Nocturnal Operations are erotic fiction short stories set in the world of The Solstice War. They contain extended scenes of consensual, positive and fun sexual activity between adult characters. YOU MUST BE 18 OR OLDER TO READ NOCTURNAL OPERATIONS CHAPTERS.
Please click the home link and return to the story proper if you are not of age.
“Ugh! Everything’s always falling apart around here!”
Chief Engineer Vimala Ravan cast her wrench to the floor in exasperation.
In the middle of the workshop an artillery tractor lay suspended on concrete blocks, still latched on to the portable gantry cranes that had lifted the machine to a comfortable level for the tall, slender engineer to work on. She had spent hours on the machine.
Just that morning, while towing practice targets materials into place, the hunk of junk had blown something and become paralyzed in the middle of the wood. Hours had to be spent towing the prime mover back to camp and into the workshop, while another tractor completed its task. Then she had to lift it onto the blocks, and take it slowly apart.
Vimala was not the most gentle of mechanics. Up on its blocks, the tractor’s engine lay bared to the world, and several bogeys, one idler and the entire length of its tracks had gone missing, cast about in pieces over the woman’s shoulder during her feverish tinkering. She had tried all the usual suspects. Transmission and suspension seemed fine (at least until she had removed parts of each entirely). Temperature was normal. There were no leaks in the gas tank, and everything that needed current had current.
She soon discovered that the culprit was the engine itself, and that as such the machine was paralyzed to such a degree that only a brand new driving block could bring it to life.
Vimala stood ringed by a collection of scrap parts and tools discarded on the floor in a similar fashion to her wrench. Oil and lubricants coating the cracked, worn old tools glistened many colors under the workshop lights. It was a mess; everything was always a mess. She was a mess. She pulled off her gritty, filthy gloves and threw them casually over her shoulder. Tapping a thin finger over her pursed red lips, she looked over the machine from afar, as if trying to think through its steel hide, to compel it to function.
It was useless — there was no taking it back. She would have to scrap the whole thing.
“Hunk of garbage. Ugh.”
She closed her arms into fists at her side and stood stiffly, glaring at the tractor as though it could be shamed into fixing itself. There was no response from the machine. Only the very slight echo of her own words and movements in the dingy tin enclosure of the workshop. Sighing, Vimala sat atop a nearby table, pulled off her heeled pumps and black, seamed leggings, baring her long legs, spotted with dripping oil and grease.
“Stupid thing; you’ve got it good, just lying about waiting for maintenance!”
It was well past sundown, but in the stillness of the night, the workshop remained as oppressively muggy as it was under the afternoon sun. Vimala felt as though she was working in a sauna. Beads of sweat formed like condensation over the Chief’s light brown skin. Her button-down dress shirt clung to her chest and belly, and her honey-blond hair turned a little moist from both the atmosphere and her own perspiration.
Her white coat was discarded in a corner of the room, stained with gritty black grease. Such substances naturally formed on all these vehicles, and got all over her when she tried to fix them. Her gloves were thick with them, sparing her hands most of the filth. The rest of her was lightly marred: there was a grease spot on her cheek, some on her neck, and a little streak of grimy black running like a slash over her exposed collarbones.
It was never the filth that got to her but the ailing of her body after a long day’s work.
That she felt much more acutely than the presence of grease near her lips.
Her feet hurt; and reaching to try to rub away the knots she felt in her flesh just made her back hurt instead. Working in pumps was annoying, but Vimala quite liked the shoes. They were a fancy pair that someone once told her she looked quite fetching in. She felt they added to the elegant glamour and mystery she tried to cultivate around herself. It also, she thought, prevented people from asking her to fight. In a desperate situation, Vimala would not be able to run anywhere efficiently, and as such, others would have to do that for her.
For a casually lazy and slightly vain person like herself that possibility meant the world.
Sighing, she returned to her work. She ambled toward the artillery tractor and wondered what she could salvage out of it. For an undersupplied testing unit, recycling was of the utmost importance. She looked it over. Some of the bogeys could be used, and certainly the track length could. Perhaps the springs and struts of the suspension, weathered as they were, could be reused. At worst, it could become spare parts for another tractor.
Vimala stopped next to tractor, popped open a cap and looked down the aperture.
She could see fluids sloshing inside its tank.
“Wouldn’t want to waste the gas.” She sighed, speaking to herself.
At this point the fuel she put in to try to test it was more useful than the tractor.
At the back of the workshop there were several tubs filled with interchangeable spares, such as metal pipes and rubber tubing and screws of various sizes. From the plastics tub she picked out a length of rubber tube and wandered back to the tractor, looking it over in her fingers. She pushed the slender tube into the aperture of the tractor’s gas tank.
Kneeling, arranging her hair behind her ears to keep it out of the way, she spread her lips over the end of the tube, leaving a lipstick smear. She gave the tube a good suck.
Behind her the door to the workshop opened suddenly.
Startled, Vimala nearly choked as a burst of diesel oil splashed into her mouth.
She fell on her arse, gagging, spitting out the slick fuel. Thankfully she did not swallow it.
Across the workshop she heard footsteps and a tiny intake of breath.
Captain Dhorsha Rajagopal knelt down next to her and started to sign.
“I’m sorry!” she said with her hands. “I came to visit! I didn’t mean to scare you!”
Coughing, a burning taste like excessively high proof alcohol on her tongue, Vimala signed back and tried to smile through the wincing pain she felt. “I’m happy to see you.”
Dhorsha frowned and shook her head.
She retrieved a clean measuring cup from the tools and filled it with water.
Vimala drank from it and spat it out immediately.
“It still tastes oily.” She signed.
“Sorry.” Dhorsha signed back.
Vimala helped herself up by the suspension rods on the dismantled tracks of the artillery tractor. Her mouth still felt hot and slick with the diesel fuel, and no amount of mouth-washing seemed to get the taste off. But it was behind her now; despite her abrupt entry, Dhorsha was a pleasant sight that almost made Vimala forget her frustration with the tractor. She was a smaller woman, gentler in form and features, elegant and orderly like a princess, with classically Ayvartan black hair cut into a symmetrical bob, and beautiful eyes. One was glassy and blue, the one that failed her; the other was green.
Her slight frame and soft face instantly drew in Vimala’s eyes.
Dhorsha was perhaps the only Commissar who could make the black and red uniform seem welcoming and warm rather than frightening. She was camp Vijaya’s angel.
“You need to be gentler with things.” Dhorsha said, casting a quick eye around the shop as she signed the words. A hoarse little giggle followed. Though Dhorsha could not speak very well due to her condition, even with the radio equipment that had been adapted for her, she knew how to laugh aloud. Having never heard laughs properly, hers were a little odd.
It was a charming kind of odd, however.
Vimala took another gulp of water and swished it inside her mouth before spitting.
“Look, I’m trying my best, but I can’t work if I’m always standing on eggshells. I need at least a little abandon if I’m going to finish anything on time around here.” She replied.
This she said aloud, because Dhorsha was close enough now to read her lips.
“You’re too rough.” Dhorsha said, using variations of the same signs as her last words.
Vimala shrugged at her.
Dhorsha put on a conspiratorial little smile, raising a finger to her own lips.
“I’m not an engineer, but I can show you a thing or two about gentleness.”
Hands behind her back, she took a few steps forward, craning her head with a sly smile to look up at the taller Vimala. The Chief Engineer was momentarily caught off-guard, and reared a little back. Then the aches in her body reminded her of her previous feelings. It was not just the machines here that needed routine maintenance. Vimala was exhausted. Perhaps Dhorsha was teasing, perhaps not; but Vimala felt a growing desire for a tune-up.
After all, they were alone and the night was warm, moist and only starting.
Vimala turned back to her lover, and in a rapid motion, leaned forward and planted a kiss on her grinning lips. Before the grin could wipe from her face, Vimala leaned back again.
Twining locks of wavy hair around a finger, she said, “Teach me then.”
Dhorsha’s little grin became a beaming, ecstatic smile.
She approached in several firm steps, took Vimala by the hips and pulled her in.
Angled due to the difference in height, their lips met in earnest.
Superficial at first, their kissing grew intense as the partners closed together.
Soon mouths opened and tongues tentatively met.
Dhorsha maneuvered Vimala through the kisses, pushing her onto the empty table.
Her back to the hard wood, Vimala felt the weight of her lover as Dhorsha bore down on her, supporting herself by her hands. Looming over Vimala, Dhorsha’s lips sucked on Vimala’s own, closing and pulling on her with repeated, hungry smacks. Vimala pushed back; their faces pressed close as their mouths embraced. Her body coursed with heat and energy. Reaching between the halves of her lover’s coat, Vimala pulled the buttons on the Commissar’s shirt, taking one off for each kiss that they held and broke and held again.
Six kisses and six buttons later Vimala seized her lover’s baked brown, peach-size breasts.
She lifted her knees to pin Dhorsha’s hips.
Her fingers and palm kneaded the soft, pliable flesh, while her thumbs flicked over her nipples. Dhorsha breathed hard between each kiss, and tiny, rough noises escaped from between their lips as Vimala’s hands explored the depth and elasticity of her chest.
“Rough.” Dhorsha mouthed.
She lifted a hand from the table and pressed hard on Vimala’s own, larger breasts.
Her nails stung a bit.
“I like it.” Vimala said.
She felt the hungry fingers dig deeper through her clothes into the flesh of her chest.
Clumsily the two rose and fell over the table in this mad embrace.
Vimala could see nothing but her lover’s entranced face, framed in the dim light of the bulb hanging from the roof as their lips locked and spread, sucked and smacked wet. She felt nothing but the turning of hands over flesh and the meeting of iron-hot mouths.
Amid the passion Dhorsha lifted her hand from Vimala’s breast to finger-spell a message, while supporting herself over Vimala with the other. In the haze, her lips still desperately sliding over any part of Dhorsha she could catch, Vimala still made out her lover’s words. She was quite used not only to sign language, but of paying attention to her lover’s specific needs and actions. Even in the throes of sex, she would read any sign Dhorsha made.
“Clean. Oil. Taste.”
Dhorsha pulled back a wire’s width from Vimala, her lips spread open so close to the Chief’s own that any tiny spasm of romance brought them into a feverish new kiss. Dhorsha’s tongue then slipped into Vimala’s mouth and filled the breath-thin gap between their bodies. They bucked against each other clumsily. Vimala held on tightly and resisted the urge to giggle, beaming brightly as her lover’s tongue played about the interior of her open mouth, tangling with her own tongue while lapping up oil and saliva.
Between her lips the slick, bitter taste of oil started mixing with a sweet sensation, a taste like fruit and fresh spice, the taste of her lover. It was overwhelming, delightful.
Dhorsha finally drew back, pulling a thread of spittle that connected their tongues.
She arranged some of her hair behind her ear, giggling and gasping. Vimala laughed.
“Thank you, it tastes so much better now.” Vimala said. Her words cut the little thread.
Dhorsha pushed forward and kissed her softly on the lips.
“Sit up.” Dhorsha signed.
Smiling, she retreated from over Vimala, and stood up off the table.
Dhorsha pulled off her coat. Her breasts, slick with sweat, were visible through her half-unbuttoned shirt, nearly fallen from one shoulder owing to Vimala’s ministrations.
“You have more to show me?” Vimala signed, a sensuous grin on her lips.
“Do you want more?” Dhorsha asked.
In response, Vimala very deliberately finger-spelled, “I need it.”
Her other hand was busy unbuttoning her own shirt and unzipping her skirt.
Before she was done, Dhorsha thrust forward and took her lips in again.
They had kissed so roughly that Vimala’s lipstick had tinged Dhorsha’s mouth red.
After one pull of the lips, however, Dhorsha descended to Vimala’s neck.
She planted a kiss on her shoulder, on her collarbone.
Vimala closed her eyes and tensed as she felt the softness of lips on her bare breast.
Her chest heaved; there was a sharp intake of breath whenever Dhorsha’s slick and warm tongue flicked against her nipple. Her lover’s lips closed tight and pulled on the tip of the breast, stretching her flesh. Vimala sucked in her lips as her lover’s tongue slid over her.
Then there was a rough, surprising sensation as teeth brushed against her nipple.
Vimala gasped and giggled with delight.
But again, this touch was only fleeting. Dhorsha was moving lower.
One hand reached up to squeeze Vimala’s bare breast.
Kisses trailed down her belly and thigh.
Dhorsha’s free hand then pulled down Vimala’s skirt.
Her fingers flicked something sensitive.
Surprised by the electric touch, Vimala slowly spread her legs.
Dhorsha lifted her squeezing hand. Vimala opened her eyes and read the sign.
“Gentle.” She finger-spelled.
Vimala looked down and met her lover’s eyes from between her legs.
She looked almost absurd, uncharismatic. Vimala laughed.
“Try rough.” Vimala finger-spelled.
Dhorsha smiled. Her gaze descended anew.
There was a brief jolt down Vimala’s back as she felt her lover’s cheek brush against her partially closed thigh, and felt her nose brush against the soft fat between sex and belly.
She felt Dhorsha come pleasingly close to her clit.
Her tongue parted Vimala; then her lips closed right where they needed to.
Vimala’s chest heaved, her back arched. Her hips slowly pushed.
She laid a hand over Dhorsha’s head as her lover tasted between her legs.
No more mysterious, elegant charisma. Vimala’s composure melted, and she found herself gasping out loud, squeezing Dhorsha’s head and playing with her hair, and gently turning her hips for catharsis, for release. She was letting off smoke like the tractors and tanks she was so used to fixing, her breath coming in ragged and coming out noisy. Between her legs she felt increasingly hot and tight as Dhorsha worked her clit as she had her lips before.
She was an incredible kisser, no matter where her mouth went.
Underneath her the table rattled and scratched on the rough workshop floor.
Again Vimala felt the briefest brushing of teeth. It sent a jolt through all of her.
“Too rough!” Vimala said, more amused than distressed.
Dhorsha raised a hand again and finger-spelled.
Even as her tongue deftly explored Vimala’s depths.
Vimala squeezed her lover’s head in affirmation.
She grit her teeth immediately as she felt Dhorsha take a soft, sucking pull of her.
Rough was interesting; but gentle was good. Her breath started to work consistently with her lover’s own rhythm. Her entire body, starting at the hips and working up the spine, began to move with the long, loving draws of Dhorsha’s mouth over her labia and clit. Her hands lifted from Dhorsha’s head, and she gripped the edge of the table in a tight lock.
She had to, or else she would have fallen.
Hot, intense spasms worked their way from between her thighs and through all of her.
She moaned and her voice quivered with pleasure.
Dhorsha moaned herself, making soft, sumptuous noises.
Likely sensing Vimala’s climax, she sucked faster, deeper, more firmly.
That was enough to carry her lover over the edge.
Throwing her hair back, lifting her eyes to the workshop roof and arching her back, Vimala cried out with pleasure. She felt the sensation course throughout her like the energy transference of a tank’s gun, shaking her every sinew and muscle. Tense at first as the heat washed over her, her rigid stance slowly softened, and she bent forward.
Dhorsha rose partially from between her legs and they kissed awkwardly.
“Do you understand now?” Dhorsha signed, smiling.
Vimala signed back. “I have my own kind of gentleness. You’ll see.”
On slightly shaking legs, Vimala stood up from the table. Her skirt slid down to her ankles, and she kicked it off. Dressed only in her unbuttoned shirt, she took Dhorsha by the shoulder and led her a few steps toward the tractor. She crouched, kissed her, and lifted her onto one of the cement blocks holding the machine, to make up the height difference.
“Let me show you.” Vimala said.
Dhorsha read her lips, and smiling bashfully, she nodded her head.
She unbuttoned her shirt, and Vimala quickly undid her belt and pulled down her pants.
Her fingers teased Dhorsha, sliding up her belly, between her breasts, flicking her chin.
She cupped her hands around Dhorsha’s cheeks and kissed her.
“I love you.” Vimala said.
“Love.” Dhorsha said back, in her sweet, tiny whispering voice.
“That’s why I can tune you up like this.”
Vimala’s hands slid down from Dhorsha’s jaw and cheek, and traveled touch to touch, millimeters at a time, across her slender shoulders, down her back, around her hips.
“Not everyone needs this. It’s about what kind of touch is needed.”
Dhorsha giggled. She raised her hands to sign. “You’re just excusing breaking the tractor.”
“To hell with the tractor.”
Vimala leaned forward and kissed Dhorsha again. It was brief but firm. When their lips parted slightly from their temporary embrace the two women locked eyes, their noses a millimeter from each other, their mouths separated by little more than warm breath.
“I appreciate the lesson, but trust me. I know what I’m doing.” Vimala said.
Dhorsha smiled. “I trust you. You’ve learned already.”
“Hmm! Don’t take credit for my genius.”
Vimala’s hands slipped inside Dhorsha’s undershorts.
Dhorsha made a tiny noise, like the creaking of a screw, and tipped her head.
Soft moaning blew between Dhorsha’s lips as soon as pressure applied.
Vimala savored her lover’s breath on the tip of her own tongue for a moment.
Then her head slowly dipped down, planting a kiss on her neck, her collarbones.
Dhorsha’s slick skin quivered as Vimala’s tongue slid over one of Dhorsha’s small, perky breasts, flicking the firm nipple at the tip. She grasped the surface with her lips, pulling at the flesh and sucking in the contours. Gently, in a rhythm, her lips spread and shut over the stiff, erect ends of Dhorsha’s breasts. Her hands trailed down the side of her lover’s flank, the fingertips applying gentle pressure to the skin as she thumbed the woman’s ribs, pressed against her side. Her hands looped deftly around her lover’s hips and squeezed her firm buttocks, almost lifting her off the block from the force of her grip.
Vimala felt the politruk’s shuddering on her fingers, against her lips, on the tip of her tongue as she lapped the woman’s areola and kneaded her rump. It was intoxicating, a focus that she only otherwise felt in long, obsessive nights bent into a tractor or tank. She felt warm breaths blowing over her messy, honey-brown hair like the wafting heat of an engine. Dhorsha’s head had dipped against her, nose brushing against hair, her arms looped around Vimala. Her lips remained barely parted, as if desperately kissing the air. She sucked in some of Vimala’s hair for something to relieve the pressure.
Vimala was so pleased; her lover’s body responded so quickly and well to touch. She was the complete opposite of the machines that the Chief had gotten so used to.
She felt that abandon again, that reckless drive to take something apart.
There was so much texture to her lover’s body, so much warmth and pliability. Just the contrast, the hot touch of supple flesh, was enough to get Vimala’s gears going.
And the salty beads of sweat trailing down her breasts as Vimala sucked on them was almost enough to overpower the lingering taste of oil inside the engineer’s mouth.
But not quite enough; there was one more solvent that Vimala wanted on her tongue.
Vimala grinned wryly as her fingers slipped over Dhorsha’s buttocks.
They trailed around her hips, over her thighs, and spread her legs.
She kneeled in front of her with a grin and an inquisitive eye.
“Well, well! You’re quite well-oiled.”
Licking her own lips, her hands holding her lover by the flanks, Vimala leaned just under Dhorsha’s belly and teasily lapped her clit with the tip of her tongue. Dhorsha was wracked with a delicious little spasm almost immediately. Vimala could feel the shuddering of her lover’s thighs as they brushed against her own cheeks.
Though nowhere near as deft as her lover, Vimala was earnest.
She closed her eyes, and then closed her lips around Dhorsha’s soft, moist skin.
In her mouth the taste of oil mixed with her lover’s own taste.
Dhorsha’s hips bucked hard against her face, and her thighs closed and parted.
Vimala could feel every ecstatic twitch and shudder.
As she became excited Dhorsha started to make noises. They might have sounded eerie to the unknowing, but to Vimala they were delightful. As she kissed and lapped, as her tongue penetrated into Dhorsha, as her lips pulled on her clit, she was working the voice out of her, raising her volume to a fever pitch. It was something only she could do.
Growing more heated in the throes of sex, Dhorsha started tapping on the tractor.
It was morse. Vimala was too lost in Dhorsha’s flesh to see, but she could hear.
It was morse for her name. “Vimala! Vimala!”
For Dhorsha, she had learned sign language, finger-spelling, morse code.
So that no matter where their eyes traveled, she would always know.
But they had become so close that in a way, Vimala just knew, without signs or codes.
In response, she thrust her face tighter against inside, her tongue deeper, her lips closer.
Vimala almost felt Dhorsha’s orgasm as if it had been her own.
Dhorsha cried out, both in her voice and her chaotic morse tapping.
Though she could not say her name, the hoarse, incoherently sensual cry was enough.
Her whole body shaken with pleasure, Dhorsha nearly fell from the cement blocks, but Vimala stood to catch her. She lifted her by her buttocks back up against the tractor and raised her to eye level. They shared a last, intermittent kiss, broken every few seconds by Dhorsha’s need to moan and gasp as her body worked through the climax. Propped up against the broken tractor, the scent of their sweat and sex covered by the reek of oil and solvents in the environment, the two of them stared into each other’s eyes quietly.
When the wherewithal to communicate returned to them, Dhorsha signed.
“You really do know what you’re doing, huh?”
Vimala, still holding her lover up against the tractor, smiled in response.
“Listen, you. I have a degree.”
Behind them, the tractor spilled its drive sprocket onto the ground with a loud clang.
It might just have shaken loose from all the sex being had against it.
“Piece of junk!” Vimala shouted.
Dhorsha burst out laughing. She raised a hand to Vimala’s cheek.
“Love you.” She finger-spelled.
Vimala turned back to her.
Laughing and smiling in the afterglow, they shared a final kiss.
Dhorsha lifted her hands from her lover’s shoulders.
“We can shoot it with the Raktapata tomorrow as target practice.” She signed.
Vimala beamed brightly, fallen in love all over again.