Characters: Jeff "Joker" Moreau, Liara T'Soni, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya
Location: S.S.V. Normandy
The monitoring subroutines of the ship's auxiliary systems blinked green across Joker's console, one indicator after another chiming confirmation of a successful diagnostic. His omni-tool projected the readouts into a neat holographic display. Stabilizers for the air filtration system, hydraulic brake lines, the automated flap controls for atmospheric maneuvers — all in the clear. For the first time in hours, Jeff allowed himself a satisfied nod.
Despite the Normandy's suite of cutting-edge automation, the pilot of the stealth frigate never trusted diagnostics alone. He always double-checked the primaries, cross-checked against backups, and ran the scans himself. It soothed him. There was something strangely calming in watching the graphs, schematics, and tables populate before his eyes, row after row of numbers and tolerances — and then, at last, that blessed green checkmark beside every subsystem.
The Normandy was, by all rights, a miracle of engineering. Her stealth drive worked by absorbing the heat and ion emissions from the engines, redistributing them into heat sinks layered across the hull. That gave the ship nearly three full hours of radar invisibility at speed. True, the stealth grid eventually saturated, forcing the release of stored emissions in a thermal purge that gave away their position — but the window was more than long enough for the Normandy to complete almost any operation. And if the engines were cut and the frigate allowed to drift, the system could hide her for days rather than hours.
All of it was made possible by another piece of experimental tech — the Tantalus drive core. Twice the size of any other core ever fitted to a frigate, it not only gave the Normandy her unmatched speed and radar invisibility, but let her sustain FTL jumps longer than any human vessel before she needed to recharge. To Joker's mind, that made the Normandy not just humanity's most advanced frigate — but the finest ship in the galaxy, bar none.
But to wield all that potential — to balance speed, stealth, and maneuverability to their peak — required more than a competent pilot. It needed someone who didn't just steer the ship with his hands, but with his soul. Someone who could merge with her, body and mind, until frigate and man were one. Someone willing to give his life for her.
And that pilot was Lieutenant Jeff Moreau — known to everyone simply as Joker. The nickname had stuck since flight school, courtesy of an instructor who mocked him for never smiling. Grueling drills and merciless sims had left little to smile about, especially when, for a cadet with Vrolik's Syndrome, the walk down the corridor to the simulator was more dangerous than the G-forces inside.
The joke had backfired. By graduation, Jeff was the academy's best pilot — better than his peers, better than the instructors. Even so, he endured the same dismissive looks, the same underestimation. Until, of course, he did what Joker always did: made his own luck. When he learned that humanity's most advanced warship was being launched without him at the helm, he'd acted. And though only a turian general's intervention kept him out of a tribunal after the "unauthorized field test" of the Normandy, Jeff never let anyone doubt for a second that the ship and her pilot were inseparable.
"You wouldn't be half as good without me," he muttered with a smirk, patting the glowing panel at his console with something close to affection.
Leaning back, he stretched until his spine popped. For hours now, he'd been buried in meticulous checks, and finally he had a window to breathe. In truth, Joker hated leaving the pilot's chair. Walking was always pain and struggle, and the thought of not being at the controls — of something happening to his ship while he wasn't there — left him uneasy. Shepard might command the crew, but even the captain knew: Jeff Moreau bore personal responsibility for the Normandy. From a cracked hull plate to a hiccup in the coolant loops of the VI processor, Joker felt it all as if it were his own flesh. The ship was his child. His body. His partner. And leaving her empty was never easy.
But now, in the back of his mind, Lieutenant Moreau pictured the stern, disapproving face of Doctor Chakwas — and the lecture she'd deliver if he didn't spend at least a few minutes on his feet. She had good reason, of course: if he refused to walk daily, even briefly, his already fragile bones would only deteriorate further. Joker had once joked that if that happened, he'd just stay strapped into the pilot's chair for life — not the worst fate, really. Chakwas hadn't laughed. In fact, she'd warned him she'd assign some wide-eyed intern to empty his bedpan once he was fully immobilized. That mental image convinced Jeff that maybe, just maybe, some jokes didn't land with the older generation.
Still, he rose reluctantly, grimacing at the sudden heaviness in his legs. One step, then another. Slowly he made his way toward the elevator. Joker might not enjoy leaving the cockpit, but when downtime did come, he made sure to enjoy it. And nothing eased his mind quite like his vast private collection of recordings, tucked away on a hidden node of the Normandy's computer core.
Of course, enjoying them in the semi-transparent capsule of the crew quarters was out of the question — the last thing he needed was the entire crew discovering their helmsman's unhealthy devotion to pornography. Especially since most of it leaned heavily toward the alien variety.
But what could he do? He had never been popular with women. And ever since the extranet became available to the public, pornography had ascended to an entirely new level. What once seemed like "too hardcore" barely raised an eyebrow anymore. These days, porn had split cleanly into two gargantuan categories:
The first, terabytes of human-made productions.
The second, hundreds of times larger, dedicated wholly to interspecies sex.
For anyone who thought humanity had already invented every imaginable kink, the arrival of alien civilizations proved them very wrong. Each species had its quirks, its biology, its rituals — and every one of those differences opened new doors for adult creators. Video was only the beginning. Virtual reality soon eclipsed everything else. With the right headset, you could be inside almost any scene, a direct participant in the depravity cooked up by the galaxy's collective imagination.
Want to feel what sex with a turian was like? Easy. Prefer krogan? No problem. Think nobody ever recorded a genuine orgy featuring hanar, drell, and quarians together? Think again. The extranet offered millions — maybe billions — of erotic scenarios to satisfy every possible taste, no matter how twisted.
Joker had been a VR junkie since childhood, and diving into this ocean of interspecies porn was second nature to him. His collection had grown over a lifetime, and he took pride in its variety.
It had everything: brutal krogan gangbangs, vorcha and even varren smut; tender, artfully shot asari erotica; classic human productions; lesbian encounters featuring women of every known race. In a separate archive, he kept the real extremes: asari bondage, female submissives from every species, krogan bukkake showers drenching unfortunate girls, and even the infamous "golden rain" vids starring hanar, batarians, salarians, and more — races whose biology made their… performances uniquely grotesque.
So it was no surprise that Joker had carved out a private corner aboard the Normandy where he could properly enjoy his collection. Of anyone on the crew, he knew the ship's hidden compartments best, and he had no doubts about the security of his little refuge. Only the engineers and original designers of the frigate might know of such a place, and none of them were aboard. The rest of the crew had no reason to crawl through the maze of maintenance corridors beyond the habitation deck, since there were no vital conduits there to tempt curiosity. And Joker had gone one step further: his cubbyhole, barely big enough for two people, was sealed with a lock that would take an absurd amount of omni-gel to crack. Not to mention the level of electronics expertise — a level possessed only by Chief Engineer Adams, and maybe Shepard himself.
The tiny chamber still had decent lighting, and Joker had even smuggled in a small chair — bought in strictest secrecy on the Citadel, hauled aboard at night, carried piece by piece into his hideout. The wall opposite the door was dominated by a massive screen. As soon as Joker slipped inside and sealed the door behind him, the console came to life, greeting him with thumbnails of his most recently viewed videos.
A quick scan showed the lineup: two asari in sheer outfits dancing into each other's arms; a rough scene with a well-known human porn star sandwiched between two turians; an orgy with five different species involved. And… wait. A volus gangbang? How the hell did that even end up here? With a disgusted shudder, Joker flagged it for deletion and wiped his hands across his thighs. Nope. Not going there again. Well… maybe later.
The hardest part was always choosing. With an almost limitless archive — millions of new vids uploaded every day — and search filters by category, species, actor, runtime, even plotline, it was easy to lose half an hour just hunting for the "right" one. Tonight was no different. Did he want the eternal classic of asari — sleek, perfect bodies, "embracing eternity" a dozen times in an hour? Or maybe something more straightforward, a human POV session with a girl-next-door type? Or… what about spicing it up with a quarian co-star?
The problem was always the suits. Even in porn, quarians often remained half-covered. There were exceptions, sure, but finding them took work. Truly talented quarian actresses were rare — not because they lacked beauty, but because repeated filming outside their envirosuits wreaked havoc on their skin. By the third shoot, most required painful, costly regeneration treatments. Few stayed in the industry long.
Half an hour passed, and Joker was still unsatisfied. He'd started a few files, but shut them off after seconds, restless and distracted. A thought crept in: maybe he didn't even want to rub one out tonight. Maybe a shower and a nap would do more good. But the lecherous part of him howled in protest. No, he wanted something. He just didn't know what.
With a sigh, he exited the porn menu and tapped into the Normandy's surveillance system. That took extra steps: his personal access code, triple-layered encryption, backdoor routing. No one would ever trace this feed back to his den.
Technically, the Normandy's internal cams were rarely needed. The VI flagged any anomaly immediately, and the ship wasn't nearly big enough to hide in.
"Yeah," Joker muttered to himself, "says the guy hiding in a broom closet."
He flicked through the feeds until one from the cargo bay filled the screen. The quality was crystal clear — good enough to linger on the figure of Sergeant Ashley Williams, standing at the weapons bench as usual. Joker pinched his fingers to zoom, until her frame filled the display.
She wore the standard Alliance navy-blue fatigues from the waist down, but her torso was stripped to a plain white tank top. She must have caught a rare moment alone in the armory, free to relax and stretch. And that, as far as Joker was concerned, was nothing short of a gift.
"Well, well, well…" Joker all but stuck his tongue out in concentration as he fine-tuned the camera, angling it until the scoop of Ashley's tank top sat dead-center on the display.
"That's more like it," he grinned, eyes glued to the way her breasts — clearly unrestrained by any bra — bounced with every stroke of her arm as she polished the rifle. Quick, repetitive motions up and down along the oiled barrel (and no, not a metaphor) made her chest jiggle in the most hypnotic way. Joker could only pray for a miracle glimpse, a slip of fabric, a moment where those beauties peeked out into the open.
"Yeah… stroke that barrel, baby," he whispered under his breath.
He felt his cock stiffen in response, but just then Ashley turned her head, as though catching sight of someone in the cargo bay. In an instant she set the weapon aside and tugged her Alliance-issue shirt back on. The neckline vanished from view, and Joker cursed aloud.
"Damn it. Just my luck."
And those Alliance uniforms — couldn't the designers have made them a little tighter, a little more flattering? Asari commandos had it right: body-hugging armor, tailored to flaunt every perfect curve of their blue-skinned forms.
The thought of asari jolted Joker like a live wire. His fingers flew, resetting the camera to its default angle, then scrolling rapidly through the Normandy's surveillance feeds. Upper-deck corridor. Mess hall. A shot of the Mako. Exterior cam. Another exterior cam.
And then he froze.
There it was — the angle he wanted. The supply room behind the med bay.
But what filled the frame was better than anything he'd dared hope for.
The space that had once been Doctor Chakwas' storage closet was now the permanent haunt of the Normandy's newest crew member: the asari archaeologist Liara T'Soni. Young — by asari standards, anyway, a century old and still barely past adolescence — she'd transformed the room into a private office, using the conveniently placed terminal for her research. Joker had no clue what exactly she worked on when she was aboard, but Shepard trusted her, which meant the crew did too. Even Chakwas hadn't complained that her neighbor had claimed the space for good.
From time to time, Joker had peeked in on the soft-featured alien beauty, but she usually just sat hunched at her desk, lost in streams of data, rarely rising from her chair.
Even Joker, practically welded to his pilot's seat, thought no one should sit that long without moving. But then he'd caught mission footage — Liara lifting half-ton batarians into the air with a flick of her biotics — and he never worried again. She could sit as long as she damn well pleased. Hell, if she wanted his chair, she could have it.
Well… not the pilot's chair. That one had molded to his ass perfectly. It was family now.
"If only it were leather instead of cold steel," Joker sighed for the hundredth time. Comfort and aesthetics were not Alliance priorities. Asari, though… their seats, no doubt, were luxuriously padded, built from some soft, skin-safe material designed not to irritate flawless blue skin.
Joker's thoughts of asari skin had barely settled when the feed on his monitor delivered a vision he'd never truly expected to see — not outside the bounds of his most private, impossible fantasies. Yet there it was, plain and undeniable: Liara T'Soni, utterly naked, perched on the edge of her desk with the terminal pushed aside, pleasuring herself.
For a long moment he could only gape, mouth slack, eyes wide, as if his brain had locked up entirely. It took several seconds to remember that the surveillance suite allowed for better angles — and sound. While the lieutenant struggled to pull himself together — to accept that what he was seeing wasn't some dream born of his filthy imagination but raw, undeniable reality — the girl spread her legs wide, careless of the datapads and instruments she knocked aside. They clattered onto the metal floor, right where the rest of her clothes lay tossed in a careless heap.
Liara caressed her modest breasts with delicate, almost reverent care — gliding the inside of her palm across areolas the deep shade of ocean blue, then cupping her small mounds fully and squeezing them lightly, as if testing their perfect shape and texture. Her nipples stood stiff, like two tiny midnight candies, proof of how aroused she was. Her toes curled and flexed, straining as though they too sought to help her ride the waves of sensation coursing through her body. Her form arched slowly, beautifully, back bowing under the weight of ecstasy. And her face… her young, innocent face was painted with a blush, caught somewhere between shame and a pleasure she could barely conceal. Her eyes were shut tight, her lips parting again and again in silent cries of bliss.
"Right — sound!" Joker snapped out of his trance. One sharp gesture, and his little hideout filled with the noises of Liara's pleasure. Her moans were so loud he had to drop the volume before it carried through the bulkhead. For a heartbeat, he worried Chakwas might already be hearing this symphony of arousal from the next compartment. Apparently Liara had the same thought: the hand that had been teasing her breast pressed against her mouth, muffling the next cry into a low, trembling whimper.
She cracked her azure eyes open for an instant, gazing down at the other hand — the one working between her thighs. And gods, what that hand was doing…
Those long, graceful asari fingers moved faster with each stroke, tracing her delicate lips, parting them gently. She skirted her own pearl, that pale-blue bud swollen and throbbing with need, as if afraid of the sheer power touching it might unleash. Joker realized she was deliberately edging herself, prolonging the torment, refusing the final push. Her folds trembled visibly on the magnified feed, slick with arousal.
He finally adjusted the camera, zooming tight on the asari's naked form. The new angle showed just how wet she truly was. Her juices ran freely, pooling beneath her on the desk. By now she was sitting in a glossy puddle of her own arousal, teetering at the edge of sliding right off the metal surface.
Liara seemed torn between the need to muffle her own cries of pleasure and the irresistible urge to return her hand to her breasts — her nipples were jutting out so lewdly that Joker couldn't resist anymore. His hand slid into his pants as he started stroking himself, eyes glued to the screen, drinking in every movement of the aroused asari. Watching a woman he knew — not some holo-actress, but someone real, someone he'd spoken to on the Normandy — touch herself like this… it was hotter than the filthiest interspecies porn he'd ever collected. Fingers danced over the controls, adjusting the angle, though he couldn't decide what to focus on most — the dripping slit of the young scholar, her bare breasts with those dark-blue areolas begging for a mouth, or her flushed face, twisted between shame and ecstasy as her eyes rolled back every time her fingers brushed her swollen sex. At last, he stopped fiddling with the camera and left the feed wide, wanting to savor all of her at once while concentrating on his own growing arousal.
Meanwhile, Liara gave in to the urge, her hand sliding back up to her breast. She bit down on her lip in a hopeless attempt to choke back the moans spilling from her mouth, but they slipped out anyway — soft, shamed little whimpers rising to needy cries that filled the room. Guided by instinct, by that primal need to lavish her body with more pleasure, she seized her breast more roughly, squeezing it hard. A pink blush swept across her cheeks, shame gnawing at her — whether from masturbating on her workbench or from the raw fact that she was pleasuring herself at all, she couldn't tell. Her palm found the stiff peak of her nipple, lingering for a heartbeat before she began tracing circles around it.
At the same time, the fingers that had been gliding timidly over her slick folds crept higher. Her index finger brushed the pearl of her clit, hesitating as if afraid of the explosion that touch might bring, and then she gasped out loud:
— Oh, Goddess!
Her other hand abandoned one nipple to tease the opposite breast in the same slow spirals, while a second finger joined the first between her thighs. Together they toyed with the trembling bud, rolling it back and forth, letting it slip between them as they rubbed. Liara bit down hard on her lip to keep from screaming, the sting of pain only opening her mouth wider for the cry that tore free. This was no staged moan like in the asari porn Joker had watched — this was raw, unfiltered bliss.
Joker couldn't know that inside, Liara was overwhelmed by a storm of contradictions — filthy, beautiful, sinful, divine — all crashing through her body at once. Her nipples, hard as little gems, grazed against her palms, and no matter how fast she pinched and stroked them, it felt like her body demanded something rougher, harsher still.
The asari suddenly arched her back, letting her body collapse onto the desk now slick with her own juices. Her fingers quickened over her clit, as if the young scientist had abandoned all pretense of restraint and was now chasing her pleasure with unashamed urgency. Liara began to whisper something, her breath breaking apart, and between moans the beautiful, blue-skinned alien gasped with rising delight — her plush, erotic lips spilling half-formed words into the air, too fragmented by pleasure to be understood.
Her body squirmed across the wet surface of the desk, dangerously close to sliding off entirely — Liara seemed to be losing control, unaware of her own movements.
Her fingers kept working their magic, but T'Soni finally gave her aching nipples the attention they begged for. Blindly, she found the right one and, aiming to be gentle, pinched it between her fingertips. But her body — perched on the very brink of orgasm — no longer obeyed her, and the asari squeezed too hard. A bolt of sensation ripped through her. She tore her hand away from her breast and raised it to her head, gripping the crest of cartilage-like ridges crowning her skull.
For a heartbeat — so brief an outside observer might not have even caught it — Liara froze in place, her back arching further, lifting her ass off the desk as her legs trembled beneath her from the sheer force of her arousal.
And then she screamed — loud, raw, and unrestrained — this time not trying to stifle her cries, but reveling in them. Her fingers clamped down, pinching her pulsing clit, and Liara felt herself climax. The orgasm overtook the young alien, dragging her into the sky of filthy bliss.
But instead of the expected cry to the asari goddess — the sacred exclamation that should have accompanied the shuddering of her gorgeous, blue body — T'Soni suddenly screamed:
— Yes, Shepard!
And instantly clapped both hands over her mouth, as if the name of the captain wasn't just a slip, but something filthy and forbidden — something no one should ever speak aloud.
Moans still clawed their way from her throat, but she didn't remove her hand, terrified of what might escape if she let her lips part again. With her mouth muffled, her cries faded to soft, desperate whimpers, barely audible over the frantic rise and fall of her bare chest as her breath came in broken gasps. Her other hand clutched at her pussy, as if trying to soothe the raging fire that still licked at her core in the wake of the orgasm.
She lay there for nearly a full minute, recovering, trying to regain command of her body — which, in the peak of self-forgetting ecstasy, had ceased to listen to her completely. The puddle of her arousal on the desk had nearly doubled in size, and a few drops were already dripping to the metal floor below.
Which led to Liara, in her attempt to stand, slipping — her trembling arms giving way beneath her for a moment. She nearly collapsed entirely, but fortunately for the alien beauty, a nearby chair broke her fall. She slid into it without injury, gasping quietly, her bare skin shining with sweat and arousal. Completely naked, she slowly rose again to her still-quivering feet, and then froze — whether to tune into the lingering sensations racing through her body or to listen, to make sure no one had heard her cries, she herself didn't know.
At last, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and, turning her lovely head toward the desk now soaked in her own essence, muttered:
— Oh, Goddess… How am I supposed to clean this up…
Joker had been jerking his rock-hard cock the entire show he'd become an invisible witness to, right on the edge the whole time. Jeff was too stunned by what he was seeing — and Liara was in the thick of it when the lieutenant had caught her masturbating — so he hadn't managed to finish at the same time as the beautiful alien. But now, watching her gracefully bend to pick up her clothes, he felt his orgasm racing up fast. Knowing his own body, the Normandy's pilot quickened his pace, hoping he could cum before the blue-skinned beauty slipped back into her jumpsuit. And at the very moment the peak of pleasure crashed over him, the lieutenant heard the unthinkable:
The door to his little cubby opened.
He turned toward the door at the exact moment the first jet of cum erupted from his cock.
And there, standing in the doorway, was Tali'Zorah nar Rayya.
Even through the sealed, opaque glass of her visor — where only the soft outline of her eyes and the curve of her nose were faintly visible — Jeff could tell just how shocked she was. The quarian hadn't expected anyone inside the compartment — let alone the Normandy's pilot, pants around his thighs, cock in hand, in the throes of climax.
But if she had intended to react — to ask something, to gasp, to recoil — Joker didn't give her the chance. Because that very first spurt of his orgasm struck her square in the abdomen.
"What — ?" she managed to blurt, not yet understanding what was happening. At that exact moment a second volley blasted out of Joker's cock and hit the faceplate of Tali's helmet dead center. This time she understood, and she could see that Jeff hadn't locked himself in here for nothing. One quick glance at the monitor — where Liara was struggling into her jumpsuit, still half-naked — was enough for the sharp-minded quarian to put two and two together even before the Alliance lieutenant defiled her suit with a third spurt of cum. The girl tried to dodge, but the thick white streak still caught her along the side and, over the smooth surface of her envirosuit, started sliding quickly downward — first over the quarian's rounded hips, then down her long legs. Frozen with fear and shock, Joker — and the equally stunned Tali — watched in silence as white drops trickled off her boots onto the metal floor of the storage room.
"Tali…" Shame burned in him at the realization that nothing he could say would cover the humiliation Joker felt right now. He stayed planted in his chair, gripping his rapidly wilting cock in his hand. The only thing Jeff did — almost without thinking — was flick the screen off with a quick tap of his fingers, fully aware the quarian had already seen who the lieutenant had been watching.
"I'm sorry," he said, stricken. Jeff tried to tuck himself back into his pants, but doing it sitting down was awkward, so he had to stand. He'd barely gotten to his feet when Tali stepped forward and bumped into him, bodies colliding. Jeff froze, not understanding what was happening, staring dumbly as the status light on her suit pulsed in time with her slow, quiet breathing.
— What are you… — he began, but in the very next moment, the unthinkable happened.
Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, the young engineer who hadn't even completed her Pilgrimage yet — still considered barely past childhood by quarian standards — reached out with one of her three-fingered hands, the glove made from a firm yet supple material… and touched Jeff's cock.
Completely unprepared, he recoiled in shock, nearly falling back into his chair, but somehow managed to stay on his feet.
It was one of those rare moments in Jeff's life when he managed to suppress the torrent of words struggling to escape him. He stayed silent, even as questions slammed against the inside of his skull, making it impossible to focus on what was happening.
And yet events kept moving forward.
Now Tali's other hand joined the first, wrapping gently around Joker's cock, which hung in a semi-limp state, as if unsure how to respond to what was happening.
Jeff had expected the feel of her gloves on the sensitive skin of his shaft to be unpleasant — too rough, too alien. But the material of Tali's suit was surprisingly warm… and seemingly thin.
Logically so — engineers often worked with delicate electronics, and bulky gloves would be a hindrance.
Her six fingers handled his cock with soft care, cautiously and gently, as if the quarian somehow knew instinctively that a just-spent human organ needed to be treated with delicacy.
— Tali… — he breathed.
— Quiet… — came the soft reply, and Joker froze.
Tali's breathing had quickened, the airflow indicator on her helmet beginning to blink faster around her mouth. She pressed herself against the human man, and the Normandy's pilot suddenly felt her thighs brush against his leg.
Joker had always found something quietly enticing in the petite, delicate frames of quarians, and the shape of their hips had always been proof enough. But even among her own kind, Tali'Zorah stood out — the steep curve from her slim, narrow waist (hidden beneath the durable fabric of her suit) down to her legs was so pronounced that it was impossible not to notice the sway of her round hips when she walked.
And now, feeling the most sensual part of Tali's body dangerously close to his cock, Jeff felt his arousal begin to return.
The girl's fingers responded instantly to the renewed life in his manhood. With one three-fingered hand she gripped the base of his cock, and with the other she began to toy with the tip — gently teasing his frenulum, gliding along the underside of the shaft, even brushing lightly over his balls, which were still covered with a soft dusting of hair.
The sensation was so unfamiliar — and so good — that Jeff's skin instantly broke out in goosebumps. His breathing turned heavy, and he could feel his cock stiffening once more under the alien's touch. The lieutenant couldn't even begin to process how surreal this was — Tali's reaction, her silence, the confidence in her every movement, her initiative. Nothing made sense… and yet his body didn't care.
Under the quarian's hands, Joker's cock hardened fully. She kept playing with his balls, rolling them gently between her fingers, shifting them from one gloved hand to the other, tracing the thick veins that pulsed along his scrotum. With her other hand, she wrapped his shaft firmly — and Joker began to grow accustomed to this new sensation.
Her palm fit snugly around him, stroking his length with a kind of unfamiliar tenderness, and the warmth of her glove — that perfectly thin, flexible material — gave him more pleasure than his own hand ever had. Tali pressed her tiny body against him, and Jeff, unable to resist, slid one hand down to her ass — feeling her immediately push her hips back into his touch.
That gave him courage. He squeezed her backside harder, surprised at how soft the material of her suit felt, despite its protective purpose.
The alien girl's hands began to move faster, and Jeff suddenly felt a new orgasm approaching.
He realized he wanted to hold out as long as possible — as if afraid that once he came, he'd lose the chance to keep enjoying the curves of Tali'Zorah's body. Determined to make the most of the time he had left, Joker brought his second hand to caress the quarian beauty's thighs — and she began to sway them, as if fully aware of the human's interest in her body. Overwhelmed by pleasure and arousal, Jeff gave her ass a firm slap with his palm, surprised by how firm it felt — and even more surprised by the way the alien girl reacted.
Because instead of the expected protest, she let out a long moan — and Joker could swear it sounded so natural, so real, that it was as if her wonderful young voice wasn't being distorted at all by the air filter of her helmet.
Tali'Zorah suddenly turned around, presenting her back to him, offering her ass completely to the domain of his ever-eager hands. Jeff immediately began stroking her thighs, which now moved with slow, deliberate rhythm — back and forth — as the quarian began to grind her hips against the lieutenant's hard cock.
As much as Joker wanted to prolong the sweet torment, he couldn't hold back any longer. Watching Tali move faster, pushing her round hips against him with near-unreal need to feel a human cock between them — the lieutenant came.
This time, there was more than before — much more than during the earlier, interrupted orgasm. Several thick white streaks painted Tali'Zorah's delicate back and began sliding down, right onto her adorable little ass, perfectly framed by the steep curves of her hips.
Jeff watched in a daze as Tali kept rolling her hips, and couldn't understand why she wasn't stopping. Overcome by the flood of emotions, Joker collapsed back into his chair — it felt like the floor had fallen out from under him. He closed his eyes, trying to lock the moment in his memory — one of the most erotic moments of his life — and…
…Woke up.
He was sitting in his hideaway, pants down, his exposed cock still covered in the remains of a recent orgasm. A glance at the door confirmed it was locked from the inside. Another at the monitor — only the extranet folder with interspecies porn remained open.
Acting on instinct, the lieutenant tapped a few quick commands and pulled up the surveillance feed from the med bay supply room. Liara was there, sitting at her desk, typing something on the keyboard, her eyes focused on the screen in front of her. There was no sign that just minutes earlier she'd been pleasuring herself on the desk.
He switched to the reactor bay. Tali'Zorah was in her usual place, adjusting the ship's core settings and exchanging casual remarks with Chief Engineer Adams, who was working at the adjacent terminal.
Leaning back in his chair, Jeff looked up at the ceiling.
— Yeah… I really need to stop watching porn, — he muttered. — Stuff like that… you start dreaming it.