A diplomatic mission, smuggling runs, dodgy trade runs, and working on board a space freighter—all simple, if adventurous pursuits. But when they take place in deep space, when the officials you meet, and the bad guys you encounter are aliens, the challenges can get hairier, and sexier fast.

In these four erotic tales of adventure in space, four quite different women pilot spacecraft, avoid interplanetary police, fight off pirates, and work with alien armies to resolve planetary conflicts.

It’s all about going with the flow.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

“Your leader should come with us.”

I'd stuck my head out of the doorway of our spaceship to get the lay of the land and found him standing there, waiting. Four other men stood behind him. Having said his piece, the tall man stared at me. I think he was trying to decide if I understood him. His concern was reasonable, seeing as we'd just arrived on his planet in a spaceship.

“Hold on a sec,” I said.

We'd swallowed our biotranslators before landing and they were assimilating into our systems. They'd make us conversant in the local languages for a week before digestion returned them to basic proteins.

Pic and I had military issue units that lacked the nuance algorithms and speaking slang could come out weird. The Foreign Planet Service people got the good ones. Ours gave us the gist of general conversation pretty well when the units didn't crap out, but we didn't always get the full picture.

“I am the Ambassador, “Jenna told him, stepping forward to face him.” I am the leader of this mission and represent the governments of the Commerce Union. These are my escorts and must attend me.”

I have to admit that Jenna had the moves down. She held her chin up and had her shoulders pulled back as she stepped ahead of us. It was all intended to seem imperious.

Unfortunately, to me, it just looked silly. Her people were squarely built, rather hairy and anything but regal. Being fortunate to be of a race that is slender, hairless and with golden skin, I try not to show my prejudice, but when one of them assumes that posture it strikes me as ludicrous.

The man was looking at us cautiously. Clearly, he had no idea what she was talking about. Sometimes it's funny the way politicians are positive you've heard of their group when there is no reason why you should. “Why are you hiding under fabric?”

I should put his question in context. The question undoubtedly seemed reasonable to him, given that he and his four men were naked. They each held a spear that to my trained eye appeared totally ceremonial. I didn't think it could cut paper. As far as clothing went, forget it.

“We aren't hiding,” Jenna said. “In our culture, we show our rank by wearing these.”

He didn't get it. “What do you have under the cloth that we shouldn't see?”

“Nothing.”

Although Jenna didn't know it that wasn't entirely true. Both Pic and I carried stun wands under our robes. Ambassadors like to think that protocol protects them, but Pic and I are marines. Being responsible for her security, we lean more toward the might of concealed weapons. While Jenna considered the situation, weighing the political, moral and social aspects of his request, the man stood, waiting. We seemed to be at something of an impasse.

Finally, Jenna looked over at us with a sheepish grin. “I think he expects us to undress.” She was big on stating the obvious. She nodded her head in the direction of the nude men. “Clothing must be considered coarse in this culture.”

Pic laughed. “You think?”

Greta Bowles