Better Do What She Says

For a moment you consider taking on both of them, but you know that probably won't end well for you. Realizing that your best chance of survival is to surrender, you toss the dagger to the ground and slowly raise your hands above your head.

"See, what did I tell you? He's nothing but a coward," Dixon says over her shoulder while keeping her eyes on you. Her teeth flash with a deadly grin as she steps toward you, bends over to pick up your dagger, and sheaths her own blade as she points yours at you menacingly.

"Come on, let's get him to Mistress zh'Thracia," Thompson says to her in a no-nonsense voice. You secretly wonder to yourself at how much hotter she looks now even though she looks like she's ready to **** you at the slightest provocation. Marveling at how her walnut brown hair wreathes her stern expression, you completely fail to notice Dixon's knee-high leather boot rushing up to meet your crotch.

Crunch!

Stars swirl in your vision as your body doubles over in pain. You're almost glad you're wearing a cock cage. Otherwise, the toe of her boot would've split your dick in half. Feebly, you gasp for air. The sheer **** of your caged cock being kicked up into your abdomen knocked the wind out of you, and you feel like you're going to puke. After a few shuddering breaths, your vision clears and you look up. Dixon is standing directly over you. Her juicy thighs flank either side of your face. You tilt your head even further up until you're staring straight up her skirt. She starts to bend her knees, and you see the red panties covering her crotch and shapely ass moving towards your face.

"Knock it off, Sandy! We need to bring him to the Mistress... alive and unspoiled this time! I'm not getting in trouble for your shenanigans again," Thompson shouts sternly.

"Aww, you're no fun!" Dixon says, clearly disappointed as she stands back up. Breathing a small sigh of relief, you lower your head back down and see her thick thighs disappear from your peripheral vision. A moment later, two pairs of strong slender hands are hauling you up to your feet. You stumble, still recovering from being kicked with the **** of a photon torpedo. A pair of blade tips poke you in the back, convincing you to walk a bit more steadily as the two women keep one hand each tightly gripping your arms and escort you out of the cargo bay.