A Special Delivery

Turns out neither. You hear a buzzing sound that is obviously less of a priority than weather or not you need to shoot Bellextra before she fires a dildo grenade at you (it’s been that kind of day; you wouldn’t put it past her). However, when the droning rapidly gets louder, this proves to be a mistake.

Something hard and flexible latches onto your waist and sweeps you off the ground before you can settle with Bellextra. Lights blur past as whatever it is lifts you through the air at unsettling speed. The first thing to do in a situation like this is clearly to blast whatever the fuck this is, but something else has clamped on to your gun hand. A metal tentacle. You follow the segmented tendril up to the capture drone that produced it.

Robotic tentacles along with more traditional manipulators hang from a disk like body. Each of your limbs is locked in a life or **** struggle with the metal manipulators, unrelenting in their strength. Along its body’s rim, photoreceptors take in the garish environment of Hellno. From its back sprouts two turbines, roaring their way up above the canopy.

The capture drone maintains its **** on you as it breaks through the upper branches. Glowing seed pods burst as it blunders through the trees. As the spores effects hit you full ****, small tendrils snake their way under your flight suit. “Hnnnn!” It’s half a moan of exertion as the grappling mechandrites pull your limbs akimbo, and half of pleasure as the smaller ones tease your erect nipples and sodden pussy. The frenetic caresses wiggle and slide across your pleasure bits, distracting you as you try to reach for one of those EMP grenades you brought with you. When you strain enough so that your hand is within inches of reaching your bandoleer, the tendrils inside your shirt burst out with cloth tearing ****, destroying much of your flight suit, and much more distressingly, knocking your bandoleer to the forest floor.

The glowing woods sail beneath you as the drone continues on in a zig zag flight pattern that leaves you flailing from side to side. The entire front of your flight suit has been torn open, leaving ragged tears that range from your sleeves, down your side, and past your crotch. The tentacles take full advantage of your full frontal predicament. Two spiral around your breasts, making them both bulge while surprisingly tender tips rim your areola. Unable to decide if you’re wary or excited about what happens next, you watch a dildo suspended below your cootch like a serpent waiting to strike. However you feel about it, you are wise enough to take a deep breath before it darts inside you and begins pumping. The extra air really helps with the non stop string of "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck," that uncontrollably bursts out of your mouth. Excitement was definitely the appropriate emotion.

A small part of your wonders where the machine is going, as it seems to be backtracking. Then again, you are officially concerned with other matters as the cloth tearing tentacles worm through your ass crack. With another shearing sound, your ass and back are exposed and the machine wastes no time. A paddle mounted arm begins to swat each cheek. Each strike feels like you’ve been hit with a skillet and you scream over the jungle. The beating pauses just long enough for the burning pain to be eclipsed by a cool rubbing against your back door. It shouldn’t be possible for your screams to get any more hoarse, but as your flesh yields to metal, they do.

The drone forces your arms to your sides as it encircles your heaving chest with a restraining belt. The belt automatically tightens just under your tentacle bound boobs, locking your elbows to the side. More go on your ankles, knees and waist, the last one completely immobilizing your limbs. You can do nothing as the magnetic clamps lock your torso restraints to the base of the drone, leaving your legs trailing weekly. Well, nothing but focus on the two phalluses pistoning your sex bits. The tight bondage bites into your flesh, making you moan with arousal that isn't entirely the fault of the aphrodesic seed pods. It’s not the worst way I’ve been captured.

You don’t know how many minutes you flew around with your ass getting drilled midair, but in orgasm time, it was one, working its way up to a solid two. Eventually though, the drone does finds its destination. The clearing where the beacon is located now hosts the pirate **** shuttle in addition to Bellextra’s ship. Heralded by your frustrated cries, your metal captor descends. A circular hatch just wide enough to accommodate your bound form opens and swallows you whole.

Light encircles you as you are dipped inside. Gently, you are placed on a small platform by the grey alloyed appendages before being lowered into the main hold of the ship. Awaiting you are two pirates, one Oo’lick, and an alien wearing a full body encounter suit or body armor, one of the two. “Son of a bitch, that’s her. You owe me 50 credits,” says the Oo’lick.

You purse your lips. Not the most intimidating of greetings for captors to give a newly arrived prisoner. These fucking pirates. It wouldn’t be so bad if they were half decent dominants, but no. It’s like the amateur hour here. Is it so much to ask that when you are delivered, bound and helpless to a place of kinky ****, that the top could take the effort to set the scene? Maybe hit you with some menacing words? Intimidate you into a quivering pile of helpless submission? Sigh. Fucking pirates.

You take in the room as the masked alien pays up. It’s definitely a detainment chamber. The walls are covered in narrow tubes, just wide enough for a prisoner to be locked in. The ominous cylinders are see through, allowing the jailers to look inside at their wards. Each one stinks of sex.

“Can’t believe it found anyone in this mess, much less found its way home,” says Mask.

“Yeah, me neither. Lucky thing to. Can you imagine how pissed the captain would be if it was lost?

“Oh tell me about it. Remember when-”

“Hey, is this really what you’re focusing on?” you interject.

“Right.” The Oo’lick at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed. He jabs you in the side with the shock stick. Your body convulses with pain and you fall to your knees. Mask takes out a snare and loops it around your neck. The subtle tingle you feel tells you it’s charged and if you do anything out of line you will suffer electric discipline. He pulls you close against his crotch.

“Get to work,” Mask says. That’s more like it. You rub his crotch with your cheek, jaw hanging open hungrily as you do so. Against your face, he swells through the fabric of his pants and there is a series of ridges that seem like they could really show a girl a good time. The Oo’lick, unsatisfied with your sluttiness, gives another painful prod from his shock-stick to motivate you. Squeals of pain and excitement radiate through the small detention chamber.

“Bring her over here,” says Oo'lick. He’s wagging his hardening dick in the air expectantly. Using the snare to control you, Mask takes your mouth to the blue dick before handing off the snare. Oo’lick holds you just in front of his purple tip and you tease it with your tongue, your tip flicking his. Breathing is difficult as the snare is tight and constantly pulling against your throat, reminding you of your new place. It doesn't get any easier when he pulls you closer so that your hungry mouth can swallow his cock. As you lean over to service the purple mushroom, your heart shaped ass sticks out, ready for fresh torment.

This is perfect for Mask, who is already in position behind you. With the characteristic roughness you expect and appreciate from pirates, he rams it between your rosy cheeks. You scream into blue cock as your sphincter stretches and contracts around the ridges. The Oo’lick merely takes that as an invitation to deepthroat you.

Being cock-gagged muffles your screams, but you still make the appropriate amount of noise for a horny fuck toy. Your anus is continually stretched and massaged by Mask's prick ridges. The Oo'lick gives your tits a few zap-taps, making you cry out louder, but drops it in favor of the snare. To better use your throat as a fuck-hole, he jerks your neck around with it and gives you spasm inducing shocks. The whole time, Mask brings his hand down again and again on your rear. Each impact ripples across your rosy cheeks.

Unfortunately, with his cock deep in your throat, you only taste a few droplets of his cum when he shoots his load into you. Ragged coughs and gasps follow his cock as he pulls out Mask finishes soon after. His seed gift is after a particularly powerful thrust that he keeps deep inside you while showing his appreciation by slapping your thigh.

After the viscous spit roasting Mask sets one of containment cells up. At the press of the button, one of the containers splits down the middle, revealing a narrow vertical rack at the back of the pod. As this is happening, the Oo’lick wraps your lips around a bit gag and cinches it tight. “You’ll thank me for that later,” he says, emphasising it with an ass slap. You’re still face down on the floor with your ass in the air (where any half decent captive belongs). Invitingly, you wiggle it back and forth. Drips of pussy juice hang from your clit, begging to be toyed. “Sorry bitch. Much as I’d like to fill that dick holster, Captain has specific instructions for you. No pussy fucking. He wants you treated rough.” With that he and Mask both grab an arm and pull you into one of the cells. Your restraints lock to the back like they were made to, which they probably were, so that you are standing in the narrow tube. The cell closes once again and there is silence.

For about a second. Then you see Mask press a button and your screams reverberate in the narrow confines. Electricity arcs between your cells as you thrash pitifully. As sudden as it comes it goes, leaving you huffing desperately. “Hnnnh, hnnnh--AAHH! ARGGHH!” It pulses again. This time it goes on for longer. You can’t really track time around the agony but you’d guess a few seconds. When it stops you just see Mask and the Oo’lick watching on.

In desperation, you whimper at them. The helplessness of your situation and the thorough dose of Hellno's atmosphere has left you needing far more than just one orgasm. The pain you can handle but surely a crew of the lowest form of horny spacers wouldn't deny you an orgasm? The denial is doubled by the powerful shocks, each one leaving you a little wetter than the last. There are three more of rising intensity before you are allowed to breathe again. Many of the agonizing jolts painfully tingle through your dripping pussy, teasing that hungry hole.

Two more quick pulses are followed by a long pause. Then a prolonged shock. A series of short bursts. Another long pause. Somewhere in all of this your two captors wandered off, leaving you alone to wonder what Malicious Mal will do to you when he gets back.

BAD END: PIRATE PLAYTHING