Pride and Politics

The galaxy moved on. Laws were voted on and successions approved. Five new guards took their place among the Kanvian palaces as the outer rim was explored. The nobility was secure as Olsar haunted a trade deal between the new Kanvian king and some of the free worlds along the outer rim.

Only the fine details remained for that, friends, when Olsar turned to Bakhesh.

“We've got this wrapped up,” Olsar said, pulling his guard aside. “Would you mind checking on the special project? I want to visit her when this is done, see how things are coming along.”

Bakhesh spat and said nothing, but he went to do as bid.

Arrime has but a single spaceport, a satellite that one can dock prison transport and personal vehicles at. A shuttle runs down to a long tube that attaches from the liquid surface down into the silvery depths. Most people were uncomfortable at the rippling tides beyond the tube. Bakhesh hid his discomfort behind crossed arms and a casual scowl.

He was greeted at the entrance to the prison by a robot, escorted to another shuttle and taken to the slave training facility hidden within the shifting miasma. There, he walked down the familiar corridors to meet Salis. The warden smiled up at him, putting aside her paperwork, eager to show off what she had accomplished.

What remained of Samus Aran was back in her straitjacket, her holes plugged once more by the now familiar invaders and locked in place by the jacket's belt. Her arms were bound behind her this time, nestled in the small of her back where they could do her no good. She crawled around on her knees, pressing her forehead to the ground and sticking her ass in the air as the warden led the Tavlek into her cell.

“Pretty, isn't she?” the warden asking. Bakhesh spat. “Well, you're right. She was always pretty, but there's something to be said to see her so compliant, isn't there?”

The slave's hips twitched and rolled invitingly, a weak moan escaping her open mouth.

“Is she gagged?”

“Sort of,” Salis answered, smiling and biting her lip. “A couple of clips are keeping her mouth open. We're teaching her to stay silent, aren't we, Samus?”

Incomprehensible vowel sounds spilled out of the slave.

“What did she say?” Bekhesh asked. The warden pushed some of the buttons on her wrist and a small gasp leaked out of the splayed woman.

“You heard the question, slave,” Salis said. “Repeat what you just said.”

“Samus is learning to stay silent, master, regardless of what is done to her,” whimpered the slave. The Tavlek looked down at the former Hunter with contempt, thinking this is the woman that defeated me? That cast my species into disgrace?

“She hasn't been allowed to cum since you left,” Salis said, walking into the room and placing her boot near the slave's head. Samus shuffled over, extending her tongue, licking the fine leather with long sways. “We've whipped her to punish her whenever she makes a sound we don't ask her to, played with her without offering release. Why is that, Samus?”

“A slave cums when her owners want it, master.”

“Very good, Samus. And what does that make you?”

“That makes Samus Aran a slave, master.”

“Very good.”

The Tavlek watched the Hunter's tongue move. It was a magical thing – the slow and repeated motion reducing her with every repetition, leaving less and less of her to be respected. He crossed his arms over his chest as Salis looked at him and arched an eyebrow.

“Are you wondering about the gag?” she chuckled. “It's controlled, keeps her jaws open whenever I want. She drools on herself constantly, don't you?”

“Yes, master, Samus Aran drools on herself constantly.”

“She is ready, then?” Bakhesh asked.

“Almost,” Salis said, eyes shining. “There's something I want to give you first, though. A gift from me to you. Could you sit over on the platform, please?”

Bakhesh frowned, looking from the slave to the platform that Salis had raised to chair height. Shrugging to himself, he rolled his massive shoulders, walked to the edge of the thing and sat.

“What now?” he asked.

“You told me you had a fantasy, once,” Salis teased. “You wanted Samus to suck you off.”

“I called the Hunter a cocksucker when I thought she was a he,” Bakhesh muttered, “but if you wish to have her pleasure me, I will not complain.”

“Oh, I think you'll thank me when it's done,” Salis said, breathy, “and she'll thank you for the privilege. Samus...?”

Ah, friends, how does one describe this? It's not the action but who is doing it – the way Samus slithers across the floor on her belly, legs behind her and ass in the air. It's the way she kisses the Tavlek's foot, her lips moving across his boots, up his calf, the way she worships his thigh and moves closer until he grabs her by the ponytail and says

“Get on with it.”

There's cruelty in his voice, in the act. Salis has released her mouth and she uses her teeth to unfasten his belt, pulling it loose, moving to the rim of his pants and pulling them open. Her lips find his underclothing and pull it down, her flushed cheeks brushing his erection as she frees it from confinement, as she moves back up and takes it in her mouth.

She's crying as she does it, friends, soft sobs as she lifts up on her knees, tongue slathering the ridges of his manhood. His head presses against her palate, the acrid taste of him slathered all over her tongue as she sinks deeper onto him. He groans as he penetrates her throat, holding himself in place and enjoying the way she struggles when she chokes on him but doesn't try to pull away.

He stiffens, moving his manhood back and then pushing deeper, deeper, letting her breathe and taking away her air, enjoying the way she accepts her suffering.

Samus Aran, he thinks. The Hunter.

He pulls her off of him, her face flush and his throbbing erection painful. She can see it now, the length of him, the way Tavlek cock ridges and spurs, but though she shakes her head she also spreads her legs, begging, looking at her trainer for permission.

Salis laughs.

“Open her up,” Salis says, “finish her off.”

He unfastens the belt that travels down her abdomen and cleaves the lips between her thighs, throws it across the room and pulls the plastic cocks out of her. She whimpers underneath him as he replaces one of them with himself, gasping at her tightness, the way the muscles inside her feel soft and silky and pull him deep. She looks at him, meeting his gaze with hunger as he enjoys the sensation of filling her, one hand steadying himself on the floor as the other grasps her face, his thumb in her mouth.

Bakhesh hooks her and falls back, pulls her up without letting her off of his manhood.

“If you want to cum, Hunter, you're going to have to work for it,” Bakhesh growls.

She bows her head, nods, made a participant in her own rape. Her ass bounces off his hips, rolling for his pleasure, moaning for her own.

Neither of them last very long.

He pulls out of her, spilling the last of his seed on her twitching lips, cleaning what's left in her mouth and looking at the warden who reduced the mightiest warrior the galaxy will ever know into a cum-crazed whore.

“Have her cleaned and prepared,” he spits his saliva onto the Hunter's cheek, letting it mingle with cum and tears. “The Baron will want her looking pure.”

*

So, is this working out? Thoughts? Comments? Curious writer is curious.