Fic: "Hayloft," NC-17, Star Trek XI, girl!Kirk
Title: Hayloft
Author: alder_knight
Rating: NC-17, always-a-cisgirl!Kirk/OC.
Wordcount: ~1800.
Summary: The Sexual Shenanigans of Young Jane T. Kirk: Lesbian Hijinks in Rural Iowa Edition. Inspired entirely by the song "Hayloft" by Mother Mother, which honestly summarizes the fic pretty succinctly. Sort of a slapstick backwater girlporn misadventure story. Featuring Kirk's motorcycle!
Can be considered a prequel/same-'verse companion to Bitch Slaps & Bra Straps.
Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The Star Trek Mirrorverse action figures on my desk, however, are TOTALLY mine. Unfortunately I don't make money off either.
Warnings: JAILBAIT. D: (It is an important plot point, I swear.)
Beta'd by redcirce. YAY. Thank you, redcirce!
(Age of consent in Iowa is 16. I am pretending it’s 18 because writing about anything younger than this would make me want to die. Whatever, it’s ~*~THE FUTURE~*~ anyway.)
“Have I told you how beautiful you are? Here, put my coat down so the hay doesn’t scratch up your back.” Despite the cold, Jane Kirk whips off her leather jacket and smooths it across the bales, all gentility and class, and the girl (Candace? Kelly? Eh, whatever) shyly crawls onto it and lies back, blue-dyed hair thrown out around her shoulders, shallow breaths making clouds in the chilly air. She’s still wearing the uniform from her schmaltzy private high school, all pleated skirt and black tights and cardigan sweater. Kirk picked this one out of the detention crowd, though, and it shows in the girl’s gauged earlobes, ass-kicking boots, thick eyeliner, and “FUCK☆YOU” Sharpied across her knuckles. She’s definitely spitfire. Kirk can see a lot of the same frustration and rage pent up in this girl that she’s always had inside herself.
Kirk has learned, though, that bottling up emotions is no good at all. Better to fuck it out.
“Boys at your school just not cutting it anymore?” she grins, sliding her white tee over her head and untwisting the strap of her sports bra with a snap before settling into a crouch at the girl’s feet.
The girl snorts. “As if they ever did,” she says dryly. “I am so sick of giving blowjobs behind the football stadium and getting nothing but a sore jaw and nasty aftertaste for my trouble.”
Kirk laughs and pushes her shaggy blond hair out of her eyes. “Oh, honey, do I ever feel your pain. Here, I think I can do a little better than that...”
A series of adjustments and unfastenings follows: cardigan and blouse buttons part to reveal a ribboned bra cupping smooth breasts; a slight slide of the skirt brings joy to Kirk’s pervy heart when she discovers that the stockings end at the thigh, thus not necessitating their removal for the sake of easy access. The girl nods her approval and Kirk flips the pleats up altogether to pull off the already-damp cotton underwear beneath, kissing and biting along the girl’s collarbone and chest as she tosses the balled-up fabric aside. The girl places her hands tentatively on Kirk’s waist, who skates her tongue along the tight flesh of one pleasantly perky breast.
Rebel Girl arches her back and sighs. Kirk’s stomach flips over and she stifles a groan. Yes, this is the feeling she’s been craving. She settles herself on her stomach between the girl’s legs, rough straw against her torso and nylon-wrapped knees hooked over her shoulders. She moves her face close to the girl’s blond bush, inhaling damp sweetness laced with the dry wood and cut hay scent of the barn, and exhaling warmth onto the tender skin. The whole area’s flushed with bloodflow; Rebel Girl’s heart must be pounding like crazy. Kirk lowers her lips to the girl’s clit and proceeds to rock her world.
Rebel Girl turns out to actually be kind of a tough nut to crack, which is fine, as Kirk’s always up for a challenge. Kirk holds two fingers inside her, feeling the girl throb and clench, but focuses on working her clit with her tongue, lapping at her like a grooming cat while Rebel Girl pants and jerks her arms frantically. At last, with a yelp of surprise, she tenses up and spasms around Kirk’s fingers, gushing and arching up. As she collapses into a shuddery heap, bare ass in a big wet spot on the lining of Kirk’s jacket, Kirk herself licks her lips, wipes her chin, and cracks her neck. She slides up so her chin is resting between the girl’s tits.
“Eh?” she teases, smirking. “Any better than the boys?”
“Fuck, I... oh... fuck...” Rebel Girl stammers, not yet coherent. Jane tallies it a win.
“Well, if you wanna learn how it’s done, I’m a great teacher, I’m just saying.” She idly strokes a hand over the girl’s bra as she recalls with satisfaction riding past the high school on her way home from a disappointingly dull afternoon down by the river, pulling up beside the curb as a knot of upperclassmen shuffled out from detention, and calling, “Hey, you with the blue hair - you want a ride home?” What amazing luck.
“Guh, yes, are you kidding? Yes, absolutely. Yes. I... now, you mean?”
“Well, sure, if you’re up for it. I sure am.” Kirk reaches for her belt and starts unfastening her blue jeans.
“Hang on,” the girl says blearily, “what time is it? My dad will be home soon...”
“And what?” asks Kirk. “He’s gonna check for you way the fuck out here in the loft of a hay barn nobody’s used for years? What’s he gonna do anyway? You’re 18, he can’t tell you what to do.”
Rebel Girl bites her lip and looks away.
“What? You’re still worried about it? Look, fine, we can get you decent and hop on my bike and I’ll take you someplace else. I’ll drop you home when you want to come back, don’t worry about it.”
The girl is still silent.
“Well come on, baby, what the fuck?”
“I’m... I’m not...”
In the silence that follows her incomplete words, there is a distant sound of tires on dirt driveway, engine halting, car door slamming.
“Come with me,” says Kirk, reaching down her hand.
“I’m not eighteen,” the girl replies, eyes squeezed shut. Kirk pauses to reflect. Chief among her thoughts is,oh shit.
“You... said you were a senior?” Kirk says with rising inflection.
“I am a senior, but I’m a grade ahead. I’ll be seventeen in three weeks, though!” she adds, hopeful.
“Oh Jesus. You’re sixteen? Sixteen? I am so fucked. So fucked! Oh god, where’s my shirt?”
Kirk rummages among the bales in the dimming light that slants through gaps in the roof, cursing inwardly while the girl sits up and looks at her with a mix of nerves and anger.
“Hey, where are you going? I’m not a baby, you know!”
“Yeah, I know,” spits Jane over her shoulder, “I just fucked you to orgasm with my tongue so I’m pretty sure you’re at least past puberty. Sixteen! Sweet sixteen. It would be awesome if I weren’t about to get my fucking ass kicked by your bourgeois dad.”
“You know what, to hell with my dad. I hope he does find us. I can’t wait to see the look on his... wait, what was that?”
The pair of them go silent. Kirk, a month off from her own 21st birthday, carefully pulls her straw-covered t-shirt back over her head and shakes out her short, messy hair.
A deep voice calls from below: “Karen? Honey, are you up there? I just got home and there’s a strange motorcycle parked in the driveway, I thought it might be one of your school friends’...”
FUCK. Leaving the bike by the house was clearly a gross oversight, one Kirk can only chalk up to being naturally distracted by the swing of that pleated skirt.
“Uhhhh... hi, Daddy... yeah, we were just...”
“Oh? Don’t you ‘just’ me, young lady. Wait a minute, do you have a boy up there again? Show yourself, you lecherous son of a bitch!”
Again? Kirk shoots Karen an incredulous look.
“No, Daddy, no boys, see? It’s, uh... it’s just my tutor! You know, for... chemistry. She and I were going over... you know, formulas... here, take a look.” She gestures urgently to Kirk, who stares at her in disbelief before sliding the steel toe of one engineer’s boot towards the edge of the loft and peering over, trying to ignore the distinct feeling that she’s just been had. She forces a smile and waves tentatively to the extremely irate-looking man backlit just inside the shadowy barn doorway. He is holding something long and thin in his right hand, and her breath catches when she realizes it’s a fucking shotgun.
“Tutor, eh?” he calls up, his eyes narrowing. Kirk seems to have forgotten how to breathe.
“Yes, Daddy, god. It was too noisy in the house, so I suggested we could come out here where it’s quiet...”
He considers this explanation, and, seeming satisfied, nods his head and clears his throat gruffly. “Well. You keep up the good work, then, Miss. I hope to see some improvement on her next report card.”
Kirk’s entire system positively floods with relief as she watches him turn around and step back towards the door. Her lungs and heart start back up again, and she is about five seconds from collapsing back onto the hay bales in relief when she notices, at the same moment he does, the white cotton girls’ panties lying beside the door.
There is a moment of silence during which Karen’s father studies the underwear and Kirk ponders her own mortality.
“YOU,” he bellows, spinning back around and leveling the gun at her head. “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER.” Kirk hits the boards. He fires a shot into the rafters above her head. Karen screams.
“Daddy, she’s just -”
“‘She’? ‘She’?” Apparently lost for words, he eloquently fires two more shots.
“Keep the jacket!” Kirk shouts to Karen. She dashes across the stacked bales of hay, kicks at the boarded-up back window of the loft until her foot breaks through wood, and then jumps the 30-or-so feet to the ground, rolling out of her landing. Whether the mud puddle that catches her softens her fall or not, she does not have the processing power to evaluate right now, as she is more concerned with finding her fucking keys as she dead-sprints toward the driveway, one arm not pumping properly - probably a sprain in there somewhere.
A bullet zips past her, several feet to her left. Shit. She runs faster, lungs sucking huge gasps of burning-cold February air, path zigging and zagging to make her a more difficult target. Finally she rounds the corner of the renovated farmhouse, leaps onto her bike, kicks it into gear, and peels the fuck out of that driveway, raising an immense cloud of dust. She hears one final gunshot - looked like a sporting model, so it probably only held 5 bullets - and then there’s nothing but the whiz of her motor and the air past her ears as she races past acres of cornfield.
Her arm is throbbing, she’s covered in mud, it’s fucking freezing out and she’s now officially qualified for Sex Offender status, but those things will hopefully all subside with time.
She’s really gonna miss that jacket, though.
Author: alder_knight
Rating: NC-17, always-a-cisgirl!Kirk/OC.
Wordcount: ~1800.
Summary: The Sexual Shenanigans of Young Jane T. Kirk: Lesbian Hijinks in Rural Iowa Edition. Inspired entirely by the song "Hayloft" by Mother Mother, which honestly summarizes the fic pretty succinctly. Sort of a slapstick backwater girlporn misadventure story. Featuring Kirk's motorcycle!
Click to viewCan be considered a prequel/same-'verse companion to Bitch Slaps & Bra Straps.
Disclaimer: Star Trek is not mine. The Star Trek Mirrorverse action figures on my desk, however, are TOTALLY mine. Unfortunately I don't make money off either.
Warnings: JAILBAIT. D: (It is an important plot point, I swear.)
Beta'd by redcirce. YAY. Thank you, redcirce!
(Age of consent in Iowa is 16. I am pretending it’s 18 because writing about anything younger than this would make me want to die. Whatever, it’s ~*~THE FUTURE~*~ anyway.)
“Have I told you how beautiful you are? Here, put my coat down so the hay doesn’t scratch up your back.” Despite the cold, Jane Kirk whips off her leather jacket and smooths it across the bales, all gentility and class, and the girl (Candace? Kelly? Eh, whatever) shyly crawls onto it and lies back, blue-dyed hair thrown out around her shoulders, shallow breaths making clouds in the chilly air. She’s still wearing the uniform from her schmaltzy private high school, all pleated skirt and black tights and cardigan sweater. Kirk picked this one out of the detention crowd, though, and it shows in the girl’s gauged earlobes, ass-kicking boots, thick eyeliner, and “FUCK☆YOU” Sharpied across her knuckles. She’s definitely spitfire. Kirk can see a lot of the same frustration and rage pent up in this girl that she’s always had inside herself.
Kirk has learned, though, that bottling up emotions is no good at all. Better to fuck it out.
“Boys at your school just not cutting it anymore?” she grins, sliding her white tee over her head and untwisting the strap of her sports bra with a snap before settling into a crouch at the girl’s feet.
The girl snorts. “As if they ever did,” she says dryly. “I am so sick of giving blowjobs behind the football stadium and getting nothing but a sore jaw and nasty aftertaste for my trouble.”
Kirk laughs and pushes her shaggy blond hair out of her eyes. “Oh, honey, do I ever feel your pain. Here, I think I can do a little better than that...”
A series of adjustments and unfastenings follows: cardigan and blouse buttons part to reveal a ribboned bra cupping smooth breasts; a slight slide of the skirt brings joy to Kirk’s pervy heart when she discovers that the stockings end at the thigh, thus not necessitating their removal for the sake of easy access. The girl nods her approval and Kirk flips the pleats up altogether to pull off the already-damp cotton underwear beneath, kissing and biting along the girl’s collarbone and chest as she tosses the balled-up fabric aside. The girl places her hands tentatively on Kirk’s waist, who skates her tongue along the tight flesh of one pleasantly perky breast.
Rebel Girl arches her back and sighs. Kirk’s stomach flips over and she stifles a groan. Yes, this is the feeling she’s been craving. She settles herself on her stomach between the girl’s legs, rough straw against her torso and nylon-wrapped knees hooked over her shoulders. She moves her face close to the girl’s blond bush, inhaling damp sweetness laced with the dry wood and cut hay scent of the barn, and exhaling warmth onto the tender skin. The whole area’s flushed with bloodflow; Rebel Girl’s heart must be pounding like crazy. Kirk lowers her lips to the girl’s clit and proceeds to rock her world.
Rebel Girl turns out to actually be kind of a tough nut to crack, which is fine, as Kirk’s always up for a challenge. Kirk holds two fingers inside her, feeling the girl throb and clench, but focuses on working her clit with her tongue, lapping at her like a grooming cat while Rebel Girl pants and jerks her arms frantically. At last, with a yelp of surprise, she tenses up and spasms around Kirk’s fingers, gushing and arching up. As she collapses into a shuddery heap, bare ass in a big wet spot on the lining of Kirk’s jacket, Kirk herself licks her lips, wipes her chin, and cracks her neck. She slides up so her chin is resting between the girl’s tits.
“Eh?” she teases, smirking. “Any better than the boys?”
“Fuck, I... oh... fuck...” Rebel Girl stammers, not yet coherent. Jane tallies it a win.
“Well, if you wanna learn how it’s done, I’m a great teacher, I’m just saying.” She idly strokes a hand over the girl’s bra as she recalls with satisfaction riding past the high school on her way home from a disappointingly dull afternoon down by the river, pulling up beside the curb as a knot of upperclassmen shuffled out from detention, and calling, “Hey, you with the blue hair - you want a ride home?” What amazing luck.
“Guh, yes, are you kidding? Yes, absolutely. Yes. I... now, you mean?”
“Well, sure, if you’re up for it. I sure am.” Kirk reaches for her belt and starts unfastening her blue jeans.
“Hang on,” the girl says blearily, “what time is it? My dad will be home soon...”
“And what?” asks Kirk. “He’s gonna check for you way the fuck out here in the loft of a hay barn nobody’s used for years? What’s he gonna do anyway? You’re 18, he can’t tell you what to do.”
Rebel Girl bites her lip and looks away.
“What? You’re still worried about it? Look, fine, we can get you decent and hop on my bike and I’ll take you someplace else. I’ll drop you home when you want to come back, don’t worry about it.”
The girl is still silent.
“Well come on, baby, what the fuck?”
“I’m... I’m not...”
In the silence that follows her incomplete words, there is a distant sound of tires on dirt driveway, engine halting, car door slamming.
“Come with me,” says Kirk, reaching down her hand.
“I’m not eighteen,” the girl replies, eyes squeezed shut. Kirk pauses to reflect. Chief among her thoughts is,oh shit.
“You... said you were a senior?” Kirk says with rising inflection.
“I am a senior, but I’m a grade ahead. I’ll be seventeen in three weeks, though!” she adds, hopeful.
“Oh Jesus. You’re sixteen? Sixteen? I am so fucked. So fucked! Oh god, where’s my shirt?”
Kirk rummages among the bales in the dimming light that slants through gaps in the roof, cursing inwardly while the girl sits up and looks at her with a mix of nerves and anger.
“Hey, where are you going? I’m not a baby, you know!”
“Yeah, I know,” spits Jane over her shoulder, “I just fucked you to orgasm with my tongue so I’m pretty sure you’re at least past puberty. Sixteen! Sweet sixteen. It would be awesome if I weren’t about to get my fucking ass kicked by your bourgeois dad.”
“You know what, to hell with my dad. I hope he does find us. I can’t wait to see the look on his... wait, what was that?”
The pair of them go silent. Kirk, a month off from her own 21st birthday, carefully pulls her straw-covered t-shirt back over her head and shakes out her short, messy hair.
A deep voice calls from below: “Karen? Honey, are you up there? I just got home and there’s a strange motorcycle parked in the driveway, I thought it might be one of your school friends’...”
FUCK. Leaving the bike by the house was clearly a gross oversight, one Kirk can only chalk up to being naturally distracted by the swing of that pleated skirt.
“Uhhhh... hi, Daddy... yeah, we were just...”
“Oh? Don’t you ‘just’ me, young lady. Wait a minute, do you have a boy up there again? Show yourself, you lecherous son of a bitch!”
Again? Kirk shoots Karen an incredulous look.
“No, Daddy, no boys, see? It’s, uh... it’s just my tutor! You know, for... chemistry. She and I were going over... you know, formulas... here, take a look.” She gestures urgently to Kirk, who stares at her in disbelief before sliding the steel toe of one engineer’s boot towards the edge of the loft and peering over, trying to ignore the distinct feeling that she’s just been had. She forces a smile and waves tentatively to the extremely irate-looking man backlit just inside the shadowy barn doorway. He is holding something long and thin in his right hand, and her breath catches when she realizes it’s a fucking shotgun.
“Tutor, eh?” he calls up, his eyes narrowing. Kirk seems to have forgotten how to breathe.
“Yes, Daddy, god. It was too noisy in the house, so I suggested we could come out here where it’s quiet...”
He considers this explanation, and, seeming satisfied, nods his head and clears his throat gruffly. “Well. You keep up the good work, then, Miss. I hope to see some improvement on her next report card.”
Kirk’s entire system positively floods with relief as she watches him turn around and step back towards the door. Her lungs and heart start back up again, and she is about five seconds from collapsing back onto the hay bales in relief when she notices, at the same moment he does, the white cotton girls’ panties lying beside the door.
There is a moment of silence during which Karen’s father studies the underwear and Kirk ponders her own mortality.
“YOU,” he bellows, spinning back around and leveling the gun at her head. “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER.” Kirk hits the boards. He fires a shot into the rafters above her head. Karen screams.
“Daddy, she’s just -”
“‘She’? ‘She’?” Apparently lost for words, he eloquently fires two more shots.
“Keep the jacket!” Kirk shouts to Karen. She dashes across the stacked bales of hay, kicks at the boarded-up back window of the loft until her foot breaks through wood, and then jumps the 30-or-so feet to the ground, rolling out of her landing. Whether the mud puddle that catches her softens her fall or not, she does not have the processing power to evaluate right now, as she is more concerned with finding her fucking keys as she dead-sprints toward the driveway, one arm not pumping properly - probably a sprain in there somewhere.
A bullet zips past her, several feet to her left. Shit. She runs faster, lungs sucking huge gasps of burning-cold February air, path zigging and zagging to make her a more difficult target. Finally she rounds the corner of the renovated farmhouse, leaps onto her bike, kicks it into gear, and peels the fuck out of that driveway, raising an immense cloud of dust. She hears one final gunshot - looked like a sporting model, so it probably only held 5 bullets - and then there’s nothing but the whiz of her motor and the air past her ears as she races past acres of cornfield.
Her arm is throbbing, she’s covered in mud, it’s fucking freezing out and she’s now officially qualified for Sex Offender status, but those things will hopefully all subside with time.
She’s really gonna miss that jacket, though.
- NOTES:
- I FEEL DIRTY.
- SO. DIRTY.
- This was sort of a speed-written fic. I am trying to do less overthinking and more actual writing. redcirce beta'd it for me on a moment's notice because she is a rockstar.
- You guys, I totally looked up Riverside, IA to figure out what the layout of the town is like and if there would be cornfields nearby and how far from the center of town the actual river is and what high schools are there. NERRRRRRRD. The high school that Karen attends is totally made up, which I think is fair given that they've got over 200 years to build another school. That said, hopefully people's attitudes about sexuality (and the town's apparent lack of nonwhite residents) will also have changed by then.
- I am pretty obsessed with writing this version of girl!Kirk. If you like her, you can read more of her misadventures in Bitch Slaps & Bra Straps and Turn Away. You can also follow my #bs&bs 'verse tag if you wish to be alerted when I post more stories about her.
- Thank you for reading! If you have suggestions for things I should work on in future writing, please do actually let me know. Critical feedback helps!