At His Mercy (Closed for Scuttle Buttin')

Gwen Lehman hurriedly waded through the sea of grizzled old miners. The tavern was packed tonight, which meant she would be working well into the early morning. I hate Friday, she thought. I’m not going to be able to have that dinner with Jack. He had been coy, this morning. She knew he had something special planned. There wasn’t much to do in this town, besides working and watching holo-vids. But it was not films that interested Gwen. Jack had been dating her for going on a year, now. She thought he made Crimsontown a little less boring. Just now, she longed to curl up next to him with her head on his shoulder; but even if Father had let her take the day off, he would still be working the mines until 2300 hours.

Pints of microbrewed pilsner flew off her tray. Patrons snuck glances at her shapely bottom. Rumors abounded of a buyer in port; equally common were complaints of brownnosers trying to get him to make a large purchase. It had been almost a year and a half, Earth Standard Calendar, since the last customer. The community was hurting financially. In Crimsontown, everyone pitched in to sell a customer. What was good for the Boss was good for everyone.

Blood red light hit the skylights above, and the filters made it seem yellow. When she had a moment, Gwen could look up and see it. A looming, falsely yellow globe on a black background. Points of light peppered the darkness all around it’s circumference. Gwen wondered what it would be like to live on one of the core worlds. I could never leave father to care for this place by himself. Here, everyone took care of everyone else. Not like those cityfolk, full of treachery and schemes. The proof was in the customers, rare though they were. Terrible, violent men. Were it not for the goods they traded, the people of Crimsontown would likely have nothing to do with them.

Slender fingers smoothed the skirt of her dress as she stared up at the heavens. A large part of her longed to visit them. Each and every one. One day, she would find someone to take her there, or perhaps get her own vessel. She would call it ‘Stargazer.' Jack would come with her, she was sure.

“Gwen!” Her father shouted above the clamor, and speared her with an imperious stare. Pale cheeks colored with anger. Yes, father, I am going. Turning abruptly, she stomped off to get more pints of beer, the heels of her boots tapping on the cold chondritic floor. She stopped near him, refusing to look at him as she filled empty flagons, one after the other.

“Stop pouting, darlin.’”

“I’m not. Jack wanted to have dinner tonight. He is up to something, I know it. I wanted to find out what.” She was terribly, giddily certain that he meant to propose.

The graying man glanced at her as if he knew something, but Gwen paid him no mind, and kept on filling her flagons with homebrew.


It was 2330. Jack would be out of work by now. The distraction, though absent, had dominated her thoughts that night. Gods, I will have to kill him if he means not to ask… At nineteen, Gwen was a little young to get married, but not by very much. Her father approved of him, and she was certain that whatever glorious heaven her mother occupied, she approved too. Sorrow that she was here, at work, still graced her lovely features with a frown. She had even snapped angrily at a few friends and customers, which was very unlike her.

“Baby?”

She turned, recognizing his deep, resonant voice. Baby-blue eyes widened in surprise. “How’d you get here so f- Mm!” his kiss was long, and fierce, and filled with passion. He crushed her ample bosom, quite generous for such a small young woman, tightly against his chest. Her eyes closed slowly as a strong hand sifted through silky red curls. She hardly even noticed the good natured, drunken cheers of the patrons.

When he parted from her she was flushed and breathless, soft lips parted absently. She whispered as she watched him slide to one knee. “Gods… Jack…” The patrons had quieted to watch. Everyone knew except for Gwen. This was to be an engagement party.

“Baby, I…”

“Yes! I will, I will!” They shared an ecstatic, overjoyed smile before he swept her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of harifanzen fruit. She laughed happily amid the cheers. Without warning, the door to Lehman’s Inn and Tavern slammed open, and for the first time, through a curtain of cherry tresses, she saw him…

Armand Delassixe stood in the doorway of Lehman's Inn and Tavern, fingers curled around the broad leather belt he wore, a humorless grin revealing artificially white teeth to all who turned to look his direction. If his 6'1" broad frame was not enough to blot out any light that could enter through the open doorway, the walking pieces of meat that stood over each shoulder assured nary a photon would sneak past.

Glancing over a shoulder to look at one of the scarred and muscled men with him, he nodded in the direction of the redhead tossed over the significantly smaller man's shoulder as if he'd somehow conquered her, "It seems he got himself a nice one, doesn't it Grunt?"

"Nng," was all the man, true to his namesake, replied.

With a hearty laugh, he shifted his eyes back to girl and nodded, speaking mostly to himself when he said, "Yes... a pretty one, indeed."

Armand was, technically, a pirate. This technicality was important, because it was rare that he actually got his own hands dirty, instead employing some of the most unpleasant and violent men in the entirety of the Sagittarius Confederacy. Where they dressed in armors and leathers and nanofibers designed to reduce the damage they take and augment their already impressive strength, Armand dressed impeccably, tailored suits that hung flawlessly on his wide shoulders and down the V of his body to his waist.

In his mind, he was a business man, making deals that, while occasionally mutually beneficial, assured he always came out ahead in the end. While true that he must send in an associate or two on occasion to convince someone that the deal they were being offered was more than fair, well... that was the nature of business, wasn't it? Though it seemed plainly obvious to him that "your life or your goods" was about as easy a choice as a person could be presented with, he was still occasionally surprised at the resistance. But it never lasted long.

On this night, he was docked and taking full advantage of the lack of oversight on goods that moved in and out of the ports in this sector. A ship loaded to the brim with illegal, stolen, and scavenged goods as his was did not venture into the core worlds unless they had to. And he rarely had to. His crew was fairly small for a vessel of the size that he flew, just over the minimum needed to fly it, his.. associates.. that he'd send in for negotiations, and a well-paid chef. Armand found that the fewer people he had to trust, the less likely he was to end up with the barrel of a gun in his back.



With a final glance at the shapely redhead, his tongue swiping quickly across his bottom lip as he looked at her, Armand released his fingers from his belt and pulled at the bottom of the vest he wore, straightening it. Hard-soled shoes carried him across the floor, mountain of men in toe, to an empty table a short distance from Jack and Gwen's celebration.

With brows raised, he scanned the room in a quick series of glances, then turned the same humorless grin upon Grunt as he raised his voice against the din of customers and engagement celebrations, "What the fuck do you think you have to do to get the attention of a waitress around here, Grunt?"

Everyone's face fell a little when the buyer walked in, his two brutish thugs on his heels. The dull roar of chattering started up quickly after the deafening silence upon his entrance. No one wanted the customer to feel he was not welcome. But everyone felt that he wasn't. A few of them shouted welcomes, a few of them laughed a little too loudly at a bad joke. Nervous levity.

Jack frowned and slid her from his shoulder as the man walked to an empty table. Likely spurred by his words, his arm encircled her waist possessively. With her heels, Gwen was just as tall as he was, but she nonetheless nestled her face affectionately in the crook of his neck, and whispered. "It's okay. He'll be gone soon." She tried not to think about the last visitor, who had pawed at a seventeen year old Gwen until she could stand it no longer. No one dared to tell them to leave then, and they were even more desperate now. Jack's grip tightened at his next words, vulgar and rude as they were.

"What the fuck do you think you have to do to get the attention of a waitress around here, Grunt?" He spoke to his giant of a companion, but all of Crimsontown heard him.

Gwen cradled her fiancé's cheek in her hand, smiling reassuringly with confidence she did not truly feel. Her eyes were full of warmth when they met his. "I love you, Jack. Tonight, we will celebrate." She gave him a coquettish little smile to let him know that this particular celebration would be far more private.

He returned a wry smile before his expression shifted back to concern. "Just be careful, baby." She left him with the softest of kisses on his chin, and turned toward the elephant in the room.

A false smile cemented itself on her lips as she walked over, and took in the newcomer in detail for the first time. He was very tall, equally handsome, and impeccably dressed. Gwen doubted anyone in Crimsontown owned clothing as nice as his. Sometimes wealth comes from dirty dealings. Still, she did not like the hungry appraisal in his eyes. Desperately she attempted to stifle her distaste for the man. She ignored his goons completely.

Her heart pounded in her chest as she stopped at his table. Please don't touch me... "Welcome to Lehman's, sir. You must be thirsty from your travels. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Her families humble establishment probably did not feature the variety he was used too. The selection consisted only of Lehman's Pilsner(TM), Lehman's Porter(TM), and water mined from the rocks. "I'm afraid we don't have the luxury of liquors or wines. But our homebrews are quite good. My family has been perfecting them for generations." Involuntarily, she anxiously tugged a stray crimson lock.

The redhead who had been slung over the man's shoulders when Armand first saw her was, clearly, a waitress, if not the waitress, a fact deduced simply by the way she was dressed in what was otherwise a sea of shabby, dirty people. Blue collar people. Tools for him, acquiring things he needed, doing jobs he'd never dream of. Tools using tools, and a little more. He already felt dirty in the place.

But she... the dress she wore hugged her curves, showed off a body that was obviously quite nice, and as he watched the couple standing so close together it seemed they might die if pulled apart, he wondered if it was this place that had caused her to settle for the useless little man with a protective arm around her, or if she was just unaware. Dirty little places like this rock could do that to a person, he'd found. More than once he'd managed to find himself with some... entertainment... that was wholly unaware of how much better she was than anyone else on the wasteland she'd called home. But by the time he was finished with her (used her up, he thought with a little smile, you used them right the fuck up, poor little pussy doomed to be unsatisfied with anyone else but you), she was well aware of how she looked, and how to use it. She was also utterly devoted to him.

Unfortunately for them, he'd yet to find anyone that could hold his attention for more than a year before he grew bored with them. Once she was naked and on her knees, begging you to use her, offering up her ever hole, the desperation for your attention causing tears to form in her pretty little eyes, and you still couldn't get hard... well, she was clearly past her usefulness, wasn't she? Sure, they all cried when taken away. All pleaded and promised, offered up everything they could possibly think of trying to regain his favor and stay on board. It never worked. They were ejected from his ship at the nearest port, and gone from his mind by the time he'd finished his business there and left. If they'd still had names by the time he left their home system, he would've forgotten those as well.

She was, apparently, taken, but Armand cared about this fact to the same degree he cared about the lives of the people he was currently surrounded by, which is to say none at all. As she, finally, approached their table, he watched her walk, appraising her movements. Whoever the little fuck was that just had her whispering in his ear had to think he was the luckiest son of a bitch on this rock.

When she finally joined them, he glanced at Grunt who was openly gazing at the waitresses body (the dumb fuck had to know he's likely killed her if he fucked her... annoyingly, it wouldn't have been the first time if he did), and shaking his head at the larger man, he snorted out a bit of a laugh and turned his attention to her. Crossing his legs under the table, he folded his hands one atop the other on the rough table top and watched her in silence patience as she went through her clearly well-used routine (thirsty from his travels? he wasn't traveling in a fucking Dahl-made ship, he could spend years in interstellar space and not be thirsty).

When she concluded her routine, he turned his gaze to his other companion, the only man he'd ever seen that could rival Grunt in size. "Hear that, Vold?," he said with a smirk, though his eyes had caught the movement of her hand toward her hair, "Guess we'll have to go somewhere else to get you some w-" his words cut off as a hand flashed out in her direction, slapping her fingers away from her hair. His eyes narrowed at her and his voice dropped low, all trace of humor leaving it.

"Stop that. It is irritating as fuck to watch someone play with their hair like they're a teeny fuck at their first dance."

His hand returned to it's position folded atop the other on the table, the picture of a right and proper businessman, and he took his gaze from her, his eyes searching out her dirty man to see if he'd be foolish enough to leap to her defense. As he did he addressed her, his tone dripping with irritation and dismissal.

"Just get us three of whatever the fuck is good around here. And quickly."

She watched him converse good naturedly with his massive compatriot. Her finger twisted more completely around the loose curl in her hair. "Hear that, Vold? Guess we'll have to go somewhere else to get you some w-" His hand flashed like a speeding photon, angrily knocking her hand from it's unconscious activities. A terrified glint entered her gaze as she jumped, startled. After a broken, staccato inhalation, her lips thinned, and she returned his irritated gaze. Rude bastard. No one in Crimsontown would even think to be so crass. "Stop that. It is irritating as fuck to watch someone play with their hair like they're a teeny fuck at their first dance." Oh, it irritates you, does it? Feminine digits clenched in the pleats of her skirt. "Just get us three of whatever the fuck is good around here. And quickly."

Gwen smiled tightly, nodding. "Right away, Sir." Before turning, heels tap-tapping on her way to the kegs behind the bar. Father and Jack waited for her. Jack had stood up abruptly when the man had slapped her hand away. Her fathers knuckles were white, encircled as they were around a frosty glass mug. She looked at jack, who was still visibly angry. "Sit down, for the gods sake. We can't afford to anger him, let alone defend ourselves." This wasn't entirely true, as Father always kept an ancient plasma pistol behind the bar. It still worked, though it was more for intimidation than actual use. The occasions when even that was necessary were few in the poor little mining colony. Besides, they had three, well cared for weapons. Father had one obsolete pistol.

"Gwen is right, son. Have a seat." Gwen squeezed his hand to take the bite out of her words. She felt a pang of happiness that father was already calling him son.

"I'll be okay." She kissed the side of his forehead, somehow unable to keep herself from touching him. She felt a flutter in her stomach at the thought of what would happen tonight. Only once had Gwen made love, and she had felt ashamed of her drunken caper afterward. But now she was betrothed to Jack. He was her man, and she his woman. Gwen longed to drag him to her room, and make love until he begged for mercy. Jack had tried to convince her to sleep with him sooner, but Gwen wanted to do it right, this time. The hunger that flashed in his eyes made her shiver. Focus, Gwen...

"Three Pilsners will do. The bastard claims not to care." Father nodded and began to fill the mugs.

"We're right behind you darlin.'" Jack nodded his agreement.

With a deep breath, she picked them up, and walked to the devils' table, setting a cold mug before each of the men in turn. Trying to escape as quickly as possible, she kept her words as curt as she could. The last thing she wanted was for their horrible guests to rope her into a conversation. "Here you are, gentlemen. My name is Gwen, so call if you need a refill. Enjoy."

Armand's gaze did not return to her until she was walking away, and only then it was to see the greeting she'd receive from her man and... was that her father? It was quite the situation he'd walked into here, it seemed. There was little in worthwhile entertainment on this rock, but finding himself in this Tavern, with a girl good enough to catch his eye and a man that seemed foolish enough to need just the right prodding to be spurred into futile action would suffice until his goods were sold and he was ready to move on. This one might be fun for a night, but she didn't quite strike him as the type that would be fun to keep around for long, watch as she bent and then broke to his will. But that didn't mean he couldn't stir up a little trouble here, first.

At the sight of her man standing, clearly ready to leap to her defense, Armand could not help but to laugh, and even Grunt managed to force out his version of a chuckle, a low rumbling sound that seemed to shake the table. "I think you may've upset him, boss," Vold said, his eyes on the significantly smaller man. Daring him to make a move.

Armand's eyes watched the exchange between the trio, the crowd making it impossible to discern their words, but body language said enough. They were calming the boy, and both were probably smart enough to know it was a move that would save his life. As the mugs were filled, it seemed any interesting exchange had ended, and Armand let his eyes wander again, taking in the local... color. Which seemed to be dirt brown, by the looks of it. He needed a shower already.

His hands remained folded on the table as she returned, eyes following her movements in silence while a drink was placed before each of them. He turned his gaze up to her face as she gave them her name - he'd forget it before he walked out of this room - and before she could walk away, as she so clearly wanted to, his hand flashed out again, long fingers wrapping around her wrist. His grip was strong, Armand was clearly a man that did not want for nourishment or exercise, and there was little doubt he could break her wrist easily if he wanted to. Now, however, he only wanted her to remain at the table.

"So quick to leave, girl. Don't be scared of Grunt," he said, nodding in the direction of one of the two living monuments of muscle that sat with him, "He wouldn't hurt a fly. A gentle giant, really. Vold, on the other hand..." his eyes had glanced at his other companion, with the intention of returning quickly to Gwen, but movement in the doorway caught his attention. Upon seeing the small, thin man walking towards them, Armand's words trailed off and he frowned, any trace of humor (however taunting and wicked it may have been) left his expression.

The smaller man was cutting a direct path to them, his face contorted into a mask of agitation, and without looking at her Armand released the girl's wrist, his eyes holding steady on the moving figure of the new arrival.

"Leave us."

It was a command, the tone of an order unmistakable, Armand's deep voice booming with the instruction. The fact that this man was walking towards them, especially with that look on his face, was not in any way a good sign. When he arrived at the table, he glanced nervously at Grunt and Vold, then turned his attention to Armand, waiting until the waitress had moved far enough away so he wouldn't be overheard. Leaning over the table, his voice was low as he spoke to the seated men.

"The crates, sir... they're filled with bricks. Lead. There was a little uranium in each, just enough to give off a reading, but the rest of the crates-"

"WHAT?" roared Armand, a large hand gripping the edge of the table and overturning it, flinging table, mugs, and beer as he did. The mugs broke as they landed, sending shards across the floor, the table landing on it's top, legs sticking straight up in the air. Grunt and Vold rose from their seats as the table flew, their eyes quickly on the crowd, looking for anyone who might wish to make a move in their direction. Armand surged through the area previously occupied by the table, seeing the smaller man by his shirt and lifting him off the ground, their faces mere centimeters apart. Armand's eyes bore into those, now wide with surprise and terror, of the smaller man, his voice low and fierce.

"You mean to tell me I have a fucking ship loaded with fucking useless fucking lead, Martin? Is this what you've fucking come here to tell me, you useless fucking cunt?"

"Y-yes... yes sir," the man stammered out, sweat standing out on his forehead.

"I will fucking kill him," Armand roared again, dropping the other man to the floor at his feet. Without a further word, to Martin, his companions, or anyone else in the tavern, he stormed out, slamming the door as he passed through it, Grunt and Vold following close behind. Martin, regaining his composure when he realized he wasn't about to be broken in half as the bearer of bad news, climbed back to his feet and hurried to catch up to the three men as they made their way back to the ship.

Upon reaching his ship, Armand was quickly brought up to speed on the situation. They'd hit a mining ship destined for a manufacturing world that had wandered just a little too far into unprotected space, and given that uranium was an extraordinarily valuable commodity used in manufacturing so many essential items, he simply couldn't pass up the chance. The captain had seemed nervous when they boarded, hesitated in cooperating until Vold gave one of his men a concussion with one of his frying pan-sized fists, and even attempted, somewhat clumsily, to hide a few of the crates when he did finally agree to turn things over. It played out exactly as so many other encounters had, and yet... this one was a clever son of a bitch, it seemed.

He had no idea where in the ship their real cargo was, but there was no doubt it was being safely off-loaded now, with only minimal loss in the bit of uranium they'd used in the false cargo so Armand's detectors would register uranium in the crates. But they knew the name of the ship, and the planets he'd been traveling between, so it was only a matter of time before they came across him again. And then... then he'd string the motherfucker up and gut him like a fish.

Closed up in his cabin as his men disposed of the faked cargo, Armand paced and muttered to himself. Rage still burned hot inside him, the need to destroy pumping through his veins, surging through every cell in his body. The fact that there would be a delay, possibly of months, in finding the clever little fuck that had done this only served to enhance his rage. He'd dropped off his last slut a week ago on some godforsaken manufacturing world he'd never heard of and never planned to visit again or else he'd be in there no, making that pretty tan skin raised and red with welts from the whip. If she'd been able to hold his attention for just a little longer, he'd at least have some outlet for-

He stopped in his tracks, a slow and wicked grin dawning on his lips. Slapping the intercom button on his desk, he called Martin into his cabin. The man arrived a moment later, the nervous energy that he'd left the tavern with gone now that he knew he'd live to see another day.

"Sir?" Martin asked once the door slid closed behind him.

"Did you see the girl, the waitress that was at our table when you came in? Redhead, white skin, perky tits?"

Martin nodded, recalling the girl if for no other reason than her hair made her rather noticeable.

"She's got a man in that tavern with her. I think they're getting married or some fucking nonsense. Follow them. When you find out where they're going, contact me."

"Yes, sir," Martin nodded, turning to leave.

"And Martin?" Armand called, freezing the man in his tracks. "If you lose her, don't bother coming back. It won't be hard to find someone that can be a shitty engineer on this rock to replace you."

"Yes, sir," Martin nodded again, leaving the captain's cabin.

Martin, in truth, served as more than just the engineer on the ship. He also oversaw the sale of any goods they acquired, his ability to haggle prices second-to-none as far as Armand had encountered. He also had proven to be quite the sneaky little fucker, quite often escaping most people's notice on account of his small height and slight build, and more than once he'd been able to follow someone to a meeting, eavesdrop on the conversation, and report back to Armand what he'd learned, the information later used as leverage for his captain's benefit. Following a couple was a little new for Martin, but both men knew it was nothing he couldn't handle. Both men also knew Armand's threat was a mostly empty one, it was exceptionally rare that the captain grew angry enough over a girl to do anything rash (to his crew, at least... for the poor girl herself, it was a different story entirely), and Martin saw no reason why this would be one of those times.

Still, he would do as he was told, to the letter. Returning to the tavern, he fell in with a group of customers having a conversation about mining safety and how it was great or terrible. Martin really cared less about what they were talking about, only that he was blended among them when the girl left with her man, so he could wait until they were a safe distance and then follow. What happened after that was not his job to worry about.

She was certain she was going to escape, now. The awful men had their drinks. They were already forgetting about her, and she could forget about them until they needed another round. Perfect.

A surprised squeak left her as she felt an iron grip around her slender wrist, squeezing her almost painfully. His dark skin contrasted sharply with her soft, creamy flesh. Frustrated, she tried to pull away, but her strength was not enough to budge him for even an inch. A growl left her that was half fear, and half agitation. "So quick to leave, girl. Don't be scared of Grunt, he wouldn't hurt a fly. A gentle giant, really. Vold, on the other hand..."

Nervously she eyed the two brutes, before returning to his cruel game. She wasn't sure that it was truly cruel, but there was something about the way he spoke the words that made her shudder. Working up her courage, she managed a small defiance. "Let me go..." Desperately she hoped Jack would not do anything foolish.

But his attentions were already elsewhere. His chilling eyes stared off at a newcomer. Yet another ghastly man from the far reaches of space, though this one was far less imposing than these three. When he released her arm, she snatched it away to her side, backing away quickly. His voice was dark and authoritative. A tone that resonated deep inside her. "Leave us." Her poor heart was likely to burst from her chest. Gwen was not inclined to disobey.

At the bar, Jack was livid. "Gods be damned. I wish he would leave. Doesn't he have some money to count or something?" Just then, the traders cold voice cut through the din of the tavern. Silence fell, brought on by his destructive outburst. The scarred table crashed on the worn floor, scattering shards of glass everywhere. Frothy beer oozed from beneath its upturned surface. Gwen took another step closer to her man as he lifted the tinier man off his feet, saying something threatening too quietly for the three of them to hear. She saw father reaching behind the bar to finger the stock of his pistol, but before anything came of it, he and his companions stormed out. Once again, they were safe.

Father growled, annoyed. "Of course he couldn't be bothered to pay for his drinks, let alone apologize for this mess."

But Gwen couldn't even manage annoyance. She was just glad he was gone. After they cleaned up the remnants of his anger, the party resumed. Laughter dominated Lehman's until well into the wee hours of the morning. Shaky Jake brought out his aged fiddle, and played all through the night. Gwen and her new fiance danced and kissed and drank. Countless minors toasted to their happiness. Raunchy jokes were told, followed inevitably by a humorous elbow to Jack's poor ribs. Father kissed her cheek, and gave her the wink he always gave, when she did something that mother would not approve of. Gwen wished she was here, too. Soon, it was time for the young couple to go home. Gwen elected to stay with Jack that night, to avoid her fathers eyes. No one noticed the small shady man that followed them out.


The night was silent but for the young beauties girlish giggles, and a masculine laugh, punctuated by hushed, intimate whispers. Outside his door, he pushed Gwen gently against the wall. Blue eyes glazed from drink twinkled up at him, before he pulled her into a deep kiss. Pink tinged her smooth cheeks when he finally parted from her. Strange eyes observed them, unaware though they were. His voice carried in the stillness. "Come on..."

He punched in his four digit password, in full view of the devious stalker, and pulled his gorgeous girl in after him. They tore at clothes. Hands grasped full, perfect breasts. Soft, innocent lips wrapped around a turgid cock. They played like they played before tonight, when making love was forbidden. Tonight was to last. Tonight was to be teasing. Tonight they took their time. Meanwhile, their stalker whispered into a comm unit.

Martin followed them from a safe distance, though wrapped up in each other as they were, it wasn't nearly as far as he'd normally have to be with a single person that was on the lookout for followers. He was nearly bored with it until he pushed her up against the door and kissed the pretty girl, and Martin couldn't help but to grin at the thought that he might get a little show.

He was disappointed when they moved inside, though having the four-digit code ready for his boss would make him a happy man, which would make Martin's life much easier. Once they were inside, he fished the communicator out of his pocket and spoke quietly into it, informing him that they seemed to have stopped for the night, and he had the door code to get in.

"We're on the way," was the reply he got back, which surprised Martin, but he turned on the location beacon on his comm without hesitation. It was quite rare that the boss met him somewhere while trailing someone, and it almost never happened with someone he wasn't planning to kill himself, which was even more rare still. The girl was at their table, her arm caught in Armand's grip, when Martin walked into the little tavern, but what in the stars could she have possibly done to anger him so? It was a curiosity, no doubt.

When Armand arrived a short time later, Martin saw that he had changed into a simple t-shirt and cargo pants, with heavy black boots laced up to his ankle. His two hulking companions were, as always, just behind him, at the ready to crush anything that may be stupid enough to get too close to Armand.

Stopping near the hiding spot Martin had found to watch them, Armand's eyes surveyed the place, wondering not for the first time how anyone could be satisfied living in these conditions. With a nod to his small engineer, he dismissed him back to the ship, where he'd ready it for departure. As the smaller man left, Armand glanced to Grunt and Vold, giving them a slight nod before crossing the short distance down to the door that hid the couple from view.

Punching in the four digit code, the door slid back without delay and revealed a darkened interior... and the sounds of passion. Armand grinned and nodded to Grunt, who had to crouch a bit to pass through the doorway first, ready to deal with any further security measures that were waiting inside. To their complete lack of surprise, none were found. He doubted the boy who lived there had much worth protecting to begin with, and he doubted he ever felt terribly unprotected on this rock he called home. Everyone here probably knew his name and everything.

Armand followed Grunt inside, followed closely by Vold, who tapped the button that would close the door behind them. Best that they not be overheard. Grunt continued deeper into the small dwelling, his movements slow as the place was clearly not designed for someone his size, and he didn't want to knock something over and give himself away before he was ready. Following the sounds they so helpfully provided, Grunt simply pushed through the door, splintering it easily and sending him bursting in on the happy couple.

A grin, wholly devoid of any humor or kindness, spread across the giant's lips when he saw the pair, the girl laid back on the bed, hands on her fine breasts with the boy's head between her legs, clearly inspiring the sounds that had helped Grunt find his way to them. Neither had any real time to react before he was upon them, one massive hand lifting the boy away from her (and revealing, to Grunt's perverse delight, that the core did in fact match the corona, a question that had bugged him since he first saw her) by the back of the neck, the other scooping the shocked girl off the bed and tossing her over a shoulder, her pert and round ass up in the air.

Both fought valiantly as he carried them back to the room where Vold and Armand waited, kicking and punching and yelling and squirming, but combined their weight was not half of Grunt's, and it would be a compliment to say their efforts were futile.

Returning to the front room, Armand laughed when he saw the pair, the boy with a rapidly deflating erection, the girl with wetness glistening on her thighs in the low light, a night of passion clearly interrupted. Vold took a moment to rummage through the house, ignoring the breaking glass and created messes his large frame made as he knocked things over in his search. Returning to the small group with a couple blankets, he and Grunt took a moment to wrap the struggling pair, so the fact that they were carrying a naked couple around would not be so clearly obvious. No one would stop them (and certainly anyone dumb enough to try would pay for it), but delays were an irritating thing to be avoided.

Grunt handed the girl over to Vold, nodding to Armand's strict instructions that not a mark was to be left on her, and the three, fresh cargo in hand, left the small dwelling. The trip back to the ship was a short and uneventful one, the late hour allowing them to encounter only one person who was much to drunk to make out that anything untoward was going on before they'd passed him.

Once back on the ship, Armand led them to the room just off his cabin that was, more often than not, occupied by whatever girl Armand was using at the time. In the center of it was a box about three feet in height, white in color but metallic to the touch, and currently rather cold in the unoccupied room. Vold lowered the girl onto the box, ignoring her struggles and caring little if she decided to unwrap herself from the blanket, and returned to stand in the doorway, filling it quite easily with his size.

Grunt carried the boy to a corner of the room and then lowered his bare feet to the cool floor, though a large and controlling hand remain clamped on the back of his neck, rendering any attempts to escape, to attack, or even to simply rush to his scared girl utterly pointless.

Armand stood two feet from the box, hands clasped behind his back, silently watching the girl and, for the moment, ignoring the boy. What would happen in this room would happen, regardless of what either of them said or did... but Armand was still curious. People showed you what was inside them when they were placed in frightening and unfamiliar situations, and he was always interested to see what might be revealed to him. Often, it was something that could be used to his advantage in the future. Sometimes, it was simply a satisfaction of curiosity. But it was never uninteresting.

Gwen almost purred when she felt his hands on her hair, pulling her up to face him, pressed against each others nakedness. She could still taste his seed in her mouth when he kissed her. "Mm..." She fell back on the bed when he pushed her, finding that she liked when he decided to take control. His mouth was on her neck, sending shivers through her as he nipped the sensitive skin. Slow, deep breaths moved in and out of her lungs, tinged with gentle sounds from her voice as his warm mouth closed around a responsive pink nipple. Her hands sifted through his hair, holding him to her as the pink bud hardened to an aching point. His tongue... His tongue...

Breathless laughter escaped her as his intentions became clear. Lovingly he kissed his way down her flawless creamy complexion. It's perfect. It's just how I imagined. Her hands went to her bosom, needing to feel the sensitive mounds touched. Every time she rolled her nipples between her fingers, ripples of pleasure shot right to her clit.

Toned thighs spread for him as he knelt before her sex. Pouty lower lips, pink and glistening with arousal greeted him. A patch of cardinal fur sat above her flower. "Touch me..." She gasped, "Touch me now Jack..." But he was too cruel to oblige her just yet. He grinned up at her from between her legs, warm breath flowing over her heated slit. "No teasing..." She whined, tugging sharply at her turgid nipple. It felt good, for there to be a little pain... In any other moment, the buxom innkeepers daughter would have blushed at the thought.

The moan that escaped her, when his tongue finally traveled over the length of her sweet pussy, was nothing less than wanton. And then it happened.

Gwen screamed as the monster crashed through the door, scrambling desperately back toward the headboard. Jack was too surprised to do anything, staring dumbly as he burst into the room. One of the brutes lifted him clear off the ground by the back of his neck, as if he weighed nothing. The cries still poured forth from Gwen, her fists beating uselessly against the beast who had tossed her over his shoulder. Her mind was still processing what was happening when she saw the horrid man from the bar in Jack's living room. Soon the panicked pair were wrapped tightly in a couple of blankets; two inert pieces of cargo.


Gwen was shaking in fear when he sat her on the box in his ship. She had managed to start crying, silently, somewhere along their way through the tiny colony. Jack sat in the corner, but he was just as scared as she was. She saw the emotions run through his face. He was trying to be the man. "W-what is the meaning of this?" His anger was half hearted, though his bravery was commendable. Gwen began to sob when the brutes cuff sent him crashing into the wall. Gods... Gods... Gods... Wild, tearful eyes looked up at the hateful trader. Gwen didn't even know his name. Sniffling, she tried to say something. "What d-do you want?"

Desperately she clutched the blanket to her chest, to hide her nudity from the miscreants eyes. The white box was cold against her bare bottom. Her feet swung about a foot from the equally chill floor. Why would he just take someone from their home? She didn't understand. He might want... They could... A more potent fear bubbled from the depths of her mind. The customer that came, a year and a half ago had spoken of the sex slaves he had fucked, sold and bought... "No... You can't! They'll n-never let you leave the d-docks! I know Kingsley. He'll never let you leave. Father... My father will k-kill you!"

Defiantly, she tried to stand up, anger flashing in eyes accustomed to sweetness. She would slap him as hard as she could. Yes, that's what she would do. And then she would grab Jacks hand and march right out of here. her threats were certainly enough to cow him. He may have weapons, but he could not stand against the might of them all!

Little did poor young Gwen Lehman know, this was one of the few times she would ever look on her handsome, terrible captor in such a way ever again...

The boy's words broke the silence in the room, drawing Armand's attention for a moment, and he rolled his eyes at his ridiculous attempt at bravery, shaking his head at the foolishness of it when Grunt silenced him with a blow. Her voice next drew his attention, the girl who's name he'd already forgotten, and he smiled patiently at her, taking a few steps closer to the box she sat on. His hands were clasped behind his back still, watching her silently as a new realization seemed to wash over her, and she showed herself to have more of a heart than her man as she spat defiance at him.

He took it in silence still, dark eyes watching her resolve grow, a desperate mind convincing her that all it would take was stern words and a little pluck and she'd make it out of this situation unscathed, a crazy story to tell to friends years from now. The mind could play terrible tricks on a person.

He watched patiently as she moved down off the box, he saw the defiant anger in her eyes, and it was only then that he truly moved. His hand, much as it had in the tavern, flashed out, though this time with more force and malice than before. His hand was large, it easily dwarfed her own in size, and it was with this that he slapped her across the face, sending red hair sweeping with the force of it. He heard the boy react off to the side, but this time he ignored it, Grunt yet again handling him easily.

His attention was fully on the girl, now. The boy was simply there to watch.

With the hand that had slapped her, he took a firm hold of the hair at the top of her head, tilting it back to look up at him. He bent slightly at the waist, moving his face closer to hers. His voice was low, a rumble that came from deep in his chest, echoing faintly off the paneled walls.

"Shut the fuck up, you headstrong little cunt. Grunt could tear your boy apart with his bear hands, and Vold could do the same to your father before he could even figure out which ship is mine. But we don't want that, do we? Of course not."

He straightened up, pulling her hair back until her ass was up against the cool metal of the box, and he stepped closer, the difference in their sizes becoming all the more obvious. His eyes still remained focused only on her, ignoring the angry stare that was flung in his direction from the boy Grunt held.

The hand that was holding her hair reached out, grabbing the blanket and tearing it from her grip, revealing the creamy skin of her naked body to all of them. She tried to cover up her nakedness from the eyes of the three strangers, as was only natural, and was promptly rewarded with another slap in the face, her cheek turning a bright red.

"Uncover yourself, slut. Now," he ordered, his voice forceful and booming, eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "Or this gets much worse for you very quickly."

The strength of his blow sent the girl staggering off to the side. Spots danced before her eyes. It was several seconds before Gwen realized that he had struck her. Slowly, the stark room came back into focus. Armande still stood, immovable, before her. Jack struggled and shouted while the beast held him back. And she was still in his captivity. Misty eyes looked hazily up at the man.

Short, feverish breaths moved in and out of her chest, as his strong hand grabbed a fistful of silky tresses, forcing her to look up at him. She wished the fearful whimper that escaped her lips didn't sound so pathetic. His face was only inches from hers, his voice deep, his tone hard and cold. "Shut the fuck up, you headstrong little cunt. Grunt could tear your boy apart with his bear hands, and Vold could do the same to your father before he could even figure out which ship is mine. But we don't want that, do we? Of course not." She stumbled weakly as he pulled her back, still looming over her slender form. She gasped as her backside pressed to the cold metal once more. Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, turning away from his dispassionate gaze as he stepped closer.

Suddenly, the blanket was torn from her grasp, and she gave a little groan of displeasure. Desperately she attempted to cover her full bosom with one arm; a futile endeavor. Her other hand went to the apex of her thighs. Goosebumps peppered nude flesh. A weak voice that couldn't have been hers managed to squeak something out. "Bastard..."

And then he slapped her again, cruelly. Her cry seemed to echo against the barren metal walls. A smooth porcelain cheek reddened and stung. "Uncover yourself, slut. Now, or this gets much worse for you very quickly."

His voice, Gwen came to realize, almost demanded obedience, in a way that reverberated within her darkest nightmares. A sob bubbled forth from her mouth as her hands fell away. Her curvy young frame bared to his, and his companions, eyes. Gwen had never felt so naked as she did then. Fists clenched and unclenched to keep herself from reflexively covering herself. The cheek untouched by his blows reddened to match the other. "How... how can you do this to someone..."

The barest inkling of realization was beginning to germinate in her mind. That, perhaps, she would not escape the man standing before her. No... I have to find a way. I'd rather die! Another burning plume of anger rose from her heart. How could he take her happiness from her? Her man? Her family? Her home?

What can I do? A kind of clarity came abruptly over her. If she was to escape him, it would have to be now, when they were in a port. Out there, the only option was suicide. And despite her mental musings, Gwen did not think she had it in her to take her own life. No, she thought, It has to be now. If he kills me, then he kills me.

Without preamble, perhaps foolishly, she went for the pistol in Armande's holster.

When she dropped her hands, Armand gave himself a moment to sweep his gaze over her body, smirking a bit as he noted the same thing Grunt had earlier... she was, indeed, a natural redhead. If he enjoyed her as much as he suspected he might, she would soon lose the little patch of red hair. Her desire to cover her nakedness would go with it. He cared not that Vold and Grunt could see her now, they'd get more than an eye full later as well.

At her words, a muttered question already smelling of defeat, Armand leaned forward, pulling her by the hair so her ear was close to his lips, and he whispered in a voice and with words meant only for her, "If I decide to keep you, mark my words, the day will come that you thank me for this. And when you do, I'll remind you of this question." His lips peeled back into a terrible and cold grin, and he glanced to the side, where her boy stood captive still in front of Grunt.

Straightening up, he was about to tell Grunt that the boy could be taken away, Armand having no further need of him, when she made her move. Unfortunately for her, she was not the first to go for his gun, and not the first he would deal with for doing so. The hand not in his hair dashed out, latching around her wrist with an iron grip. Releasing her hair, he twisted her arm so it spun her around in front of him, bringing it up behind her back. With a glance at Grunt, he rolled his eyes.

"Always the gun."

"Heh," he grunted in reply, massive head shaking.

Armand turned his attention back to the girl with a laugh, leaning close to her should so he might whisper in her ear again.

"Remember when I said things would get much worse for you?"

He left the question hanging as he straightened up, and then drove her forward without warning. Her hips met the box with a dull thud, then his hand was on the back of her neck, bending her suddenly over the box. His body was tight up against hers, enough that she might be able to feel the length of his cock growing hard against the curve of her ass, and with one heavy boot he pushed her ankles apart, spreading her legs.

The hand on the back of her neck released it once she was bent, grabbing her other arm and bringing it back behind her with the first. Pinning both wrists against the smooth shape of her back, he was able to use his strength and size to his advantage and keep both her arms immobile. His other arm free once more, he reached between their bodies and freed his cock from it's confines. It was, like the rest of his body, quite large, and as the hard length of it rested against the firm curve of her ass, the contrasts between them - in size, in color, his hardened flesh against her soft, supple skin - were only magnified.

Gripping himself at the base of his cock, he shifted his hips and moved against her, the swollen head traveling back and forth across the lips of her pussy, seeking any of her juices that may remain from before the pair of lovers had been interrupted. Grinning wickedly again, he glanced over at her boy, brows raised.

"It seems she's still nice and wet," he said, "Maybe she likes this more than she wants you to think, hm?" He would've told him this whether she was or not, the girl's move towards his weapon an irritation that meant they would both pay now. Besides, it was not often you got to fuck someone's pussy, and at the same time fuck someone else's head. Who could pass up an opportunity like that.

Turning away, his attention refocused on the bent, naked form of the tavern waitress, the head of his cock slipping finally inside her. She was extraordinarily tight, and while she clearly wasn't a virgin given what they walked in on, Armand doubted it would take her two hands to count the number of her sexual encounters. And certainly, she'd never had anyone as large as he inside her. All of this would change very quickly.

"Remember when I said things would get much worse for you?"

A strange mix of emotions cycled through her expression. Determined resolve. Frustrated anger. Apprehension. Then, finally and intensely, terror. "S-stop..." She was too scared to comprehend anything she said, let alone the fact that such a request was utterly useless. He must have had at least a hundred pounds on the girl, and it showed. Her body was a mirror to his will. Her movements seemed to be of no particular consequence to him. Tears flowed a little more freely down her cheeks. Her crying grew more fearful, between incoherent protests. "No... You c-can't..."

Dainty little toes scrabbled against the floor as he kicked her thighs apart, desperately squirming as his large hand pinned both her slender wrists together in an unbreakable grip. Screaming tearfully, she redoubled her efforts, feeling his thick cock hardening against her upturned backside. "No!" Her fingers clenched in his grasp as she struggled. Gwen could feel his manhood, hot and throbbing, between the cleft of her bottom. "Go away..." She sobbed... "You can't really... You have to..."

A long shudder shook her as his shaft traced the line of her sensitive pink slit, still slightly damp from her play with jack, but otherwise dry as a bone. Only he can touch me... Before the Gods, only him... She only heard his words, Jacks angry retort, and every other sound in the room as a muffled, dull din. All that existed was Gwen and her evil captor. Struggling still, the buxom young tavern girl strained against the might of him; but it was all for naught. It was no use. There was no hope.

Gwen screamed in earnest as he finally entered her, more out of the fact of her rape than the sensation, splitting soft pussy lips around his shaft. She had been so drunk, the time she had sex, that she could barely remember the ordeal. But that mans cock... It couldn't have been anything like his. She squeezed her pretty eyes tightly shut, whimpering between terrified cries as he sunk into the tight, velvet walls of her sex. Her poor, inexperienced pussy strained to accommodate his girth. This can't be happening... Soon, I will wake up. And Jack will be acting suspicious... Yet, deep down in her heart of hearts, she knew it was a lie. Still, she clung to that feeble hope.

She remembered her feverish fantasies during long, lonely nights of abstinence... Of a brutish man who took what he wanted from her tight body, making her squeal and scream in orgasm. How she had moaned as she urgently touched herself. What a silly girl she had been. Don't look, Jack... Look away, please...

Her mascara began to run, streaking her cheeks with black as her tears carried it from her eyes. A pained expression showed itself on her distressed visage. High pitched, rhythmic squeaks escaped her parted lips with each plunge into her depths. Her chest heaved with each breathless pant. Creamy flesh glistened with a thin film of sweat. Soon despite her struggling, her body began to respond. Wetness began to coat his turgid ebony shaft, and Gwen felt the barest flicker of the most shameful pleasure she ever felt...

The boy, Grunt, Vold, all melted into the background as he began to fuck the girl. He gave her only a moment to adjust to him inside her, his girth seemingly stretching the little pink pussy to the limit of what it could take. But she would take him, of that there was no question. He could hear her begin to sob, the sound peaking each time his tumescent cock was fully sheathed inside her, and he cared not. She was not the first girl to cry before him, he didn't expect she would be the last. It had been a long time since a girl's tears had moved him to anything but apathy, and the pretty young redhead's were no different.

To his surprise, however, he felt her responding around him, growing slicker as he moved inside her. He didn't know if it was her body betraying her, or if he'd actually happened upon someone that was aroused, however secretly, at being raped in front of her partner. He'd had the occasional girl that tried to act as if she was into it, a survival mechanism no doubt, but their body betrayed their words. He took even less pity on them when it was over, welting their pretty skin to speed their understanding that trying to fool him was a futile and ill-advised endeavor. Her reaction was the opposite. The response from her body was not yet a strong one, he didn't expect even the hint of an orgasm from this one yet, but despite her protestations and tears she was, on some level, enjoying the assault on her body.

Armand had been on the fence about keeping her for a time, the need to hunt down and kill the captain that had been foolish enough to give over false cargo still burned inside him, but this new development had tipped the scales. It seemed the last memory the poor, angry boy would have of the girl he loved was watching her being used by a man nearly twice his size. And he didn't even...

"Don't let her tears fool you, boy," he said as he looked over to the man, wholly unsurprised to see the raw hatred blazing in his eyes, "She's actually enjoying this. I can feel her squeezing me. I think she wants me to cum inside her. Have you even made it that far with her yet?"

He laughed, a terrible, snarling, humorless thing, then turned his attention back to the bent and breaking girl before him, the steady rhythm of his cock forcing itself into her depths unceasing. "I don't think he believes me, slut. Tell him how much you're liking this." With only one hand needed to keep her arms pinned behind her back, and even that was barely necessary, her fight seemed all but token at this point, his other was free to strike her. Palm open, his large, dark hand hammered against the fine porcelain skin of her pert bottom, repeated sharp blows that reddened her ass just as it had her cheek.

"Tell him, worthless cunt," he said between smacks, each sound piercing through the continuous rhythmic sound of his fucking into her, "Tell him how good it feels."

"Don't let her tears fool you, boy, she's actually enjoying this. I can feel her squeezing me. I think she wants me to cum inside her. Have you even made it that far with her yet?" Through blurry eyes, between gasps brought on by his cock stuffing her pussy so full, she saw him. He no longer had eyes for her, only a look of pure, unbridled loathing for her violator. Perhaps he wished not to see such things. Gwen was sure she would spend her whole life trying to forget it. Jack would try to kill him, if he got the chance. But for now, he waited. Good, Jack... don't look at me...

"Nnn!" To her acute shame, her warm sex did squeeze, gripping the thick manhood ravaging her, plunging so deeply inside her. Her mind rejected him, but her body grew ever more welcoming. Her little pink clit began to peek shyly from between stretched pussy lips. She screamed again as the first blow fell on her vulnerable backside, her struggles weakening as she began to realize how useless they were. Gwen could feel the burning outline of his hand on her buttock. Pained cry's marked the passing of each harsh smack.

"Tell him, worthless cunt, tell him how good it feels."

How could a man be so cruel? The words stung in light of her unwanted arousal. The sweet nectar of her cunny began to flow more freely with each brutal thrust, firm breasts swaying with the rhythm of forbidden sex. He had to stop, before she could no longer deny it herself. Gwen had already forgotten his sadistic question in the midst of her predicament. He continued to strike her exposed ass, the burning pain growing with each passing moment. Soon she was almost delirious, flawless pale flesh rendered bright pink from abuse, squealing and jerking in his grasp as she tried to escape the punishing spanks. It was as futile as all of her other instances of resistance.

As if her shame had not been sharp enough, Gwen felt her pussy flutter with pleasure, rippling with sensation over his cock. Her moan was almost sweet, and only mostly from pain.

"No..." She gasped, through heartbroken tears... "S-stop..."

Jack was smart enough to do nothing, only stare on with stark rage. Bruises from the brute were slowly forming on his face, where he had hit him. He said nothing. Gwen stared at him, trying to block out the things that were happening to her, clinging to the thought of her life with him.

Soon, she told herself, it would be over, and the man would kick her out of his ship. Gwen and Jack would need awhile to come to peace with this horrid, terrifying occurrence, but they would. Then, they would get married, and have many children. When they retired, they would buy a ship, and tour the stars. That was how her life was supposed to be.

But the way her bare little toes curled against the floor said otherwise...

He ignored her pleas, the same way he ignored her tears, the same way he ignored the resistance her body initially gave to taking the full length and girth of his cock. Her body had given way, her resistance was inept and pointless, and her tears were all part of the process. Perhaps it was the "thrill of the hunt" that people who liked to traffic in psychobabble loved to talk about, but breaking them down was one of his favorite parts. This moment, the thrusting of his hips, the feeling of her own arousal around him, none of it was actually about the sex. He would cum, inside her, on her, it mattered little to him, but it would only be as a final act of defiling in front of her man. He might be the one in control, and to everyone else in the room - perhaps even Grunt and Vold - it might seem absurd, but all of this was, in fact, about her.

"You're going to learn, little cunt, that you don't get to make demands of me," he said, a bit breathlessly, in response to her feeble cries. His large hand left another hard smack on her pretty round ass, satisfied with the red that stood out on her skin, and then his arm slipped around her hip, fingers between her thighs. Feeling his way along, and a bit surprised to find her a little wetter than even he realized, his fingers sought out her clit, calloused fingertips teasing for just a moment. He was uninterested in her pleasure, he simply wanted the reaction from her.

Laughing cruelly, he withdrew his fingers and extended his hand in the direction of her boy, letting her arousal glisten on his long, dark fingers. "Look, boy. She may not want to admit it, but her own body betrays her," he said, his eyes returning to her bent and pinned form, hips still working. "Doesn't it, you caviling whore?" He reached down then, wiping the wetness from his fingers across the small of her back.

Moving his hand across her back, he gripping one of her hips and began to pull her back as he drove into her suddenly, the sound of each of her captor's thrusts drowning out all other sounds in the room save her cries. Much as he liked to take his time initially, laying the foundation for what was to come in the days and weeks ahead for the pretty things he held on his ship, time may actually be a factor here. Much as they may think their life, changed though it would be, was going to continue on after this, they were both quite mistaken. A fantastic coping mechanism in the moment, no doubt, but when only one of you was getting off the ship it made it all irrelevant.

He had no doubts, of course, that he could overcome any locks they put in place to try to keep him docked while they called the law, but doing so was a major irritation he didn't have the patience to deal with now. Armand had a new toy, and despite the fact that he was buried to the hilt in the girl now, the fucking certain to leave her little pink pussy good and sore the next day, this was not yet the play he wanted. It was, in fact, more like an initiation ritual, necessary to go through but not where the true fun lay. She was his new plaything, and this was simply unwrapping the package so it could be played with.

It was with the thought of playing with his new toy Armand held in mind when he drove deep inside her one final time, left a final hard smack on the battered and tender flesh of her round ass, and groaned aloud as he erupted inside her. He pressed forward, pressing her hips into the box she was bent over, his hand gripping her wrists tightly as he rode out his orgasm inside her. Even before he'd finished a small trail of his thick seed was making it's way out of her abused pussy, attempting to make it's way down her thigh.

"You're going to learn, little cunt, that you don't get to make demands of me..."

The words echoed hurtfully in her distressed mind as much as the thought of her arousal. They seemed to repeat, over and over, reviewing her terrible predicament even as she experienced it firsthand. No... You can't keep me here. I mean nothing to you... Just leave me...

She had seen hurt in Jack's eyes as Armande showed him evidence of her wetness. That little look, while it did nothing to ease the hatred in Jack's eyes, cut deep into her soul. It means nothing, don't you see?

The angry pink color of her backside mapped the stinging burning sensation he had left on her flesh. Her sobs still filled the small room, a steady drip of tears falling from her elfin chin. A pained cry left her as he thrust more forcefully, impaling her ravaged sex to its limits, before finishing inside her. Gwen was far to disturbed to be concerned that he had impregnated her. She could feel his cum filling her womb. A demon's essence. A servant of the dark ones.

Her sobs devolved into subdued weeping as she felt his copious seed drip thickly down her thigh. She slumped on the metal block, feeling very drained. "Jack..."

He tore his eyes away from the object of his hatred, and found hers. Gwen held his gaze. I need him. I need to go somewhere else, and be held. His eyes softened for her, but his words were as cold as anything Armande had said to her. "I'm going to kill you for this, stranger. Someday." The giant man holding him grasped his neck and smashed him to the wall. He didn't even flinch.

"No... don't hurt him." She hated how much it sounded as if she was pleading. Perhaps she was. "Just let us go... We won't report you. Leave, and you'll never hear of it again. Just let us return to our lives..." In her heart of hearts, Gwen knew it was not enough to change his mind, if it had already been made up. "There is no need for blood. Please..."


"Where have you been?" The words were angry, indignant. The old miner's wife was dressed in a battered hand me down robe, and a surly expression.

"Off at the Tavern, dearest. Beric's little girl is gettin' married to that young worker who keeps puttin' us old folks to shame. He ain't the biggest fellow in th'world, but boys got determination. Real Crimsontown stock."

She looked pleased at the news, but only half. "You're drunk."

"Well o' course I'm drunk, woman! There was a party! Me and Beric are practically brothers fer cryin' out loud."

"Obviously I am happy for the boy, and Gwen. But you have responsibilities here, and at the mines..."

"Yeah yeah, 'sponsibilities." He sighed heavily and shrugged out of his jacket. "Saw something odd on the way home. Probably nothing, but it was that customer, carrying around a wriggling sack. Maybe two. Nasty little fucker."

His wife sighed and gave up the argument. It was no use, when he was like this. And it was harmless, really. Still, he should drink less. "Language, James."

"Kids are abed, who gives a damn. Anyways, he was harassing the girl, when she was serving 'em. And on her special day. These outsiders are all savages. It's disgusting." He made a face, which in his inebriation, made him look comical.

"Don't you think you should have called port authority?" His wife nagged. Port Authority was effectively security for the entire colony. It was rare that they had something interesting to do, but caution was a good policy in these parts of space. Whenever the confederacy set up a comm relay, the net would talk of efforts to reclaim the outer Sagittarius arm. But soon after, the pirates would destroy the relay, the transmissions would stop, and the Confederacy did nothing. Most of the people were far to poor to buy a ticket to the core worlds. "Remember Maggie Watson?"

"That was thirty years ago, sweetheart." He was trying the sweetheart routine. Some things never changed.

"Still, Im calling. That miscreant, acting suspicious... Can't hurt to have the authorities look into it.

"Whatever you say honey. I'm goin' t'bed."

While he came down from what was a surprisingly strong orgasm, only reinforcing the fact that he was keeping this one, he pulled his length from her fully, certain his seed would be running down her tender thighs. It was a mess she'd have to live with. Taking a small step back from her bent and exposed body, he pulled the hand from her hip to slip himself back into his trousers, the zipper made entirely differently than the functional teeth that had been standard on clothes for hundreds of years during humanity's beginnings, and he closed it easily with only one hand.

With a grip still on her wrists, he glanced to the side to find the two sharing a moment, a name that had to his crossing her lips. Jack. He'd have to remember that. Future reference... He was just about to move when the boy spoke up, a threat to kill Armand tumbling out of him. He couldn't help but to snort, the thread even drawing a gruff laugh from Vold standing in otherwise silently in the doorway, and Grunt accommodating the boy with the wall seemed a fitting end to the exchange. Responding to futile threats only made people believe more strongly that they weren't futile, and Armand had neither the time nor the patience to indulge the boy's delusions of wrath and vengeance.

Turning his attention back to the only one of the pair he cared anything about, Armand took a rough hold of the girl's red mane, straightening her up. Her wrists remained pinned behind her back with his other large hand, and using his two grips on her body he lead her around the box and do a panel of milky white on the wall across the room. The panel is as tall as the room itself, reaching from floor to ceiling, and across it is a little over 5 feet, long enough that the girl could nearly lay comfortably lengthwise in it's confines.

Her struggles, such as they, are insignificant and unimportant, her battered and used body anything but difficult to control as her bare feet move across the floor, whether she wants them to or not. Glancing down, his the toe of one boot taps a bit of the wall next the panel, dissolving the white as if it had never been there in the first place. Beneath it is revealed a deep black, slightly sticky to the touch, and cool, though a just off enough from any naturally occurring substance so as to be a mystery to anyone who doesn't know it's purpose.

Standing before it, he releases her hair and takes a small wrist in each hand. Spinning her around before him, he presses her back against the cool black, her skin meeting what is often described as a strange cross between putty and leather, solid and yet somehow, not entirely. "Legs," he says to, it seems, no one, and suddenly the black seems alive... moving. Strands slip out of it, quickly hooking around her ankles and rejoining the moving blackness behind her, and quickly they are joined by more and more, until eventually the entirety of her ankle is hidden from view.

Armand's eyes flicker to the girl's face, always interested in the reaction of a new toy when she discovers she's being bound, literally, to the wall. Their reactions were as varied as they were, some accepting it because they'd realized they had no choice, others struggling pointlessly against it, but none failed to produce a reaction, and he knew his little fireball would be no different.

Once her ankles were covered by the blackness, it contracted in towards the walls suddenly, dragging her feet back, heels against the wall. An unfortunate incident with a new toy who had decided to knee him in the balls as a means of fighting back had shown him that it was always best to start with the legs, all but nullifying their ability to fight back. The toy that showed him this was a good idea found out that attacking Armand in such a manner was a bad idea, and for more than a month the marks on her body reminded her of this fact. A nightly caning robbed her of her fight quickly, and in the rest of her time with him she never attempted anything close to that again. Poor, delicious little Gwen was never even given that opportunity, however.

With Armand's iron grip on her wrists, her arms were next lifted above her head, and then he spoke again, "Arms," again directed at no one and yet bringing the wall to life. He released her wrists as the first tendrils of black crossed over them, taking a step back and openly admiring the stretched naked body before him, from the strong legs to the pert, perky breasts to her full lips under tear-streaked eyes. He nodded to himself, approvingly, and then turned towards her boy, towards Jack, arching a brow at him in consideration. Without looking back at her, he said simply, "Spread," and with eyes focused only on Jack he listened to the odd liquid sound as the girl's arms and legs were moved, bounding her spread eagle to the wall.

The bizarre material felt sticky against her aching backside. It was almost soothing to the pain, but for its purpose. "W-what are you doing..." It was as if she had said nothing, so completely did he ignore her. His hands, with such a firm grip, were hurting her. Helplessness flooded her emotions. The man barely had to try to manhandle her with ease. Why did it change color? Why isn't he letting me go? It was the same color as the box he had taken her on.

Such thoughts were banished with a single word from his lips. terrified, she tried to jerk her legs away. But the tendrils only stretched, before pulling her back in, and coating her slim ankles in a tight, perfectly form-fitting cuff. "No... No no no..." She started crying again, the sobs wracking her nude frame. She struggled just so she could have something to occupy herself. To make peace with what was happening. But there would be no peace. The leathery putty encircled her wrists as it had her ankles. Now, he did not even have to use his hands to render her vulnerable to his advances.

Gwen had never felt so naked as she did with his eyes on her, brazenly moving up and down her frame. Then he looked away, staring her Jack right in the eyes while he remained with his cheek smashed to a wall. The hatred still burned in his eyes. The pirate spoke, once more, only a single word, in his deep, powerful voice. "Spread."

A scream of frustration erupted from her lips. Her thighs strained to stay closed, to hide her most intimate of places from his predatory eyes; but the horrid blackness was too strong, too inexorable. Soon her shapely thighs spread wide, exposing the pink pout of her pussy to him, his cum still leaking down a pale inner thigh. "Stay away..." She spoke with broken, hysterical desperation.

Something strange came over her, then. Perhaps it was that there was no other option. Anger colored her next words red. It bubbled up from deep inside her, and burst forth with a fury she did not know she had. The enraged shout echoed in the small room.

"Let me go!"


Jerry Hicks reclined easily in the chair behind the front desk. Normally it was the receptionists job, to tend the comm, but it was the night shift, and she never worked the night shift. But someone had to sit here. His snoring was loud and obnoxious. The men inside HQ ignored it, for the most part. But then, the comm began to beep.

One beep. Two beeps. Three beeps.

Another officer popped his head through the doorway, looking annoyed. "Godammit Jerry, pick up the fucking call!"

Jerking awake, he fumbled awkwardly with the receiver before pressing it to his ear. "Hello? Er, Port Authority."

The other officer watched as Jerry took notes on the call. When he hung up, he asked, "Well?"

"Some old miner thought he saw something suspicious from that customer."

They looked out the window together, at the lone docked ship. "Think we should check it out? He is an outsider."

Jerry shook his head vigorously. "He's also the only one with money in a hundred lightyears. 'Side's the Lehmans, and they ain't got much."

"Do your job, fatass. Let's go."

Sighing heavily, Jerry felt his knees pop as he eased out of the chair, and went to the weapons locker. Discipline was lax, in such a sleepy town. It would be almost fifteen minutes before the honorable and valiant Port Authority managed to send a party out to the rare stranger's ship.

Her protests filled the room, and outside of herself and Jack, no one else could be moved to care. More of her screams would fill this room in the days and weeks to come - screams of pain, screams of pleasure, screams of frustration, of defiance and pleading and anger - and one at her first encounter with one of his prized possessions was not nearly enough to move him to even acknowledge it. If the first words that tumbled uselessly out of her mouth had no impact on him, his intention now to leave her there and focus his attention on the squirrel that seemed to think it was a bull.

Her next words were different.

The girl's yell echoed around the room for a moment, and even the typically unmoving giant in the doorway shifted his eyes and cocked a curious eyebrow at his boss. Armand caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and ignored it, knowing it was the biggest reaction Vold was likely to give and that, as a good soldier, he'd be back to a calm lack of interest in moments. For his part, Grunt only manged a rumbling chuckle under his breath and then gave Jack's head a little tap on the hard wall as a small reminder that he was still basically a rag doll in the giant's hands.

Armand shook his head slightly, actually annoyed with the girl now. Turning away from her boy, his affixed his gaze to the naked and bound girl once more, pursing full lips as he crossed the short distance between them. His wrath was sudden when he reached her, another slap delivered to a pretty face twisted in anger and hatred. "You want to make noises, cunt? I can make sure that happens," he said in a deep, irritated rumble. His large palm struck one of her breasts next, more pretty white flesh turning red after contact with him, and he ignored her reaction to it all, turning instead in the direction opposite Jack and crossing the room in long, quick strides.

Tapping another milky white panel on the wall, a section of it dissolved to reveal a collection of various devices, some made of metals or synthetic metals, some made from real leather, others glowing with an unnatural blue light. He reached in as soon as the panel was gone, knowing exactly what he was after and exactly where it was. Turning back in the direction of the spread tavern waitress, the panel behind him returned as if from thin air as Armand crossed the room back to her. In his hands was a small device, metallic in appearance, that was nothing more than a small slightly curved strip connecting two slightly larger orbs, the whole thing no more than three or four inches in length. It practically disappeared in his hand.

Standing in front of her once more Armand entirely ignored the girl, not even bothering a glance up at her reddened face, and instead slipped the device between the girls thighs and between her folds. With the topmost orb he found her clit, the lower one against the used entrance to her core, from which Armand's cum still slowly leaked to trace sticky lines down her parted thighs. After only a moment of being held against her the device seemed to come alive, and Armand took his fingers from it, her pussy still wet enough that he came away with some on his fingers, which he wiped absently across the smooth flesh of her tummy.

The orb at her entrance made the most obvious change, expanding and changing shape as if it was a balloon being inflated. It was inside her within moments, quickly filling the same void that had held his cock minutes before. Within only a handful of seconds of first coming in contact with her body the orb was an orb no longer, instead having changed into the third thing that had slid between poor Gwen's walls that night. A series of sensors detected when to stop the expansion, and then the deep, pulsating thrumming began inside her. The other orb came to life in that moment as well, a steady and insistent vibration against her clit.

Armand reached out to the girl as he saw his device began to do exactly what it was designed for, cupping the girl's chin and turning her face to his. "Make all the noise you want now, little girl," he said with a small, humorless laugh. "Let young Jack hear what it sounds like when you're not faking it." His lips curved up, revealing white teeth in a feral grin, before he turned away from her and back towards his initial target.

"Now to deal with you, boy."







On the bridge of Armand's ship, a man known only as Mr. Bohr sat at a console, a small device clipped to his ear. His lips were pulled down in an intense frown, his eyes staring ahead unfocused as he listened to the sound flowing into his ear. It seemed the useless lumps in Port Authority had received a report of something suspicious and were on their way. It was nothing new - if the Deimos and her crew weren't doing something suspicious than they likely weren't making money - and Mr. Bohr knew that the Port Authority on this spinning little rock would be no problem to deal with. Still, it was an annoyance, and one he was unsure if he should interrupt Armand to deal with.

The standing rule was that he was only to be interrupted when with his toy if it was an emergency, and it went double if the girl was new. This wasn't, necessarily, an emergency, but it would also look odd if the captain did not come out when the Port Authority came calling. The ship was ready to go at a moment's notice, but Mr. Bohr was relatively sure there was at least one person on board that was not meant to be leaving this rock with them. If it came down to it, though, he wouldn't be the first person that took a long, cold walk out of the airlock. When you wanted to hide a body, it turned out interstellar space was a great place to do it.

With a sigh, Mr. Bohr pushed himself back from the console. The boss had to know, he thought. He'll yell at me if he wants to, but at least he'll know. Pivoting in his hoverchair, mangled and useless legs hidden under dark trousers designed to reduce pain, the pilot began to make the ride to Armand's cabin. It was only the third time he'd had to interrupt the boss while with one of his toys, though two of those had happened when they were brand new. It seemed people noticed when you kidnapped pretty young things with the intention of turning them into your personal whore. Who would've guessed...

The saving grace would be that he could deliver the information to Vold, the boulder with a beating heart that would be guarding the door to the girl's new room. If the boss was truly angry, Vold would get the brunt of the verbal abuse as the final messenger to deliver the interruption. The stars knew the man would be able to handle it. Whatever happened, Mr. Bohr just hoped the Port Authority didn't try to lock the Deimos into port, meaning he'd have to spend the next two hours overcoming the lock, then another hour removing the automatic ship tracer that was planed when you these style of locks were broken. It was all doable, there was no question that between he and Martin the ship would be leaving this poor chunk of rock behind them tonight, but it was the hassle of it that bothered Mr. Bohr so. Such pointless resistance.

Cardinal ringlets splayed with the momentum of his strike. Yet another stinging pain to add to the others. "You want to make noises, cunt? I can make sure that happens," The threat was obvious, though the method of delivery was not. Her lip quivered at his words. Is that who I am to be? Cunt?

His hand came down on a tender breast. It bounced with the painful impact. "Nnn!" This can't be... This can't be... This can't be..." More cruel echoes, bubbling up from recent memory. "You're going to learn, little cunt, that you don't get to make demands of me..." She watched with morbid fascination as he tapped yet another wall, revealing for a brief moment the myriad of things... Things he meant to use on her, she was sure. I have to kill myself... But she knew she couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Quickly, he discovered the thing he searched for. and returned to her.

Gwen moaned and squirmed as he reached for her aching sex. The little toy had not yet revealed its secrets to her. "Gods... Gods help me..." Squeezing her eyes shut, a surprised squeak escaped her lips as the thing filled her glimmering pink pussy almost to it's limits. It didn't feel quite as big as Armande himself, but it still stretched her silken inner walls around its thickness. Every nook and cranny felt touched by it. Gwen screamed as her sobs returned to her. "Gods... Gods... He is a devil!" The other part seemed to mold around her stiff little clit, the ensemble clinging to her sex by way of some technological magic. Gwen jerked against her bonds, as if shocked, when the thing came to life. Clenching her teeth, she groaned, staring up at the cruel pirate before her.

"Now to deal with you, boy."

Gwen could hear the violence in his commanding voice. "No, please don't... Don't hurt him..." The vibrations hit every sensitive spot within her... Heady, rhythmic pulsations, so powerful she was almost instantly, involuntarily squeezing against the intrusion. Whatever shameful wetness he had forced upon her only grew. "Why... No more..." Her eyes fluttered as the pleasure built. Her sensitive clit radiated sexual bliss outwards, into her entire body. Panicked panting wracked her slim frame. Dainty toes curled against the floor.

As her own juices joined his, slipping down her creamy thigh, the first of her moans permeated the room. Misty eyes, ashamed, watched him approach her fiance...


All of the officers piled heedlessly into the small transport. Skinny and fat, old and young, smart and dumb. They wore kevlar vests, designed to stop the obsolete lead slugs that their assault rifles fired. Most of them tried to look heroic and steadfast, crammed into their seat.

As they sped through the abandoned dock, toward the lonely Deimos, few said anything. Surely they would be intimidated by the sight of so many armed and dangerous men, they thought. Surely they would be eager to reveal whatever shady dealings they were conducting, in the face of such a threat.

They skidded to a stop in a grandiose power slide, piling out as if they knew what they were doing. Determination glinted in feeble and strong eyes alike. They stared down metal sights in a theatrical crouch. This is how they did it in the holo-vids, after all. They would have to tell their women how brave they were today. They would definitely go moon-eyed over them, and tearfully pray at the temple for their safety. Yes, Nearly all of them thought as one, The girls will love this. I shall tell them, at Lehman's Already, the officers were composing lies to make themselves look brave and virtuous.

Commander Hicks was the first to brazenly approach the loading ramp, and knock insistently on the metal. It gonged, echoing within the empty dock.

"This is the PA! Open up at once for inspection!"

Behind him, two officers carried ancient packets of remote detonated explosives, in the unlikely event that anything truly dangerous happened, and they had to blow the doors off.

Armand stalked Jack, a spider that had his prey tangled in his web and now was ready to drain him, when a chime sounded in the room that made everyone pause. Armand's eyes met Grunt's, then swept to Vold's, his head nodding once in reply to a silent question that passed between them.

The giant of a man turned without a word, opening the door to find Mr. Bohr in his hoverchair on the other side. A few quiet words passed between them, then the giant found Armand again, a slight shake of the head telling his boss all he needed to know. Rolling his eyes, Armand turned back to his new toy, though he didn't close the distance between them.

"Sorry, girl. Looks like you'll have to say your goodbyes now." His eyes narrowed slightly as he paused, the terrible grin moving his lips once again. "Think you can do it without cumming?"

The question was rhetorical, and he didn't wait for an answer. Instead he turned towards the doorway, waving a hand at Grunt as he did. "Bring him." And in moments, Armand and his companions, with Jack in tow, had left the room. None looked back at the girl, or paid any attention to her struggles and pleas. The door closed behind Grunt, who moved Jack as if he was a ragdoll, and then the girl was left alone. Bound, helpless, and with the strange morphing device still filling and vibrating against her.

"Put him in the holding room," Armand said in reference to Jack once the door closed behind them. Grunt nodded and shuffled off, taking the boy with him and leaving Armand to turn his attention to Mr. Bohr and Vold to get an update on the situation. The fact that he was being interrupted while with a new toy meant it was something that clearly needed his attention, and that usually meant the authorities were trying to flex what little muscle they had. A ridiculously pointless endeavor, but one they insisted on carrying out anyway. So be it.

"Port Authority," Vold grumbled. "Apparently someone saw us carrying them back, thought it was suspicious." And dumb to do it that way, he thought but didn't add. He wasn't being paid to think, after all.

Another eye roll from Armand and he nodded to Mr. Bohr, "Same as usual, Mr. Bohr. Grunt and Vold will hang back, just in case they're needed. Let's go."

As they began making their way to the closed hatch that led into the dock Grunt joined them, having deposited the boy in a small, windowless room they occasionally used for holding people for a time. With the couple securely locked away, they could make their way out to deal with the Port Authority secure in the knowledge that neither of them would be calling out for rescue and causing unnecessary bloodshed.

Pausing at the hatch, both Vold and Grunt drew their weapons and moved to the side of the doorway to wait. There was a word, known only to the four people gathered there, that would send the two giant men through the doorway guns blazing if uttered by either Armand or Mr. Bohr. They'd only had to use it once, and the destruction they left in their wake was the stuff nightmares were made of. Once both men were in position, Armand opened the door and then stepped aside, bowing slightly to Mr. Bohr.

"After you, sir."

"Yes," Mr. Bohr replied, his hoverchair carrying him out onto the dock. Armand followed close behind, leaving the door open behind them.

It was, of course, a ruse. It was also one that worked with surprising effectiveness, as most people seemed to be completely thrown when confronted by a handicapped man with what appeared to be his bodyguard close in behind. Appearing to take orders from another was something Armand had to practice at, one of the few times he allowed his crew to criticize him, but with enough patience - and no weapons within easy reach - he'd managed to be able to convincingly pull it off. He stood just behind and to the right of Mr. Bohr now, hands clasped behind his back, eyes watching the man in the hoverchair carefully.

"Gentlemen," Mr. Bohr started with a smile. "Is there something I can help you with?"