by Aubrey Cara
Screvan chimes in from where he sits at the maneuvering controls. “Possessing females we could sink our cocks into would be worth the challenge of navigating around Jar’jn space.” His thoughts aligned with my own. Tal, Screvan’s lighter-haired counterpart, stands next to him, nodding in agreement. They look so much like the lighter and darker versions of each other, we have all wondered how they aren’t biologically brothers. Both are still young by Monrok standards. Their aging was only stopped five solars ago.
Dag, an older battle-scarred warrior, strides into the control room. “The king obviously wanted his ship far enough out that his servants who didn’t obediently kill themselves would run out of nutrient shots and die.”
Like the rest of us, Dag’s aging had stopped between twenty-five and thirty solars, but he’s at least a decade older than Ren’s and my fifty-three solars. Though he looks young, he carries his age in his gruff demeanor and jaded eyes.
“But the king,” he continues, “wanted to be close enough to Jar’jn that his people could find him.” He looks around the room, a cold grin stretching his face. “We just have to find them first.”
I grunt in acknowledgement. That goes without saying. “We have to figure out how.”
“We could split up,” Tal suggests. “All come at it from different directions.”
“The idea has merit,” Dag says, and I know he’s only humoring the boy. “But our scout crafts don’t carry the large energy sources needed for long term navigation and cloaking. We have no idea how long we’ll be searching the area.”
“I’ve pinpointed what I believe is the location,” I say. “But Dag is correct. We should save our scout crafts for emergency purposes only.”
“We could jump farther out and come in behind Jar’jn space,” Fyhn suggests, pulling up different course screens and making then disappear with the flick of his wrist when he deems them not to his liking. “If we get far enough out, we won’t be detected.”
“I think that’s what the king must have done, the wily aheh,” Ryat says from beside Fyhn. Where Fhyn is tawny, Ryat’s skin is pale, but his hair black as night. The men have similar broad, lean-muscled builds, standing at the same height. Unlike Fyhn, who is immersed in navigation screens, Ryat casually leans a hip on the control panel, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, grinning. There is lightness in the air. We’re close to our goal, and we can all feel it.
“I agree. All for making the jump, say aye.” Everyone says aye, except Ren, who nods. His arms are still crossed over his chest, and he’s still scowling, but the aheh fucker is with us. I swivel in my chair and set the course. If my calculations are correct, we’re about to be right behind the king’s flagship. If I’m wrong, we’re about to be targets. “Monrok on guard. Entering Jar’jn space.”
“Until death releases you.” Ren recites our traditional warrior saying, and we all reply, “Until death,” as our surroundings begin to phase out in our jump.
I keep my eyes trained on Ren. I did not care for the fatalistic gleam in his eyes when he wished us well. He has grown more morose the closer we get to the king’s flagship, and that won’t do. We are heading directly into enemy space. Vigilance will be the key to our survival.
“There it is. Up ahead,” Ryat announces, and we all get our first view of the king’s vessel.
My calculations were nearly a shift behind the flagship’s location because I failed to account for drift. The Zapex are likely too busy scrambling up their defenses planetside to venture this far out, yet still we keep up our cloaking shield. It’s always better to be prepared.
A loud ping sounds, and our warning sensor begins blinking red. “What’s the word?” I ask.
“Looks like another Monrok guard ship,” Dag says. He grins up at us from his spot at the defense screen. “Five shifts off. Seems like we made it just in time.”
“Let’s hope that’s true,” Ren says, with a cryptic sneer.
“Say what you want.” Dag waggles of his eyebrows. “My lifebringer and I are choosing to be optimistic.” He grabs his crotch, and we all chuckle, except Ren. The moody hadhr.
“What if there are veran…still alive?” Tal asks in a hushed voice as if the prophetic females can hear him. “Do we throw them out the airlock?”
“I wouldn’t mind conquering some oracle pussy,” Dag boasts, using Earth slang. I shake my head at him, but he just chuckles. “Besides, no sense wasting decent females.”
Dag is welcome to any veran we may find. The veran aren’t like other beings. Like most sane Monrok, I certainly wouldn’t want to fuck anything that would prophesize my fate if I stick my cock into it.
“Prepare to dock,” Screvan calls. Those of us standing brace for the ships’ connecting, but the younger Monrok eases us over with grace, sending out sensors to guide us in. We dock to the bay of the king’s ship with nary a bump.
I pat Screvan on the shoulder. “Good work. Depressurizing. Prepare to enter the airlock.”
We all grab formfitting helmets and ambient pressure resistant jackets and shrug them on, just in case. As Monrok, we can withstand the vacuum of space for longer than any other known being, but it’s not comfortable.
Dragging ass, Ren is the last to put on his jacket and helmet, and I pull him aside. Gripping his helmet, I rest my forehead to his when he tries to push me off him. “Are you with us?” I ask.
“She could be dead,” he says surprising me. I knew he coveted a female he caught a glimpse of with the king, but I did not realize he still carried hope of seeing her again.
“She could be,” I say, preferring to be more realistic than Dag and his cock. “But she could be alive… We won’t know until we go through that door.” I stand away from him and stride toward the hatch. “Are you with us?”
He curses under his breath. “We’re at the fucking ship. I might as well be.”
I clap him on the shoulder as he draws abreast of me. “Good. You’re being mopier than a gearan fuckboy.”
He shoves me, making me grin as we cross over the hatch into the other ship’s airlock, but I quickly sober. Once our hatch is sealed and we open the flagship door, we have no idea what we will find.
Tal and Screvan move to unlock their helmets, but I stay them with a hand. “Leave them on until we know the ship is secured.”
I’m not sure if any of us breathe as the main hatch opens to the king’s vessel. We file out and fill the hall. The ship is eerily quiet. Dag hand signals for us to pair up and break off to search the craft. Though more of a pleasure cruiser than a battleship, it’s still large enough to house over twenty rooms.
Ren, Dag, and I head one way, Fyhn, Ryat, Screvan, and Tal another way, the older pair breaking off from the younger and going down a separate hall. We search one sector, finding nothing but well-kept empty rooms more befitting a palace than a space vessel. When we turn the corner to another sector, we smell it. Or, rather, them.
Dag presses the door panel so it swooshes open, and we all gag at the foul stench of decay infiltrating our helmet’s air filter before our cybernetics block our olfactory receptors, muting the putrid reek and clearing our senses once more.
We enter what appears to be a throne room. At the center of the high-ceilinged room are the bodies of the king and his servants, or what’s left of them. The servants lie in blue heaps around the dais of the king. And there, on a throne of highly polished saluvian quartz, sits the remains of the king. I have never seen whole beings so far into the death process. It is as grotesque as if they were butchered in battle. Most of their organs have already liquefied and burst from not being properly tended.
“Do you notice what I do?” Dag says, recovering first.
My brow furrows as I look over the macabre scene. “A waste of good saluvian quartz?” I say. I’ve never seen so much in one place.
Dag chuckles. “It would fetch a good price…after being sanitized, of course. But, no, that’s not what I was referring to.”
“There are a f
ew veran, but no human females,” Ren answers his tone much more solemn.
“Not a one,” Dag says his mouth twisting into a grin full of smug triumph. But if the humans are alive, where are the creatures?
“Found them,” Tal’s excited voice comes through the interlinked com in our helmets, as if answering my question. As one, we head back out the panel we just came in. Ren rushes down the passage. Dag and I follow at a more measured pace, removing our helmets now that we know the ship is secure. The head coverings collapse into small disks we snap to our belts.
“Too bad the females didn’t think to send the bodies out the airlock,” Dag quips as we reseal the door to the decaying den. “Better for them to be icicles in space than spatters of decaying waste.”
We navigate the passageways until we find where everyone has congregated. Fyhn and Ryat are already there with Screvan and Tal. They’re all wearing expressions not often seen on Monrok faces, conveying different levels of shock. Ren shoulders past the other Monrok and stops so quickly I pile into his back, pushing him forward.
The room is a wide-open space unlike any I’ve ever seen aboard a spacecraft or otherwise. Three large round platforms are piled with silky coverings and lush, ornate pillows. I spot the heads of two females who are cowering behind one dais, so we can’t see their faces. Only a glimpse of pastel hair. Three other females hide behind another. One mauve-haired creature bravely peeks out at us, her violet eyes wide. Even from here I smell their exotic scent, like nhu oil and ashwana berries.
In the center of the room is a fall of water coming down from the ceiling and lightly splashing into a wading pool. There, standing utterly naked as the sheet of water slices over her lithe figure, is the female who holds the men entranced.
Her sleek, blue skinned form tells me she’s veran. And the way she does not cower like the other females indicates she has known a place of power only truly gifted veran may experience. She turns her black fathomless eyes on us as she glides out of the water. Rivulets drip down her body as she seems to float forward.
“Welcome, Monrok. We’ve been waiting for you.”
“Tell the other females to come out of hiding,” I tell her.
Not many beings stand before Monrok without fear, but she doesn’t turn away from us, nor do I sense any distress at our presence. She lifts her hand and wiggles her slender fingers. “Pets. It’s time.”
Slowly, five figures rise from behind the platforms, their nude bodies a beautiful sight to behold. Eyes cast down, their hands clasped in front of them, they shuffle forward. Monrok can scent and feel emotions of other beings, but most of these females must be versed in blocking. A brave few glance up, showing their curiosity, but the Zapex have trained them well. They’ve been altered. Though all different sizes and likeness, their eyes are matching violet, and not one of them has hair of an organic human shade. They are all strikingly appealing, as I knew the king’s pleasure pets would be.
“Girls,” the veran says, “these are Monrok, and it would behoove you to obey them, same as you did the king.”
Monrok are programed to know over a thousand different languages and my internal data tells me the word “girls” is an Earther term for young females.
“Do they all speak English?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Zapexian is the only language they’ve ever known,” she says, her black hair a strange entity of life floating in its own rhythm around her head. “Girl is just a word the king used in reference to his pets.”
I like the term. It has a certain flavor.
The girl with mauve-colored tresses catches my attention again. Though her eyes are now cast down, her shoulders are bravely pressed back, as if she’s determined to be strong no matter her fate. Something about her show of spirit calls to me. I wonder if she will take my lifebringer with as much forbearance, or if I can get the little pet to break.
Her tits aren’t as lush as the Alogorian breeder I nearly stole, but they sit high on her chest, tipped with delightfully dusky pink areolas that nearly match her hair. Her bottom, from what I can tell, is nicely rounded, and my cock swells just thinking of gripping the flesh as I work my cock between her legs.
I glance over at Ren, hoping the female I’ve chosen isn’t the one he’s been pining for. Relief courses through me to see him staring at the one at the rear of the group, standing back from the rest as if frightened to come any closer. She has a plump form, honey-bronzed skin, and long blue hair. Her tits are plentiful, and a blue jewel winks out from the front of her cunt.
“That one.” Ren points at her. She shrinks back even farther, the scent of her fear and dread permeating the air. He growls in reaction and strides forward, presumably to collect his female. The veran stays him with a hand that doesn’t quite touch him but waves over his chest in the strange fashion that has the desired effect.
“Have a care, sire,” she warns. “They are the king’s sheltered pets.”
Taking exception to her edict, Ren towers over her. “The king is dead. They are now property of the Monrok who stand before you.”
The veran’s lips twist up as if she finds Ren’s display entertaining, and she stretches an arm wide, her palm open, as if to say, “They are all yours.” But they are ours. Done waiting, I march over and take the female I want by the arm. She’s so petite, the top of her head doesn’t even reach my shoulder. She doesn’t fight, so I relax my hold and turn toward the men.
Ryat and Fyhn pull a lush, curly violet-haired female between them. She is heavily pierced and as short as my pet. I guess they have decided to share. Screvan and Tal stand across from two pets who clutch each other’s hands. The idiots don’t look like they know what to do with them.
“If you’re going to claim a female, let it be now,” I tell them. “And if you want to keep her after any of our brethren arrive, make sure she carries your scent well.” Ren has already disappeared with his female. I roll my eyes. Impatient aheh. “Are you sure you don’t want one of the pets?” I ask Dag, looking back at Tal and Screvan who have finally moved forward to touch the pair of nervous females before them.
Dag chuckles and crudely rubs his erect cock through his pants as he eyes the veran. “I’ve always wanted to try oracle pussy.” He nods his head, “Enjoy your female.”
“I plan to.” I look down at my new pet. “Do you have your own quarters?” I ask her.
“Yes, sire.”
“Show me the way, pet.”
I release her arm and let her lead me out of the room and down the hall. We round the corner and move down another hall before she stops and presses the wall. Her door panel glides open, and we step into a sumptuous space with a large platform at the center with coverings just as ornate as those in the great room we just left.
“Did the king visit you here?” I can still smell a hit of his lingering essence in the air, though it would have been at least fifty cycles since he’d visited my female. It makes me want to claim and mark her all the more.
“Yes, sire,” she answers meekly, and I wonder what else she does with such docile servitude.
I strip my jacket and fist my shirt, tearing it over my head and tossing it to the floor.
Her eyes nervously dart up and away.
Oh yes, my little pet knows she is about to be claimed. I am going to so thoroughly drench her in my essence that any other being who catches her scent will know who her master is.
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