A humiliating defeat

Thinking fast, You point your borrowed pistol at your captive's head. One of the walking-tanks, his armor painted with green flames and lightning bolts, steadies a cone-shaped cannon. It lets out a low hum and your weapon is immediately yanked away to clang against the assailant's device. Large metal hands grab you from behind, dragging you away from your hostage and leaving you squirming in their iron grasp.

The hands lift you up and your legs flail as you cling to control of your situation. "Hey there, gang bitch," your captor's gravel voice crackles. "Think you can bust up our crew and just get away with it. We have some fun planned for you."

This trap is too well executed. Pearl must have let them know you were coming; she was certainly loud enough.

Just when you wonder if the '**** submissive' thing was all an act, she scampers to the green lightning adorned armor and teases "what about me, I helped her. I need to be punished too."

The chuckling sounds like grinding steel when it comes out of helmet's green speakers. "Oh we heard. Imagine Captain Thane's surprise when your weekly masturbation broadcast was interrupted by you cavorting with the enemy. She ordered us to be sure you are disciplined properly." You see the optics cycle as he examines her nightie clad body.

During their foreplay, you manage to tear yourself away but lose your bandoleer and most of the upper remains of your jumpsuit. Like a cat, you land in a crouch and search for a weak point. You still have rags draped over your wrists and neck, but aside from those scraps your skimpy bra, decorated by a purple frill above and below the crimson cups and straps, is the only garment on the upper half of your enticing body. "Oh no, girly ripped her clothes," jeered one of the faceless figures.

A distorted laugh comes from another set of armor, decorated with crude breast drawings on its shoulder. 'Boob shoulders' suggests "She probably wanted to show off that bra she wore just for us." You start to blush. Back on The Breaker, the lingerie bra with its plunging neckline had been so helpful in teasing Melodia when you had made your conscripted maid watch you jill yourself to the orgasm she couldn't have. However, it feels very unsuitable surrounded by properly armored soldiers.

You look around as the four of the five statues form a box around you. The fifth remains a few feet away a hand clamped around your 'guides' wrist. Pearl is bent forward slightly, her round ass towards you. 'Green-lightning' is spanking her; his gloved hand makes a dull slapping sound against her booty. She shows her appreciation by moaning and shaking her ass after each smack.

There is a slap on your own ass. The walls of your improvised cell are getting frisky. Spinning around, you try and watch them all, but the gloved hands that grab your hips catch you completely off guard. You yelp and try to jump, but you're held firmly. The strong hands grope your thinly covered ass for a few seconds, then grab the remains of your jumpsuit and shove you forward. You trip as your pants are ripped from your legs, exposing your lower half and leaving you in a compromised position.

You catch yourself before you land on your face. Laying on the ground, you prop yourself up with your arms. With your back arched and your slightly bent legs stretched out behind you, you look up at the brutes. Dangling in your revealing bra, your boobs almost brush the floor. You feel **** sprawled along the floor at their feet, like a mermaid circled by sharks.

You are fully aware of how little of your ass is covered by the Brazilian style panties and the quarter inch frill 'skirt' dangling from their waist band. 'Boob shoulders' keeps cackling "looks like the whore wore matching lingerie just for us."

"Whatcha hiddin' under there?" one of the soldiers asks, tapping your helmet.

"Find out," comes from a helmet marked 'E-1.' It is the first time you hear the leader's voice. It is in a deep, menacing yet even tone.

Her armor is different than the others. She has the same bulky limbs and helmet made from shifting, overlapping plates, but her aptly named breast plate is much more slender. Complete with nipples and belly button, the single piece of shiny black metal is sculpted to look like her nude torso. Based on its size you guess it's nearly skin tight. A hair line seam separates her toned belly from her crotch armor, which had a perfect slit sculpted on it. The leader's chest looked even slimmer compared against her oversized arms and helmet.

The subordinates oversized gloved hands reach forward "I hope you aint a but-her-face." He yanks your last piece of armor off and whistles. "You don't disappoint foxy, lookin' sexy no matter how pissed you are." As your fiery hair tumbles out, a few stray locks hang over your glowering face.

"Foxy is right," says a synthetic voice behind you. "Loving that red fur." To punctuate the point your hair is tugged a few times. You turn your head to glare daggers at the teasing asshole. Coincidentally, knives and various blades are painted across the soldier's helmet. Even its antenna is decorated to look like a stiletto blade.

Not quite beaten, you rip your hair free and jump to your feet adopting a kickboxing stance, only partly aware of how out of place you look in lingerie surrounded by black-steel power armor. 'Dagger face' takes his helmet off revealing a human head with jarhead hair. A white scar decorated his face from his lip almost to an eye.

Outside of your armored box you can see 'Green-lightning' and Pearl kneeling. "Traitor's whore," he addresses her, "I think I should increase your punishment. Do you want to be pounded by a rod?"

"I would find that just terrible," she replies in playful tone and licked the walking-tank's armored thigh, "but the captain would approve of your initiative." His cod piece hits the floor, and a zipper in his under armor revealed a delicious looking Oo'lick cock that the starving milf engulfs with her mouth.

Your view was blocked when the four remaining members of epsilon squad close in around you. Gloves pinch and fondle you. You do your best to block and deflect their groping hands. When your attempts to fend them off prove ineffective, you try to ignore the armored paws, but the textured surfaces rub your skin in just the right way. Then there is the touch of bare hands, callused and unknown hands. They worm under your panties to find a damp pussy. You try to get your hands between the violators and your intimate slit, not sure if you are trying to protect it or just masturbate. But the unrelenting intruders deny you access to your own damp pussy.

Another helmet comes off; this time it was hiding the masculine face of an alien race you can't quite name. He leans in to kiss you; his twin tongues tickle your face and probe your mouth. You try to resist him, resist the tingling arousal that comes from experimenting with a new species. You have a **** to rescue after all. But the fingers between your legs make that difficult to stay focused

Despite your struggles the mechanical assisted arms probe your body. Your own hands uselessly slide off of cool steel, making you feel even more **** and frustrated; cleated gloves manhandle your tits. One studded rubber glove drives you crazy, pushing your left nipple back and forth as your melons are massaged. When they tire of tormenting you, the hands burst your bra open and pull your arms back. Your arms are locked behind you by the unbreakable grip. More hands slide your panties down to your boots. Unseen lips kiss the back of your neck.

A gap forms in your gang grope allowing the squads leader, 'E-1' to eye you. In turn, your eyes scrutinize her. It may be a trick of the light but her boob-armor does seem to bend and flex like ridged rubber as she approaches.

The squad pushes you forward intending for you to fall down again. But you are a little more ready and break the panties tangled around your boots. Now nude except for those boots you straighten and elbow the helmet-less soldier behind you; he is still carrying your bandoleer. You grab your second to last working grenade, a tentacle grenade, and throw it at the squad leader. If you can get passed this suit of power armor, there is still a chance.

To your astonishment, 'E-1' catches it. And an instant before it detonates, throws your own grenade back at you. The synthetic tentacles start to emerge midair and wrap around you on contact. Your left arm is pinned to your side. Tendrils work around your legs but your right arm is free. Struggling would only activate the tentacles; on the other hand, if you wait, they may seek a new target.

"Oh come now," says 'E-1' taking of her helmet. Her angular face is chiselled with permanent disdain. She has short black hair aside from a six inch braid formerly pressed to the top of her head now dangling from her temple. "It's much more fun when you struggle." A shock stick touches your shoulder. In response you grunt and twist but manage to keep your composure. The tentacles don't; you feel them start to tighten, and one threads between your ass cheeks and rubs against your pussy.

The next shock is to the back of your left knee. Your left leg spasms and you crumple. Landing on your knees, you present your right breast to be attacked by another shock stick. Bolts of pain lance through your exposed tit flesh. They only subside when the dyke of a leader switches to torment your other **** orb. To escape the shock stick you squirm back and fall over. The writhing tentacles, fully recognizing you as a target, start molesting you in ****.

Giving up your last bit of control you struggle wildly as three of the brutes **** you with their sticks. It isn't overly painful but each sting reminds you of how helpless and **** you are. Insult is added to injury, and you feel your own whip strike your body. Fried as it is, it still stings.

Your thrashing drives the slithering tentacles to secure you more tightly. They **** your naked thighs apart while binding your crossed ankles together. You left arm is still pinned to your side and your right wrist in held behind your head. Your flat belly is free from tentacles, but one makes two loops around your right breast and another loop around your left before creeping towards your mouth tightening as it does so.

The flexing of artificial muscles is maddening especially the one cinching itself against your crotch. Pussy, anus penetrates your thoughts, pussy, anus, as it pulses pussy, anus. There is more humiliation as the tentacle stretching up from your cleavage pushes into your mouth and tangles with your tongue. God Damit, I was so close, You think to yourself, boiling with frustration. Who the hell does this dyke think she is, catching a grenade.

'E-1' has removed her vag-plate and opened the zipper underneath. Gripping either side of her crotch opening, her power armored arms tear it wider. Making her moist pussy, neat square of pubic hair, and surrounding taut skin very visible.

You watch as her exposed cunt approaches, taking up most of your vision. She squats down her obsidian armored legs flank your head. She rubs her slit against the tentacle forcibly frenching you. Her actions press the tenta-tongue deeper into your mouth. "Damn," she whistles to herself "those Semigol make the best toys. Makes me wish we hadn't blown up your ship."

You hear Pearl's voice pipe up in the distance "yes, I'm sure my chem scanners would have found some nice GAlufhh gak gak." Whoever she is with doesn't want her using her mouth for talking.

If you like it so much, you grenade catching bitch, why don't we switch places. Fuck, that tentacle rubbing your cunt then rosebud is driving you crazy.

Leaving a few drops of her arousal behind, your tormentor rises. From behind her back, she pulls out a set of bolt cutters. She spreads the blades and they glow with energy. "That tentacle is nice, but I'll bet your tongue can do better," she explains snipping off the tentacle. In programmed **** the others tighten; the one around your breasts is particularly painful. You cry out while her cunt once again descends. Kneeling on top of you, she forces it into your open mouth.

Aggravated, you bite down. "Yeah that's it twat-face I want it rough," she loudly growls to you and probably half the ship. Her armored thighs squeeze your head; her crotch grinds against your face. She grabs a fistful of your flowing red hair and pulls it up.

Your frustration became sexual long ago and you attack the toned crotch sucking and biting. Your tongue hate-fucks the salty slit. Her passion doesn't let up, and your jaw, spread open by her twat, begins to ache.

In the back of your mind you remember you need to breathe. Wisps of air, tainted with her sweaty musk, can barely make it to your nostrils. You thrash about in arousal and desperation.

Ecstasy in her voice, she informs you "you are one wild ride. We would have so much fun if you were mine." The last bit is distorted by her helmet, "but you're not." She stands up. You catch a satisfying glimpse of your thin bruise outlining her pubis where your teeth had pressed into her.

Panting with passion, you see everyone has their helmets back on. Even the milfy-slut, her naked neckline splattered with a ruby necklace of Oo'lick jizz, is wearing an emergency civilian mask.

You figure it out after you have gulped in too many lungfuls for it to matter. Shame and rage burn in you; they've used your last grenade against you. The embarrassment of having your own weapons used on you is something you should be used to by now, but you aren't. The sleep gas is already pulling your eyelids shut. You fall asleep feeling beaten and humiliated.