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The Justicar's Dog of War	By : Doirly_No Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 55026 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 38
- 39
- 40
Samara didn't have a vivid memory of the first time she saw Commander Shepard that day on Illium when she was recruited to help stop the Collectors. Though she had little experience with humans, encountering one wasn't particularly noteworthy. All and all it was a rather routine mission that was barely worthy of record. It was only when she boarded the Normandy that things got interesting and she realized what a remarkable person she was in the company of, but even then she never would have guessed how much of an impact such a young creature would have on her life. Looking back she wished she had paid more attention, it would have made the story of their relationship so much more romantic. Their second meeting on Illium however made a more lasting impression.
After the defeat of the Reapers the weary matriarch attempted to return to her old way of life, but there was a pervasive, lingering doubt that tainted her every thought. The Justicars were all but gone, their ranks thinned in the war and its aftermath. The destruction of the monastery on Lesuss stole the purpose for many who followed the code and so they left the order. The massacre of the Ardat-Yakshi made Samara question her devotion as well, though not in the same way; she had already given her answer when Morinth died. It was the allure of reuniting with her last surviving daughter Falere that got her wondering about a change in path and the more time that past the more she leaned toward abandoning her oath to live in peace. The amount of sorrow and suffering in the post-war galaxy was overwhelming; she didn't know if there was anything she could do to help. It was as she was on the brink of collapse that she ran into her former-commander.
It was much the same as the first time; Samara was tracking down a criminal on Illium while Shepard was tracking her down, even getting the same person to assist with the hunt, but that was where the similarities ended. As she didn't encounter the lauded, peerless Commander determinedly caring out a vital mission, what she found was an aimless, tired woman reclining on a bench in the middle of a quaint park. Dressed in short pants that hung past the knee, surplus army boots and a plain, gray hoodie the marine vet looked nothing like the armored hero she had previously known. Originally she thought the outfit was a disguise until she found out later that was just the human's normal civilian attire. Once she was spotted though her friend perked right up; it was quite flattering to be honest.
Few pleasantries were exchanged as a slew of more pressing questions immediately flooded the matriarch's mind. There were conflicting reports on whether the Commander had died. Obviously she hadn't, but Samara was still curious how that was possible. Shepard wasn't sure, didn't have any clear memories between jumping into the Conduit and waking under a pile of rocks three days later. There was really nothing for her to share so they moved on to the next obvious topic of why she was there. If it was just a matter of catching up it would have to wait until after the Justicar's hunt for a slaver, who had been preying on refugees was complete. Immediately the woman offered to help, in fact she happened to have a tip from the Shadow Broker on where to find the scumbag.
The hunt was over quickly as the criminal didn't even know she was being tracked, so wasn't in hiding. When caught she immediately surrendered and was able to negotiate a deal with Samara. Basically, in exchange for not being executed on the spot she agreed to hand herself over to the police and give the Justicar any information she could on her business dealings as well as the locations of all the slaves she had sold. She had destroyed many lives, but not once had she ever hurt anyone. Not a single use of violence. It was hard to decide whether that made the villainous matron noble or just pathetic.
As soon as the rather mundane case was wrapped up Shepard immediately asked if the matriarch would like some help tracking down the other leads the slaver had provided. It was at that point Samara directly questioned why the woman was there. A clear answer wasn't forthcoming as it seemed even the former-marine didn't know for sure. She humored the almost incoherent human awhile and agreed to share a meal, considering everything the Commander did for the galaxy at large and her in particular it was the least she could do. Eventually she had to get back to her duty and when she mentioned it again there was an offer of assistance. She politely turned it down, her mission was a solo one, but to her surprise that response was not accepted. What followed was an argument that gave her flashbacks of conversations she had with her daughters when they were children. It was a weird situation that took a little too long to resolve, but finally they part ways. That separation was short lived.
Samara sifted through the procured data overnight and quickly set her sights on the volus who helped launder money stolen from the refugees-turned-slaves, as he resided only a few miles away. It was an obvious, predictable plan that she didn't give a second thought about. So when she showed up at the target's house the following morning and found Shepard sitting on the couch, the diminutive alien tied up in the corner she wasn't surprise her course of actions had been predicted, but that someone would bother doing it at all. Then for the second time in as many days she was forced to rebuff the strangely immature woman. She figured that would be the end of it, but just to be safe she decided to leave Illium behind. That didn't help.
A week later the Justicar again found the wayward woman on a bench on a space station this time, dressed the same as before, except the sweatshirt's hood was pulled up. For the life of her she could not figure out what was going on with Shepard following her. She didn't even humor the human and preemptively refused any sort of partnership, purposely being quite rude. That wasn't enough. Despite leaving no hint as to what she was doing the former-marine managed to track her down yet again on the nearby planet. Enough was enough and Samara directly confronted her stalker.
A short argument led to the matriarch harshly asking, "What is wrong with you?"
After a moment of silence Shepard replied earnestly, "I don't know. I don't feel right and all the doctors say is to get rest and live on a beach or something. I need friends not professionals."
For a long few minutes Samara stared at the human in quiet contemplation. There was nothing in the Code about such a situation; the first time she had noticed any fallibility in it. This woman had done so much for so many, including herself, and asked for so little in return, just like a true Justicar. There had to be something she could do. In the moment she wasn't sure what, but letting Shepard tag along for awhile would at least give her time to come up with a way to help. She finally agreed to the Commander's request which was immediately followed by a squeal and a one-sided hug. It was very strange.
The flashbacks of her time as a mother renewed as her now excited companion led her to a surprise at the station's docks. The rapid change in moods would usually make Samara suspect deceit, but she knew that wasn't the case here. Some form of PTSD was possible in which case a doctor would be in order, though the way the former-marine was acting didn't quite fit that diagnosis. Then again trauma most likely affected humans differently than asari. She thought it best to observe and assess before deciding on a course of action. At least Shepard didn't seem to be suffering and it was quite amusing to watch the great hero act like a teenage kid.
The grand surprise turned out to be a small, STG ship. The model was a generation out of date, which to the salarians was practically ancient, but it was still just a hair below state of the art. With the help of Major Kirrahe, Shepard had been able to procure the vessel from Sur'Kesh with the credits that she got from selling her apartments on the Citadel and Intai'sei. She then had just enough money left to refurbish the inside to make it feel less spartan and more homey.
Samara asked, "Why go to such effort? Why not just live in one of those apartments?"
Shepard's odd response was, "Then they could find me."
"Who?"
"Everyone!" with an exaggerated flap of the arms.
"Do you fear for your safety?"
"Oh no, of course not, no one can hurt me. I know that."
Before the Justicar could react to the strange answer she was dragged through the airlock and the ship's tour began. She was first led to the cockpit where it was pointed out how two rock-hard, pilot seats had been replaced with one that was far more comfortable, the model a recommendation of Joker's. There was then some technobabble she didn't really understand; the infiltrator's expertise went beyond what was necessary for the job. Shepard was a dork at heart. From there, there was a quick explanation of the narrow, locker-lined hallway before they made it to the living area. It was pleasant and set up much like the Commander's cabin on the Normandy, though she had only been in it once so wasn't entirely sure what exactly was different. She was certain there wasn't a kitchen however.
Throughout the tour Shepard barely took a breath as she had something to say about everything and was more than willing to go into detail about all of it. Prattling on and on about couches and sinks was a bit out of character for her, from Samara's experience at least, but it wasn't as unusual as it seemed. This was the first space she had ever had that was truly hers. As a child she never got the chance to personalize a room to such an extent. She had even less freedom after joining the military. From there she lived in some nice places, but she never really had a say in how they looked. The cabin on the Normandy, her apartments on the Citadel and Intai'sei and even the barebones one she kept on Earth were all pre-furnished with no input from her. She really liked them and all, which is way she copied aspects from them, but still they were all someone else's property not her own. This ship was hers and no one else's.
The tour ended with the one room lower deck that was used by STG units as a staging area, though what purpose it would have to an apparently civilian Shepard was beyond Samara. The lockers above seemed to provide more than enough storage for a single person and none of the equipment or fixtures had any role outside of a military one so she wondered what her former-commander would do with it. She was given a few minutes to ponder the possibilities as her guide had finally seemed to run out of words. Maybe install a fish tank. She idly inspected a console, not noticing she was actually in an awkward silence until she turned back toward her suddenly fidgety friend.
Shepard mumbled, "What do you think?"
"It is a very nice ship."
"You really like it?"
"Yes."
"Enough to want to travel around in it?"
"Shepard, we have been over this..."
Before Samara could give her a thoroughly explained rejection again, the wayward woman cut in, "I know, I know; Justicar, work alone, the Code, yada-yada. But this is my ship, not yours, so you wouldn't own it, so you still wouldn't have any possessions. It'd be like the Normandy again where you're just a passenger, except you'd get to determine where to go. I'd just be helping you, whatever that means. If all you want is a chauffeur, that's fine, I'll stay on the ship. I'd like to help more than that, but I'll defer to you on everything."
"Why are you being so persistent?"
"I don't want to be alone, but I don't want to be around people who look up to me. I want to help people, but I don't want to do deal with everything that being a marine or spectre entails, like paperwork and dealing with assholes. And I just want to be a soldier again, just give me my orders and let me do the job. I don't want to give orders, I don't want that responsibility and I'm honestly not sure I could handle it at the moment anyway."
"Why me?"
"You're the only one I can think of whom fits all the criteria and I really like you, I think you're awesome and I respect you a lot." Then after a long breath Shepard deflated, adding, "I won't bother you anymore. I mean I have other options, good ones. Not as good as you though. Garrus was talking about maybe going back to Omega and doing his Archangel thing again. I'd call myself the Demon; Archangel and the Demon. Grunt wants to be the first krogan spectre. That doesn't seem realistic, but I could train him a bit. There's also Kasumi, she's been acting more like Robin Hood since the war and I think I could get her to go full do-gooder if I joined her. I might try Liara next though; I don't think she's doing anything evil or at least not too evil. I could help tone her down if she is, maybe..."
The human's rambling gave Samara enough time to consider her reply carefully and a little over half a minute after Shepard trailed off she said, "We can at least give traveling together a try."
For the second time that day the ancient Justicar was bombarded with a girlish squeal followed up quickly by a powerful hug that trapped her arms against her sides. If not for her armor she might have been injured. There had to be something seriously wrong with the former-commander; adults, let alone marines, don't act that way. As she was being affectionately crushed she swore to determine the human's problem before they parted ways again. She would give it as much time as was necessary. There was no need to rush since having Shepard at her side would only help her in her duties. Though she didn't yet realize it at that moment, it would also give her a renewed sense of purpose.
Samara ended up not leaving the ship, since neither of them had any further business on the station they decided to depart right away. They did not, however, have a destination in mind. With control of the flight plan resting on the Justicar's shoulders she reached out to her contacts, which now because of Shepard included the Shadow Broker, for a place in need of her assistance and with chaos reigning in much of the galaxy in the aftermath of the war finding such a place wasn't too difficult. She decided on a troubled system rather than a specific objective so she could go over living arrangements with her new roommate. Something she hadn't done in over seven-hundred years, back in her university days. She'd probably get along with Lidanya just fine today, but back then they could not have been any more opposite from one another; a rebellious youth with no plans for a future versus an honor roll student with designs for a military career. The stick-in-the-mud infuriated her on so many occasions, luckily that didn't seem like it would be the case with this companion.
An hour into the voyage the matriarch was proven wrong and a non-military use for the second deck was found, it would serve as her room. She needed nothing and a spartan space suited her just fine, although she did enjoy gazing at the stars from the observation deck on the Normandy. She only occasionally required sleep and whenever she did she would simply use the couch. Such accommodations were actually far nicer than she was used to. With the essentials set their journey began.
As a sort of test run they broke up a small smuggling ring, nothing major and the perpetrators surrendered without resistance, but it let Samara know that Shepard really would follow her lead. Considering the level of skill the human possessed she felt no need to ease into things any further and their next mission involved dismantling a batarian pirate gang operating at the edge of asari territory. Again everything went smoothly, or at least as smoothly as fighting a gang of pirates can go, though it took them away from the ship for a few weeks. When they returned the former-commander offered to stow their gear, so the matriarch decided to make use of the shower and wash off the accumulated filth that her armor had trapped against her skin.
The original purpose of their bathroom was for decontamination, where the salarians put their toilet was a mystery best left unsolved, so there was no shower stall just a showerhead and a drain. There wasn't even a door to close the space off with. Privacy wasn't really an issue for Samara; she just worried what issues it would cause her companion. At such a young age people are so much more self-conscious about their bodies, or were they? Shepard was around thirty, but she couldn't remember what the equivalent for her people would be. Obviously thirty was old enough to be an adult for them, a young-adult perhaps? How long did humans go through puberty? The matriarch pondered as she stripped down and stepped under the water. The warm streams felt so good after so many days spent trekking and fighting.
For several minutes Samara stood there letting the water wash over her, her chin tilted up so her face was the first part of her to be embraced by the soothing spray. Then her head dipped to allow her tight shoulders a chance to be massaged by the gentle streams. Her scaled skin required little more than a quick rinse, but the shower was providing some therapy for the weary muscles beneath so she stayed longer than was needed. Eventually she did have to leave and slowly turned around, then even more slowly opened her eyes. To her surprise the first thing she saw was Shepard, clutching a stack of towels while staring at her with a vacant expression.
It took a second before the human reacted to the matriarch's movement, "Sorry, I didn't mean to... Sorry... I... Sorry."
Shepard dropped what she was holding and fled, leaving a momentarily confused Samara behind. It seemed like a complete overreaction to something that was bound to happen; the bathroom didn't have a door after all. The woman had done nothing wrong, but sure acted as if she had. Unless of course she thought she had just been caught peeping. The matriarch turned off the water then strolled over to fetch one of the dropped towels. Apparently it wasn't by chance that the former-marine's top two choices were both asari. Though whether she was fully conscious of what influenced her decision was up in the air. Perhaps some research into human puberty and how long it lasted was required.
The brave and mighty hero spent the rest of the day avoiding the matriarch; much like Rila would after doing something wrong. Morinth on the other hand never hid, was never afraid of repercussions, with one exception. Immediately confronting Shepard didn't seem the most prudent course of action, but she had to do something so began by doing a little research. If she weren't so out of practice dealing with other people her tact would have been different. She looked through varying medical, biologically and psychological texts about humans as well as several on the differences between them and asari. It turned out puberty was definitely not the case and the erratic behavior didn't quite fit the symptoms of PTSD either, although it couldn't be ruled out either. Something had to be wrong; the woman in her company was not the same one she fought the Collectors alongside. Perhaps she was overanalyzing things and the Commander just needed a break from everything, including whatever facade that was necessary to lead soldiers into an apocalyptic war.
Things remained awkward for the next couple weeks, especially after the former-marine accidently walked in on the matriarch showering for a second time. Shepard's adolescent embarrassment was renewed and talking things through became nearly impossible. The woman wouldn't engage, just nod along and agree with everything Samara said, never adding anything to the conversation. Then by chance one morning while searching for tools to fix a ding in her armor she stumbled upon a box buried in the back of one of the larger lockers. Scribbled on the top were markings she didn't recognized, a quick scan with her omni-tool told her they were letters from one of Earth's dominant languages, though she couldn't find a translation for 'LNT'. It was a mystery she wouldn't learn the answer to for quite some time.
Inside the sealed, though not locked, box were an assortment of items she kind of recognized but not quite. Again Samara turned to her omni-tool and was a bit surprised to learn they were all sex toys. Perhaps the 'T' stood for toy? More specifically the toys were largely of the BDSM variety, an acronym she'd never heard of but the practices were quite universal. There were few fetishes, lifestyles and kinks that weren't popular amongst the asari. Gazing at the restraints Shepard's words flashed through her mind; "just give me my orders and let me do the job. I don't want to give orders, I don't want that responsibility". Shepard had been nothing but submissive since they officially joined forces. She doubted her former-commander had any crass intentions, if anything the embarrassed reactions to seeing her naked showed a certain naivety and innocence in the planning of this endeavor, but there may have been an underlying subconscious desire at play.
Samara put the box back exactly how she had found it and went to meditate on what to do next. It turned out to be a long session that lasted until dinner time. She emerged from the lower deck to find Shepard preparing spaghetti and chicken-balls, which wasn't a misunderstanding on the alien's part, the woman used chicken to make meatballs for some unknown reason. Without a word she took a seat at the kitchen table and silently watched the amateur cook work, making the former-marine more and more self-conscious with each passing minute. She did nothing to alleviate the tension, just waited expectantly for her meal.
Once the food was ready, Shepard dished up two plates, sliding one to her companion before sitting down. She grabbed her fork and was ready to eat when Samara interrupted with a request for water. Request wasn't quite the right word; the matriarch's tone was more demanding than that though not forceful enough to be considered an order. It struck the right balance so that the human didn't really think about it she just filled a glass and passed it over. She sat again and again she was interrupted before she could get anywhere. The matriarch wanted a knife and she thought nothing of fetching one. Then a napkin, followed by a cushion then a second fork because the first had a speck of hardened crud on it. Not once did she complain or even pay what she was doing any mind, just obediently carried out what was asked of her.
They had their meal in a comfortable silence. With the matriarch's attention focused elsewhere Shepard was able to relax and Samara was never bothered by quiet or much of anything else really. The Justicar ate more quickly than usual and left her plate behind to be cleared by her companion. There still wasn't a hint of dissent, so she decided to push further. Normally when she showered she removed her armor in the bathroom, partial for privacy's sake, but mostly for efficiency as it was a good time to rinse off her equipment. That evening however she chose to strip out of her distinctive red outfit in the middle of the den. She knew she was being watched, though that didn't mean she tried to make a show of it. Much like her plate she left everything behind for someone else to pick up.
Shepard watched slack jawed, a swirl of pasta hovering inches from her gaping mouth, as a nude goddess walked across her living room. Her brain overloaded and it didn't even occur to her to question what was happening or why it was happening. All the galactic hero could manage to do was stare and drool. It was the droplets of spittle hurdling her lower lip that knocked her from her stupor as she quickly sucked them back in. The blue mirage was gone and her ability to process thoughts recovered. That was when she noticed the spaghetti that had been on her fork slipped and fell into her lap. She picked the bit of food off her leg and plopped it back onto her plate, then with an annoyed grunt she popped up to her feet. She hoped to defeat the stain with a hot water assault before it could entrench itself in the fabric of her sweatpants.
Any attempt to halt the settling sauce was thwarted when the former-commander heard a call, "Shepard, I could use your assistance."
There was a long silence before Samara got a reply, "Uh, sure, what do you need?"
"Help with my back, if you would?"
Another quiet moment then a hesitant, "Okay."
The matriarch was keeping her back to the door while standing underneath the shower's spray and had to look back over her shoulder using just the barest sliver of the corner of her eye to watch her young friend shuffle into the room. Her gaze was not returned as Shepard attempted to look every which way but her way. Both accidental intrusions involved several moments of gawking before retreat, when invited however there was active avoidance. It was odd to see the great Commander so awkward and shy.
Samara gave her companion a minute or so, but eventually had to ask, "Will you help me with my back or not?"
Shepard's whole body jerked as if a bolt of electricity had hit her, which inadvertently caused her eyes to fall upon the wet, nude asari just a few yards away. "Like, over there? Should I come over to you?"
"That seems the best way to do it."
"Uh yeah, makes sense," as the woman hooked her thumbs in the waist of her grey sweats.
Before the pants could get much beyond mid-hip Samara asked, "What are you doing?"
"I'm going to get into the shower with you," saying it brought a smile to Shepard's lips and made her a little bolder. "To help with your back and whatever else you may need help with."
"No, you may keep your clothing on. I am the one bathing, not you."
A bit crushed the woman's fingers slipped from her waist, then after taking a few sulking steps forward asked, "Aren't you going to turn off the water?"
"I rather not," Samara replied as she reached back to hand her new attendant a bottle of soap.
"But what about my clothes?"
The asari did a quick study of the human's outfit and said, "You wash them with water, correct? I am sure they will be fine."
Shepard pouted, "I guess so."
"Good then," and Samara again faced the far wall, sliding a little forward to force her companion to step under the water.
There was a squeeze and a plop then two very strong hands began to soap up the matriarch's shoulders. Not a hint of resistance or even free will. Did Shepard not find the situation strange, at all? She didn't wonder why Samara needed help this time, but none of the previous times? She didn't even put up a fight to save her clothes; they were just some old sweatpants and a cheap t-shirt, but they still deserved a rebuttal at least. Instead she let them get soaked so she could wash her friend's back like it was a normal occurrence. She did show some life when her chore was nearly done though and tried to keep going lower even after reaching the base of the spine. She didn't make it to the goal.
The matriarch took a step away and spun around in a single fluid motion, giving Shepard quite the view of her dripping body while she too couldn't resist flicking a glance down at the human's near transparent wet shirt before asking, "Do you find this normal?"
"They look bigger than average, but otherwise..."
"No, I mean," Samara touched the button to shut off the water. "I am nude, you are drenched and we are in the shower together. And your previous attempts at peeping..."
It was Shepard's turn to interrupt, "Those were accidental, I swear!"
"I believe you," the matriarch then found it necessary to cross her arms over her chest to keep her young companion's eyes from wandering down. "If you are looking for some sort of intimate relationship between the two of us it is out of the question."
Embarrassed, the human explained, "I know. That isn't why I wanted to join you, I swear. You're just so beautiful; it'll take a little time to get used to being around you. I'm sorry for making you feel uncomfortable."
"It takes far more than this to make me uncomfortable. I am more concerned about you."
"Oh, thanks, but I'm fine." Shepard stood there quietly for a minute waiting for a response, her increasingly noticeable nipples giving away she was beginning to get cold. "Should I go change now?"
"You understand we cannot have an intimate nor romantic relationship? No matter what feelings you may develop?"
Kind of rubbing it in, "Yeah, I get your point."
"Good, if you truly do understand that then I would like to offer you a choice on whether you stay or leave."
With a confused stare Shepard grunted, "Huh?"
"Either you go change your clothes or you stay here and help me finish showering." Knowing her statement would lead only to more questions, Samara preempted them, "You are obviously attracted to me which is the cause of quite a bit of tension and embarrassment for you. While I am sure your infatuation will fade and we will be able to live and work together without issue I doubt it will entirely disappear. It seems you want this ship to be your safe haven and being caused discomfort in it could be harmful."
"What are you proposing?"
"A way to release your tension and hopefully make it so you no longer feel embarrassment around me. I will be in charge, you will have to do as I say and not overstep your bounds."
"But, wouldn't what I think you're saying break the Justicar's Code?"
"That is why I must be in control. I will prevent any deviations. The Code dictates what I must do, not what you must do. Whatever sexual or emotional gratification you may receive is fine so long as I do not share it with you. I will of course be pleased to be helping you; just so long as I keep a proper distance it will be fine."
"Sexual gratification, but will we actually have sex?"
"No."
"Then what would we do?"
"To start, you would wash me."
"Well, I guess we could at least try that part out."
"Very well then, now strip and kneel."
There was a moment of hesitation before Shepard grabbed the lower hem of her shirt and peeled the wet garment over her head. She ignored the instinct to cover her breasts and instead immediately hooked her thumbs in her waistband, pulling both her sweats and underwear off together as she bent over. To save some modesty she sunk to her knees without straightening back up. Shoulders slouched, hands clutched in her lap she appeared to be having second thoughts. She couldn't even manage to raise her eyes from the spot of flooring directly in front of her. She could have used a minute to collect herself, but the matriarch thought it better not to dwell. The water was turned back on, eliciting a surprised yelp and jump from the huddling human. Then a bottle of soap landed by her knee and she looked up to see she was in the shadow of a goddess. Hormones overwhelmed nerves as lust overwhelmed doubt; she was already feeling a lot better.
Samara placed the arch of her right foot on the human's thigh, her folded arms lowering to beneath her bust rather than across it. She felt a slight shiver through the pad of her sole. Without delay Shepard squirted out a blob of soap and worked it into a lather before taking hold of a lithe, blue calf. Her leg was treated as if it were some irreplaceable work of art being polished for display in a museum. Seemingly wary of overstepping the boundaries that had yet to be finalized the active fingers didn't venture too close to her groin or hip, so every inch of skin below that was scrubbed more vigorously than it had ever been before. Her other limb got the same level of meticulous attention when she presented it for cleaning. It was odd being the subject of such worship; seemed the only just description of such treatment.
When no scale was left untouched the matriarch slid her foot back to the floor and waited for her attendant to make the next move. Heels a shoulder's width apart, toes turned out and arms folded she loomed like a marble statue, sculpted to honor a goddess of fertility or perhaps a conquering general. Shepard got another helping of soap and tentatively reached for Samara's hips, washing them both at the same time. When hands veered inward a near constant stream of glances were flicked up at her as if to okay every new scale traversed. She didn't dissuade the encroachment in the slightest so soon a calloused palm settled on her mons. Then in a bold act the other slipped between her legs, cupping her azure for a moment before slowly being extracted, a finger purposefully dragged along her cleft. Wisely the human didn't try to take a mile after being offered an inch and moved up to her abdomen.
Apprehension faded from the former-marine's face, replaced by fascination and adoration. After delving between the alien's legs it was hard to believe there were any boundaries she could overstep above the waist. With the concerns of doing something wrong gone she was better able to absorb the sensations she was experiencing. Asari skin was so smooth, her fingers glided over it without a hint of friction slowing them down and the tiny scales gave it a lovely texture. There was little give to the battle-hardened warrior's flesh; under the veil of rugged blue was nothing but lean muscle. Just before her hands reached the matriarch's arms they fell away to allowing her to travel further north to the great bounty above. The next part required a better angle so Shepard rose to her feet.
Eye to eye Samara stated, "Soap."
"Right," in a flash she retrieved the pretense from the floor.
Shepard stood and was presented with a lithe arm, postponing her grab for glory. Still, tough to complain about the chance to fondle an asari, even if it was just an arm. After the entire limb was washed Samara raised it high so she could reach the underside, striking a pose that wouldn't be out of place on the cover of Fornax. Her sudsy hand ran from the lowest rib all the way up to the elbow and back a few times, which felt far more intimate and arousing than she would have guessed. Her superior then turned away from her and indicated with a motion to get the other side as well. For this one she started at the pit and worked her way outward, finishing when their palms met.
Knowing what would come next, Samara ordered, "Remain where you are while you reach around."
There was a foot of air between the pair, prompting Shepard to ask, "Maybe you should turn around then?"
The matriarch asked over her shoulder, "Would it be more enjoyable for you to be stared at while you fondle me?"
"Well, not really. That sounds like it'd be awkward."
"Then should I purposefully avoid eye contact while you grope my breasts?"
"That probably wouldn't be any better."
"Those would be the options if I turned around."
"Okay, never mind then."
"Very well, then you may begin."
After a silent second Shepard decided to try pressing her luck, "Can I at least get a little closer to you?"
Samara's head turned, but not enough to catch sight of the woman behind her, "Alright, though remember not to overstep your bounds."
Then it just slipped out, "Yes, ma'am."
Shepard re-lathered her hands and ditched the bottle since there were no parts of the body left to clean beyond the next pair. Biting her lower lip she slid half a step forward, putting the tips of her breasts into contact with fine, blue scales, and then cautiously reached around the matriarch's lithe frame. She hesitated for a moment to savor her own anticipation before wrapping her fingers around Samara's magnificent, maternal monuments. A shutter ran through her body as she gripped breasts with a perfect balance between firm and pliable, thanks in part to the hardiness of asari skin. Her goal of washing them was lost as her libido rose up to seize control of her brain. She gently massaged, squeezed and manipulated the pair of pillowy breasts for several lengthy minutes before tempting the sensitive nubs at their centers with feathering swipes and whispering scrapes. That proved to be a step over the line however.
Samara commented, "Your technique for washing nipples is quite inefficient."
"Gets the job done," the attendant replied in a husky whisper.
"Yes, well," the matriarch pushed the human's hands away. "I believe I have indulged you long enough. Finish your job so that I may go meditate."
Admittedly her brain wasn't working at peak capacity, but even if it were Shepard probably would have still had to ask, "What's left?"
Managing not to betray a hint of humor, the Justicar replied, "The space between my lower back and upper thighs."
The former-marine's eyes immediately dropped down to the tight, blue posterior below and sincerely asked, "How could I forget?"
The soap, she needed the soap. Shepard's gaze frantically fell to the floor to yet again locate the bottle she had prematurely discarded. In a flash she fetched it, squeezed out a blob and without a thought for the future tossed it. The shower would be done after one last lathering, but that didn't enter her brain, she just didn't want to be holding anything. As if she were trying to start a fire she rapidly rubbed her palms together to work up a thick lather, her eyes boring holes in the matriarch's flawless rear. Using more force than she intended she slapped a hand onto each blue cheek, getting a startled jump out of Samara who glared back. The woman's expression was embarrassed as well as apologetic which was enough to resolve the incident and she was allowed to continue groping the ancient, well-toned bum. She kind of wanted to give it another smack, but doubted that would go over well so settled for thoroughly kneading and mauling the perfect pair of pert mounds.
After letting the woman play with her buttocks for a bit too long Samara moved away, turned and said, "I feel quite clean now, thank you."
"So, we're done?" Shepard asked in a pitiful sort of way.
"Yes," the matriarch replied as she shut off the water and stepped out of the shower.
"Will we do this again?"
"Perhaps." Samara then noticed her companion wasn't following her and when she looked back was surprised to find the cause wasn't dumbfounded ogling as human eyes weren't glued to any part of her. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Shepard replied a little too quickly. "I just need to, uh, take care of something real quick."
Through a squint the Justicar began to look the former-marine up and down, tellingly the woman immediately tried to cover-up her intimate areas with squeezed thighs and a draped arm, so had to be told, "Stand up straight, shoulders square and feet apart."
The former-marine's ingrained training kicked in and she reflexively stood at ease with her hands clasped behind her back, "Yes, ma'am."
The impromptu, formal address again passed Samara's notice as her attention was on surveying the damp human's body or more specifically the parts that were stiff and engorged. "You are going to do that in here?"
Trying to play dumb, Shepard responded, "Do what?"
"Masturbate," the matriarch stated bluntly.
"Oh! I mean no. Pffft. No of course not, I'm just going to shower myself is all."
Mostly to herself Samara mumbled, "How could I not think of this?"
The dripping former-commander slouched forward as she asked, "Uh, think of what?"
"Back straight," the Justicar firmly ordered before continuing, "I wished to make you less frustrated, not more."
"Well, give me a few minutes and my frustration will be gone."
"So, you did intend to masturbate."
Shepard was reluctant to admit she had been caught, "No, I just find showers relaxing."
"I believe you," Samara said in the same tone she always used, yet still somehow sounded less than sincere.
For a moment the matriarch was lost in thought. She hadn't considered what would happen immediately after the shower or that the young woman would more than likely need a release; quite foolish in retrospect. She was so out of practice with such matters. Her eyes lazily wandered over Shepard's wet form, appreciating its strength and beauty in an almost abstract way, as if she were looking at a work of art. It was so oddly familiar in shape yet still strangely alien, especially the hair that apparently grew in more places than just the top of the head. Back to the issue at hand, there were two options she could see and it seemed only appropriate to allow her companion to choose which to take.
"Tell me Shepard, how far do you wish to take this?"
"What do you mean?"
Samara took a sliding step forward and pressed her palm against the soldier's abdomen, "How far do you wish to take this?"
Instantly, "All the way!"
With a chuckle the Justicar reiterated, "We cannot be lovers."
"But we are friends, right?" a nervous doubt lingering in the question.
"Of course," almost to reinforce her statement Samara began to lightly rub the woman's belly.
"So, this will be a friends-with-benefits deal?"
"A what?"
"Friends who also have sex, but aren't really dating."
"Ah, asari do not have a term for that, it is too common a practice to require one." It was easy to lose track of one's own assumptions, "Physical intimacy can bond two people and lead them to greater comfort with one another. I am already quite comfortable around you, to the point I have had no qualms about you peeping at me in the shower."
Shepard quickly defended herself, "I wasn't peeping, it was an accident."
"In any case."
"Not in any case, I wasn't peeping."
"Hush," Samara said gently. "It doesn't matter. I just want you to know this is not about love, but friendship. I want you to be happy, comfortable and content and this seems like a way to help you with that."
"What has ordering me around and making me stand at attention had to do with me being happy and content and all?"
"I thought your submissive tendency..."
Shepard interrupted, "I do not have submissive tendency."
Samara's hand stilled and her brow rose, "You have been following every command I have given without question since I boarded this ship. What is that if not submissive?"
With little confidence the human tempted, "Respectful?"
"You did not show me such respect on the Normandy."
The matriarch left her friend to silently stew, face furrowed in thought for several minutes before finally asking, "So, does that mean you're going to keep ordering me around then?"
"Do you want me to?"
"I'm not sure," Shepard mumbled like a bashful child while looking the other way.
"Well, as you human say, we shall play it by ear, but as for now," Samara then pointed her fingertips downward. "Remember, you are to keep your back straight, shoulders square and hands clasped."
"Yes, ma'am."
A brief digression, "Are you going to keep calling me that?"
"Calling you what?"
"Never mind," the matriarch replied with a shake of the head.
Before the former-commander could ask what Samara was talking about a pair of blue fingers turned the corner to her crevice and all that came out of her mouth was a withering squeak. Then the dopiest of grins spread her cheeks. There was some initial hesitation as the matriarch explored the differences between human and asari physiology; the parts were reasonably similar, however the functions and reactions didn't quite match up. The clitoris was more sensitive, but several internal structures that were key erogenous zones for the long-lived race were missing. Shepard didn't notice nor care that she was being used like an anatomy dumb from the front of some science classroom. Really, anything could have gotten her off at that moment; she hadn't been able to find any 'private time' in weeks. The bathroom not having a door hadn't helped and the lack of knowledge on how long it took a justicar to meditate had made her too paranoid to try a little self-relief anywhere else.
Gradually the appendages inside her grew more assertive as the matriarch got a feel for the human sex. A nimble thumb narrowed in on her engorged clitoris as three deft fingers frolicked through her channel, stimulating her better than anyone she'd ever dated. Even centuries out of practice and having never been so intimate with her particular species Samara only needed a few minutes to master manipulating Shepard's vagina and make her quiver as none had before. The experience would not last for long however as she was quite pent up and needed little to push her over the edge. Her whole body seized for a moment before being racked by shivering tremors. Head dipping, spine curling, her formal posture collapsed in on itself, though even with her legs shaking she managed to stay standing without assistance.
After a moment of stillness Samara asked, "Is your frustration gone?"
Wearily Shepard replied, "Yes, ma'am."
"Good, I am glad." The matriarch then turned the water back on, knocking her groggy companion back in to full consciousness, but also to rinse off her hand. "Now I will leave you to shower."
Just as the old asari was passing through the bathroom's threshold she was asked, "When will we do this again?"
Samara turned and with a smile answered, "We will play it by ear."
It was a bit awkward at first as neither was quite sure when the former-commander would need help 'relieving frustration' or Samara would need help bathing. They didn't want it to be a nightly event, though still there had to be some sort of rhyme and reason to it so the woman wasn't always waiting for it. Once a week was too predictable and seemed too much like something an old married couple would do; 'sex night' as Shepard put it, which was bad, apparently.
After a couple mundane missions breaking up drug rings run by harmless people who were a little too into their own product and a few sporadic fingerings in the bathroom the vigilante pair took on a far more difficult target, a notorious pirate gang. As they were stowing their gear afterward the Justicar offhandedly mentioned Shepard deserved a reward for a job well-done, who jokingly replied she already knew what she wanted. That exchange didn't sink in until they were sharing the shower later that night while Samara was cupping the human's quim. They locked eyes and for the first time the matriarch's manual ministrations were referred to as a reward. It also further reinforced the dominant/submissive dynamic between them which had gradually enveloped their entire relationship, to the point that the former-commander wanted to take the final step.
Samara was sipping some tea on the couch one day when a small package was place on the cushion beside her, causing her to ask, "What is this?"
Bashfully Shepard replied from the other end of the couch, "Open it."
Inside was an odd looking piece of jewelry, the matriarch repeated, "What is this?"
"A collar."
"A gift? I do not wear jewelry normally, but..."
Shepard quickly clarified, "It's for me to wear."
"Then why give it to me?"
The blushing woman slid a pre-prepared datapad over to the old asari. "This'll explain."
Samara rapidly read through the information while a patient though fidgety Shepard waited a few feet away, trying desperately to fight instinct and not curl into a ball, then a moment after putting the pad down she said, "Kneel here, by my feet."
"Yes, ma'am."
But before Shepard could slide off the couch the matriarch added, "First, remove your clothing."
Modesty gave Shepard pause, but only for a moment, in the next she was pulling her shirt over her head. She stood to shimmy out of her sweatpants then without hesitation, as if tearing off a band-aid she quickly pulled down her briefs and followed the yanking motion through to the floor. She slid over to kneel before the wise, old alien who was still sitting comfortably on the couch. Nerves kept her from raising her gaze above the crossed knees immediately in front of her face. She had never felt quite so vulnerable. Her heart jumped into her throat when she heard the faint sound of leather rubbing against metal as the buckle was opened, a palpitation later a strip of black descended through her vision and then she felt the collar wrap around her neck. Her nerves settled slightly, but what put her mind and spirit truly at ease was when blue arms enclosed her and an ancient cheek touched down on the top of her head.
The matriarch gently whispered, "Do not worry; I will take care of you."
"Justicar Samara," the nasally voice on the intercom tore the mediating asari from her memory. "Your presence is requested on the bridge."
The glow left the Justicar's eyes and she responded, "On my way."
After a short elevator trip the seasoned warrior arrived on the bridge of the salarian military's latest reconnaissance vessel. It was still in the testing phase and running mock missions. A few calls, including one to an old friend, and the invoking of Shepard's name had gotten the fledging ship diverted from chasing drones to searching systems. In no small part due to General Kirrahe's volunteering to take command of the ship and offering whatever insights he could into improving its performance. Such highly ranked officers never were involved at such an early stage of a craft's development so the opportunity for the engineers was a hard one to pass up.
Samara only got a few steps through the door before Liara approached, saying, "One of the probes detected the detonation of a nuclear weapon on the second planet from the star."
"You are sure it is her?"
"There is no other possibility."
"Then set course for the planet so we may retrieve our wayward companion," Samara made sure to mind her word choice in the presence of unfamiliar company.
Liara added wearing a wicked grin, "And punish her for what she put us through."
With a thin smile the matriarch replied, "I will show you the proper technique when the time comes, but until then we must remain focused."
"By the Goddess, I hate her so much sometimes."
"For once, I must agree with you on that."
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The Justicar's Dog of War