Freebooterz

The ship was a patchwork nightmare of stolen Imperial gold plating, rusted iron plating, and trophies torn from a dozen different worlds. Smoke from cheap cigars and burning promethium swirled around the towering figures of the Freebooterz.

Captain 'Brass-Tits' Burna stood at the helm, her silhouette cutting an intimidating figure against the starfield visible through the cracked viewport. She was a Flash Git in every sense: her green skin was adorned with gold piercings that glinted in the emergency lighting, and she wore an extravagant tricorn hat cobbled together from leather and stolen parade banners. Her massive tits were barely contained by a corseted vest made of salvaged tank armor, straining against the metal with every breath she took.

"Oi! Bring da loot in here before I start shootin' da crew fer fun!" Burna roared, slamming a fist onto a console encrusted with shiny teef.

A group of Gretchin scurried past, their tiny bodies stuffed into ridiculous, gold-buttoned frock coats that stretched dangerously taut across their enormous, wobbling asses. They hauled in a crate containing the plundered cargo of a merchant frigate: fine silks, precious spices, and—most importantly—a dozen human captives bound in chains.

The captives were terrified, but among them was a tall, broad-shouldered human commander who had tried to stand defiant during the boarding action. As the Gretchin dragged him across the deck, Burna's eyes locked onto him. The battle-lust in her veins suddenly twisted into something far more predatory.

She ignored the reports of incoming raiders and the shouts of her quartermaster. Instead, she prowled toward the prisoner, her hips swaying with a lethal, confident grace. "Now dat..." she purred, tilting her head as she inspected him like a piece of fine jewelry. "Dat ain't just loot. Dat's a treasure."

Without warning, she swung her massive, gold-plated Shoota aside and grabbed the commander by his throat, yanking him flush against her armored chest. The human gasped as he was crushed between her steel-hard tits.

"Change off da plan, lads!" Burna cackled to her crew, her fangs gleaming. "We ain't sellin' dis one. He's comin' to da Captain's Quarters fer... private inspection!"

The crew erupted in cheers and crude whistles. On a Freebooter ship, wealth was measured in teef, but pleasure was measured in the quality of one's slaves. And Captain Burna was about to become very, very rich.