Pinwheel Remastered
Chapter 2: Redheads

Copyright© 2019 by Snekguy

Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2: Redheads - Stanley drops out of agricultural college to join the Navy, and is shipped off to a space station known as the Pinwheel to complete his training as a UNN Marine. There he meets Raz, an unruly alien who he will be forced to befriend if he wants to complete the program.

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Consensual   Reluctant   Romantic   Heterosexual   Fiction   Military   War   Workplace   Science Fiction   Aliens   Space   BDSM   DomSub   FemaleDom   Light Bond   Rough   Cream Pie   First   Masturbation   Oral Sex   Petting   Big Breasts   Size   Slow   Violence  

I awoke to Raz’s loud grunting. Annoyed, I rubbed my itchy eyes and rolled over to complain. She was standing between our two beds, stretching her limbs and doing some kind of meditation exercises, not unlike Yoga. Each stretch and new position was accompanied by a strained grunt.

I opened my mouth to protest, but my eyes lingered on her body. She was wearing what looked like a pair of tight-fitting bike shorts and a tube top that struggled to contain her considerable bust, leaving very little to the imagination. I hadn’t paid very much attention the day before, but now her lean, svelte figure leapt out at me.

Her arms and back were lightly muscled where they were clean of fur, my eyes tracing the channel that ran all the way down her long spine, ending where the fluff of her tail began. I had been right, there was no fur beneath her clothing. It seemed to be limited to her extremities, and there was a little of it on her shoulders, too. There were some faded stripes on her skin in places, pigmentation I assumed, bleeding over a couple of inches from where her coat ended.

When she stretched forward, as flexible as a gymnast, the elastic of her clinging shorts rode low to expose two perfect dimples in the small of her back. Her physiology was remarkably human. There were dimples in her toned cheeks, too, but her fat was distributed to all of the right places. It made her full and curvy despite her brawn, her clothes practically creaking as she changed positions. I had never seen such a juxtaposition before.

Her breasts bounced softly with every movement, their outlines clearly visible, straining against the fabric of her top. They were as large as my own head, heavy and pert, her sweat further dampening the garment to make it stick to her wet skin. They might have been disproportionate on a human, but they were appropriate on her massive frame. I watched a solitary bead of her perspiration slide down into her cleavage, sparkling beneath the halogen lighting. The moisture gave her smooth, pale skin a reflective sheen, further accentuating the muscles that lurked just beneath.

My gaze wandered down to her exposed midriff, where two rows of toned abs twisted and flexed, hypnotizing me. They looked as though they had been carved from marble by a sculptor’s chisel, like they belonged on a Greek statue rather than on a living, breathing woman. Droplets of her sudor followed the lines that her six-pack carved in her skin, sparkling like morning dew, light and shadow conspiring to make them even more pronounced. Beneath them was her navel, where another bead of her sweat welled.

Her hips were wide, giving her an hourglass figure, and her thighs were those of a powerlifter. They were packed with all of the muscle required to propel the eight-foot, maybe six hundred pound creature around with the agility that I had seen her display.

I watched for a minute or two, enthralled by her graceful movements, until I noticed that one of her round ears had swiveled in my direction.

“Do you mind?” I stammered, hoping that she hadn’t noticed my peeping. “You woke me up!”

“No, I don’t mind,” she replied sarcastically. Annoyed, I flopped out of bed and started to get dressed. There was no way that I’d be getting back to sleep now.

“You could do that in the gym, you know,” I complained as I pulled on my uniform and zipped it up. “That way, you wouldn’t wake me up.”

She ignored me, continuing her exercises. I watched as she did the splits, her furry, paw-like feet bridging the gap between our bunks. She was so limber...

“This is my morning routine,” she replied. “I need to stay in peak physical condition. If you don’t like it, then request a different roommate.”

“You know that isn’t an option,” I said tersely. She smirked, lying her torso flat against the deck in another display of flexibility. It reminded me of a dancer warming up before a performance.

“If your squad gets attacked while you’re asleep, will you complain that they’re too loud, and stumble around in a stupor like this? How long does it take your feeble, monkey brain to wake up?”

I didn’t rise to her insults, leaving our quarters to search for the bathroom. Before long, I ended up in the mess hall, sharing breakfast with a couple of humans and a Krell. Once again, the Borealans were all grouped up around one table, shunning the other species and being antisocial. Why were they even here? They didn’t show any interest in learning about alien cultures or interacting with anyone else.

After a while, Raz emerged and joined her friends at their table. She was sporting her form-fitting, blue jumpsuit again, and her orange hair looked wet. She must have taken a shower. She didn’t seek me out this time, but wherever she went in the room, it seemed that one of her ears was always pointed in my direction. It was rather disconcerting, but maybe I was just paranoid.

The mess hall was soon filled with more of the recruits, Raz and her cohorts disappearing behind a wall of blue coveralls and green scales, friendly conversation quickly diverting my attention to more positive subjects.

When I was done eating, I left the mess hall in the company of a small group of trainees and Krell, leaving some of the stragglers to finish their meals. There was no work to do today, no classes or drills. The Staff Sergeants had told us that we were free to explore our environment, to adjust to our new settings.

We wandered the Pinwheel, staying within our quadrant, admiring the technological wonder that we now found ourselves inhabiting. The humans seemed infatuated with the artificial sky and the presence of the planters, their colorful flowers and carefully pruned trees giving the torus a touch of greenery and nature that contrasted tastefully with the matte white structural material. More than once we stopped to examine a plant, one of us cupping a leaf in his hand, or running his fingers through the soil and mulch to check if it was real or artificial. The Krell seemed fascinated with the molded facades of the buildings, pausing to admire the reproductions of brick and wood. Each one was a little different, and despite them all being made from the same white metal, a lot of effort had been put into differentiating them. This looked like a city street to us, but there was nothing familiar about human architecture to the Krell, this was all new to them.

There were no windows on the torus that would let us see out into space. The hull must have been heavily fortified to defend against space debris and potential enemy attacks. It was impossible to tell that we were spinning with no point of reference, as there was no sensation of motion. The only evidence was the inertial force keeping our boots glued to the floor, which felt like wholly natural gravity to us.

When reading about Fort Hamilton before I had set off on my journey across space, I had learned that one of the motives for decorating the station in the way that they had, was to provide an environment in deep space where personnel could take shore leave. There was no need to jump a carrier all the way back to a habitable world when they could take a few weeks off on the station, their environment carefully tailored to fool the human brain into thinking that it was walking around on the surface of a planet. There were flowers, simulated sunlight, the smell of food stands wafting on the artificial breeze. It could almost be mistaken for home.

There were so many people clogging the street, not only military personnel, but also civilians in casual clothes. More than once I bumped shoulders with a hurrying civvie that must be transferring between vessels, or an engineer in yellow overalls whose eyes were fixed intently on a tablet computer. Far from being overwhelming, the crowds of people going about their business was a comfort to me. I had spent far too long in spacecraft that were little more than sardine cans with engines.

There were Krell, too, the throngs parting before them as they lumbered along, but I didn’t see any Borealans. Vasiliev had mentioned that they had only recently joined the Coalition, was it possible that Raz and her companions were among the first?

After some time wandering and exploring, our little group found itself at the recreation center. It was a long, squat building where Navy personnel could relax and unwind. We entered through an appropriately Krell-sized door, emerging into an open-plan room. My first impression was that I was standing inside a giant bar. There were dozens of round tables, many of them occupied by Marines and Navy pilots who were nursing drinks, the haze from their e-cigarettes and cigars swirling around the ceiling fans. There were pool tables, dart boards, and monitors for digital games. To our right was a long counter made from what looked like varnished wood, but must be imitation, as not even the financiers of this lavish station would have shipped real mahogany this far out into space. There was a generous assortment of taps, along with rows of colorful bottles on shelves, but I didn’t particularly feel like returning to the barracks drunk on my first day.

Everything was lit by a dim, yellow glow. Some might have called it dingy, but I thought that it had a rather relaxing vibe.

I felt a little guilty, seeking out games and recreation when there was a war going on. Boot camp had given me the impression that I would be waking up at the crack of dawn, with a Drill Sergeant’s spittle on my face before I had even eaten breakfast, but that was no longer the case. If we had been advanced to this program at all, then it must mean that the higher-ups trusted us to have mastered the basics. While I felt proud of my achievement, that expectation weighed on my mind. Maybe Raz had a point, and my free time would be better spent doing laps around the torus or working out at the gym.

My train of thought was broken as one of my new acquaintances waved me over, laughing as he watched a Krell attempt to play pool.


After a few hours of cultural exchange, which mostly consisted of showing the Krell how to play poker and unsuccessfully trying to get them to curse, I decided that it was time to head back to the barracks. I bid my new friends goodnight, they were now attempting to teach the Krell recruits to play pool without eating the chalk, and I made my way out of the building. The sunlamps in the ceiling had grown dimmer to simulate dusk, and the streets had cleared somewhat. Most of the inhabitants of the station would be getting ready to sleep, the only active personnel would be the night shift crews. It was still far from deserted, but I could appreciate the relative quiet.

The artificial breeze was cool on my face, rustling the branches of the trees as I made my way along, my hands stowed in the pockets of my uniform. I was in no particular hurry, admiring the décor as I wandered. The torus was usually split into two halves by rows of planters, benches, and kiosks that ran down the middle. Here, however, I came across a series of decorative wooden trellises that had been erected in their place. The plants had been encouraged to grow around them, creating a sort of tunnel of foliage and flowers.

I made my way inside, noting that the carefully curated trees and hedges obscured the buildings to either side of me from view. The designers had used a lot of little tricks like that, playing with people’s perception to stave off the cabin fever in any way that they could. In one moment I was on a street, and in the next, I was surrounded by green leaves. I marveled at how I could be almost completely alone on a space station with a population the size of a large town. The Pinwheel truly was a feat of engineering.

I heard a rustling sound that snapped me back to reality, and I paused to look around. I couldn’t see anyone, perhaps it had been the wind? I started walking again, but once more an odd rustling noise stopped me in my tracks. It had definitely sounded like something large moving through the bushes, but I couldn’t see any sign of anyone. The narrow walkway between the planters was deserted.

I felt the hair on my neck stand on end all the same. Could it be Raz, trying to fuck with me again? Surely she had better things to do than to stalk me as a practical joke? Wait...

Was I scared of Raz? The notion that I would let her childish teasing get to me was absurd, I was a grown man, an aspiring Marine at that. And yet the idea of her lurking in the bushes between the trellises, watching me like some kind of man-eating tiger, filled me with dread. She clearly had problems socializing, and she hadn’t hesitated to get physical with me, even in front of our superiors.

I took off walking, a little faster now, not a frightened run but a healthy power-walk. I wanted to be out of this little garden area and into the open as soon as possible. A chill slid down my spine like a melting ice cube as I heard a twig snap. My ancient fight or flight reflexes kicked in, and I bolted. As if I was running in slow-motion, an orange blur exploded out of the undergrowth in a shower of leaves, covering the distance between us in the space of a second. It slammed into my back, sending me sprawling across the deck. I wanted to cry out, but the wind had been knocked out of me.

I rolled onto my back, intending to get up and face my assailant, but the blur was on me faster than I could blink. My wrists were pinned to the floor by what felt like furry manacles, their grip like iron. I felt its weight as it mounted me, pressing me down, a pair of round thighs gripping me like the jaws of a trap to prevent me from wriggling loose.

A pair of glowing, yellow eyes peered down at me in the gloom, the pupils round and dilated. The eyes drew closer, a mop of hair tickling my cheek, and I tensed as I felt the prick of pointed fangs against my jugular. I closed my eyes, and to my shame, a low whimper escaped my lips. I had been shot at with live ammunition in basic, I had spacewalked without a tether, but I had not been prepared for an animal attack. I was scared out of my wits, a deep and primal fear overpowering me. It held its fangs there for a few seconds, pressing them into my skin, not enough to draw blood but enough to be uncomfortable. I lay there, as still as a statue as I felt warm breath blowing on my neck, and then the teeth drew back.

“You die again, tree climber.”

“R-Raz?” I stammered, indignation warming my icy blood. “I knew it was you, you bitch!”

She released me and stood up, laughing at me as I shuffled away from her on the ground. Thinking better of it, I rose to my feet, brushing dirt off my coveralls and nursing a skinned palm.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded, checking myself for cuts and scrapes. “You’re out of line, Raz. What’s your fucking problem?”

My heart was racing, but she just stood there with her hands planted on her hips, grinning at me as her long tail waved back and forth. Both of her fuzzy ears were tracking me as she waited for me to finish, probably savoring the reaction that she had gotten out of me.

“Just another notch on my belt, tree climber,” she finally replied. “I thought you guys were the apex predators on your homeworld? Yet you ran away like a prey animal, and you didn’t even get very far! Then you whimpered like a kitten when I caught you,” she added, leering at me in a way that made me very uncomfortable. She was so smug, as if she had just won an argument, or proven some kind of point. I didn’t know what kind of game she thought she was playing, but I was rattled and angry.

“You think this is a joke?” I asked, “is this fun for you? You could have really hurt me!”

“Yeah, you’re pretty fragile,” she said with a nod. I was livid, a broken bone or a scuffed knee might be easily repaired in a medical bay, but she was flaunting the social contract. She had no respect for me, not for my health, nor for my personal space. Her behavior was baffling, inexcusable. Was she legitimately insane? A sociopath?

“You can’t do this,” I grumbled, “I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” she demanded, leaning down to eye-level with me and resting her hands on her knees as though she was addressing a child. “You gonna report me? Gonna go crying to the Staff Sergeants and tell ‘em that mean old Raz is picking on you?”

“Maybe I will!” I shot back. She took a step toward me, and I took a step away from her.

“Go on then, monkey, report me. It won’t do you any good. My father is the Patriarch of Elysia, he’s the most powerful man on Borealis. If your UNN sent me home, it would sour relations.”

“So ... you’re only here because they want to appease your father?” I asked. Raz was taken aback by my remark, her brow furrowing and her pink lips pulling back to bare her sharp teeth in a snarl. She took another step forward, and I took another step back in turn.

“Are you implying that I don’t deserve to be here?” she spat. “I’m a better warrior than any of you scrawny little tree climbers. I don’t know why my father wants an alliance with the humans so badly,” she added with a sneer. “Everyone back home is so impressed with your shiny space fleet and your superlight drives, but you can’t fight. You aren’t strong where it really counts, like we are. Ten of your Marines couldn’t take on a single unarmed Borealan warrior.”

I had struck a nerve, apparently, and I wasn’t about to let up.

“So you’re a spoiled daddy’s girl with an inferiority complex, is that it?” I jeered. “You’re from a primitive backwater that couldn’t even discover superlight technology on their own, and that’s why you have such a huge stick up your ass? Now it all makes sense!”

Raz recoiled, hurt by my obviously correct assessment of her. Her round ears flattened against her hair, and her flexible tail seemed to sag.

“And we don’t climb trees!” I shouted, seizing the moment. Emboldened, I darted forward and punched her in the gut as hard as I could, immediately regretting the decision as my fist crumpled against her rock-hard abdominal muscles. She stood there for a moment, watching me dance and wave my injured hand, then she reached out and casually pushed me into a nearby bush.

“Like I said ... you can’t fight,” she muttered, wandering off into the darkness as I struggled to free myself from the foliage.


The next time that I saw Raz, I was in the mess hall, shortly before lights out. I was eating some rather well-crafted French onion soup at a table with some of my friends, when I saw her enter the room and navigate to the preferred table of the Borealans.

I had cooled down somewhat after our earlier encounter on the torus. I was still angry at her for her immaturity and disrespect, but I was worried that I might have really hurt her feelings. I had jammed a proverbial fork in her eye the moment that I had seen an opening. Maybe it had been wrong to play off her insecurities like that. She certainly didn’t deserve my sympathy, but I figured that I should try to make up with her, for my own sake if not for hers. I still had to live with her for the next several months.

I noticed that one of her round ears was still tracking me, at least she wasn’t mad enough to ignore me entirely.

It was probably a better idea to make up with her now, rather than to wait until we were back in our quarters where it might come off forced. Or worse, her retribution would be out of view of the other trainees and staff...

Gingerly, I left my seat, approaching the Borealans. Their orange heads turned to track me, the whole table staring at me with their eerie, yellow eyes as I approached from behind Raz. Her tail was trailing on the floor like a fuzzy snake, and I sidestepped it, careful to avoid treading on the appendage. She continued to eat nonchalantly, one of her ears facing backward.

“Hey Raz,” I began, “can we ... uh ... can we talk about what happened earlier today?”

Her ear flicked, was that amusement? Annoyance? She continued to face forward, her claws sinking deep into her steak as she chewed into it, the red juices staining her furry fingers as I waited for a response.

“What’s wrong, tree climber?” she chided over a mouthful of meat. “You back for a rematch?”

“A ... rematch?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow in confusion.

“Yeah. I told my pack about how you challenged me to a fight earlier and got trounced.”

“‘I’ challenged ‘you’ to a fight?” I asked, my cheeks flushing as I started to get angry again. “That’s not how I remember it. I came here to make peace, and you’re telling people lies about me?”

“No need to be a sore loser,” she shot back, taking another bite out of her steak. “You thought that you could take me, and you failed. Maybe now you’ll respect Borealan fighting prowess.”

I was shocked by her audacity, and I couldn’t believe that I had ever felt sorry for her. I stormed back to my table, returning to my soup as her cohorts laughed and spat what must have been insults in their feline language. I hadn’t told anyone about the incident, and my friends were confused by my dour mood. I didn’t need word getting around about my feud with Raz. I had worked my ass off to get here, and my future was on the line. Raz was just a pampered brat with family in high places, she was only here as a token to appease her father.

I would keep this under my hat, and I’d either deal with it myself or hope that she slipped up in a way that the Staff Sergeants couldn’t ignore. I spooned soup into my mouth, no longer appreciating the flavor.


Not long after, Vasiliev called for us to make our way to our bunks over the P.A system. What few recruits were still dawdling in the mess hall filed out, mingling and chatting amongst themselves, save for the Borealans who remained in their ‘pack’ as Raz had called it. They must be very tribal creatures, which might go some way toward explaining their shitty attitude.

As I neared room forty-seven and my small group of friends parted ways, I realized that much of my courage was just bluster. I was afraid of being alone in a room with Raz. I didn’t believe that she would seriously injure me, but her bullying was wearing on my nerves, and wondering what she might get up to next was making me anxious.

I should be focusing on my training, not worrying about what she might be doing, or where she might be lying in wait for me. I seriously considered lodging a complaint with Vasiliev about her attitude, but came to the conclusion that it would only make me look bad. There was little evidence of her mistreatment besides for hearsay, and the incident at the pool. But even then, what would be my complaint? That Raz was ‘being mean to me’? It was a surefire way to draw unwanted scrutiny, and potentially the ire of the officers, who might see it as a sign of weakness.

I was distracted from my thoughts as a large, orange hand ruffled my hair, a little too forcefully to be described as affectionate. I ducked away, turning to see Raz grinning down at me.

“Ready for bed, roomie?” she purred. Her saccharine display might fool the other trainees crowding around the dorms, but not me. I scowled at her, and she gave me an exaggerated pout. “What’s the matter, are we not friends anymore, little monkey?”

I ignored her, making my way into the room, and she followed in behind me. She closed the door, then strode over to her bunk, sitting down and crossing her long legs. The mattress sagged under her weight, the springs creaking, and she bobbed one of her paw-like feet in the air as she watched me change. As I stripped off my uniform and pulled on my pajama pants, I heard her croon from across the room, turning to see her eyes lingering on my naked torso as her long tail waved back and forth idly.

“Maybe an adolescent, rather than a kitten,” she muttered. “You’re pretty developed.”

I put on my pajama top, covering myself as she smirked at me.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, stowing my boots in my locker.

“You’re short, but your body is pretty developed, like a kitten who had been lifting weights.” She chuckled to herself, apparently enjoying the mental image that she had conjured. “Or maybe an especially stunted adolescent who was trying to catch the eye of a girl that he liked.”

I went back to folding my uniform, trying to ignore her.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend, Mister Monkey?”

“Of course I have,” I replied. Giving her a reaction was probably counterproductive, but the day had been long, and she was trying my patience.

“I don’t think you have, you’re far too small. Is that why you’ve been working so hard, so that you can impress one of the girls? Which one do you like?”

I paid no attention to her, closing my locker and climbing into bed.

“I bet it’s that one with the yellow hair and the big boobs, right?” she prodded as I threw the covers over myself. “Well, big for a monkey, anyway.”

She stood and began to pull down the zipper on her uniform, disrobing as I lay in my bunk and tried not to stare at her too conspicuously. She dragged it down from the collar to her belt line, the weight of her breasts parting the tight-fitting garment, even from within the tube top that she wore beneath. Once again, I caught a glimpse of her sculpted abs, the perfect rows of muscle catching the light as they emerged from the shadow of her clothing. They flexed as she leaned forward to tug the lower half of her coveralls down, bulging from beneath her porcelain skin. She gave me a view down her cleavage in the process, her top compressing the two heavy globes of fat together. They wobbled gently as she danced on the spot, struggling to get the uniform down past her hips, then she stepped out of it and threw it haphazardly into her locker.

“I can’t believe how small some of those human girls are,” she muttered, slamming the locker and running her clawed fingers through her mop of orange hair. She yawned widely and exposed her pointed teeth, then turned her back to me as she appraised her bunk for a moment, stooping to rearrange the pillows. The alien hadn’t made her bed even once, it looked like a giant rat’s nest, and she seemed to prefer it that way. I caught an eyeful of her rear, the elastic of her bike shorts doing nothing to conceal her firm, round cheeks. My eyes wandered down to her milky thighs, I could see her blue bedspread through the gap between them.

“So what’s your type, tree climber?” she continued as she flopped down onto the mattress. She rolled over to face me, resting her cheek in her fuzzy palm. She must have noticed that I was blushing, because she smiled, striking an overly dramatic pin-up girl pose on her bunk. “How about me?”

I couldn’t stop my gaze from following the curves of her body as she lay on her side, her wide hips tapering into a pinched waist, her heavy breasts spreading under their own weight beneath the insubstantial fabric of her top. I traced the prominent outline of her hip bone down toward the waistband of her tantalizingly low-cut shorts, the black material contrasting with her lily-white skin.

I felt a twinge in my loins, a dangerous, inappropriate twitch. I broke away and turned my eyes toward the floor, my cheeks flushing. Raz brought a furry hand up to her mouth to stifle a laugh, apparently entertained by my reaction.

“I like making you go red, tree climber. Unfortunately for you, I’m off-limits.”

“You’re crazy,” I began, “as if I’d ever-”

“If I fucked you, you’d probably die,” she interrupted as if it were a matter of fact. Then she rolled back onto her bed, lying spread-eagled as she laughed at my embarrassment.

“H-how can you-” I stammered, completely blindsided by her vulgarity and her lack of tact.

“Don’t worry, monkey boy, we’ll find you a girlfriend. Maybe we’ll have a look in the trees on the way to drill tomorrow morning. Oh, I forgot, you don’t climb trees.” She rolled around, holding her stomach and pretending to be wounded. “Oh no! The human has punched me, my organs have liquefied! Bleh!”

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth as she played dead, and I was surprised by its length. It was almost as long as my forearm and covered in what looked like dull barbs, pink in color with a tapered tip.

I rolled over and put my back to her, trying to focus on the upcoming drill rather than my roommate’s childish antics. Her chuckling eventually died down, and she began to snore. I pulled the sheets tighter around me, trying not to think about the involuntary swelling in my shorts.

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