Collared Empire: The Duel (Patreon)

A familiar rumble travelled up her broad thighs from the steel deck, nigh imperceptible to anyone not familiar with the idiosyncratic behaviours of large warships. A ship’s crew would even require a couple of years to properly acclimatise, to have their senses attuned to the ship’s humours without conscious effort, to hear the ship speak to them, as the old saying went.

              Ak’vel could hear the ship speaking to her now. The diamond hard black talons on which she stood were rooted to the spot, feeling the infinitesimal tremors of the decking shake her fibres. Given her approximate position aboard ship, she quickly deduced the minute shakes were not emanating from the reactor core nor the vacuum thrusters. The rumbles were not constant, not a continuous drone like a monotonous chord being stretched into infinity. These quakes from under her came in powerful spikes that then faded away until they ceased to be, until the next nigh identical tremor rattled the structure.

              The disturbances she felt ever so lightly tingle through her massive body could only be the powerful reverberations of lance batteries firing upon the planet below, their massive shock absorbers and recoil dampeners failing to completely prevent the ship from jittering whenever their tremendous discharges upset the vessel.

              Ak’vel wasn’t familiar enough with the strike cruiser Cabal of Akvilon that she knew exactly where her batteries were situated compared to her own position, but that they were somewhere down below was past doubt. Ak’vel had spent enough time aboard various combat vessels to know that for sure, before she took up Kyrah’s offer to become her slave trainer aboard the Goddess’ Hand, a ship completely lacking anything resembling artillery. At times she missed being part of these mighty weapons platforms scything through the void, but mostly she quite enjoyed her current profession.

              Her background as a shock trooper was too deeply indoctrinated to be to completely abandoned, however, and so Ak’vel was glad her current employer had allowed her to take part in the initial attack on Earth. Even if the invasion was not going according to plan, Ak’vel had managed to vent her pent-up wrath and release it out of her system when she had been embedded with an all-Shix strike group taking part in the pacification and occupation of an aerodrome on the northern hemisphere.

              The brief three cycles she had been permitted to fight was like dunking her face in icy water after a deep sleep; it reinvigorated her, made the fire of her soul rekindle. With a smirk – her dark lower lip curling around her arching tusks – that would send any menial fleeing had they seen it, Ak’vel recalled slicing through the armoured hull of a human vehicle with her particle cannon, then wrenching off the top-mounted gun the partially melted wreckage, using the crew’s own weapon to mow them down.

              Ak’vel had been positively transfixed by the humans’ projectile weaponry, marvelling at how the utterly philistine technology was so effective at dealing death. It was equally worrying was how Thelluloid armour, which was engineered to protecting against various energy-based ordinance, struggled mightily to protect a soldier or a vehicle against the sheer kinetic force of humanity’s arsenals.

              Ak’vel recalled the feeling of the cold steel of the gun in her hand, the heft and weight, the sublime feeling of the tremendous recoil as she fired it. The captured weapon was clearly far too large for an average human to wield, which was why they had such weapons mounted on vehicles or platforms; but in her Shix hands, it was nearly perfect size. It merely took a bit of practice and effort to harness the weapon’s mighty kicks and bring the stream of fire down to where she wanted it directed.

              The loud bangs, though they stung her ears, were as knells of glorious mayhem and slaughter. The weapon’s jolts in her powerful fists threatened to wrench it out of her grip as enemy fire zipped close around her, and Ak’vel had laughed.

              Too bad the fun had been over almost as soon as it had begun. A mere minute of sustained fire saw the ammunition running dry, and Ak’vel had neither the time nor expertise to reload it in the heat of combat. Discarding the weapon like a spent rag, she begrudgingly picked her particle cannon back up, forever soured at the weapon’s lack of soul, the way it simply belched a shaft of brilliant, crackling energy without any sort of feedback travelling up her taut arms.

              Blinking away the memories from her mind’s eye, the cacophonous racket of the memories of the battlefield down on Earth faded in time to let her sense another small tremor travel up her legs from below. As though she had felt the heavy particle armour weighing her down, the slave trainer subconsciously looked down at herself as if having to visually confirm that she only wore a pair of short, tight shorts and an elastic cropped top that held on for dear life to keep her sizable mammaries contained over her bare, athletic belly of purple skin.

              Ak’vel let out a long sigh. Apparently, she yearned more for battle than she admitted aloud. No matter. She had delivered the transport sarcophagus with one of Kyrah’s prized female Gelevelan slaves to the master of the Cabal of Akvilon and had to return to her shuttle. The shakes of the decking had brought her head to a completely different place, making her forget even the indignance of having to personally deliver the sarcophagus to the ship’s boorish commander, as he had not deigned to organize any of his crew to pick the delivery up at the hangar deck.

              With a grunt of finality, Ak’vel resumed striding back the way she had come, her sharp claws clicking on the metal surface as she passed, following the sparse markings stencilled on the walls guiding her to the same hangar in which she had disembarked.

              Rounding a corner at a T-junction, heading towards a line of elevators that would take her down four levels, Ak’vel heard a voice calling from behind.

              “Ak’vel! You stupid bitch!”

              The volcanic rage that started to bubble within Ak’vel’s chest quenched when she saw the smirking face of the person who had spoken. She was helpless to suppress a grin of her own.

              Advancing with confident strides was an Ar’a woman – a particularly large Ar’a, nearly as tall Ak’vel – with a half dozen backwards-curving horns sprouting from her black-tressed head. Red eyes set in a deceptively youthful face were locked with Ak’vel’s dark orbs, the face marked with dark patterns on the faded blue skin.

              She was clad neck to boots in a tight black body glove that was the undersuit worn beneath heavy armour, either polarized personal armour or full suits of power armour. The only skin that showed on her was that on her head and big, powerful forearms.

              The near skin-tight suit did little to conceal what was hidden beneath, the woman’s sizable chest the obvious draw of the eye, as well as the bulging musculature around her broad shoulders, tight stomach and wide thighs. She was powerfully built, able to do harm to even males twice her size, yet her form was undeniably feminine and possessing of a natural grace a man could only dream of.

Ak’vel began walking towards the approaching Ar’a, teeth bared in a welcoming smile. “Nylexa! You ugly cunt!”

              They stopped right in front of one another and slapped hands in front of their faces, each fist gripping the other with clamping force as their enormous biceps rippled, their veins protruding as the fibres hardened to steel.

              The grip was painful, but Ak’vel was not about to give Nylexa the satisfaction of an overt reaction. She knew Nylexa was likewise feeling the power of Ak’vel’s squeeze, but neither gave ground, staring into each other’s eyes as they pretended they weren’t attempting to crush each other’s bones.

              “What’s the matter?” Nylexa asked through gritted teeth with a mock expression of concern. “Does your new employer have you sit behind a desk all day?”

              Ak’vel raised an eyebrow as she dared a smile without showing her discomfort, happy that her black bangs concealed a bead of sweat rolling down the side of her forehead. “Worry about yourself, whore.”

              Several excruciating seconds later, Shix physique won out, and Ak’vel’s iron grip slowly began turning Nylexa’s arm downwards. Before long, wincing through her grin, the Ar’a admitted enough was enough, and the two big women relaxed their grips, their unspoken bond assuring no honour was lost.

              “Ever the strength of a pack of Leikodons,” Nylexa commented amiably, and Ak’vel noticed out of the corner of her eye that the Ar’a flexed her hand several times as though attempting to dispel the pain.

              “Far from it,” Ak’vel smiled, fighting the impulse to indulge in a similarly open display of hurt. “Your small and tender Ar’a physique is simply no match for a Shix.”

              This produced another smile from Nylexa, whose red eyes were nearly level with Ak’vel’s, her shoulders a scant few centimetres narrower across. No question she was big for an Ar’a, but even so an Ar’a would be hard-pressed to win any contest of strength when facing off against one of Ak’vel’s brood. Despite this, AK’vel had known many Shix warriors whom this particular Ar’a might defeat.

              “Have you had any other deployments planetside since the first one?” Nylexa crossed her vascular arms under her bulging tits. “Or is your mistress’ leash keeping you watching from a distance?”

              Ak’vel placed her big hands on her hips, giving Nylexa a lopsided smile. “If I wanted to deploy, I have but to ask. Besides, being a warrior is not my job anymore.”

              Nylexa’s eyes narrowed with a glint of humour. “I can’t imagine giving up this life, as you did. I’d feel like a part of me – my reason for being – would be irrevocably separated from my worldly essence.”

              What a poetic sentiment, Ak’vel thought. It was but another example of Nylexa’s scholarly upbringing towards which her chosen career was rebelling.  

“I used to believe that too,” Ak’vel nodded, “then I grew up. And then I was offered a salary the Battlecorps could never hope to compete with. Besides, the job has its perks.” She was quiet for a moment. “I haven’t thought much about it, but I genuinely do not regret my decision. Some part of me will always yearn for the battlefield, but with the passing of the years that desire wilts more and more.”

              The Ar’a shook her head in playful bewilderment as she smoothed the black strands over her scalp between her six horns. “For the life of me I think I will never understand. Not so long as there is a world to conquer and a people to subjugate. There’s time enough for slaves between wars.”

              Ak’vel snorted a laugh. “Then tell me, how goes the fighting? Are you Enforcers living up to your fearsome legacy?”

              Ak’vel knew the answer in general terms; she was more interested in Nylexa’s personal experiences.

              The Ar’a’s amiable countenance withered, her crimson eyes looked away, darkened. She kept her arms folded, but her hands balled into fists.

              “My unit has gotten on well enough, but the battalion…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze momentarily lost focus. The pupils dilated as she starred through the metal wall into the void between thoughts.

              Eventually her eyes found Ak’vel’s again, a hardness that promised to bring conflagration down upon her enemies all but shining from within them. “Who would have thought these small creatures would be so adept at warfare?”

              Ak’vel nodded grimly, casting her eyes down. It was aggravating and downright embarrassing to think about how the invasion, which had begun so promising, had been blunted and was now being repelled. Worse still were the reports of a massive fleet of human warships en route to the system to engage the Axxchin Strike Force from the proverbial rear.

              Neither of them could fathom how things had come to this, how the Thelluloid Empire was, for the first time as far as any of them knew, being delivered a military defeat.

              Ak’vel decided to change the subject before either of them drowned in the gloom, before wrath took over and make them do something unproductive in order to vent their frustrations.

              “When is your next deployment?” asked Ak’vel.

              She could see Nylexa run her tongue over her teeth inside her closed lips as she stared off into nothing. “Two cycles. My platoon is to relieve a company of Shix Mecha-Dragoons at an occupied spaceport on Second Continent.”

              “They are sending Enforcers to take over for power armour?” Ak’vel asked incredulously.

              Nylexa’s hard gaze snapped up to Ak’vel with such venom it nearly caused the Shix to retreat a step. “Let’s not forget that an Enforcer platoon consists of forty. A single Mech’oon section number only seven. Besides, our mech corps aren’t as effective as they usually are. The humans will unerringly target the suits in any engagement with such overwhelming ordinance their tactical advantages are brought close to nil. As such, greater numbers are preferable to individual firepower.”

              And Enforcers were the most respected, most elite and most deadly infantry the Thelluloids could field, was what Nylexa wanted to say, Enforcer pride something that at times appeared to be the driving factor behind their beating hearts. But she didn’t say that. Even the Enforcers had been brought low and lambasted by the cursed humans.

              It was beyond incomprehensible how the humans were so successful at countering nearly all Thelluloid technology and every Thelluloid doctrine. Clearly the humans were quite experienced in waging war.

              An idea formed in Ak’vel’s brain as she saw the somewhat resigned expression on her old friend. “Two cycles? Are you on general rest until then?”

              Nylexa nodded.

              Ak’vel scratched her chin as she considered the initial idea, developing it. Then, with a positively malign smile spreading, she said, “Would you like to come for a visit to the Goddess’ Hand tomorrow during the night cycle? I think I have the perfect way for you to recuperate before you deploy planetside again.”

              Nylexa seemed surprised by the suggestion the way she looked dubiously at her former colleague. “How so?”

There was a different kind of smell to this sort of ship, Nylexa decided, stepping out of the embarkation ramp of the skiff that had transported her over to the Goddess’ Hand from the Cabal of Akvilon. It smelt somehow sterile, nothing like the oily, grimy odour that often laced the recycled air of a warship. The Enforcer decided she didn’t particularly care for the cleaner smell. It felt wrong, somehow, like being in a damp forest lacking the smell of rot. The absence of smell did something to her, she realized. It somehow dulled her. Without the fragrance of war, she was getting more docile, less ready for action.

             Nylexa’s red eyes narrowed as she considered whether or not she actually felt that way, or if it was merely suggestions seeping into her from the combat-implants in her amygdala that demanded she take issue with the lack of sensory input stimulating her warrior instincts.

             She decided it did not really matter. She did not live aboard this ship nor would she stay very long. She had no use for battle instincts, so she willed herself to discard the lack of smell – or rather the absence of the correct kinds of smells – on the Goddess’ Hand’s hangar deck.

             A small woman, a Hynger, approached Nylexa, her bearing oddly comfortable despite the obvious fact she was a slave – not uncommon for the Hynger, but as one of the three races that made up the Thelluloid Empire, she would have to be either a contractual slave, or serving some sort of penance.

             Her obvious station was so because of her nigh naked state. But for a wine-red loincloth dangling between her shapely thighs and a thick collar around her neck, the Hynger wore nothing.

             She was an attractive little thing, barely tall enough that the top of her head would grace the bottom slopes of Nylexa’s heavy tits. She had thick red hair set back in a tight tail, her pointy ears free of jewellery. Gold, slit eyes regarded the Enforcer with something akin to detachment, matching the impassive countenance of her youthful, beautiful face. Her skin, like all Hynger, was smooth and purple, small spots on her shoulders and arms speckling her with myriad other shades of pink and violet. The little girl was well-endowed of chest, her figure pleasing, slender but curvaceous.

             Feeling a tingle between her own thighs, Nylexa restrained herself as it took no amount of guessing that this would be Rhai, Ak’vel’s personal slave and thus the only individual aboard the Goddess’ Hand not the property of the ship’s mistress.

             Rhai came to a halt a few paces in front of Nylexa, the bright eyes clearly taking in the Enforcer’s presence. Perhaps, Nylexa thought, the Hynger was also checking out her choice of garb for the evening, which was a simple flaxen charcoal dress that ended at mid-thigh, sporting a generous amount of cleavage. In terms of ornamentation, Nylexa had done things simple, putting on a black choker and her only set of crystal earrings.

             Perhaps Rhai was surprised to see an Enforcer dressed so, but Nylexa did not have to explain to the slave why even a fearsome warrior such as she at times favoured dressing femininely in ways that could turn heads and tighten pants.

             “My mistress awaits you,” the Hynger said once her eyes had climbed high enough

 to meet Nylexa’s. She held out a hand in invitation. “Would you please follow me?”

             Nylexa had to bite her lower lip to distract herself from the thoughts of what she’d like to do to the nubile little woman. “Lead on.”

Rhai in front, Nylexa stayed close behind, having to take annoying half steps to keep from knocking into or overtaking the small Hynger. Part of her war-conditioned brain found it seethingly unfathomable how such a frail species could be an equal part of the three that made up the Thelluloid Empire, but her more rational side knew very well that Hynger intellect and ingenuity was unmatched by either Shix or Ar’a. All the three races of the Empire had their parts to play, and the Hynger’s was not to be the muscle that enforced the Empire’s will.

              For those like Nylexa who more or less lived and breathed for physical strain and the tenet that might made right, it was a consistently bitter pill to swallow that people who she could break in half with her fingertips could command her. On the other hand, Nylexa was not stupid enough not to recognize that an Empire needed intellectuals as much as warriors. The former more than the latter on the core worlds where war and conflict had been non-existent for centuries. Her own parents belonged to those echelons, and even after so many years it still amused Nylexa to know what a disappointment her chosen path in life was to her academically inclined parents and siblings.

              Regardless, being who she was, Nylexa was incapable of not thinking about such things. Perhaps, she thought, she ought to do as Ak’vel had done and sign a Hynger to be her personal slave. Perhaps having one of them on a literal leash at her beck and call would help ease her annoyance at being equal to the Hynger in the eyes of Thelluloid law.

              The half-naked, pink-skinned woman guided the Enforcer through the ununiform halls and passages of the Goddess’ Hand, the civilian look at feel of the ship’s interior confusing to someone like Nylexa because the layout seemed not to have been organized with an overarching goal in mind. On a warship, regardless of size and function, the general layout was always the same. As such, someone with the proper clearance could make their way from any hangar to a ship’s bridge, combat information centre, batteries or crew quarters – to name a few – simply through navigating by instinct and an understanding how Thelluloid warships were designed. Aboard a civilian vessel such as this, Nylexa found she was already lost.

              Turning a corner, Rhai put her hand on a console screen that blossomed to iridescent life at her approach next to a closed door in the bulkhead. The hovering plate of light read Rhai’s biometrics in an instant, releasing the locks on the bulkhead door and pulling it up through the ceiling.

             The door slid shut behind them after Nylexa had crossed the threshold, and even before they could turn the corner a dozen Hynger steps ahead did the telltale sounds of muffled screams sing in her ears.

             Rounding the corner they immediately entered a mid-sized chamber that smelt far better than the odourless sterility of the rest of the ship; it smelled of sweat and semen.

             Nylexa’s red eyes widened with delight at the scene displayed before her. A human male, arranged sideways from the Enforcer’s perspective, was stuck in mid-air by the crackling purple bindings around his wrists and ankles, their built-in gravity dampeners and stabilizers keeping them as immobile in their suspension as if they had been riveted into the decking, staying perfectly still despite the captive’s motions. His ass was in the air, legs spread wide, the hands behind his back, streaks of energy lashing across his skin from the bright blue nodes in the manacles. These discharges, though violent in their appearance, were harmless to touch, the bolts a simple effect of the technology that kept the manacles as still in the air as the stars. The more the captive struggled the more numerous and brighter were the bolts.

             Behind the human, dwarfing him even in her squatting form, Ak’vel’s face was buried between the cheeks of his ass, her hands grabbing greedy handfuls of his fleshy rump as she evidently attacked his hole with her tongue, thick strings of saliva dripping intermittently to pool on the steel decking. Ak’vel was naked but for thigh high boots and matching elbow gloves, as well as a dark pair of panties that squeezed her strong flesh. Her muscular body was sculpted perfection, the purple skin almost shamefully pristine for a warrior and shining with a thin coat of perspiration. Despite her relatively new job, it was evident Ak’vel still adhered to the regime that maintained her immaculate physique.

             Neither Ak’vel nor the human had seen Rhai and Nylexa enter. A tube jumped and vibrated between the suspended human’s legs, and judging by his loud though gagged screams and the way his restrained body convulsed, his muscles rigid and hard, Nylexa did not even have to look at the large container of the milking machine hanging from the ceiling to realize the stimulation was pitilessly intense.

             Nylexa was about to announce herself, but in a brief window where the human had to draw breath before he could groan some more, Rhai’s voice rang in the chamber, sounding curiously forceful considering her occupation.

             “Mistress, I have returned with Nylexa.”

             With a loud slurp, Ak’vel pulled her thick purple lips away from the collared human’s asshole and turned her head to look. “Oh good, you’re here.”

             “Interrupting your dinner, am I?” Nylexa gave the Shix a tight smile.

             “One of many advantages to my occupation,” Ak’vel grinned, wiping a generous smear of drool from her chin with the back of her hand.

             The slave trainer seemed to ignore Rhai’s presence, who nonetheless sank deferentially to her knees off to the side, away from anyone’s path, locking her wrists behind her back as she pushed out her chest without a word.

             Everything Nylexa had wanted to say about the Goodess’ Hand incorrect sensory impressions had dropped out of the Enforcer’s head like a rock. Instead, she said, “Nice little playroom you have here.”

             Ak’vel grinned, apparently deaf to the human’s renewed moans from behind her as more thick product was deposited in the container above him through the jumping tube that connected his groin to the machine.

             “Little is right. This is actually one of our less efficient facilities, but I thought it a suitable location for our playdate. We are not likely to be interrupted here, and it has the added benefit of being nice and intimate.”

             Nylexa crossed her massive arms underneath her equally massive chest as she indicated the human in the middle of the room with a toss of her head. “Is there going to be anything left for us to play with? Seems the greedy machine is not shy about helping itself to his seed.”

             Ak’vel turned around, her tongue absent-mindedly licking the rim of her upper lip. “Oh don’t worry about him.” She slapped his ass, hard, making him yelp. “I have my ways.”

             She turned and took a half step to the side, then, with a rough lack of delicacy, pulled the lube-slick tube away from his cock, and Nylexa could see but a few drops of his cream drip onto the deck. The machine whirred angrily, the textured, fleshy interior mouthing violently, demanding to be put back on his cock. Ak’vel flicked a series of switches on the machine mounted on the ceiling, which began retracting the milking tube and cycling its program to an idle state, as indicated by the gently pulsing amber light.

             “What do you say?” Ak’vel said to the human, no mistaking the authority in her words. Trying his best through the slobber and the ball-gag, Nylexa heard he attempted to thank his goddess for taking the milker off him. “Very good, little slave,” Ak’vel muttered as her fingertips keyed a series of commands onto the cuff around one of his wrists. When she finished, the human started turning in the air as though revolving in zero-g.

             In seconds the gagged and collared human was arranged as though lying on his back with his legs spread wide and his wrists next to his hips, the electrical crackles of his bonds effortlessly manipulating his limbs into the desired position and then held him there as surely as if he had been shackled atop a physical table.

             “Make yourself scarce, whore,” Ak’vel addressed Rhai but didn’t look at her as the trainer pushed the milker out of the way, the machinery pivoting on the arm that came down from the steel ceiling. “I am entirely certain you can find a need to clean my cabin and have it sparkle by the time I return.”

             “Yes, mistress,” Rhai said in a flat tone as she rose to her feet, then bowed deeply, before leaving the same way she had come.

             Nylexa nodded down at the human who seemed to notice her presence for the first time. His raw, twitching cock oozed his product and was slathered, tip to base, in lubrication. “Seems like you wrung him out pretty well.”

             “I told you,” Ak’vel said with a self-satisfied smirk as she walked over to a row of small cabinets behind the human. “I have my ways.”

             As Ak’vel searched for something, Nylexa took the opportunity to look the captive up and down. His sweat-matted hair and skin told her more than his words would have about what trials he had been put through under Ak’vel’s supervision, and Nylexa had to admit to some sort of attraction towards his athletic build and the crude tattoos he had on his left chest and right shoulder. It was a strange sensation how she could hate the species with a vengeance but simultaneously have feelings of an altogether lewder nature bubble just underneath the surface.

             She set her red eyes against his, making sure to give him a proper scowl. “What are you looking at, slave?”

             At her words, his troubled gaze immediately departed, and she had to stifle an amused snort to see his breathing quicken.

             “Here we are,” Ak’vel said as she stepped back to the human’s side, pinching a small tan tablet in two fingers. Her splayed claws clicked on the floor as she approached. “I hardly ever give him these because it is cheating. Only common exception is if Kyrah comes prowling for fresh squeeze in the middle of my training because her addiction got the best of her again.”

             Nylexa, on the other side of the human, the two of them dwarfing him with their mighty Thelluloid physiques, recognized the tan pill in Ak’vel’s fingers as a particularly potent stimulant, one usually reserved for embattled warriors with no time or eat or sleep. The pill was like a hard reset, rejuvenating the mind and body as though it had slept a full night and eaten a heavy meal. In the short term this meant whoever took the pill could continue to function normally in high-intensity situations. The downside, however, was that it put significant strain on the metabolism in the long run, at which point the person would more often than not lose consciousness unless they kept eating and getting actual sleep.

             For the human’s part, Nylexa understood why Ak’vel would feed it to him. For him, it would reset his cock as much as his mind and body, as though he was about to start the first session of the day with a full sack and a clear head.

             Nylexa smirked at Ak’vel. “Let’s get to it.”

Ak’vel removed my gag only long enough to stab the tablet into my mouth, then put her powerful hand over my mouth and jaw as she ordered me to swallow. I hated those things. Despite feeling refreshed and, well, great for a time, I knew the inevitable crash at the end of it would toss me into unconsciousness, giving Ak’vel another excuse to come up with some punishment for “going to sleep” without her permission. While it was a relief to be rid of the unpleasant hypersensitive aches in my overworked cock, I knew it was just temporary, and that she fed me the pill only so she could force me dry again, which would make the eventual discomfort all the worse when the pill eventually wore off.

              As soon as I swallowed, she shoved the gag back and tightened the strap around my head, and the brief moment the sphere had been outside of my mouth only reminded my cheeks how sore they were from the strap digging into them.

              I tried not to look at the newcomer – a particularly large Ar’a – and while Ak’vel hadn’t said anything, it wasn’t all that difficult to garner from their conversation that her visit had been planned. It was odd to see someone that was obviously a warrior dressed so femininely with a dress cut so low. It was equally odd how beautiful it made her look despite her soldier’s build.

              I could already feel the pill working, taking away my fatigue and aches. I felt strength return, the cobwebs of my overworked mind burning away. The influx of fresh energy made my semi-limp manhood swell once again until it was hard as ever. I had to keep from sighing in resignation, knowing such a display of displeasure would only spur my “goddess” to elevated levels of insistence.

              “Now what?” the Ar’a – Nylexa, Rhai had called her – asked. With both of them on either side of me, I felt like I was laying down in crevice with twin peaks looming over me. “I am quite ready for you to distract me from my upcoming drop planetside.”

              I jolted when Ak’vel put her hands on my chest and belly, her thumbs caressing my naked skin with something approaching fondness. “I propose a contest.”

              Nylexa arched an eyebrow. While the two of them looked at each other, I dared dart glances at her. Seeing the corner of her lip twist into a small smile made me shiver. “A contest?”

              “Yes, between all three of us.” Ak’vel looked down at me knowingly, mockingly, then turned her face back up to Nylexa. “The rules are simple. In the allotted time, one of us has to make him cum as many times as possible. Your job,” she looked down at me as she raised her tone to make sure I paid attention. “Is to not cum. Every orgasm means an hour with Kyrah’s pet down on sub-level five. For the two of us, it is simply a numbers game. Highest wins.”

              I groaned inwardly. Another rigged game that would see me spend likely close to a full cycle in the slithering appendages of Kyrah’s female creature in the dark. There was no winning for me, but Ak’vel’s suggestion had turned Nylexa’s smirk into a toothy grin, her red eyes shining with interest.

              “How long?”

              Ak’vel made an exaggerated face, pretending to be thinking up the rules as she went along. “Half an hour each. And magnanimous as I am, I’ll let you start, before that pesky refractory period becomes a factor in the game. Not that it will matter.”

              “All right,” Nylexa nodded. “Anything else?”

              Ak’vel looked the Ar’a up and down. “Yes, I am afraid you are far too overdressed for a game like this. Just look at me.”

              Nylexa did look at Ak’vel, taking in the Shix’s sculpted perfection that was naked but for a scant pair of panties accompanied by her gloves and boots, the trainer’s exposed, heavy tits rising with every inhale.

              Nylexa cocked her head with a sly smile. “And why would I do that?” Judging by her playful tone of voice, I didn’t get the impression it was her modesty asking.

              Ak’vel leaned over me, closer to Nylexa, making sure to bore her eyes meaningfully in me before her head was eclipsed by her huge breasts. “Because our little cock-toy really likes tits. And anything you can weaponize against him is to your advantage, old friend.”

             Accepting Ak’vel’s meaning with a close-lipped smile, Nylexa pulled the dress off over her head and chucked it aside, letting her own pair of weighty, pierced blue mammaries drop free.

             I cursed silently when I felt my cock twitch at the sight. The big mounds were perfect, big and shapely, the blue skin pristine, inviting me to drown my face and sorrows in the deep valley.

             “See? He likes you,” Ak’vel mocked, turning her upper body to reach for something behind her. Retracting her arm, I saw it was a fresh bottle of homemade lube which Kyrah had slaves bottle from the slimy secretions of the creature on sub-level five.

             I couldn’t help but gawk at Nylexa. Despite her frightening demeanour and what her presence meant for me, her fit body was a phenomenal view. Her blue Ar’a skin was adorned with various tattoos and markings around her upper arms, belly and thighs, and seeing her with only a black thong and a dark choker gave her an air of potent seduction her scant dress had kept contained.

             “Take this,” Ak’vel said, handing Nylexa the bottle. Thet trainer then pressed a button on the ceiling, causing a small screen to descend, facing me. I already knew what the screen would display before the letters flickered into view. It was one of Ak’vel’s many games, having visual reminders of the rules constantly in my face. The first sentence spelled out “don’t cum”, which after a few seconds was replaced by the Thelluloid equivalent of “or else”. Just seeing the words triggered something in my conditioned mind, making a bead of pre-cum ooze from my exposed manhood.

             I swallowed nervously; the gesture made more difficult by the big ball in my mouth.

             Seeing my discomfort, Nylexa began pouring the viscous fluid onto my throbbing erection as she looked at me but spoke to Ak’vel. “Remind me of the game.”

             Ak’vel positioned herself close to my thigh, reached a hand out to pinch my nipple and grinned at my wince. “You get half an hour to make him cum as many times as you can. Then it is my turn, same duration. His job is to keep from cumming, because each eruption means an hour down at sub-level five. Which he knows he will want to avoid.”

             “What’s on sub-level five?” Nylexa’s pose mirrored Ak’vel, and as one, as though this was not their first time, they lowered a little, resting a big tit each on both of my thighs, their pierced nipples briefly caressing one another in passing.

             Ak’vel grinned wickedly at me. “A mature female Argniksk which my employer has modified to lose its sense of restraint. It is always hungry and is never satiated.”

             “Oof, that’s going to be rough for the little boy,” Nylexa said with fake concern as she slid her big hand over my erection, making my toes curl.

             “Oh he knows the Argniksk very well at this point. I am sure he has enough motivation to fight us. That means we will just have to fight even harder to make him lose.”

             “Can I start?”

             “At the beep.”

             The two of them leered at me, their hungry, evil eyes sparkling with their nefarious intent, making me shift as much as I was able to in my gravity-defying Thelluloid bonds. Biting down on my gag hard as if to steel myself against the inevitable, I let out a helpless whimper when the screen began counting down, and my two captors actually turned their heads in order to suck on each other’s tongues like drunk sorority girls. This close, their boobs squished together, warping to accommodate the proximity as pierced nipples and vast expanses of smooth womanflesh rubbed and brushed against each other.

             I knew it was hopeless, but a part of me was still determined to resist. Were I able to delay the inevitable by even one orgasm, that meant one hour less in the slithering, slimy darkness with the humongous alien creature which somehow managed to be even more ruthless than what Ak’vel was.

             When the countdown ended and the beep resounded throughout the small playroom, Nylexa detached her mouth from Ak’vel’s as her fingers coiled around my cock, gripping it and standing it upright. Like with Ak’vel, the big Ar’a’s palm easily enveloped my full length, capturing my coated cock in her firm grip. I fought not to give her the satisfaction of a groan from the get-go, my teeth digging into the gag once more.

             There was no tenderness to Nylexa’s start, her fist immediately piston-pumping my refreshed erection with vigour and clamping pressure, her fingers a blur as they glided up and down, squeezing the cockhead just right. To save my life I wouldn’t have been able to keep the moan from escaping my gullet, my muscles hardening as my limbs pushed uselessly against the hovering restraints, the upsurge of silent lightning shooting from them telling anyone who looked that the technology within amped up to remain in place, fighting back against my motions with greater force.

             Suspended in the air with the pair of captors pressing onto my thighs, feeling like I was laying atop a solid surface even though there was nothing between my back and the deck below, I tossed my head back and yowled with the intensity of Nylexa’s hand that stroked and massaged me with the velocity of a runaway train, the grip as delicate as a boulder falling atop a cabin. Despite the generous coating of lube, I felt an increase in temperature inside her tight palm as the friction mounted, but with how she so deliberately focused on the tip I was helpless to react to much of anything but the extreme sensations lancing through my nerves from my assailed glans, making me shake and groan.

             “Oh he makes fun sounds,” Nylexa commented, her voice quivering slightly with the forceful motions of her forearm. “Makes me want to go harder, faster.”

             Impossibly, she did, whiting my mind out as it seemed my very soul was being violently pumped by her strong hand. My eyes clamped shut and my teeth subconsciously attempted to cleave through the gag as a long and loud groan shot out of me.

             This was definitely not Nylexa’s first time handling a cock. The way she managed to focus the most pressure just at my tip spoke volumes of her experience, and somehow in ways I couldn’t begin to analyse – especially not at the moment with the way she attacked me – I felt a similarity to Ak’vel’s particular handjob technique. It was so intense I didn’t notice I was clenching my eyes shut.

             “Not that I should be giving you pointers but you may want to pace yourself,” Ak’vel said, her tit pushing against my thigh and lower abdomen as she plucked on my nipple over and over. “Would be a shame if you burn out with time to spare. While I want to beat you, I don’t want him getting off easy.”

             Nylexa scoffed playfully, leaning even closer against me, her boob squishing against Ak’vel’s. “You might have gotten soft in your time outside of the fighting forces,” she clenched her jaw and spoke with gritted teeth, her free hand pinching my other nipple, stroking me furiously as though she was getting paid for every up and down motion. “But us trained soldiers can maintain a far higher level of physical exertion than this for days.”

             Had she been gentler I likely would have cum already, but the powerful strokes coupled with the insane speed she adhered to made the feelings in my cock far too intense to be outright pleasurable, and a deeper part of my sanity realized she likely found it far more entertaining to do what she did as opposed to just making me orgasm.

             Ak’vel only smirked at Nylexa’s quip. Instead she released my nipple and seized a fistful of my hair. Yanking my head up painfully, she commanded in a calm tone, “Look at us, slave.”

             I forced my eyes open, fighting the urge to squeeze them shut again at the relentless stroking as I moaned helplessly, feeling my thighs quiver uncontrollably and my fists aching with how I squeezed them.

             The two huge, exotic aliens leered down at me with sexual menace, their heads so close they were actually rubbing cheeks together. One of Nylexa’s boobs were resting on her stroking forearm, making it jostle and jump with her motions which in turn made her nipple piercing bounce like a hinge.

             Despite it all, I found it a very sexy spectacle, and the way they looked at me actually bumped me one step closer to the inevitable first orgasm that lingered underneath the hypersensitive sensations of Nylexa’s record-brutal handjob.

             “Remember, boy,” Ak’ve said softly, using the tip of her dark tongue to lick up the length of one of her tusks. “Don’t cum.”

             I groaned.

             Those two words were like a trigger that had been meticulously wired into my brain to have the opposite effect. Ak’vel loved orgasm control games, and she loved setting me up to fail. It was extremely common that during her games my job was to keep from having an orgasm whilst she would force me to repeated climaxes, and every time she’d say those two words over and over.

             “Don’t cum.”

             Just hearing them flooded my mind with the slave trainer’s conditioning, making my body remember all the other times I was hopelessly expected to hold back whilst various machines and/or appendages worked my straining meat in ways that were impossible to resist.

             “Don’t cum,” Ak’vel repeated in a warning tone. Her scowl was made redundant by the mischievous glint in her dark eyes.

             “No, slave, don’t cum,” Nylexa parroted, and I was unsure if she was in on the game, but Ak’vel’s voice had already shattered my barrier.

             Nylexa’s hand remained a blur over my red manhood as it squeezed and pumped me to orgasm and beyond, the first splurt of cum shooting skyward before my body fully grasped the orgasmic state I had entered. Head falling back and eyes clamping shut once again, I drew a sharp and desperate breath so that I could howl like a possessed lunatic when the sudden explosion of orgasmic force seized me, locking up my muscles and nearly causing me to black out immediately.

             Long ropes of thick semen erupted from me with such force and in such volume that one could have believed this was my first draining in months, the pressure with which the batter blasted into the room nearly causing me to splatter the ceiling.

             Waves of orgasmic pleasure washed through me, momentarily making me forget where and who I was. Only when the most potent sensations began dissipating did I notice Nylexa was still stroking me, but this time focusing exclusively on the head with slower – albeit just as forceful – pumps. It conjured an odd mix of laughs, groans and yelps from my gullet as my body tried to weather the incredibly potent sensations. While the aliens had altered my body to be able to produce semen on a rate that was ridiculous by any human standard, they had neglected to remove the refractory period even though they could. To do so, both Kyrah and Ak’vel had told me, wasn’t anything they had even considered, because they enjoyed my hypersensitive squirms and squeals.

             With a long groan my head eventually came back up, and as my eyes finally worked out which way was up they brought my two captors into focus.

             Their tits were stained all over with my thick cum, some spurts having had enough momentum to splash against both of their chins that were quite high up in relation to me. With a twitch of my cock did I notice how Ak’vel was sucking my cum off Nylexa’s long, blue tongue. Briefly, before they noticed I was looking at them, I seemed to spy something in their eyes that illustrated how they enjoyed the rich flavour.

             When their tongues parted, Nylexa applied a fresh coat of slime to my throbbing member and seized it again, and this time her quick and hard pumps had the added unbearable feel of post-orgasmic torture mixed into an already unbearable series of potent sensations.

             “That’s one,” Nylexa said as though it needed stating, and coincidentally the monitor behind them updated the number of orgasms from zero to one. “And it didn’t take long at all. I think he’s fucked.”

             Ak’vel finished licking seed she had scooped from her tit off a finger before she spoke. “You don’t know the half of it. At this rate he is liable to have to spend a full cycle in the pet’s tentacles. Or maybe we can make that two full cycles?”

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Find the companion artwork by Lucien in the current Dropbox folder in the pinned post!