Taking a Load Off

Cool rain trickles down your arched back, as you lie forward against Bellextra’s bound body, smothering her with your satisfaction. There is a warmth permeating you that has everything to do with her dick, still buried in your cooch. You exhale deeply into the crook of Bellextra’s neck and idly knead her pillowy bosom as you bathe in the after glow. Every once in awhile, your thighs tighten a little against Bellextra’s pelvis, mostly to tease the former domina. In spite of the murderous pirates, **** driven tribals and tentacle monsters wandering the planet, you feel no need to rush. The only thing that you would get your ass up off of Bellextra right now is a loal stick. You don’t smoke, but that just sounds so good right now.

There had been a brief attempt to get down to business after such a satisfying climax. Exceptionally brief. You didn’t even manage to get Bellextra’s tip loose before giving up and settling in for snuggles with your bound lover. Bellextra is, for the most part, behaving herself. She gives the obligatory struggles of course. She wouldn’t be worth taking if she just gave up after all. But the squirming seems suspiciously ineffectual, and the feel of her skin sliding across yours is exceptionally sweet.

Sadly all good things must end and you manage to lift yourself free of your new favorite toy with a titanic **** of will and a wet plop as Bellextra’s still hard shaft slips out and slaps against her tone tummy. “Don’t go anywhere, I’m going to see if there is anything the aliens left behind.” She only squeals in response as you give her scrotum a quick pinch.

Overall, it seems as though the pirates' booty was well plundered. From the abundance of smashed crates, it can only be assumed that Mal’s months of waiting here had led him to believe this would be another long term engagement. There was enough supplies here to last the pirates quite a while. Sadly the aliens destroyed whatever it was that they didn’t carry. Broken scanning equipment, ration packs and tents scour the clearing like the remains of a toddler’s play time. To be fair, the pirates were probably the ones to destroy the tents and if someone didn’t know any better, those survival rations could easily be mistaken for a child's building blocks. Still, it would have been nice if they had left you something for your trouble.

Even the grav-sleds have been mauled, which is impressive since they have solid superium frames. Most of them look like the two Squid-Rex’s played tug of war with them leaving stretched and torn metal across the landscape. You managed to find one relatively intact. It looks more like a smashed can than a piece of heavy machinery, but all of the insides are still inside. In spite of it’s unfortunate state of disrepair, it is the only thing of any value left behind. As far as prizes go, it’s nothing that will earn a place on your trophy rack, but it has been a looooooong day. Right now, some time off your feet seems just as good as pirate treasure.

Some extended tinkering is just enough to coax some life from the power pack. With a shudder, the sled rises half halfheartedly. Unfortunately, it seems as though there is no forward propulsion system. You go through each system, and it's not there! Which is of course stupid. Who would build a cargo lifter that doesn’t move. It needs some sort of way to make it go. As it stands now, the only way this thing is going to get to the Breaker is if you push it there yourself. The damn thing is just a floating pile of junk.

Frustrating, but there it is. It's going to be a long walk back. You turn to collect Bellextra when your foot snags, planting you face down in the mud. Not for the first time, you are exceedingly glad all your enemies are defeated, and thus unable to witness your embarrassing predicament. In an impressive display of self control, you manage to keep your expletive laden tirade against this anonymous object to one sentence. Admittedly, it's a run-on sentence, and if you hadn't discovered what it was that tripped you, you definitely were going to keep going. Still, self control.

Your foot caught on a heavy bar, with several magnetic form pads designed to attach to a corresponding unit. Specifically, corresponding smart cuffs. You’ve found a **** yoke. When you lift it, you notice the attached bondage harness hanging down from the device. A harness with extra straps. Granted, there’s no such thing as too many straps on a bondage harness, provided all the fun bits are left exposed, but these don’t seem to connect to the harness itself. Maybe to suspend them or…. You look at the grav sled. You look at Bellextra. You smile.

“Bellextra,” you call with the sweetness of the cat who sees a canary. “I have something for you…” Bellextra immediately panics. She can’t see what you're going to do to her, the tentacle tree forcing her head the other direction, but only an idiot wouldn’t recognize the tone in your voice.

The wonders of modern slaving technology! With magnetic locks on the restraints even Bellextra’s prodigious strength is a moot point. Once the tendrils holding her are sliced through, her wrist and neck spring to the appropriate recess on the yoke like a snapped rubber band. It takes some doing getting her off of that tentacle tree, said animated vegetable being unwilling to release such a tasty morsel but it is no match for the combat knife. Once free it is a nice challenge to **** the wriggling captive into the harness. She seems determined to power through the repeated disciplinary shocks but you don’t mind. You were mostly zapping her for funsies.

When you’re finally done you drag the haltered **** to the sled. The harness is actually a very clever design. It has wide bands across your crimson pony's chest that evenly spread the heavy grav sled's weight but don't obscure her generous fun bags from your prying eyes or wandering hands. Numerous loops encircle her nuts and titties, pulled tight by cruel springs that make both **** targets bulge adorably. Close examination reveals that these springs are linked to the straps connecting the harness to the sled. When an industrious **** pulls forward, the tension works against the springs, alleviating her junk and tits of some of the crushing pain. Some. But the pirates, bless their incompetent hearts, didn’t stop there! In a small compartment, the equivalent of a glove box, you find a few more additions to the carriage setup.

The first is a massive plug. It’s so big, you didn’t recognize it immediately for what it is. Getting it up Bellextra’s ass proves to be the most difficult part of the setup. It doesn’t help that when she clenches you can bounce a cred-chit off her ass. You have to distract her with some gentle yet vigorous stroking just long enough to get her to relax her sphincter before a quick shove gets you started (and makes her scream). Her red rosebud seems to expand eternally as you push more, more, more! Up inside of her until finally only the heavy cables which power the oversized anal stuffer emerge. Plugging them into the grav sled activates a control panel. “Let's see this dial should be…”

“MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!” As loud as Bellextra is, she just can’t drown out the buzzing of the vibrator.

“Yes, that’s what I thought. Then that would make this…”

“‘PHUUGHK!’”

“The shock feature. Then I guess these are the reins.” Little more than a series of straps with alligator clips on the end, the clamp on to her nipples and nuts, and thread through the rest of the harness. It would be easy enough to quickly thread the viscous clips through the harness before clamping onto her nipples and nuts, but you take your time. Savoring each skin pinching bite into your former rival's soft flesh, Bellextra helpless to do anything but watch. It's also easy to use. When you pull on to the right, her TNT (titties and testes) go right, and by extension the rest of her. When you pull to the left, she follows. Such an elegant system. There also seems to be a parking mode. By locking the reins to a specific hook, you can ensure the **** of pulling the sled forward would solely be exerted on her nips and nuts, leaving your pony to stand with no way to loosen the painful loops save for hope you return soon.

“Well, well little pack mule. Ready to go to your new home?” You stand before Bellextra, admiring her bondage. The yoke keeps her arms up and importantly, her breasts out. The soft mounds of joy quiver like a finely tuned engine under your hound, supported oh so tightly by the bondage harness. Even without those clamps pinching them into prominence, her nipples would no doubt be hard enough to cut glass. Across her body, leather straps bite into her flesh, framing her cock and her ass in lovely web of submission. Her mouth watering cock makes for a fine figure head, pointing the way as truly as the north star. Most delightful is the look on her face. In all your years of bounty hunting, you have seen many mighty foes brought low and each time, their crestfallen faces brought you a satisfaction to rival their subsequent ****. The cumulative joy you received from your many victories pales in comparison to Bellextra’s singular, helpless, pleading gaze.

Wide brown eyes water with pain and denial. She bites down into her gag, a wasted effort to bear her shame. The rain flows down her cheek, droplets flying intermingling with her sweat, tears, and jizz. While the one hand is tickling her fun mound, the other is rapidly stroking her cock. “Who got her ass spanked? Was it you?” She wails in despair. Of all the cruelties you have inflicted upon her and all those still to come, the cutie voice is probably the worst. “Are you a **** Bellextra? Are you a ****?”

She shakes her head and screams in denial. Or maybe at the denial. The harness loops around her base surely puts a damper on cum flow. “Does the **** want to cum? Be honest now.” You pick up the pace. She reluctantly nods. “Tell me you want to cum Bellextra. Use your words”

It looks like she might refuse, but only for a moment. “Ah ‘anna ‘um,” she burbles.

“I want to cum…” You mouth the final word.

With a look that seems as though she is ripping out her own heart she finishes her statement. “Ma’am.”

“Good girl! Do slaves always get what they want?” She can only cry and beg incoherently into her gag as you stop the handy and mount your grav-wagon. “Now,” you grab the whip. “Giddy-up!” With a crack across her muscled back she takes off.

Sigh. You lean back and stretch, taking the time to enjoy the ride. After a big mission like this one, it is important that you don’t forget the little things.