I can't believe he picked her.
Gorram bitch, sittin' there pretty as you please against Jayne's massive thigh, snuggled all comfy cozy in the warmth next to his John Thomas. Gloating over how she was the only one he'd pick to take with him to someplace as dangerous as Canton. Only one he could trust to defend himself against the magistrate and his ilk.
The only one he wanted.
A .38 caliber--like that was actually firepower. Tiny little barrel on her; even with Jayne's accuracy she won't provide him any distance at all. And nine rounds? Whooo! Bet she thinks she can take on the entire Alliance with that. Ha!
'Only one he wanted', my ass. Only one small enough to fit in those underwear is more like it. Not much room otherwise next to those well-proportioned man parts. Have to take something tiny and easy to hide with a man like Jayne, big and rugged, more than enough man, and with more than enough love, for all his girls. Of which I am his favorite.
Can't let any of the others forget that either.
Sure, we all get paraded out and taken care of at least once a week. Side by side we sit and wait till it's our turn. One by one we get to feel the cloth caress us as he wipes us down. To feel his hot breath against our cold metal as he blows away the dust and dirt. To feel the brush, wet with oil to lubricate the way, as it pistons into us over and over again.
But it's not enough. We all want action.
Ain't a one of us don't purr when he wraps that fist around our grips, ready for whatever trouble he feels like getting us into. 'Cause what we crave is to feel those strong fingers pump us full of ammo, that callused thumb flick against our safety buttons, his meaty palm stroke down the hammer or pull back on the slide as he cocks us. And we wait, vibrating with anticipation, waiting for the hot, explosive peak of finally being discharged, basking in the warm glow afterwards.
'Course, some of us get to feel it more than others.
There's some who get it a couple of times a week, depending on the job and who the captain might have pissed off. Others who get it only sporadically, never knowing when they'll get their turn again. And then there's some who rarely get used at all, only being brought out for special occassions. But when they do, it is all the more special.
Like with me.
In the meantime I revel at being the center of attention. His pride and joy. The one he hangs above his bunk and appreciates like I was some kind of art. The one he strokes lovingly each night before bed. The one he actually dreams about.
Ain't like it bothers me none that he tried to trade me away for some piece of lying, po fu trash. Or that I'm not the girl riding his hip day in and day out. No skin off my barrel if he wants to wear that--that knife tucked deep in the waistband of his pants, right where his beautiful ass curves out from his back.
No, not me. I couldn't care less. 'Cause I'm Vera, Callahan's finest model: A full-bore auto lock, double cartridge thorough gauge with a customized trigger, made to fit his finger and his finger alone. His very favorite gun.
Took me away from the bad man who didn't know how to appreciate a beauty like me. Who didn't know how to keep me clean and ready for action. Who didn't buy me the best oil and the most expensive bullets. Who didn't use me like I needed to be used, even if that hun dan actually used me.
So that silly little pea shooter can have him today. Because I know: when none of his other girls will do, Jayne will come to me. Just like he did when he needed to take out that salvage ship. Just like he did when we rescued the captain. Just like he did when we beat back the Reavers.
He'll pick me every time it really counts.
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