<strong>Mari Prescott</strong><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Intelligence Center...and then Mess Hall<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Alex Macauley...and anyone else.<br/><hr/><br/>He seemed to be impressed with her translation, which gave her both a bit of pride at being respected, and pride at proving him wrong. And he was right. Something had responded to his masculine outburst, and it was all too feminine. An age old dance of sexual tension and masculine possessiveness that left her cheeks flushed and her panties just a bit wet. She'd never admit it out loud, though.<br/><br/>When he showed her to another man, she smiled awkwardly. At least this guy seemed harmless. She didn't hear whatever he whispered to the man, but the look that the man gave her afterward told her that it wasn't something pleasant. He seemed to tiptoe around her, and when she gave a tight wave to Macauley, she looked around. The crew was all trying their best not to stare, so she figured that was a good thing.<br/><br/>As the shift went on, she learned more Russian, got better at using the radios and all sorts of other useful skills. She'd actually begun to enjoy herself when Peters looked at his watch and seemed to grow a bit more nervous.<br/><br/><em>"Mac'll be back soon. I hope to see you again."</em><br/><br/>With that, he went back to his station, and Mari waited for "Mac." However, as the other men went back to their tasks...undoubtedly worried that Mac would catch them looking at her when he returned...she realized that now was a perfect time to try and help Ophelia. Slowly and quietly, she snuck out of both Intel and the control room and then into an adjacent corridor. She hated this stupid jumpsuit, but it was all she had for now.<br/><br/>She didn't know which way to go, but as she began exploring, she heard a couple of sailors coming. Ducking into a nearby alcove, she hid as they passed.<br/><br/><em>".....yeah, he's put that tan redhead up in the mess hall for decoration. Barbaric, if you ask me, and this is coming from a guy who would love to get some pussy."</em><br/><br/>The other sailor laughed.<br/><br/><em>"I heard that she's a hot little number, though."</em><br/><br/><em>"She is, but so are all of the girls. Have you seen them? There's another redhead...looks natural...and a couple of brunettes. I mean, it's like Santa Claus stuffed our stockings early. And the Hawk expects us to be content with that one while the rest are 'working' on the sub? Not likely. I think he should just declare them all free game and be done with it. Besides...it looks like Hawk already broke the one in the cage. I want to break my own."</em><br/><br/><em>"Careful Ferguson...these girls are making the men crazy, and you don't want to lose your head. We still have a mission."</em><br/><br/><em>"And I still have a dick. Come on...you can't tell me that the thought of sinking into a wet pussy doesn't sound just a bit refreshing? Relying on magazines of pin-ups and our hands gets old, and it's like a buffet. I intend to find some pussy...and soon. But I don't want it to be public like that girl in the mess. I want her in by bunk...sucking me off....and..."</em><br/><br/>Their talking faded, and Mari tried to think of where the mess hall might be. She chose to ignore the rest of his words and focus on trying to find it. After a bit of wandering, she heard some louder conversation, so she headed toward it. Sure enough, she found the mess hall and walked inside. She realized her mistake mere seconds later. She could barely see the top of Ophelia's cage, but as soon as she'd entered, nudges and whispers had begun, and soon enough the majority of men turned to look at the newcomer. It seemed that the fact that Ophelia was still unreachable for anything beyond touching had become frustrating, and with another redhead...albeit paler and curvier...in the mess, a good number started toward her. It was like a stampede, and the expressions on their face told her that she did not want to be caught. She turned and prepared to run, but men were already cutting off her exit.<br/>