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As a rule of thumb, the intergalactic bounty hunter known as Samus Aran was only willing to work with one person on missions after the death of Adam. That person was Samus Aran, so to put it in the words of one of the greatest ancient actors from Earth, playing one of the greatest action-horror-camp characters to ever grace a silver screen: she considered herself an alone wolf. Not a lone wolf, an alone wolf.
It was uncommon for her to have any other living being on her ship barring the occasional spacefaring hitch-hiker or escort mission. And yet… Samus glanced away from the ship’s window out into the endless expanse to the space between the pilot’s seat, and the co-pilot’s seat. There was a drink holder there, as there would be for any modern vehicle, and like any between-seat drink holder it had spaces for two cups. She always had a bottle of water on hand; the second drink holder rarely saw any use unless, say, she wanted a place to tuck a wrapped-up sandwich ‘till it came time to have lunch.
And yet there was a second bottle from her ship’s kitchen there, dark and blue where hers was bright and orange. Though Samus didn’t mind the company of the other woman aboard her ship, she had to admit it was a little jarring. Distracting. A tiny detail she kept noticing out of the corner of her eye, like a painting at the slightest of skews. Not worth fretting over or getting up to adjust, but bothersome all the same. Samus didn’t like distracting things, and she sure as hell didn’t like bothersome things either.
… Yeah, Samus thought to herself. No, I’m definitely fine with her. It’d be weird not to be, she reflected, glancing up at the rear-view mirror above her seat, slanted to give her a view of her ship’s interior behind her. She sure as fuck wasn’t ever going to use it to back up a spaceship, but a few close calls with space pirates had the blonde taking a few precautions, rather than leave her safety up to chance. Sure, she was seen as a hero all throughout Federation-controlled space, but where chaos and anarchy reigned supreme, there was no shortage of bounties on the hunter’s head.
The other woman was exactly where she was the last time Samus glanced at her, unsurprisingly. Samus’ ship was no pleasure barge, but rather a heavily customized gunship; originally, it had been little more than a mobile weapon platform purchased on the cheap, before she really made a name for herself. A great deal of her income went towards fixing it up to serve as her living space, mid-mission headquarters and between-mission office. Old turret bays had been refitted into a bedroom and bathroom, a kitchen and workspace. The central area could swap between a living room and strategy room. One word from Samus’ lips, and the seating area would sink away and be replaced with a holo-map table.
Samus’ glance ended up being a little more than that. It became a stare. Studying the other woman, she was tempted to speak that word to her ship’s AI. She knew it would have been petty of her to do, though, and there was no reason for Samus Aran to be petty . After all, she was definitely fine with her presence. The woman was about as tall as Samus, making her damn-near Amazonian in stature. 6’3 bordering on 6’4, and even taller when in her armor or Zero Suit, both having heels. Her body matched Samus’ blow-for-blow, too, slim yet toned all over, a hard body earned through exercise and exertion and years of combat.
Not a body without softness, though; it had that in spades. For all the toning, the other woman (and Samus, too) hadn’t lost any of her femininity. Perhaps it was a byproduct of what the Chozo did to her, or perhaps her natural genetics were just ridiculously fucking unfair to every other woman that came before and after them. Her abs were just a soft ripple across her stomach, broken by the dip of her navel. There was little fat on her hips, certainly, which were wide, curved and womanly, but the other woman’s ass was noticeably lush. The shapely cheeks of her ass were firm, as though they were tightly packed beneath the skin, but not so tight that they had no sway or jiggle as she moved.
Samus breathed out softly. It was an amazing ass. She happened to have one just like it, though her passenger’s was a fair bit paler than her own. It was no mistake that the bounty hunter got such a good look at it– a very brazen, bold look at it. The other woman was lewdly posed upon the couch, her hips raised high and thrusted backwards, thighs parted. As she watched, Samus could see her passenger’s asshole more often than not, a tight and puckered little hole that came across as prim and precious. Delicate and princess-like, as though its owner couldn’t break most men in half in a fight.
It afforded Samus a long look at the woman’s pussy as well, just below it. The slit leading to the passenger’s other hole was a little less princess-like, its shade falling somewhere between purple, pink and blue, as though she were some alien. Swollen with a dark, lusty flush, it also swelled in another way: she was amply slick, and only getting slicker with each passing moment. The upper half of her torso was dipped low, one forearm serving as a cushion for her cheek while her other hands reached beneath herself, between her spread thighs. Long, graceful fingers ending in purple-painted nails briskly rubbed at her clit, shamelessly jilling herself. That was what she had spent most of their trip doing so far, and Samus suspected it was what she would do for the rest of it, too.
The blonde bounty hunter shifted her hips in her seat, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, thighs absently squeezing together. Her eyes flicked to another one of the mirrors that let her check her six, observing the so-similar woman from another angle. After a moment, without taking a moment to consider the action, her fingers flicked to hit the autopilot switch. Her study of the other woman continued, slowly wetting her own lush lips. Samus’ passenger was, at a generous estimate, seventy percent naked. Just like the jilling, she’d been that way for most of the trip and probably for the rest of it too. A tight sports bra hugged over her breasts, full and hefty, completing the topside of her hourglass figure.
Samus’ sports bra. Her favorite one and her only one, with how much the stupid fucking things costed. The sight needled at Samus, who once more reminded herself she was totally fine with the other woman on her turf, because it would have been very weird not to be fine with her. Sweat shone on her body, and her dark blue hair was a bit mussed from the day’s activity, about as long as Samus’ and in a high-standing ponytail. Slowly, the blonde bounty hunter reached up and plucked her earbuds out of her ears. They had not been playing any music or even a spacecast.
No, Samus just kept them in to block out the noise her passenger was making. The second they were out of her ears, she could hear the woman’s familiar moaning and the obscene wet schlop that her fingers managed to make; the noises of her pleasure competed with that of the porn she was watching on the holoscreen.
Samus sighed and put her earbuds into their case, spinning in her chair to take a direct look at that with definitely zero interest; some tall, dark and handsome older stranger with a strong jaw in a ValueShop uniform boning down one of his coworkers, a woman perhaps half his age with riotous hair. A woman who looked suspiciously like a certain legendary warrior princess stood over them in full latex, smirking down at them. “Seriously?” the blonde muttered.
Just a year back, they had started cloning ancient Earth actors to play out pornographic parodies of their works. It was pretty fucked, and Samus definitely didn’t find it arousing. In fact, she definitely found the whole cloning thing a little off putting, and not just because it was all her fault. The Federation’s citizens believed phazon was destroyed across the galaxy, and that it could never again pose a threat to them.
Not quite. Almost, but not quite. Thanks to her actions, the Federation’s government had found another source of it. It wasn’t all bad. As a sentient super-organism, phazon was happy to be used for scientific miracles and an endless source of green energy, stopping climate change in its tracks across various worlds. Provided, of course, that its humanoid avatar got to live life to its fullest and enjoy all the sorts of things that proper humanoids could do. It had gotten a taste for two-legged locomotion as Dark Samus.
And that was why Samus definitely couldn’t mind the presence of her passenger, who in fact regularly joined her on missions. She was closer to a partner than a passenger; now, Samus was no longer an alone wolf. The other woman matched Samus to a T because she was Samus– Dark Samus. Separate, different, yet distinctly her. Phazon’s avatar. Samus had been unconscious and recovering from their final battle when the Federation’s brass cut the deal with the phazon superorganism, and had little say in the matter– something she wasn’t happy about, but what was she going to do? Toss what was effectively her phazon clone out an airlock when it wasn’t being a little galaxy-destroying shit anymore?
Nope. The situation didn’t feel all that different from what happened with her Baby, but for the fact that phazon had human-like sentience and Dark Samus had limbs and a hot bod instead of being a floating space-jellyfish with teeth. “Hey,” Samus spoke up, uncrossing her legs and ignoring the building need inside of her as she began to rise, “did you wash the dishes like you were supposed to?”
“In–in a minute,” the other woman gasped out, which was exactly what she said every other fucking time Samus reminded her to pull her weight outside combat or the bedroom. “Just gotta… one more… so close, so close,” she panted, as though the dozen or so orgasms she had rubbed out that day hour alone had not been enough. Dark Samus was a bit of a mouthful, and calling her phazon seemed wrong. So, she’d given her a different name.
“Come the fuck on, Phaza. There’s a dishwasher! It takes two minutes to load and hit the button,” Samus glanced towards the ceiling of her ship, wondering why she even bothered asking. The only chore that Phaza didn’t complain about doing was washing clothes, and the blonde bounty hunter knew that was only because her washer-dryer combo rattled and rocked something fierce. Before Phaza caught on, she herself had quite enjoyed sitting on it while it did its job.
“Uhhhh,” Phaza moaned most coherently, lowered shoulders starting to shake as she neared her orgasm.
Samus rolled her eyes and shaked her head, hands lifting in a gesture of exasperation as she prowled across the ship. It was tempting to go to Phaza and take out some of her irritation in either a lusty or violent way, or maybe both. Instead, however, Samus chose to play the part of a responsible adult who actually bothered to put on pants when she woke up in the morning. Yoga pants, admittedly, blue and tight-fitting and clinging to her toned legs like a second skin, but pants nonetheless. She entered the ship’s quaint kitchen, only meant for one person, and began to move the piled-high dishes in the sink into the machine.
Yoga had become something of a religion unto itself in humanity’s space-faring future, though Samus wasn’t a worshiper, just a casual practitioner.
Despite Samus’ claims, it took three minutes to load the dishwasher. Three intensely boring minutes that felt like they lasted about five times as long. If Phaza had done the dishes at any point when she was supposed to, Samus would have understood why she kept putting off the simple chore. She really didn’t have any excuse other than being one of the worst sex addicts in the universe, however. One of the very first things that Phaza did upon being outside of her armor for the first time was give her naked body a thorough exploration, and– well.
Getting off was the ultimate human pleasure. Samus couldn’t blame her too much, because she was intimately familiar with what Phaza felt each time she got off. Other than being made of phazon? Their bodies were the same, right down to every little Chozo tweak to her DNA. Many of them had revolved around her sense of touch, her nerves– her erogenous zones.
It really wasn’t that hard for the blonde bounty hunter to get off. In fact, she was ridiculously sensitive in that sense, and it had taken years of mental training for her to achieve any real form of sexual stamina. Despite her Amazonian stature, anyone given half a chance could turn the proud warrior into a trembling mess of a woman. It didn’t matter if it was a man or woman, or if they were hot or not, or even if their reproductive organs had any compatibility with hers.
For Samus, learning to resist the pleasure enough to drag things out was well worth the effort. She went from being a blushing perma-bottom to a definitive, dominant top, riding away and busting hips and hearts alike. Phaza had Samus’ body, but she didn’t have her mind or any of her hard-earned experience, nor did she seem inclined to gain it. There were several occasions where Samus had tried to help her, coaching her through it– but Phaza didn’t really give a shit. She liked it. She didn’t need it to be different. Each attempt inevitably ended with Samus on top of her pale, blue-haired imitation, easily seduced.
Samus still hadn’t decided if those flustering encounters counted as masturbation or incest or… just trying to think through clone sex made her head hurt. Shaking her head, Samus turned the dishwasher on, hoping it would drown out at least Phaza’s moans and let her focus on their coming mission, safely shielded from seeing her in the kitchen.
“Y-yeah! Your boomstick! Fuck me with your boomstick, Ash! Make me shop at ValueShop–”
… It did not. “Does she even know what the hell she’s saying?” Samus muttered. She had tried to watch streams with Phaza too; ancient Earth movies and shows in the galactic public domain alongside newer experiences. Unless there was a sex scene every five minutes, Phaza would inevitably fight Samus for the remote, wanting to watch two attractive people going at it– preferably with Samus holding her down and doing nasty things to her copy.
Samus leaned her hips against the kitchen counter, lifting both of her hands to her face and giving her beautiful features a helpless, exasperated scrub. In the background, Phaza’s shouted obscenities went off into the proverbial deep end, becoming little more than noise; it didn’t make her any easier to ignore. “I can’t believe this,” Samus griped quietly to herself, even though this sort of thing had been a thrice-daily occurrence for the last year. Ash Williams, of all the celebrities she could have picked from?
(No, the Internet Movie Database did not have a galactic equivalent, unfortunately, and in the future most ancient movies were stripped of their credits so studios could make up whatever the fuck they wanted about ancient actors and other celebrities. Like erasing their existence wholesale to make them into little more than their most defining role. Really, it’s a whole thing. We’re not going to get much into it.)
Ash fucking Williams, the biggest of all dickheads? … Problem was, of course, that Samus could believe it. There was a reason why Samus had all of Ash Williams’ filmography, both ancient and the clone-performed parodies made over the last year. She liked tall, dark and handsome men with strong jaws and a penchant for corporate retail uniforms. She liked dickheads. Figuratively speaking, and kind of literally too. Phaza’s attraction to him was apparently genetic.
After a few moments, the screaming quieted and whatever other noises Phaza was making faded beneath the rumbling of the dishwasher. Samus let out a long sigh, shoulders falling as a subtle tension relaxed there. Elsewhere, however, subtle tensions were just beginning. She couldn’t just pretend Phaza wasn’t there, and that nothing was happening. Nor could Samus ignore the hankering for pankering she was feeling in her yoga pants, though she tried, bouncing one heel on the floor as she tried to think of the mission ahead of her–
All she could think of, though, was tall, dark and handsome strangers with strong jaws. It had been like… a whole day since she had gotten off. Samus ran her tongue over her lips slowly and closed her eyes, slowly drawing her hands down from her face. One palm strayed to her own throat, fingers wrapping around the curve of her neck, very lightly squeezing it. With a little stretch of her digits, she was able to make sure she could feel her own pulse, quickened noticeably for the simple sensation of her impaired airway. … A whole day since she had gotten off, but far longer since anyone fucked her like Phaza imagined herself getting fucked.
She definitely didn’t have a problem. Definitely!
“... Yeah,” Samus whispered to herself, imagining the same man that Phaza was imagining holding her down, pounding her, making her his bitch. “Fuck me, Ash.” Her other hand went down over the chest of her tight racerback tank-top, simply black. It was a bit too small for her breasts but nevertheless tasked with securing them; a poor replacement for the sports bra Phaza had stolen, but it was what Samus had until she finally just went and bought another one. Her fingers squeezed at one of her tits through it, nipples already perked and tented against the fabric. Just a passing touch, but it was enough to shoot a shiver straight down her spine.
As Samus’ hand went lower, over her ribs and then tracing over her abs, she absently shifted her footing, thighs spreading. Rather than slip her fingers right beneath her yoga pants’ tight waist, she went over them, following the dip and curve of her body, familiar with every inch of herself. If they were anywhere near civilized space, she would have been wearing some kind of underwear beneath those tight pants. They may as well have been painted on to her legs. Considering it was just herself/her clone on the ship, though–
Well, underwear just seemed impractical. Other than the fact her yoga pants wouldn’t have already gotten dark and damp from the sheer swell of her arousal, which in fact made even the tiniest cunt-covering garment very practical. It just slowed things down if Phaza’s horniness got aimed in her direction, which– Samus definitely never encouraged. No, never. The blonde bounty hunter continued to imagine what Phaza was imagining, rubbing at herself through the crotch of her pants, the shape of her pussy on crass display.
Phaza might have been moaning about the ValueShop, but Samus? Samus was a girl who liked her classics. “Fuck me smart,” Samus whispered to herself, going so far as to slip her fingers up to tug her waistband up just a bit more, worsening her slutty display, her formed cameltoe made even more blatant before her fingers resumed their work. “Fuck Samus S-Mart,” she cooed softly, the corners of her lips tugging upward in a tiny smile, before her teeth demanded to nip down on her bottom lip.
… Should really just focus on the job, Samus tried to guilt herself, but that just made the man in her fantasy squeeze her throat just a bit harder, holding her down, his rutting hips moving far more briskly for it. This whole thing is so fucked up. That didn’t help either; it didn’t stop her from whispering to herself, “Hail to the king, baby… oh, fuck, that’s… mm.” Her yoga pants finally got to the point of just being a full-on bother, and she reluctantly abandoned her throat and cunt to slip her thumbs between their waistband and her hips.
Now that she was horny and had to deal with the pants being on, Samus wondered why she didn’t just do as Phaza did and go half-naked aboard the ship. Or at least just rip the fucking things– Because they’re expensive, she reminded herself ruefully, wriggling her hips one way and then the other as she worked them down over the curve of her ass. Things got much easier once they cleared over her bottom, though they still clung to her thighs on the way down. Toned, but not quite thick with muscle, a noticeable gap at their highest point, just below where her pink pussy waited for proper abuse. Its color was one of the few places where Phaza didn’t completely match Samus’.
Samus stepped out of them the moment she could, kicking them aside and resituating herself, fingers sliding over her slippery slit, so very wet and wanton. As Phaza’s feminine noises of pleasure started to build up over the dishwasher, however, Samus began to feel like her fingers were going to be enough for the job ahead of them. Not unless she wanted to release her self-control completely and cum in seconds, which she sure as shit didn’t; she wanted to enjoy this submissive fantasy for what it was worth. Her free hand fumbled over to the drawers along the kitchen’s counter, opening one blindly and digging around. They didn’t do much real cooking aboard Samus’ ship, but–
Well, it was well-stocked. They had everything they needed to cook if they ever wanted to. That included utensils. That included some weird fucking utensils, literally. Over the last year, Phaza had hoarded most of Samus’ sex toys, a good many of which had been lost behind the ship’s furniture, or when the blue-haired nymphomaniac brought them outside the ship and somehow found an opportunity to jill off in the middle of a mission. The kitchen’s dishwasher couldn’t drown out the worst of Phaza’s lewd, lurid noises, but–
It could hide a sex toy she’d never think to look for. Samus opened her eyes to heavy-lidded slits as she found the thing she desired and smiled, running her tongue over her lips once again. At a glance, it looked like nothing more than an innocuous rolling pin, orange ceramic with two handles. If she twisted one of those handles with just the right amount of pressure, however… the other one slowly shifted, morphed, and began to buzz, its new shape far more phallic. It was just starting to lower when she noticed how the other end gleamed and glistened with moisture not yet dried.
“... Fucking hell,” Samus whispered to herself, eyes briefly widened with surprise, wondering how long Phaza had known– and why the fuck she didn’t at least wipe it down . Did she get off on the idea of Samus discovering it? Because Samus certainly was. “You little bitch,” she mumbled thickly, lowering it towards her parted thighs without a care. It wasn’t like it was actually another woman’s slickness spread over it. It was her own. Sort of. At the very least, it was her partner’s– not that she considered Phaza her sexual partner even though–
Samus’ head started to hurt. Instead of worrying about it any more than that, she gave a clumsy slap to the open drawer to close it, then slipped her fingers down to flank her slit, slowly spreading it as she angled her hips and positioned her toy. “Fuck smart,” she reminded herself softly as she slid it inside her tight wet hole, so resistant to the insertion even though it sought to squeeze down tight on it and bask in its vibrations. “Fuck Samus– S-Mart… yeah… oh, yes…”
The blonde bounty hunter groaned out softly, ass clenching and hips rolling forward as she slowly impaled herself. Once the fingers spreading her cunt proved superfluous, she moved them instead to the clit sitting sentinel just above her slit, rubbing at it with skilled fingers that knew exactly what she liked. “God,” she groaned, so tempted to just let go of her self-control and ride out the orgasm she knew was being held back, but she wanted more, so much more. She wanted–
“Oh– OH, FUCK, YES!” Phaza squealed from the other room, jarring Samus out of her satisfaction-seeking reverie. Samus groaned for a different reason, trying to block it out and just take care of her own needs. They had a mission to complete, and it’d only be a few hours before they got there. Any time she got down to ‘business’ with Phaza, the sex lasted a lot longer than a few hours . She couldn’t let herself get distracted– she doubled down, wrist twisting and pumping as she started fucking herself with the vibrating toy.
Her mind couldn’t get back on the tall, dark and handsome man it had started on, however. All Samus could see in her mind’s eye was Phaza as she was on the other side of that door, cumming constantly and having such a better time of it than her original– her sister? Her clone-mom? “God damn it,” Samus muttered, continuing the sloppy self-spelunking even so, even though it was no longer going anywhere. “God fucking damn it.” At some point, she was going to have to track down the asshole amongst Federation leadership responsible for this and make his junk into a necklace.
… Before that, though, she had a mission to complete. And before that mission could be completed, Samus had to deal with her built-up lust and fuck some sense into Phaza. She tensed her jaw and bit on her bottom lip again, nostrils flaring with irritation before she ripped the band-aid off and slipped the toy out of her clenching cunt. “Gonna fucking…”
That was about as much thought as Samus could care to give her future actions. Clutching her toy in one hand, she pushed off the kitchen counter and moved towards the door, which hissed open before her. The ancient actors(/clones) on the projector’s screen had changed in the ten or so minutes Samus had spent in the kitchen. Whatever was streaming there wasn’t something she had downloaded, though she recognized the leading man. Geralt looked odd with dark, shorter hair, in a blue outfit with a red S on his chest, a cape, and… underwear worn over his pants? It was jarring enough that Samus paused to squint at it.
No. Don’t let it distract you, Samus chided herself, dragging her eyes off of him to glare at Phaza. The blue-haired clone-slut was still on the couch, though on her back now rather than with her face down and her ass up. Both of her naked legs were together, one arm looped beneath her knees to keep them bent and pulled back, pressing up against her covered breasts. Her other hand held a toy she must have fished out from a hiding spot between the couch’s cushions, its top half shaped like a metroid, its bottom half colored like one of the creature’s teeth. Its shape was unmistakably phallic, however, as Phaza pumped it in and out of her stretched-out ass, the lube on it giving it a glisten. Her purple-pink pussy dripped with creamy femcum.
For a moment, Samus just stared, then glanced at the coffee table set between Phaza’s couch and the arrangement’s other seats. The bedside bottle of lube Samus kept on her nightstand was there, kept in case of anal-ravishing emergencies. It had been full that morning, but now it was empty, lying on its side, carelessly spilled. Most of the lube within it hadn’t even made it to the dildo.
Samus saw red, and not just because she was already flustered with arousal. “That’s it,” she whispered to herself, perilously quiet for a woman who had just snapped– an unfortunately constant happenstance in her new life with Phaza in it. Who, sure, was pretty great to hold down and molest the everloving fuck out of, but also came with her own slew of problems. “You bitch.” Even at rest, the blonde bounty hunter tended to move around with a feline prowl, like a lioness ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. When angry, though, she stalked with storming steps that may as well have been stomping.
No matter how slim she was and no matter how much grace she had, Samus’ predatory stalking made noise. Her bare feet slapped at the floor, her weight matching her height, so much of it toned muscle and sizable sweater puppies. Phaza had every warning that she was about to get pounced and torn to shreds, but she was so lost in the start of her eye-rolling orgasm that she paid none of them any mind. Her mouth was open, singing a wordlessly whorish song, her hips squirming as more powerful trembles started to seize her body; the only part of her that stayed strong and in control of itself was the hand holding her Metroid-shaped dildo, showing her poor ass no mercy.
Just as Samus was getting within arm’s reach of her slutty clone’s raised ankles, however, the worst (best!) of the pleasure struck Phaza, body wracked by a convulsion and a far more shrill scream. It was a scream that Samus recognized with immediate intimacy, although it sounded different when she made it. Despite her honed reflexes, there was no dodging the attack on her person that followed. Though Phaza was naked, she may as well have been in her phazon mockery of the Varia Suit. She shot a deadly wave beam right at the blonde bounty hunter’s face!
Euphemistically speaking. It would have been much more accurate to call it a wave of squirt, arcing out from Phaza’s clone pussy in a wet spray. Samus only had time to widen her eyes before the sudden jet struck her dead-center between the eyes, a greater gush following as her slutty clone kept pounding her ass and working her hips, her shrill screams turning to squeals as her body went wild. And for a long, long moment, it continued– five, maybe ten seconds. Samus had always squirted far more than any woman she made squirt.
Samus gasped, flinched and stumbled back a step from Phaza, a well-timed blink sparing her the worst possible fate in her situation. After that, she went dead-still and silent, face frozen with shock and surprise, simply suffering beneath the spray as it left a mess on her face. It clung to her eyelashes and arced high enough to get in her blonde bangs, and even more of it ran low. Some of it got past her lips. Some of it dribbled down her chin. More yet left noticeably darker, damp splotches on her black tank-top. At its weakest, it arced low enough to leave a wet trail down her abdomen, down her pelvis, right on down to her own pussy. That poor, pretty, pink little thing might as well have been twitching in envy.
“Oh– oh– oh Geralt, so– so good.” Phaza groaned breathlessly in the aftermath, still shuddering. At some point, her steadily-pumping wrist had come to a halt, leaving the long metroid-ended dildo shoved so deep in her ass that it looked like one of the creatures had latched on to her hole. That hand’s painted nails now clutched painfully into her thigh, slowly and reluctantly relaxing. A hapless, lurid giggle spilled out of her between wheezing breaths. ``C-choose me over Triss and Yennefer, every time… mm. Fuck.” She still hugged her knees close to her chest.
Slowly, Samus lifted her free hand and dragged it over her eyes to wipe away some of the slickness, flicking her fingers at the floor as though to shake it dry. Phaza’s wild gush had been so plentiful that it felt like not even the most absorbent of space-age paper towels could soak up enough to make the blonde bounty hunter dry again; not even an ultra-deluxe pack with thirty-six ply rolls. “Phaza,” Samus Aran began to tell her clone as she opened her still-damp blonde lashes, glaring down at her grinning face. “I don’t care if you’re my clone or the source of the most important strategic resource in the galaxy. I. Am. Going. To. Fucking. Murder. You.”
The giggle stopped as Phaza let out a small squeak of surprise, but the shudders didn’t. For a moment she was quiet but for the panting breaths that continued, and then she shifted on the couch to peek past her knees, gazing up at Samus through languid violet eyes. She blinked once, almost batting her eyelashes at the source of her form, and then ever so innocently asked in a purr, “Sexually speaking?”
Samus stared, and she stared, and she stared , knuckles gone white at how tightly she gripped her rolling pin vibrator. “Phazon came how close to destroying the galaxy, and– you turn out to be this much of a bimbo after just a year of living as a human? How? You make no fucking sense. At all.” If the question and commentary bothered Phaza, she didn’t show it. A slow smile started to spread on her lips again, the wanton glaze to her eyes utterly lacking any form of shame; the fingers clawing at her thigh ran down towards her pussy, dragging over it on their way to grab the dildo stuck in her ass.
“I’m– you, aren’t I?” Phaza pointed out, saccharine but no less lustful for it. A brief grunt passed her lips between the words, as she started to remove the stylized metroid latched on to her hole. “So just ask yourself–”
“Oh, shut up, you bitch,” Samus snapped back grumpily, though she was no less horny for the squirt on her face. If anything, it only made her own pussy wetter. Literally and figuratively, considering how some of it landed and slid down her body. She took another stalking step forward, willfully ignoring the grin on Phaza’s face, the expression making it so very clear that this was exactly what she wanted to happen. Samus bent, grabbing the wrist of Phaza’s dildo-clutching hand and pressing it down. “That stays right there,” she told the blue-haired whore firmly.
“Yes, ma’am,” Phaza’s grin widened, beautiful and beaming and shamelessly slutty; as the long dildo was buried in her ass once more, she grunted softly, the expression breaking with her brief distraction. As Samus took another step, body closer to Phaza’s bottom top half than the bottom half, her violet eyes dragged down from the bounty hunter’s blue gaze. She followed the wet trail she left across the blonde’s body with a hint of pride. A slim smile returned to her lips as her own gaze fell upon Samus’ slit, tongue briefly dragging over her lips before she glanced back up at Samus.
“And you keep your legs right there, too,” Samus muttered, one hand briefly grabbing at a calf, nails tracing along smooth, pale skin as her grip shifted. “Or I swear on Baby, I will actually throw you out the airlock this time. I’m not kidding, so don’t test me,” she warned, bending at the waist, face coming near Phaza’s own. Her hand slipped over the arm Phaza was using to hug her legs close, then down over her thigh; long digits quickly found the slutty clone’s purple-pink slit and gave it a slow caress, while her other set slipped behind Phaza’s head, fingers slipping into the hair pulled tight by her ponytail. Her rolling-pin vibrator was simply left on the couch, within easy reach.
Phaza’s smile slimmed even more, as though taking the threat seriously, as though it might die away completely and stay subdued. “... Actually throw me out the airlock this time, sexually speaking?” she asked with a slight flaring of her eyes, immediately bursting into a giggle. Samus growled and wasted no time in muffling it, urging Phaza to lift her head while lowering her own, full and feminine lips quickly covering a matching pair that may as well have belonged to a long-lost twin sister.
It wasn’t a soft or sensual kiss. It was simmering, angry, and aggressive; Samus didn’t hesitate to nip and pinch at Phaza’s lips in the build-up to properly claiming her clone’s mouth with her tongue, slithering skillfully over her tongue. She wanted Phaza to taste what she just had to taste– not that there was anything disagreeable about their squirt, tasting just the same as their shared slickness. It was not much of a punishment to Phaza, who moaned headily into Samus’ open mouth, happy to be bullied in any way her ‘origin’ saw fit to treat her. And Samus–
Well, Samus was definitely doing this to punish Phaza. It wasn’t just her being extremely horny for herself. Definitely not. Her inner sub imagined being on the other side of her own dominant display. Although Phaza’s hands kept her knees hugged and her ass stuffed full of fake cock, her body squirmed slightly and small shivers continued to run through her, the aftershocks of her squirtathon still playing out. Each one seemed timed to the way Samus caressed her cunt. There, the bounty hunter was far more gentle, slower. Teasing. Sensing a familiar stirring in Phaza, the blonde decided to abuse her knowledge of her own body.
Samus knew she could cum from gentle, slow and teasing. It took a bit longer than anything harder or rougher, but it would still happen within minutes. If there was one thing that drove her wild and irrational with impatience, however, it was a pace far slower: not gentle but nearly timid, glacial, uncertain.
If there was one real way to punish Phaza in their present position, it wasn’t finger-fucking her to a hard orgasm– it was fingering her like she had never actually fingered anyone before. Like some poor virgin given their first chance to feel up some ultra-hottie at a theater-stream, apprehensive and hopeful that the movie might distract them from the fact that their date was a fumbling fool.
Samus had been that ultra-hottie on several occasions; prior to training herself to withstand orgasms, it was about as close as she had ever come to getting aggressive and assertive during sex, humping fingers like a maniac. It also got her kicked out of theater-streams on the regular
The blonde bounty hunter channeled those inexperienced boys, trying not to let it influence her kiss; she forced a lone finger to quake and quiver fretfully over Phaza’s entrance, almost as though it was pacing back and forth, indecisive about whether or not it would brave the babe’s breach. Phaza’s hips began to squirm, bucking upward, trying to get that finger to slip on in, or at least slip up past it to her clit; Samus always moved accordingly to avoid that.
For a full minute it dragged on, and then a full two minutes had passed, with each little jerk of Phaza’s body seeming a little more desperate and insistent than the last. The moans leaving Phaza’s mouth and going straight into Samus’ turned to little groans, increasingly unhappy, pining, as though wordlessly begging for what she knew Samus was truly capable of. A cruel amusement built in the original of the pair, deciding to see how long she could drag things out. Her fingers only left Phaza’s pussy once, and that was to slap down on her clone’s hand when she felt her start to stir the ass-lodged dildo around her bottom.
And oh, how it dragged on, so horrible and torturous, proving Samus was little better than the space pirates she hunted– for all of two minutes and perhaps forty seconds, at most. They didn’t even hit the three minute mark, and it was entirely the blonde bounty hunter’s own fault.
It wasn’t that Samus had lost her sight of her goal or her lust outstripped her patience. Far from it: she held strong to her plan of denial, wanting to work poor Phaza up to the point where she might do as Samus once had, doing everything she could to ride the fingers to a messy, loud orgasm. Overconfidence was her plan’s undoing, and a hubristic, selective view of her own past. Phaza managed to jog her memory loose when the moment abruptly hit, starting to shudder intensely beneath Samus, her toes curling painfully as her ankles rolled restlessly overhead; her discontent groans became a full-on wailing against Samus’ kissing mouth. And her pussy–
This time, it was just Samus’ hand that got soaked by the euphemistic wave beam. She went about as still as the first time, eyes opening in confusion, not quite pulling away from Phaza as she stared down at her slutty clone. Her eyes were sort-of open, sort-of not, lids flickering. There were only brief hints of her violet irises, otherwise only showing the whites of her eyes as she came about as hard as she had the first time. … Oh, Samus thought dully to herself. Right. I didn’t actually have to hump myself to a finish. That was all just… completely fucking losing it on their fingers.
Samus gave Phaza’s bottom lip a rough, tugging bite as she withdrew, breathlessly growling as she glared down at her. “Why the hell are you like this?” Samus didn’t know if she was asking Phaza the question, or if she was asking herself– or if it was just asking herself the question even if it was intended for Phaza. Once again, the realities of living with her clone and constantly fucking herself made Samus’ head hurt. Phaza provided no answer to the question anyway, groans giving way to a breathless shriek the second her mouth was free to make it.
For a moment, Samus just watched her, and then she dragged her hand away from the splash zone, though the waterworks were already done and over with. She brought her hand around and stared down at it, hovered over Phaza’s face; some of the ample slickness, creamy female cum and the impressive amount of squirt coating it dripped off her, landing on her clone’s pale but flustered face. “This is so fucked up,” she complained softly to herself, lowering her hand to take a long look down at Phaza, her quieting mouth staying wide open, eyes now squeezed shut. So fucked up and I–I’m just doing this because I need to be able to focus on the mission. And I need her to focus on the mission, too.
“... Right,” Samus whispered to herself, and then again, reaffirming the sentiment and continuing to live her little lie, pretending she wasn’t fucking madly in lustful love with herself, no matter how agitating Phaza became. “Right. The mission.” It seemed like it might be a good place to stop. Surely, those back-to-back orgasms would have been enough for the slutty clone, and Samus could actually survive without needing to cream herself every hour, on the hour. “The mission…”
The mission. Samus looked from her hand to Phaza’s mouth and then back again. Right now, the mission is fucking ALL of this out of our respective systems. We need to fuck so much that she can’t tempt me into anything, and she won’t even want to tempt me into anything. The blonde bounty hunter dragged her tongue over her lips slowly, staring at her fingers for several seconds before lifting them to her mouth, ending her lip-wetting halfway through to drag her tongue over them instead, relishing the wanton taste of her/her clone’s various feminine drippings. We need to fuck so much that… she can’t think of it, and she’s too sore to go through with it if she does. Samus sealed her lips tight around two of her digits, suckling them; it didn’t make them any cleaner.
Throughout Samus’ mental ping-ponging and her inevitable slip into far more honest debauchery, Phaza lay trembling and breathing hard, even more sweaty now than she had been twenty minutes prior. Though the arm hugging her legs to her chest never released, it did quiver dangerously from just how tense it had grown. It was never tempted to disobey Samus’ orders. Unlike the hand keeping that metroid toy latched to her ass, it was loyal. Phaza stirred and groaned at the feeling of Samus’ fingers revisiting ground zero for her pussy’s back-to-back, shirt-ruining and couch-staining tsunamis. Just a brief visit, but enough to get her body going again.
They visited Phaza’s mouth next, and she took to them with an unabashed eagerness. Like Samus, like herself, she didn’t hesitate to seal her lips around them and lick them clean, the fire of her stoked lust only burning hotter for the perverse pleasure of tasting herself. Slowly, she reopened her violet eyes and gazed up at Samus’ face through dark blue lashes. The affection they both had in their eyes couldn’t quite be called loving, but it was close. It was damn close.
The slutty phazon-clone ran her tongue over those fingers time and time again, both together and between them, worshiping them in a lascivious show of appreciation for the orgasm. When Samus began to pull them away, Phaza pinched her digits with her teeth, not quite biting; Samus curled the fingers in the hair behind Phaza’s head and yanked it hard, pulling her away with a squeak of surprise, fraying Phaza’s already mussed-up ponytail further. “One of these days, I really am going to throw you out that airlock,” Samus warned, her eyes making no attempt to disguise her lewd intent.
“Sexually speaking,” Phaza said all the same, smiling, cheeky and deliberately provocative even when she didn’t need to be. After a second of glaring, Samus smiled back; that smile ping-ponged like the bounty hunter’s thoughts and attempts to hold back had. One smiled wider, the other cracked a grin. One beamed, the other started to giggle. One started to laugh a throaty, lovely laugh, seldom heard from Samus’ lips–
And Samus abruptly grabbed Phaza and rose to her feet, the toned muscles beneath her taut skin flexing as she pivoted and gave the slutty clone a violent toss across the room. Even for a woman of Samus’ athleticism, it shouldn’t have been possible with the ship’s artificial gravity– but the Chozo genetic fuckery let her tap into far more of her strength than humans were meant to access. Phaza shrieked with surprise, but by the time her body hit the couch across from the one she had made a mess of, she was laughing, body sprawled, limbs akimbo, well aware of what she was in for.
Samus bent briefly and grabbed her long-neglected weapon of choice, the rolling-pin vibrator, then sprang into action after her clone. Just walking around the coffee table was an option, but Samus instead stepped upon it and pounced on Phaza like she had always meant to, well aware that no matter how easily she cummed– nothing was going to break Samus Aran, not ever. Phaza gasped more from the wind being driven from her lungs than any surprise, briefly dazed and vulnerable to whatever Samus wanted to do with her.
Not that she would have resisted, but the wriggling might have made things a bit more difficult. The slutty clone’s focus sharpened just in time to watch Samus’ cunt-first fall on her face, pussy quickly planted right against Phaza’s purple-pink lips, vertical kissing horizontal blithely, without any apparent awareness that they were neither matched nor paired. Not that it mattered to either one of them, of course– as soon as the soaking, flushed and swollen cunt had mounted her face, Phaza started to lick against its rough grind, moaning sincere appreciation of its taste.
“If you ever insinuate one of our pussies are an airlock–” Samus started to say, her hips moving with little twitches to start, “I’ll fucking– uhh… god,” she groaned, the threat in her throat dying away. Phaza didn’t have anywhere near Samus’ level of experience, but she instinctively knew what her body liked; her tongue had never disappointed the blonde bounty hunter’s mewling quim. As tempting as it was to simply settle in and enjoy the ride, though, Samus had unfinished business elsewhere.
Slowly, the bounty hunter arched her back and bent, leaning her weight back on one hand on the clone’s thigh while continuing to hump Phaza’s receptive face. Her other hand, still clutching the rolling pin that doubled as a vibrator, dragged down along the slutty clone’s belly and over her pelvis, finding the familiar twat that waited for her there. Just the briefest of touches was enough to kick off another quiver throughout Phaza’s body, but this one was far from brief. It took some blind fidgeting and wriggling her wrist around, but Samus got the blunt head of the vibe lined up juuuust right and sunk her fake cock of choice into her clone’s hole, the other dildo still lodged deep in her ass. Her thumb flicked at a discreet switch that got it buzzing away.
Phaza had gotten quite used to the presence in her ass, but with the rolling pin gradually stretching out her other fuckhole? She felt it in a new way, both toys squeezing against a shared wall while Samus started to fuck her cunt. The telltale trembles of her body began anew, as did its wanton cry, partially muffled by Samus shifting to press down and soak in the humming vibrations. “Fuuuuuck,” the blonde bounty hunter moaned, already starting to feel her control slipping again– she wouldn’t let it go yet, though. Not quite yet, as tempting as Phaza made it to just give in to the pleasure.
Between the two of them, someone needed to be dominant. Someone needed to be on top, or none of it would work. Samus worked her wrist in time with her hips movements, each gradually growing a bit rougher and a bit faster, just like she– like Phaza –enjoyed best. The cry against her cunt turned into a long squeal as Phaza’s legs started to kick and writhe as though suddenly possessed, but Samus kept going. Her hand could feel the start of Phaza trying to squirt, little jets and splashes squeezing out of her whenever she pulled the vibrator back– but she kept going.
Harder. Faster. Samus was a woman on a mission, one she wasn’t about to abandon: fucking all this lustful energy out of them, no matter how long it took or how exhausted it left them for their actual mission. After all, what was hunting a few space pirates to two Samus Arans? She had annihilated so many of them that she could probably obliterate a base or two even before having her morning coffee, hung-over– kindly neverminding the fact that Phaza didn’t have the same level of experience.
Phaza’s comparative lack of sexual experience definitely showed when the repeated orgasms Samus coaxed out of her nearly drove her to tears. The onslaught was all so overwhelming that the not-so-little nymph forgot to keep on licking, but that wasn’t much of a problem for Samus; her grinding ride of her clone’s face would do the trick. Although Phaza had enjoyed and endured about a dozen orgasms over the last hour, they all had a little space between them– a moment to breathe and recover.
The ones that Samus was so ‘cruelly’ causing? There was no respite or rest from them. The first body-quaking hit of that pleasure didn’t just overlap with the second or the third; each orgasm simply overlapped with the last, all dragged out, not allowed to end. Not until Samus was ready for it to end, and she seemed intent on avoiding that no matter what it took for her to do.
Somewhere between Phaza’s ninth and eleventh orgasms, the bounty hunter’s pussy threatened to undermine her control and squirt her own biblical deluge; in an effort to head off the inevitable, Samus took drastic measures. She buried the vibrating rolling pin as deep inside Phaza’s cunt as she could, switching its intensity to the max setting before releasing it. Everything would hinge on whether or not Phaza stayed clenched around it, and if the powerful buzzing kept her cumming and cumming. It was a risk, but one that paid off; the overwhelmed whore quieted, her whole body seeming to shudder weakly with the vibrations, and her pussy stayed strong.
Samus breathed out her relief, then went about her business quickly, rising from Phaza’s phase only to twist her hips and immediately plop her ass back down. This time, though, the blonde bounty hunter didn’t kiss horizontal lips with her vertical slit. Her hands reached back to spread her ass wide, planting a tight, puckered circle right over Phaza’s mouth, not quite pressed down. She got herself (not quite!) comfortably situated, calves squeezing in on the side of Phaza’s head, ankles criss-crossing to hem the clone’s head in, then pushed herself down just a little more…
Thankfully, Phaza was just as instinctively-acquainted with Samus’ back hole as her front one. It took a moment, but she seemed to realize what was being demanded of her and struggled to provide it despite drowning in pleasure. Samus had always had a taste for ass, and with Phaza she had learned that she liked her own ass best. The rimming started with little flicks and rolls of her tongue, slow but far from tentative as Phaza gave it her all. All the built-up tension in Samus came close to snapping free, face slackening and mouth hanging wide open–
But Samus was a woman on a mission, and after surviving the startled ass-clench that always followed a tongue on her asshole, she knew she was in the clear. “Yeah, that’s good,” she growled softly, back in control, able to smirk it off. She tossed her head and looked over her shoulder at her ass and the parts of Phaza’s face that weren’t quite covered; her ponytail had come apart altogether somewhere in the middle of all the activity. Her eyes were squeezed tightly shut again. “Keep that up, and I’ll keep you going,” she told her clone as her hands reached up to free her own hair from the futuristic, hi-tech hair tie that held it up. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To never stop cumming?”
Phaza’s eyes opened to violet slits, wet with unshed tears of pleasure and glazed-over with stupefying lust. She seemed to nod before her eyes closed altogether, and her ass-licking grew far steadier, going around and around Samus’ forbidden entrance. Samus smirked to herself and briefly ran her fingers through her hair, tossing it out with a flick of her fingers, letting it hang down her back. She got back to her side of things, bending just slightly to reach the rolling pin. Though she considered turning the intensity down to something more manageable, she was loath to chance ruining Phaza’s groove.
So, with the rolling pin vibe roaring away, Samus resumed briskly fucking that poor hole, hips only moving when her body demanded it. No one was actually keeping track of how many times that Phaza came, though if Samus had (her clone sure as fuck couldn’t do it herself!)?
Samus would have known that she had doubled Phaza’s number for the day, and was well on her way towards tripling them; each mind-breaking orgasm that pulsed through the poor clone was tiny now, but they were coming even quicker with each minute and adding up fast. Sloppy slickness, squeezed-out gush and oozed femcum leaked out of Phaza, the second couch becoming as messy as the first.
It was only possible to delay the inevitable for so long, however. There was only so much that Samus’s hard-earned control could possibly withstand. Nothing had ever tested her limits half as much as Phaza had; that seemed fitting, considering their bodies were one and the same. The comparative inexperience was more than made up for by Phaza’s insider’s knowledge. “Hope you’re… learning… your lesson,” Samus bit out as she felt her voice starting to get away from her, pitch rising, ready to squeal out at a moment’s notice. She shifted her hips back, robbing Phaza’s mouth of the badass’ bottom and replacing it with a primed cunt, ready to put the clone’s wave beam to shame.
Phaza made a noise that could have been reasonably interpreted a number of different ways; whatever its purpose, Samus ignored it and gave in to a sudden impulse. More than anything, she wanted to get what Phaza was about to have: she wanted her face drenched with Aran sploosh. Provided Phaza’s pussy didn’t toss in the towel at the eleventh hour, she could have just that. So the blonde bounty hunter pulled the dildo free of Phaza’s clinging hole and tossed it aside carelessly. There was no mistaking the grief in Phaza’s muffled groan, but it disappeared the second Samus dived face-first into her own (clone’s) muff, tongue fresh for the fight and ready to go.
Samus got about one good lick in before all the pressure pent-up within Phaza’s pussy erupted outward, no longer held back by the rolling pin vibrator that had been holding it all back, keeping her cumming without a true release. Phaza was Samus in most respects, but there was one crucial difference other than their personalities and histories: Samus was human.
Phaza might have been her clone, but she was also the avatar of phazon. The reason she never did the dishes? She didn’t fucking eat! She drank, sure, that was evidenced by the second cup in the pilot seat’s drink holder– but that was just because she liked carbonated beverages. She didn’t need them. All her biological functions were handled by phazon’s limitless possibilities, of which she could produce an endless amount.
Where the blonde bounty hunter was certain she was going to have a figurative biblical deluge– oh, Phaza very nearly had a literal one, yelping as powerful, violent jerks seized her limbs, hips thrusting and twisted, legs squeezing shut and spreading wide without purpose or rhythm. Samus got far more Aran slickness on her face than she expected, and it kept coming and coming, even as she started cumming and cumming, squirt showering down on Phaza’s face. A considerable amount, even a herculean amount for a human.
Definitely not a superorganism amount, though. Samus’ head started to jerk up from it, but Phaza chose that moment to actually assert herself and be more than a submissive, provocative bottomless bimbo; brief lucidity seemed to take her, powering through her orgasm to jerk her hips and flex her thighs, legs raising and taking advantage of their shared flexibility. They managed to lock Samus’ head in against her cunt, just like the bounty hunter had done to Phaza.
It was, suffice to say, an enormous mess . It probably would have been worse if the Adam AI installed on the ship didn’t send out the automatic, mop-equipped roombas to clean it up, all the while wondering why it had been created just for the sake of silent suffering through the strangeness of meatbags. It took several minutes for the tide to subside.
Neither of the women noticed, both lost to pleasure, one balancing it with trying not to drown in her own clone’s gushed fluids; they didn’t even notice when they arrived at the place where their mission was slated to begin, still locked in the same position. For all her earlier dominance, Phaza had managed to drag Samus down to her level, the two submissive sluts forming locked in a sixty-nine feedback loop, tongues constantly bringing the other to a squirting orgasm. Samus’s gushing probably would have ended within an hour, but Adam detected her dehydration and sent out one of the ship’s mini-repair drones to grab her water bottle and make sure she got plenty of hydration.
Somewhere shy of five hours, Samus’ legs gave out and relaxed, body slumping over Phaza’s, and the clone simply followed suit, stretching out and enjoying the long, drawn-out afterglow of their squirtathon, dazed and incoherent.
Eventually, Samus weakly asked Adam, “Are we there yet?”
Before the AI could reply, Phaza giggled and said with far more energy, “Sexually speaking!”
“Yes.” He refused to elaborate, for the sake of his circuity.