Take on a legal contract for a local Imperial government.

The next system over from the Scrap Moon belonged to a civilization modestly named the Holy Empire of the Flaming Rose.

The Empire was a fringe technologically advanced pro-human society, where every man, woman and child had grown up revering their current Empress as a living Goddess.

You were all for a woman on top, but you didn't quite agree with their staunchly anti-alien policies. Mainly because it interfered with your firmly pro-alien pussy policies.

Since most people in the galaxies weren't human, the Empire had never been very popular. In fact, it was probably only for two reasons another civilization hadn't wiped them out yet.

The first was that they kept mostly to themselves. As long as they didn't try to conquer their neighbours, most civilizations were quite happy to turn a blind eye to their less than stellar treatment of the few non-humans on their worlds. The second reason was that due to the system's immensely rich natural resources, the Empire were fucking loaded.

Imperial traders uniformly paid well for what materials the New Arcadia system could not provide, and their exports had a reputation as being high-quality. In fact, one D'Arcadie florin was worth nearly two hundred UC.

The Empire always paid well for smugglers, privateers and other agents who could travel out into the galaxies without raising much suspicion. In the past, you'd taken on a few contracts from them. Murky stuff, maybe, but always stuff just on the right side of acceptable to what few personal morals you had. Or maybe the payment you'd received from the Imperial Navy, each time a heavy purse full of gold coins stamped with the stern visage of their young deity, had provided a little incentive for you to nudge that moral line a tad.

All of this was relevant now because, as you check your ship's computer, you see you've received a message from the Empire. A generalized message, sent out to a few of their contractors, asking for a fast ship and discretion for an allegedly low risk and high pay mission. Any soul that's interested is to seek out the Témérité, an Imperial vessel stationed in orbit of the moon Elisé IV, and report to Captain Marion Colombe to be briefed in full.

Deciding you could use another sack of Empress Kate's Funbucks, you head to the navcomputer and chart a course for the pretty little moon.

On the way, you think of the Captain. During your previous contract for the Empire, you had reported to her as well. She'd added a nice element of eye candy to a job fraught with peril and moral ambiguity.

As you arrive, you look at the image of the Témérité on your ship's scanners. It's a sleek craft, advanced and seemingly brand new, which makes sense since Marion was in command of a different vessel when last your paths crossed. Yep, the Empire had some nice toys. Part of you hoped they turned out to be a collector, content to let said toys sit on a shelf and look impressive. Everything you knew about human nature told you they were more likely to end up as the hyperactive kid **** to show off just what they could do with 'em.

Deciding to leave the political speculation to the pundits and focus on the job at hand, you open a comm line to the Imperial ship.

“This is Captain Derrick Halloway looking to come aboard.” You announce. At first, there's silence, before you get a response:

“Halloway? Shit! Of all the... I'd rather deal with a Garilian than you again.” The warm tone of Marion Colombe makes you feel right at home in Imperial space. Hell, maybe you'll hang up your smuggling coat and emigrate one day.

“Nice to hear you again, Cap.” You smirk. “Think I can dock? Don't be afraid, no aliens are gonna jump out on you.”

“Oh, I wouldn't be afraid, Halloway. I'd just show the non-human the efficacy of a New Arcadian blaster.” Colombe retorts. “Come aboard. Don't try anything.”

You roll your eyes at the military woman's xenophobic statements before docking and boarding the vessel. You're not here to agree with their politics, you remind yourself. Just to take their money and maybe ogle any particularly hot servants of the regime.

As you come aboard, a featureless shipman greets you and shows you on a short path through the ship until you reach a little negotiation room. It's four walls, some artificial lighting, a table and two chairs. Oh, and one smoking hot naval captain.

Colombe is one hell of a looker. Rather curvaceous for a military type, she's got large, full breasts, flowing blonde hair, fair skin and lovely blue eyes. All of this poured into a rather tight black jumpsuit that flaunts her body's assets. There may be a lot to dislike about the Empire, but you have to admit, you do like their uniforms.

Ironically enough, by Imperial beauty standards, Marion is considered rather plain. As are any women who aren't slender, green-eyed brunettes like the current Empress.

For you, their draconian beauty standards were the cherry on the shit sundae they referred to as the true form of humanity.

“Captain, lookin' good.” You say. “New ship really goes well with your eyes.”

“I don't have the patience to deal with your attempts at charm, Halloway.” Colombe says. “I'd really rather tell you the details of this job and send you on your way.”

“Fine, be like that. But you know my deal. If I don't like the details, I'm out. Now lay it on me, blue.” You say.

“It's simple enough. See this box?” Marion says, tapping it with a gloved finger. You give it a quick once over. It's old, but constructed out of a technologically advanced and expensive looking compound. Atop the lid is a sigil of a flaming rose in a gilded circle. The personal seal of the House D'Arcadie.

“There's another like it. The contents of which are truly important to our Imperial heritage. The second box was recently stolen. We want you to track it down.” Marion explains.

“Didn't you know? There are a lot of boxes in this galaxy. Find a specific one sounds difficult. And costly.” You add.

“Quite the contrary. Our intelligence network's been able to follow the thief's movement to a general location. And the boxes have been fitted with anti-theft devices. We can give you the frequency to locate the treasure more closely.” Marion tells you.

“And what about this thief? I've gone up against a catburglar before, and let me tell you, I didn't come away without a few scratches.” You mention. You leave out the fact most of those scratches weren't sustained in the fight, though...

“Oh, we have reason to believe this particular thief won't put up much physical resistance at all.” Marion tells you. There's an uncharacteristic glint in her eye, like she knows more than she's letting on.

“Okay. I accept this extraordinarily important box retrieval mission. Let's talk about my pay.”

“I'm authorised to pay you fifty florins, non-negotiable.” Marion says bluntly.

In UC, that's good money, but you're not about to settle for the first offer. In work and in play, you'd successfully negotiated non-negotiable situations to your favour.

“For that little coin, I assume dinner with Empress Katherine's included?” You smirk.

“Very well. I have a new proposal.” Colombe says. “Either take the fifty florins, or I'll have you shot and thrown out the airlock for disrespecting Her Holy Majesty.” The young woman says, a quiet anger in her voice.

“You drive a hard bargain, Marion. Fine, I'll take the original sum. And undertake my task with joy in my heart, for I'm serving the interest of Her Holy Majesty, Empress Katherine D'Arcadie!” You announce. You're curious how well Imperials pick up on sarcasm. Hopefully, not enough that they'll space you for it.

“You've got your mission. I suggest you return to your ship and get started. Frequency'll be in your ship's computer before you get there” The blonde says firmly.

You know when you've exhausted your welcome. For once, you decide to leave promptly.

“Nice catching up, Cap.” You drawl, playfully saluting her at the door.

“Just some advice: Don't return to Imperial space without the box.” Marion warns you.

Aw, is that a note of concern in your voice?, you think. Maybe I do have a chance, after all...

Heading out, you sit down at your ship's computer. True to the captain's word, co-ordinates to a system and a frequency to scan for when you arrive.

Within minutes, you've undocked from the Témérité and are heading out of New Arcadia. Possibly for the last time, depending on the outcome of your mission. The prospect saddens you so much you can't even cry about it.

During the several hours it'll take to reach the search area, you sit, feet up on the console, and daydream. Inevitably, your mind turns to thoughts of pussy, and it seems your fellow Captain is fresh in your mind.

You'd sure love to give that skin-tight jumpsuit of hers a run for it's money in squeezing her body, you think as you idly stroke your cock. Certainly your privates'd stand to attention if she marched in right now.

As you wank to thoughts and fantasies of the blonde-haired beauty, it occurs to you she's wasted serving the Empire. In the Intergalactic Peacekeeping ****, she's be a postergirl. In a mercenary outfit, she'd be the boss' old lady, if not the boss herself. On your ship, she'd be... naked, hopefully. And greatly receptive to 69ing.

As you while away the time, you even include your ultimate employer, Empress Katherine, in your fantasies. You haven't really seen her outside of Imperial coin and a few low-quality holos, but she's reported to be a great beauty. The possible bias of her subjects/believers aside, you're inclined to agree. The D'Arcadie line were famous for their looks, among other things.

Unfortunately, as initially pleasant as it is to fantasize over Marion and the Empress sharing your cock, or experimenting with each other, despite your best efforts, Katherine's place keeps being taken by the previous God-Empress. Having only died seven years previously, Marie VIII was a dour, stout woman of some years. You suppose she just springs to mind a little more readily than Katherine, having been on the throne most of your life. Needless to say, it's a bit of a bonerkill.

Loosing your grip on your flaccid cock, you commiserate upon the unsatisfying nature of sexual fantasies. Never as convincing as the real thing, never as good and prone to be punctured by the most errant thought.

Instead of finishing the job, you stand and leave the ship on auto-pilot while you wander about, checking up on various subsystems. At the very least, your failed attempt means you won't have to wipe down the console again.

Arriving at the barren and seemingly lifeless system, you scan on the specified frequency. Within minutes, you have to signal pinpointed as coming from an asteroid only a few hundred thousand miles away.

You breath a sigh of relief that it's all going as easily as Marion promised it was. An extended scavenger hunt out in who-the-fuck-knows-where was not exactly how you wanted to spend your time.

As you draw near to the asteroid, you notice some promising readings. A forcefield has been set up within the asteroid, so as to allow breathable atmosphere.

Heading to the airlock, you outfit yourself with an oxygen supply, jetpack and your guns. You'd rather have them on you, even if the thief does prove to be harmless.

With a hiss of de pressurisation, you're spacebound. You're a little rusty on the finer controls of the jetpack, but you manage to make it inside the caverns of the large asteroid without dying horribly. And really, that's all that matters sometimes.

The rather sudden change in atmosphere as you enter the forcefield makes you dizzy for a moment. Your head spins, and you look down, focusing on the rock beneath you as you adjust. You keep the mask firmly on your head, though. Taking it off before you know the lay of the land would be a rookie mistake. You feel a pounding in your head, no doubt a symptom of the rather stale oxygen in your tank.

Though you can see the barest signs of habitation, you've yet to find any signs of the box, or the thief.

That changes when you round a rock pillar. You're sure you see the valuable artifact resting on the ground. You dash to it, keeping low and your eyes peeled for any sign of the master thief.

When you reach the little nook, you're perplexed. There was nothing there but rocks. Funny, you were sure you saw the royal seal...

“So, you finally made it?” A familiar voice comes from behind.

Rounding the stone pillar comes Marion Colombe, blonde hair, blue eyes, bodacious body and all.

“Marion, what the hell?” You say, at a loss for words at her sudden and inexplicable appearance.

“Gotta come clean, Derrick. There was no other box.” She admits.

“Coulda told me that before I travelled a few lightyears.” You huff. “If there was no contract, why send me out here?” You ask, tension flaring up throughout your being.

Said tension is instantly dispelled by Marion's actions. Stepping close to you, she yanks the zipper of her jumpsuit down, exposing some tantalizing cleavage, before leaning up to whisper in your ear:

“Well, I could hardly fuck you aboard the Témérité.” She says with a devious smile, before kissing you.

I wouldn'ta minded, part of you thinks. The other, larger, more lusty part of you focuses more on returning Captain Colombe's affections. As you make out, your hands entwine themselves in Marion's blonde locks. The sensation the silky follicles in your hands is something else. It feels more like spun gold than any hair you've ever felt.

“I've wanted you ever since we met.” Marion admits with a gasp, as your lips part. Eager to taste her skin, your mouth trails kisses down from her collarbone to the generous cleavage the officer has on display.

With a tug on her uniform, you free Marion's ample tits, exposing them to the artificial atmosphere. It makes her nipples perk up nicely. You greet each one with a little kiss.

“You like my tits?” Marion laughs. Maybe it's unusual in her civilization that a man show such attention to a pair of large breasts. “Wanna fuck 'em?” She asks sensually.

“God, yes.” You admit freely. And just about every other part of her body that could be fucked, in fact.

“Get your cock out, then.” Marion commands. As if you were an enlisted man on her ship, you oblige instantly, scooping your rock hard prick out of your pants.

“Such a nice cock!” Marion says, rudely grabbing and jerking your member. You're graceful enough not to reprimand her. “Imperial men fuck like old grandpas. Why don't you show me how it's done?”

“Will do, Captain!” You gleefully say, as Marion positions your erect prick between her breasts.

Grabbing her tits, which is no small feat, since they're more than a handful, Marion encases your cock within and begins what rapidly turns into the best titfuck you've had all week.

Hands behind your back, you bite your lip and curl your toes, trying to withstand the pleasure you're receiving. When it's your first time with a woman you've butted heads with, you simply refuse to cum first. Let her titfuck you a while longer, then you'll give the Imperial officer something to moan about.

That's what you tell yourself, of course, but Marion simply doesn't let up with her titjob. You find yourself having to reclassify just how excellent she is with her tits: This is definitely the best titfuck you've had in a Terran month.

In fact, if someone were to ask you exactly what heaven was, in the state you're in right now, you're fairly sure you'd answer “The space between Marion Colombe's tits.”

She's truly pulling out all the stops. As your cock forces it's emerges from the top of her splendid valley, Marion brings her mouth down, sucking your cock for the briefest, most wonderful of moments.

Then suddenly, she stops.

Free from it's pillowy confines, your cock feels alone and incomplete. You're beginning to feel blue-balled, until Marion dismisses that feeling with five sweet little words.

“I need you inside me!”

Your heart practically skips a beat as Marion tugs her jumpsuit off her legs, exposing all to you.

“Who are you and what have you done with Marion Colombe?” You grin, finding your knees.

Your positions reversed, and the Imperial standing over you, you bring your mouth to her cunt, kissing and licking her sweet, sweet lips. Meanwhile, you reach down to frantically masturbate with one hand, and cup the officer's ass with another.

“Fuck me, Derrick. Fuck me then let's leave this place behind.” She urges you.

You'd dearly like to. In fact, you're moving to, laying on your back against the cold stone and pulling her atop you.

But, something's niggling you. Marion's never called you Derrick in any of your prior meetings. It's always been Halloway this, Halloway that. Of course, she's never given you nigh-on the best titjob of your life, either. Maybe it's a time of firsts. Maybe it's nothing, but...