The swathe of crushed alien vegetation was half a kilometre wide, and stretched all the way to the horizon.  Here and there small fires burned.  Twisted bits of metal ripped from the hull of the Cinnabar Hawk could be seen smoking amidst the devastation. 

Captain Jayson Vice was frankly amazed that he had survived the crash, let alone that his starship’s command module was largely intact.  The majority of the ship was missing, of course – the aft fuel nacelle’s detonation mid-jump was what had shunted the ship back into truespace, taking much of the ship’s jump-drive with it, and sent the ship on its erratic plunge into the planet’s atmosphere.

The crew quarters and cargo hold had separated in the thermosphere – they could be anywhere on the planet now, or burned up in re-entry, although the likelihood was that they were relatively close.  The command module – the toughest part of the Cinnabar Hawk, for good reason – had shucked and jived its way down through the burn, through the clouds, as Vice had wrestled with what little control remained to him to keep it on a survivable trajectory, before eventually smashing headlong into a vast and multi-layered alien jungle, tree after tree shattering under its impact, marginally decreasing its momentous velocity, until the ruined, battered metal had finally come to a complete stop.

The Hawk’s command module had reached its final resting place on a narrow, sandy beach, on the shores of a wide, dark lake.  In his inertia-cushioned command chair, Vice had remained conscious throughout the crash, and once the module’s motion had stopped, he had been able to silence the blaring alarms and flashing lights, pull himself from the chair, and begin evacuating the most critical contents of command and control onto the beach.

He had little doubt that the planet was basically habitable.  The sensors told him that temperature and atmosphere were within human tolerance, which meant that this must be one of the Eden worlds – originally lifeless rocks, seeded with terraforming processes in millennia past by unmanned probes to prepare them for a wave of human colonisation that never truly eventuated.  There would be life here – possibly very dangerous life – but human survival would be possible, given enough equipment, luck, and personal resilience.

The first priority in evacuating the ship was the Captain’s Survival Pack, known affectionately by captains galaxy-wide as the Bailout Box.  It was a small container built into the side of the captain’s chair, and contained a set of items that would give the Vice the best chance of survival in an array of situations ranging from mutiny to engine failure to hostile action to – relevantly – shipwreck.  Most importantly, the Bailout Box was dedicated with laser-like focus to one priority – the best interests of the captain.  Not his ship.  Not his crew.  Not his cargo.  Just the captain.

The second step was to see if anyone else in the command module had survived.  Most of the ship’s crew were in the crew quarters, frozen in cryosleep, and they would have shared the fate of that module, wherever it now was.  If they were unlucky, they had died in their sleep as the crew quarters disintegrated on impact.  If they were lucky, they were safe, sleeping peacefully in suspended animation and waiting for rescue.

However, Vice had not been alone in the command module.  Telea, his eager and soft-spoken blonde navigator, had been in the middle of plotting their exit coordinates when the nacelle explosion had thrown her hard against her console and knocked her out.  And Laurel, the buxom Guild representative, had been standing by the communications console – in stubborn defiance of his recommendation that she remain seated unless standing was necessary – and the explosion had flung her against the rear wall of the command centre.

He checked both of them.  They were unconscious, but alive.  Even in slumber, they were attractive women, and as he ran his hands over their bodies, checking for injuries, he reflected on the fact that he had often fantasised about just such an interaction – although in less dire circumstances, obviously. 

A thorough inspection of the two women suggested their injuries were not too worrying.  He thought Laurel had a broken leg.  Telea just had a nasty concussion.  Both could be treated without advanced medicine. 

The fourth “crew-member” was Rospar, the ship robot, a six-foot contraption of vaguely-humanoid chrome.  Actually, it was more properly ROSPAR, he supposed, although he had no memory of what the acronym stood for.  ROSPAR performed a range of autonomous tasks and protocols considered too dangerous for a human, or too susceptible to human bias. 

The robot was designed to prioritise the safety of the ship’s cargo, to maximise profit for the shipping line.  However, Vice had heard too many stories of ROSPARs letting crew die in emergencies, and he didn’t fancy sacrificing himself to the shipping line’s financial margins, and so he had paid for a very professional – and very illegal – procedure to rewire the robot to serve him, and only him.

Rospar’s wide LED eyes were a bright steady green, glowing in his round chrome skull.

“Rospar, are you functional?” Vice asked.

“I require minor repairs to portions of my hip motion adjustors,” replied Rospar, in a smooth, emotionless voice, “but I am otherwise fully functional.  How can I assist?”

“Help me get the women out of the ship,” said Vice, and coughed.  The command module was filled with smoke.  There was a fire under at least one of the consoles, but he couldn’t tell which one.  The air smelt like burning plastic.  He hoped the fire wouldn’t do too much damage too quickly.  He could send Rospar back inside to do fire-fighting work after the women were safe.

“Certainly, Captain,” replied Rospar, and together the captain and the powerful robot half-lifted, half-dragged the two unconscious women out of the airlock and onto the beach of the alien planet.

In the clean, alien air, Vice surveyed the huge metal exterior of the command module.  It could be worse.  The module was mostly intact.  It wouldn’t retain power for long, but he thought there was enough there to make a shelter to wait for a rescue – if a rescue was remotely possible.

“Where are we, Rospar?” he asked.

“By comparing visible stars with my database, I believe we are on the ninth planet of the Persephone system,” replied Rospar.  “An Eden world.  We are quite some distance from our planned route, captain.  Assuming we are able to establish a distress beacon that can be detected from anywhere in the system, I would estimate it may take between one month and two years before a ship passes through this area and finds us.”

Vice swore.  A month to two years?  It was better than being dead, but…

“But captain,” continued Rospar.  “I have further data about this world that you need to hear urgently.”

“Go ahead,” said Vice.  And then he listened, as Rospar explained.

When Rospar was done, Vice had a new set of priorities.

“Go back in the ship,” he said.  He was looking at the two unconscious women speculatively.  He had always found them attractive.  It was possible that there was a silver lining to this crash.  “Find the printer and check if its power source is working.  Bring it out of the ship if it’s safe to do so.”  He looked up.  “And Rospar – either way, print me two Compliance Collars.”

“Yes, captain,” said Rospar.


Telea was the first of the girls to regain consciousness.  Vice watched her as her eyes opened, crossed, focused, and then widened in alarm.

“Why am I tied up?” she asked.  She looked around.  “Where are we?  What happened?”  Then she looked down.  “What happened to my shirt?  Vice?  WHY AM I TIED UP?”

She was indeed tied up.  He’d dragged her to a tree at the edge of the beach, sat her against it, and then tied her hands behind her, around the tree.  He’d also removed her crew shirt, exposing her pretty C-cup tits.  Her blonde hair fell in pretty disarray across her face.

“You haven’t asked, ‘why am I wearing a collar?’” said Vice.

She paused.  “Why am I wearing a collar?” she said.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” he asked.

“Three,” she said – correctly.

“Do you feel any sleepiness?” he asked.

“No, I’m wide awake,” she said.  “Why am I tied up?”

“Are you having any difficulty breathing?  Do you feel any fluid running into your mouth, nose or lungs?” he asked.

“No,” she replied.  “Why?”

“Because Laurel’s still unconscious and I don’t want to have to repeat myself,” he said.  “But I wasn’t sure it was safe to gag you until just now.”  And with that, he stuffed her shirt into her mouth, and used a piece of tape from the Bailout Box to fix it in place.

Telea’s eyes widened with outrage, and she began to make muffled yells into the shirt, but Vice ignored them.

He spent the next hour pulling heat shielding off the command module with Rospar, and using it to construct a rudimentary shelter, as Telea watched and glared daggers at them.  He would have liked Telea’s help with this, but by the time he’d done explaining it would only be time to repeat it all with Laurel, so he made do, and soon he and Rospar had created a fairly sturdy dome, about seven metres in diameter.  It wasn’t air-tight, but it should provide some protection from temperature, weather and wildlife. 

He was working on the door when Laurel woke up.  He dropped his tools and went to kneel beside her.

“Don’t try to move,” he said.  “You’ve broken your leg, and you have several other abrasions.  I’ve splinted it, but just lie there for now.”

“Vice?” she asked, hazily.  “Why am I naked?”

“I had to remove your clothes to treat your injuries,” he said.  It was a half-truth.  Anyway, she certainly looked better naked.  It was common knowledge that for women to advance in the Tradeways Guild they needed both natural good looks, and a willingness to get fake tits – and Laurel’s large plastic udders were truly impressive.  In stripping her nude, he discovered that she’d also had her pubic hair permanently removed, leaving her looking very much like a living sex-doll.  It was a look that pleased him.

Her hands reached up to her neck, brushing aside her long, dark hair, and found the plastic sheath of the Compliance Collar.  “Vice, why am I wearing a collar?” she asked him.

Vice looked over at the tree that Telea was tied to.  “Telea,” he said, “are you listening?”

“Mmmf!” she said, loudly, and he took it as a “yes”.

“Okay, ladies, listen up,” he said.  “The Cinnabar Hawk suffered a catastrophic explosion in the aft fuel nacelle in the middle of crossing an Einstein-Rosen bridge.  We made an unplanned exit into truespace at the nearest gravity well.  The ship entered planetary orbit, broke up in the atmosphere and crashed.  I don’t know what happened to the crew quarters, but at this stage we are the only confirmed survivors.”

Laurel’s eyes widened, and Telea moaned into her gag.

“Rospar believes we are on the planet Persephone Nine.  Rescue will take between one month and two years, once we set up a distress beacon.  This *is* an Eden world, and survival should be possible.”

He paused.

“However, we are not alone here,” he said.  “Persephone Nine was the destination of the Galliard sect, a post-humanist cult who left the Standard Colonies around a hundred years ago.  They were heavily into genetic modification, so they may no longer look human.  They were also into patriarchy.  Their emigration was to distance themselves from ‘the disease of feminism’.  Prior to their departure, they were believed to be involved in several terrorist incidents targeting female-led organisations, attempting to disrupt all forms of female authority or equality.”

Laurel stared at him in fear.

“There were around six thousand of them when they left the Standard Colonies,” continued Vice.  “They *are* on this planet somewhere.  The strong likelihood is they have seen our entry into the atmosphere and know where we are now.  They are isolationist, so they are *not* likely to want to help us or assist with our rescue.  The best case scenario for us is that they leave us alone.”

“However, if they see any hint of female authority occurring, or even a situation of equality between genders, it is very likely they will either kill us all, or just kill me and take you as slaves,” he went on.  “They could be watching us right now, and I could not risk this discussion being an argument or a debate.”

“What do you mean?” asked Laurel.

“I’ve fitted you both with Compliance Collars,” said Vice.  “We have the ability to 3D fabricate them to assist in restraining a difficult passenger or in the event of mutiny.  Once they’re on, they can only be removed by Rospar – who will not do so, I can promise you.  Using them, I can administer painful shocks to either of you using a remote, through a range of codewords, or using Rospar.  They have some limited ability to detect your brainwaves, and therefore will also shock you if you form a positive intention to do harm to me or to Rospar, or if you form an intention to tamper with the collar or ask someone other than me to release you from it.”

Laurel’s hands went to her neck in alarm – and she immediately spasmed as the collar delivered her an agonising shock.

Vice’s brow furrowed.  “What did I *just say*, Laurel?”

“But…” began Laurel.

Vice frowned.  “No, I think we’d better set the right precedent here.”  He pressed a button on the remote in his hand, and Laurel twitched again as another shock went into her.  “I asked you a question.  What did I just say?”

Laurel looked up at him in hatred.  She must have thought about attacking him, or trying to seize the remote, because another shock went off. 

Vice thought she actually looked quite pretty, with this mix of defiance, fear, and pain on her face.

“What did I just say, Laurel?” he asked again.

“You said the collar will shock me if I try and hurt you or try and remove it,” said Laurel, sullenly.

“Good girl,” said Vice.  He looked at both girls.  “It’s essential that we make it clear to any observer, at all times, that you are both submissive to me.  To that end, you will be wearing these collars, you *will* obey my orders – and you will keep your breasts exposed.”

“What?” blurted Laurel angrily.

He shocked her.  She twitched.

“Keep a respectful tone, Laurel,” he told her.  “Your leg is broken.  You’re in no position to have an argument.”

“I’m not your crew member, you son of a bitch!” she hissed, in a low voice.  “I’m the Guild representative on your miserable excuse for a ship!  You answer to me, or else you’ll lose your licence and be sued into oblivion!”

He sighed – and shocked her again.  It was fun.

“I don’t think you’re paying attention, Laurel,” he said.  “We’re here for one month to two years.  We need to play nice with the natives, and that means you need to act like a good little submissive, instead of the entitled bitch that – quite frankly – I have been putting up with on my ship for far too long.  Now, I just pulled you out of that wreck, and splinted your broken leg, so I think a good start to this relationship would be for you to thank me.”

She stared at him defiantly.

He shocked her.

Another twenty seconds passed.  He shocked her again.

“Laurel,” he said, “I can do this all day – but I don’t have to.  I have work to do on setting up a shelter to save *all* our asses, so if you don’t hurry up and say thank you, I’m just going to tell Rospar to shock you every twenty seconds until you do.  And we are not yet, I should note, using anywhere near the most painful setting on that collar.”

She attempted defiance a couple of seconds longer – and then submitted.  “Thank you for saving me, and splinting my leg,” she said. 

“Good,” he said.  “Now thank me for stripping you naked and putting you in a collar.”

“What?” she spat.  “No!”



There were tears in the corners of her eyes.  “Thank you for stripping me naked and putting me in a collar,” she said.

“Good girl,” he said.  “Now, you get the easy job.  While we do all the hard work, all you have to do is lie there on the sand and get a suntan on your pretty little pussy.  Think you can do that?”

“Go fuck yourself,” she said.


“Yes,” she said.

“Yes, sir,” he corrected.



“Yes, sir,” she said, finally.

“You’ll get a better tan with your legs spread,” he said.  He was just toying now, seeing how far he could go – but to his complete delight, Laurel obediently spread her legs without needing any further shocks, baring her delightfully pink cunt to the sun – and to his gaze. 

He smiled.  This planet might really work out.

He went over to Telea next, and removed the gag from her mouth.  Her tits weren’t anywhere near as big as Laurel’s, and she looked less like a bimbo fuckdoll fresh from the factory, and more like a vulnerable princess.  The look pleased him.

“Please don’t shock me,” was the first thing she said.

It was a good start.

“Of course not,” he said.  “I don’t *want* to shock anyone.  I’m not trying to hurt you.  I’m just doing what it takes to keep us all safe.”

She wanted to believe him, he could see.

“I didn’t take off any more of your clothes than I had to,” he said.  “See?  You’ve still got your crew skirt and your panties.”

She looked down at them, and back up at him.  “Thank you,” she said, with genuine gratitude.

“Thank you, sir,” he corrected gently.

“Thank you, sir.”

“If I let you go, are you going to help me and Rospar?” he asked.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” she asked.

“No,” he agreed.  “You can’t hurt us, and you can’t remove the collar.  But everything will be fine if you just do as I tell you, understand?”

She swallowed.  He knew she didn’t like this.  She was from New Sappha, a colony of the exact form of extreme feminism the Galliards had been rebelling against.  Heterosexuality in women there was as taboo and shameful as lesbianism had once been on Ancient Earth.  Both her mothers were active in galactic feminism politics.  She knew they would never approve of her submitting to a man like this, her breasts exposed.  They had barely been okay with her serving as navigator under a male captain, but, even with her impressive marks at the Academy, she couldn’t afford to be choosy about her first posting to a starship.

But Vice had always suspected that Telea had a submissive streak.  As part of his crew, she had been quick to follow his orders, and delighted when he had seen fit to praise her.  If he was correct, it was a streak that her upbringing would never allow her to admit to – but it might be convenient now.

He untied her, and braced for a sudden act of rebellion – but there was none.  She stood, crossed her arms over her naked tits – a futile gesture, as if he hadn’t already stared as much as he wanted to – and said, “What can I do to help?”

He passed her an atmosphere rebreather from his Bailout Box.  It would function as a smoke mask.  “Go with Rospar back into the ship and pull out anything that looks like usable tech, or which we could use as supplies.  Once you’ve got the high priority items, focus on cabling that we can use to tie things with, poles or sheeting we can build with – you’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”

“Yes, sir,” she said brightly, and headed off towards the robot, arms still crossed adorably over her tits.

He watched her go, then turned back to Laurel, lying nude on the sand. 

“Legs wider,” he said, and smiled with satisfaction as she spread her legs apart a little further.


Eventually night fell, and Vice was pleased to note that it did not come with a fall in temperature.  The darkness was as pleasantly and acceptably warm as the day had been. 

He saw no reason that he would need to give the girls back their clothes.

As night fell, they also made another surprising discovery.  As the light vanished, the lake on whose shores they were camped began to glow.  A dim purple phosphorescence appeared, growing to a bright, magical violet light that lit the whole campsite as effectively as any campfire.

Vice had gathered himself, Rospar and the girls into the shelter.  The door faced onto the lake, so he’d left it open for now for illumination.  Telea had found some fire blankets in the command module, and they’d deployed them as rugs to form a crude flooring, with some left over to be actual blankets.  Inflatable airbags and emergency flotation devices were pressed into service as pillows and cushions.

Rospar had located the supply of emergency rations – enough for the four of them for about a week, he expected, but Vice had plans for what they would do beyond that.  He’d generously portioned out a ration to each of the girls, and watched them eat it. 

They’d pulled the captain’s chair out of the module, and Laurel was propped up against it, her broken leg stretched out in front of her.  She’d initially brought her legs together when they’d positioned her there, but Vice had gently nudged her uninjured leg, and again to his delight she’d spread them open for him – looking at him like she wanted to kill him, of course, but that just made it all the more entertaining.

Now that Laurel was done eating her ration, Vice stood and walked over to her.  He stood between her legs, the toe of his boot almost touching her pussy. 

“It’s time for you to do your contribution to the crew, Laurel,” he said.

“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.

“We’ve been out doing back-breaking work all day,” said Vice, “while you’ve just been lying there, tanning your fuckhole.”

Her eyes widened.  “You TOLD me to!” she protested.  “My leg’s broken!  I can’t do anything!”

“You’re in the Guild,” he said.  “You’ve received the full Guild human-plus package.  Along with the plastic tits and smooth pussy, you get an accelerated healing booster.  Your leg will be fine in about three days – but if you think you’re getting a free ride until then, you’re mistaken.”

“I’ll do what I can to help,” said Laurel, looking up at him apprehensively.  “But I don’t know what I can do.”

“I do,” said Vice.  He undid the zipper of his pants, and extracted his cock.  It was hard, throbbing, eager.  “Open your mouth, and suck,” he told her.

Across the floor of the shelter, Telea gasped.  Laurel’s face turned red with anger, and she clamped her mouth shut defiantly.

He shocked her.  The pain made her gasp, and he could have pushed his cock into her mouth then, but he didn’t.

“You are going to contribute the only way a bimbo like you is able to, under the circumstances,” he said.  “You are going to suck my cock, and I am not going to feel even a *hint* of your teeth, and when I am done you are going to say, ‘Thank you for cumming in my mouth, sir.’”

“Telea, he’s going to rape me!” yelled Laurel.  “Do something!”

Vice didn’t turn to look at Telea.  He felt confident she wasn’t going to do anything – and in any case, if she formed any intent to hurt him, the collar would take care of her.

“I’m not going to rape you,” he said.  “You’re going to consent to swallow my cum, like the good little cocksucker you are, in order to do something to remotely earn the food I just generously gave you.”

She looked up at him defiantly.

He shocked her.

He shocked her again, for fun.

She still had her mouth closed, so he sighed, drew back his foot, and kicked her in the cunt.

*THAT* got her mouth open, and this time he *did* take the opportunity to plug it with his cock.  He felt her jaw muscles tighten as she prepared to bite down on him, hard – but of course she did no such thing, because immediately the collar started repeatedly shocking her, until she relaxed her jaw.

He smiled, and began to facefuck the fake-titted Guild bitch.  She made muffled noises of protest around his cock, and raised her hands as if to hit him or push him away – but the collar shocked her again, and she let them fall to her side.

He looked over to Telea as he rhythmically pumped his dick in and out of Laurel’s mouth.  “Are you okay with this?” he asked her.

She looked like a deer in the headlights.  He was very clearly raping Laurel – but he had been nice to Telea so far.  And Laurel had never been very nice to Telea on the ship – or to anyone, for that matter.  And he had seen Telea cast a few resentful looks at the naked bitch sleeping on the beach while Telea had been sweating in manual labour.

“She needs to contribute,” said Telea, hesitantly.  “This seems fair.”

“Do you want a turn when I’m finished?” asked Vice, still face-fucking Laurel.

Telea blushed bright red.  Being from New Sappha, she was generally assumed to be a lesbian, although he had never heard her discuss it or seen her with a girlfriend.

“No,” she said.  “That’s okay.”

“Suit yourself,” said Vice.  He focused on banging his groin against the attractive Guild bimbo’s face, tickling the back of her throat with the tip of his cock and making her gag, until he felt his release coming, and groaned happily as he spurted a hard-earned load of cum into her unwilling mouth.

He pulled out, and watch a little of his sperm dribble out of her mouth onto her tits.  He frowned, and pushed her mouth closed and held her nose until she swallowed.

“Good girl,” he said, and waited.

She looked up at him, not understanding.

He shocked her.

A few moments later, he shocked her again.

“You’ll remember eventually,” he told her.

Then he shocked her. 

Realisation came to her.  She flushed bright red, and said, “Thank you for cumming in my mouth, sir.”  She didn’t look at him as she spoke.

“Now, I’m not a rapist,” he told her.  “So I’m not going to fuck your mouth again unless you ask me to.  But you’re not going to get any more food unless you’re contributing, understand?”

She looked away in shame, and said nothing.

He let her be silent, and went and sat next to Telea.  He put an arm around her naked shoulders companionably, and said, “Everything’s going to be okay.  You know that, right?”

He hadn’t tucked his cock back into his pants, though, and Telea was staring at it, as though it held a hypnotic power over her.

“Telea, honey?” he asked.  “Did you hear me?  You’re going to be a good obedient girl, and we’re going to be fine, okay?”

She jumped, as if startled, and looked up at him.  “Yes, sir,” she said.  “I’m going to be a good, obedient girl, and we’re going to be fine.”

“Good girl,” he said, and smiled – and then leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

She froze at first, but he gently but firmly pushed his lips against her, and after a moment she was kissing back – hesitantly, embarrassed, awkward, but actively moving her lips, parting them, allowing his tongue into her mouth.

He kept kissing her until he heard her moan a little – a moan of genuine desire – and then stopped. 

“Good girl,” he said, and the smile on her face when he said it was beautiful – and completely genuine.


Enjoy this story? Then support its creation through the purchase of an e-book in the ATR shop! (Click here to view the shop.)


15 thoughts on “Story: Persephone Nine, Chapter 1 – Crash

Leave a Reply