Flashback - Fleetbreaker and Enslaver

“We will live free or die,” Captain Janoa told the assembled captains. “And if we are to do even that we must protect the Liberator at all costs.”

Janoa rubbed a hand tiredly at her sore temple and looked round the briefing room table to see if any of the other captains had more to say. The holographic assembly of captains looked every bit as tired as she felt. The hot pink skin tone of healthy Jeryllians had turned to pale pink and almost white in some cases. Many still wore the scarred flesh and wounded uniforms of woman who had seen combat recently. In truth they all had. Each had borne their share of defeat after defeat, watched sister-ships burning in the void as their own ship withdrew, wept at the loss of their homeworld of Jeryll, and endured the ceaseless skirmishes as the refugee fleet had fled toward uncertain sanctuary.

“Unknown contact!” the sensor office announced over the intercom.

Captain Janoa was sprinting for the bridge even as the images of the other captains were flickering out. The main display was split between the ugly bulk of the freighter Liberator, it’s boxy form broken up with the generators and field emitters hastily bolted to it, and the star-field in which the unknown contact would be visible once it was close enough for the sensors to get a visual lock.

Jhilsara, her imposing auburn-haired executive officer, had already sounded general quarters and ordered the battleship to impose its bulk between the contact and the Liberator. Jhilsara snapped a weary salute at her captain, still a stickler for protocol despite her weariness. The salute drew attention to the dirty smudge where Jhilsara had been rubbing at her temple.

“Contact is very small. Single-woman fighter or smaller,” the sensor officer supplied.

“All weapons standby,” Janoa ordered. Jhilsara had already issued the order, but Janoa knew it would reassure the bridge crew to hear their captain repeat it. Routine and custom had a soothing quality that a captain needed to respect.

“It could be a diversion,” Jhilsara spoke quietly so the crew would not hear. It was an XO’s duty to debate with her captain, to lay out new considerations, but not to contradict her.

“It could be a shipbreaker,” Janoa replied as quietly. And if it was a diversion the rest of the fleet’s warships would still be ready.

The battleship’s sensors resolved the question as they established visual lock. Streaking towards the refugee fleet at impossible speed was a woman. She had no ship, not even a helmet to shield against the chill of the vacuum. And yet impossibly she flew toward them.

“All weapons fire!” Janoa screamed. Her crew were well-trained and primed for action. The gentle vibrations of kinetic energy weapons, torpedo launches, and lasers firing began at once. Three seconds later the whole bridge shuddered as the ship’s main weapon fired too.

“Solid hit,” the sensor officer reported, the relief evident in her voice. “Primary tachyon cannon solid hit. Estimated 85% green on secondary and tertiary weapons.”

A ragged cheer went up from the crew. Janoa and Jhilsara did not join in. They had received the secret briefings about the enemy’s true strength. Before high command had--

“It’s not possible! Contact reestablished. It’s not possible.”

The portion of the screen dedicated to the target had whited out as the tachyon cannon’s baleful energy had annihilated that portion of space. Now it cleared. And still streaking towards them, wrists uncrossing, was a dark-haired woman.

“Fleetbreaker!” Jhilsara moaned the word out as if she would weep. As if she were already defeated. The enemy’s ultimate weapon. A single humanoid so powerful it could break an entire fleet.

“Maintain fire,” Janoa ordered, trying to keep the helplessness from her voice.

The rest of the fleet opened up, every weapon available trained on the woman. Two fast attack ships moved to intercept. The woman smashed through them, shields and hulls, as if they were nothing. There was a distant explosion as she did the same to Janoa’s ship. The battleship had the strongest shields and thickest armor of any ship in the fleet. It failed to even slow her.

The enemy fleetbreaker, their weapon, their woman, reached the Liberator and smashed through it. The aching pain in Janoa’s temple diminished as explosions wracked it. But it was still intact.

“Submission is freedom,” the sensor officer announced as if she had just had the most profound and wondersome epiphany. Other members of the crew were mouthing the same words as if testing them. Janoa realized with horror that she had been too.

The fleetbreaker looped back, through the hail of fire capable of destroying a half-dozen capital ships, and flew through the Liberator again. This time the freighter was annihilated. And so too was the psychic shield it projected. The weapons of every ship in the fleet fell silent.

“Submission is freedom,” Janoa chorussed in affirmation with the rest of her crew. It made so much sense. How had she ever fought against a statement so obvious? Only in surrendering her will could she find freedom from decisions and pain.

“Slavery is sisterhood,” she and Jhilsara said in unison in the lift down to the main flightdeck. Then she and Jhilsara kissed passionately, feeling their tongues dance as they repeated the words of their mantra into one another’s mouths. They were both slaves now. Janoa had always loved her crew, but now she understood that the women were sexual beings who needed her to demonstrate that love with groped tits and open legs.

“Obedience is bliss.”

The fleetbreaker, the black-haired woman, landed on the flightdeck as the captain and her crew knelt in submission. Waves of moans and gasps emerged from the gathered women as hands pushed under uniforms and they began to masturbate. Submission, slavery, and obedience were all building towards the bliss of orgasm.

The woman strode forward and pulled aside her thong. On her knees and trembling with submissive anticipation, Captain Janoa pressed her lips to the woman’s labia and began to lick. Janoa had never sexually pleasured a woman before, but as she tongued along the fleetbreaker’s labia and tended to her clitoris she knew this would be just the first of a multitude of lesbian lovers. She would dominate and fuck her subordinates, giving them the bliss that came from obedience. And she would be the sextoy of her superiors. And this fleetbreaker was but one rank below her ultimate owner.

“Submission is freedom. Slavery is sisterhood. Obedience is bliss,” Wonder Woman intoned as she accepted Captain Janoa’s surrender. Those few members of the battleship’s crew who did not have their mouths full of tongue or tit or pussy repeated the words joyously.

They understood now the moral rules of their universe. Right was what their mistress wanted, wrong was what she did not. Wonder Woman felt no shame but only pride at enslaving these free women. She was a warrior for what was right, she was a sex- for her mistress.