Shit, captured!

There is a click, and a bright light ruins any hopes you have for a gentle awakening. You blink against the blinding white while trying to make sense of your surroundings. There are handcuffs locking your arms around a frame behind your back. You're in a sitting position, though not on a seat. Metal bands around your ankles and thighs hold you up and keep your legs spread. There is something wet splattered across your shoulder and upper arm. You turn your head; it smells like the Bantam squirted her jizz across that part of your flightsuit. The sniper's psychedelic image surfaces in your memory; she must have been quite the shot to get her cum on you from that distance.

At least, you're still wearing your flightsuit. You look down. Your eyes, almost adjusted to the light, can see your lacey bra and panties as well. They're disheveled though, and the front of your flightsuit is zipped completely open, indicating a very intimate search. You don't feel the small pistol nestled in your butt anymore, perfect.

"Good morning, sleepy head." There are two feminine silhouettes between you and the blinding light. "You were thinking of doing some very naughty things." The one that is talking walks to your left. She wears tight hot pants over pantyhose and a pale pink blouse with black blazer. She has a bowtie, and the top button of her tight blouse is done up, but the next four aren't, providing a tantalizing keyhole view of her cleavage. "Hello, I am Tracey Williams. I handle various administrative tasks for the Goddess."

The other woman remains silent and concealed by the light, but you think you spot antennae atop her impressive hourglass silhouette. So the nark is going to help with your interrogation. You can't blame your captors; telepaths are a good, if not very fun, way to get information out of a captive. That makes things even more perfect; you're going to have to find some limitation to her abilities if you're ever going to get the upper hand.

On the wall to your right, a floor-to-ceiling mirror stands. Its copper surface has a very pleasant look, light doesn't reflect as much as ripple off. Your interrogator glances for a second at the mirror, asking permission from someone behind it. "My employer has a few questions for you," she informs you.

"Great," you scoff, "I will do my best to answer them honestly."

"We'll see," she looks at you doubtfully. "Who knows you are here?"

Your mind races. There was that new group that everyone was saying had potential. They got to be enough to scare these people. "The Ruby Mercenaries," you blurt out.

She sighs like you made a joke, then looks at you with disbelief. After a second's pause she just starts laughing. "Oh honey," she says with thick condescension, "That's the lie you're going to go with? You must not have gotten a good look at the ships on the way in." You can't think of a reply. "I guess you are right," she says, chuckling. "Captain Thane and her crew know you're here. I will rephrase the question," when her face eventually becomes more serious, she adds "Is anyone going to come looking for you?"

No, is the obvious answer. You don't broadcast your movements. While you try to think of another lie the silent figure stomps twice.

You get a full view of your interrogator's cleavage as she leans forward and whispers in your ear "thank you Lapis." The image of her two soft melons perfectly pressed together is stolen away when she glances at the mirror. "But I think we want Natalia to use her words." You stare at her, understandably confused. She just smiles back and says, "don't worry your pretty little head about it."

You realize you must be acting as a communication surrogate for the telepath. That means she's probably still smothered in her sensory deprivation. The image of her sexy body all deliciously mummified dances alluringly around your mind, churning up the desire to peel off her latex layers and do devious things to the body beneath, maybe something with candles. Yes, expose her flesh just for a moment then coat it anew with a thin layer of wax.. Much to your delight the alien's silhouette writhes slightly as you fantasize about her. Dominating a telepathy has some intriguing possibilities and challenges.

Alas Tracey isn't party to your musings. "Answer that question for us, Natalia," she coolly requests while pulling a clawed gauntlet onto her hand. You remain silent, and the pointed tips start prodding you. When drumming the tiny finger-knifes on your chest doesn't get a reaction, she pulls your suit further open. Then she tugs your bra up to entirely expose your breasts.

The pinpricks of pain rake across your tender tit flesh, making you twist and fidget. Frustrated, you squirm openly when her claws start gently tapping your nipple. You think you see the telepath twitch a little too. Tracey pinches your sensitive nub between two of the points, forcing you to break your silence. "Grahhh, Fuck!" you growl, "no-one! No-one is coming to rescue me!"

"And you're at Goddess's mercy," Tracey said beaming with pride.

I still got some tricks you think and then immediately try to think of something else before Lapis can snitch on you again.

"All fun aside," Tracey says circling yon, "we have some business to take care of." Still behind you, she gives your ear a lick and whispers "Lapis, I'm going to take your gag out now."

Tracey approaches the other figure and touches her shoulder, making the shadow flinch. Their back-lit bodies overlap; there is wet sound and a ballgag falls to the floor. Kissing sounds follow and merge with the slurpy sound of a moist pussy being fingered.

When Tracey steps away, she admits "I got a little carried away there." A little awkwardly, She clears her throat. "Serious business... Melodia said you were probably going to take her to the Syndicate, and my research shows you have done a fair many jobs out of Terrador Station. Can you think of any weaknesses the crime capital might have?"

They aren't seriously thinking of going after the Syndicate? Command-trix Lush tried that and ended up giving an apology fuck to ever one of Terrador's fifty thousand citizens. It was an immense logistical operation organized by her chief aid to avoid a similar fate. After which Lush ended up a freeuse ornament outside of what was once her colony's capital building. The Syndicate is always looking for a new planet brothel. You shake your head. They allow ****, thieving, and shootouts, but the Syndicate doesn't tolerate anything that threatens the security of their lawless station. The hourglass alien answers for you, "the subject can't think of anything."

"Really?" Tracey looks back at her casual make-out partner. Focusing on you again she adds, "I thought you were more observant. That's okay; Your ship logs say you were on Neo Nova II a few weeks back. Tell me about the Syndicate's safehouses there. What code words do you use to access it?"

Panic tightens like a vice on your ribs. Betraying the Syndicate is okay if it isn't something they really care about, but helping a rival like this is a good way to spend the rest of your life in a tiny box with only three openings. You try to stay calm; you'll get into a bargaining position, give just enough information to get free, and run, preferably with Melodia.

"Well?" Tracy looks down at you.

You struggle to keep the codes out of your thoughts, recalling a memory of Melodia instead.

"It's a bizarre slang to confuse those pesky Neo Nova spy drones."

You are well aware of the unconventional ways the Syndicate avoided the law on Neo Nova but **** it from your mind. Melodia had knelt in the dungeon **** and ****, the chain still clinging to her nipples by pitiless clamps. She had crawled quickly to your throne, only stopped at the last second when your crop had blocked her access to your moist sex.

"They use questions like 'how many pleasure priestesses are you delivering?'" prompts Tracy, flexing her clawed fingers.

The response lingers in the corners of your mind, but isn't important. You had answered Melodia's doe eyes by saying "you will lick me once and only once after each strike." She was a natural clam-eater following every blow to her ass with a skilled lap, ignoring no part of your sensitive dish. She had been a tease about it too, rarely giving your clit attention. Her tongue would stop just short of your pleasure bean or casually slide beside it.

"'Is that distance I smell?'" quoted Tracy, her cold claws sliding up your belly to squeeze your tit. The answer wasn't important.

It had taken all your effort to not rain down blows like Melodia's heart-shaped ass was a marching drum, but you managed to control yourself, even pausing for what felt like a lifetime until Melodia had looked up at you longingly, pleading "please ma'am, punish me." Her begging look, the crack that followed, her joyous squeal and that long tongue slurping up your door bell still gives you warm and fuzzy chills.

There is an aroused gasp from your telepathic friend. "I am sorry Goddess. I am sorry Miss Williams," she whimpers. "The subject knows the responses but is thinking of other things. I cannot reach the answers."

That's right bitch, and I can do this all day. Longer really, you have two full days of fun fresh in your memory and that's just from one ****. The image of your strap-on about to pound Melodia's anus fills your mind as you prepare for another bout of mental blocking.

Tracy approaches the whimpering co-conspirator and quietly soothes her. Spotting weakness in your interrogators, you say "once Melodia and I are safely back on my ship, I'll answer whatever questions you have."

"So it's a deal you want." Tracey returned to you with a frown on her face. "How about this..." Her steel clad fingers gently caress your pussy. Working between your softest folds, they start the flowing of your sex juices. "Be a good girl and I'll give you a mind blowing orgasm." She looks at you questioningly. When you stay silent, the metal tips of her fingers poke hard into your left labia. You cry out in shock and pain, barely hearing Lapis's echo-squeal. "It's the best deal you're going to get."

As you recover, the cold metal fingers gingerly dip into your soft tunnel eliciting natural lubricants. A low moan escapes your lips. This bitch knows her interrogations, but that doesn't mean you're going to roll over for her.