FINALLY IT’S HERE! The penultimate chapter of my Sci-Fi erotica!

Link to Part One

Link to Part Two

Deep With You – Part Three: Bondage

A flesh and blood vessel propped up and bent to the point of strain. Clothed only in chains, your spirit held down with the wet and warm weaknesses exposed. What is it to be slave? The highest form of love? Or the empty nothingness of un-reciprocated giving? The truth is, a master resides above both.’

Nine days on.

In the blemish-less, hermetically sealed laboratory of the Trafalgar 7, Dr. Samoy was tirelessly working on her dual objectives. Almost in a trance like state of focus, she manipulates the lifeless organism in her gloved hands. The gloves, a product of Black Tech Industries’ (BTI) work on combining human flesh with synthetic polymers. They allowed her to feel its steaming innards with the clarity of a cannibal’s first plunge into another. There in lay the key question…why was this organism’s cells still producing heat energy post-mortem? As her masterfully agile mind navigated that question, her mobile holocom device beeped twice. It was silver, slender and translucent in design – reminiscent of twenty first century phones. It began to glow red, this was the colour she’d assigned to the person messaging. The notification read: ‘All preparations are set, the Devil has agreed to the trade.’ With attention now split, she left her metallic workstation of ornaments and medical utensils, to discuss with her father an entirely different form of dissection.

Only hours away, across the dark diamond dotted emptiness between ship and destination, the Empress was waiting. Reigning upon The rock amoung rocks, a moon of a planet deceased long ago from molten cancer. A small section of a larger inhospitable solar system, home to three war ravaged planets. Space here somehow seemed heavier, like the souls of the dead added substance to it. The fragmented corpses of human and sentient beings, floated within this eternal black milk, cold and forgotten for another day. However, all days in this system of the damned, belonged to her – Empress of Slaver’s Moon, Maureen Of The Devils Melancholia.

Deep within her moon, a castle built of excavated pearl coloured marbel surroundings – this moon cavernous only in density. Inside that, an offensively decadent room she called ‘The Womb’, was where she sat. An ash grey throne against one of it’s four red and gold walls, facing inwards. Two slender humanoid beings; lavishly dressed in embroided robes that left only their LED red eyes visible, guarding left and right sides, as she considered all she owned. Which, in this chamber was twelve – mostly human males, with several others fitting neither category. All who chose to place clothes upon their person were sweating profusely; those without still gleamed with the latent moisture of effort. This was why the Empress referred to it as The Womb. It was designed to be hot and moist at all times, a place to gestate her sexual perversions.

The way she was created: outwardly a vision of a gentle women, full, satisfied and aged from years of mothering, was a cruel fable. Inside she was barren, the organs present, but just desert scape from birth – the entrance synthetically sealed. The rumours floating the halls of this vast sanctuary were that she was a fallen android from the AI revolution on Earth One. The final model of those built for repopulation protocol 6. Now powerful, twisted and bent towards owning what she could never experience – Life and Sex. In front of ‘her’ were individuals of different age, sex and species; suffering various forms post traumatic stress disorder, and all engaging in various duties at the Empresses’ behest. Some, preparing her next meal of the finest imported organisms; other’s cleaning the floors beneath the subtlety swaying sexual contraptions above – occasionally, they dripped something warm. The remainder, haunted by their own memories, would cower in corners hoping for reprieve.

As she watched them perspire and trickle from mid back to the curvature of their bruised cheeks, she reminisced back to moments immaculately stored on her cerebral hard drive. One, of a caucasian human male in his twenties; strong, supple, and bound naked to an ergonomic table. Limbs, spread star-shaped and restrained by old red ropes that had eaten away the flesh on his wrists and ankles. She remembered the look of blood vessel sprawling, red-eyed exasperation on his face, as she commanded the male Hylian from a distant galaxy – ashen with the strength of two men – to masturbate him without mercy, continuing forcefully through multiple cycles of erection, discharge, and recuperation. He had endured this for three cycles already. The lubrication required was running low, the time needed to stroke him out of flaccidity – extending painfully. His defiant moans were becoming screams of derision. The Hylian, lacking in empathy, continued the cruelty, even as the man’s pride lay pathetically limp in his unforgiving and coarse grip. She had her favourite moments within this ballet of hollowing extraction; the image of the man’s sweat drench abdominals convulsing viciously after each ejaculation, or the tears that inevitably flowed from the eyes of the hopelessly tortured, as reproductive organs moved aimlessly inside their wrinkled sack in search of the impossible. However, beyond the sights was the most important thing, the smell. The sad scent of his humiliation; the combined perfume of his body odor and ejaculate trickling slowly off the stained hands of his alien abuser. All of which, accentuated with the note of ripe vaginal fluid, still moist in his pubic hairs from a previous un-consented ordeal. The Devils Melancholia lived for this, her senses augmented beyond human limits, created an almost ethereal experience from the visceral scent.

Another treasured memory she replayed at least a few times a day, was the most stomach turning…but probably the most relevant to her twisted and bitter psyche – the sodomy of the Haitian twins. Being the last people of Earth One to become vegan, they’re scent is said to be noticeably different in the nose of an android, tales go as far as to say they carry the flavor of swine in their darkest openings. Empress Maureen owned the last two in the know galaxies, she worked them hard and often.

In a room where darkness was only slightly cleared by blurs of artificial starlight above. Two of her most athletic female guardians; pregnant, and strapped with well-endowed synthetics, approached ominously. High end and ready, the synthetics were oozing a softly illuminating substance from their micro pores. They self-lubricated like carnivorous sexual deviants, and the wielders pointed them towards their meal. The Empress would grin from the edge of the room; robbed, and hooded as her Haitian slaves trembled nauseously. Only restrained from the waist down and bent over a make shift shelf of unknown material, their arms were free to animate fatigued flails for mercy. Even in such a low-lit space, she could perceive it all, the croaked groans of dried throats as each was forcibly spread open and plunged into. Her pregnant warriors, aided by the length of the synthetics could easily stroke pain and guilty pleasure into them. The glowing substance splashed and dripped down their legs. The twins – side by side – scratched at their own thighs in neurotic anticipation of the depth to come. Their pigmentation made the un-violated parts of them almost invisible, but all things in this heat and stench-saturated room, were perceivable to the Devils Melancholia. The devil’s favourite thing? That each synthetic was different in girth. Meaning, every time the bulbous guardians facetiously swapped victim, the twin’s bodies – unable to acclimatize to either, would be reintroduced to that first eye-watering plunge again…and again.

This was, and is the Slavers Moon Anissa and Captain Dryake approached…

Back on the Trafalgar 7.

-“Captain we’re approaching landing velocity.” A digital voice said from the bridge’s audio systems.

-“Thank you Chief.” Dryake responded, while standing pensively in front of the bridge’s Digitised three by three meter window. It was their only view into the outside, and it displayed in HE (Human Eye) definition, the chaos that was this moon’s surface and orbital surroundings. The space around the cracked and rugged terrain of Slavers Moon, looked like a collision of planets and asteroids paused half a second after impact. Drayke was so focused on it, he pulled back his consciousness from the men and women in his charge, staring, and waiting for his orders. Not in all his years serving had he been so conflicted about a mission. Just before his silence alerted the first waking of anxiety in his crew, Anissa slips her hand into his fist and whispers, “My Captain, take hold of your choice like you do me, if it shifts away, bend it towards your heart and it will succumb to you.” Her words, flowed through him like a soft massage, and he felt the freedom that came from release. Drayke, was now able to trust his instincts, and the plan they came up with together amidst their warm slumbers entwined – legs held between blood warm thighs; heads, resting and hearing the slow beat of a heart loved.

-“Land her 1 click from the entrance to the north subterranean levels Chief, the co-ordinates should be on your pod screen now.”

-“Yes Captain.”

The entire ship’s crews began their own particular preparations for landing: The engineers saw to the ships thrusters and lading mechanisms, the medical department made sure all first response healing gels, where fully stocked into the med kit being taken off the ship; and severe trauma operating rooms were prepared for the worst. The mercenaries rehearsed various tactical battle protocols, while cleaning all the grade one weaponry, Anissa’s deep pockets could bestow. Finally, the kitchen crew – consisting predominantly of AI – had a task perfectly suited to an unfeeling computer program, to reassess and adjust on board ration limits in real-time, if and when the total crew number raised of fell.

However, the most meticulous final preparations involved only two individuals, one lost in lust and emotional transference – of the Freudian kind. The other, simply a lost child, looking for validation.

-“Fuck, I didn’t even know I could do that” Blaise said, under the duress of sexual fatigue. She lay exposed on her bed; skin still emitting the chemically induced heat of climax. She was looking up at Dr. Samoy, her face red with emotions she had no time to indulge.

-“ The female reproductive organ is much more versatile than most realise. When you’ve studied it, and the anatomy of all the known species as much as I have, making you eject that volume fluid is child’s play.” She says, while wiping her slim fingers with a near by hand towel.

-“Still, I’m surprised…it’s never happened before, what is it? It feels like I fucking pissed myself. Blaise says embarrassingly, as she reconciles with the large damp patch under her bum and thighs.

-“Technically you did; It’s urine, diluted with a prostatic-specific antigen typically produced in men by the prostate gland. In women it’s produced by the Skene glands. However, in actuality a ‘true female ejaculation,’ is far less exciting. Dr. Samoy’s tone floated between caring and not so – Blaise could never pic up these subtleties.

-“I love it when you talk science Doctor.”

-“Look, we’re landing soon, clean yourself up and change the sheets. Time to focus.”

-“I know, I know… but are you sure it’s going to work?” Blaise said, as she began getting up and tending to the mess.

-“ Of course, how long have I been planning this? We have more than half the ship’s crew behind us too. One way or another I’ll get it done.” Dr. Samoy’s eyes glazing over with a conviction, Blaise still hadn’t recognized as self-serving ambition.

-“And after that, together, we can leave this floating coffin, and run our own facility with Black Tech Industries back on Earth Two. So much was her belief in the web of love and insubordination they had spun, she spoke the words completely on auto pilot. However, behind Blaise’s scuttling and tidying, Dr. Samoy had already left.

Back at the underground castle, the Devil’s Melancholia, not immune to the compulsion for preparation, organised for the crew of the Trafalgar 7s arrival. The subsequent rendezvous, had been organized by the political representatives of both sides half a year in advance. The outcome of which could change the face of the known galaxies, and she prepared accordingly.

A blue-pigmented female of unknown planetary origins, stood up from a muddy grey coloured table of six. Standing over seven-foot tall, with her hair immaculately styled into braids, she was clad in a precious metal and stone armor of practical design. The five other individuals –four female, one male – sat around this table staring at her, each of their armors and physical characteristics were anchored to their galactic origins. She turned towards the throne, and with a stern voice rippling in an alien dialect; she echoed words throughout the vast spaces within ‘The Heart’ – the chamber where all battle strategies were formed. “Empress, your ‘Dead Army’ have been deployed to all the designated positions of favour, and your ‘Slave Escort’ is chained and ready to depart at your malevolent convenience.”

-“Thank you General, has the messenger been sent to the ulterior location?”

-“Yes Empress, he’s scheduled to meet the contact within 15 minutes of their landing.”

-“Good, now let’s go see what the famous Captain Dryake D. Hamilton has to say.”

Meanwhile the landing party of the Trafalgar 7, were preparing to disembark. All five were congregated in the well-lit atmosphere integration chamber, and dressed in the ship’s vintage dark yellow ‘Reinforced Skin’ under armour; it was tight and left little to the imagination. The party of five consisted of: Captain Drayke D. Hamilton, Princess Anissa Ife, Commander James Dean; leader of the ‘Hidden Shield’ Mercenaries, Dr. Jasmine Samoy, and Lead Engineer Blaise Spur. As typical of any off world mission, each individual had to be injected with the translator serum. This extremely expensive serum, consists of preprogrammed microorganisms that attach to selected brain synapses allowing for the translation of all known languages. Dr. Samoy had administered the serum to all four of the five members, including herself. The last person left was Anissa Ife, ever since she was a child she had always been a great judge of character. As Dr. Samoy approached with the petit serum transfer pen in hand – Anissa remembered how little she cared for the Doctor, and her curve-less figure. Dr. Samoy stood close and asked for Anissa’s hand, the light from the atmosphere integration chamber, refracted off it like a blade. The serum transfer pen’s stainless steel appearance was predominately entrapped by her deviously dexterous fingers. Her left hand, held Anissa’s in a grip easily mistaken for something with intimate design, while clasping the transfer pen expertly in the other. She pressed it on her, and looked straight into Anissa Ife’s eyes as the cold pen bit into her skin.

There was an awkward moment of stillness between them both, until Anissa pulled away to console the tingle on her hand. She looked annoyed yet preoccupied with other thoughts. Most likely, those of how she would perform on – without question the most important negotiation of her short political career. As the princess turned away, Dr. Samoy, couldn’t help but observe the Reinforced Skin gently rub Anissa in places she knew Drayke’s mind played. Just as the feelings of a familiar jealously began to swell, a stare of satisfaction roamed through the busyness of bodies; eventually meeting eyes cold with calculated intent – Blaise Spur, and Jasmine Samoy had recognised each other and smiled.

To Be Concluded

By Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2018. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Advertisements

Haiku No.6

I feel this could be my best one to date. Especially in terms of complexity of meaning and richness of imagery. The thing I love most about the haiku as a poetic concept, is the challenge of saying almost a whole chapter’s worth in just three lines.

img_9359

A Poem About A Poem

I was planning on writing the third installment of my Deep With You sci-fi erotica this week. However, i felt completely unmotivated to do so, making the whole endeavour feel like work, and not an expression of the soul. So, with the help of my brother’s inspiring idea to write a poem about a song i like, the addictive internal buzz of creativity returned!

I present my first of many Poems about a poem, or Poems 2. I’ve never seen or read a poem like this (doesn’t mean it doesn’t already exist) so the format, rhyming scheme, content, and tone within a tone are a work in progress, and may differ dramatically in future poems 2. This piece is built from/within the song Dust by Frank Ocean off his mix tape Nostalgia, Ultra.

 

Dust 2

 

Who’s that talking in my lab baby…? Is that you?

A voice, the familiar but estranged – can it be you?

 

No, I won’t put you out, what would this place be without my muse? Nothing special.

 

Every book in here, I wrote.

 

An empty shell – hollowed out emotions can’t stain – the page is blank – with nothing special.

Every book in here, I wrote.

 

Some I’m not too proud of, some I wish I could burn – too many pages I wrote, wish I could revise them.

Life breathed through flames, and into the air my shame – rain pours from sky and face the same, wish I could confine them.

 

But there’s no erasing, and the best advice I got was keep writing, keep living, and keep loving.

Destiny – a woman, her hands – fate – will cradle your arm. With pen still wet, her support is felt behind – violinist and bow keep loving.

 

When the ink dries, and the pages turn to dust, so will we – turn to dust. So, will we turn to dust?

 

Dust

 

Who’s that laughing in my Lab baby? Is that you?

The smile of a thousand un-lived days, is that you?

 

No, I won’t put you out, what would this place be without your smile? Nothing special.

 

I fell in love with you girl…you let yourself inside, with no respect for privacy.

When alone the words do come, but sometimes, the barren waste of pain masquerades as privacy.

 

You said there’s too much on my mind, then you ripped out a page, and set that thing a blaze – I quit writing. I kept living. I kept loving.

The Haze appearing in this place, an atmosphere of dismay, but space cleared that away, I kept living and kept loving.

 

When the ink dries, and the pages turn to dust, so will we – turn to dust. So, will we turn to dust?

 

Dust

 

Alpha Cauwenbergh<Frank Ocean

 


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Deep With You-Part two: Green Eyes

Click For Part One – incase you haven’t read it!

The session continues…

Our two lovers, still within the throes of passion, continued burning through the lust that evaporated off them. The steam their beating bodies produced, condensed onto the wood and glossed paperback surfaces Anissa’s slender stomach was pressed on. Drayke was in control now; her face turned to the side in a futile attempt to watch him as he worked, her back gently arched – lumbar muscles contracting with beautiful tone. Her ass elevated up slightly off the desk, which, despite its fullness, was being completely suppressed by his powerful hands – no movement allowed if not by his design. So rare was it for her to submit to him, he took special pleasure from such primal positioning.

“Are you ready?” He questioned, as though not already making the warm opening between her squirming legs pulse with each stroke. The way he expanded her soft entrance with slow pelvic movements, made her crazy with heat – she moaned, wanting. Knowing what was to come, she responds with a look of cautious appetite.

“Yes…” Drayke filled his palms with the flesh of her posterior, gripping her hard enough to hurt; the deep relentless pounding of her wet intimacy began simultaneously. The sensations he could feel around and along the length of it, where driving him to addiction and he mercilessly drove every inch of himself into her repeatedly. His stamina almost endless, Anissa wasn’t sure how much more she could withstand. However, she loved the duality of internal ache and climax perpetuating pleasure. The tingling sensations were like wild static charges frivolously erupting from the brief spaces between them. “Don’t stop! Deeper! Harder!” She screamed in complete defiance of the authoritative force behind each of his thrusts. Drayke knew from how rash her breathing had become, and the way she was struggling to keep herself on her toes, that she was close to another orgasm. Although, his pride did take exception to the ability she had – unlike all others, to tolerate his full length, breadth, and sexual aggression, his need to please her thoroughly came before his own ego. And knowing every erogenous crevasse on her body, he slowed down his tempo, and switched tactics.

Releasing her blood warm left cheek from the archaic grip of one hand, while keeping one enslaved in the other, his change in pace had brought her back from the edge. Now she was staring over the cliff face, starving for the explosion of gratification that the climactic fall would bring. Nevertheless, Drayke held her back from it; her private parts were weeping and trembling – imploring him with every deliberate entry. Left hand, channeling desire into his mind by manipulating it’s voluptuous captive into revealing more…His other hand scheming to gratify her naughtiest pleasures, found it’s thumb roaming – she knew it’s destination. Thus presenting it to him obediently and unashamed, waiting impatiently, coveting the multiple sensations. He proceeded to satiate every need welling up inside her as vigorously and completely as she could handle, causing her fatigued spirit to helplessly scream in ecstasy. Finally, he let her fall – her body crashing into the aftermath of desires. Seeking his own completion, he unloaded his lust; their primeval tones synced and echoed erotically through the aisles of this large room of learning. Their breathing gently returned to normal as he kept himself inside until she went still.

Just outside…

“For God sake they’re at it again…” One of the men from the General Support Staff says to his female colleague – who can’t help but laugh childishly as they walk past the Star Chart Observatory entrance, on their way to the Chamber of Rest and Recreation. In another room two tiers up, a far more important conversation was taking place. Dr. Jasmine Samoy was having a holographic video communication with one of a party of three corporate grade individuals, who’d invested heavily into the voyage to Slaver’s Moon. Her office was sparse, clean, and clutter free, just like the plain unbranded attire she wore on her lightly tanned skin. Most paper materials had ceased production after the global blight of 2050 ravished Earth I plant life. Any wood based products found in the solar system now came from Earth II and only to those with very deep pockets. Surrounded by bespoke, pale yellow coloured walls, she sat, legs crossed, on her slender aluminium stool as the conversation unfolded.

“Doctor, have you been able to verify the origins of the sample we sent you?” the voice says impatiently through the static interference.

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear you before, we must be travelling close to a solar storm. Yes I have Sir, but the results are unexpected. I would like a few more days to retest the sample against the ‘Nouveux’ elements.”

“Impossible Doctor, my associates and I have to report your findings back to the president of Black Tech industries tomorrow morning in person.”

“I understand that Sir, but I am putting my career at risk just by possessing this sample. If the Captain knew I had it on board, let alone the real reason we were going to Omega Seven, he’d probably stick me in a cell.” Dr. Samoy’s tone was elevated and laced with genuine fear of the multitude of potential consequences that lay ahead.

“Didn’t you say that you’d be able to handle him?” Dr. Samoy paused… “Listen, it’s too late for cold feet, our time is fast approaching, and we all have to be ready for what Black Tech are going to do with Slaver’s Moon.” Dr. Samoy knew this to be true, and narrowed her focus away from the doubts and towards what was necessary.

“I understand Sir, it will be taken care of.”

“Good, I’ll let you get back to work, send me a holocom transmission of your final report on the organism within the hour.” Before he could click, the holocom closed, Dr. Samoy quickly speaks,

“Father, one more thing – do you have any objections with me removing Princess Anissa from the situation?” Her father, Vincent Samoy – galactic entrepreneur and former Earth II government official, responds cautiously…

If it doesn’t affect the mission, deal with her anyway you see fit.”

Captain Drayke D. Hamilton’s vessel, The Trafalgar 7 – built from the finest interplanetary alloys, glided through the darkness of space, navigating fringe science like it were the bedrock of it’s existence – neared it’s destination. Unbeknown to both, there was a deep sickness growing within its vast interiors. A mutinous affliction eating away at all facets of engineering aboard the ship, and at its centre, a once mild-mannered woman stood, the conductress in front of her ensemble of dissenting voices and disgruntled characters. From here – Chamber 207e, she garnered the infection.

“You’ve all seen the way she favours him! We all know what they get up to in the Captain’s private quarters!”

The gathered white coats and hard hats roar in agreement.

Not even the decency to keep their relationship professional in front of the crew, kissing on the bridge like they’re the main characters of some tacky sci-fi erotica! But I ask you? When was the last time any of you kissed your loved ones?! Didn’t the Princess say that this would be a simple six-month diplomatic voyage? But now, I’ve been told by the only person who deserves your respect and loyalty – that when we’re on Slaver’s Moon, the Captain will impose a complete blackout on holocom transmissions! And whose idea is that?? His royal concubine’s!”

Groans of derision saturate the air.

She is on this ship to look out for our best interest! The interests of her hand-picked, non-military crew. But no…she’s up there, servicing the Captain with the same mouth she needs to be sanctioning the dim-witted mercenaries when they abuse you, Tom, for having a stutter, or sexually assault you, Jane! In this room, we have some of the highest intellects on Earth II, yet we’re treated like 19th century mineworkers! WITHOUT US! THE SHIP GOES NOWHERE!“ She screamed, the woman’s face red with the design of anger as her once blonde hair thrashed wildly around, it’s new dark sullen tones of brunette and purple danced in the indistinct fluorescent lights as she gesticulated frantically.

The horde of once civilized workers fed off her vehement protestations, yelling back angrily in affirmation of her message. If the sound could escape these walls, then civil war they would have signalled.

With her concert of manipulation completed, the conductress left the engineering tiers to return to her room. At the same time, far away in their own private circle of reflection and deduction, Drayke and Anissa discuss the mission and the progress of their journey towards it.

“How much longer until we arrive?” She says, as her mind wanders back and forth from focus – still having flashbacks to their session in the Observatory.

“The Solar storm is a bit of a nuisance, but Trafalgar can handle it. We’ll increase our velocity once we’re passed this system of planets.”

“How long Dray?”

“Ten days” he answers avoiding eye contact. Anissa was the only woman able to bring out such boyish guilt from the Captain.

“You said it would only be a couple more days, and that’s what I told my crew.”

“Your crew? I thought I was the Captain”

“Maybe when I’m not wearing underwear”

“Funny – but I’ve told you to stop thinking of the crew as your personal responsibility, you treat them like they’re your own kids.”

“I can’t help it…anyway, I don’t want to have this argument with you again. Just give me some good news I can tell the ship.” As concerned as he was about this maternal sense of hers, it was also one of her more enchantingly softening traits. It made him want to say the three words to her he’d caged inside his chest.

“Tell them that they’ll get an extra 100MGs for each extra day that we’re overdue.”

“Can you afford to do that?”

“No, but our investors can”

“I don’t think they’ll be happy with the cost of this voyage increasing again before we’ve even arrived”

“They’ll be happy with what I tell them to be happy with.” He responds, a layer of disdain palpable in his words, as if recalling an unpleasant history with one or more of them.

“And you?” Drayke swiftly changes the subject.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say once we arrive? The people of Omega are not known for their empathy…”

“I’ve been thinking about it more and more the closer we get, but it’s nothing I’m not used to – hostile negotiations are my specialty,” she says with an assurance born from the many power-obsessed dictators she’s verbally wrestled away from office and country. However, the situation they were moving towards was mutating rapidly into one unrecognisable from the mission brief they’d received upon departure.

“I know they are,” he replies with a flirtatious smile. “But, when dealing with the Omegians, I find preparing for the worst becomes prerequisite.”

“Yes I can tell from the charming group of mercenaries you’ve brought along.”

Drayke and Anissa continued their discussion for a further hour, sitting close and taking in enough pheromones to propagate attention-stealing affections. Despite this, their un-clarified relationship status took a back seat to the importance and responsibility of the task.

Far beneath them, the wheels of fate turned continuously, and one of its cogs was circling at the same pace our conductress was walking, heading patiently towards her residence. Once there she noticed the sliding door was already unlocked. Unfazed, she slid it across and walked in. Inside, the room was set to a brighter lighting arrangement than she’d left it. Knowing what this meant she speaks out into the room.

“Already making yourself at home I see” In response, a women steps out from the bathroom, jet black hair, long and heavy with moisture. Her face was smiling in expectancy, the rest of her body taut from the fresh chill of conditioned air flowing around them. She steps forward, exposed parts moving accordingly, and says.

“Blaise, how did it go?” the conductress always loved it when she said her name; there was a tone to it that suggested a hidden sentiment behind the formalness. The naked woman before her, though unassuming in her appeal, had found a way to lure out parts of her she never knew existed. Unlike the immature male suitors, she had during her formative years in a New England suburb. Blaise, missing the strength of character she’d just displayed to over fifty people, responds sheepishly.

“It went well babe” the words, blushing out of her. She was shorter than her lover, and was never more aware of this than when giving a report back to her. She was wearing the white and black engineering department uniform of overcoat, one piece and sturdy shoe, she played with the buttons on it subconsciously as she continued. “They’re definitely with us, the bit about the Captain not allowing holocom transmissions was a just perfect, and they behaved exactly like you said they would.”

“Of course they did, have I ever lead you wrong, Blaise?”

“Never babe, but…when are we going to go to the next stage of the plan? If we leave it too long, some of them might find out that not everything I’ve been saying is the truth…”

“Don’t worry about that for now, I’ll let you know when the time is right “

“Okay then, but I should probably go back to work though, it’s still a couple of hours before lunch and need to lead from the front.”

“Oh definitely, I don’t like slackers. However, before you go, can you help me get dressed?” the chill in the air suddenly changes to something warmer, something seductive. Blaise, pleased to no longer have to wait to touch her replies,

“Is it the purple underwear the Doctor is wearing today?”

To be continued

 Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh

Link To Part 3


© Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc 2015. Unauthorised use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alpha Maurice Cidade Cauwenbergh – Storyteller, Poet & Intern at Wordsmith Inc with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Who wants to be a character in my next short story installment?

Got a very cool competition for you guys & gals!

Text/private message or comment with any question you have regarding me, my writing, the creative process or anything insightful, and I will do a video blog answering them all!

The person with the best question will become a character in one of my next short story installments!

I’m a very honest and open person, so don’t feel shy to ask me anything!

Deadline for questions is this sunday night. Can’t wait to start creating! (happy face)