Salvage

"I told you a hundred times not to call me that. Just Captain."

"Madame Captain sounds much better, though. Oh, wait a sec, there's one more tiny thing, before we go. You have to take your uniform off. For the rest of the tour, we don't want you to wear one. We don't want you to wear anything at all. Okay?"

"W-what? Are you ... joking? Did I hear you right?"

"Don't get upset, it's not such a big deal. The rest of the crew won't object. We asked around already. Doesn't matter if they did—you're the captain, after all. You can do whatever the hell you want on your own ship, right? So get naked."

"You're unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable."

"It won't change anything. Just make things more fun. You'll still be the leader, you'll still give all the orders, and the rest of us will carry them out exactly like before. Only for the rest of the tour, you'll stay in the nude. The whole time. You look much better that way, much more ... loveable. You know I'm right. It'll be a much happier voyage, all around, and a much more exciting one. We'll make sure to boost the internal temperature throughout the ship so you won't get too chilly."

"Never. You've lost your mind. You pushed too far." She opened a drawer in her desk, pulled out a blaster and pointed it at him. "You could have got away with this, if you just knew when to quit. No more. Both of you are going out the airlock. Right the fuck now."

"Deal's off then? Okay." His finger was poised over his bracelet again. "The upload is all set to go, right now. I made sure before we came in here, I set it up real careful. Shoot me, I bet I still press the button as I drop. Then the whole galaxy gets to see you naked, instead of just your crew. And not just that, of course. It's not just you by yourself without your clothes on, is it? They're gonna get to watch that fuck-machine railing your brains out. They're gonna get to see how much you loved it while it happened. You know you did. You can't deny it. I can transmit the recording to the focean right now, in less than a second. Just gotta push this button and off it flies. Is that what you want? Last chance, Madame Captain. Fire that gun or put it back in your desk. Decide."

Her hand was shaking. She should shoot. She should just shoot them both.

She burst into tears and lowered the gun. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

"Then you'll cooperate."

"Yes. I suppose I've no real choice ... Dammit."

"Do it then. Show us, right now. Put away that gun. And then take off that uniform."

"Now? Right now?"

"Yes, that's what I said. Come around the desk first so we can see you properly. Now strip."

She shut her eyes and did what they wanted. There was a great roaring in her ears. Yet it didn't obscure the sounds of her uniform's zippers and snaps, all of which seemed to echo in the little room, or the rustling and thumps of the heavy stiff cloth as she peeled off its layers and let them fall to the floor behind her. She thought she might faint. She wished she would. It never happened, though. Her pussy and her ass burned inside, and both passages felt swollen and leaky. They'd felt like that this entire time, under her clothing, but it worsened as she exposed them again to the air, and to the men. She whimpered. She couldn't help it.

"All the rest now. Don't forget those silly gloves. Socks too."

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

"Let me keep my stupid socks, at least. What's it matter?"

"Clearly it does. You ain't really naked if you still got socks on. Give 'em up, Cap."

"Fine. I don't care. Fine. Shit. Oh God. Shit."

She stood to attention, chin high and arms stiff at her sides, trying to maintain some illusion of dignity. The deck plating was extremely cold, gritty under one foot and sticky under the other. Spilled coffee, probably. When was the last time she had the floor cleaned in here? Too long.

"You are so lovely, Madame Captain. Much too sexy to hide it under a prissy uniform all the time. Most beautiful smoking hot captain in the galaxy."

"Is your pussy wet?" Rojjo asked. It was the first thing he'd said in here. "I bet it is."

She felt herself blush. They both laughed at her, slapping each other's backs. It was too much. Her poise deserted her. She wasn't a captain anymore, or an aristocrat. They'd taken more than her uniform, they'd stripped her of status too. She'd let these villains reduce her to a lowly helpless whore. Her head drooped and her shoulders slumped. She covered her parts with her hands and trembled. Her pussy continued to burn beneath her hands, and to seep.

Shavi and Rojjo both unzipped their pants and brought their cocks out, waggling them at her, stiff and eager. They looked bigger and scarier than before. As big and scary as the Outrage's had been.

"Are you gonna rape me?" she asked. Ridiculous question.

"That depends on how good a job you do sucking my cock off right now. And also my bro's. How about you get up on your desk now. On your hands and knees, Madame Captain. No, better yet, lay flat, with your legs curled behind you. Yeah, that way you've got your mouth on a better level for us. And I like seeing your pretty feet kicking back in the air like that. Curling those cute perfect toes tight, just like when the Outrage was pounding you."

"I can't believe this is happening to me." Yet even as she spoke these words, as she climbed on her desk and flattened herself across the top, squishing her breasts and her hardened nipples beneath her, in a funny way, deep in her heart and in her guts, it was all too easy to accept this turn of events. As if she'd been secretly expecting this to happen, for ages. Not this specifically, but something like this. Some dark dreadful inescapable disaster. Some certain unspeakable doom, just for her. Most of her life, especially as a child and then as a teenager, Dyon Kruger had felt a great sense of guilt about her birthright—the wealth and privilege of her so-called noble family, and the sheer unrepentant entitlement and snobbery they represented. For she knew the harsh deeds that had brought them to their position. It is no small or easy thing to take a world and reshape it in the idealized image of another, which in truth was long spoiled and lost to humanity. In the depths of her soul, Dyon always suspected a price would eventually have to be paid, in reckoning for her forbearers' legacy. It was a large part of why she left that world altogether, striking out alone and penniless to create a whole new life for herself in another solar system. But the reckoning would still have to be paid. Perhaps now was the time. Perhaps Shavi was only its unknowing instrument. Or did she just tell herself these things to excuse herself for surrendering? Providing herself a partly-comforting justification in the form of implacable destiny, beyond her power to control. "I can't believe I'm letting this happen. I just caAAHHuuhhnnnnn! Nuuhhnn. Nuuhhuuhhnn."

Despite what Shavi just said, Rojjo had already gone around the desk, grabbed hold of her upturned ankles, and jammed himself inside of her. He stuck himself in her ass, not her pussy. There was pleasure in the penetration, somehow, unwelcome as it was. There was also pain, and more than a little—but it was the kind that enhanced the pleasure instead of spoiling it. And the instant she was made to cry out, Shavi inserted his cock into her mouth. Far as he could push it. She didn't bite him, much as she wanted to. He held her head by her braid.

"You're the captain. It was your call to make, babe, and you made it. Ah yes. Yes you did. Yes. Ahhahh. Ahh. Suck it, Cap. Suck my cock harder."

"Uhn. Uhhhmm. Uhn. Uhn. Uhhuuhh! Uhhuuhhnn."

"Yes. Yes. Oh so good. Yes."

4.

She's on the bridge in her captain's chair. Naked. As always. Trying to tell herself it isn't bothering her anymore. She should be used to it by now. It's been four whole days.

It's easier when they give her drugs. They've been letting her take some of the stuff they use themselves. A purple powder called Flow. Her last hit's wearing off, it's been several hours. She's starting to think almost clearly again. That's not good. If she took some more Flow, she really could sit here perfectly calm and relaxed, like nothing at all was the matter. No humiliation or anger or fear, only a peaceful humming in her head and all through her body. Actually while she was high on Flow, she almost enjoyed her nakedness. You could almost enjoy anything, while you're on Flow. Just breathing became a sensual and fascinating experience.

She remembered back when she used to wish she could get away with wearing shorts and a tanktop and sneakers on the bridge, knowing as the captain she couldn't. It would undermine her position. Stiff scratchy uniforms were a necessary evil. You had to project the appearance of cool taciturn authority, all the time.

Ha.

They went overboard with the climate adjustment. The atmosphere was like a jungle all the time. She's always sweating buckets now. She's ruined the leather upholstery of her chair—the sweat of her asscheeks made the rich chocolate-colored leather fade to sickly yellow and start to rip in a couple spots. Semen had contributed too. There was always semen leaking out of one of her orifices, felt like. They got regularly refilled. She'll have to get a new chair, when this is finally all over. You'd think the other crewmembers would bitch about the heat. If they have, they don't do it to her. What would be the point?

Is she addicted to Flow yet? Probably. If she's not she's pretty close. They told her the stuff wouldn't hook you but they were junkies themselves. They snorted it up their nose. She never took it that way. They'd sprinkle it on their cocks before they pushed them into her or made her suck them. It made what they did to her tolerable, anyway.

The pilot, Travar, almost never looks around at her from the control board. And the few times she does, the girl can't do it without smirking and blushing. Kruger can't believe she agreed to go along with the others. She would have thought she'd try to help her somehow. Make some kind of protest, at the very least. Kruger always thought Travar had great respect for her. Now she's lost it, if she ever had any. Maybe she thinks Kruger deserves what's happened to her, since she gave in to the blackmail. Or maybe she's always secretly resented the Captain for her looks and her nobility, so seeing her brought low is pleasurable for her.

The other guy always on the bridge, Gorzon, is nonhuman, a hulking shaggy species called the Dogged. They're not really very doglike, despite the name. They never wear clothes themselves. He keeps pretending like he hasn't noticed anything amiss is going on, or doesn't understand the implications if he has—and just possibly that's true. He frequently sports a boner when she's around, and its gigantic—sticking up through his belly hair, blood-red and glistening. But that used to happen before, just not as often. It's something you learn to put up with when you have a Dogged on your crew. They all do that; they don't mean anything untoward by it. It does appear more frequently since her enforced exhibitionism began, and it looks bigger than it used to, but that might be her imagination, and if it's not, it's understandable. Even complimentary. He won't try anything unless she asks him to.

She's been tempted, to be honest. At this point, there's a voice in her head that keeps whispering, "Why not? You're gonna get fucked again anyway several times today. He'd probably be a lot more fun than the other bastards always are. You might get a proper orgasm out of it for a goddamn change."

Actually Captain Kruger has had many orgasms, the last four days and the nights in between. It's disturbing how many orgasms she's had, and how quickly they can make her have them. She doesn't count any of them because of the Flow. She gives all the credit to the powder, none to the men. She imagines she would have another orgasm if she just snorted the stuff, the same as they did it.

And there's another aspect to the idea that she's toying with ... If she gives herself to Gorzon, maybe she can get him to help her. He's big and he's tough. Could probably tear Shavi and Rojjo limb from limb without it boosting his heartrate. Of course killing the guys isn't her real problem. She could kill them both herself; probably wouldn't take her more than a couple seconds, even in the rough mental shape they've lowered her to. She wouldn't need to worry about a weapon. In fact just about every time she's letting one or the other of them fuck her again, she thinks about this—about how easy it would be to throw her sleek muscular legs up around their heads and snap their necks. It's a delightful fantasy—often, in fact, she comes while she's imagining it. The trick would be to do it fast enough. To get both of them down for the count before their goddamn recording got broadcast ... especially in light of the fact they don't often doubleteam her anymore, like that first night. They usually take turns instead, one keeping his distance while the other has his fun. A wise precaution, the shitheels; it's kept her on her best behavior all this time. A tame little sexpet.

What she needs to get Gorzon to do is set up a jamming field of some sort around the ship without the fuckers realizing. Then she could go to work without having to worry. Only she's not sure it's the kind of thing a chap like Gorzon is bright enough to know how to set up. Or that she can trust him not to give her away, if she suggests the idea to him. Maybe she can or maybe she can't. Probably she can't. If he didn't stick up for her at the very beginning, why would he change his mind now? Unless she can win him over with some real good sex. That might work or it might not do her any good at all.

There's a ping from the control board. It startles her out of her reverie—and she jerks her finger away from her clit. She hadn't realized she'd been rubbing it, the last few minutes. Isn't the first time she's caught herself doing it when she blanks out. There's goo on her finger. She wipes it dry quickly on her armrest and straightens up, pressing her knees together.

"It's Shavi calling," Travar says, and Dyon's belly lurches, "Says you're needed in the engine room, Captain. Right away. Again."

"All right," she says, not acknowledging the sarcasm. She gets up—her sweaty bare butt wrenching free from the sticky soiled leather with a humiliating noise like a fart—and goes out the hatch. Swaying and stumbling a little. Her clit is throbbing and every step aggravates it more. As the bridge seals behind her, she hears Travar chuckle. The heartless bitch.

God, her feet hurt. Most of the flooring throughout the ship is mesh paneling, allowing easy access to the pipes and cables that run beneath the walkways. They're murder to walk on barefoot. She's stubbed her toes in the goddamn gaps like a million times. Even when she doesn't, they still make her feet sore. The mesh gets printed across her heels and the balls of her feet. She begged Shavi to let her wear her boots, or at least some socks. He wasn't having it. He's too obsessed with her bare feet—he's fucked them and cummed on them just about as many times as her pussy and her ass and her mouth—and he loves tormenting her too much. She just has to put up with it. Anything the fucker wants, she has to give him.

They all pretend like she's still the captain—really it's a sick horrible joke. She's an absolute pathetic slave. Or a whore, more like. Shamefully whoring herself, in the vague desperate hope it will save her from a greater and more permanent shame, across the entirety of Living Space. Will he stick to his end of the bargain, at the conclusion of the tour? No way to know. If he doesn't—if the recording gets released in spite of everything—she'll probably kill herself. But she'll make sure she murders him first, and his so-called brother. Maybe the rest of the damn crew, on top of them.

Somebody crosses the corridor ahead of her ... It's the last member of the crew, the medic. Vara. She doesn't stop or say anything—just gives her so-called captain a quick sideways glance, before passing out of sight down the side passage, her boots stomping loud as she goes. Her expression was furious. No surprise; it's been like that since the start of the madness. It's like she wants to punch the captain in the face, whenever they cross paths, or maybe take it even further and strangle the life out of her. Vara clearly blames her for this situation. The medic doesn't sneer or giggle at her like Travar keeps doing, but she's shown no compassion either, not a shred, not for an instant. Kruger honestly can't decide which attitude is tougher to put up with, Travar's or Vara's. They both sure pack quite a wallop.

She goes through the hatch at the far end of the corridor to the engine room. There's an observation platform, when you first walk in, a little balcony that lets you look over the whole heart of the ship at once. Then you gotta climb down ladders to the open workspace, underneath, when you need to pull out parts from inside the engine to repair them or replace them. They call it the pit, though it's not really a pit. Just a square of open floor facing the engine, with a lot of scuffs and stains.

And the Outrage is standing down there, looking at her. Flexing its arms and huffing steam out its nostrils. They'd patched its bullhead back together.

Shavi pops up behind her, at her shoulder. He must have been crouching against the doorframe, to surprise her.

"Look what we got for you, Madame Captain. Look how pleased he is to see you again."

"Oh God." Her legs shook so bad, her knees literally knocked together. She thought that was just a stupid expression. She had to clutch the balcony rail with both hands to keep on her feet. Her toes dug into the spaces of the mesh, squeezing to grip the floor. "You brought that thing aboard? I had no idea."

"Of course we did. Don't be daft. We fixed it up too. That's a rare and valuable machine, Cap. Those things are worth a fortune! We're still working on the other guy, with the lion head. He's not ready yet for testing."

"Don't. Don't do this. Not this. Not to me. Not again. Give Travar to it!"

"That's not a bad idea. I'll keep that in mind for later, for the lion. But right now Mr. Horny—that's what me and Rojjo call him, cause of the horns, you get? Mr. Horny wants you, babe. Just you. You're way better looking than Travar, you know. She's cute, all right, but not a gorgeous perfect goddess of Avonlea like you are. They should make paintings and statues of you, seriously. One day I bet they will. And hey, what are you scared of? You'll be fine. You'll love it. Just like before."

"I'll do anything else. Whatever you want. You can fuck me again, right now." She bent over the railing and spread her legs wide as she could and shook her ass at him, on her tiptoes. "Shove it right up my butt! Put some Flow on your cock first, I need another hit. Then pound it in your captain's pretty ass and make her scream your name. I know how much you love making me do that. So make me, Shavi! SHAVI!"

But he held back. He fondled his crotch a bit, then shook his head at her, looking almost sad. "Nice try, Cap. But no. Not just now."

She started to cry. "Please don't give me to that ghastly thing. Please. Please! I'm begging you! I can't stand it! Not again!"

"Sure you can, Cap. You'll be fine. And I'm right up here with my blaster to pull you out if anything goes wrong again and it starts getting out of hand. Just relax!"

"Please no! No! God no! Please! Can I have another hit first? At least let me have a fresh hit!"

"Is that an order, Madame Captain?"

"Yes! That's an order! I order you to administer me another dose immediately!"