looked over the back his Captain's chair but safe and supported by his neck and his huge hands that steadied her, she was safe to selfishly embrace the full thrall of the moment.
Never had she cum so easily or so often. She'd been lucky to cum once with her military boyfriends but flesh tsunami of his equine tongue made every memory of every past one flimsy and weak. It didn't do justice to that moment to even call them the same thing and as the pleasure finally started to wane again, her mind couldn't help but fixate on why she would ever take a human lover again after this and the strict segregation started to make more sense.


In the passing and recovery of her orgasm, she was limp, a naked woman draped over a stallion like a hat, gasping for air as if she'd almost drowned and glistening with warmth of sweat from the intensity of the whole thing.
A gasp left his mouth once his exhausted tongue relented, and slipped reluctantly out of her. Breath still washed over her, bellows of heat and desire while his hands held her thighs to keep her in place against him. Her eyes drank in the small, spartan cockpit and living space as she waited for her muscles to start working again. There was a display case she had missed with a few knickknacks secured inside it including some she recognized from various space stations and colonies. Others were from some of the many she'd never been to.


Over his bunk, she noticed a couple of pink posters: pin-up girls, human, beautiful and sparsely dressed but most remarkable, at least as busty as her. They were smiling seductively as they flaunted assets that were perhaps natural, like wasn't uncommon on Promixa B but just as likely to have been nano-surgically altered. Judging from the debilitating extremes of their size, she guessed the latter.


He has a type.


The horse man beneath her waited for her recovery, having heard her cum like a tornado and bearing her weight upon him as she caught her breath. He neighed then, the signature call of his species and gave a shift of his hips that slung his cock forward to slap against her hamstring, reminding the momentarily melted woman of her eager lover's presence and incredible size.


"You... you came, right?"


Claire popped with a laugh. "Like ten times. I can't believe I just fucked a horse."


"You didn't. Not yet."


"Will it even fit in a human?" she whispered, one clutching hand moving to trace fingers down the back of his neck, tracing along the marble-like muscle beneath.


"I've never tried. But I think? I've seen it before... in movies," he was muffled beneath her with some shame in his voice. "Just not the whole thing."


Sam's cunnilingus has hit a hard reset button on her expectations of sexual pleasure and what would have been crazy not long before now seemed quite reasonable in her overwhelming attraction to him. After his paradigm-shifting tongue, she had to know what it would be like to fuck him. If it could kill her, the nanobots would probably take care of it. Probably.


One arm slipped from of him while the other held on to his neck still for support and fingers groping around for the heavy thing. They found it against the back of her her leg and she wrapped it in a grip that was far from closing around it. She guided his cock behind and beneath her, her hand right under its flare and in her position, it was only a few inches left between it and her pussy, drenched now with saliva and desire.


Claire eased her weight back, some strength returning to her legs and she was kneeling when she felt that blunt mass connect with her soaking and eager folds. There was no need for ceremony or further hesitation with her curiosity and desire as alight as his arousal. Her weight sank down and her wetness starting to part, wider, wider until it was too much for moment. A warm tingle flooded her loins as the nanobots surged the area of distress and as the spreading threatened to be painful, the upside down bell of equine flare pushed past her tightness and several inches followed.


The blunt head plunged a gasp of shock from Claire's lungs and the penetration allowed her to slide back but it was still a high squat for her. Inches submerged into her body, driving that giant mass deeper inside her.


"Now you're a horse fucker!" Sam barked gleefully.


"Holy Shit, you're huge!"


I've never been anywhere so tight," Sam marveled. "I feel like I could cum right now."
"I feel like I'm pushing out a baby," Claire gritted her teeth, stifling a shaky moan, even as she rolled her hips further down onto him, raising his eyes in concern.


"Are you okay? Do you need me to..." his concern was interrupted by her shushing index finger rubbing across his lips. Heavy breasts were now dragging down into his face, a stiff nipple tracing through his fur, down his nose and between his nostrils to reach his mouth. His head turned just enough to get his lips fully around her nipple, sealing it into his mouth before flicking its tip with his tongue.




"It's a good baby," she gives a small chuckle through a tense diaphragm, hips sinking lower still, searching for her absolute limits. By the time she could go no lower, she felt it distending her insides, pressure building at the bottom of her stomach but any true discomfort was masked by the incessant nanobots, always fixing and optimizing her. They didn't mask all pain though and she would know it if something went too wrong.


The discomfort of being so full was very real but like his tongue, the sheer size of it managed to touch her in so many places at once. She could feel the soft rim of his fleshy flare within her, pushing back when she sank down and dragging backwards at the slightest rise of her hips. She'd had sex many times but the moment was resetting her definition of it. Not only for the shape and size of his penis rearranging her insides around it but his strong hands, gripping the cheeks of her ass with power and proportions she's never experienced, making her child-sized compared to him. His short, fine fur under sculpted muscles rubbed against her naked skin in a velvet caress, finding a different friction than she would against a human lover and her hand drifted down his neck to his shoulders, tracing the concavities between hard sinew and bone.


An equine hand moved up her back, tracing her spline with a surprisingly delicate touch and she felt the fur surrounded the pads of his palms teasing her bare flesh like peach fuzz. Deliberately, Claire sank further down, over half of the equine cock nestled inside her now and her hips unknowingly inches from his medial ring. She was more in front of him than on top of him now and the position began to look more like lovemaking than a human woman trying to climb a horse.


Claire groaned out in perverse satisfaction and lifted herself before sinking down again. His hard, equine shaft plunge her insides, conforming her tight canal to his inhuman shape and size. With her head down near his, she carefully guided his to crane upwards, releasing her nipple only to meet her waiting mouth.


She kissed him again, pressing her lips to his much larger mouth, the edges of it wet with her own taste, a depravity which only encouraged her more. He was controlled with his tongue's reciprocity, poking through her lips with the tip of it and still dwarfing her human tongue but careful not to overwhelm her with it.


"Hnnnnghhhh!" His medial ring was at her folds when she could finally take no more and her sudden tension at finding her limits broke their kiss. Sam reacted in the instant, lifting her back up a few inches by her rear. She gave a slow, hard push of breath from her lungs under wide eyes, blinking rapidly.


""Holy Shit, Claire. I can't believe you can take so much of it! You sure you weren't meant for this?" Sam gave a single breath of an amazed laugh through a crooked, boyish smile.


"Meant to fuck horses?" she gave a strained chuckle in response before a shallow shake of her head. "Pretty sure, no. But I'm not even supposed to be alive today so maybe it's time to do more of what I wasn't meant to do." With her hands moved to his broad shoulders, she pushed herself off him enough to present him with a full view of her, from her coy grin down her fit and feminine body to the crude joining of her glistening, delicate sex and his brutal, tree-trunk-like cock.


She beamed in the attention of his leering eyes and pulled his shoulders to help her rise from her squat, moving up then carefully back down. Hungry, equine eyes drank her in as she moved but soon fixated on the soft, wobbling mass of her chest in contrast to her toned musculature and the way it exaggerated her every motion, from riding his horse cock to simply breathing.


She worked her way up to a slow and steady rhythm, using her arms and his heavy mass as an anchor, pulling herself up and down to relieve some strain on her thighs to be squatting for so long, even with her clearly remarkable fitness. A long moan pushed from her with every descent, surprising her that it sounded different than she thought she sounded during sex: lower, labored and of course, much longer for the length that she traveled along him.


"I can't believe this is really happening," Sam huffed, his eyes darting over her again, appreciating her every detail as they fought for his attention. She gave a smile out of her mouth-agape moaning and reached out to touch his face again. "I've always dreamed of human girls since I was a boy. And especially... like you," he added. The posters on his wall made it obvious what he meant by that, but he was still too prudent to confess his fixation. "It feels better than I ever imagined."


Claire leaned down to kiss him again, long and deep without interrupting her body's rhythm atop him. Hands reached back to his, guiding them to her sides then up into the air, her fingers interlocking with his. He got the cue and held his arms tense for her like a pull-up bar.


"I never dreamed I'd be doing this," she gave a small laugh. "Now I think I maybe shouldn't have waited so long."


"No, I think you waited exactly as long as you should have!" he replied with a toothy grin and leaned in to kiss her again.




Claire rode his cock until she couldn't and in her fitness that was some time. Her low squat gradually fatiguing her legs and the stallion was holding back better than she expected for her own overwhelming sensations from him, feeling her next earth-shattering orgasm lurking a few choice gyrations away but wanting to cum with her lover. She shifted to a kneeling position, bringing her legs wide around his giant lap which held her naturally lower. His hands move to hold her ass again, helping keep her above the rest of his length that didn't fit inside her.


Holding his shoulders, she moved up and down again, gently gliding back and forth but he was twitching in agitation as he sat below her, his powerful body cocked like a spring. "Just be careful," she smiled with a twitch of discomfort, running her hand down his muzzle.


Claire had hardly finished the sentence before his hands lifted her higher before his hips fired off, a jolt of lighting cramming himself up into her and nearly throwing her off him were it not for his hands holding her in place.


She screamed, out of balance and shocked but not hurt and she looked down to him wide-eyed and slack jawed. Darting, equine eyes studied her quickly and found her reaction acceptable enough to do it again, this time with a screaming whinny that reminded her unmistakably that she was fucking a horse, as if his giant cock could let her forget. He was faster than she'd ever anticipated and he moved again, drawing her up to just his tip before lancing her again with all that she could take. The bucking thrust pushed a sucking howl of shock and ecstasy from her.


His eyes fell to her breasts then, latching on as his continued thrusts made them practically vibrate in defiance of gravity. Hands had moved to her hips, holding her from flying off him as his hips galloped up to her with feral energy and barely enough control to not enter her any deeper than she had taken already. She felt more the animal too, bouncing helplessly in his lap, the speed and size of him driving her to explode into yet another orgasm that only encouraged him to go harder and catch up. His whinnies and neighs were relentless then, a racehorse rocketing towards the finish line.


Staccato moans from Claire kept time with thrusts that came faster and faster, the horse beneath her breathing hard and slick with sweat. He looked back up in the middle of his climax and his bestial hips bucked desperately to meet her there.


The stallion's near-climactic thrusts broke his rhythm and battered her cervix threateningly but the churning nanobots dulled what would be the worst of any discomfort. He buried himself in her hard and deep, at the edge of control of man and animal that defined this moment every bit as much in human men. Except with Sam, there was much more beast to control.


Their combined rhythm fell apart once he gave a climactic, erratic thrust, mashing against where he had bottomed out, holding his breath. He grunted awkwardly but he was drowned out by her straining shriek. Eyes locked to her breasts again, settling from the push and he thrust again to send them into motion more, pounding her deepest depths. Finally, his muzzle popped with an exhale and a hot torrent of horse semen sprayed up into her, finding her insides plunged by his equine flare. She winced as she cramped suddenly with an impossible fullness, bloated with ejaculate before the sheer pressure of it built up and burst free, slapping a high pressure jet of semen over his lap and splashing his stomach and her inner thighs.


Sam was neighing like a bucking bronco from the movies and but she was the cowgirl now. For a moment, she relapsed to mortified at another reminder that her lover wasn't human but his long head leaned in to vibrate his lips into her cleavage, reminding her that he wasn't so different from a man.


Eagerness drained from the bucking stallion and his animal noises were soon back to the baritone panting that spoke to the volume of his lungs and the width of his throat. His arms wrapped around her and eased her close until she lay draped along his torso while he slouched in his Captain's Chair. He craned his head back enough to share a gaze with her, his eyes seeming much more human now in their concern. "You okay, Claire? I've never..."


"I'm fine," she gave a small nod and a sudden, exhausted smile. "That might be the most fucking intense thing I've ever done. Your dick is... enormous."


Relieved, he also smiled, a lazy, swaggering smile. "You took so much more of it than I thought you could."


She drew back enough to arm's length, enough to see him face to face, squinting skeptically. "Are you saying I have a big pussy?"


Grinning widely, he chuckled and leaning closer. "I'm saying your pussy might've just ruined every other pussy for me." She smiled and softened before his mouth met hers in another, disproportionate but tender kiss. Eyes lidded and hands touched faces as woman and stallion melted into each other.


Exhaustion caught up the stallion first and she was still kissing him when he started to snore, his equine shaft slowly retreating inside her, creeping backwards towards his sheath.


She gave a huff of a laugh. "You're more human than I expected," she mused to herself but her own eyes grew heavy at the sight of him resting in such bliss. It had been as much a trial of her own fitness as any lovemaking and the waning adrenaline reminded her just how many times she had cum. She hadn't slept at all since the battle and the hours that followed so the fatigue of it all boiled over. She let the last of her weight come to rest on her inhuman lover's peach fuzz chest and her cheek gave his pectoral an affectionate nuzzle. A hand rested on Sam's chest, fingers splayed yet dwarfed by him and with a contented smile, she drifted into a deep sleep.


*                 *                 *


"Claire, wake up!"


Sam shook her by the shoulders with a firmness of one unused to his strength and the sleep fell away to the unwelcome interruption. She was still in Sam's lap though he was no longer inside her and she was sat up by him, face-to-face. With some panic, Sam opened his mouth to speak but another voice interrupted him with a radio squawk. He watched her as he listened.


"Echo Delta Quebec, One Five Seven this is Space Force Frigate Echo Tango Three Ninety Five, repeat: State your business in this sector."


The voice was a man and his accent like hers, from the Space Force Academy on Proxima B.


Sam's brows were raised with some concern. "Space Force is here. An armored scout ship, I think. I have to respond or they're going to shoot me." He held her by the back, in his lap before he reached over to press the blue, glowing Comm button.


"This is Echo Delta Quebec, One Five Seven. Just a junker, cleaning up scrap under regulation twenty-nine, fifty-three point two." Sam released the button and Claire let out a heavy sigh as he looked to her.


"How long have we been out? That was... really fast."


"One Five Seven, if you're here to pick up scrap, why aren't you picking up scrap?"


"Just a few hours." Sam said as he studied her solemn concern.


"I was in the cargo bay..." Sam started but Claire shook her head quickly.


"They have heat sensors," she leaned in to whisper and his eyes darted about. "They'll know you're not back there."


"...and... I hit my head. I needed to sit down... and I fell asleep. Sorry for not responding."


There was a silence after Sam released the button and he looked to Claire expectantly. "Are... they going to take you back?" She gave a small nod with her brows crunched together.


"If they know I'm here."


Sam's eyes fell away and she could feel his grip on her loosen only for hers tighten. "Do... you really want to go back to all that?"


"No but where else am I going to go?"


His eyes returned to hers just before the radio squawked again.


"Echo Delta Quebec One Five Seven, please provide your Salvage License number."


Sam gave a huff pressed the button again with a roll of his eyes. "Five Nine Three Eight Eight Five One Two Seven." His hand lifted off the button. "I get shaken down so much I've got the damn thing memorized." In a moment of suddenly realization, his attention whipped back to Claire, who was frozen in waiting for his response and he took her by the shoulders intensely. "Stay here. With me. It'll be tight..." Human eyes squinted with skepticism. "Cozy! You can help me fly. Salvage. Honest pay for honest work. Never have to kill anyone for a bunch of fascists. Live with a man who will worship you?"


Claire's smile broadened as he spoke. Her hands moved up to hang on his beam-like forearms and her eyes started to water and tremble as she watched the intensity of his pleading. It was only when his face began to light up hopefully did her smile start to fall apart.


"Heat sensors, Sam."


Lovers deflated together in silence. All was still in the cockpit as the sullen equine's head fell back, staring at the ceiling. Claire eased herself forward to rest on him again, her cheek to his chest and his giant hands wrapped around her back.


""Echo Delta Quebec One Five Seven:" there was a pause before the comm was keyed again. "Sam Eighty-Two, Twenty One: I don't believe any of these ships had hay in them," the man's voice returned on the comm and laughing could be overheard from other voices around him. Sam blinked, his gaze unwavering from the ceiling. "They looked up my license. There's a picture."




"Have you spotted any distress signals or signs of survivors? Either side."


Sam's head lowered and drew back while Claire's raised with the same welling disbelief. They stopped, muzzle to nose again, his heavy brow a crinkled mess of confusion. He reached out to the button from muscle memory and pressed it, not taking her eyes off of her.


"No? Sir. You all killed each other pretty good."


"And if we were to search your ship, we'd find no munitions in violation of regulation twenty-nine, fifty-three point two?"


"Nobody's going to buy Space Force weapons from a horse, sir. It'd be a waste of my cargo room."


"You're smart for an animal. Carry on your business." The radio went silent for a moment, equine and human eyes huge with disbelief. "And you might want to stick the salads, Eighty-Two, Twenty One. Looks like you've put on some pounds since this picture." There was more laughing in the background before it was keyed off for a moment. "Space Force Out."


Claire was the first to start laughing while Sam was still frozen. He was only starting to crack a smile and only by infection but by then she was nearly hysterical.


"The Heat Sensors, Sam! The Heat Sensors are total garbage!" His head shrunk towards his shoulders and his smile fell into a confused wince. "The fidelity on them is terrible. They just saw big blob: you and me!" Her laughing faded to a broad smile. "Together."


The handsome stallion beamed in disbelief but shook it off quickly enough to wide-eyed seriousness. "Let's get the fuck out of here. Don't you dare let go of me until we're in warp space."


Claire grinned and leaned back into him, arms slipping as far around his torso as she could reach. "Aye aye, Captain." Watching over her shoulder, he jockeyed the controls and steered the ship away until there were no shattered ships or wreckage before them: only the endless possibility of space. Her eyes lidded and she gave Sam a wistful squeeze as he reached for the warp drive.


"We're going to live out here."




THE END