Post by Willie Barbary on Nov 1, 2008 3:03:06 GMT -5
Willie eyed the dresses on display with a critical eye. Currently wearing her standard mini-t shirt and baggy, low-riding jeans, the typically tomboyish pilot was trying her best to try and pick out something a little more fancy.
The whole crew was enjoying a short bit of leave in between runs, on one of the various popular resorts orbiting Venus. On their second day, after having exhausted every surface and wall-space in the hotel suite they were sharing, Miller had offered to take her out to a fancy dinner tonight. Unfortunately she didn't have anything with her to wear to a fancy dinner. She'd left all her "fancy dresses" back home with her mother, who loved them a whole lot more than Willie did.
She didn't want to show up looking like a raggamuffin either. And a tiny part of her not squashed by her macho attitude was somewhat eager to show Miller what she could look like when gussied up more like a girl. Willie was growing rather partial to the red one in the window; made of slinky, clingy silk cut in an Asian style, with a high neck and almost completely backless, the skirt falling to the floor but slit up on one side almost to the hip. She could paint her nails blood red to match, with tiny golden dragons to match the delicate clips that held the gown together.
After trying it on, Willie was sold, and quickly laid down the ridiculous amount of credits needed to pay for it. The clerk assured her that the dress would be packaged and shipped back to the resort no later than the afternoon. Content with that, Willie left the shop again and started heading back toward the hotel. She had her hands pushed into her back pockets, humming a random tune to herself as she went.
Willie wondered briefly what Miller was up to, then rolled her eyes and sighed. She refused to turn into one of those love-sick, clingy girls who did nothing but daydream about their men all day. She was her own person. Everything she did, did not have to pander to, center around or cater to Miller.
. . . . I wonder if he's going to dress up tonight, or no?
Willie gave up the fight with a groan. She was love-sick. It was pointless to try and deny it anymore. She was falling helplessly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with a Mamba special-forces soldier who read to his five-ton death machine, called it his 'Little Sis,' never lost his cool about anything and who did, indeed, give very, very good back-rubs.
Willie bit at her lip a little as she continued to meander slowly back in the direction of the resort, her mind a chaotic jumble of emotion. She was fairly certain that Miller felt at least something for her. He was too sweet of a guy not to. Unfortunately his unflappable calm also made it somewhat hard to gauge the true depth of his emotion. He could be just as love-sick as she was, or he could just be mildly affectionate and enjoying the really good sex while it lasted. Unfortunately the only real way to tell would be to flat out ask him, and Willie wasn't sure that even she had that kind of gall.
Normally Willie Barbary wasn't afraid to say anything. But asking Randolph Miller if he loved her as much as she was starting to fall in love with him scared her spitless, however.
Willie stepped down a side street to avoid the press of bodies, not really paying too much attention to where she was going, lost in her own train-wreck of thoughts. Therefore she was completely taken by surprise when someone grabbed her roughly from behind. Her slight cry of pain and startle was immediately muffled by someone clamping a hand over her mouth.
Willie was dragged somewhat unceremoniously backward, and though she kicked and struggled, the person doing the dragging was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than her. Her angry screeching was effectively muffled by the fist cruelly clamping her jaws together.
Mostly furious, Willie didn't start getting scared until her attacker dragged her back into a near-by building, which seemed to be an abandoned storehouse, and she saw the horrifyingly familiar visage of Jackson standing inside. Along with two of his friends, the third of which must be the one bringing her unwillingly closer.
Willie glared somewhat ineffectually as Jack came closer, sneering, wrenching in the hold that the other maintained but to no avail.
"Hello Willie," Jackson purred, tone deceptively pleasant. "Glad you could join us."
"Man, I dunno about this, guys," one of the others--Bruce Donnely--suddenly called, tone nervous. "I'm tired of getting my ass kicked by that Mamba guy. I don't care what she did to you before, Jack. No piece of ass is worth this."
Willie felt her whole body start to go cold with the implications of that statement. Oh God, no. Beat me up if you have to, but not that . . . .
Jackson whirled back to his buddy, scowling.
"If you want to leave, Donnely, then leave. Otherwise, shut up!"
The other male colored in embarrassment before shutting his mouth. And unfortunately not leaving.
Willie started to squirm and jerk harder in the other one's hold, much to Jack's chuckling amusement. She half snarled, half mewled in disgust when he reached out and ran his hands down her front, over her breasts, to her bare stomach.
"That Snake Boy managed to convince Voyle that I should be placed on another vessel," he growled low, his fingers nearing her navel. "That my performance record being what it was, I would be better suited to ground work. Bastard got my jet grounded, Willie. You know how much flying means to me." His eyes had taken on a crazed glint, expression hard. "He took something precious away from me. So now I'm gonna take something away from him."
All of a sudden he grabbed her navel ring and yanked, ripping the jewelry completely out. Willie let out a choked scream of pain, mostly muffled by the hand still clamped around her mouth. She started crying then, from the pain as well as her dismal situation. Miller had no idea where she was. Unless God was handing out miracles this afternoon, there was no way in hell he was going to find her in time to keep from getting raped repeatedly, if not possibly killed.
"Lay her out," Jackson suddenly barked, his other friend coming forward with an eager grin, though Bruce hung back for now, looking torn. To her credit, never one to quit, Willie kept struggling like a little hell cat while Jackson's two friends shoved her to the ground, and then each took an arm and a leg to hold her in place.
The whole crew was enjoying a short bit of leave in between runs, on one of the various popular resorts orbiting Venus. On their second day, after having exhausted every surface and wall-space in the hotel suite they were sharing, Miller had offered to take her out to a fancy dinner tonight. Unfortunately she didn't have anything with her to wear to a fancy dinner. She'd left all her "fancy dresses" back home with her mother, who loved them a whole lot more than Willie did.
She didn't want to show up looking like a raggamuffin either. And a tiny part of her not squashed by her macho attitude was somewhat eager to show Miller what she could look like when gussied up more like a girl. Willie was growing rather partial to the red one in the window; made of slinky, clingy silk cut in an Asian style, with a high neck and almost completely backless, the skirt falling to the floor but slit up on one side almost to the hip. She could paint her nails blood red to match, with tiny golden dragons to match the delicate clips that held the gown together.
After trying it on, Willie was sold, and quickly laid down the ridiculous amount of credits needed to pay for it. The clerk assured her that the dress would be packaged and shipped back to the resort no later than the afternoon. Content with that, Willie left the shop again and started heading back toward the hotel. She had her hands pushed into her back pockets, humming a random tune to herself as she went.
Willie wondered briefly what Miller was up to, then rolled her eyes and sighed. She refused to turn into one of those love-sick, clingy girls who did nothing but daydream about their men all day. She was her own person. Everything she did, did not have to pander to, center around or cater to Miller.
. . . . I wonder if he's going to dress up tonight, or no?
Willie gave up the fight with a groan. She was love-sick. It was pointless to try and deny it anymore. She was falling helplessly, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with a Mamba special-forces soldier who read to his five-ton death machine, called it his 'Little Sis,' never lost his cool about anything and who did, indeed, give very, very good back-rubs.
Willie bit at her lip a little as she continued to meander slowly back in the direction of the resort, her mind a chaotic jumble of emotion. She was fairly certain that Miller felt at least something for her. He was too sweet of a guy not to. Unfortunately his unflappable calm also made it somewhat hard to gauge the true depth of his emotion. He could be just as love-sick as she was, or he could just be mildly affectionate and enjoying the really good sex while it lasted. Unfortunately the only real way to tell would be to flat out ask him, and Willie wasn't sure that even she had that kind of gall.
Normally Willie Barbary wasn't afraid to say anything. But asking Randolph Miller if he loved her as much as she was starting to fall in love with him scared her spitless, however.
Willie stepped down a side street to avoid the press of bodies, not really paying too much attention to where she was going, lost in her own train-wreck of thoughts. Therefore she was completely taken by surprise when someone grabbed her roughly from behind. Her slight cry of pain and startle was immediately muffled by someone clamping a hand over her mouth.
Willie was dragged somewhat unceremoniously backward, and though she kicked and struggled, the person doing the dragging was a lot bigger and a lot stronger than her. Her angry screeching was effectively muffled by the fist cruelly clamping her jaws together.
Mostly furious, Willie didn't start getting scared until her attacker dragged her back into a near-by building, which seemed to be an abandoned storehouse, and she saw the horrifyingly familiar visage of Jackson standing inside. Along with two of his friends, the third of which must be the one bringing her unwillingly closer.
Willie glared somewhat ineffectually as Jack came closer, sneering, wrenching in the hold that the other maintained but to no avail.
"Hello Willie," Jackson purred, tone deceptively pleasant. "Glad you could join us."
"Man, I dunno about this, guys," one of the others--Bruce Donnely--suddenly called, tone nervous. "I'm tired of getting my ass kicked by that Mamba guy. I don't care what she did to you before, Jack. No piece of ass is worth this."
Willie felt her whole body start to go cold with the implications of that statement. Oh God, no. Beat me up if you have to, but not that . . . .
Jackson whirled back to his buddy, scowling.
"If you want to leave, Donnely, then leave. Otherwise, shut up!"
The other male colored in embarrassment before shutting his mouth. And unfortunately not leaving.
Willie started to squirm and jerk harder in the other one's hold, much to Jack's chuckling amusement. She half snarled, half mewled in disgust when he reached out and ran his hands down her front, over her breasts, to her bare stomach.
"That Snake Boy managed to convince Voyle that I should be placed on another vessel," he growled low, his fingers nearing her navel. "That my performance record being what it was, I would be better suited to ground work. Bastard got my jet grounded, Willie. You know how much flying means to me." His eyes had taken on a crazed glint, expression hard. "He took something precious away from me. So now I'm gonna take something away from him."
All of a sudden he grabbed her navel ring and yanked, ripping the jewelry completely out. Willie let out a choked scream of pain, mostly muffled by the hand still clamped around her mouth. She started crying then, from the pain as well as her dismal situation. Miller had no idea where she was. Unless God was handing out miracles this afternoon, there was no way in hell he was going to find her in time to keep from getting raped repeatedly, if not possibly killed.
"Lay her out," Jackson suddenly barked, his other friend coming forward with an eager grin, though Bruce hung back for now, looking torn. To her credit, never one to quit, Willie kept struggling like a little hell cat while Jackson's two friends shoved her to the ground, and then each took an arm and a leg to hold her in place.