Chapter 4 – Victories
"My word, Commander. It's almost as though you wanted to spare your pawns the indignity of living under my regime," Samantha flaunted her victory over her commanding officer. Wearing nothing more than her black lace panties and Shelby's formal uniform jacket, she sat back against the couch and crossed her arms. The jacket was barely latched on and revealed the mid-part of the tanned communication officer's bosom.
Shepard stared angrily at the chessboard, dressed in her black brassiere and navy blue uniform pants. She replayed the game over and over in her head, trying to understand where she slipped. Still unsure, she admitted, "In real life, that tactic would have worked."
"Well, in real life, one doesn't move on an eight-by-eight square grid."
"You know what I mean. The pawns are infantry. A good infantry line, like the krogan, can take a charge like that," she gestured with her hands.
"That reminds me of a joke: What's the difference between Commander Shepard and a krogan? One is an unstoppable juggernaut of head-butting destruction..."
"...and the other doesn't have a smart-ass communications officer to keep her in line," Shelby interrupted with her gray eyes shooting a wicked glare.
Knowing she poked fun at the tough marine, she teased, "Oh, that's even better than the number-of-testicles punch line."
The Commander shook her head, smirking, "So I was right."
"What do you mean?"
"You did want to join in on our verbal slandering," she recalled.
"Oh no, I could never…"
"I'm teasing you, Samantha."
"More like torturing me."
Her lips curled to the side, "Maybe just a little."
"You seem to take pleasure in tormenting me."
"Among other things," Shelby winked, leaning back in her chair and resting her feet on the edge of the table.
Traynor's attention was immediately directly to the red socks propped up on the table. "I must admit, you almost had me distracted with those brightly colored socks of yours. The way they flashed from underneath your table nearly cost me to lose a few pawns."
"Well, I wish I knew that little bit of information earlier! I would have used it against you."
"Then I would have pulled them off and tossed them aside."
"That's fine," she grinned, "I'll just put on another pair."
Curiously asking, "How many pairs of red socks do you own?"
"Every pair I have is red. Each and every single one of them, you can check for yourself in the top drawer over there," she motioned towards the night stand beside the bed.
"What? Why?"
"There are a few reasons, I guess. It all started back during the Skyllian Blitz. I met this one soldier who always wore a red shirt under his uniform. I could never understand why... so I asked him. He told me that whenever he got injured, the red shirt prevented him and his fellow squadmates from seeing the blood so they would keep fighting. Shortly after revealing this tidbit, a majority of use began wearing a red article of clothing... for me it was my socks. Whenever I was wounded in battle - which happened all the time back then - my boots had a tendency to pool up with blood. It was such a horrific sight to see, pulling off your boots and it was soaked… still dripping. My white socks had to be thrown away on a nightly basis since they were past redemption. It's amazing how much blood a human body can produce," the Commander shared, watching as the woman sitting in front of her became a little queasy, "All that changed when I switched over to red socks. The odd thing... everyone who started wearing red survived the war. I know it was sheer coincidence but because of this, I began calling them my lucky socks. Whenever I wear them, I know that I'll always come back."
"How do you know?"
Shepard curled up her hand into a ball and placed it over her heart, "I just know."
"Then you should never take those socks off," Samantha added.
"Is that an order?"
"No, I…" she was flustered, "I was only joking."
"Why? It sounded like a reasonable order to me."
"Good because I wasn't joking."
"I have every intention on coming back, especially now that I have you," she extended her hand, inviting the young officer over. Cheerfully taking her palm into hers, she guided Samantha to take a seat on her lap. When the tanned woman planted her laced behind on Shepard's thighs, the flap of the Commander's jacket fell to the side and revealed more of her bare bosom. Shelby attempted to conceal the red blushing to her face, clearing her throat as she stated, "I must admit… you look very charming in my jacket."
"You think so?" Samantha asked, noticing her commanding officer's mischievous gaze darting between her eyes and her chest. She unlatched the remaining hooks and pulled the side of the coat back, exposing every bit of her front torso.
Shepard inexplicably smirked at her subordinate. Her hands began wandering their way up the Specialist's delectable figure. Her fingertips ran lightly across her thighs and caused them to horripilate in their wake before they continued their journey upwards. Playfully tugging on the rim of her black panties, Shelby sunk her grip into Traynor's supportive waist and forcibly scooted her rear closer.
"That's more like it," the Commander softly muttered, directing her hands along the curvy frame sitting on her lap. Massaging the smooth skin under her nails, she worked her way around the welcoming bosom. Teasing her subtle breasts with a faint brush of her palm and watching the woman squirm in delight with every squeeze she granted.
When Shelby began moving her hand further upward, Samantha quickly changed her position and mounted the veteran marine. Pressing her anticipating chest against her black brassiere and eagerly waited for more.
Shepard's thumb pressed against the center of Samantha's chin, her fingers curled underneath and slightly tilted her victim's head away. Brushing her nose along the crevasse of her prey's neck, her grinning lips honing in on their destination, "I'm glad you didn't run back to the lab, Samantha."
"I'm glad I got this chance to be a part of the Normandy," her voice fluctuating with every caress being received from her lover's mouth. The soft ridges of her lips danced across her skin, gently nipping and carefully tasting the sensitive skin. Her breathing quickened with each sensual embrace, barely able to vocalize, "I'm quite happy… with where I am."
"I certainly hope so," the seductress whispered between her physical worship, her tongue stretching along the rim of Samantha's chin as she neared the anxiously gasping mouth of her tamed servant, "We don't know how much time we have left so we need to make every moment count."
"In that case… rematch?" the communications officer asked with her lips barely brushing against Shelby's, her eyes hinting how they should continue their arousing engagement on the Commander's bed.
"You can say that," she growled before locking their mouth's passionately together and sealing her victory.
