Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three
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Telea returned in the mid-afternoon, and Vice knew he had trouble as soon as he heard her coming.
For one thing, what he heard wasn’t Telea, but another woman’s voice – cultured but petulant.
“I don’t know why you even had to wake me up!” the voice was saying. “I would have been quite happy remaining in cryosleep until the journey was complete. There’s no need to disrupt my beauty sleep over every minor roadbump.”
Another voice spoke – and this one was clearly mocking the first, affecting a nasal upper-class whine. “Yes, Telea *dahling*, let’s all stop and have a nice glass of wine. I can feel my rich little twat *drying up* with every step.”
“Shut up, you disgusting trollop,” said the first voice. “Telea, darling, must we travel with this venomous tart? Can’t you have your robot silence her?”
Vice sighed. He recognised those voices, and he immediately had an idea what Telea had just done. He jogged down the beach towards the direction they were arriving from.
Sure enough, there were four figures approaching from the forest. In the lead was Telea – nude and flushed from exertion, sweat running down between her modest tits, her blonde hair plastered to her neck. At the back was Rospar, his metal bulk moving inexorably and forcing the group to set a swift pace.
And between Telea and Rospar were two new women.
The Cinnabar Hawk had carried a range of cargo – but occasionally “cargo” meant passengers. On this trip the Hawk had been carrying two VIP passengers, en route to the Inner Worlds. Each passenger was kept in cryosleep, in a special “crashproof” container in the hold. In the event of a crash, the passengers were supposed to remain happily asleep in their nigh-indestructible cryo-beds until they could be safely rescued.
But Telea – pretty, foolish Telea – had apparently found the Cinnabar Hawk’s human cargo and decided to wake them up.
On the left was Victoria Hastings, heir to the Hastings Astronautics fortune. She was struggling along with difficulty in a pair of expensive high heels and a black evening dress. Her black hair was in disarray – the cryosleep monitoring pads would not permit even someone as privileged as Victoria to keep a fancy hairdo intact – but she wore a diamond necklace at her throat, calling attention to an excellent expanse of cleavage, and a silver bracelet shone on her left wrist.
And the redheaded teen on the right was Amy Benniss – or, as she styled herself for her career as a pop music diva, “Kisses”. Only 19 and already a multiibllionaire, Kisses was the idol of entire worlds for her catchy sex-tunes like “Twitchin’ My Skirt” and “Cumtarget”. By all accounts the spoiled, bratty, cockteasing persona she affected for her music videos and concerts wasn’t far from how she behaved in her private life. Right now she was wearing a skirt-and-shirt number – both pieces of clothing covered with extraneous belts and pockets, in the current teen style – and thick boots that would have seemed practical if they weren’t bubble-gum pink and gloss-shiny.
“Damn it, Telea!” swore Vice loudly. He broke into a sprint.
“Hello,” called out Victoria as he approached. “You must be the captain. I have several complaints to make….”
Her voice was cut off abruptly as he slapped her hard across the face, then grabbed her dress and ripped it open down the middle.
Her privileged, perfect tits spilled out into the sunlight. She could only stare at him in shock and horror.
“Rospar!” Vice commanded. “Restrain the other passenger and strip her.”
“Understood,” acknowledged Rospar. One metal hand clamped over Amy’s mouth, and the other tore first her top away, and then her skirt.
Amy had gone into cryosleep without any panties, apparently. Her waxed pussy winked at him in the sunlight as she struggled futilely against Rospar’s grasp.
“What the hell do you think you’re…” Victoria began to shout, but Vice slapped her again, and then pushed her to the ground. He pulled off the rest of her dress, and then the black lacy panties she was wearing beneath it.
“Damn it, Telea,” said Vice again. “The Galliard are *watching* us. I just spoke to one of them this morning. If they saw these women wearing clothes, they might kill us all on the spot. We *have* to show them that our men – meaning me – have authority, and that there is no equality between our genders.”
“I’m sorry,” said Telea, looking genuinely mortified. “I didn’t think. I just found the cryo-capsules, and I thought I should rescue the passengers. I thought they could help us…”
“We’ll discuss your punishment later, Telea,” said Vice. “Right now, go to the ship and print me two more Compliance Collars.”
Telea blushed. “Yes, sir,” she said, and hurried away.
Vice looked at his two new charges. Victoria lay nude on the stand, her legs pulled up to her stomach, clutching her face and looking at him with horrified, accusatory eyes. Amy still struggled in Rospar’s grip, her mouth gagged by his metal claw.
“Okay, girls, listen up,” said Rospar. “We have crashed on Persephone Nine. It’s an Eden world outside the regulated tradeways. Rescue will take between one month and two years.”
Victoria audibly gasped.
“That’s not the bad news, ladies,” Vice continued. “The world is occupied by the Galliard, a post-humanist exile sect. They’re fanatically patriarchal and highly violent. Our only chance of survival is maintaining a strict hierarchy of male authority and female subjugation. That means that if you want to survive, you *will* stay naked, you *will* treat me with respect, and you *will* do as you’re told. Do you understand?”
Victoria’s face was purple with rage. “This is ridiculous,” she sputtered, trying to get back on her feet. “I paid for VIP transportation. I will *not* be humiliated by a mere…. man!”
Vice sighed. He slapped her across the face again, pushed her back down onto the beach sand, then used his hands to pry her legs apart. She struggled, but he was strong, and once her legs were parted, he kicked her in the cunt with his booted foot.
She squealed.
“You need to understand,” said Vice, “that you made me do that. You mouthed off in a way that is completely unacceptable to Galliard society, and if I hadn’t responded by slapping you and kicking your cunt, we may have all been killed. Now, apologise for being a bitch.”
Victoria just stared at him, her eyes bulging out of her face.
He kicked her cunt again.
“Apologise,” he said.
She tried to bring her legs together to protect herself, but he was holding them firmly.
He looked at her, waiting.
“I’m sorry,” she said, finally.
“Sorry for being a bitch?” he inquired.
“I’m sorry for being a bitch,” she said, in a sulky voice.
“Thank me for kicking you in the cunt,” Vice said.
Her lips tightened in fury. She struggled a little, trying to free her legs. He responded by giving her a third kick in her cunt.
She squeaked with pain, and said, “Thank you for kicking me in the cunt.”
“You’re welcome,” said Vice. “Are you going to be a good girl now?”
“Yes,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
“Yes, sir,” Vice corrected.
“Yes, sir,” said Victoria.
Vice let go of her legs and turned to Amy.
‘What about you?” he asked.
“Mmmf!” said Amy, her mouth still covered by Rospar’s hand.
“No, I’m not letting you go until you agree to be well-behaved,” said Vice. “I’ll tell you what.” He walked towards her, spread her legs apart, and pushed two of his fingers up into her naked fuckhole.
Amy screamed into her gag and tried to kick him. He dodged, easily. Her pussy wasn’t wet, but it wasn’t entirely dry, either, and it was easy enough to get his fingers inside her. She was warm, soft and tight inside.
“Now, if you’re going to be a well-behaved little slut and do what you’re told, squeeze my fingers,” he told her.
Amy glared at him.
Vice used his free hand to spread her pussy lips further, find her clitoris – and pinch it, hard.
Amy screamed into her gag again, arching her whole body and kicking wildly. None of it budged Rospar even an inch.
“I can do this all day, Amy,” said Vice. “Now, are you going to be a well-behaved slut, or not?”
A tear trickled down her cheek, vanishing behind Rospar’s metal claw.
Then, slowly, he felt her cunt squeeze his fingers.
“Good girl,” said Vice, smiling. “And good timing. I see Telea’s returning with the collars.”
His pretty nude subordinate was indeed back. She must have run the whole way, Vice thought. She passed him two of the metal collars he had used to subdue her and Laurel, fresh from the ship’s printer. He bent down and clipped one around Victoria’s neck – over the top of her diamond necklace – and then attached the other one to Amy.
“When we get back to the Inner Worlds, I *will* see you hanged for this,” hissed Victoria, in a low voice.
Vice took a deep breath, and slapped the spoiled, sexy bitch across the face. Then he used her Compliance Collar to shock her, for good measure. The red imprint of his hand on her cheek, and the shocked, furious, scared look on her face were exceptionally satisfying.
“I can see that you’re going to be trouble, Victoria,” he said. “But whether you cooperate or not, I *am* going to keep us all alive. And that means that, one way or another, you *will* learn to submit.”
And just to reinforce the power he now held over her, he reached out and stroked her naked breasts with his hand.
“And honestly,” he said. “I think I’m going to enjoy teaching you.”
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