Vice dreamed of space. He dreamed of being at the helm of the Cinnabar Hawk, barrelling down a half-forgotten spacelane at the speed of translight, the stars an attenuated blur, the engines thrumming with potency through the metal at his feet.
The girls were his bridge crew – Telea and Laurel, Victoria and Amy – but they were nude and collared, as they were on Persephone, and in his dream they looked up at him with adoration, waiting for his command.
They were on their way to somewhere, he knew – somewhere important. And they had a mission…
He woke abruptly, and with none of the lassitude of sleep. He was immediately, fully alert, and for once he had no interest in waking Telea for a sleepy blowjob.
Something had changed. He could feel it.
He extricated himself from the sleeping girls draped across him, and made his way outside. It was still dark – the dim, deceptive shadows that came before dawn, that gave the suggestion of light, but left the sleeping land frustratingly unlit.
Vice went immediately to Rospar, who loomed motionless outside the shelter. He didn’t bother to give the hulking robot any verbal commands, but instead directly accessed its control panels, checking the robot’s complex and sensitive instrumentation.
Soon enough, he knew what he had felt.
“Sir?” asked a small, nervous voice from behind him. Vice didn’t recognise it at first, and jumped, hands clenched in fists. But it was only Victoria, and it was the meek submission in her voice that was new to him.
“Go back to bed, Victoria,” he told her. “Get another half hour of sleep.”
But she hesitated, clearly frightened by something in his demeanour. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He sighed. “Does the air feel different to you?” he asked.
She shivered, clutching her arms across her naked tits and rubbing her shoulders. “It’s cold,” she said.
He nodded. “The temperature dropped ten degrees overnight – more than twice what we’ve had for the last few days. There’s a low pressure cell moving in our direction, and I think it’s going to bring a change of weather.”
“Like rain?” she asked.
“Maybe,” said Vice. He paused, choosing his words carefully, not wanting to scare Victoria more than she already was. “We don’t know what weather on this planet looks like,” he said. “We can make some guesses, but we don’t have access to satellite imagery, or historical records. It could be nothing. Or it could be… difficult.”
“Storms?” asked Victoria – definitely worried now.
Vice had to admit that Victoria looked cuter when she was scared than she ever had in her previous bitchy façade of confidence. He felt his cock twitch a little, but ignored it.
“Maybe,” he said – but privately, he thought if it was just rainstorms, they would be lucky. This planet could produce anything – hailstones big enough to kill them; freezing cold snaps; acid rain; tornadoes. They could be in a lot of trouble.
“So… we need to improve the shelter?” she asked.
“That’s one option,” said Vice. “But I’d be more comfortable if we found somewhere more secure to ride this out.” He pointed inland, towards the distant cliffs. “I’m no expert in geology, but I think there’s an excellent chance of there being caves in those rock formations. Rospar’s sensors say we’ve got at least eight hours of clear weather, but after that, it’s anyone’s guess. If we can reach a cave, we’ll be safe until this blows over.”
He looked at her seriously. “We’re going to need to work together to get there in time, carrying enough supplies to last us a few days. Am I going to be able to trust you not to try and get me killed?”
She looked down, an expression of guilt on her face. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
She sounded so sincere that Vice almost believed her.
He let the other girls have a little more sleep – it would be a long hike – and then he woke them, and explained the situation.
Laurel panicked immediately. “I can’t walk that far!” she protested. “I think I can walk short distances without the crutch now – but not for eight hours!”
“Rospar will carry you,” said Vice. “It’s a shame we need to waste his carrying capacity on a crew member, but I’m your captain and I’m not leaving you behind. The rest of us will pick up the extra weight.”
They packed several sacks full of supplies from the fabricator, and water from the lake. Vice instructed Rospar to move the fabricator back into the hulk of the Cinnabar Hawk cockpit, where it would likely be safe from damage. The girls “dressed” in their floppy summer hats and colourful tit-bows. (Laurel in particular hated the demeaning accessory, and complained bitterly as Telea wound it tightly around her breasts, but Teleas just slapped her across the face and told her to behave, which earned Telea an approving smile from Vice.) They created a crude person-sized backpack-slash-harness for Rospar, and installed Laurel into it, her tits resting against the back of the robot’s metal head.
Then they set out for the cliffs.
It was clear to all of them that the weather was changing. Despite the sun climbing over the horizon, the day was not getting warmer. The exercise of hiking was keeping the girls warm enough, but Vice was beginning to regret not fabricating them some real clothes before setting out.
They travelled as directly away from the lake as they could manage, making for the cliffs, which towered over the jungle and were visible through all but the densest of foliage. The forest floor was relatively clear and untangled, but where it became necessary to clear a path, Rospar would do the work, using his powerful robotic arms to rip entire bushes from the ground and heave heavy logs out of the way.
They made better time than Vice had thought they would. He had worried that the girls would be slow and uncooperative – but they seemed actually eager to be going somewhere new. Telea in particular was eager to please Vice as a perfect explorer, and her attitude was to some degree infectious.
But it was still a long, tiring journey.
“Why don’t you girls tell some stories to keep us entertained?” Vice suggested eventually.
Amy wrinkled her nose. “Stories? Like what?”
Vice shrugged. “What was your first sexual experience?”
Laurel snorted in amusement from her perch atop Rospar. “How did I know that it would be some kind of pervert question?” she said.
Telea frowned, and marched over to Rospar. She reached up into Laurel’s harness – and Laurel squealed. Telea’s hand was between Laurel’s legs, grabbing the whole of her cunt – pussy lips and all – and squeezing painfully.
“Be respectful to the Captain,” Telea said. “He’s the reason we’re all alive.”
Laurel just squealed.
“Are you going to be good?” asked Telea.
“Yes!” squeaked Laurel. “Yes! Yes!”
Telea released Laurel’s cunt. “Good girl,” she said, and smiled sweetly. “Now, why don’t you tell the Captain your first sexual experience?”
Laurel blushed, and looked away. She clearly didn’t want to share her history with the group – and that made Vice more eager to hear it than ever.
“Come on, Laurel,” said Vice. “Tell us the story. And make sure it’s the *real* story. Rospar can detect lies, you know – and if you lie, I’ll shock you so hard you’ll wish you’d told the truth.”
That was, itself, mostly a lie. Rospar could indeed detect changes in voice modulation, skin temperature, breathing, and so forth, and use it to make a guess as to a person’s honesty – but it was far from reliable, and ultimately no more useful than Vice’s own instinct for such things. But Laurel had never seen fit to learn much about the service robot, and Vice doubted she knew enough to contradict him.
Laurel was silent for long moments – and then finally said, tersely, “It was a blowjob.”
Vice reached into his pocket for the remote for the collars. He pressed it, and watched Laurel swear and jerk with pain.
“Details, Laurel,” he said. “Who, what, why and when.”
“It was my supervisor at the Navigator’s Guild,” said Laurel, glaring at Vice. “I was eighteen, and I’d just gotten my breast augmentation. At the Guild, the men tend to wind up in the management roles. The women get assigned to ships like yours as Navigators. We all have to have breast surgery to get big round tits – the Guild says it’s part of their ‘branding’. You can tell a Navigator just by looking at her chest, they say.”
Her voice told Vice what she thought of that ‘branding’ – but nevertheless, she had still gotten the boobjob, and in Vice’s opinion it definitely made her more pleasant to look at.
“I’d completed my training, and I was due to be assigned to a ship,” Laurel continued. “My supervisor called me into his office and told me to strip naked. He wanted to inspect my new tits – and also my pussy. They use lasers to permanently remove our pubic hair. I have no idea what that has to do with their branding, but it happens while you’re unconscious for the breast surgery, and they don’t even tell you about it until it’s done.”
Vice listened attentively as he worked his way forward down the trail that Rospar was clearing for them.
“Anyway, I had to stand there naked in front of him, while he ogled me,” said Laurel. “I wasn’t sure if this was something every Navigator girl went through, or just me. It was humiliating. Then he told me to come over and kneel and suck his cock. I thought about running away then – but I’d spent my entire education learning to be a Navigator, and I wasn’t going to be able to get a job as anything else – except maybe as a sex-toy, with my new breasts – so I did as I was told.”
“As I was kneeling there, with his cock in my mouth – the first cock I’d ever touched – he told me to start masturbating. I didn’t know what else to do, so I obeyed – and then he started calling me a slut, and a cunt, and a bitch, and lightly slapping my face, and reaching down to pinch my nipples. It hurt, and it was degrading, and when he eventually started to cum, I flinched, so his cock pulled out of my mouth and he ended up cumming on my face.”
She stopped here – and it was clear the humiliation was still fresh in her mind. Perhaps even more fresh now, because she’d drunk lake water that morning, and despite the memory of her violation, her cunt was wet and her body was horny.
“And then he told me that I’d have to come back tomorrow and do it again,” she said, eventually. “He said that I might receive any amount of provocation on the ships I was assigned to, and I must never, ever argue back and bring the Guild into disrepute. He said that only when I was able to orgasm from being insulted and slapped while sucking his cock would I be safe to send out to a customer.”
“It doesn’t sound like you learned your lesson very well,” said Vice. “You’re still a smart-mouthed bitch.”
She bared her teeth at him. “You should have nightmares about what I’d be like if I wasn’t so restrained,” she spat.
He laughed – and shocked her. Her defiance was funny, but not something he intended to seriously entertain.
“How long did it take you to learn to cum?” he asked her.
“Three weeks,” she said. “I tried faking it after a week, but he knew, and he spent the next few hours hitting my ass with a cane while I practiced masturbating. I didn’t fake it again. After three weeks, I was able to reliably think sexy thoughts while serving him, enough to eventually cum.”
Vice smiled. It was a sweet story. He intended to make Laurel repeat the skill she had learned with her supervisor for him in the coming days. But something tickled at his brain – an instinct…
“What aren’t you telling me, Laurel?” he asked her.
She blushed, and he knew immediately that he was right. “Nothing,” she said.
He shocked her.
He waited. No response. He shocked her again.
Her face went purple with rage and humiliation – but finally, she answered. “He called me Cunt,” she said.
“What do you mean?” asked Vice.
“He never used my name. He only called me Cunt,” Laurel said. “Like, ‘Suck my cock, Cunt’, and, ‘You’ll have to do better than that, Cunt’. And when I eventually ‘graduated’ from his little game, he issued my formal Navigator’s licence in the name of ‘Cunt’. I have to show it to every dock official every time we dock, and admit that my name is ‘Cunt’. It’s entered in the Guild records that way, and all my Guild correspondence comes addressed to ‘Cunt’.”
Vice laughed out loud at that. It was so perfect. “You mean all this time we’ve been calling you Laurel,” he said, “but your real name is Cunt?”
“It’s not my real name!” protested Laurel.
“It’s what’s on your ID, Cunt,” said Vice. “I think we should go with the official records, don’t you?”
“Fuck you!” spat Laurel – and didn’t even care when Vice shocked her. “Fuck you! Don’t call me that!”
Telea came up and grabbed Laurel’s pussy again, and squeezed, making Laurel squeak. “Show respect to the captain, Cunt,” she said, in a tone that was somehow still sweet despite the words and the action.
And just like that, Laurel became “Cunt” – and a little bit more of her freedom and humanity was taken away from her forever.