THYROS BOUND
BY GORD

THYROS BOUND

CONTENTS

1	REVELATIONS						5
2	THE GODS HAVE LANDED				16
3	MORE REVELATIONS					29
4	THE RE-TRIAL						45
5	BOUND OVER FOR SENTENCING		52
6	VERDICT AND PUNISHMENT			64
7	THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION			73
8	AMAZON TITS						78
9	TIME LOOPS						87
10	RETURN OF THE AMAZON			92
11	MORE SKULDUGGERY				120
12	BOUND BED TOYS					132
13	786 YEARS LATER					137
14	THE REINCARNATION				147
15	STEPMOTHERS - VERSIONS 2 & 3		156
16	THE GAZRA 3						164
17	PLUG IN APPLIANCE					188
18	EPILOGUE							198



Vaguely The pussy plundering males heard the tramp of feet, and raising their eyes they perceived Dhelia marching a new coffle of Thyros yoked lovelies, she'd chosen the same two luckless ladies to spearhead the column with their daggering sausage shaped boobs. It was a scene of total bliss as all around them women spasmed, writhed, strained, and were tormented beyond any normal levels of endurance. And as the helpless women suffered the indignity of total control, Starburst One continued its ambling passage through the uncharted wastes towards new and possibly even greater adventures for both captors and captives alike. Meanwhile, Sven was mulling the term 'bottled female' in his mind. It had a nice ring to it, and he made a mental note to inform his helpers that from now on all women not in use were to be bottled for storage. No more comfy stasis cubicles for his ladies in waiting. From now on they would journey to the stars as living preserves in his larder of sexual gourmet delights. And as for the fabulous phallic pair, they would be spending a lot of time as wheeled maidens in between bouts as giant female filled penises. A sudden thought occurred to him as his mind focused on the fabulous pair.

"Roger, I know we can't get back through the warp to the place of origin, it's been tried before, but can't we use it go to other destinations? Roger gasped as he thumped into the exploding female filled tube for the umpteenth time. 

"Yes boss, but we'll need something from the destination to use as a frequency fix for the computer to calculate the injection angle into the warp, or else we could end up in another dimension, let alone even further away from Earth." 

"Wouldn't a Thyros slave yoke suffice?" Sven's eyes wandered down to the pulsing tubed female servicing his bloated dick as he waited for an answer. "

Yep! That would do it. Why what yer got in mind boss?"

Sven chuckled to himself and then half turned to his partner in crime, ignoring the fact that his deeply implanted stiffy was augering the woman's pussy sideways. 

"I reckon we should visit Thyros and enrol our two Earth women in a training course, don't you?"

And now we continue as our carnally motivated Space Jockeys embark on yet more bondage mayhem.

'MAY THE FORCE BE WITH THEM'


THYROS BOUND

CHAPTER ONE
REVELATIONS

Starburst continued its aimless meandering through the uncharted wastes of an unknown star system. For weeks now, the fabulous pulsing pair of females rescued from Distress 1 had undergone repeated sessions in the glass modulator tubes, or variously been fitted into Yantockian marriage wheels. The rampant duo were having a ball, and Dhelia, the jealous drone, took it upon herself to continue with the training of her Thyros yoked coffle. It was the sight of these stiffened marching lovelies that set Sven to thinking.

"Roger! That space warp; I suppose there's no chance of getting back through it is there, or using it to our advantage?" Roger paused in the pumping hip thrusts he was directing into the luscious centre of his wheeled maiden.

"We can always go through it boss. The problem is we could come out anywhere and at any time. I'm pretty sure we can get back to the same place by using objects from that place to program the guidance system with the resonant frequency of our system. It should be able to work out a trajectory angle for the entry that will bring us out in roughly the same place by retro plotting our earlier passage and then using the frequency attenuators as a fix." Sven frowned.

"Not with you there good buddy. How will an 'object' help?" Roger puffed up visibly with pride as his IQ of 2000-odd swung into gear. 

"Everything from a specific galaxy or whatever has a resonant frequency, something like a genetic finger print. The mix of wave forms it emits are unique, and recognisable by the guidance system. That's how we used to steer around the galaxy back home. So if we enter at the right angle, the Howick should be able to sniff out the right place to exit. Our last passage will have left a trail of ion debris through the warp. When we exit the other side, assuming we've used a some object or other as the target frequency, we should come out pretty close." That was the best he could do in layman's terms for a dim-witted 154 IQ human being. He could see that Sven had grasped the basics and continued.

"Then the big question is when we will arrive. There's no way we could predict the time shift." Sven mulled that over for a while.

"But surely, we know it is a four hundred year shift, won't that just reverse?" That's the problem boss. We don't know it was a four hundred year shift. The girls came from four hundred years behind our time, but they may have been projected fourteen hundred years and us only a thousand years; .. get it? The warp fields are shifting all the time. I would say that the only reason we ended up in the same time was probably the molecular frequency lock created by two ships built in the same space quadrant, or we may simply have come across some sort of trail that they left and been directed along it. Who knows? Time shifting isn't exactly a perfected science. Sven's brain was running flat out as he tried to absorb the complex theory of time and relativity.

"So let me get this straight. Everything from a certain place resonates at it own special frequency, right?" Roger nodded. "And if we have something from that place, our computer can read the resonant frequency and use it to plot an entry trajectory into the warp that has a good chance of bringing Starburst out at roughly the same place of origin?" Again Roger nodded, although by now he was showing signs of irritation at having his shagging activities interrupted. Sven was silent for a while as he thought, and Roger had just got back into a pussy plundering rhythm when his wheeler screwing was disturbed again.

"How about setting the computer to the resonant frequency of a Thyros yoke Roger?" His humanoid partner gave up on fucking the wheeled Fiona and withdrew from her beleaguered form with a sigh of resignation.

"Thyros?.. Why Thyros boss?"

"Why not," Sven was eying the distant coffle of superbly motivated female bodies. Roger followed his gaze and nodded as the wisdom became clear. 

"I see what you mean boss. Looks like Thyros might be an interesting place. I'll run a scanner over a spare yoke and see if we can get a strong enough signal. Problem is, we'll have to take pot luck on what time we arrive. We could be centuries out." Sven shrugged.

"What's a hundred years or so between slave traders." Roger shrugged and rolled the wheeled Fiona away with a flip of his powerful wrist. They watched as she bowled off into the middle of a large collection bay, and they became entranced as the wheel wobbled and then began to spiral down to rest. It was fun to watch. Fiona was settling in much the same way as a spun coil, an effect that must have been most disorientating. The similarities of her coin spinning performance prompted Sven to make a joke.

"Heads you get to fuck her brains out next; .. tails, I get the honours." The wheel final came to rest with her pert bum presented upward at the core of the wheel. Sven grinned widely. His penchant for butts had come up trumps yet again.

"Tails I think. Now you get on with the calculation Roger and I'll see to feeding the wheels. His plasti-metal sidekick nodded and disappeared in the direction of the control room, whilst Sven turned back to his prize toys..

For a couple of hours, Sven busied himself, connecting hoses and force feeding the two wheeled lovelies, indulging himself in a little pussy and bum mauling as the incapacitated women were pumped full of nourishing high concentrate mush, and evacuated at the other end by the toileting connections. Despite some serious clit squeezing and bottom spanking, not a single sound escaped the doughnut shaped containment. Violently twitching, tightly tensing bottom lobes informed him that regardless of lack of audio proof, the ensconced ladies were not amused. He resumed his spanking until both framed bottoms were a nice shade of scarlet, then after unplugging the toileting tubes, filled the vacant cavities with massive dildos and left them to their own devices.

Starred into a gloriously impotent spreadeagle within their doughnut prisons, the women could only hope that someone didn't forget they were thoroughly plugged and undergoing serious vibro stimulation. As an afterthought, Sven stood both wheels up, and positioning them with pussies facing out, he clamped the two doughnuts of helpless womanhood back to back. That way the exposed and flexing bottoms would mate and pass vibrant sensuously writhing messages back and forth. No doubt each would guess who's bottom they were intimately connected to, and that would make it all the worse for them.

Sven called over Dhelia, who immediately put her weary column of high stepping yoked females into mark time mode, and came over to her master for new instructions.

"Keep this pair rolling around for an hour or two Dhelia, I wouldn't want them to go stale through prolonged inactivity." Dhelia positively glowed at the prospect of having the double wheel to play with, and a grinning Sven watched as the mated females bowled rapidly out of sight, their framed crotch regions a whirlpool of delectable and completely available carnal attraction. No doubt after two weeks in the wheels, they would be most receptive to any new ideas, sooner than be kept like that for an unknown duration. But then again, perhaps a third week just to make sure.

By the time he reached the control room, Roger had already analysed a Thyros yoke and programmed the 884/Howick ready for re-entry into the warp. Without further orders he had taken it upon himself to reverse course and take the giant freighter back to the nebulous rent in space and position it ready for the attempt. Sven stopped off at the vast CD-Rom library on board, and arrived at the control room with a complete history disk of all know facts about the planet Thyros and it's strange culture. However, eager as always to get on with things, he put the disk to one side upon seeing that all was ready.

"You sure about this Rog' old boy?" Roger cast him a scornful look. 

"Of course boss. I've worked it all out to fifteen decimal places.

Image 1

We should arrive within a day's travel of Thyros at worst possible scenario. What century we turn up in is anybody's guess. At best scenario, if I cut it too fine, we'll arrive 600 feet under the surface of Thyros when we auger in. Still want to go through with it boss?"

Sven paused for a second, then nodded.

"Go for it. We can always try nipping back through if it doesn't work out." Roger cast a disapproving eye at him. The irrational behavior of humans always put his micro-chips into the equivalent of a freak out in human terms. He swung the swivel chair back to the console and energised the Bola drive to an exact level of thrust. The waves of visual distortion that were the approaching warp grew huge in the vid screen. Suddenly they were inside. Starburst shuddered violently, frames, bulkheads, decks, all distorting and moving as if made of rubber. For a split second, Sven experienced the same weird feeling of being everywhere at the same time, then as soon as it had begun, they were through and speeding smoothly through the nothingness of interplanetary space.

Sven shook his head to clear the wooziness left from being warped into a trillion unstable molecules, then looked across to Roger who was already hard at work scanning readouts.

"How did we do Rog-? Oh! Shit! We forgot about the bondaged cargo. Don't tell we doubled up again?" Roger put on his best look of superior intellect as he replied.

"I thought of that boss, and I worked out a way to stop that happening by modifying the light speed deceleration support field. They were shielded from the effect. According the head count on the scanners, we've got the same number of bodies we started with." Sven relaxed as the spectre of too much of a good thing vanished. The mechanoid paused briefly to confirm some data, then turned a beaming face to his boss.

"Bang on the nail boss. Thyros off the starboard bow Captain. But- -!" His huge grin waned a trifle.

"But what? Spit it out you plastic twallop."

"But we appear to be here at a time 1300 years before we left Earth in the first place."

Roger gave his boss his best smug 'I told you so' look.

"Thirteen hundred years- - But-! But that means this ship hasn't even been built yet. In fact neither have you, and humans haven't even started flying back on Earth." Roger shrugged his shoulders in a human 'what the fuck do you expect me to do about it' sort of gesture.

"It also gives us a problem in that Thyros is still in a state of anarchy over the male/female battle of the sexes. They haven't even embarked on the slavery bit yet, and from a quick scan I made, they are at about the middle ages equivalent of Earth. There are a few slave women, and plenty of dungeons by all account, but nothing like the Thyros Slave train has even been thought of yet. Apart from that, the population head count seems to be on the decline. The figures coming out of Howick seem to indicate that the race will be extinct in a hundred years or so; .. given projections based on the present decline..

Sven pondered this for a moment, then his eyes alighted on the discarded CD-Rom disc.

"Plug that in the computer Roger and let's see what our time knew about their history. Some uneasy thoughts were beginning to impinge on his mind. "Start with the earliest records we have on them.

The vid screen sprang into life as Roger hit the replay button, and for an hour or more they tried to unravel the mystery of how a race in decline suddenly reversed course and became a flourishing culture of extraordinary pursuits.

At the outset the reasons for dwindling population became obvious. According to historical legend, the battle for gender supremacy was at its height during this time period. The Thyros females were unlike Earth females in that they were overly aggressive and generally of a large stature that was the equal of, and often greater than their male counterparts. As had evolved on Earth, man the hunter had ruled the roost for a couple of millennium, but now the women were rebelling. The first and most devastating weapon they levelled against the men was a withdrawal of their sexual favours. That worldwide stand by all females had now been running for some ten years; assuming the estimated star dates of the historical records were correct.

At first the men retaliated with force, but were quickly fought to a standstill by women who were almost their physical equals, and numerically made up for any slight lack of strength. So the stand off continued, and the numbers of new born dwindled to a trickle. It had been a bloody war if the legends were to be believed, and at the final count, an equal number of both sexes had perished in the various battles.

A sort of uneasy truce had prevailed, and as was normal in unstable races, there had been a massive swing to religion in the search for a new guiding light. Unfortunately, it had only produced a sort of inquisition that had females torturing men in their camps, and the reverse in the male camps. Other odd facts were the emergence of similarities in language. Although the Thyros hieroglyphics bore no resemblance to Earth language, the translator came up with many similar sounding names for items. For instance, the quadruped beast of burden, although only vaguely resembling its Earth equivalent, was called a Hawsa. A Hawsa drew a 'Kaart' .. another weird similarity; .. and so it went on, through any number of odd coincidences. It was a sort of deja vue experience to watch the unfolding tale. The only other commonly used draft animal was apparently the Gril; a Lama type beast of burden, only a much scaled up version of the Earth beast. Gril were often used for pulling jobs.

The mystified crew of Starburst read on as details of a vague legendary change with colossal impact were revealed. Within a decade of Thyron years, society suddenly underwent an incredible change of course that resulted in the emergence of man as a supreme master, and women subservient slaves. The reasons for this sudden inexplicable event were somewhat obscure and seemed to revolve around the religious beliefs of the time, which prevailed right up to the age that the two wandering sex maniacs had initially come from. Apparently the entire world had a split set of Deities, the males worshipped two God's Rog the Great, and Zven the Master. Whilst on the other side were the females with Goddesses Tracera and Feena; .. at least that was as near as translators could get to the Thyros pronunciation. Sven felt the hairs on his neck beginning to stand up as they flipped through the various tomes of data on the disk. Suddenly, he shouted to stop as Roger paged quickly forward. "Go back! Go back about three screens to those idols."

Roger rolled the screens back as requested and then stopped. Confronting them were ancient tapestries and statues of the great Gods of Thyron mythology.

"Oh! My God!" Sven flopped back into his seat, his face a deathly pale as he stared boggle eyed at the screen.

The great God 'Rog' was a spitting image of his plasti-metal sidekick Roger, and Zven was none other than himself. A flipped page produced Tracera and Feena, or as they knew them Tracy and Fiona.

His mind in a turmoil, Sven was at a loss for words as he contemplated the enormity of the evidence. Somehow, their presence in this time had altered the entire development of a planet.

"What the hell do we do now Roger? Can you get us back through the warp?"

Roger nodded in the affirmative.

"No problem boss, but with the same risks as before. But before you go shooting of into another galaxy, .. another time, think on this. We have obviously altered the life-style of this planet, and the future Thyros has since interacted with the Federation. If we bugger off now, all the future will change. We might never be born; .. or built, as in my case. The Federation might never be formed; in fact Thyrons may actually become extinct."

Sven chewed that over for a while, then put his thoughts into words as he bounced them off his buddy.

"So you're saying we should just go ahead with however it turns out, because whatever we did has already happened in the future, so we won't change the outcome?" Roger shook his head at the layman's idea of space and time loops.

"In a nutshell, yes boss. So long as we just go with whatever transpires and don't actively try to change something we already know did happen. We have already done it, and the future Thyros was the result, so what the hell. It ain't such a bad place; .. for a man that is." Again Sven chewed it all over, then turning to his buddy with a huge grin he gave his verdict. "So we best get to it and save this planet from extinction good buddy.

I reckon it's time for the Gods to descend from heaven and sort out the mess don't you?"

Roger attempted to put on his best concerned look.

"You realise boss that we will be condemning all the females on the planet to slavery, and converting a whole culture to the pursuits of using women as slaves, sex objects, whatever?" Roger's features didn't exactly match the words somehow. Instead of what should have been a look of concern, there was a gleam of rampant anticipation. Sven nodded enthusiastically. 

"So what's your point? Great idea don't you think? I love it when a plan comes together."

The plastic palooka thought about it for an additional ten micro-seconds before his morality chip was consigned to the trash-can.

"Let's go boss, us Gods have got work to do." Roger was well into his grammatically incorrect street slang again.

Sven stared at his mechanoid pal with amused disbelief. So much for the built in non-interference chips all mechanoids were equipped with by law. Obviously if they ever got back to their own time, the designers were going to be busy for some time figuring out how lust managed to overcome a prime directive, especially as carnal thoughts were not a feature programmed into the mechanoids rolling off the production line. As for himself, the Federation was hardly likely to take a lenient view of his intervention in the development of an entire planet, but that raised a point in law. Seeing as the Federation hadn't been formed yet, and no laws had been written, how could he be guilty of a crime? That would keep the Federation Court busy for some time figuring out all the angles. Sven called back his eager pal as Roger prepared to leave for the shuttle bay.

"Not so fast Rog' we have a few details to plan out here. We can't just drop in for a chat and a cup of tea. We are arriving God's, so we'd best sort a few details first.

As it happened, it was fifty Earth hours; .. two Thyros days, before they were ready. But the wait had been worth it. First they had to form some sort of plan to convince the elders of both male factions that their way was indeed the correct path. The Northern and Southern Provinces seemed to have different views on how to resolve the war. Then there was the problem of convincing the females to accept their new role in life. Both the conspirators expected trouble on that front, so the females would have to be controlled by force initially.

That posed a serious problem. Neither of them wanted to harm the women, and if they issued the men with weapons, any glitch in the plot could result in a war between the men and women with millions of luscious women being exterminated. Any of Starburst's modern weaponry would be effectively weapons of mass destruction when the only opposition weapon was a bow and arrow. That scenario was a no-go from the start.

Roger came up with the answer. A batch of medical pain nuller guns, converted to short range anaesthetiser weapons, but with a novel alteration. With a little tinkering and a few added component chips, Roger produced a weapon that only worked on females. It was attuned to the nervous system of women, and had no appreciable effect on a male at all. It seemed the perfect choice of tools, and working flat out, they converted the whole consignment, originally destined for Plon-KER 2 medical unit, in a half day.

It was perfect. These weapons placed in the wrong hands were useless as extermination weapons of war, but would permit men to have the upper hand without destroying a single female.

The next task was to prepare the two Goddesses for their debut; .. a task that Dhelia and Roger took on with some relish when Sven outlined the plan. Meanwhile, Sven dug out their best dress Federation uniforms, metallised skin fit coveralls with all the flashy insignia of the corps... Very impressive to a people that had yet to discover synthetic fibres.


CHAPTER TWO
THE GOD'S HAVE LANDED

The main square in a medium sized town was chosen as the place to receive first visit from the Gods. Mainly due to the area required to set down the shuttle, but partly due to its central location on the main continent. Word would spread like the spokes of a wheel as news of the amazing arrival was passed from mouth to mouth; and each telling would gain new additions with the storyteller's own embellishment. Overnight a legend would be born. Sven was calculating that the word of their arrival would spread far and wide within a week, thus easing their task as preconceived ideas and fears made the populace malleable.

And so it was that the people of Dorgon, market town in the Northern principality of Axion cast their fearful eyes skywards as the whining drone of Ion thrusters appraised them of an unprecedented event.

Within seconds the streets were a frenzy of scurrying people and slamming shutters as the scared inhabitants fled indoors and closed shop against this terrifying sky monster. Amidst a flurry of dust the shuttle settled and the thrusters wound down to zero.

'The God's had landed'.

Roger cracked the airlock after a quick atmospheric check, then punched the ramp release button. The outer doors slid silently into the recesses and a ramp slid out to settle onto the ochre brown ground of medieval Thyros. He turned to Sven, and after they had both squared off their uniforms, they marched down the ramp. Both were carrying Anno Guns as Sven had christened the converted anaesthetic devices, and in addition they both had the standard Corps issue sidearm, a Sonic Disrupter. These however were only intended for personal safety, and unlike the other devices were killer weapons. Hopefully they would never be needed. 

Arriving at the bottom of the walkway, they halted and searched for some sort of welcoming committee.

"Perhaps we should have sent out cards first," murmured Roger as they surveyed the deserted square. A curtain twitched here, and a door creaked there as it was eased open a crack for a better look. But nobody seemed inclined to venture forth and greet the strange creatures who had just fallen from the sky.

Sven started nervously as a door to his left slowly opened, and they both swivelled to wait for further developments. From the dim interior, a man of medium stature tentatively sidled out into the sunlight.

"Thank God for curious Rambo types," Sven muttered to his sidekick. The middle aged man, upon finding that he hadn't been shrivelled on the spot, became more adventurous, his own bravado infecting the others who were now creeping nervously out from a multitude of doors and hiding places.

"Notice anything boss? All the women are appearing from one side of the street, and the men from the other. Talk about segregation. Looks as if they each have a side of town, and no-one crosses over." Sven cast his gaze around and confirmed what Roger had said.

"We must have landed on the bloody borderline. Now all we have to hope is that they don't start another war with us in the middle."

"Shall I order Dhelia to bring out the girls now?" Sven shook his head. "No not just yet. Let's see what develops before we unveil the future of Thyros femininity. No sense in putting them in any danger, and let's face it, they can hardly defend themselves in that get up."

In side the shuttle Dhelia flitted around her charges, anxious to prod them into action and watch these two women perform a most delightfully humiliating entrance into the watching arena of Thyros eyes.

With all the facilities of Starburst's maintenance workshops at his finger tips, Roger had produced an excellent modified Thyros slave yoke. Arranged side by side as a yoked pair, Tracy and Fiona were as helpless as any of the maidens who had previously been cavorting around in the original line-ahead yoke train. The forward section of the neck clamping arrangement had been foreshortened; .. without a preceding slave it was superfluous. Roger had contented himself with merely extending the yoke enough to provide the uplifting tit cinching device which was terminated short of the jutting extremities so as to project the twin lemon sculpted ends forward in unsupported splendour. The extension lopped from the front seemed to have been added to the rear; in effect providing a useful cantilever that served as both restraint and posture controller. From a central anchor point situated at the very tip of the rear section, a shining chrome steel bar diverged in two arms that ended as deeply buried anal hooks, held upward and irrevocably implanted into two protesting bottom holes. An adjuster ensured that the rumps were nicely pulled back and spines arched to produce maximum effect in the jutting cinched boobs and rearward thrusting buttocks. Additional anchor points at the extremity of the rear section served admirably as arm sheath lifters.

Perched on skyscraper heels, and forcibly moulded into a ridiculously humiliating stance, neither Tracy nor her partner were looking forward to being paraded in front of the awestruck crowds of a new world. The fact that Sven had opted for a semi naked display was an added trauma. Roger, armed with a spray gun, had coated them from head to foot with a diaphanous sheath of transparent syntho-latex, which after drying gave the appearance that they were encased in overstretched condoms. Unfortunately, the syntho-latex was a non conductor, a property that somewhat crimped Dhelia's style. Bottoms were her preferred target for electro-prodding, but the syntho-latex ensured that this pair were insulated. Only the daggering uncoated nipples of their sculpted breasts were vulnerable to her goad. Still, one had to accept these small trials and tribulations in the pursuit of bound perfection; .. and without doubt, these two were certainly that. Roger had even added a high strength rubber thigh cinch at her bidding, and as a result, any movement by the entrammelled pair produced a delightful squeaking of rubber as the thighs and buttock cheeks minced and mashed. Dhelia grew impatient and prodded her two helpless charges into a high stepping mark time march. The bay immediately filled with the heavenly squeak of stressed chafing rubber and clip-clopping heels as the sadistic drone ignored the daggering glare from her prancing playthings and urged them to a more lively performance.

Image 2

Outside, the adventurous Thyron inched closer, and summoning up all his courage, he reached out a hand to touch the fabric of Roger's silvereen suit. Both space travellers stood still, not wanting to frighten him off. Another from the other side of the square, bolstered by the sight of her daring male counterpart, and not wanting the female fraternity to be shown as any less adventurous, did the same. Soon they were surrounded by curious Thyrons chattering away in a strange dialect and touching the two all over.

Sven clicked on the waist mounted translator, and instantly a translated gabble of converted speech flowed into his ear piece. He grinned widely. Already there was speculation that they were some sort of Gods. Time to cement the image, he thought.

Slipping the disrupter from his belt, he aimed at a small structure in the middle of the square; by the look of it a public execution platform. The disrupter discharged an invisible concentrated beam of sound and instantly the structure crumbled as it was literally vibrated into molecular debris. The crowd shrank back in awe, heads bowed, fearful of looking upon the face of an omnipotent God. That was when Roger triggered the pre- recorded message loaded into the shuttle public address system. Speakers boomed out, sound bouncing from the buildings and reverberating around the square as the crowds stood petrified. Sven nodded to Roger. 

"Very impressive Roger."

They were unable to understand the speech themselves, the translators were unable to decipher electronically generated sound. But that was of little consequence seeing as they had written the spiel.

Wide eyed, the assembly listened as the Gods chastised them for their divergence from peaceful cohabitation, instructing them to return to the ways of God; .. a way that decreed each gender's role and ensured peaceful and beneficial life. Men were destined to be masters, and women their chattels. Without exception, the gathered town folk assumed it was the two silver suited men who were speaking. Special cowls that hid the lower face had been Roger's brainchild to enhance the Godlike mystique, and in addition, prevent the people from seeing that they were not the ones who were speaking.

An angry rumble spread through the female onlookers.

"Get ready for trouble Roger my lad. I think the lady natives are getting restless."

An aggressive looking type to his left raised a bow in their direction, and Roger spun towards the threat with commendable alacrity. His hand rose clutching the modified pain nuller gun and he took aim. There was a barely perceptible hum, and the bow-woman collapsed in a heap.

The crowd shrank back. On the female side there was fear, whilst the men seemed cautiously interested. Roger aimed at one of the men and depressed the trigger. The man staggered slightly, shook his head and then gazed downward, rubbing his chest as he tried to fathom what had caused the weird feelings of numbness.

"Works a treat boss. Zaps the chicks and only gives a mild local numbing to the men. Looks like I got the gene frequency dead on. He reached out with the weapon and offered it to the startled male, butt first. Tentatively, a hand reached out and took the nuller, at first unsure how to handle the complexity of a modern device. Roger obligingly gave him a brief introductory lesson in modern weaponry. The guy pointed the thing at a female across the road and a second woman joined her unconscious mate. 

It started a panic as woman dived for cover in haste, and the few arrows that headed their way were aimed in haste and generally hit roof tops. 

Pretty soon the square was devoid of all female representatives, and Sven beckoned the men over to the prostrate forms of their first foray. 

Using the translators, they appraised the amazed male folk that in fact the women were very much alive and should be made safe before they recovered. The men need no second bidding, and expertly roped the captives with a skill that did them credit. Less than five minutes elapsed before a tree in the square became adorned with two inverted, naked, rope cocooned female forms. A few minutes after that, Sven's prophecy that the women would recover came true as the chrysalis like females began to thrash and flex in an attempt to escape their bonds. They didn't know it, but their demise was a major turning point in the status of women throughout the known galaxy.

Image 3

A council meeting was called in both factions of the town. In the women's half it was a hurried emergency meeting, bedevilled by near panic measures. Whilst in the male council chamber, men sat back calmly and listened to the proposed new order of Thyros' future constitution. The intrepid and delighted space travellers found no dissenting voices, and everything they proposed was seized upon with relish. The entrance of Dhelia and her two prancing females as an example of what life could be like put the final stamp of approval on the whole package.

Mesmerised and obviously in complete agreement with this method of controlling females, the menfolk gathered around, chatting excitedly as Dhelia put her performing pair through their paces. A roar of approval went up as the crate the fettered women had been forced to tow was opened. The first two hundred of Roger's modified nullers lay awaiting new owners.

There was a mad scramble to grab a weapon, and seeing the chaos getting out of hand, Sven called the meeting to order. It was no good going off half cocked on a hair brained world domination orgy. This thing had to be thought out carefully.

First he instructed the armed men to ring the town on a round the clock basis. That way none of the women could escape to spread the news to other female factions. Surprise would be their best weapon. Next he gathered together the blacksmiths and carpenters. Dhelia and her team would assist the carpenters in mass manufacturing crude wooden yokes, public stocks, and windowless storage boxes that could act as solitary confinement containers for the recalcitrant hard-liners. Meanwhile, Roger would help the blacksmiths in the design and mass production of fetters, cages, and some more tortuous devices for holding the female form in a variety of diabolically uncomfortable and impossibly contorted positions. 

After some opposition from those who wanted to go out on a female zapping spree straight away, he finally got over the message that hundreds of recovering unsecured females would present a logistical security problem. They had to be ready when the collecting started.

The elders of the town proved to be very good at working on all the angles, and pretty soon had contingency plans going flat out. There were provisions for compounds to hold the old and not so desirable females; .. they would be the cooks and general dogs bodies who would tend the less fortunate 'lookers' who were wanted for other uses. Then there was the problem of training and sales. A whole new industry was being forged virtually overnight, and although all the males had often fantasized about it, no-one had taken the trouble to consider the logistical problems. These matters would have to be attended to immediately.

Once the initial lust fervour had waned, the nitty gritty of planning got down to some real work.

In all it took them a week to get the first crude infrastructure in place, during which time the females of the town watched from the dubious security of their hastily improvised home fortresses. Unfortunately for them, thatched roof cottages made poor castles.

The day of subjugation finally arrived, and splitting into task forces of zappers and carriers, the teams moved off into town. It was well planned. Each zapper team would select a house and put a man on each corner. A lit torch tossed onto the roof soon had the nubile occupants bailing out, straight into the cross fire of nuller beams. Shooting ducks in a barrel was an understatement for that disastrous day in women's lib. Several millennium later, it was to become known as the Thyros Gender War, a name that went down in infamy with women across the galaxy. Sven and Roger didn't know it yet, but their little planetary caper was destined to shape the galaxies of the future.

Born away by the busy carriers, the spoils of that battle of sexes were dumped unceremoniously in the square, where a holding compound full of eager males swiftly stripped and secured them as they struggled to recover. Some were yoked, some caged, others bound to the dozens of posts that had appeared during the preceding week. The crones were hived off and shackled, prior to being marched away to a collecting compound. It was a total rout for the female population.

Sven and his sidekick watched the whole thing from the raised dais erected for their personal usage. Tracy and Fiona also enjoyed an elevated view of their alien counterpart's demise, but from a position of rather less esteem. Wrists and necks locked into ancient punishment stocks, they stood naked and bent at the waist in abject misery as the galactic development of female equality went down the tubes in a big way.

Dusk fell, and exhausted by the endlessly enjoyable sight of this cataclysmic day for all womanhood, the tired pair cast satisfied eyes around the square. It was wall to wall bare tits, and a sea of curving naked bottoms wherever they cared to look. A few who had already been snapped up by the wealthier members of the town were unceremoniously inverted and stapled spreadeagled to front doors by their wrists and ankles. Row upon row of posted women struggled in futile efforts to escape the exploring hands of the conquering men; .. who for the first time in many years were savouring the textures of females unable to repel their advances. A local fruit proved to be the popular means of silencing angry protests. Shaped like a lemon, the Dorrean fruit was endowed with a prodigious rate of growth, .. after picking. In a matter of hours if placed in a damp environment it could expand by a half inch an hour. Women's mouths were extremely damp, and after an initial insertion of a mouth spreading fruit, they were soon experiencing a jaw snapping gob stopper that only halted its growth when contained forcibly. Fully filled mouths stretched to bursting point seemed to supply sufficient force; .. eventually.

Caged damsels swung from the eaves of every tavern, ears fearfully tuned to the raucous laughter from within as others of their own entertained the partying men. Ensconced in the seemingly inexhaustible stock of yokes supplied by the town carpenters, the yoked women were helplessly used and abused as the victory celebrations got into full swing.

Others were not even that fortunate. At least the yokes provided a modicum of protection. Their luckless compatriots found themselves strapped across beer barrels, bars, tables; .. in fact anything that would hold and shape them to an accessible and easily controllable format. There was an abundance of female bodies, and the deprived males seemed intent on embarking on a gluttony of anti-female activities that would end the liberation movement in one glorious orgy of male self indulgence. 

The ceilings groaned under the weight as female forms, trussed into a doubled format, hung like huge ripe plums in passageways until the time of their picking arrived. Others, selected for attention at a later time, dangled over tables, their exposed rumps hovering a foot above the surface and providing excellent topics of conversation as they were poked, prodded, twirled, and introduced to the humiliating experience of finger reaming in both of their succulent and vulnerable openings.

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Sven and his motley crew of miscreants brought their own personal toys. Tracy and Fiona, already back in their super strong synthetic yokes and form sculpting corsets, were paraded around in front of admiring men. It was clear that they all saw their own future role in life mirrored by the Gods from the skies. The mournful despairing eyes of the hapless captive portion of the town's population told a tale of their less than rosy future.

It was a long memorable night for all concerned. The 'Gods' decided to leave Dhelia to demonstrate her charges, and when they last saw her she was gleefully marching her yoked pair back and forth as other townsfolk tried to copy with their own newly acquired coffles.

Browsing along the streets lined with post tethered females, they came upon a clutch of dangling cages. Sven noticed with interest that the men of Thyros had already developed a novel and interesting method of securing that had merit, and showed a great deal of promise for the future. 

At first the caged women appeared to be simply secured with arms stringently corded behind their backs. It was only on closer inspection that they saw the novel usage of a simple forked branch.

Boughs selected for a 'Y' fork had been pruned to produce a long upper arm that was pressed into service as a spine-stiffening base to weld elbows and forearms into a single stressed restraint. The other arm of the 'Y' was shorter, and almost invisible. It had been deeply inserted into the rectum so as to provide a dual purpose. In the first instance, it prevented any attempt to raise the arms; in the second, it created a rigidly enforced straight-backed stance that enhanced the amazon Thyron females tits to an ever more desirable format. Any move to bend forward created immediate sphincter elongation and considerable pain in the tender abused butt hole.

The centre leg of the 'Y' continued down to knee level where it had been bored and a short lower thigh hobble threaded through. The very nature of the device and the angle of a 'Y' leg to upper section in fact forced the women to arch slightly at the hips, thus helplessly presenting their pussies for inspection. It was a superb example of medieval technology using very basic materials. With a simple branch and a few thongs of leather, the women were completely stripped of any means of defence and presented in a saleable format. Roger made an electronic memo to develop the device into a free standing display, complete with base.

In the early hours of the morning, Sven called Dhelia on his wrist com and had her return with the prancing pony pair. They all needed some rest after such a momentous day, and the next few days promised to be just as eventful now that the irreversible march towards male supremacy had been launched.


CHAPTER THREE
MORE REVELATIONS

With the prancing pair released from the yoke, fed, toiletted, and fitted back into their phallic tubes for the night, Sven and his plastic pal retired to the comfort of the control room anti-Gee couches. Leaning back, hands cupped behind head, feet on the console, Sven went over the day in his mind.

"Y'know Rog' my old mate, we ought to run through those history tapes in full this time and see what we got up to." He turned to Roger who was mimicking his laid back slouch. The droid's constant learning spiral chip seemed to be intact, despite the data overload of recent times. Everything Sven did, he copied.

"Good idea boss. I'll run them now.

For two hours they sat intrigued as the history of Thyros unfolded. It seemed strange to review a way of life that they had instigated back in the mists of time.

Roger suddenly became attentive and leaned forward to do a replay. Over and over again he reviewed a section of documentary, before turning back to the mystified Sven.

"There's something wrong here boss. A huge chunk of documentary and the analysis of the Galactic Institute of Historians is missing." He played a bit more and then pointed out the discrepancies in the time pulse coding of the playback.

"It's either been edited out or it's blocked by a Space Corps directive." Sven became very interested.

"Hurry up then, find out which it is." Roger's fingers flitted over the keys, and after some smart hacking came up with the answer. 

"Blocked!.. Federation directive AQQA-10034. I wonder why?"

"Can you access that then?" Sven cast an inquisitive look towards his buddy.

"No boss, I'm programmed in such a way that I'm prohibited from accessing information on a AQQA level. If I try, I'll be dismantled for breach of directives."

"Don't be daft Roger, how the hell are they ever going to get their hands on you now." Roger frowned.

"That's true boss, but it doesn't work that way. I have a built in directive that prevents me from self destructing or placing myself in a terminal situation:.. That's committing suicide to you, .. unless it is to preserve the life of a human." He stopped and awaited Sven's comment.

"So how the hell does that come into it. If you access the file, you can't be committing suicide because they can never get their hands on you,.. you dozy twallop." 

Roger's electronic brain spun wheels and zapped micro chips as he tried to come to terms with this new seemingly logical angle that he could work with.

"You're right boss... Fuck em!". Sven grinned at the slang usage as his sidekick turned back to the console. In all it took Roger ten minutes to figure the access code and type it in. Agog, they sat back as the impact of the revealed information rolled down the screen.

"Holy Haley's Comet! Those Federation assholes knew about all this before we ever took off. They knew about the warp, what we did with the cargo, everything.

But how the hell could th----!"

Roger stopped him with a simple answer.

"They found the warp first and they've been ahead and backwards in time. Look, there's the proof. Plon-K.E.R. 280 was hit by an asteroid and knocked out of orbit eight years after we left Earth. They couldn't know that when they made this entry if they hadn't been ahead in time, or else this secret record wouldn't exist." Now it was Sven's turn to spin mental wheels as he tried to come to grips with time warps, time loops, and proof that the Federation was run by a crooked bunch of scheming assholes. 

"Let's kick this around a bit Roger. They knew we were taking off for a planet that would soon cease to exist as it spiralled into a Sun, yet they let us go ahead and fly off with 280 prime bits of female fluff. They knew we would also run into the warp, and from the details of the documentary, they also knew we would end up on Thyros hundreds of years into the past.

"So why did they let us go, and why did they engineer the World Tart Games to select the prime chicks for our cargo?"

Roger put on his best smug look again. He loved displaying his grasp of time equations, something that seemed to send most humans into a spin trying to work them out.

"Easy boss. They saw the future, and they liked what they saw. We would probably have left and done what we are doing anyway if they hadn't looked ahead. I reckon that what we are starting here is going to be a major earner for the Federation in a few dozen centuries. Just imagine the bucks to be made if you knew that the galaxy was going to be one massive female slave auction, and you knew enough in advance to have the whole operational shebang, pay offs and rip off percentages sewn up before it happened." Sven nodded as the jigsaw started to come together. 

"So they let us go ahead for fear that their intervention might queer the pitch." Roger clapped his hands.

"A coconut for the guy with the funny hat." Sven threw a spare vid disk at his cheeky droid.

"One more crack out of you and I'll drain the oil out of your dick plastic- bollocks." Then he grinned. "I bet it pissed the hell out of the brass hats at HQ, knowing that we were never coming back and that we had 280 nubile chicks all to ourselves."

"Two hundred and eighty?.. We don't know how wide their time band exploration was boss. Remember, they knew about Thyros, so they must have known about our restocking on the last port of call. It follows that they would know that we are now up to our asses in female produce." Sven chuckled loudly as he formed a mental picture of the Admiral C in C of transport command... A randy old git who was forever being accused of groping the young female space corps cadets.

"Old Dangle Dick must have busted a gasket trying to get on this trip." They both laughed, but Roger came back with a comment that had them both thinking.

"So why didn't he boss? You reckon there's something he knew that we should know?" Sven chewed that over for a while in silence.

"Could be, but what the hell. This is going to be one helluva trip whatever happens. So let's not bother ourselves with what might happen and get on with building a new order in the galaxy." Roger seemed to agree with that.

"Just a thought bird-brain, but were there any women on that Fed committee or the Historical committee for that matter?" Roger rapidly scanned the credits and memos.

"One boss! Major Geraldine Boscomp, F.D.C. That's Federation Development Corps. There's a notation here, it just simply says 'Reassigned 177 .. SBO'." Sven's face softened from the frowning concentration. Got a picture of her Fed file Rog'?" Roger duly flashed up the service record of Major Boscomp. She was a looker all right, long blonde hair and fine chiselled Scandinavian features. Sven laughed loudly and voiced his thoughts.

"The evil scheming bastards! Bet you a pound to a pinch of shit 177 stasis cubicle contains a dead ringer for that chick. Those assholes knew she would blow the whistle on them, so they doped her and slipped her in with the cargo." Roger punched up the cargo manifest and zoomed in on item 177. '177.. Jane Dolman' was a match. He flipped the vid screen to the orbiting Starburst and accessed the internal system. Selecting dispatch bay, he ran the remote camera along the lines of modulator capsules. The screen froze at 177. Silky blonde hair on a upward thrusting pussy that was enduring some serious titillation clinched the matter. Major Boscomp was already a part of a Federation plot to subjugate the feminine gender of an entire galaxy. Corps type or not, Major Boscomp had a delightfully fleshy pussy, the type endowed with pert rounded lobes and a thin lacy lip edging that just begged to be invaded. Sven made a note to sink his stirring shaft into her warm interior at the first chance. But first he'd better make sure she was in the mood and fully in sync with her new role in life. 

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"Wind her up a bit Roger. The Major looks like she needs a bit extra to make sure she doesn't come out with a stiff upper lip. You know what their military training is like." They both watched avidly as the remote command took effect and Major Boscomp's squirming hind quarters went into overdrive and liquid betrayal oozed from her tautly presented pussy cleft. It seemed that military pussies performed much the same as civilian ones if subjected to massive arousal. For a while they mused over the spectacle of Major Boscomp's horribly unwanted orgasmic gyrations. Her powerful taut buttocks were a sea of beckoning muscle activity that was most unbecoming of a senior Corps officer. But what the hell. That butt would perform to order now, whether she liked it or not.

Roger voiced a caution.

"Best make sure she's never ungagged boss. She has a senior rank to you. If she were to give me a command, I'd have to obey." Sven assured him it was a problem that would never arise.

"We'll give her to the Thyrons as gift; .. after I've finished with her that is. That should keep her out of trouble." He stretched and yawned. "I'm off to get some sleep matey. Lot's to do tomorrow. There's a whole world full of amazon chicks out there just asking to be nobbled." As an afterthought he spun the Major's control to full, and then settled down to watch as she exploded into violent muscle contractions with the power of her sexual overload.

Sven dozed off in the couch, and by the time he awoke, Roger and Dhelia had already been busy for hours. Outside the shuttle, the town was a alive with activity. The inhabitants seemed to have found a new direction in life and were pursuing it with all haste. Rising, Sven realised that he had an appointment, and left the compartment with the Major's control still left to maximum. Had he bothered to glance at the vid screen, a frothing liquid streaked rear end, blood bloated pussy lips and frantic bottom movements may have reminded him that the Major was still being maintained at full orgasmic eruption.

Impatiently, the council of elders waited by the airlock door, and after a hurried breakfast, Sven joined his meta-plastic colleague at the hatch dressed in his 'God suit'. Dhelia had already unpacked her favourite toys, and they were ready for another day's marching. Sven glanced across with a thoughtful look on his face.

"We'll have to find another profession for our Goddesses methinks Roger old son. I think the yoke is getting a bit like old news now. Perhaps the locals can come up with some ideas." Tracy and Fiona glared daggers at him, but collected a sharp prod from Dhelia for their trouble.

The hatch swung open, and Dhelia switched on the motivator shackles and prodded the team into action, this time towing two crates of modified nullers. Roger had been busy overnight making sure the revolution continued to gather momentum.

With six hundred of the nullers and another thousand in the cargo bay to complete the converted stock they had, they could now form a battalion of crusading legionnaires who would tour the planet assisting other nations in the spread of the new gospel according to Gor the Great.

The whole morning was consumed by preparations and planning. With only one land mass on Thyros, the new army could move easily from conquest to conquest. Carrier teams would set up a network of transport systems, and major towns were earmarked for auction and distribution centres.

Starburst's computers estimated a total global population of some 2 billion, but was unable to split that down into gender. Assuming this first town was a fair example, Roger calculated a female population of some 1.2 billion. Of that he reckoned that a half billion would be crones or unsuitable for one reason or another. That still left 700,000,000 heavenly bodies to enslave. Sven almost had a heart attack at the mere thought of it all. 

The meeting was in recession for lunch, and casting his eyes through a window, he wondered if the whole planet was inhabited by the same stunning beauties they'd encountered so far. As it was to turn out, the answer to that was yes, albeit in a variety of shades and colours. It was a dream come true.

Staring past rows of constantly changing post-bound females around the square, he raised his eyes to the dais where two new Goddesses kept a watchful, if somewhat resentful, watch-in-brief over proceedings. Tracy and Fiona looked magnificent thanks to the local hide and skin businessmen. The leather cocoons may have been manufactured from ancient materials, but the visual effect of thong lacing and super tight shrunken rawhide had its appeal. Of a different type hide, and a different colour, the cage like suspension webbing contrasted nicely with the inner body-formed cocoons. The girls looked great just hanging there wriggling like presents on a Christmas tree, and with every passing hour of Sunlight, the shrinking rawhide was compressing them into infinitely more stringent and controlled profile. Although they were not visible, Sven knew that both were playing host to some hand carved polished wooden dildos that had been presented by the grateful menfolk of the town. He made a mental note to investigate the possibility of moving the townsfolk on from inanimate inserts to some kind of active pussy toy.

Sven's attention was drawn back to the reassembling meeting. It was time to discuss training, punishment and a whole host of other interesting topics that would require his extensive knowledge to instigate. It was a meeting that lasted well into late afternoon, but it was time well spent and proved most productive in the weeks ahead. One item in particular became a protracted topic of discussion. Sven vehemently rejected the Thyros death penalty, a sentence some two hundred and sixteen female leaders had already been sentenced to. Executing women simply didn't fit into the Sven game plan in any way. Females were special creatures in his book. Useable for all manner of diabolical male type pursuits; .. but still special and to be preserved intact at all costs.

In the final event he persuaded the elders to have them incarcerated pending him planning a more suitable punishment for them daring to fight for women's rights. He already had a few ideas, but rather than rush in, he decided to wait and perhaps come up with some even more fiendishly traumatic punishments for the luckless amazons. As it turned out, it was a wise move. The amazons would indeed pay most dearly for their crimes against the menfolk of Thyros.

Sauntering through a totally transformed town center, the lustful Gods took time to stand and admired the fully shrunken cocoons on the dais. Their dangling girls had been reduced to stiffened effigies as the rawhide completed the drying process. It was mutually decided that they should stay the night, and despite the pleading looks, were left to the mercies of the townsfolk who were having a field day playing with two pairs of sumptuously extruded tits that were erupting from the bar taut cocoons.

As they turned into a back street on their way back to the shuttle, Sven came to an abrupt stop and pointed to a small cul de sac.

"What the hell is going on there Rog'?" Roger swivelled his eyes and saw a line of heads seemingly growing from the ground. It was a line of females buried to the neck, planted for want of a better description, and all going berserk for some unfathomable reason.

A Thyron nearby who had been nominated as their keeper soon revealed the cause.

Thyros boasted an earthworm that was unprecedented in the known galaxy. It was drawn to heat like a moth to a flame. Plant anything warm and they homed in like guided missiles. In addition they had developed a strange addition to their forms over the eons of evolution, no doubt some sort of defence mechanism designed to frighten predators with designs on their succulent bodies. These worms were endowed with rattlers at the tail end, akin to the horny device employed as a warning by rattlesnakes of Earth. However, in addition to a warning message, these viciously vibrating rattlers also served to demonstrate a condition of excitement and pleasure in the wee squirming beasties.

The Thyrons quickly realised that struggling captive female leaders who had proved difficult were warm creatures. The guard grinned and scraped away the top layer of soil surrounding the nearest head, and both Sven and his plasti-metal pal took a step backward. The earth was seething with activity as hundreds of the wee beasties battled to move closest to the source of heat. All the women were effectively planted in a writhing sea of horror that was both terrifying and arousing as their entire bodies were massaged by the wriggling mass and subjected to hundreds of demonic rattler tails. The translator supplied them with a running commentary as the guard patted the ground back into place. Apparently, these super active earthworms grew to be grand-daddies up to ten inches long and sometimes an inch and a half thick. Their host poked around for a while and then triumphantly drew a prime specimen from the ground.

Like a huge grub, the awesome thing wriggled and squirmed in a frenzied attempt to escape whilst emitting venomous rattles with its hyperactive tail. Judging by the way the Thyron handled the thing, it was harmless. Sven suddenly grinned and took the worm in his hand. After a quick translator chat with the guard he quickly became the owner of a matching pair.

"Time to visit the leather shop I think Roger." Rog' looked puzzled for a second or two, then his faceted features positively lit up with glee. 

"Great idea boss. I was wondering what we could teach the Thyrons to use until they reached the industrial age."

An hour later they approached the cocooned effigies hanging in the square with wicked intent. The objects of their attentions sensed that they were up to no good and redoubled efforts to escape. The frenzied writhing of their leather cocoons reached new heights of animation as Sven brought what looked like two well filled leather condoms from behind his back. It wasn't so much the obviously phallic portent of the objects, but more the living quality of the writhing dildos that had both bound women going into paroxysms of panic.

Roger swiftly unlaced the sealed crotches and withdrew the inanimate crafted wooden dildos as Sven moved forward with his first interactive Thyron dildo. It required some serious ankle restraint before the madly thrashing cocoon could be bought under control, but as it happened, there were many curious Thyron's nearby who were only too willing to lend a hand. A couple of stakes hammered into the hard earth, and some strong leather thongs, and both women were nicely stretched between suspension point and mother Earth; .. or in this case mother Thyron.

Sven took his time applying a local animal fat type grease to both the intended targets and both dildos. It would be difficult enough to push a semi flexible dildo into a resisting pussy. Tracy was going ballistic by the time he had oiled her up, but no matter how she tried to avoid the inevitable, she found herself tensing as a warm throbbing dildo head breached her love lip seal and began the long journey to her core.

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The insane wriggling of the sheathed worm only served to help as its body was augured into her succulent depths. It sensed a safe haven in that long slippery tunnel of womanhood, and more importantly an exciting all-over source of warmth.

The gagged protests reached an all time high, but now were supplemented by some serious eye rolling as the leather sheathed worm dildo reacted favourably to its new warm environment and stepped up the activity. In all it took fifteen minutes to implant both the women with their new toys. Then, somewhat out of breath as a result of the visible success of his invention, Sven stood back as they were laced up and the worm dildos firmly sealed into their new homes. The worms had been inserted head first, with the result that the vigorously vibrating tails were nestling against clitorises that had become a blur of jostling movement. The final lacing drew tight and each woman found her sex trigger crushed into contact with a fiendishly effective bio-vibrator. Resonating clitorises and a frantically flexing dildo coupled to their tight bondage could only have one outcome on two self confessed submissives. The ground anchoring tethers were readjusted to stretch to quivering tautness, then re-fastened.

Already both dangling females were cavorting madly, nostrils flaring and breath coming in gasps as the diabolically active worms created searingly pleasant sensations throughout their lower regions. Streamers of love juice were seeping from the tightly laced pussy coverings as both women exhausted laboured breath in loud snorts. They were literally exploding with continuous eruptions of unstoppable orgasmic episodes.

But Sven had seen enough, and as a puzzled Roger looked on, he rushed away.

Some time later he returned with four more of the worms, albeit unsheathed and with holes drilled through their rattlers. At first Roger was mystified, but soon caught on as Sven moved forward.

In a trice both women found their beleaguered bodies adorned with pendant nipple decorations.

With the worms tightly tied to each nipple by thin cotton-like cord, they were subjected to a horrendous upgrade in titillation as their receptive breasts began to vibrate ferociously.

Thyros worms it seemed were tireless little buggers, and when the two voyeurs finally tired of the spectator sport and left the bug-eyed, scarlet faced, writhing leather clad effigies some three hours later, the worms were still hard at work with no sign of flagging energy; nor for that matter were the two women who despite their best efforts to control their own bodies were maintained in a semi permanent state of unceasing orgasm. Thursk* looked like becoming a superseded relic.

*Thursk - Super computer who first appeared in Aliens

The Thyron males quickly caught onto the idea, and by nightfall, the ground population of worms was somewhat depleted. Tightly bound writhing women dotted every inch of free space as it became the norm to stuff any captive with these new bio-torment devices. Of course, it was only a matter of time before some inventive budding sadist figured that one worm in each orifice would do the job even better. The result was four worms to each woman and a much higher level of animation in the host. Obviously a vigorously vibrated butt only added to the crotch searing input each captive was experiencing.

Sven found that his God suit was becoming decidedly tight and uncomfortable around the crotch region. Probably due to the constant visual and audio input he was being subjected to. Several hundred orgasmic females tended to be a might noisy. But he figured he could live with that minor inconvenience. Nonchalantly he leaned back to watch as two nearby maidens exploded with carnal ferocity that defied description, and he decided that is was probably a lot of fun to experience those worm implants whilst hogtied so stringently that ones heels were touching the back of the head, and hands sticking out beyond the tightly bound wrists to knees connection.

The bowed captives balanced on curving bellies set up a delightful rocking motion as they strained and heaved in a futile attempt to escape the fiendishly calculated predicament they found themselves in. The Thyron men had done their job well. Super tight rawhide thongs laid as neat side by side multiple lashings allowed no movement at all in the severely strained forms. Hair plaited and drawn back to elbows, and a bar gag ensured that even the heads were powerfully controlled. The rocking motion engineered a slow pirouette, and as each in turn came face to face with the smiling architect of Thyros women's downfall, Sven was treated to the stimulating sight of bulging angry faces as they tried to convey their wrath to the tyrant who had so easily brought all women to a status of playthings.

A simple stake in the ground and a cord to the necks ensured that they stayed facing towards him and forced to continue the cock raising show. 

The worms worked tirelessly as the traumatised faces grew more scarlet with each passing minute. Then Sven saw a way to improve things and released the neck stake. Quickly he hammered the stake in at the other end of the bowed forms, then using the cord from folded knees, drew the knees down tight to the ground and anchored them firmly. The effect was spectacular.

Both women had become rearing arched figureheads with their full weight balanced on their straining taut thighs. It took but a few minutes to add worms to the pendulously revealed tits and add some rawhide root cinches to the base of each well formed orb. Unlike his own pets, these beauties endured a much tighter ligature arrangement that was destined to get even tighter as the fresh rawhide contracted still more.

Observing the effect he made a mental note to add that modification to his own favourite tie up toys. His ladies had a type of hemp cord for cinching. Rawhide seemed a much better medium for the job in hand. Tits that were pressurised to bursting point, vein lined and thrumming with tension seemed to vibrate much more distressfully judging by the effect it was having on the luckless trussed owners. With a last mocking look at two faces that seemed set to explode, he left the convulsing effigies to the mercy of the worms for the night; confident that they were destined to stay exactly as installed until someone chose to release them. In fact the rawhide binders were still damp, so there was a lot more tightening and shrinking yet to endure. By morning they would be so powerfully constricted and tensioned they would be as if carved from stone.

No doubt their new owner, whoever that might be, would approve of his modifications when he awoke to check on his new acquisitions. By then they would probably both be a lot more manageable and amenable to any suggestions of future loyalties and duties.

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The frantic guffaws and loud rattling worm tail sounds followed him into the cool night, and he felt good. Thyros looked like his idea of paradise; a paradise he was at liberty to shape and mould to his own liking. He doubted there would be any opposition to his ideas from Roger, or from the male Thyrons for that matter. It was a deliciously sobering thought.


CHAPTER FOUR
THE RE-TRIAL

Bedecked in his finest Corps uniform, Sven took his place as the honorary Judge at the re-trial. The elders had decided that as the punishment was to be changed, the amazon leaders should have a new hearing before being condemned to whatever punishment their new God decreed. 

Sven ordered hogtie yokes to be made up, and as a result of the numbers involved, opted for an open air hearing. The yokes later became known as Hog-yokes, and were soon a common sight as the most often used method of static subjugation. The rights of Thyros femininity were spiralling ever downwards at an accelerating velocity. It followed that in years to come, female prisoners would be referred to as Hogs.

The village square was duly selected as the venue for the trial, and rows of benches were installed for the public galleries. It had all the makings of a festive event rather than the sombre goings on of any judicial court. Stalls selling local delicacies sprang up at random. From the vid viewers of the shuttle both he and Roger watched as the multitude of eager onlookers grew. Their interest peaked as dozens of willing helpers began to bring in the accused.

The yokes were simple and effective, and like the two maidens he had left to the worms the night before, they held each captive in a powerfully arched bow, head drawn back and mouth cruelly bisected by bar gags. The inflexibility of the wooden clamping yokes merely added to the condition of immobility inherent in this type of hogtie.

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It was a crotch stirring sight to see two hundred and sixteen naked, trussed, head-shaved figures being carried in; knowing that each and every one was a strong willed female guerrilla fighter, seething with anger at the indignity of her predicament. Avidly they watched as row after row of the hogtie hanger bars were filled. The strong frames and transverse bars easily supported the trussed and clamped females some three feet off the ground and facing the podium that would soon raise the Judge above their helpless forms. At the moment they were hanging face down, but that was to be easily rectified for the trial. Thin strong cords were attached to each captive's yoke at the knees and these in turn were connected to a lever bar arrangement running behind each row at ground level.

An hour later all was ready and the court clerk respectfully knocked on the Shuttle's outer hull to indicate that the Judge should put in an appearance. Sven grinned at Roger, who in return gave the thumbs up signal he had learned long ago on Earth, then he settled back to watch the fun from the comfort of the Gee couch.

Sven strolled from the ship and the crowd parted to let him through. As he mounted the podium, the equivalent of a court bailiff called the throng to order commanding that all present should rise for the Judge. Unfortunately, the defendants were not really in a position to comply; so the State in the guise of a team of strong armed bailiffs did it for them.

Somewhere out of sight a huge lever was operated and a massive groan of muted anger and anguish arose from the trussed female captives as the knee cords came into play and drew taut.

The entire assembly of bound females were simultaneously jerked down at the knees, their arched yoke contorted forms pivoting around the suspension bars until all were arranged in symmetrical rows of vertical arched torment, faces straining skywards and breasts thrusting towards the Judge. A roar of approval went up from the all male audience as leashed and bound pet captives of the recent male victory looked fearfully on. Wisely they remained silent as the leaders they had pinned their hopes on were publicly humiliated and displayed like so much oven ready female meat. The court was a hypermarket of straining powerfully arched nubile bodies, thrusting tits, denuded and publicly displayed pussies.

Thus the captives were left for the duration of the hearing. Judge Sven had decreed it to be so.

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He turned his head and grinned at the two cylindrical shapes placed to one side of the podium. Tracy and Fiona were in attendance; .. naked, ensconced in tubes, and heavily bound with rawhide. Although that fact was hidden from view. Only their amorphous leather encased heads were visible, and these were twisting and jerking madly in the tight neck clamps at the top of each cylinder. It was a sort of mute testament to the concealed torment each was suffering. A mixture of super slippery oil and a cylinder full of the diabolical worms was doing little to give them any respite from the on going round of perpetual arousal Sven and Roger seemed determined to exact on their helpless bodies. Both women were being continually massaged and marinated in a wriggling, rattling, sea of pulverising arousal as the worms activities became frenzied at the rising body heat. In addition, there was a constant fight going on in their pussies as occupancy of the prime hot spot constantly changed ownership. Worm after worm, first gained entry, and then was evicted by angry losers as another more powerful, and generally bigger occupant fought its way in.

Somewhat wistfully he turned back to the matter in hand. It was nice to watch those two super sexual females at work. But as his eyes returned to the sea of straining forms over which he held power now, their problems were driven to the back of his mind.

Idly Sven tried to calculate the weight of thrusting tits on offer, but gave up as the figures became mind-boggling. At half a ton of infinitely squeezable boob flesh the image passed beyond the limits of a normal male to comprehend in terms of crotch heat. Already his cock was threatening to burst clean out of the tight fitting uniform; and the groaning, straining sea of female flesh lined out and on offer was doing little to ease the pressure. The images of crimson female faces, and eyes blazing with the impotent anger of being presented in such a way only added to his discomfort as the sea of tits constantly heaved with exertion.

Sven motioned for the prosecution to present their case, and for two hours he hardly heard the droning tones of counsel. It didn't really matter. These helpless women were already as guilty as hell in his mind, and not a single one was going to escape the fiendishly humiliating punishment he had devised.

A lunch break was called after the wind up of prosecution evidence, and for an hour the stiffened forms were left unattended as the throng and court officials ate a hearty meal. Then it was on to the defence, handled by a woman of course.

Another eye watering two and a half hours passed as Sven studied each tensioned and contorted form in turn. It was a long time to keep those lovely forms so highly stressed, but most enjoyable for the spectators, and so he resisted the urge to tell defence counsel to hurry up and allowed her to waffle on, even though all present knew that it was a cause. Every male there wanted to see the multitude of prisoners suffer even more stressful ordeals. No doubt the men of the prosecuting counsel had also suffered the long siege of attrition that denied them their sexual favours, and a lost case would help to redress that grievance considerably.

There was no cross examination. The defendants were denied any form of say in the matter, which in any case, would have been rather difficult with a mouth stretched achingly around a bar gag. Then finally Sven found the court silent and realised that the assembly was waiting for him. 

He shrugged off the lustful reverie created by the vision of those traumatised women and checked the time. It was late, and that suited him fine. For half an hour he discussed his thoughts on the evidence aloud, then with solemn reverence pronounced the whole two hundred and sixteen guilty.

A groan went up from the arched exhibits as the verdict was read, and the defence counsel objected strongly. Sven immediately found the shapely woman counsellor guilty of contempt, and five minutes later she had become another set of straining tits and a naked, powerfully arched body on a spare hog-yoke. But she was a fighter, and even now that disaster had struck, the woman continued to rage at the Judge. It took the stuffing of all her orifices with packing material, and totally enclosure in a tightly applied cocoon of rawhide, encompassing both woman and yoke, to shut her up. There was a short recess after that, and by the time the court was back in session, the hot Sun had already dried the rawhide and crushed the woman into complete silence and immobility. Only the furious eyes remained to register her objection.

Sven returned to his seat and a silence descended on the groaning captives as they awaited their fate. He savoured the moment and busied himself with papers so as to drag out the suspense still more. Then with almost undisguised glee, Sven played another card.

"It's getting late, and in view of the severity of the crime, I intend to adjourn until the morning and consider the sentencing overnight. Leave the defendants as they are for the night so that we can get an early start in the morning." Not a single voice raised an objection; unless one took into account the garbled begging and increased sounds of straining restraints emanating from the tortuously assembled prisoners.

The sea of strained female flesh became an ocean of writhing movements as the prospect of a night on those Hog-yokes became a reality. It was an inspiring sight as their exertions gave rise to a mass of heaving bosoms and frantically flexing torsos straining against the cinching rawhide. It was pointless and only served to enhance the forward arching, highly available pussies.

After savouring the sight a while longer, Sven rose and vacated the podium. He had a hard nights work ahead of him. The square was to be closed to all but himself and Roger once the prison barbers had completed their task, which was to denude all convicted prisoners of any remaining bodily hair. Within the hour a team of twenty prison barbers would have reduced the prisoners to smooth female figurines, shorn of eyebrows, and pussy fur, then shaved to a smooth perfection. The closure to all others was a precaution, lest anyone sought to snatch a spare toy. In effect that meant that the two space travellers had a free hand to sample any or all of the arched thrusting women at their leisure. Roger's design was a winner. The Hog-yokes guaranteed that each and every woman was perfectly positioned for a stand up shagging by the lusting space travellers. 

Sven had already selected his first few helpless targets, and he had no doubt that Roger had spent a busy day zooming in with the vid scanner as he selected his own.


CHAPTER FIVE
BOUND OVER FOR SENTENCING

Darkness fell quickly as the square was cleared, and Sven used the hair shoring time usefully to snatch a quick snack and don some clothes more suited to a night of debauchery. Although, truth be known, it was difficult to eat and actually concentrate on the food when one had a mental vision of the barbers at work only a block away. Affixed as they were, none of the prisoners would be able make a move as they were converted into hairless sex objects, no doubt suffering repeated finger intrusions and tit squeezing from the barbers.

Finally word came that the work was done. Then it was off to the square and the rigorously prepared feast of freshly denuded female flesh just waiting to be used and abused.

Sven's first selection was the supreme commander of the guerilla forces, a Sun bronzed amazon of exceptional beauty. A few questions to locals revealed that she was called Yelda.

Yelda had hardly presented a low profile during the proceedings and her constant straining exertions kept his attention riveted on her splendidly secured body for most of the day. All day he'd been waiting to feel the rock solid tits balanced on her thrusting chest. So firm; shaped like thrusting half melons, they'd tantalised him through hours of boring courtroom dialogue. But now they were his. Shaved to a peach-like smoothness all over, the women looked even more delicious; .. if that was possible. She certainly looked a whole heap angrier in her enforced hairless condition and her eyes flashed venomous looks as he approached.

He reached out and grasped one of the vibrant warm half melons, smiling to himself as the furious woman hissed impotently and made unintelligible sounds of anger past the gag. It was good that she disapproved. It made the taking of her all the more fun. For a man like Sven, taking her, stealing her sexual favours, meant manipulating her to a point where she was receptive to his advances and basically controlled by her own libido. The fun came with her being unable to resist the first advances that would turn her own body against her despite her best efforts to resist the forces from within. All her sexual controls were on offer just begging to be twiddled, turned, caressed, tweaked, abused, manipulated, until she was helplessly all tuned up and panting with eager arousal. Guerilla fighter, commander in chief or whatever, she was a woman and as such had an inherent Achilles heel installed in her crotch.

But first a few precautions to ensure that she was completely at his mercy. Or more accurately, to pander to Sven's desire to have her bound and gagged to mouth watering impotence. He adjusted her frame to the horizontal, so that Yelda was tits down. There was no intention to make her more comfortably, it was merely for his own ease of access whilst he made his preparations.

A leather helmet equipped with a massive over mouth silencing pad soon engulfed the amazon's smooth shaven head, despite her frenzied efforts to avoid it. The standard bit gag was retained, although supplemented by a few handfuls of tightly packed cotton type fibre Sven rammed past the dowel spreading her mouth. Face bulging delightfully at the overfill, she could do nothing other than glare at him as the hood was drawn to a strumming tightness by the strong rawhide laces, effectively compressing her entire head in a vice like grip. His choice of a size too small seemed about right. Sven always preferred items of containment to be super tight and wrinkle free. Turning his attention to other fastenings, he drew in the extra draw laces fitted to the silencing over-band covering the mouth section and crushed her lips tightly against the bar gag. Sven pulled harder and watched gleefully when the leather encased cheeks bulged over the top of the cinched band, and her angry admonishment was snuffed ruthlessly into nothingness. The featureless ball of her head had seemingly grown a second skin and been resculpted to appear as if erupting out of the powerfully cinching mouth sealer. One thing was for sure; none of the locals were going to loose any sleep from the sounds she managed to put out. The hog-yoke groaned with renewed stress levels as the bound amazon tested its strength to the limits. But the Thyron males had done a good job. Despite her titanic efforts, Yelda remained completely available no matter how much effort she expended.

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There remained only one more item to add. He reached down to release the knee lashings binding her tightly to the yoke and forcibly prised her knees wide. It took but a minute to install the spreader, then lash the bar tightly to the Hog-yoke. For extra security he added thigh cinches that dug into even her firm muscular folded limbs of upper thigh and calf, converting them to stubby diverging columns of bulging curvatures that perpetually strained to be free.

Now she was almost ready and he swung her to a vertical mode to appraise the conquest. He stood back and admired his handy work. There was no doubt that his intent was clear to the pinioned woman, as was made obvious by her gargantuan efforts to break free. Unfortunately the rawhide strapping of the yoke had been inexorably drying all day, and there was no discernible movement that could possibly affect her imminent ravishment. She was totally available and she knew it. He could take her whenever and however he wished. A prize indeed. This proud arrogant lovely was powerless to resist any amount of fondling and shagging he choose to inflict on her utterly defenceless body.

For the moment he just contented himself with the offered mounds of her sumptuous tits. It was like squeezing strong sponge rubber. They were resilient, smooth as a peaches, and swelled delightfully in his grip as she heaved and struggled in her bonds. Her nipples were hard nuggets of vibrant womanhood, jutting and exposed under his plundering fingers. He squeezed them harder and felt her silenced form react with even greater effort.

The Hog-yoke stood the test and her bindings held firm. She couldn't even twitch as he savoured her to the full. Visions of her forthcoming sentencing swelled in his mind, and almost without thinking Sven found his hand sliding down to sample her prominently displayed pussy. This particular beauty's fate was already decided, and Sven Olafsen featured largely in that future.

As with her breasts, the mounds guarding her sex portal were firm and inviting; moistening at his touch as they twitched; first in a reflex attempt to deny entry, then with trepidation as the flow of preparatory lubrication increased.

Sven smiled to himself as he considered womanhood. It must be so frustrating for women to be constantly betrayed by their own bodies. This woman hated him vehemently, yet the genetic programming of her gender was conspiring to prepare her helpless body for easy entry and complete ravishment. She could do nothing to prevent it. Her own body was conspiring to convert her into an incubator for his progeny.

He reached out, ignoring the angry snorts from her nostrils and took the two uppermost tuning knobs in hand. A few twists and tugs following by some seriously fine tuning and the excruciatingly bound woman's snorts of anger began to change in tempo as he relentlessly adjusted her resisting libido to arousal mode.

He fondled her generous clitoris and felt the hot streamers of her love juice run between his fingers, drooling to the ground as her pussy capitulated to the treacherous sensory transmitters of her sexual engine. The muffled screams of anger dwindled and the sounds of wanton lust grew louder. Yet paradoxically the emissions became more copious with every passing second despite the flashing eyes that lashed fury at both his assault and her own weakness. It was a marvellous performance that had Sven delaying his plunge into her hot slick love channel so as to prolong her sense of impending doom still more.

From somewhere nearby he heard another muted gasp. Rampant Roger was employing no such finesse. That gasp was the stifled outcry of a thoroughly trussed maiden who had just endured a massive injection of plasti-metal phallic design. Roger was up to his chequered balls in a sultry black skinned beauty and pistoning away like there was no tomorrow. 

Uuuumph! Uuuumph! Uuuumph! UUUURRRMMMMPPPHHH! Obviously Roger had just engaged dick expansion mode. He could tell by the sounds and the way in which the arched woman was almost exploding through the tight cinches encircling her body. The massive friction created by an overstuffed pussy stretched to breaking point around the Roger's lunging rod, had the effect of transmitting the powerful thrusts to her mounting frame. The result was that the entire row of Hog-yoked captives were rocking and swaying as one of their own absorbed the full rampant energy of a sex crazed droid.

The ebony woman was being fucked to destruction whilst her friends endured a humiliated tit jiggling reminder that they may be next in line for a dose of Roger's pussy expansion technique.

UUUURRRMMMMPPPHHH---!

Apparently Roger had decided she needed a larger size. The object of his attentions clearly thought otherwise, but was in no position to either voice her disapproval, or do anything to prevent her delicate front passage from being forcibly expanded to accommodate the massively distended meta- plastic intruder.

Another handful of hot love fluid brought Sven's attention back to his own choice. It seemed the commander in chief of the defunct resistance movement was responding well to his expert finger reaming. Then he remembered the yoke's other useful addition.

Reaching around the helpless form, Sven operated a wooden lever behind her back and drew a muted screech of protest from the Hog-yoked female. Instantly the yoke shortened and the bound woman was forcibly bowed to a back breaking arch of muscle tearing severity in order to accommodate the foreshortening effect on her torso that converted her into a creditable D shaped format. It was a magnificent sight. He gave her the nipple yanking test yet again, and was pleased that hardly a ripple showed as she displayed her discontent.

The bright moonlight bounced glistening rays off the sweat sheen coating her body, and he marvelled at the incredible ultra tensioned firmness of her tautly stretched skin. The lever converted her from a tightly bound defenceless sex object into a quivering bundle of solidly tensioned impotence that was devoid of all movement and even the minutest chance of resisting. So severe was the arch of her torso, her breasts were now upward thrusting mounds of delight balancing on an erotic desirable table of straining sinew. Even the slightest muscle flexing was denied her at this level of enforced contortion. Sven made a note to complement the carpenter on his excellent workmanship and flipped over the latch that would retain the devilishly effective lever in place. It seemed such an insignificant piece of wood when one considered the power it had to hold the captive woman so cruelly displayed. The amazon was a powerfully tensioned parcel of desirable femininity.

He withdrew the plundering finger from her prominently arranged pussy and walked around her, noting the frantically curling fingers and clenching toes that were now massaging the back of her head. Yelda's bottom was a mass of frenzied exertion, but even those powerful rump muscles could avail her no release. Sliding his hand past the yoke, Sven enjoyed a moment of indulgence as his strong fingers squeezed and mauled the superb tensing bottom lobes like play-dough.

This captive was certainly an impressive piece of femininity, and it came in King size as a bonus. Sven estimated she would be 6'4", if she ever got the chance to stand vertical again. The fact that she was such a giant conquest made her present status all the more enjoyable. Her future punishment flashed into mind and he almost went off half cocked yet again. 

That wouldn't do at all. All day the pressure had been building in his body and he wanted to save the whole ball-busting load for this amazon warrior. It was going to be so much fun to explode into her helpless rigidly presented form and feel her furious struggles as his recoiling cock pumped her full of hot male seed.

The time was near. He reached up and took hold of a strap dangling from the helmet, then connected it to the yoke between her elbows and drew it taut before fastening it firmly. He could feel Yelda desperately trying to resist, but her neck muscles were no match for the strength of his arm. Although her body was held at vertical, the quivering amazon was almost facing backwards due to the angle her head was pulled back. Whereas her toes had merely been touching her head, the feet were now planted firmly with soles in full contact of her shorn leather encased cranium. The gag received some more lace tightening, and by the time he had finished, her cheeks looked set to explode from the leather shrouded face. It was a diabolically fiendish format, and she looked so attractive with those snorting angrily flaring nostrils and enraged glaring eyes. But nothing else moved despite her titanic struggles to avoid the inevitable. Yelda had become a savagely curved edifice with a central thrusting pussy that was just begging to be penetrated. He just stood and looked for a while as her chest heaved in quickening tempo and the anger symptoms making her face so attractive increased in intensity. But her mewing entreaties betrayed her as Sven unlatched the frame and spun her quivering arched form over onto her back and locked it in position.

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He moved around to the front and unzipped his straining trousers, noting as he did, the virtually continuous stream of viscous liquid dribbling from the readied woman. She knew her time was near, and she knew there was no escape. The nostril flaring snorts and gagged protests were becoming more intense as she mentally tried to prepare for the inevitable and reassert her resistance. Yelda's efforts to escape were by now almost the actions of a rabid maniac. But it availed her nothing by way of movement or release. The D shaped fuckable female remained totally available. In addition, her anger and impotised condition was helping to work her into an uncontrollable sexual frenzy. Sven's eyes shone with gleeful lust as the magnificent chest heaved frantically, wobbling the balanced jellified tits provocatively before his incredulous gaze.

Yelda meanwhile, was engrossed in her own thoughts. Whoever this God creature was, he knew exactly how to reduce a woman to a throbbing helpless shagging toy. Never had the captive woman felt so completely available and vulnerable. Deeply buried carnal instincts were sending fiery heat to her crotch as she contemplated the total availability of her body. So fierce were the driving sensations as to be capable of overwhelming the stress of her contorted position.

Seconds later a massive snort of breath blasted from the nostril holes of her hood as a hot vibrating shaft of manhood ploughed her love lips apart and bored powerfully into her core. It was an explosion of manhood that almost instantly snuffed her will to resist. There was something infinitely satisfying about being held in stiffened readiness and feeling ones body powerless to resist the influx of inflationary hard hot male meat. Nevertheless, she managed to scream a creditable level of enraged sound through the mouth sealing gag and her eyes poured venom at her ravisher. 

Like a speared fish, the cinched female form pulsed with the energy of desperation in a last ditch attempt to escape the powerful bindings holding her so vulnerably offered as the last vestiges of higher rationality fought to stay in control. It was a thoroughly pointless reflex effort. Her beleaguered body couldn't move a muscle as the stiff throbbing male shaft pistoned in and out of her out-thrust pussy. Thigh muscles stood out starkly between the cinches as she strove to close her legs, and tendons in the straining neck became vibrant wires of fire with her struggles. Even the horrendously tight silencing hood couldn't contain all her muted screams of fury as she felt herself being used like an object of male masturbation. The keening varied in pitch as his massive hot male rod repeatedly rocked her bowed form with a ferocious pumping action. Yet she knew resistance was futile. He had her cinched up like a piece of meat, and powerfully contorted to a male fantasy of optimum availability.

Inexplicably Yelda continued to fight as the hard male helmet bulldozed back and forth deep within her body, pumping and stretching the delicate inner sanctum of her pussy with total abandon. The man was a demon, his hard pelvic bones mashing her resilient love mounds with each penetrating thrust, squeezing and extruding yet more of the viscous love liquid from her hard working sex channel. It was so frustrating to feel her body actively assisting in her own penetration by lubricating the way, whilst her higher reasoning thought only of escape and retribution for this violation. 

And still the arched 'D' of womanhood displayed no sign of the inner battle as it helplessly absorbed the rigid hard pole of Sven's manhood. 

Sven leaned back as he continued to thrust and lift, deliberately causing the rigid tendon above his throbbing shaft to bite into the receptive swollen clitoris. Grasping her jutting tits in his hands Sven gleefully added to the abuse that was generating internal contractions to her grasping love tunnel. Mashing the melon like mounds induced desperate, immensely powerful muscle movements in her trussed form as she tried to escape the painful misuse of her presented boobs. Changing tactics he gripped the nipples and pulled them out into stretched cones of torment. And still the tormented woman was denied even the minutest movement in defence of her abused aching nipples. All she could do was to work the throbbing nodule of her clitoris on the offered ridge of his penile root by tensing her crotch region. It was a small consolation, and clearly it displayed her capitulation to the uncontrollable forces of her own lust.

She hated herself for her own weakness, but her lower body refused to reject the only avenue of relief open to her.

Almost before he knew what was happening, his marauding dick exploded into the Hog-yoked woman; blast after blast stiffening and straightening his manhood as the clutching orifice in her lower body milked him dry. The helpless and futile exertions of her fight to escape merely added to the delicious massaging effects of her succulent super active pussy. He thought it would never end as the explosive ejaculations just kept coming. All the time he could feel her body performing almost Herculean exertions to break free, yet she remained fully contained and incapable of even the slightest resistance. What a magnificent predicament to put such a woman into. The strength and design of the Hog-yoke converted Yelda into a rigid quivering screwable commodity, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. 

Sven felt her stiffen to unbelievable hardness as a horribly unwanted orgasm ripped into her beleaguered form. It was a titanic affair that completed her conversion into an item of lusting curves; a sexual lollipop, or for want of a better description, a fuck on a stick.

Sven endured a second ejaculation as the fuck on a stick groaned and strained on his dick like a massive parcel of pulsing sensuous curves. Eventually Sven felt his legs turning to rubber, and unable to maintain his stand, he fell out of the trussed woman and sat down hard. For several minutes he experienced double vision, but finally was able to focus on the stiffened parcel of femininity silhouetted against the moon. She hadn't moved a fraction, and she looked stunningly attractive as the heaving cones of her silhouetted tits performed a sensuous dance against the white orb of the Moon. Whatever happened around her she could only remain ready and waiting for whatever he chose to do. Sven chose to save a replay for later, and using the translator device, he appraised her of the fact that she was to be left as she was till he got back to her. He spun the frame until she was inverted and locked it in position. Mockingly he asked her not to move; but his hand told a different story. It was gently caressing the body of a woman who had given him great pleasure in an attempt to repay her for the stolen gift.

"Wouldn't want you to drain now would we? Let's just leave you nicely filled with Uncle Sven's cum shall we?" He neglected to inform her that the last prison meals of all the captives included a contraceptive addition that was infallible. It pleased him to leave her in the belief that his seed was at this very moment fertilising her egg and converting her into his personal offspring incubator. The trussed woman seemed to explode into demoniacal straining activity as the realisation hit her for the first time.

Clutching fingers, curling toes, and clenching bottom advised him that she would rather not remain in the ready mode, or be left to absorb his seed. But he declined to accede to her wishes. Staggering slightly, Sven left his inverted masturbation device to ponder her fate, but only after adjusting and tightening her still further.

It was to be almost dawn before he had recharged from that awesome explosion of seed, and in the meantime he busied himself playing with the forest of available tits and watching Roger trying his level best to exhaust the nuclear power-pack built into his body. Roger managed to service all two hundred and fifteen of the other prisoners, and was busy with the last maiden when Sven finally got back to his quivering super tensioned shagging toy. After some serious nipple teasing he swung the woman back to horizontal and resumed her lesson in ravishment.

The painfully bowed woman seemed almost relieved as his pulsing shaft exploded into her love portal for the second time. Perhaps she expected to be eased back from the awesome tension once he'd finished. Silly girl. Sven never even thought about it as Roger picked up his spent form and carried him back to the ship. The luckless guerilla leader was still in her shagging mode when the court reconvened the next morning and no-one saw fit to alter it even then. Many were mystified by the tell tale pools below each woman, now fully drained yet incapable of making any complaint. Roger, although a mechanoid, ejaculated just as any human would. His designer had been thorough, although warm hydraulic fluid was hardly a substitute for the real thing, and at best was only likely to be capable of spawning an oil blot. Sven couldn't help but snigger as a ridiculous notion entered his head. He was wondering what the Thyrons would think if one of the serviced prisoners suddenly gave birth to a can of engine oil. He caught Roger staring at him oddly as he mused over the thought and instantly cracked up at the droid's quizzical look.


CHAPTER SIX
VERDICT AND PUNISHMENT

The court filled early. Nobody wanted to miss the sentencing of the rebel females, and if the truth be known, most simply wanted an excuse to be able to study the rows of arched suffering prisoners for as long as possible. 

A hush fell over the throng as Judge Sven appeared, followed by a rumbling of shifting benches as the public sat down.

Sven took his time arranging the papers on the desk, savouring the image of the superbly bowed leader of Thyros' defunct rebel cause. In her extreme format Yelda stood out from the rest like a beacon of beckoning arousal. Only as he'd entered the court did Sven realise that she'd endured that stringent position all night. No doubt she was ruing the day she allowed herself to be taken alive. Seeing as not a single woman had been killed during the whole campaign, she had little to reproach herself on.

On that score the lusting duo deserved congratulations. It had all the makings of being the first and only world war in the entire galaxy to end in zero casualties, other than the casualty of the feminist movement.

Sven addressed the court through the translator device. He decided to deal with the defence woman first, and casting his eyes to the motionless supertight cocoon of rawhide bound female, he decreed that she be allocated to the prosecution service as their personal office toy; for life! Everyone watched as court officials came forward and collected the frantic eyed captive, then Sven turned his attention to the important matter in hand.

"After serious consideration, and bearing in mind the severity of the charges proven against the prisoners, I find it my solemn duty to pronounce the heaviest sentence it is in my power to hand down."

Two hours with a legal CD disk had paid dividends in getting the jargon right.

"I therefore sentence all the prisoners to ten years in the penal colony of Gazra. There they will undergo a full term of punishment in the new Rog- Reamer punishment device and whatever other systems are developed that are deemed suitable for their re-education."

Rampant Roger insisted that the diabolical device he'd dreamed up bore his name, at least in part. The arrogant son-of-a-bitch was just asking for an attitude adjustment to his servility chip. But what the hell. Roger was one of the team now; and anyway, he deserved his bit of glory after coming up with the Rog-Reamer. Sven felt his crotch going into meltdown mode as he contemplated the sentence he'd just handed out. Taking a deep breath and regaining his composure he addressed the impatient audience again.

"As this is a new device unknown to Thyrons, the prisoners will be incarcerated here in this court before dispatch. He raised a hand to a watching court official who in turn signalled for someone out of sight to move forward. The crowd hushed as dozens of carts rolled in with the new equipment.

Two hundred and fifteen pairs of eyes strained to look upon the fate Judge Sven had decreed for them. One of the bound forms had no choice but to wait and see. Sven's overnight shagging toy was still hooded, in effect blinded to all the unfolding events due to the fact that she could only see directly ahead, which meant straight up due to her stringent configuration. As it happened Yelda didn't have to wait long. Sven, unable to contain his lustful anticipation any longer, singled her out as the first to be installed. 

Her release from the rigours of an overnight stay at maximum contortion produced a long drawn out wail as blood circulation returned agonisingly to her cramped limbs. The helmet came off, and Sven watched with interest as she cautiously eased the crick out of her neck, then searched him out.

The snarling defiance was still there, but with a subtle change that probably only he noticed. It was almost like a challenge to him to dare to try and repeat the events of the night before. Despite her discomfort and anger at being used like a fuckable piece of meat, the amazon was fighting an inner voice that urged her to re-sample the devastating feeling of orgasming under such arduous conditions. Sven made a mental note to test the theory. First there was the small matter of her public demonstration of the new Rog-Reamer punishment device.

It took four burly men to wrestle the struggling leader over to the first Rog-Reamer, and all of their strength to install her as the design features became clear. Despite being stiff from her overnight ordeal, the sight of future developments lent strength to her aching limbs. First there was a wrist and neck yoke that held her hands wide spread; level with the throat and on either side of the head. This format ensured that her fabulous tits were well presented. Then there was the interconnected rigid ankle yoke, attached by a slider bar that allowed knee flexing. An additional clamp at waist level on the slider ensured a powerfully nipped waist and basically unchangeable posture that held her back straight.

The final addition proved to be the most popular although its full function was as yet a mystery. It was a massive anal dildo that clamped around the lower section of the slider bar after insertion into a very reluctant butt hole. Once fixed it could only move with the lower section which was solidly connected to the ankle yoking.

For a fleeting moment Sven saw fear in the Yelda's eyes as she became fully aware of the design intent, but she was powerless to resist as a leash chain snapped onto the front of the neck yoke. The bailiff holding her lead chain looked towards the Judge, and Sven nodded approval for the demonstration to begin. The bailiff jerked the chain forward.

Despite trying to resist, Yelda found that she had no choice other than to hop forward in a double footed hop, or face the other option of falling flat on her face. It was a hardly a choice when one considered the yoking format that would guarantee an unprotected full frontal landing. 

Yelda hopped and her mouth gave vent to a screeching angry tirade of invectives aimed at the podium. Sven winced as the translator picked it up and did a creditable job of converting to typical Earth slang.

"You lousy cocksucking asshole, get me out of this thing you dickless mother fucker."

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Hopping forward appraised the crowd of the full inventive genius of the God Roger. To hop forward required flexing the knees. Flexing knees brought the rigid non telescopic section upward, and therefore with each hop the amazon was butt fucking herself. The bailiff led her around and a roar of approval went up as the amazon leader was forced to jam the rectal reamer deep into her bottom as she flexed knees for each enforced hop.

Eventually the red faced, well fucked woman was facing him again, with her vitriolic verbal outpourings considerably louder than before. Sven smiled wickedly and considered having the rest of the Rog-Reamer fitted to the recalcitrant amazon.

At the outset he'd noted the other accessories swinging at the end of the yoke with some relish. The anal dildo could be supplemented by a variety of pussy inserts that operated simultaneously on the same principle. He decided now would be a good time to demonstrate the full potential of a Rog-Reamer to the fascinated public and called a bailiff to the podium. 

Five minutes later he was faced by a silenced seething amazon who could only convey her wrath by daggering looks. A powerful wrought iron head cage bolted to the upper yoke held her head arrogantly tilted upward, and an integral mouth stretching dowel peg reached deep into her throat. Being hollow it served two purposes in that it silenced her and allowed feeding without removal if deemed necessary by warders. Prison gruel was almost liquid and would easily pass through the tube. All one needed was a funnel to reduce spillage, and a prisoner could be poured full of the disgusting mush at one's leisure. A simple bung in the end reduced noise through the tube once that function was completed.

In addition, nipple clamps and taut chains joined tits to the underside of the yoke, a subtle arrangement that only really became effective if one had to hop in order to move. The consequences for the clamped nipples then became unthinkable as the breasts bounced with alacrity.

The square was soon echoing to the sound of clapping and cheering as the demonstration resumed. A distraught amazon leader looked to be suitably chastised as she hopped around, gasping and groaning whilst twin dildos butt and pussy fucked her simultaneously. In addition she was now enduring the searing bite of nipple clamps as her generous tits bounced and jerked at the nipple leashes. A pendulous wildly swinging clitoral weight also did little to ease her problems. Even that had an upgrade option for difficult prisoners. The weight could be replaced by a long spring which once connected to the ankle yoke and clit, worked in combination with the butt fucking arrangement. An additional spike attachment, not sharp enough to pierce, but sufficient to give painful prods to the rump with each hop was another extra. For the moment that had been left off.

Four circuits of the square was enough to give the guerilla leader an in- depth insight into the rigours of her next ten years. Whenever she wasn't sleeping or feeding, this was how she would be secured, and this was the only way she could move around.

Sven couldn't help himself. His desire to exercise his night-time conquest refused to stay under control any longer. In any case a God could do what the hell he liked. Leaving the podium he ventured down and took the leash from the bailiff as he ordered the rest to be yoked. The bailiff moved away and he turned back to face Yelda.

There was a mixture of defiance and pleading in her eyes, and Sven felt a searing heat as he exercised his power over her beleaguered form and began to hop her around. The close up frontal view was a staggering voyeuristic treat of entrammelled femininity. The device was so simple and yet so ruthlessly effective at imparting maximum humiliation. Already the frontal dildo was streaked with the juices of her arousal, and as he hopped her further the flow increased to rivulets. Sven walked backwards as he led her along, savouring the imploring looks, the painfully jouncing boobs, and that massive dildo jamming itself repeatedly into her defenceless pussy every time she squatted to make her next unavoidable hop.

He moved behind her and prodded the teetering helpless woman forward with a stick loaned by an onlooker. The rear view was even more uplifting. That huge anal dildo was splitting her bottom like an axe and vanishing between flexing clenched buttocks as it exploded into her tightly resisting sphincter. It was really something to behold and was almost too much to consider when he thought that for the next ten years this was the view she would be presenting to all who looked. All it took was a slight tug on the lead or a prod with the stick and Yelda had no choice but to impale herself on a shaft that stretched her clenching butt hole to a tight shining orifice of overstressed skin.

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Of course none of the prisoners in the square realised that whenever they were yoked for exercise, they would be spending the entire time hopping around on the end of a tireless rotating exerciser. The prison had hundreds of them, and it was a daily spectacle to see ring after ring of endlessly circling prisoners who had no choice but to follow the lead of their unbreakable collars. In the past they had been merely walking with leg irons clanking around their ankles. The invention of the Rog-Reamer seemed set to alter all that.

Sven paused as a newly Rog-Reamered selection of beauties were added to the well shafted panting amazon figure. Short chains connecting yoke to yoke formed a coffle. Then it started again, only this time with some twenty hopping well fucked prisoners. And so it went on as each pause added to the line of traumatised bounding convicts. As the butt fucking line grew, so did the simultaneous gagged gasps generated by a multitude of impaled bottoms and pussies. They had to move in unison or suffer the consequences of a domino effect that would bring them all down. In a way Sven was hoping one of them would screw up. The image of dozens of bound helpless females bouncing face down on their luscious tits appealed to him somehow.

By late morning the column was complete and the last Hog-yoke devoid of an occupant. Yelda was connected to the prison warder's Gril, and at a signal from Sven he began to lead the jouncing horde to their new home. The prison was some twelve Earth miles distant, so they would be travelling for three days before the first release from those devilish Rog-Reamers. Sven grinned as he thought of those two hundred and sixteen very sore crotches at the end of the journey. A quick mental calculation turned his knees to jelly. Twelve miles, that was 21,120 yards, so at 18" inches to the hop, each woman had some 42,240 butt reaming, pussy shafting, tit bouncing, nipple jerking bounds to complete before they arrived.

However, the thought that they would never get to serve the full sentence in Rog-Reamer format was already in his mind. But first there was the small matter of designing something even more diabolical to tempt the elders.

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In the meantime his planned tour of the prison facility was some four or five weeks off. By then, Yelda, the haughty commander-in-chief would be a mite more tamed he thought.

Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh! Uuuuuhh!

The sounds of over two hundred women helplessly butt-fucking themselves faded slowly into the distance as the tail end of the column bounded out of the square. With a feeling of total satisfaction at the day's achievements, Sven decided to go back to the ship and fuck the brains out of his two favourite women. Tracy and Fiona were nominated to receive the full blast of his pent up carnal urges.

Given the recent events, that promised to be a fairly extensive release of carnal energy, which translated to them getting their brains fucked out yet again, and in any conceivable format that took Sven's fancy.


CHAPTER SEVEN
THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION

Sven relaxed and allowed his mind to scan over the events of the last few days. Tracy and Fiona had been duly serviced after being reinstalled in the phallic tubes. They were resting now, still in the tubes in case he needed them again later.

Thyros at first glance seemed to be a place with little promise of new ways to torment women, given the early state of their evolution. Maybe first impressions were wrong. On closer inspection this medieval planet appeared to be a gift from heaven. The gender war was almost won, and only a few diehard outposts were still holding out. It was expected that they would fall to the nuller gun superiority in a few days. Already a new batch of rebel leaders were being assembled for trial, and once they had been Rog-Reamed it was all over for feminists bar the shouting. They were women's last hope of resistance.

It was time for the male conspirators to start thinking about where they went from here. After managing to drag Roger away from an upended squat-bound lovely he was in the process of fucking for the tenth time, Sven called a board meeting of the Thyros God Committee.

"So what now, Roger old sport? Any ideas on how the future development of Thyros should go?" Roger cast a superior look in his direction and Sven had a feeling he was about to get a list of suggestions that would require several old Earth style bog rolls on which to write it all down. He eased himself back into the couch and prepared to receive a thorough ear bashing from his lustfully imaginative companion.

"Well first boss, I think we should do a little tinkering with the industrial development. If we leave them to their own devices, I estimate it will be a couple of hundred years before they develop steel, and we'll be dust before they get around to plastics and composite alloys. However, whilst you were busy playing Judge, I was doing a survey via Starburst computers of the entire planet surface. This place is a veritable gold mine of raw materials, all of those we find on Earth, plus a few others that are rare in the galaxy." He paused as Sven cast a disbelieving eye at him.

"YOU were busy doing a geo-scan whilst I was playing Judge?" 

Roger was a picture of innocence.

"Sure boss. I can operate the remote computer links from the cargo bay with my ship-com telelink. So what's wrong with a little workers playtime?" Sven took that to mean he was busy shafting anything in sight and watching court developments at the same time as his electronic brain connected to the ship orbiting above. Sven shook his head in disbelief. Only Roger could enjoy a good shag whilst his mind was occupied with a gazillion other tasks. Sven wasn't sure he needed a brain that distracted him in any way from the pleasures of plunging into a helpless female. He waved for his sidekick to go on as Roger put on his best hurt look.

"The first task is to get these people smelting iron on an industrial scale and then upgrade the output by showing techniques and additives to achieve steel status." Sven nodded agreement. "At least then we can get them casting and forging decent cuffs and collars on a mass production basis. If we don't, this whole shebang is going to get out of control. It only needs one slick chick to wriggle out of a faulty piece of rawhide and we could have another revolution on our hands just at the wrong time." Roger nodded agreement to that.

"Precisely! We need riveted manacles and fetters that they can't get out of without being released. I'd suggest we make it law that all women are chained from the age of sixteen years onwards, and before that they are confined to compounds as they grow up. If we bring in heavy penalties for non-chaining, that should do the trick."

Sven fired another question.

"Can you see any reason why we can't get the plastics and synthetics industry going at the same time? That would save an awful lot of time if the two technologies advanced simultaneously." Roger considered that at length before replying.

"Maybe, but the problem there is the metals. We need the alloys to make equipment capable of producing synthetics."

Sven sighed and looked crestfallen.

"We'll be old men before anything gets going, or at least I will. You have a working life of two thousand years you big plastic wanker." Roger looked puzzled.

"Wanker---?" His interpretation of a wanker was a human masturbating himself. That was the one sexual trait Roger was not endowed with. Sven grinned.

"Slang term good buddy." Roger seemed relieved.

"There is an answer boss." Sven looked up expectantly. "We set it all in motion and then do our God-like vanishing act and zip back to Starburst." Sven seemed unable to grasp what he had in mind.

"The stasis couches boss. We use the stasis couches and you go to sleep for a couple of hundred years. I can easily fix the system to do a blanket coverage of the cargo bays so all the girls will be in stasis as well. They'll be exactly the same when you wake up." Sven's eyes lit up as the simplicity of it hit him. Then a sudden thought occurred to him.

"But you won't be asleep Roger old son. So whilst I'm snoozing you will no doubt be up to your plastic ass in chicks, and they'll all be ageing as long as they are out of stasis." Roger grinned as Sven fixed him with a look one would use for a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I don't have to boss. I can just zip down to Thyros in the shuttle and stock up with new goodies once a week. It's hardly as if there isn't an ample supply down there."

Sven thought it over and shrugged. That was a good point; the plot seemed okay. But as a safeguard he added his own idea.

"Then the cargo bays are sealed and I get to keep the seal with me, Roger old son. I'll be lying on it in the stasis cubicle."

Roger did his best pouting hurt look again.

"As if I would abuse your trust, boss."

The micro chips in his brain were already replanning the scenario he'd planned. These human types weren't as daft as they looked, and Roger often found himself confused by their ability to sense skulduggery. It was a sensation he would never experience. Any sixth sense he ever developed would have to be a sense that could be written to a chip. Roger felt the electronic equivalent of a mental sigh as the visions of stuffing Tracy and Fiona to his heart's content were dashed. Ah!..Well, the consolation prizes on Thyros were sure to fill the gap.

"So when do we start, Roger my old son?"

Roger's superior look returned as he answered.

"I've already planned a schedule boss, and they way I see it, this input should accelerate their development two fold or more. In other words they'll be making basic alloys and steels in fifty to eighty years. Add ten onto that and raw plastics will be commonplace."

Sven was impressed. If Roger's calculations were correct he would be leap frogging the two or three hundred years it took Earth to accomplish the same feat.

"So let's go to it good buddy." He paused after rising and turned thoughtfully back to his plasti-metal pal. "How long till I can go for the big sleep Roger?" Roger considered the question for a microsecond or more. 

"About three weeks boss. After that there won't be anything you can add to speed things up. And in any case, I'll be keeping a watchful eye on things when I pop down for supplies." Sven cocked an eye at him. Supplies to Roger were new screwable females in exchange for old. But it suited his plans well.

"Three weeks, huh! That should be just about right for amazon tits." He was thinking aloud, and his train of thought was interrupted by Roger. 

"Guessed you'd taken a shine to that particular lady boss. I've arranged to have her transferred from Gazra just before we depart. You can freeze her with the rest and complete the training when you wake up." 

Sven eyed Roger with an appraising look. The pompous mechanical asshole was mocking him again, yet he was glad Roger was along for the trip.

The metal man was a gem when it came to forward planning and anticipating his every whim, and he was proving to be a friend of great standing.

"Nice one Roger. Much appreciated good buddy!"

Sven moved off with a warm glow in his crotch as images of an extremely malleable amazon leader came into focus. Three weeks attached to that Rog-Reamer should make her very receptive to other designs he intended to inflict on her body.

Roger watched him go with a sort of smug contentment. He liked to please the boss; a pleased Sven was far more likely to allow him a lot more leeway when it came to his own personal kinks.

Life had been good with Sven, and ever since meeting him and becoming self aware with the reprogramming, it just kept getting better. Wait till Sven found out that he had ordered amazon tits to be fitted with the spiked butt goads for her entire journey to Gazra. He was sure the boss would be pleased with the resultant change in the ferocious attitude of the amazon.


CHAPTER EIGHT
AMAZON TITS

It was day two in the life of two hundred and sixteen recently convicted prisoners. Gasping and jerking with each jabbing goad, Yelda wrinkled her nose in revulsion as the Gril first farted a foul cloud of evil smelling gas, then crapped right in her path. She couldn't see it due to the blinder placed over her eyes, but she heard the distinct plopping of dropping crap balls. Seconds later she found herself hopping through a steaming mountain of Gril shit. She slipped slightly, and as a result had to make a longer bound to make up lost ground before the Gril pulled her flat on her tits. It was a costly slip. In order to make the longer hop she had to skewer herself to a full thirteen inches on the butt dildo with the deep squat required for the leap. A loud groan seeped around the dowel gag and the Gril rider turned and laughed as he jerked the leash callously.

Yelda landed from her prodigious leap with a painful nipple snatching jolt, and settled back to a steady ten inch impalement as the massive dildo bludgeoned its way in and out of her sore ass. The frontal pussy pumping intruder wasn't quite so bad. At least in that department her body was supplying copious amounts of lubricant.

Chest heaving legs quivering, she struggled to maintain the monotonous muscle grinding chore of bounding along as yet another orgasm ripped through her labouring body. Only five miles from town and already she'd experienced twenty-eight pulverising, uninvited, unwelcome, carnal eruptions since leaving the square. The first day accounted for some nine events. Learning to travel in this strenuous and painful mode managed to keep the count down on that first day as all her mental effort was taken up simply trying to stay vertical. Some clumsy asshole behind her tripped at the two mile marker and the whole jouncing column went tits down in very short order. It was a salutary lesson in balance no-one felt inclined to forget.

Squatting for the next leap, she shuddering uncontrollably with rage as her lower body expanded to absorb the plundering dildos. Each insertion was adding to the score she owed that bastard God-Judge.

"Uuuuuugh!" Tender abused buttocks contacted the daggering goads and she launched herself forward on the next of an endless series of hops that took her another eighteen inches closer to Gazra.

Unnoticed by the labouring column of captives, a lone shepherd in the valley looked up in puzzlement at the long snaking line of females on the skyline. At that range it appeared as if a demented caterpillar was bouncing along the ridge. Only the chorus of Uuuuuggghs! told him he was mistaken. He shook his head in disbelief. It sounded almost like the sound made by a multitude of gagged females in deep trouble.

First nightfall for the hopping column of miserable denuded convicts proved only a minor relief. The warder kept them connected and merely went along the column knocking in stakes. Each in turn was pulled down to full dildo insertion and then connected to the stakes. In effect they could neither rise nor squat fully, which left them semi squatted with dildo stretched orifices for the whole night. The dawn revealed a line of quivering beaten prisoners trying to cope with the immense strain of maintaining such a tiring position. It was the warder's way of showing them who was boss at an early stage; in effect knocking the fight out of any remaining trouble makers.

The guy knew his job. Anyone of them was prepared to give him a blow job sooner than spend another minute in that position. It was a point he proved most thoroughly by ungagging one yellow skinned beauty and offering his rampant tool to her face. Without hesitation the girl grimaced and then eagerly took him into her mouth; no doubt hoping that she could earn favour. It was hardly the act one expect of a tough resistance fighter. But then, times change, and along with them circumstances.

For ten minutes she gobbled like a turkey on heat, mouth stretched to tearing around what was probably the biggest cock in the prison service. Then, after absorbing his generous orally administered seed injection, she found herself left till last for release from the half crouch.

His morning blow-job over, and breakfast sitting heavily in his obese stomach, the warder burped, mounted the Gril and jerked his hopping coffle into motion. At least the warder had relented on Yelda. The second day she was allowed to see as the blinder was removed. It helped a lot.

Now some two or three miles on from that overnight stop, Yelda was finally getting the hang of pumping her body on the inescapable butt reamer. The knack of overcoming the horribly unwanted orgasms generated by the pistoning front dildo still evaded her, and looked it was a situation that looked likely to get worse as her orifices became used to the endlessly pumping poles. The frequency of orgasmic eruption was increasing in all of the yoked women as they shafted themselves and orgasmed with soul destroying regularity.

Yelda caught the warden grinning back at her and felt his eyes savouring her swollen breasts and turgid raw nipples. He was really enjoying the sight of her punishment, but there was little she could do to avoid providing the spectacle of a suffering beaten feminist. His crop whacked the rump of the Gril, and Yelda screeched her anger against the gag as her bounding antics were forcibly stepped up to even greater pace. There was nothing any of them could do other than comply. The Rog-Reamer was a diabolically effective device that left no room for any compromise. 

Within the space of a few yards the Gril had set up a steady trot, inducing the following weary column of helpless women to perform a madly bounding dance in order to keep up. There was only one way to do that, as the amazon Yelda had previously found out to her horror, and that was to increase the depth of impalement so as to lengthen the bound.

Roger's calculations were right on the nail. To the nearest millimetre he'd figured the dildo operation. At a normal Gril trot speed, each and every prisoner was shafting herself with a rapidly reciprocating thirteen inches of hard polished wood. His other calculations, made available to the warder of course, revealed that the coffle should be able to maintain this violent activity for bursts of ten minutes with ten minute breaks at normal speed in between. For the duration of day two, the warder put that theory to the test.

Ten minutes at full trot, ten minutes at a Gril walk. Again Roger's calculations worked out.

On average the entire column experienced thirty orgasms a piece as a result, and it was a very tired, exhausted, and decrepit column that finally came to a stop as dusk closed in for the second night. Unfortunately the stopover was near to a village, and their warder simply couldn't resist showing off the new Rog-Reamers to curious villagers who collected in the camp. In addition he saw a way to earn a little pocket money by renting them out for trial.

Prisoners were selected and cut out of the column. Money changed hands and they were handed over to paying villagers who then had them hopping all over the place for many hours. In some cases the luckless rentals were handed to the younger men whilst their elders had a drink and watched the fun. That was the worst humiliation of all, and in many cases the most strenuous.

The village tearaways took great delight in exercising these helpless women to the limits of their endurance. Often they forced the women to jostle on the spot, urged on to greater effort by the stinging whippy canes, cut from nearby foliage. The Rog-Reamer lent itself admirable to offering butts for whipping. With the hands by the side of their heads, the helpless woman had no protection at all as vicious males lashed at their flexing bottoms. It was a case of flex and shag themselves on the dildos or suffer the consequences of enraged tearaways who exhibited no mercy for disobedient female prisoners.

Yelda was one of the unlucky ones to fall into the clutches of these monsters and found herself with ankle yoke shackled to a ground stake, thus to ensuring she couldn't hop away. She was thrashed unmercifully as she tried to keep up with the bouncing butt reaming demands of the surrounding mob. A few seated themselves behind her and she could hear them discussing the spectacle of each massive insertion as she bounce squatted. 

The warder and onlooking elders just laughed and watched with interest. Best the young men of the village learned the tricks of the trade at an early age. Thyros was going to need a breed of men who were skilled in the handling of unmanageable females in order to prevent a replay of their earlier rise to a position where they could challenge the authority of men.

A loud guffaw of laughter went up as one adventurous lout circled the captive amazon then reached out and grabbed a handful of tit. Thyros men were fast learners.

It was a long night for Yelda with only the thought of yet another day spent bounding along that endless road to Gazra, the only foreseeable future. What happened to them once they reached the dreaded women's prison at Gazra didn't bear thinking about.

As it turned out, the warder showed that he was all heart and allowed them to at least spend the remaining hours of darkness in a horizontal mode. Helped by the remaining villagers he placed each captive in a face down position, that left the flat front of the yokes resting on the ground. Then, after yanking the ankles up and causing maximum insertion of the dildos, he connected the ankle yoke to their waist bands. The result was a tripod effect with yoke and two forcibly bent knees forming the points of rest. Two hundred and sixteen rearing, butt fucked, female bottoms made an impressive sight, even under moonlight. Nevertheless it was an effective method of ensuring an untroubled night's sleep for the warder. None of his prisoners were going anywhere that night.

With the nubile sculpted forms scattered randomly around the campsite, the warder selected a central spot and was soon snoring and deep in sleep. A background noise of groaning stressed females was a bedtime lullaby for this guy.

Yelda tensed and writhed as the Gril took an interest in her defenceless ass and for many hours she endured as the stinking animal rasped a course tongue in her crotch cleft. With the massive anal dildo partially blocking the way, the Gril was forced to use all twenty inches of forked tongue to reach what it wanted. It was like having a hot rough skinned snake at work in her most sensitive region.

She didn't know it but the warder was under orders to ensure that this particular prisoner endured maximum trauma without damage. Tethering the Gril close to her totally incapacitated form was a deliberate act. Gril were known to have a liking for human female sexual secretions, and Yelda's entire crotch region and inner thighs were encrusted with the dried residue of countless unavoidable liquid orgasmic betrayals generated by the inescapable pumping action of the twin dildos. As she was the only one placed in range of the Gril's tether, she was assured of its full and undivided attention.

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Yelda spasmed violently as the diabolically effective tongue slid over her blood engorged mons and flipped her prominent throbbing clitoris with consummate skill. The Gril was deliberately milking her of yet more viscous liquid as the latest orgasm exploded into her crotch. After a long career based in the prison compound, the beast obviously knew how to extract its favourite delicacy from helpless humanoid creatures. Out of choice it preferred freshly manufactured syrup to the dried variety; and it knew just how to get it. The fact that these human creatures begrudged parting with this delicious substance was immaterial. It had learned long ago that these strangely fettered females were incapable of retaliating or resisting in any way.

The Gril lips formed a pouting suction tube and to her fury Yelda felt her clit being drawn powerfully into the suckling orifice. She strained at the yoking, but it was a pointless gesture. There was no escape from the searching tongue flicking at the extremity of her suckled clit. That damned Gril was going to extract its full measure of the delicious juice from anything that couldn't resist. The clitoral vacuum stimulator continued for some minutes as it worked her into a fever of unwanted arousal, then the Gril moved to another more devastating method.

The tongue tip forced its way between her pussy dildo and the elastic walls of her over stressed love tube. Yelda snorted, nostrils flaring, and promptly rewarded the Gril with a renewed gush of her syrupy love lubricant as she exploded into a renewed frenzied orgasmic writhing. There was no denying the expert ministrations of that fiendishly active tongue, and the animal blithely ignored the muted sounds of discontent, that were somehow out of character with the wanton pelvic thrusting the yoked woman was attempting to achieve.

The Gril could see it was onto a winner, and in seconds a full ten inches of tongue had wormed alongside the dildo and was wriggling madly inside her helpless body. Suckling, slobbering lips descended upon her rearing rump, nuzzling between her buttocks as they sought out the peachy love mounds that were rich in liquid spoils as it worked methodically around the skewering shaft of her frontal dildo. With the nearness of her pussy it was now able to insert a full twenty inches of squirming tongue, which it promptly arranged in a devastating animated pulsing spiral around the hard wooden dowel of her dildo. The Gril was making a determined attempt to suck her dry as she strained and prayed for release from the never ending torment. Unfortunately, Gazra prison Grils were renowned for ignoring the prayers of female convicts. For the first time in her life Yelda knew what it was like to be a milking cow and have liquid stolen from her body by demand. Leeching lips closed vice like on her love mounds and suckled powerfully as she stiffened, quivered violently, and spasmed yet again. Then as the all powerful sensations waned she opened her eyes to see the warder awake and grinning widely at her scarlet bulging cheeks and popping eyes. A movement under the blanket confirmed her fears. He was jerking himself off and using her demise as the catalyst for his fantasies. The asshole was getting a big kick out of seeing a female commander in chief being used as a drink vendor by his Gril. Anger flared in her mind and for a short time she was able to ignore the pulsing tongue deep inside her love channel. 

Annoyed at the reduction of flow as Yelda completed her last orgasm, the Gril took to rooting her cleft with a hard boney nose to indicate it wanted more. For several minutes the abused captive endured as her helpless form was callously jacked up then dropped at the rear end, scuffing her hard working knees, jolting the yoke and squashing tits with each impact. Then the tongue and lips returned to search the warm vending slot of her sex mouth, and in no time at all Yelda found herself being irresistibly induced to vend the next delivery of Gril juice. To her horror Yelda saw that the recent abuse had been the final event to trigger the warder's ejaculation. Eyes glazed and stiffened, the bastard eased the last drops from a spent tool as Yelda lost control yet again and exploded into her next juice delivery. The Gril was good, and obviously learning the specific technique required for this particular benefactor. The orgasm lasted forever as Yelda huffed and puffed from flaring nostrils, groaned past the gag and tore frantically at the yoke as the Gril tongue effortlessly maintained her at maximum output for five long minutes. Vaguely she saw the Gril rider loose interest and turn over to sleep, callously leaving her to ministrations by that devastating tongue.

Hours later a breaking dawn revealed a busy Gril still at work and a helpless yoked human vendor with bloodshot pleading eyes still straining as her latest orgasm died away. Yelda was milked dry. In fact she was secretly praying to be slip-streaming the rear end of that stinking Gril as she bounded along behind. At least there she would be safe from the never ending torment of that fiendishly skilful tongue.

The split tip wrapped around her clitoris and gently tugged as Yelda shuddered violently, her body exploded into orgasm yet again. The Gril wasn't giving up, and rather angrily it thrust deeply into her pussy in search of the syrup.

Yelda had long since ceased to struggle. Her wrists and ankles were sore with the constant chaffing as she fought to be free. Resigned to her fate she endured as the Gril rutted and rooted in her love channel, callously humping and shoving the immobilised helpless amazon syrup provider around in it's efforts to milk the final drops from her depleted stock of love juice. 

The bound amazon decided that she should consider the good side of all this in the absence of anything else to bolster her flagging self esteem. Thyros had opted to adopt the galactic norm regarding cross species sex. Sex with animals was taboo, and as such the Rog Reamer and all other devices precluded any means by which an animal could take full sexual advantage of an incapacitated female. That mandate apparently did not include preventing Grils from driving a woman nuts with unfulfillable titillation.


CHAPTER NINE
TIME LOOPS

The next two weeks passed pretty much as Roger planned. Blacksmiths from all over the newly formed male empire converged on his forums to learn the new ways. Thyrons, as it turned out, were a highly intelligent race who learned quickly. It soon became obvious that even without help, they were advancing at almost twice the speed of Earth. It boded well for the future as foreseen by the two lustful time travelling conspirators from beyond the stars.

By the end of the second week most had grasped the principles of converting pig iron into higher grade steels, and in some cases the blacksmiths jumped lectures yet to be given and offered suggestions for improving the process. Both of the space travellers were ecstatic. Thyros seemed poised for an industrial revolution of an unprecedented growth rate. Sven became a little alarmed that this might de-stabilise the developing cultures; but Roger, after a quick check of Federation historical records, discovered that this phenomenon of rapid technological advancement was fully documented. In the records of the time era they had left behind in the future, Thyros showed an extremely well balanced and ordered culture despite the surge in knowledge.

Sven immediately picked up on that with a ribald comment.

"Not surprised Roger my old chum. They didn't have any women clouding the issues with illogical emotional issues. Seems like we did Thyros one helluva favour here good buddy."

"The galaxy, actually boss. I projected the possible future of Thyros beyond our time of leaving Earth and its effect on the Federation.

It's almost inconceivable to envisage a Federation that, upon seeing the benefits of a Thyron culture on a galaxy wide basis, won't adopt it at some future date. The proof they needed was the expansion of female slavery to neighbouring planets even before we left. Everybody wants to get in on the act. It's inevitable boss. All females of any species within the Federation will one day be placed in a subservient status much the same as the sex slave system we're developing here." Sven looked thoughtful. 

"Y'know Roger, the egg-heads at base must have figured that out as well. If they have, they must have let us carry on with the voyage so that they could take over what we started. What say we work along those lines and build in some surprises for them; surprises that won't become visible until after the time these records relate to. What say we fix it so that we become the big cheeses; the controllers of the whole shebang. Have you any concept of the fortunes and perks to be made as head of a galaxy wide organisation trading and controlling the slave markets of the future?"

Roger looked shocked rather than impressed.

"We can't boss. If we do anything to alter the future, we may cease to exist. Whatever we do now has already happened so that won't count. The world we left behind in time was shaped by what we did here." Sven shook his head.

"Only if we do something really stupid that would alter the future up until the time we left. Beyond that hasn't been written yet. So we set our development time bomb for beyond that time, then it becomes fact; .. after the fact. Get it?" Roger nodded thoughtfully.

"It computes. It would work if we are really careful to make sure nothing changes up to the date we left Earth, plus the added time since then as we travelled backwards. We daren't consciously alter anything behind our present local time, transposed back to Earth time; 'relative' that is."

Sven's brain performed a mental somersault trying to figure that one out. Then he just gave up and allowed Roger to air his grasp of time loops, cause and effect.

"You could argue that any time accrued after we went backwards in time doesn't count, a sort of double exposure of the same time, but I wouldn't want to bet on it. Even my brain is incapable of calculating all the possible angles on that score." Sven's brain was back to being agog with mind- boggling combinations. But he hid it well.

He beamed his best 'I told you so' look at his pal. It wasn't often he got one over on the plastic palooka, but when he did it was a rare treat to be savoured.

"So how do we do that boss. How do we ensure that we get control?" It was Sven's turn to look superior.

"Piece of cake, Roger old son. We simply build it into their culture; their religion. 'The Good Book' a rule book if you like, that we'll be leaving behind. It states that the Great God Sven and Rog will return to take over in the second millennium or whatever. I'll leave the actual date for you to figure out." Roger's puzzled look began to fade.

"And so meanwhile you use the stasis cubicle during the waiting time to freeze ageing." Sven nodded.

"And you go into power down mode on a pre-determined schedule, just program yourself to self energise once very couple of hundred years for a check on Thyros, a couple of days of shagging to keep you from rusting up, then back to sleepy byes. That way you can extend your 1000 odd years working life to match mine." Roger looked puzzled again.

"Rusty boss? I can't oxidise. All my components are dural alloy and synthetics. They'll be as good as new a thousand years after my bio chip shuts down."

Sven threw a vid disk at him.

""Joke you idiot. It was a figure of speech." He paused as a slow grin spread over Roger's face. Goddammit! The plastic palooka had actually learned how to wind him up and was playing him at his own game. That KJ-2766345/AA-23M learning chip was a real winner. Then an afterthought occurred to him.

"Rog' what do Fed records show about the Gods and religions of Thyros?” Roger had already anticipated the question and done his homework on that score.

"They walked the planet of Thyros until approximately a month from now if legends can be believed. Then they vanished. Legend has it they will return in the future to revue Thyros' development."

A wide grin creased Roger's face.

"You asshole. You already knew what I was planning and you just sat there and let me burble on, why didn't you tell me- -! A sudden thought struck him. "Now hang on a minute. If you know that, the Feds know it." 

Roger nodded.

"Of course they do, but they can't know exactly when or what we have planned, so on that score we have them by the galactic balls so to speak. Given the rewards for them if we pull it off, they had to take that risk. Chances are that they didn't credit us with enough intelligence to work that angle out. There's no record of any plot on our behalf to foil their plan which means two things. It hasn't happened yet because we planned it that way, therefore there was nothing to find. Secondly, we obviously did a good job hiding it. The reason I let you burble on was to confirm what I already figured out. Even without being able to see what happened, your planning is setting out a future already ordained. We're not altering events in the past. It was a good test; don't you see?"

Sven passed a hand over his eyes and sighed.

"This time loop shit is getting too heavy for me. You work it all out and let me know what you come up with. The way I see it, provided we don't actively rearrange something so as to deliberately affect what we already know happened, we can't go wrong."

"A coconut for the guy in the funny hat!"

Another scrap vid disk winged its way towards Roger as Sven reacted to his cheeky partner. Roger deftly caught it in his mouth, and ate it. He turned to leave, but Sven called him back.

"When you plan the takeover, make sure it includes some sort of battle plan for adding Trylon-31 to our empire, Roger."

Roger looked straight at him.

"Isn't that the all female amazon populated planet the Fed space Corps task force came unstuck on?"

Sven nodded.

"That's the one. In fact, plan for that to be our eventual base of operations. With a stock of raw material like that we'll never need to look elsewhere for ourselves, and our pet amazon Yelda will feel right at home amongst all those other mega gorgeous female giants. In fact I have a yen to train a few of them to become the minders of Tracy and Fiona." His mind went wild at the thought of scenarios a few skilled intuitive amazons could come up with to maintain their privileged status. Any race that could devise such an awesomely licentious tool as the *Exstata cocoon had to be worth a second look.

*Exstata Cocoon - Device revealed in Starburst One.

Pushing such mind-bending thoughts to the back of his mind, Sven concentrated on the last verses of his Scriptures. The bible according to Sven was almost complete. All he had to do now was introduce it to the religious elders who had been avidly awaiting some sort of spiritual guidance from their new Gods. And so it came to pass over the next couple of weeks that a new religion was born on Thyros. A religion that placed men firmly on the pedestal of power and relegated females to their rightful place; at their feet, and preferably in chains.

The elders accepted the book with reverence. And it seemed the computer translation was right on the mark. There were no questions or puzzled looks as they scanned the pages of strange text; only gasps of awe as the true destiny of Thyros unfolded in the book's prophesies. As it happened, exactly as they would want it to unfold. Sven could see that he was going to get no arguments from anyone on Thyros about the new order. Now it was up to them to follow the path of light and for the entrepreneurs of industry to get their asses into gear. As soon as Roger completed the political time bomb to outwit the Feds' future takeover bid, they could be on their way.

Time to get Yelda back from Gazra and prepare his swelling group of maidens for the long sleep. It took but a minute to write the order for her release into his custody and send a Gril messenger to Gazra prison.


CHAPTER TEN
RETURN OF THE AMAZON

Two days later, Sven was idly scanning the terrain with the vid scanner when a small dust cloud appeared on the horizon. At first it seemed insignificant and he almost ignored it. Then a sixth sense urged him to take a closer look. He zoomed to two hundred magnification.

The resultant view almost had him exploding into his pants. A deliciously bound and impotised Yelda had arrived a day early. He was rewarded by the screen filling image of a solitary, tightly cinched and impossibly controlled female figure bounding along behind a trotting Gril with strength sapping double legged leaps. There was no mistaking the excruciatingly trussed, nubile figure of the amazon beauty. The fact that she was a lone figure behind that Gril, dwarfed by the vastness of the landscape, only added to her diabolically inescapable plight. Somehow the surrounding desolation seemed to focus all attention on the unbelievably controlled hopelessness of her desperate situation, and the magnitude of her punishing ordeal. For a second or two Sven felt pity for the woman, but all his compassionate thoughts were quickly overwhelmed by the wonderfully lascivious spectacle of a female enduring such a horrendously humiliating and immensely taxing method of irresistible, self energised transportation. Sven felt his dick expand to a skin splitting size as he drank in the body pounding torment of her totally controlled plight.

At this distance it was hard to imagine the incredible demands on her body as she constantly hopped and bounded, rectally impaling herself with every forward leap; nor could he envisage the sense of total hopeless defeat being experienced as she vanished and reappeared with monotonous regularity when the road ran through dips in the vastness of the terrain. It was like watching a human spring endlessly pogoing along.

Image 16

In fact it was hard to believe that the leaping pillar of bulging, cinched, suntanned flesh was actually a living woman. At a distance and without the aid of powerful zoom facility, the Gril shape was easily recognised, but the bounding oddly contoured constantly flexing bronzed sausage shaped item in tow would mystify anyone without an in depth knowledge of the Rog-Reamer's diabolically fiendish purpose.

A few weeks incarcerated at Gazra prison, almost permanently ensconced in a Rog-Reamer, had done wonders for Yelda's mastery of the art of Rog-Reamer travel. Yet despite the obvious hopelessness of her task, Yelda was constantly straining at her bonds in an attempt to escape the muscle tearing effort of her travel. Being forcibly maintained at full Gril trot each day slashed a day off the normal trip.

Sven felt his crotch burning with urgent carnal heat as he watched the sinew straining, sweat drenched figure bounding along in the Gril's wake. The wear and tear on her butt and pussy must have been horrendous, but that didn't seem to bother the Gril rider who was cropping the Gril regularly to maintain the pace. Unfortunately Yelda didn't have a say in the matter, and the fact that she was a strong fit woman worked against her, in that it ensured that she was capable of withstanding the demands made on her without total collapse.

Mouth stretched and packed to bursting point and effectively robbed of even the faintest whimper of protest, she performed as required, or ended up bouncing on her tits and being dragged by the neck. In addition, a further zoom revealed that she had not been a good obedient girl. The spring twixt clit and ankle yoke was in place and she was wearing a blinder, thus adding a cruel new dimension to the word torment. Clearly she was arranged in a punishment mode for the journey; an alteration carried out by her Gril rider as soon as they were out of sight of the prison. 

Unable to prevent his sadistic enjoyment in any way, the tightly bound column that was Yelda had only managed to squirm in a pitifully inadequate manner as she felt the new additions being connected and heard his lustful laughter. He returned to his comfortable perch on the Gril and nudged the beast into motion. Seconds later Yelda was screaming in impotent fury as her forward movement engineered a constant clit yanking torment.

In addition to this extra torment, recent prison development of the original concept provided a whole new experience in trauma. Her feet were bandaged in rawhide and yoked tightly together instead of the six inch spread that was normal. She also had some sort of carved two footed shoe that held her on tiptoe. Sven had to hand it to them, the Thyrons were inventive sods. Already they were hard at work perfecting the Rog-Reamer.

He studied the bounding, traumatised form harder. Yelda was truly a savagely bondaged column of ultimately controlled torment. She was bound, trussed, banded, cinched, compressed, and superbly sculpted to an excruciating pillar of flexing, super butt-fucked female impotence. The basic rawhide ties of Roger's initial design seemed to have been replaced by a custom made cage-like harness of the same type hide, only now in a much more powerful strap form. Her legs were banded tightly together at six inch intervals and he instantly understood the reasoning behind that. With her legs clamped, the dildos would be plunging in and out of much tighter, gripping orifices. The other cinches that marched up her torso seemed merely for aesthetic value; probably to pander to the inbred Thyron male impulse that decreed all women should be trussed to excruciating levels of tightness. He had to admit that Yelda looked great with her whole body swelling into taut straining curves between the rawhide cinches; cinches that gradually tightened to incredible tension with the hide's natural shrinkage during the two day journey. In some of the more fleshy places they were almost hidden by the bursting protuberances of flesh extruded by the ruthless foreshortening effects of shrinkage and he tried to visualise what it felt like to be so brutally cinched into such a helpless flexing figurine of controllable living tissue.

As his eyes travelled upward he noticed other irregularities. Something was different about the top yoke. The painfully jostling breasts seemed much more prominent, a feature that couldn't be due entirely to the intricate root cinching, which was a feature designed to pressurise them into hard spheres and endow her with daggering rock hard, super sensitive, blood engorged nipples. The neck yoke had been narrowed and instead of holes at each side of the head for her wrists, Yelda had them forced into a back prayer and clamped behind her neck by the modified yoke. The yoke in effect had only two holes. .. One for her throat, and the other for the mated wrists behind her neck. Yelda was powerfully mummified into a curvaceous flexing streamlined column of totally helpless femininity. The only function she was capable of undertaking was the one designated by Roger's initial inventiveness and the Thyrons diabolical genius for improving anything that contained and controlled the female form. The result was the bounding mode of travel she was being forced to undertake at this very moment.

The Thyron additions had taken the basic design a quantum leap further in their quest to crush the rebellious spirit of womanhood. In effect, they had, callously and ruthlessly converted Yelda into a purpose built travelling super bondaged parcel of sexually available merchandise; a constantly erupting parcel of seething anger and frustrated escape attempts.

A desirable side effect of the Rog Reamer was, of course, that the bound sex toy was self exercising, and after a very short time became sleek, firmly muscled and super fit. Of course there was a bonus in that the hard working buttocks muscles grew in power and bulk, and quickly assumed a startlingly prominent new profile of flexing desirability. Sven zoomed to 1000 magnification and locked auto-tracking onto the superbly animated bottom. The view screen instantly filled with a sea of curvaceous frenziedly toiling female rump that was already showing distinct signs of re-sculpting as her muscle bulk increased.

So basically, Yelda the woman simply didn't exist anymore. In her place was an angry bouncing fuckable package of female holes that could be forced to travel anywhere they chose to take her without the minutest hope of accomplishing any form of resistance or complaint; yet still receive maximum traumatic humiliation and provide lustful spectator sport during her travels. She was a cinched piece of merchandise on a chain as far as her warder was concerned; no feelings, no value, other than as a warm squirming item to bury one's dick in. There was no hope of escape, no physical limitations to consider, and the parcel certainly had no rights. 

In short Yelda was just an erotic bounding consignment of flexing curvaceous fuckable holes and voyueristically pleasing curves that could be transported, arranged, stored or used in any way her masters chose. Even the bouncing balls of pressurised tit adornment seemed unreal in their diabolically contrived format. Throbbing, taut, perfectly spherical orbs of tit erotica tipped with purple nipples were a male fantasy, that until the arrival of the resculpted Yelda, seemed destined to remain as mere baubles of the mind.

Sven almost lost control of his twitching dick as a viewer realignment concentrated his attention on the demonically ricochetting nipple-tipped balls of artificially pressurised breast tissue. No doubt they were very painful, but nevertheless magnificent to watch. Only at this magnification did another feature come to light. Yelda's frenzied tit animation was only due in part to her oscillating mode of travel. Connected to each ringed nipple were tethers that led to the ankles of the Gril's rear legs. Trotting the animal, or for that matter any forward movement, engineered a continuous jerking torment to the beleaguered boobs. Even as he watched Sven could see each orb in turn being yanked and elongated by the Gril's forward progress. Given that the pace was swift, Yelda didn't even get relief as she launched herself forward with each leap, and endured serious tit yanking even whilst in mid leap. It was a novel and surreal image to see her tits undergoing such diabolical distortion whilst airborne. Only then did Sven understand how she was able to achieve such long bounds. It was easy if one was being jerked forward by the nipples whilst in mid air. The Gril however, seemed oblivious to the slight tugging at its back legs as it unknowingly jerked the straining super parcelled female forwards. 

It was almost impossible to believe that this tightly cinched consignment of womanhood had been kept pogoing along for two days; unless one considered the rigorous bondage they had inflicted upon her in their quest for the ultimate in inescapable packaging. It was an arrangement that would give a slavemaster complete peace of mind over the security of the shipment, once correctly labelled and despatched. Only a glitch in the delivery system could affect the arrival. The package itself was incapable of altering the destination, delivery time, or the demands made upon it in any way. Even a small dog gripping the leash was capable of taking the parcelled thing for a hop, as was to become common practice at a future date. The trend was to use the smallest dogs possible, train them, and then have them exercise the bounding helpless parcels of femininity. Being under the complete control of an animal the size of a Chihuahua was just another example of the horrendous soul crushing humiliation Thyron males heaped on the downfallen female of the species.

In fact, the system was so foolproof, that the only reason her callously indifferent warder ever bothered to look back was to make sure the female parcelled up for delivery hadn't snapped the tether and blindly bounded off at a tangent. Even that cursory check on the consignment was a rare event. In his opinion the two ton tensile strength of the chain was considered to be the weakest link in the whole technique. As a result, half the time was spent snoozing under the hot sun as the Gril trotted onwards, dragging the muted, cinched, oscillating package along in its wake. Yelda was a masterpiece of suffering, and subjugated engineering; it was truly a diabolical fate for the strong willed object at the end of the chain.

***

Sven didn't know it, but Yelda represented Gazra's untested prototype version of the Rog-Reamer II, and the Gril rider was under instructions to test the new design to the full. In the development workshops she had been given a Thyron prefix which in English translated as FUCK-1. In fact, that bounding effigy was listed as RR-II-F1 (Rog-Reamer, Mark II test subject Fuck 1). But of course the tiny part number was tattooed on her inner thigh and in Thyron style lettering.

It proved to be a most humiliating experience to be stood there unmoving, totally impotised and awaiting testing as they discussed her like an commodity. She knew that they were going to take her to the limits of endurance and probably beyond, yet there was nothing she could do to prevent it. The route was discussed on a map laid in front of her, and she saw that mountain ranges were involved and long stretches of desert road. It seemed she was to be tested under all conditions. The fact that she was a warm blooded feeling female and not a machine seemed to have little impact on their planning. The teetering super trussed figurine had to be evaluated, and that was an end to any considerations for the soft, sensuous motivator core of their fiendish sex toy delivery system.

The Thyrons had the bit between their teeth now that women were beaten. Already the prison boasted a high tech development section. Yelda cast her eyes over to another unfortunate prisoner on the rolling road tester.

She was proving the new punishment Rog-Reamer version designed for troublesome inmates. Only her knowledge of the contents allowed her to believe that it actually contained her friend Ginaala. To all intents and purposes, it was a madly flexing frankfurter with only an amorphous ball head and ballerina pointing toes at opposite ends, a shape that was only vaguely female. The black amorphous ball that formed the head seemed to be balanced on a tube of wrought iron, that served as both collar and fixing point for the tow chain. The featureless female shaped sausage was bisected with more wrought iron overbands, in effect shaping it into a series of cinched bulging rings. But inside that bounding tubular shape was a package of torment that staggered the imagination.

It was formed in a resilient tough high density rubber sponge of sorts, an extract from tree sap no doubt seeded with another sap to make it expand into a mould. The device encapsulated the woman completely. Unseen were the real objects of torment. The entire form fitting internal moulding was equipped with needle sharp spikes that raked her straining flesh with every movement. Only a millimetre long, they were sufficient to prod and scratch without causing a serious wound. Then there was the insulating effects to consider. Such strenuous enforced motion had the poor women bathing in a sea of her own sweat.

A technician with clipboard approached the bounding de-humanised object, and after a few checks, increased the Gril driven belt speed. The black frankfurter thing responded immediately. It had no choice. Keening pleas escaped the amorphous ball head as the motion was accelerated to impossible levels, but were ignored as the speed inexorably mounted. Two hours previously Ginaala had capitulated and sworn to become a compliant prisoner. It did her no good. The test called for a full day. But there was another reason for the design. By converting the woman into a semi- human shape it spared the punishment officer any feelings of pity.

A column of these shapeless things bounding across the hot desert on a punishment detail could be easily dismissed as objects worthy of pity in the absence of any easily discernible female features. Even trustee females would never know if it was a friend in there; and, sooner than risk ending up as one of them, they would carry out the punishment to the best of their ability.

Image 17

Trying to imagine the added torments for a Rog-Reamered woman ensconced in this device just didn't bear thinking about. But she saw no more of Ginaala's torment as a blinder was strapped over her own eyes. It was the final crushing blow that heralded her imminent evaluation program. Whatever they intended, her test was to be completed in total darkness. 

Yelda the package was complete and ready for shipment. It was testing time. A jerk from beyond her sightless world of bound impotency started the torment. Her only glimmer of hope was that as a naked figure, obviously a living female, she might receive a slightly more benevolent treatment. It was a forlorn hope that never came to pass. Some twelve traumatic miles of testing later the bounding package would arrive as planned when a traumatised helpless Yelda completed the assignment.

Chain links chinked around her and a heavy weight suddenly dragged at the collar. There was a jerk and the test that was to be a long journey of torment started. The streets of Gazra proved to be the easiest, being flat and devoid of potholes; however the sound of laughing crowds proved somewhat humiliating as she passed by. Her progress was hardly made any easier by the continuous stinging bite of lashing canes as the public took advantage. Obviously word had gone out that the supreme commander of the freedom fighters was to be moved in a most testing manner, and it seemed everyone wanted to avail themselves of the opportunity to add their little contribution to her problems.

Then it was on to the real test as she struggled to keep up on the pitted surface of what could only be desert roads and mountain tracks. Miraculously, Yelda managed to prove equal to the task without enduring more than two tit bouncing episodes and the driver's additional punishment connections. By the time she got to wherever they were taking her, she would become an expert Springbok.

The Gril rider's report to the designers was already written. RR-II-(F1) performed well. At no time during the journey had the bouncing agonisingly bound effigy achieved any level of resistance other than a continuous ineffectual straining at the bonds that produced nothing more than a pleasing ripple on the surface of the deliciously incapacitated body. Despite being driven to maximum effort at all times, it simply bounded along emitting muted mewing noises, no matter what pace was set or how many orgasms were endured. Slight deviations in course had been noted, probably due to the blinder, but these were instantly corrected when the leash snapped taut, jerking the errant consignment back into line. The last line of the report gave the considered opinion that this was the perfect way to transport female merchandise. But perhaps the rider was biased. Prior to the female uprising, he'd suffered under a tall dictatorial wife who had now been sold for baby farming. She would spend the rest of her life tightly fettered and ensconced in a breeding pen after being artificially inseminated at regular intervals. The statuesque bounding super parcelled item he was delivering reminded him of that tall woman, and as a result Yelda paid for another woman's tyranny as he set a blistering pace.

***

An hour and a half after Sven first sighted the Gril and its traumatised bounding cargo, the mini-cavalcade drew up at the ship and Sven ventured out to meet the new addition to his growing flock. As the beast stopped, Yelda ceased her pogoing with a groan. Immediately the rider slid down. Circling her yoked heavily cinched form, he lashed her rump unmercifully and ordered her to continue.

"Bounce bitch! How you dare you show me up with disobedience? I'll take you for a non stop ten mile run if it happens again. Now let your new owner see you butt fucking yourself."

Yelda resumed with frenzied on the spot pogoing as the formalities of the hand-over were completed. Naturally she lost control of her libido and orgasmed twice before the transaction was completed. Sven was pleased. Already she was becoming a slave to the dildo. It was the only item in her life that gave pleasure at the moment. He took the offered chain and watched as the Gril rider took the animal away and tethered it to a drinking trough, then stood for a while and just allowed the superb amazon female to perform her dildo absorbing dance. She looked so exciting as she continued to butt-fuck herself. Eventually he relented and tugged the chain. Yelda, unable to see who or what was demanded of her, instantly obeyed the command and FUCK-1, the experiment, dutifully pogoed forward although the chain had slackened. Three or four weeks in Gazra had taken its toll. Gril tongues and Rog-Reamers, amongst other things, swiftly crushed even the strongest will to resist. In addition, Yelda had no idea where she was, or why she had been singled out to test this new horrendously effective upgraded prototype. She had been placed in the most stringent Rog-Reamer format possible, blindfolded, and without being told her eventual fate, then pogoed across the twelve intervening miles at full speed. Of course at that moment she had no idea that her most hated enemy was holding her leash. For all she knew it could be another tough prison guard just waiting for her to disobey; so that she could be placed in an even more strenuous situation.

Image 18

Sven was about to take his prize away when the Gril delivery driver showed him another trick. He turned Sven so as to present his back to the bounding figurine, then taking the tit leashes, snapped the ankle cuffs removed from the Gril around Sven's ankles. Yelda's neck tow chain was then connected to the back of his belt. As a final feature, the driver removed Yelda's blindfold, then indicated that Sven should walk around. Instantly the bounding female was galvanised into forward travel as her neck leash tugged and Sven's ankle's faithfully reproduced the tit yanking torment of the Gril's rear legs. Venom poured from the uncovered eyes, but Yelda responded instantly despite her seething anger. She simply had no choice, and Sven erupted into his trousers as the resilient tug at each ankle relayed the tit stretching trauma created by his walk.

Sven led her up the ramp into the shuttle and almost had to run to stay ahead as Yelda tried to slacken her leashes and reduce jerking the torment. She was good. Her lithe powerful body could move at an astonishing speed, even when secured in such a diabolically testing manner. He led her into the control room where Roger was working, disconnected the leashes and allowed her to pogo on the spot as Roger stood up to investigate the new arrival.

"Very good boss. You sure can pick winners. What with your eye for talent and my inventive genius we make a great team."

His voice permeated the hood of the jouncing beauty and for a second she faltered and tried to place the voice. The realisation finally hit her when the man leading her finally turned to show his face. She had been delivered back into the hands of those evil fake Gods. For a brief moment she was tempted to cease the endless performance, but decided that for the moment at least she should go along. These men could just as easily send her back to Gazra or inflict even worse torment on her disabled body.

FUCK-1 continued the butt fucking performance as if she hadn't heard; only stopping as Sven jerked her lead down and held it firm so as to prevent the next hop.

A hand gripped her shoulder and then slid down to caress her breasts. Strangely it was a caring hand, and that confused her. It was almost as if the hand was trying soothe her aching body. A second later the crop lashed her bottom and she was re-animated to her previous performance. 

Turmoil raged in her thoughts as she tried to assimilate two emotions that were unmistakable. One caring, one callous. What was this asshole playing at? Sven took the trailing tit leashes and confounded her more by securing them to a ring bolt set in the deck. Each hop savagely jerked her suffering orbs simultaneously downward. Yet there was nothing she could do to avoid tormenting herself without incurring yet more stinging lashes to her jostling butt.

As she jounced, Sven took in the dishevelled state resulting from her arduous journey. She was filthy, dust sticking to her sweat streaked skin, and an especially high concentration glued around the crotch region by the viscous outpourings of an overstimulated, overstuffed pussy. Yet filthy as she was, she still shone like a star in the beauty ratings.

Roger, get Yelda out of the Rog-Reamer, get a couple of girls and have her bathed. When you've done, we'll introduce her to the world of modern synthetics. Put her in an all over syntho-latex suit and let's see how she copes with her first real high heels." Roger grunted approval as he replaced the amazon's blinder.

"How do you want her fastened boss?"

Sven thought about that for a minute and then decided on a standard 'behind the back' manacle set, including elbow cuffs. As an after thought he added ankle hobbles. Yelda was liable to be a mite feisty; and from all accounts she'd been a ferocious fighter before rising to the exalted position of commander in chief.

He watched as Roger took her leash and pulled her obedient form out through the door. The sight took his breath away. She was so firm and smooth, yet curvy and infinitely desirable; a worthy addition to the stable of two he had basically claimed as his own.

Now, Yelda, like Tracy and Fiona, were all his. What a prize. He could look forward to a long sleep and an awakening as the ruler of a vast empire controlling millions of women. All he had to do was appear and lay claim to the throne. Life was a bitch, or rather the ownership of bitches, and he was loving every minute of it.

He eased down into a Gee couch and flipped on the video channel. The preset view was his bottled ladies; all nice and cozy in their phallic tubes and just waiting for his next visit. Idly he scanned the main storage deck. Seeing tube 177 in a frantic state of almost explosive writhing, he suddenly remembered that he'd left Major Boscomp at full throttle. She was literally afloat in a sea of her own juices. Quickly he turned her down and left the exhausted sexually drained female to rest. At least for now. The Major and himself had an appointment at some time in the future.

He must have been tired after all the activity and sexual hype, because Sven drifted off to sleep. An hour or more later he awoke with a start. At first he wasn't really sure why. Feeling a presence nearby Sven turned his head and froze at the vision that swam into view as he focussed.

A few feet away was an apparition from the Gods. Leashed and manacled, sheathed and hooded in a glistening, form contouring, syntho-latex catsuit stood Yelda. She was a breathtaking sight. Slowly he rose and accepted the leash from Roger. Holding it at full stretch, he stepped back to study the crotch searing vision.

It was the first time he'd ever been close to Yelda in a fully upright position. Balanced uncertainly on her newly acquired stilettos she stood a resplendent 6'6" tall, towering above him like a monolithic goddess of exquisite beauty. 

Her eyes were troubled. In the short period of a few weeks she'd gone from being a tough no nonsense commander to pitifully humiliated and controlled prisoner. Now she was having to cope with the obvious effect of being lusted after as a stunningly attractive sex object.

She was ungagged and Sven looked puzzled as she spoke in a strange Thyros dialect.

"Tahw eht kcuf era uoy ginkool ta elohssa."

Image 19

"What?"

"Tup ruoy sllabeye kcab ni deahkcid." Roger handed him a translator. 

"What did you say?" Sven's tone was genuinely interested.

"I dias, tahw eht kcuf era uoy gnirats ta elohssa." The translator unravelled it for him.

"I said what the fuck are you staring at asshole." Sven's jaw dropped as the penny dropped, and for a second or two he seemed unable to speak. Then he turned to Roger.

"Why didn't you spot it, you useless sod. Don't you get it, she's speaking English... Reversed!" It was Roger's turn to stare drop-jawed as his micro chips confirmed Sven's unbelievable observation. Sven repeated himself when Roger remained silent.

"She's speaking English in reverse. Holy shit! A planet inhabited by a bunch of fucking dyslexics."

The chances were billions to one against such a phenomenal event, yet there it was. Roger seemed to come out of his catatonic state and interrupted.

"No boss, just this one specimen so far. The rest are nothing like her speech wise, I just ran a check on my memory banks. She's from the West by all accounts."

Sven's brow furrowed in thought.

"To much of a coincidence if you ask me, Roger old chap. I smell a Federation rat here. Someone has been tinkering with time travel before the period we surmised. We'd best look into that later and see just how much tinkering they did.

Absentmindedly his hand wandered over to caress the amazon's butt as he spoke. Yelda responded by rebuffing his touch with a violent sideways movement of her body, her eyes glaring malevolently. Sven appraised her with a cool stare, then turned to Roger who was standing nearby. 

"How long will it take you to produce a Rog-Reamer in dural steel with all the trimmings, plus any upgrades you can think of?" The translator was off so Yelda had no idea what he was saying.

"About an hour boss. We measured her when she was first unfastened and Dhelia is working on it right now." Sven cast an appraising look over at his partner. It seemed he was becoming clairvoyant amongst the many other new traits he was developing.

"No mystery boss. I saw how you looked her over when she first arrived. It was only a matter of time before you wanted to get her back in one of those rigs. Given her temper, I guessed it would be pretty soon." Sven hid a grin. Roger was really pleased that his invention proved so successful and won favour with the boss. He decided to tease the meta-plastic palooka. 

"Full body strapping as well I hope?"

Roger looked hurt.

"Of course boss. Since when have we made anything that left a woman all loose." Sven nodded and connected Yelda's collar leash to a handy stanchion. She'd be safe enough there for the time being. Sven had a few things to tidy up whilst they waited for the new Rog-Reamer.

An hour later Dhelia hummed into sight, her thrusters staggering under the burden of a multitude of bands, poles, and impedimenta. The Rog-Reamer Mark III had arrived.

Yelda proved a mite difficult to convert back to a FUCK-1 status. Seemingly she resented being reduced to a flexing column of cinched female meat and struggled valiantly as her freedom to do anything was inexorably eroded by each additional piece of equipment. Roger's prodigious android strength soon convinced her that it was a good idea to go along with the process. Thirty minutes later a very contrite Yelda, totally enclosed and controlled, was regretting her earlier rebuttal. Her body was cinched and moulded by steel bands to an unyielding tightness that rawhide could never match. 

Sven circled her, his breath rasping in his throat and heart beating so strongly that it could be heard as he breathed. Yelda looked fantastic in the new equipment. Dhelia, as could be expected, had manufactured the Reamer to be as tight as humanly possible, ... and then some. Yelda's earlier plight in the rawhide version was mild by comparison.

Steel on black syntho-rubber had always been a favourite with Sven, but this was something that far exceeded anything he had seen or devised. The steel security of the device enhanced the image achieved by rawhide bindings ten fold. Forged, polished clamps of prodigious thickness and weight crushed her wrists and ankles into submission. Arm banding and a posture collar of similar strength completed the totality of her captivity. 

Now she was really under control. These bindings would never stretch or rot. She was most definitely incarcerated in them until released by someone on the outside of her compressed, controlled environment. This time Yelda really was gift wrapped and parcelled up. An ankle to thigh oversheath monotube of glistening syntho-latex converted the lower limbs into a mermaid like single travelling limb and produced an overall package type image. Given the parameters of her designated travel mode, one limb was all she needed.

The savage cinching achieved by the rawhide version was far surpassed by the compression and control imparted by steel and ratcheted fastenings. Yelda's waist was crushed to a point where she looked as if she would snap. Her ample female hips virtually exploded from below the belt in a balloon like curved perfection, enhanced of course by the taut rubber sheathing. In fact her entire body from ankles to neck was a column of powerfully cinched curves and compacted womanhood as a result of the extensive banding. At the rear, the main telescopic tube gleamed malevolently with purposeful intent, poised and ready to forcibly inject the defenceless targeted orifices of her lower body with tissue stretching steel dildos. It was a formidable arrangement of the same polished and unbreakable dural steel that, overall, gave Yelda an image of being a living machine.

At a glance the initial impression gleaned from the first sighting of her Thyron upgrade was reinforced. Sven could see that the Thyros idea of placing the arms in a back prayer was a winner. It streamlined her form and produced a much more secure format, which quite incidentally thrust her fulsome tits arrogantly forward. However, as was usual with Dhelia's overkill, a simple back prayered wrist clamp was considered minimal requirement. This new development ensured that the whole tapering mass of Yelda's excruciatingly contorted arms were encased in a cage of encircling, flesh cinching steel. The basic yoke, no doubt inspired by Dhelia, had also acquired a much more demanding clamp around her long slender neck, seemingly a separate item that was first locked around her neck, and was then double secured by the encircling yoke. It was basically a polished steel insert, contoured to a neck stretching tube designed to hold her chin up, neck rigidly encased, and also provided a strong anchor point for the heavy ring that would connect a tow chain. Yelda's head was a virtually featureless black ovoid balanced like a golf ball on a tee. It looked impossible, and diabolically uncomfortable, yet she was the living proof that it could be achieved if one didn't have to consider the impact of the posture on the silenced, suffering, female core.

Image 20

Torso bands overlaid the network of steel holding her folded arms, crushing her entire upper body into a single bulging homogenised unit of traumatised female flesh. Constricting steel around the chest would force Yelda to breath in short gasping breaths in order to feed the massive oxygen intake required to sustain her muscle tearing travel mode; this in turn generated flaring nostrils as she breathed, which served to enhance the lustful image of ultra controlled femininity in a most satisfying way. Basically it was just another level of control designed to crush her spirit and impress upon her how incredibly disabled and impotent she was. As Sven was to witness later, it also had the effect of converting her bulbously extruded, root cinched tits into rapidly pulsing orbs whenever she was brought to a stop after prolonged exertion. The chest, unable to expand, tended to dissipate the heaving lung movement into her relatively unrestricted expandable boob tissue. Rapidly pulsing tits that ballooned with each breath were another bonus side effect.

The latex helmet added to the original syntho-latex suit finished it all off and enhanced the totality of the polished casque imprisoning her head, a device that boasted an integral over mouth gag sealer. Screwed to excruciating levels, it robbed the amazon of all but the slightest muted whimper and reduced her lower face to a compressed indent with rubber sheathed cheeks bursting over the top. The width of the band could only be the result of a humungous mouth packing ball gag or expanding pear gag; something big enough to force the jaw wide and elongate Yelda's face to a point where it required the wide expanse of additional banding in order to perform a sealing function. As it later turned out, he was wrong. In fact Yelda was playing host to an inflatable gag that threatened to burst and blow her head of if one more pound of pressure was added.

He liked the two extra body bands Dhelia had added over the butt. Yelda's firm powerful bottom looked fantastic, almost surreal, with the dual cinching bands bisecting it into surreal swelling rubber sheathed extrusions of tautly sculpted, whippable bottom flesh. He had no doubt that the compressive effect of squeezing her buttocks together could only add to the trauma of her butt fucking with every unsolicited movement dictated by the leash. In addition it was sure to add sensitivity to the taut skin within, should the package require urging with a crop or whip.

By now he was sure Yelda was regretting her rash rebuttal and was probably considering that his butt pawing was infinitely more acceptable than the ordeal she was now faced with.

Sven jerked the gleaming black statue forward, and it responded with total obedience. Instant compliance was a mandatory and inescapable requirement that the stunningly helpless woman couldn't resist. Even the slightest tug had to be obeyed instantly or she would overbalance. It was hard to imagine that such a powerful strong willed woman was actually inside that jouncing pillar of erotically flexing curves. Only minutes before this same ruthlessly controlled creature had been a powerfully resisting Trylon female. Already Sven knew in his mind that Yelda wouldn't see the light of day or indeed freedom from the new Rog-Reamer for a thousand years or more. He intended to keep her sheathed and Rog-Reamered for the remaining stay on Thyros and then place her in stasis, as she was, if need be. It would be a magnificent sight to awaken to in the distant future. 

The ebony figurine writhed and strained in mid leap as she made an instinctive effort to escape the overwhelming strength of her bonds, but that was all she could manage; other than to squat and force those dreaded cold steel dildos into her lower torso openings, ready for the next demand by the leash. The leash jerked again and continued to lead her around in circles as faint sounds of muted anger escaped the black amorphous ball that was her de-personalised head. The sounds occurred every time she flexed and bounced forward. Sven realised that the tight clamping around her thighs was working the pussy dildo fixing against the tender skin of her inner sex lips. It got better by the minute. Yelda's cinched, bulbously extruded bottom was a delight to see as she worked hard; bulging and expanding through the encircling bands like an eruption of black latex encased putty with each body flexing squat. He hauled jouncing black effigy to a stop and explored the powerfully re-contoured shape of her body; the delightful curvatures of rubberised flesh bulging between cinches; her beautiful resculpted, forcefully thrusting breasts, and the secure smoothness of cool steel clamped tightly over her mouth. The Thyrons weren't ready to see the full advances made by alloy steels and synthetic technology yet, but he knew they were just going to love them when they did.

For ten minutes or more Sven savoured the feel of this magnificently controlled female creature. Even at the slight squat dictated by the rigours of her new improved Rog-Reamer, she towered over him. It was an extraordinarily agreeable sensation to have total mastery over such a powerful woman. He could feel the angry tensing of rubber sheathed muscles under his exploratory fingers, but the amazon was totally incapable of rebuffing any advance he made. Dhelia's manufacturing skill had converted her into a warm bouncing female rubberised toy that could be used and abused in any manner that came to mind.

His fingers reached in to the crevices of her lower torso and traced around the taut rubber sphincter-like openings of the suit that allowed the dildos deep penetration into the secret recesses of her body. Then he contented himself with merely running his hands over the sheathed form, savouring the strummingly tight containment of her suit. The arm arrangement was a superb upgrade, and Dhelia had even had her hands enclosed and clamped tight to the yoke. Even the small luxury of finger flexing was denied the redesigned prisoner now.

All the time Yelda was quivering inside her mobile prison of rubber and steel, knowing that at any second she could be commanded to recommence the bounding muscle tearing ordeal of her designated mode of travel by a single jerk on her control leash. RR-III/FUCK-1 was a treasure, to be sure.

He turned to Dhelia who was hovering nearby and smiled. The metal sphere was bobbing excitedly on erratically whining hover jets. Dhelia was almost wetting herself at the image presented by the entrammelled female. Her approval of the finished device was obvious.

"Want to take my pre-packed amazon for a walk Dhelia? You've earned it."

The super-trussed ebony figurine overheard and made a muffled noise of dissent that rapidly changed to a mewing plea.

WHOOSH! Dhelia shot forward eagerly and almost ran into Sven's head in her eagerness to grip the offered leash. A maintenance claw unfolded and grasped the leash connected to the neck of the straining Rog-Reamered amazon, then without a word she zoomed off with the bounding leviathan in tow. The black rubberised effigy twitched and contorted madly with a last futile effort as she was jerked into motion. It was an abortive effort that availed her nothing, other than to give Sven a rock hard erection as he savoured her diabolical plight and lusted over the pulsing latex sheathed bulges created by her struggles.

He watched avidly as the controlled figurine that had once been the proud, arrogant Yelda flexed and bounded in complete helpless compliance to the drone's demands; it was simply a matter of obeying the commands of her leash.

The curvaceous pillar of rubberised flexing womanhood pogoed into the distance at a brisk pace as Dhelia accurately matched the Gril's trot rate. Sven almost ejaculated into his flight suit as he watched the massive dildo powering in and out of her jouncing tightly cinched bottom. It seemed impossible, given the extrusions already created by her compressive butt cinching, and yet the massive forcible injection of steel was literally exploding the flexing bottom lobes even further outward each time it bulldozed between her clenched protesting lobes, remorselessly sinking deep into her interior and pumping her beleaguered body full of unyielding dural alloy. Even at this speed of travel Yelda was enduring the reversals of steely inflation and retraction seventeen times a minute. Sven's eyes remained fixed on the explosive expulsions of rubberised rump flesh erupting between cinches until distance blurred his detailed vision of those deliciously tormented female buttocks.

Image 21

Once out of sight Dhelia ignored the escalating sounds of muted fury from her charge and quickly increased her speed, thus forcing the bouncing figurine to perform a strength sapping increase of performance in order to keep up. The drone was ecstatic. Whatever she demanded of it, the powerfully constricted, fully silenced, bounding package of femininity had to comply. Time to step up the pace still further and get this cinched helpless human female into a nice sweat inside that rubber suit. Fifty laps of Starburst's cargo decks should do the trick, and then she could leave her on a conveyor, neck shackled and conveyor running.

The measured Tap - Tap - Tap - Tap - Tap of a parcelled, toe- hopping amazon at trot speed became the frenzied Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap-Tap- Tap-Tap-Tap of a statuesque entrammelled female undergoing some serious attitude adjustment. Dhelia spun the visual ring containing her vid cams and looked rearward as her onboard computer registered an all time high of thirty explosively traumatic steel injections per minute at the increased rate of travel. What she saw sent her wicked jealously chips wild. Her metallic sounding voice simulator barked an order.

"More bounce FUCK-1 or else I'll speed you up even more. Higher! Higher! That's better. Now maintain that operation."

Dhelia enjoyed referring to the female thing in tow as FUCK-1 and gleefully watched the desperate efforts to comply as her ultra sensitive sound receptors feasted on the muted sounds of torment emanating from the beleaguered figurine.

MMmmPPPPPPhhhh! MMmmmRRRR! MMmm PPPPPPhhhh! MMmmmRRRR!

It was a desperate sound that fluctuated in intensity, an effect created by the frantic jostling movement of the parcelled woman. The black cinched package of womanhood was doing a demonic dance at the end of the tether, quivering and jerking spasmodically as the rapidly pistoning dildos kept her in almost permanent orgasmic trauma. To achieve the high bounding motion demanded by her heartless controller, Yelda was having to jam herself hard down onto the marauding dildos before each upward spring. The big juicy rubber sculpted tits were a blur of agonising movement, jostling and jolting against the nipple tethers like a pair of demented rubber moulded jelly-filled balls, .. a side effect of her frenzied compliance. 

Muffled keening pleas escaping from the pogoing figurine rose to a sort of high pitched Mmmmmmmmrrrrpppp! that threatened to drown out the echoing sounds of tap dancing toes and rustling overstressed rubber. It was an audio-visual treat of unprecedented joy for the jealous speeding drone as she urged her thrusters to greater effort. At last a human woman had successfully been converted into an obedient non-human entity just like herself. It was an image that lent itself to unlimited abuse without thought to the consequences for contents of the package, thus allowing both machine and humanoid owners to enjoy the pulsing, flexing spectacle without guilt. In effect, Dhelia's prime directive was dictated by a micro- chip; whereas Yelda's was dictated by a simple chain and the crushing bonds of her infallible, inescapable, excruciatingly tight containment. That was the only difference between the two speeding objects.

Mmmmmmmmrrrrpppp! "Mmmmmmmmrrrrpppp! Mmmmmmmmrrrrpppp! NNNRRRR!"

Dhelia's thrusters managed even more speed. A quick look back revealed the satisfying sight of those oscillating tit balls jerking and stretching into a surreal tensioned ovals as FUCK-1 desperately tried to comply. The straining, writhing, mid-air antics drove Dhelia's sadism chip wild with licentious appreciation.

The drone remotely energised another innovation that Roger and herself had neglected to advise Sven of. Instantly the pistoning steel dildos expanded and doubled their explosive orifice stretching properties, adding to the bulging extrusion of tormented bottom lobes almost instantaneously. The bounding parcelled object began to convulse with frantic exertion in a futile attempt to escape, all the time emitting a keening whimper of utter despair, yet somehow managing to maintain pace as it landed and forcefully pumped itself full of monstrously enlarged steel dildo. The black latex thing's motion now was more of a demonic spasming twitching leap than the previous energetic leap, accompanied by a muffled yet explosively varying wail. 

She couldn't know that Yelda's personality was undergoing a massive change. Deeply buried carnal feelings that fired a hitherto unrecognised masochistic side were steadily overriding her previously dominant nature. The more abuse was poured into her form, the more helpless she was made, the more these devastating emotions boiled to the surface. In effect her body was performing a self preservation exercise that allowed the crushing torment of her captive controlled status to be absorbed and endured. Already the inside of the suit was saturated with copious outpourings of labial juices that were working around as a result of her frenzied animation. FUCK-1 was marinating herself in a slithering sea of her own making. Sealed in by the impermeable rubber sheath, Yelda was drowning in an ocean of contained pussy secretions. The orgasms quickly merged into one single never ending spasm of excruciating pleasure once the added stimulation of humiliation had its devastating effect on the sensitive, ultra receptive skin of her trussed body. The unseen leash demanded more speed and Yelda struggled to respond as the explosive spasms in her crotch notched up proportionally with the increase in inescapable abuse of her cinched form.

Dhelia was ecstatic. The bounding impotised super cinched package of rubberised womanhood seemed to be pulsing with some sort of body pulverising punishment. She had no idea what was causing it, but it looked suitably horrendous in its salutary effect as the bounding object wriggled, convulsed and seemingly inflated itself so as to bulge ever more obscenely through its banding. Yelda was exploding with a combination of titanic struggles to escape her bonds, and violent eruptions of orgasmic power.


CHAPTER ELEVEN
MORE SKULDUGGERY

Hey boss!" Roger spun his swivel chair round as Rampant Roger hove into view. "I found it. I found the Federation file on Thyros that predates what we know." Sven's attention riveted to his buddy.

"There was an earlier attempt to start this whole thing using a captured Trylon 31 amazon team to start the revolution on Thyros. Why they used women I have no idea. Women to start a revolution against women seems a bit potty to me, but who knows how the idiots at Fed headquarters think. Maybe they told them that Thyron women were like the dissidents of Trylon 31, I just don't know. Anyway it all went pear-shaped on the Feds when the Trylon amazons joined the Thyros resistance. Yelda is a Trylonian. It seems from what I can decipher that the language translator tutors fucked up and became corrupted. They taught the Trylonians English OK, only backwards."

Sven's face slowly showed signs of understanding as it all became clear. At the same time he felt an urgent heat in his crotch. Yelda was merely a foretaste of things to come; that is, if Roger managed to work out a foolproof plan on how to enslave Trylon 31. His mind flitted to his last image of that retreating parcelled amazon, and he made a resolution that would entail all Trylon amazons to be moved around on Rog-Reamer III's. With some difficulty he thrust those carnal thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to concentrate on the repercussions of this new find.

"So we're the 'B' team sent to put things right then. Hmmm! Well we'll have to see about that."

Sven Olafsen didn't intend to be anybody's fall guy, least of all for that bunch of brain dead egg-heads at Fed central planning. Half of the palookas were lizard like creepy crawlies from some distant region of the galaxy, and the thought of those assholes getting to grips with all the nubile humanoid females of the universe stuck in his craw.

"Get that amazon bouncing bunny back in here now. Let's find out what she has to say about all this."

Roger transmitted an electronic signal out over the ship's network, and five minutes later Dhelia appeared with a violently spasming package in tow. She seemed a mite miffed that her sport with the new acquisition had been curtailed and hovered sullenly in the corner as Roger yanked the bounding bundle to a halt and began to strip the headgear.

Shaven head denuded of steel and rubber, mouth vacated by the huge resilient rubber packing Dhelia had initially loaded, a crimson faced Yelda stood gasping for breath as her body slowly recovered from the massive energy drain of orgasming whilst hopping at a ferocious pace. Sven allowed her a few moments to recover, then using the translator began to question her.

"The Federation; what was the mandate they gave to your team when you were dropped on Thyros? Don't lie, we know who you are and where you came from." He paused as Yelda's eyes widened in understanding then became hard and accusing. The translator in his hand spat a venomous retort.

"You bastards. You're not Gods. I knew you were fakes. You're Federation Space Corps aren't you?" Sven was momentarily taken unawares.

"No! No! Well yes, we are Federation Space Corps, or rather were; but we're not here on Fed business. We are getting shafted by the same outfit just like you." He paused again and grinned to himself as the massive dildo insertions of the Rog-Reamer came to mind. Well not exactly shafted like you, but---!"

Yelda seemed to suddenly realise that she was still cinched up like an oven ready turkey, jammed full of crotch busting steel and only partially freed. 

"Get me out of this damned device right now you assholes. If you're not working for the Fed's you've got no excuse for this sort of treatment."

She wriggled her body, straining ineffectually at the inescapable steel. Unfortunately the colossal effort translated as a barely discernible increase in extruded flesh bulging between the cinches. If it was meant to enhance her desire to be released instantly, it failed dismally. For the observers it only served to demonstrate how incredibly contained and helpless she was. No matter how much she ranted, raved, threatened, or pleaded, they could do what they liked with her and she was powerless to prevent it.

Sven pursed his lips and glanced back to Dhelia. Despite the recent revelations, he was not about to give up on his dream of having both Yelda and her entire race ensconced in Rog-Reamers.

Dhelia, take FUCK-1 on a ten lap walk will you, we'll continue this discussion when you get back.

Yelda screamed invectives at him as Roger approached with the hooding equipment, yet despite her best efforts to resist, only minutes elapsed before her vitriolic protestations had been crushed into silence. FUCK-1 was once again completely deactivated as a free woman and ready to be re- animated into a bouncing, mewing, butt fucking, extravaganza at the tug of her leash. To press home his determination to crush her rebellion, Sven had the steel cinchers tightened another two notches on each band and watched gleefully as the furious efforts of the amazon were reduced to a column of erotically pulsing bulges.

The teetering toe pointed statue was left to squirm in silent expectation and dread for five minutes. Long enough for Sven to savour the super enhanced cones of her thrusting cinched breasts, curvaceously extruded buttock lobes, and the tightly cinched lower face exploding upward over the steel gag cinch. Shards of light danced on the super tight sheathing of the rubberised object as every titanic effort from the encapsulated female was translated into minute rippling pulses of living latex. His control over this powerful woman was total, and it gave him pleasure to order her punishment.

"Make that twenty laps Dhelia, and be sure to keep her at maximum speed. It's a rush delivery and I want the parcel back here pronto for more questioning."

Dhelia's thrusters did the equivalent of a wheel spin as she yanked the teetering package into motion. Watched by both lusting males the bulbously cinched woman receded down the passage in a series of mighty bounds as the drone implemented her command with relish.

A half hour later she was returned by a well pleased drone. The chest heaving, pulsing package in tow proved that Dhelia always carried out her orders to the letter. Sven studied the writhing column of womanhood, savouring the sight of those pulsing orbs on her chest. Then, after drinking his fill of lustfully satisfying visions, he ordered Roger to uncover the eyes, but leave the hood on.

Bloodshot eyes blazing venomous looks daggered at him as Yelda's eyes were uncovered; so he immediately ordered the blinder replaced and another twenty laps. For a split second the eyes showed fear, but he ignored it as she was relegated to darkness again.

He halted the eager Dhelia as she was about to leave and added yet another two notches of tightening torment to the package as an afterthought.

In all, FUCK-1 endured three sessions, some sixty laps in total, and endured a body crushing eight extra notches on each of her bindings, before the uncovering of her eyes revealed a softer look. The deep pools of Yelda's soul were pleading for an end to the torment. Which torment, the physical or the sexual, was debatable. The lesson was over, but Sven decided to keep her at that level of cinching.

"OK! Take the hood completely off Roger and let's see if she's willing to talk now." Roger complied and the amazon stood sullenly awaiting his pleasure. She was beaten and she knew it. Apart from being physically drained, she was rapidly reaching some sort of brain meltdown if the horrendous sensations of unstoppable never ending orgasms were to continue.

"Well! I'm waiting. Tell me about the Feds and how you came to be on Thyros." Yelda flashed a momentary burst of rebellion at him, and as he turned to Roger, she shouted out fearfully.

"No! Wait, I'll tell you all about it. Don't send me out with that evil robot thing again, Please!" Sven relented and settled back to listen, ignoring the plea for a loosening of her ultra cinching, and seemingly unconcerned that the teetering rubber sheathed amazon was balanced precariously on tip toe as she tried to maintain a static stance.

"We were captured in the first Space Corps assault on Trylon. We weren't expecting an attack and we got caught unawares. They shipped us out to a planet called Pedodorm-4 in the Tenby binary system and imprisoned us there for two years. We were kept in steel boxes that we could only crouch in, fed through a hole, and regularly dunked in cold water. In the end they offered us a deal. Go back through time, infiltrate Thyros female activist groups and sabotage their efforts, and then start a revolution in the male sector. We were supposed to help the men by screwing up all the women's counter attacks or forewarning the men of them." She paused as Sven looked unconvinced and voiced his thoughts.

"I doubt even the Feds were stupid enough to think that you'd keep to that arrangement once you were out of sight, especially after the way they treated you."

Yelda nodded.

"Damn right! But they fitted us with collars; special collars that they could trigger from out in space; collars that would shrink and throttle us if we didn't do as we were told. The collars were designed to trigger if we tried to get them off. But they miscalculated. The Thyron women helped us. They produced a sort of gooey resin from one of the plants that eats metals and gums everything up. They just poured it in the keyholes of the collars, and two days later they were deactivated and completely safe. In fact they broke off easily when we started to remove them. The goo seemed to have eaten halfway through the metal even by then. After that, well we had no way to get home, so we joined forces with the Thyrons. The rest you already know."

Sven looked at her thoughtfully. He was sure she was telling the truth. Perhaps he could now use the moment to start other thoughts in her mind. Perhaps the Feds weren't so daft after all. They had the right idea of using women to conquer women, but just went about it the wrong way. 

"So you want to get back to Trylon and your own kind do you?" Yelda nodded as best she could in the restrictive collar of the yoke, which resulted in a body bending motion hinged at the waist. Her upper body banding allowed no flexibility at all.

"But surely you are having more fun here than you ever had there." She looked puzzled, so Sven expanded on that point. "Isn't the Trylon of your era having a crisis over the absence of males? Weren't you forced to design the Exstata to try and replace males?"

Yelda flushed slightly. It was embarrassing for her to have him know that her race couldn't do without males for all their fighting prowess.

"Don't you think that perhaps we could alter all that for you?"

Her flush grew deeper, and for the first time Sven realised that he was talking to one of the silent majority on Trylon who would secretly like to see the status quo altered. He pressed her further.

"Tell me you haven't enjoyed part of the treatment meted out to you." 

Sven looked searchingly into her eyes and she dropped her gaze. 

"I thought so. Maybe you need a little more time to think about it." He nodded to Roger and Yelda flashed a look of alarm at him as the droid moved forward to reinstate her blind silenced status. Strangely she didn't cry out, and her resistance, what little was possible, was a token affair. For a second as the hood was going on Sven thought he saw a look of excited anticipation. Yelda was enjoying the thought of being callously reduced to FUCK-1 again. As the last visible portion of her face was covered, Sven noticed a deep flush and a quickening of breath. Yelda was on the brink of an orgasm fuelled by the enforced return of her status as a silenced object of punishment and inescapable torment.

"Vigorously exercise my toy for an hour will you Dhelia, then bring it back."

The silenced cinched figurine instantly went into convulsive and excruciatingly contained orgasmic eruption and was still pulsing powerfully with overwhelming surges of carnal energy as Dhelia gleefully jerked the parcelled female into movement. An hour later the drone returned with an insanely straining package that was on the brink of total exhaustion. 

Sven waved Dhelia away.

"You've had your fun Dhelia, I'll take over from here." Dhelia sullenly left the room and made her way back to the storage bay. At least there were hundreds of other luckless females she could work her anger out on. It was time to install a few more into Thyros marching yokes.

Sven retrieved the dangling leash and indulged in some heavy petting of the disabled amazon. He could feel her trembling within the tight confines of her dark prison of steel and rubber, and almost gently he urged her forward. For a while he simply led her around, mindful of the fact that she had no idea what was to happen next. But he merely contented himself with appraising her superbly controlled form and indulging himself in sampling the curvaceously contained flesh with trembling hands. But it was time to get to work and start laying a strategy out for the downfall of Trylon-31. With the bounding beauty close at hand he felt sure inspiration would be forthcoming.

Seating himself at the planning console, Sven pulled FUCK-1 closer. Roger had already left and they were alone for the first time. He seated himself at the console and drew Yelda closer still, actually causing her to bump against the chair as she attempted to blindly follow the direction the leash was urging her in. Sven allowed her to remain with knees pressed against the chair arm. He was feeling benevolent and that small point of reference gave her some stability in her disabled mode.

For a while he just looked at her, and then reached out and placed a hand on her crotch. Instinctively she pulled back, then after a second or two she pushed her crotch back towards his hand as if in resignation. But it was more than that. Sven decided it was either resignation to her fate, or a willingness to be fondled; possibly a combination of both.

His fingers searched out to the sphincter like orifice in the rubber suit, then traced around the rubber coated crescent moons of resilient protuberance that were her invaded love lips. A quiver ran through her body and he spoke softly to her.

"Yelda, you know we could be friends. I like you, and even though I intend to keep you as a pet, you could get to like me if you tried." His fingers continued to caress, then he realised that the translator was switched off. Reaching over he flipped the unit lying on the desk to on and repeated his words. Another tremble went through the silent form and he looked up at the sheathed features, topgraphed and recognisable through the tight clinging rubber of her hood.

"You're enjoying being all trussed up like this, aren't you?"

The body quivered again, but this time his fingers felt a definite contraction in the sheathed pouting pussy, so he pressed onward.

"You know that I'll probably be keeping you as a parcelled lump of fuckable meat indefinitely. I'll continually push you to the limits, or hand you over to Dhelia. I can and will do anything I like to you. Does that bother you? Does it frighten you that I can torment you, screw you when I like; humiliate you, or keep you like a dog?"

This time the contraction was powerful, and supplemented by a definite tautening of thigh muscles as she eased herself fractionally down on to the dildo. Yelda was actively squeezing her love mound with thigh contractions and gently impaling herself in order to gain more feeling. Sven smiled to himself.

"OK! So you think you might like being a slave girl. Let's see how far FUCK-1 is prepared to go. Back up one step."

The ebony figurine obediently hopped backwards one step and teetered precariously before finding her equilibrium.

"Now start flexing. Not hopping, just flexing the knees. I have work to do and you can entertain me by fucking yourself in slow motion." 

The black silent statue paused for a moment, then as instructed, Yelda started to bend and flex her knees, ponderously impaling herself on the massive dildos in a most deliberate manner. Already Sven noticed the heaving breasts bursting between cinches, and the undeniable horniness also manifesting itself as a rasping of breath from the breather holes of her hood. The amazon was highly aroused, simply by starting the routine, long before the dildos could have any effect. He gave her a stern warning. 

"Don't you dare orgasm. From now on you only orgasm when instructed. Understand?"

A muffled mewing plea for mercy escaped the hood and Sven returned to the console. FUCK-1 had no idea if she was being watched and she would do her best to comply. The mere fact that she had to try and hold back her inflamed libido or suffer the consequences was guaranteed to get her hot as hell with frustration from the denial of her natural response to simultaneously having both her crotch orifices reamed by her own squatting actions.

An hour passed as Sven worked on his master plan, then unbeknown to Yelda he summoned Dhelia by typing in a command. The drone duly appeared and Sven rose and crossed to the slowly reciprocating form of Yelda. The mewing was almost constant now, and her breath was blasting from the nostril holes in short sharp bursts. FUCK-1 was so desperately close to a cataclysmic orgasm it made no matter. Yet somehow she had found the strength to resist. No doubt she would be expecting a reward for being good. Well she would get that; but not quite in the manner she probably envisaged. Sven knew just how to turn the threatening orgasm eruption into something that would tear her apart and remain scorched in her mind as the orgasm to end all orgasms; a sort of standard to achieve. Until the next time that is.

"Take this hot little tart for a ten lap spin of the cargo decks at full speed Dhelia, and make sure it doesn't slack along the way. Dhelia zoomed in and grasped the lead as Sven spoke with his mouth close to the sheathed ear of FUCK-1.

"Now you can orgasm woman. Take it away Dhelia." The cinched package of helpless femininity mewed loudly as her body was ruthlessly consigned to a half hour of shattering exertion and mind bending sexual eruption at the hands of a jealous sadistic unfeeling drone. But more than anything, Sven's referral to her as 'it' did more to fire the carnal furnace in her crotch than all the abuse. Yelda knew that as long as she was incarcerated inside this clinging fiendishly arousing suit, and crushed into subjugation by her bonds, that she would never be looked upon as anything more than an object of sadistically voyeuristic pleasure. She was already beginning to experience massive convulsions before Dhelia could even get her thrusters realigned for forward travel.

The leash snapped taut and she bounded into motion. Within seconds Dhelia had her up to full speed as she endured the first of many shattering orgasms. Sven watched as the giant black bounding bunny retreated into the distance. It was so satisfying to simply consign her to another testing ordeal like that and know that she couldn't alter her fate no matter how much she tried.

Dammit! FUCK-1 one looked so uplifting as a black bouncing package of sumptuous curves.

Sven returned to the console to await her return, but the plan was already forged. So he busied himself by turning on the cargo deck monitors to savour the images of Yelda and Dhelia at play. As an afterthought he called Roger and asked him to bring down the tubed Tracy. He had it in mind to fuck her brains out whilst FUCK-1 performed, and in effect to use FUCK-1 as an interesting side show that would help maintain his ardour. It proved to be a spectacular show. Throughout the whole half hour he was rewarded by a most arousing sight as the black bounding figurine demonstrated a strange writhing twisting motion, even whilst in mid leap. Poor Yelda was out of control and barely able to maintain the body pulverising pace as she convulsed and strained with never ending orgasmic eruptions.

Sven turned his attention temporarily to the waiting pussy Roger had delivered. Poor Tracy must be wondering why she was being left so long without suffering the thrusting insertion of his rock hard manhood. He ended her waiting in one impaling stroke and sank his throbbing male sword deep into the defenceless depths of the tubed woman. A gasp escaped the breather tube, as Sven's larger than normal rod almost split her in two. The duel input of FUCK-1's demise and having Tracy perform a relief operation had conspired to erect his manhood to immense proportions. Sven savoured the moment and exerting some considerable self control, managed to maintain his strokes at a slow rhythm thus allowing him to lengthen the event and fully enjoy the trauma of the two women he was using so heartlessly for his own pleasure. Tracy felt good. Her hot slick love tube was a silk purse of inviting womanhood that was massaging his thrusting rod with powerful sensuous contractions as he slid purposefully in and out of her clutching embrace. The fact that both of the women he was abusing would experience equally pleasurable eruptions was neither here nor there.

The Yelda that was returned to him was incapable of standing, and Sven was in little better shape. Tracy had performed well, and his increased penal girth seemed to make her as tight as a virgin. He called Roger, and between them they laid FUCK-1 horizontally and arranged her in the butt rearing foreshortened mode used for sleeping Rog-Reamered prisoners. Roger left as Sven pulled the helpless form to his desk. He positioned her so that the black mountain of her cinched bottom was close at hand before resuming his seat at the console.

With Yelda strained and folded like that, he had a clear view of both vanishing dildo shafts. Actual flesh was concealed, but it looked superb to see the two massive shafts vanishing into those tight sphincters of rubber and know that they continued deep into the trussed woman. For a while he just fondled the offered delights of her rearing bottom; kneading the tautly presented hemispheres with his strong fingers and marvelling at Yelda's powerful firmness. She had a butt in a million; round, curvaceous, generous, and yet compact and resiliently firm. The cinched extrusions forcing upward through the cruel biting steel bands were a joy to caress. Despite the powerful cinching and inherent compaction created by the deeply cutting steel, Sven could feel the woman responding with powerful muscle contractions. It was a nice sensation to feel the bulging cinched hemispheres of contained buttock flesh pulsing and cyclically swelling impotently under his touch, and to know that this was the sum total the parcel known as FUCK-1 could manage by way of expression.

Moving the probing fingers back to the rubber sheathed crescents of her invaded sex mouth, Sven saw the welcomed titillation produce a muscular reaction that exploded her bottom into stark relief as the cinched curves bulged to unprecedented extrusion and quivered with the contained power of her carnal craving. The tightly packaged woman was rapidly becoming and unexploded bomb of sexual energy.

"Well FUCK-1, changed your mind about slavery yet?" His hand wedged deep into the crevice of her crotch and another powerful contraction of thighs and buttocks gave her reply. Yelda was now convinced that Trylon women had a better future as controlled objects of male desire. Even the Exstata cocoon was eclipsed by the responses this man could forcibly extract from her body in terms of mind warping pleasure. It was the way he used her like an item; the unpredictability of what would come next. It all conspired to cause a boiling reaction in her crotch that she never thought possible. Never in her wildest fantasies had she envisaged being aroused to such a level by being trussed and parcel wrapped into a performing package of femininity at the mercy of any who felt inclined to use her. Here she was, 6'6" of statuesque honed female fighting machine reduced to a completely controllable bundle of cinched helplessness, and loving every minute of it. It defied her understanding. FUCK-1 tuned her ears to the voice permeating her world of oozing pleasure. The owner of the Yelda the female package was speaking again.

"Good girl. Now you're seeing sense. But now I've got work to do, so you just lie quietly and let me play with you, and if you're really good I'll give you back to Dhelia in an hour or so when you've rested and she can have you to play with for the rest of the day." The massive squeezing contraction of thighs was clearly unsolicited. Yelda's body just reacted with complete autonomy as he consigned her yet again to a long ordeal of explosive sexual trauma that resulted from the inescapable pain-pleasure of being forcibly Rog-Reamered by a jealous drone. All of sudden, the promised return to being a carnally erupting package of helpless, towed, femininity had its undeniable attractions.

Sven smiled broadly. For the first time he knew that without doubt he would one day be master of Trylon-31. FUCK-1 was clearly a convert and she would make a dedicated agent provocateur in his planned takeover. His only concern was that during that time she would be free again, she might miss the carnal gratification of Starburst life. Sven wondered how long she would be able to operate efficiently whilst deprived of the tight cinching bands and crushing rubber sheath. By the time she was operational, FUCK-1 would be completely addicted to the pleasures of being an orgasming plaything. Perhaps Roger could come up with some sort of hidden device that they could control by remote so as to give her a nightly dose of pleasure and reduce the craving. As for the agoraphobia of being free to move at will, that was another matter. Sven sighed and leaned back, his arms spread wide across the arms of the couch and a hand on each of the beckoning defenceless offered crotches placed either side of him. Heaven was a great place.


CHAPTER TWELVE
BOUND BED TOYS

Two days later, Starburst One moved to a high orbit that wouldn't decay for centuries. Down on the planet's surface 'The Good Book' according to Sven was being read with enthusiasm, and the last pocket of female resistance had been crushed. Sven managed to locate all the Rog- Reamered amazons from the original Trylon team planted by the Federation, and they were all residing in Starburst's stasis hold. The rescuing of her team mates seemed to make Yelda all the more determined to help her new owners, and in fact, it was at her suggestion that they all be exposed to the same kind of readjustment that she had undergone herself. 

Dhelia was in seventh heaven as Sven awarded her the job, which included manufacturing more of the super enhanced Rog-Reamers. Meanwhile, the insatiable Roger was given the task of servicing their more human needs. In short, his orders were to fuck their brains out whenever he felt the urge during his periods of caretaker activity. So whilst all others onboard slumbered peacefully in the grip of stasis, the amazons would be awakened at one hundred year intervals for a two or three day refresher course in the joys of being parcelled and arranged as fuckable objects. Dhelia would take care of their exercise whilst Roger was busy shafting a selected one of them to eye popping orgasmic eruption.

Hopefully the Starburst team would eventually awaken to find a team of subversive fully converted amazons who were keen to share the new way of life with their own kind. But first there were things to do. The owner of so many gorgeous slave women was sure to be kept busy with all the mundane chores associated with owning such treasures.

Roger was busy converting a cubicle to accommodate four female parcels, and as he waited for the cubicle to be completed Sven reached out and ran his hands over the squirming rubber sheathed, tightly cinched figurines close by. It had been a tiring day for him. He wasn't all the cruel heartless beast he portrayed and felt it was his duty to service each of the women before they began their long sleep. For FUCK-1 it was to be a marvellous experience as it was only the second time she had been privileged to have Sven's gloriously huge shaft of manhood inserted into her receptive pussy. On the other hand, Tracy and Fiona, although used to the pounding shaft by now, still derived immense enjoyment from the sensation of being taken so completely as they writhed helplessly in their bonds.

Almost inevitably, there was a period of jealously as he introduced the tall Rog-Reamered Yelda to his women, but that quickly waned as he put all of them into the same format and had Dhelia exercise them as a coffle. 

A sort of comradeship was forged in that two hour session as they each learned to bound along in perfect synchronisation so as not to engineer a disastrous full frontal pile-up. For the first few laps Sven insisted that the two newcomers to Rog-Reamer travel were un-blindfolded, which allowed them to see and copy the expertise of the well versed FUCK-1. Later all three were devoid of vision.

After that little muscle building exercise, Sven had Dhelia assist as he trussed all three into a tight triple bundle. At first, Yelda was stiff and unyielding as she experienced her first contact with other women. But that quickly changed as the other two writhed and squirmed against each other and massaged the inescapable form of FUCK-1 in with their carnally animated bodies. An hour produced a fully harmonised column of writhing womanhood experiencing the crotch melting sensation of close contact with other sensuous, vibrantly active women who had discovered the true potential of their extraordinary bodies.

Yelda's conversion was accelerating at an unprecedented rate. In the short time the women had been together, a friendship was forged that quashed all feelings of jealousy exhibited by the former select pair of concubines chosen by Sven the God. The women, even when denied the medium of speech, had come to the same conclusion. Sven wanted them all in his coffle of bound lovelies, and that could only be good news for all of them if his libido continued to expand at the same prodigious rate as a result of the merger of talent. Fuckable, bound, gagged, parcelled females they might be; stupid they were most certainly not.

Sven dozed in a state of euphoria, only to be awakened many hours later by Roger.

"The Capsule's prepared boss." Sven eased himself up, then paused as he noticed that the three women were missing. He looked up to Roger who second guessed the question.

"In the capsule boss. Already packaged up and just waiting for you to fill the gap." Sven smiled.

"Thanks buddy, you're a real pal." Roger's meta-plastic face did a fair imitation of a blush as his boss praised him. Together they ambled off in the direction of the capsule bay, and Sven made some last minute checks with the caretaker of the operation.

"You happy with everything Roger? No questions?" The droid shook his head.

"Everything taken care of boss, and in any case, if anything crops up that I can't handle, or for some reason I malfunction, the capsule will re-animate. I reconfigured the controls so that it requires me to reset them every day in order to keep you in stasis. IfI blow a fuse you'll be the first to know." Sven laughed aloud and slapped Roger on the back, a gesture instantly regretted as the unforgiving meta-plastic skin stung his hand. Roger didn't have any fuses to blow as such, but it was amusing to hear him using colloquialisms.

They reached the widened stasis cubicle and Sven nodded approvingly. 

"Nice job Roger. Nice Job!" A cubicle filled with three rubber sheathed fully cocooned writhing shapes promised to be an interesting place to rest his weary bones for the coming millennium. Two were of course *Hinlon generated cocoons, the other, Yelda, was instantly recognisable by her size and the steel banding. Roger was taking no chances that she might break loose and recover before his boss Sven was completely in control of his faculties. The Rog-Reamer was gone, which must have been a slight relief for the woman. But Roger, mindful of her extraordinary strength, ensured she was well secured. Poor Yelda was a horizontal black latex sheathed joint of female meat, cinched up at four inch intervals and oven ready. She could squirm like a snake, but that was about all. In addition, Roger, knowing of Sven's liking for stature control, had searched out a polished steel collar of considerable depth and snapped it tightly around her neck. Yelda looked like a giraffe woman with her neck stretched taut and head held rigidly at the correct angle.

*Hinlon organisms - first appeared in Starburst One.

Without further ado Sven climbed in and Roger energised the force shield that acted as a cover. Then, as the droid began to set the controls Sven snuggled himself down into the crush of superbly smooth, female filled, syntho-latex that was adorning his bed. Fiona ended up on the outside, Tracy to his left, and the amazon Yelda snugged tight to his right. He spread his arms and allowed his hands to wander over the curvaceous mounds of womanhood. Both Tracy and Yelda were face down and their sumptuous rumps close to hand. Fiona was face up, and it took but a small effort to slide his hand up and cup the jutting mounds of her thrusting breasts. The encapsulated women moaned gently at his touch, and giving each a firm squeeze in turn, he taunted them wilfully.

"Well ladies, you are about to become legends. You will go down in the Guinness book of records as the women holding the all time galaxy record for staying in bondage. To be precise, 1000 years in bondage. How does that grab you?"

All three cocooned women moaned softly and he could feel their bodies tensing as they tried to massage the throbbing mounds in their crotches. Just the thought of it had set them ablaze with sensual feelings.

Roger peered in as the stasis process took hold, and smiled as he saw his boss. Sven was already gone, as were the three fantastically beautiful women. But it was the supreme look of bliss on Sven's face that captured his gaze.

"Sweet dreams boss!"

Roger re-checked the settings then turned and headed for the main storage bay. There was work to do. All of those gorgeous chicks had to be slumbering by the end of the day and he himself wanted to sample a few of them before they went under. Then it was off to bed himself with the alarm set to 100 years in the future.

Image 22


CHAPTER THIRTEEN
786 YEARS LATER

Sven yawned and stretched, then froze as his hand met something warm, smooth, resilient, and very desirable. For a second he paused, then felt again. Whatever it was, it felt good. Suddenly he snatched his hand back as the thing moved. Instinctively he tried to sit up.

'Thud!'

"Shit! Fuck that stupid release." He dropped back with his head ringing from the contact with a force shield that had yet again failed to operate. It was full circle. The last time that happened was on his last awakening on Starburst One shortly after leaving Earth.

For a moment he lay still trying to gather his thoughts, then a low moan and movement against his side made him turn, albeit awkwardly in the small space.

The memories suddenly flooded back. Yelda looked fantastic. More movement against his butt reminded him that they were not alone. Tracy and Fiona were recovering from the long sleep as well.

At first they looked just how he remembered them, and then an additional item was revealed by the harsh bay lights as Fiona moved. Her sealing pussy dildo was gone, and in it place a wide mouthed flexible rubber ring that opened her pussy into a blooming flower of crimson interior. Quickly he turned over and after some struggling in the limited space, managed to wrestle Yelda over onto her back. She was equipped with the same pussy dilator. Tracy soon proved to be similarly prepared. It was only then that he noticed a note stuck to the side of the sleeping chamber.

'Pleasant awakening boss. Just thought you might want a bit of action for breakfast so I made the ladies ready'.

Sven grinned widely. Just like Roger to think of everything. He didn't have to reach down to figure that he was ready. The rampant throbbing shaft of his bursting penis was prodding deeply into the rubberised cleft of Yelda's cinched bottom lobes.

FUCK-1 got first honours as Tracy did her best to gain his attention by writhing against them both. It took ten minutes to recharge, and then Tracy got her own 1000 year birthday present. Fiona had to wait twenty minutes before Sven's drained sexual battery made a recovery. But he made up for that by bordering her with writhing female bodies and then plunging into her like there was no tomorrow. Sven had 1000 years of shagging to catch up on, and he intended to restart his career with a bang. 

An hour passed and all three women were well serviced at least once. It wasn't enough. Seemingly the three women had somehow stored all the lost years of sexual activity and wanted it all repaid right now. For the first time Sven gained a small insight into his girls ordeal in those tubes of Thyron worms. The capsule was a morass of writhing muted black sheathed womanhood demanding attention. Sven punched the shield release button frantically, but it refused to open. There was nothing he could do until Roger answered the stasis 'de-activated' warning light flashing in the control room.

Roger, watching from the safety of the control room console decided to not notice his boss's jammed force shield for another couple of hours. Turning away from the monitor, he cast eyes towards Major Boscomp who was, it seemed, having a rude awakening from her sleep. 

Mounted halfway up a bulkhead, legs drawn up and fastened by the side of her head, the Major was enduring a serious status adjustment as the android with the neon flashing dick bore down on her offered charms. 

Flashing venomous eyes, and producing a high pitched keening of anger against the ball gag filling her mouth seemed to have no effect. Roger simply moved in and stuffed her like a rag doll.

MMMMMMmPPPPPPPPphhhh!

The Major's eyes popped and her face almost seemed to explode as a massive synthetic phallic replica cleaved open her mons and almost split her in two as it bulldozed into her defenceless pussy. Despite the tightness of the banding strapping her torso and limbs to the bulkhead, Major Boscomp found herself jerking up and down as the power strokes ravaged her lower body with irresistible effect.

It didn't take long before her breath was coming in gasps, and the eyes started to close as a massive carnal event engulfed her. Another strong willed arrogant female was about to join the ranks of ladies aboard Starburst who had capitulated to the forces of lust.

Meanwhile, several decks below, Sven in desperation, was threatening the cavorting cocoons with dire consequences as they sandwiched him in a sensuous vice of rubber coated femininity. They were wilfully using his body to work their incapacitated forms against in an attempt to engineer the unleashing of raging lascivious forces in their captive forms. Sven tried threatening to ease the pressure.

"Pack it up. Lie still or else I'll make sure Dhelia gets to exercise you on Rog-Reamers for two or three days non stop." Seemingly that was more of an incentive to continue than an inducement to stop.

The writhing female body-vice went berserk and the capsule was filled with the low moaning sounds of women experiencing exquisitely pleasurable mental visions of lustfully arousing abuse and enforced stimulation. After something of a struggle, Sven eventually managed to scramble on top of the mallee and arrange the women into a mattress that he could lie on top of, his body squeezed between the malfunctioning shield and a mattress of carnally motivated females. At least in that position he had a modicum of control, and to be honest it felt good to lie on those writhing helpless forms.

"ROGER! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

An hour passed and the humping mattress was becoming a little tiresome. All the women had managed to induce orgasm in each other by mutual wriggling against each other and the underside of the recumbent Sven. His butt was a favourite and conveniently placed mound for the women to work their greedy sex mounds against. There was no choice but to lie there as they each went rigid and quivering in turn when the forces of orgasmic eruption stiffened them in muscle paralysing ecstasy. He cursed as the powerful body of Yelda arched upward yet again in her throes of ecstasy. The uplift squashed his nose and jammed his body against the shield as she convulsed violently.

"Hey! Boss. You gotta problem in there?"

At long last Roger's beaming face appeared above, and a second later the shield's hue changed colour and then slid back. Sven sat up and quickly climbed out. Unlike the normal rising from a long stasis, he was fully mobile, having worked the stiffness out by servicing three demanding females during the wait.

"Where were you? I damned near got raped to death in there."

Roger was a picture of mock innocence, an innocence marred by the fact that his monolithic sex organ was still out and dripping wet.

"I was busy boss. I came as soon as I could." Sven looked down.

"I can see that. Who were you busy with? No! Don't bother to answer that. Just get Dhelia down here, Rog-Reamer these three and have her give them a work out for the next few hours. They seem to have an abundance of surplus energy. I'll see you up in the control room in an hour. First I need a bite to eat."

With a last look at three forms that were going ballistic upon overhearing his instructions, Sven made his way to the Vendo space. A couple of dozen Twinky bars should be sufficient to fill the hole in his stomach. 

Gorged to over satisfaction and feeling a little nauseous, Sven was sipping a steaming poly-cup of coffee as Roger came into view. The droid's electronic mental ship-link telepathically flipped the vid screens on and Sven was treated to a view of three excruciatingly cinched forms doing their level best to keep up with a gleefully speeding Dhelia. Dhelia had really cranked the cinching steel bands down tight. It was a miracle they could even flex. Sven nodded approvingly. A few hours of Rog-Reamering should take the edge off those wilful ladies' sexual appetite.

He turned back to Roger.

"Why the change in plan Roger? I see we were only out for 746 years. Is there a problem?" Roger dropped his heavy frame into a couch.

"Not really a problem boss. However, something did came up I thought you should know about." Sven stayed silent and waited for him to elucidate.

"The Thyrons are advancing much faster than we thought possible, and they are already attempting space travel. The first satellites went up a year ago and I had to move Starburst to a geostationary orbit that hides us behind their moon." Sven looked concerned.

"That fast? It's impossible, even with our intervention." Roger nodded. 

"My feeling is that the Feds slipped in some help without actually becoming involved yet. It all started a couple of years ago. I've got all the scanners set to warn us if any vessels come into range and I also managed to construct a shielding device that conceals us from any general scans by the Feds if they show up again. It won't stand up to a close look but it should do the trick if no-one is looking for us." Sven looked thoughtfully at Roger who seemed to have covered all the possible angles. All that remained now was to see if their original plan needed any readjustment in light of recent Thyron events. He suddenly thought of their prime directive. 

"And just how is our takeover plan going down there on Thyros Rog'?" 

Roger grinned.

"You're gonna love it boss. It went like a charm. Women on Thyros are well and truly under control. It's a whole damned industry down there just waiting for the return of the big cheese. I had to do a little tinkering with the 'good book' according to Sven due to the advances they made. I took out the God image and sort of added the super powerful alien angle. They were getting too clever to carry on believing in Gods so I altered the format. Thyrons respect power and bosses, so I made you the big head Honcho. They don't seem to have a problem with that. Legend has it that you will one day return to take a cut in the profits; female currency that is. But the cash side is all their's. They don't have a problem with that either. In fact there's a Sven compound in the capital where at any given time two hundred of the most gorgeous carefully selected females are kept ready for the return. A gift from Thyros to the head Honcho when he comes back. They're selected at eighteen and then go through a rigorous training to make sure they're flexible and have the stamina of an oxen. If they reach twenty-five and Sven hasn't returned, they're sold off and new stock takes their place. Stock rotation is about the best way to describe it. You're going to love what they get these selected chicks to do."

It sounded interesting. But Sven was more concerned about the progress of the overall master plan at the moment.

"So they don't have a problem with us horning in on the action after all this time?" Roger shook his head. "Amazing!" He was about to say more but Roger interrupted.

"The legend that Sven the Great turned the demise of Thyros around and made it into a male heaven is still one of the most talked about subjects in all the pubs. I'd say they are all looking forward to the return' as predicted in the scriptures, mainly to see what new ideas you can come up with to make their heaven even more pleasurable. The women aren't quite so keen, but what the hell. They ain't got no say anyway." Sven studied his pal intently. Over the years Roger had adopted an easy going laconic slang style of talking. The meta-plastic palooka was becoming more and more human as time went by. In fact it was getting hard to imagine him as a synthetic man made product. His learning chip was amassing new information at a geometric rate.

"Sounds good Roger. I trust you had fun during the maintenance periods?" Roger beamed at him.

"Had a ball boss. Had a fucking ball!" Must admit, the one time I was having so much fun I stayed activated for three months." Sven laughed. 

Which reminds me. What about our little Federation time bomb? Has it worked yet?" Again Roger beamed at him.

"I checked about two hundred years ago. That disk we left lying around ended up in the museum a few years after we left. It vanished around the time I checked. By now the Feds will have decoded the ship's black box details from the damaged disk, discovered that Starburst One's containment field failed and that the resulting anti-matter explosion killed us all and scattered debris all over Thyros. As arranged, I used the tractor beam to drag in a cluster of meteorites and provide the Thyrons with a legend about the night the sky lit up and filled with shooting stars. They never connected it to us and still believe we'll return. The Feds will have matched the two dates and come to the conclusion that we were the shooting stars, but decided not to let the Thyrons in on their secret. To sum up, as far as they are concerned, we were toast six hundred years ago.

The Feds think they have it all to themselves and don't seem to be worried about moving in on the action right away because they don't know we are going to return.”

Sven chuckled aloud. Now we know why Dangle Dick the C in C at Space Corps Command declined a berth on the good ship Starburst. I had a feeling that was his reason and that's why I guessed it would work, even though our somewhat prematurely reported demise doesn't appear on historical records.

"Oh! Boy! Are they going to be pissed when we move in and take the stand. By the way, did you manage to pick up anything about Trylon 31 on the sub-space airwaves?"

Roger nodded.

"Yep! Bits and pieces now and then. Just Space Jockey chat by some alien types doing fly-by's. Had a problem translating at first, but I got it in the end. Trylon is just getting their act together after the period where men were eradicated from the planet; about five or six hundred years before the time we left. Next big event in their calender will be a few hundred years from now when the Feds send in the marines; with the disastrous consequences for Space Corps as we now know.* To be perfectly honest, I still haven't figured out why they would allow it to go ahead when they could slip into the past and alter that outcome by stopping the raid."

* Space Corp lost the battle for Trylon-31 in Starburst One.

Sven threw in his thoughts on the matter.

"Probably the same as us, scared to alter anything that predates finding the time warp, and a few hundred Space Corps jar heads are nothing to them. They're probably all wanking themselves thinking about the women commandoes who got life sentences in Exstata cocoons.* Besides, they may be as unable to predict the time they'll slip into as we are. Which brings me to a moot point. We're still five or six hundred years behind our own time. What can we do that won't alter the future, but would prevent the Thyrons gaining space travel capability?"

Roger seemed unperturbed.

"I checked records, and something went wrong with the space program on Thyros. The records are pretty scant but there was a hint that the Thyrons suspected sabotage, and then in our time, historians reckon there was some sort of interplanetary intervention. It set the Thyron space program back hundreds of years, which is why they were only just achieving it when we went through the space warp the first time.

Sven eyed his co-conspirator with a piercing gaze.

"Interplanetary intervention?"

Roger grinned.

"Yep! Seems like some asshole altered vital calculations in the computers and built in a glitch that kept coming up with more wrong answers every time they tried to correct the problem. All their first rockets after that initial satellite launch took off ten feet into the ground. They blew up! They sorted that problem and then had major problems with gyro control. Trying to fix the problems cost a fortune, and eventually the public demanded to know why they really needed space travel. The whole shooting match was shelved for centuries."

"I wonder who that asshole was who tapped into their computers and fixed things?" He fixed Roger with a piercing stare. That 'glitch' wouldn't be the Epsilon 4 glitch would it? The computer virus that wrecked their entire solar system network and took years to eradicate?"

The initial look of innocence faded into an uncontrollable grin.

"Just thought I'd wake you up and ask before I pressed the 'Send' button and make history come true. Besides I got lonely and I thought maybe you might want a couple of weeks out of stasis to play with your toys." He inclined his head towards the vid screen displaying three very tired bouncing parcels of womanhood desperately trying to please a drone who cared nothing for the trauma in her wake. Sven watched for a second or two then turned back to his mate.

"Good thinking Roger. Now as regards us doing our re-appearance stunt and showing the good people of Thyros new methods. You had any bright ideas on that score? We need something for a big entry." Roger was aglow with pride. He sure as hell had, and Major Boscomp and the bouncing bunnies were in for a tough time demonstrating them.

"Meantime, send the bug and let's put a stop to our inventive Thyrons space program before it gets out of hand. Besides, we wouldn't want to 'not' do something and change history would we?"

Roger's finger jabbed down.

"Done!" And according to future history not a single Thyron gets hurt; that is if you discount the bankers payrolling the venture." Sven nodded approvingly. He liked that. The Thyrons were good people and he had no wish to hurt them in his quest for control of the galaxy's entire stock of enslaved humanoid females.

Several hours passed as they discussed matters, then Sven decided to look in on Dhelia's activities. It was an inspiring sight. Major Boscomp had joined her pogoing charges in a new Rog-Reamer. However they were at present in a static mode, albeit one no less uplifting to observe. They were being forcibly toiletted.

Four gleaming slightly stooped figurines were stood side by side in a new facility Roger had constructed in his spare time. The dildo attachments were at knee level and the full measure of their massive girth and length for once was visible. Releasing the clamps securing these devilish phallic probes allowed them to be slid clear of the overworked orifices for other maintenance procedures. Even as he watched the horrendously controlled figures began to strain and fight their inescapable bonds. Roger explained. 

"Just pumping them full of nice warm soapy water boss; then they have no choice but to clean out." Sven's face glowed as his blood pressure rocketed.

"How much water Roger?"

The droid shrugged dismissively.

"Oh! A gallon or so I should think."

Sven spun back to the vid screen and watched as the writhing attempts of four inflating females trying to escape being forcible enemaed reached an all time peak. Abdomen and bottom extrusions already bulging from the effect of the cinches quickly became much more pronounced as they helplessly absorbed the massive injection of fluids.

Six times the women expanded, only to quickly deflate as a reverse flow flushed them clean.

Typically Dhelia decided she wanted them sparkling clean. Hence the half dozen flushes.

That chore done, the busy drone connected food hoses to the special face plates which had replaced the normal gag retainers; then at the flip of a switch, consigned the frantically convulsing parcels to a pressure injection of evil tasting high concentrate food supplement. Life as a Rog-Reamered female was one long round of enforced existence when Dhelia was in charge. In the absence of visible human features, she actually saw them as units to be serviced, just like any other component on Starburst's massive maintenance schedule roster. Ten minutes later, the four bounding figurines were back in tow with dildos repositioned as Dhelia busily attended to other maintenance chores that allowed her to take the coffle along with her. The drone was becoming a regular workaholic.

Sven's gaze went to the struggling ungainly, unpracticed, leaping parcel that was number four. Major Boscomp still hadn't quite got the hang of it by the looks of it. No doubt she would benefit from the never ending practice Dhelia was generously handing out. Suddenly Sven burst out laughing. Seemingly Dhelia was also developing a sense of humour. Each traumatised package had its own parcel label attached, designating them as FUCK-1 through to the last in line, the unpracticed Major, designated FUCKHEAD-4. The wicked metal sphere was really getting into the theme of things.


CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE REINCARNATION

Sven stretched sleepily as his consciousness returned slowly. Instantly the force shield over the stasis cubicle slid back and it dawned on him that Roger had finally gotten around to fixing the damn thing at long last. Christ on a crutch, it only took the plasti-palooka one and half thousand years, but then he was a busy droid with hundreds of females to service.

A warm smooth hump nuzzled at him from behind and he realised that a massive erection jutting from his crotch was prodding another smooth inviting shape at his front. He smiled and reached out to stroke the plethora of inviting rubber sheathed curves close to hand. A rebuild on the capsule evened things up and allowed two women each side. Major Boscomp made up the foursome. He reached out to the second on his left and explored the regimental ass, shoving his hand deep into the clenching appreciative cleft so as to nestle the blade of his hand against an army pussy on the other side of the cinched rubberised form. Regimental pussies reacted much the same as any other pussy it seemed. They liked being stroked and fondled. Ex Space Corps Major Boscomp was finally coming around to Sven's way of thinking. Enjoy life! It was too short to be a pompous asshole and waste it playing at soldiering. The sumptuous form moaned softly and flexed in a devastatingly feline manner. Yep! Major Boscomp was just a big pussy cat at heart, and Sven knew just how to make her purr. He was glad the decision not to leave her down on Thyros turned out right. If she ever became ungagged, she could order Roger to do a permanent power-down and there was nothing they could do once he shut down. He'd made that point to her before they started the long sleep and when given a choice of futures, she'd voluntarily opted to remain gagged with a nod of the head, for as long as it took for them to learn to trust her promise not to give such a command. Sven never really had any intention of ever ungagging her except to change gags, but it was nice to have a back up safeguard. His brow furrowed as a deep buzzing in the hot crotch brought back vague memories.

Apparently the women had awakened before him, then remembering his instructions to Roger he removed his exploring hand from the Major and checked the crotch of each of the others. All was well. Roger had left them crotch plugged with vibro massagers that energised with the de- activating of the capsule. They were all enjoying a nice cozy low level arousal that resulted in a sensuous gentle body flexing as they massaged their libidos. He laid back and dozed for a while, savouring the tranquil pleasure of being sandwiched between active nubile bodies. It was a great way to wake up. There were none of the demanding acrobatics of his last awakening. This time he could enjoy a fistful of his own throbbing aroused manhood and take his own good time as the living bedclothes undulated and gently writhed in a way that only a woman could. No matter what it seemed to onlookers, Sven loved every inch of every one of these fabulous creatures. In fact he had often pondered his massive drive to fuck the lovely things, and at the end of the day he came up with the conclusion that he just wanted to get as much of himself inside these stunning magnificent creatures as was possible.

An hour later, rubbing his eyes, a contented Sven ambled into the control room where Roger had a statuesque chick trussed and folded over the back of a Gee couch. He was shafting the waffling maiden unmercifully whilst viewing a back dated time lapse vid of happenings on Thyros. Sven made his presence known.

"Morning Roger." He inclined his gaze towards Roger's crotch. "Up early I see." Roger grinned at pun and the reference to his rapid role resumption, which was to fuck as many damsels as he could manage each day without shirking his other duties. He also sensed that his boss was in an excellent mood and made a memory note to make sure the four ladies in the capsule were rewarded for doing their best to carry out his request. 

The droid was amazed that four human women had actually remembered after all those years in stasis. Roger wanted to give a gift to his boss when he woke up, and he'd judged it correctly.

"Morning boss, actually afternoon. It's midday on Thyros." Sven grinned and hit the flight deck vendo for a coffee. The service portal duly refused to supply a cup and emptied the liquid straight into the drain. He cursed loudly.

"Typical Fed crap. They conquer the fucking universe and develop all sorts of mega ghetto blaster weapons and mind boggling technology, and yet not one egg-headed inventor had managed to come up with a working vendo machine that can supply cups." Roger paused in his hip thrusting work, leaned over and dealt the recalcitrant machine a crippling back- hander. Lights flashed, machinery whirred, and lo and behold a cup dropped. They both watched with disbelief as it filled to the brim with sugar and ended the cycle with a pathetic teaspoon sized squirt of coffee and one droplet of milk.

Roger shrugged apologetically as Sven gave up and contacted Dhelia who was busy unpacking various women and either preparing them for exercise or some other equally traumatic ordeal.

"Dhelia! Get a damned coffee up here will yer!" He flipped the com switch off and turned to Roger with a quizzical eye.

"How come you two mechanised misfits were up so early?"

Roger paused again in his endeavors to screw the chick's brains out. 

"We re-animated early boss. Couple of days ago to be precise. I thought I'd get everything up and running whilst you were having a lie-in. It isn't like the last temporary wake up. This is it. We've arrived boss. Dis is da big tomales!.. Da Big Kazoom. Da—!"

"Yeh! Right! Got the message Roger. You spent the whole thousand fucking years reading old Chicago Earth history?" Roger's face was a picture of disappointment. He was sure boss Sven would be impressed with his laid back Earth style. Sven took pity.

"Sorry Rog' You did great, .. really made me feel at home. But to be honest I had my thoughts on other things." Roger seemed to recover. 

"So how did it all go pal, fill me in on the details." Roger settled back to a steady fucking rhythm as he answered.

"Everything we started worked out and you've got a busy year ahead of you."

Sven became extremely attentive when he saw the triumphant gleam in Roger's eyes.

"It worked. It all worked?" Roger nodded emphatically and withdrew from the gasping female who had just orgasmically exploded.

"Sure as hell did. The Thyrons are expecting you anytime. We're in a low orbit and they can see us with their telescopes. The great prophet Sven has returned just like the scriptures promised. Those guys are planning a real welcoming shindig down there boss." Sven grinned widely, then suddenly his look changed to one of concern.

"The Feds? What about the Feds. Do they know yet?"

Roger nodded.

"We're about fifty years beyond the time we left Earth originally. Anyway, a Fed scout ship spotted us a year back according to back-dated vid records, and it immediately legged it back to Earth with the news. The Feds went into a panic and sent a delegation to Thyros to try and head us off at the pass. He paused with a wide grin.

"Well? What the fuck happened?"

"They were told to fuck off, and the three women crew members, including a woman diplomat, were seized and Rog-Reamered by the Northern Province Commander for his own pets. That pissed the Feds off completely. One of them was Space Corps C in C's daughter. The Earth consulate complained and Thyros responded by putting the chick on public display as a sort of 'Fuck-You' gesture. These Thyrons take crap from nobody. What is more interesting is that over the years as things developed, several civilisations from other planets started to get aggressive over the perceived human rights infringements on Thyros. So instead of wasting time and money on space projects, they invested heavily in defence technology. The damned place is an impregnable fortress. The Fed's don't stand a hope in hell of even denting those defences without getting their butts kicked all over the universe."

Sven sat back and absorbed the magnitude of what they had set in motion all those years ago.

"We haven't got a problem entering then?" Roger laughed.

"As soon as I sent a recognition signal they welcomed us with open arms. Thyros is waiting for us to show them the future. But enough of that boss. Now look what they did with our Rog-Reamer design.' He flipped a second monitor on and tapped in a command to zoom in on Gazra, now the capital city of Thyros.

Sven's breath was taken away by what he saw.

The streets were filled with bounding shapes, all colours of the rainbow and undertaking all sorts of mundane towing tasks as they pogoed around. Every single one of the shapes was clearly female, in varying shapes and sizes of voluptuosity, and nubility. Genetic engineering ensured there was no wasted females in the beauty stakes. If someone wanted a heavy duty woman it was easy enough to produce one by putting her in a fattening cage that allowed no movement or any kind of exercise and then stuffing her with fattening foods. But the basic model was a stunner by any galactic standard.

Roger shifted location and zoomed to some sort of rotary gantry outside an impressive public building.

"What am I looking for Roger?" Sven scanned the area.

"The C in C's daughter boss. The diplomat. Take a closer look at the gantry." Sven zoomed in still more. High resolution revealed one solitary form attached to the gantry.

It was a mouth watering sight. Not satisfied with syntho-latex and other compounds developed for encasing Rog-Reamered females, the Thyrons had sheathed the luckless former diplomat with a crushing suit of dural alloy armour. It was a stringently tight form fitting sheath of burnished inflexible metal, yet she was still able to perform the strength sapping bounds demanded by Thyros legislation for all moving females. It was so perfect that at first sight Sven thought she had been painted with silver paint.

Image 23

Flexibility was achieved by multi leaved joints at all the points of locomotion, which was actually only knees and hips. As for the rest of her, the pogoing woman was rigidly controlled. As with their own Mark III version, she was reduced to a mermaid like lower limb, albeit with the feet tapering to a point as opposed to Roger's high heeled flat toe format. This beauty had no choice but to perform on ballerina tiptoe.

Sven could see that her flexing rump and frantically jostling tits were free of the steel for aesthetic purposes, although they matched the steel due to an under-sheathing suit of silversheen rubber. Apparently Thyrons still like to see certain areas in glorious animated flexible female.

As could be expected, the attached dildos constantly pumping in and out were of enormous girth.

At first glance it seemed that the bounding figurine was motivated by the rotating gantry. Her steel encased head was connected by a spring to an arm overhead, and also the Thyrons seemed to have considered wear and tear on the pavement created by her rigidly enforced circular path. A circular steel plate formed a two foot wide track for her to bound along. In addition were two lighter springs attached to each bulging spherical rubber sculpted tit by through nipple fixings, assumed by Sven to be for balancing the horrendously contoured woman.

Only upon close scrutiny did Sven realise that something much more diabolical than basic Rog-Reamer travel was taking place.

In fact the steel sheathed figurine was powering the gantry, not the other way round. His first clues were the flashing sparks each time her pointed steel encased toes hit the ring, and the violent launch into each successive leap. A leap that was almost beyond belief when one considered the height she reached. Then the truth dawned. The track was electrified, and the retaining head spring served a dual purpose in keeping her on track and forming a return path for a bolt of searing energy. Each time she touched down her entire body was completing the circuit, and the powerful leaps were an electrified response from her helpless, violently reacting body. Boggle eyed Sven watched for a good ten minutes, unable to drag his eyes from the image of that suffering superbly controlled female. Eventually he noticed a drive shaft driven by the gantry's rotation. It led to a pump at the side of a nearby fountain.

Suddenly it hit him! That incredibly traumatised woman was relegated to nothing more than the motor for a water feature to enhance the splendour of the Northern Provincial Council Offices. It was the same principle as Earth's ancient treadmill system, upgraded to take modern technology into account. She was driving the pump that powered the tinkling fountain. It was a blatant snub to Federation requests for her return. Any political interplanetary broadcast would surely show the offices where any important news worthy matters were being discussed, and the C in C would get a clear view of his daughter's demise every time.

Fascinated, Sven zoomed to macro and studied every cavorting inch of the bounding form. The whole concept was magnificent in its diabolical simplicity. A charge, reversed in polarity to the searing bolt of energy used to launch her, forced the woman to jerk violently and attempt to curl up in mid flight, thus impaling herself whilst she was airborne as result of the Rog-Reamer configuration, which he discovered, was initiated by the release of tension on the tit springs as she leapt upward. Those springs were also serving a dual function and fed the curl-up current directly into her pierced nipples. After inducing a body convulsion that in effect foreshortened the suffering super controlled female, it exited via the steel of the suit and used the head spring as a common return path. The folded pre-set form then plummeted helplessly back down to an unavoidable rendezvous with the electrified base plate that would start the next cycle. 

At the instant of contact her streamlined mermaid like form exploded into a rigid quivering straight line which had the effect of launching her steel entombed body like a rocket and driving the gantry around with a reverse reaction to the thrusting toes. Even as he watched, a caretaker approached the display and decided that the fountain wasn't high enough. Flipping open an inspection hatch in the base of the gantry he adjusted the track plate and tit voltage upward. Obviously they could be adjusted independently as he spent some time balancing the mid air convulsion with the body pulverising ground launch strength.

The effect was instant and spectacular. Sparks flew in abundance as the pogoing figurine exploded into a frenzied jerking column of supercharged activity, that in turn accelerated the rate of rotation and caused the fountain to blossom into a tree of glittering cascades. Meanwhile the bounding statuette was ramming herself full of dildo at the highest point of each leap with a tremendously convulsive jerk. Sven caught a fleeting glance of the marionette's desperately pleading eyes as she was callously adjusted to even greater effort.

The caretaker watched for awhile making minor adjustments. Seemingly he was totally oblivious to the fact that he was actually adjusting the electrical input to a desperately pleading female diplomat who could only obey the surging current. Finally he seemed satisfied, and flipped the lid shut before leaving the savagely jackknifing female power plant to its endless inescapable task. It was hard to imagine that the viciously mechanical movements of that demoniacally active form were actually those of a living curvaceous woman. It was even more arousing to think that she could do absolutely nothing to alter her frenzied animation. Only her mind was free. Her body belonged to Municipality, and she was ruthlessly controlled by the local electricity company. The woman was destined to perform at whatever level of muscle grinding activity was set on the controls. It was a far cry from the life of luxury she had enjoyed as a beautiful powerful diplomatic envoy.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN
STEPMOTHERS - VERSIONS 2 & 3

Tourists gathered and took pictures; A father pointed out various details of the design to a seemingly fascinated young man by his side, who was clearly his mature son, if the resemblance could be believed. It was a design that won the annual Thyros award for services to society. Father and son stood admiring the work of art and all the time the jerking fountain motor maintained its frantic inescapable task as it emitted a muted expulsion of sound, generated by each bolt of power and unstoppable convulsive jerk.

Mmmrrpppph! -Opphh! - Mmmrrpppph! -Opphh! - Mmmrrpppph! -Opphh! 

As he watched, Sven saw another Rog-Reamered figure bound into view and halt obediently beside them. The eyes peering from the head engulfing hood were fixed fearfully on the frenzied, jerking, electrified fountain motor as if having a premonition of things to come. This new arrival was sheathed in a bright yellow synthetic latex skin of extraordinary tightness that left no detail of her form un-enhanced and robbed her of any modesty. She looked more revealed than if she'd been nude. The canary yellow was in itself a colour that attracted attention to her humiliating plight and ensured that any enforced movement was immediately noticed.

Her steel items of confinement differed from the Starburst's Mark III version only in the towing attachment at the rear of the waist. Rolling along behind the pogoing woman was a two wheeled shopping trolley loaded with the family supplies.

Image 24

It looked as if Mom had returned from the store. In actual fact she was a step-mother. Yoran's real mother had been traded in years ago, and Yoran had never really taken to the latest model. She was too beautiful, and as a result much of his childhood was spent without Dad around as father took the statuesque beauty to some private place and attempted to screw her brains out. Women on Thyros maintained beauty till past the age of sixty. But then Thyrons enjoyed a life span of some one hundred and fifty years, which meant they were still young at that time. In terrestrial terms stepmother was only just out of her teens at twenty nine.

The young man took her dangling leash and jerked her into motion as they left the fountain motor to its fiendishly contrived fate.

Starburst's highly sensitive directional lazer microphone amplifiers even picked up the departing question by Junior, and faithfully translated for an avid orbiting audience. Canary hopper's premonition was obviously based on a knowledge of her husband's passion for new innovations.

"Can we have one in our garden Dad?" The father nodded.

"Sure Son. I ordered it last week and Mom will be installed tomorrow when the installation engineer arrives to fit her into the metal suit. It's her birthday, she'll be thirty years old tomorrow. Of course I chose the super tight one, and that has to be installed by an expert with special compression tools to squeeze her in."

The jouncing yellow trolley towing figurine appeared to stagger slightly at the news, but managed to keep up with Junior's urgent jerking of the leash as her husband bragged about the latest in technology she was shortly destined to become a part of.

"I ordered a Gazra-3 version. Higher control voltage, tongue electrode, electrified butt dildo; it gives much better output, and also has a free sound blaster gag insert so we can listen to her. You don't even have to dismantle it at night. Feeding and toiletting is all built in, and better still, it's an all weather version. We'll be able to power the electric lawn mower and the hi-fi as well as the fountain, and as a bonus we'll be able to watch her going much faster than that fountain motor and add a background beat to the Hi-Fi with that sound blaster gag.

Junior's eyes glowed with anticipation. Since birth he had never heard an adult woman speak, and his sister, now nearing eighteen had been wearing the mandatory state gag for two years pending her coming of age. Junior had often wondered why they visited her at the government female raising pens when they only sat there with her silenced as she looked at them with pleading doe eyes and rattled her manacles as if offering them for unlocking. But Dad was always firm with her. He had her booked for a special establishment where her great beauty would be moulded and formed into a stunning utility item of some kind. Once that was achieved he would be able to sell her at a price that would allow them to afford all the luxuries the family would ever want.

As for hearing his real mother, she had even given birth from the contorted confines of a state hospital birthing cocoon that revealed only the wide spread dilating pussy as Junior arrived. Giving birth whilst confined in unyielding form fitting steel, gagged to eye bulging silence, arms back prayered, ankles secured up by the ears, was deemed a minor inconvenience for a pregnant woman on Thyros. However, it meant that even as a newly arrived baby he had never heard his mother's voice. As soon as he was born she vanished from his life for six months as Dad enrolled her in a center designed to regain her gorgeous shape by various rigorous methods. The returned resculpted mother was of course re-gagged. Eight years later Dad traded her in without him ever hearing her voice.

Now for the first time the nineteen year old Junior would not only hear the effects a Gazra-3 had on a woman, but be able to amplify them and hear what an adult female actually sounded like.

"Mind if I switch it on when we get it Dad?" Junior was looking straight into the eyes of the pogoing woman as he asked, and the doomed woman saw a momentary glimpse of triumphant satisfaction as his father nodded and smiled.

"If you want Son. I'm sure she'll appreciate a new hand on the controls so to speak."

In some ways Yoran was a bit of a late developer, and sometimes his enthusiasm for things was almost boyish. It wasn't his fault. An exclusive college in a remote corner of the province had kept him isolated from society in general, and of course there were no females allowed. Junior had been a child prodigy, and as result his father sought out a highly recommended college to ensure his talents received all the help he could get. But in everyday matters, the college was sadly lacking. This was his first visit to the big city as a young man, just come of legal age, and women were a novelty he had yet to discover.

A voice from behind broke into Sven's reverie.

"Terrific idea isn't it boss?"

Sven tore his mesmerised gaze away and realised that Roger was referring to the fountain. He glanced at Roger who was peering over his shoulder as he passed on even more crotch heating comments. They usually set the fountain up first thing in the morning and switch it off at dusk. Sometimes if there's a function on they leave it running after dark. It looks spectacular with all the sparks flying and that steel suit literally crackles and flickers blue at all the joints. One night when it rained you could even see her tits sparking."

Sven's mind was in turmoil. Never in his wildest wet dreams had he envisaged the colossal impact their own intervention would have on Thyron development. Even mothers had become household utility items, used by male adults and offspring alike. To that young man, switching on his steel sculpted step-mother, then watching her helplessly explode into a newly designated body pulverising task was liable to prove as natural as testing a new gadget in the college laboratory. He'd been raised to look on females as useable items. Strangely, the laws of Thyros were strict and the punishment for actually damaging a woman permanently by misuse or over abuse was severe. Males who transgressed were thrown into a keeping pit along with hundreds of females awaiting re-allocation of duties or being refurbished for sale as second hand units. The men rarely survived more than a day.

Sven guessed correctly that the first thing Yoran would do is bring round all his college friends and show off as he wound the control voltage up and down; generally more up than down as he proudly demonstrated the Gazra- 3's maximum capabilities.

The uncovered eyes of the bounding trolley puller displayed a resignation to an inescapable fate. Junior had many friends who would all want a go. In addition, he was an inventive devil. Within a week he would have added new torments to her task.

Everything else she had ever been fitted into was quickly upgraded by the monster. Life since he arrived back from college hadn't been much fun for her. Even her present Rog-Reamer was non standard. Unbeknown to her husband, he'd installed an expanding electro shocker dildo on the rear mounting. A small hand held pocket controller allowed him to give her a painful ass puckering jolt and stretch her anal ring with the expander whenever he was feeling spiteful. Many times she had endured as he jumped her around the kitchen with searing bolts of power exploding into her butt hole. Occasionally he would tether her to the garden tree, stretch her butt hole, switch on the controller, and leave it dangling within her sight as she jiggled and jolted with the bite of the deeply planted dildo. Then she would be threatened with even more abuse if she dared to try and tell Dad that she'd been modified. There wasn't really any malice involved. Junior was simply doing what everyone else seemed to be doing with females, although he wasn't entirely sure why. All he knew was that it made him feel good to do it.

As it happened, she had twenty four hours of relatively easy life left before Junior threw a switch and gleefully converted her into an electrified convulsing column of traumatised motive force powering the family utilities. There she would stay, probably until her husband spotted another new gismo requiring her infinitely controllable form. No doubt the woman was wondering if her tits would spark, given the higher control voltage passed through her by a state of the art Gazra-3. Fortunately she was spared the trauma of knowing her step-son's forward planning.

Yoran, was destined to become an inventor with a degree in female engineering; (Bsc-F.E. with honours) as it happened. He already had ideas for the new gadget planned for the garden. A series of super high voltage hurdles for the living part of the Gazra-3, (or G-3 to use its shortened title) to clear so as to avoid a shattering reminder to jump higher. That would increase her output considerably. He had it in mind to make a dangling wire the lowest point of her leaping form. If the upper end was attached to her clitoris the result would be much more rewarding. This would ensure her clamped, downward pointing toes cleared the hurdle by a large margin when she launched high enough to keep the clit wire clear. Failure to comply would send a shattering bolt through her clit and on into the deeply thrusting steel dildo of her frontal orifice. Yoran estimated she might drag the clit wire across the hurdles twice before she learned and obeyed Junior. In the past he'd noticed a slight resentment in her at being controlled by a youth who wasn't even her biological offspring, but this device gave him the opportunity to change all that and show her who was boss.

Sven's attention was drawn from the happy family group, and he scanned the streets eagerly, stopping each time he came upon a new bounding form. Many were being led around by tiny trained dogs, or by the menfolk, and some even being towed behind public transport. Rog-Reamered females were banned on public transport due to the mess made by drooling pussies. Only males could ride. All over the place bounding horrendously utilised female forms were performing civic tasks. Sweeping streets, towing garbage trucks, serving as steel stiffened lampposts were all modes of usage. Of course his view was often obscured by trains of Thyros yoked sale items on their way to market from various state holding pens, marching helplessly to a life of slavery, unable to resist the mechanical motivators clamped to their ankles.

Thyros had become a marvel of innovative designs.

He searched for the family again, but the shapely canary coloured bounder had vanished from the view screen. She had twenty three hours and fifteen minutes left till her step-son threw a switch and consigned her to a fate that was beyond even her ability to envisage in her worst nightmares. 

At twenty hours hence she would make the last mewing plea for mercy as the engineer used hydraulic tools to squeeze her pre-sheathed latex form into the inflexible mega tight dural suit, whilst Junior watched with wide excited eyes. Occasionally he would make suggestions that might make the thing better, only to receive a condescending nod and a glare from an annoyed engineer who had no time for smart ass, know-it-all, college types. 

Yoran would no doubt be fascinated by the under-sheathing latex, which was a special type developed by Gazra Industries. Not only would it mould, compress, and enclose her, but metal particles impregnated in the material ensured a perfect contact and unhindered electron flow to the skin beneath. In effect it would convert her into a giant super sensitive conductor of electricity.

Two hours later the disabled steel clad figurine would be dangling from the new Gazra-3 gantry bedecking the front garden; eyes frantically darting to and fro as she impotently watched her unavoidable future taking shape around her without any hope of a last minute reprieve. A slight movement would rock her steely prison as they lifted her slightly and mounted the figurine on its completed track.

Memories of the fountain would loom in her mind as she strained and heaved her back prayered arms against the steel in a futile effort to escape. In desperate attempts to gain freedom she would inadvertently flex her steel mated legs and stuff herself full of dildo without thinking as the modified and improved Rog-Reamer shaft moved upward. Then there would be a long wait as the control circuits were installed and checked. The last thing she would see as the steel blinder completed her enclosure would be the tall figure of Yoran hovering impatiently by the 'On switch'.

As she bounded along on her leash and trundled the shopping home, Mom could also visualise it all in her mind. A day later it all came horribly true.


CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE GAZRA 3

"Now Dad?... Now?" Her husband's laugh sounded nearby, then came the words she was dreading. In a last ditch attempt at freedom she strained mightily inside the crushing steel of her casing.

"Okay Son, lets see what it can do. You get the honours as the new man of the house. Throw the switch."

The glittering steel encased statue emitted frenzied mewing pleas in a last desperate attempt to extract a morsel of mercy from the menfolk. The next instant her form galvanised into a quivering bowed arch as the track fed current through her toes. The crackling electricity jerked her into a straight line and hurled her skywards with the gigantic thrust of her pistoning thighs. A split second later her tits seemed to be dipped in molten metal as the reverse charge enforced a jackknife shape and reset her for the next leap.

Proudly Dad turned up the sound-blaster output so that the whole neighbourhood would know he had a new gismo. Then with a little tuning of the tongue electrode he readjusted her vocal cords electrically and tuned her frenzied unsolicited outbursts to the right key. The contained woman screamed for mercy and strained against the crushing inescapable steel tomb of her containment as the alternating charges maintained her jerking reversals, but to no avail. She prayed for Junior to feel some compassion towards a woman, not knowing that at that very instant his hand was reaching out to the speed control. The voltage just got stronger as he cheerfully cranked her up to full power; her explosively reacting body responding by speeding up the frequency of her own input. She was forced to react more powerfully, which translated to faster and faster; in effect, contacting the crackling high voltage plate with increasing regularity. At low power the flexing airborne effigy assumed a sort of loose 'Z' shape with each re-set surge. That format progressively became a tighter, more compacted form as the voltage increased. Steel shod heels slammed against her exposed rubber clad buttocks and as dildos augured in with unbridled ferocity. In addition the increasing plate voltage had a balanced reverse effect when the compacted pre-stressed woman toe landed. The electrically motivated figurine unfolded like a vicious spring and whiplashed into a quivering straightened pillar of ascending torment as the current grew stronger and stronger.

Step-mom had seen the Municipal fountain and couldn't believe a woman could react that fast. Now she herself was bounding and jackknifing at a rate almost twice that of the fountain version as the Gazra-3 high voltage, high frequency system extracted the maximum effort possible from a captive female. It was a very efficient conversion. Only one amp input, transformed to high voltage, was required to control her, yet the output was a staggering 25Kva as a result of the forces delivered to the drive shaft by her Herculean muscular response. More than enough for the whole house to operate on.
...
The explosive convulsions continued while they just stood and watched the demoniac dance of the glittering steel marionette. Yoran looked on with shining eyes as the Gazra-3 performed its mind bending supercharged performance. The shapely sensuous woman he'd known as the house female for ten years was humming and crackling with potent electrical power as she contracted and erupted with each searing irresistible reversal of input.

This was much more fun than his butt shocker. Now he could really make the family toy-woman perform. With a little ingenuity and some electronic equipment he was sure he could make the jackknifing figurine perform tricks.

The Gazra-3 was a raving success with both father and son. It did everything the manufacturer claimed of it, and more. The steel clad, spring retained puppet was jerking and leaping with a ferocity that defied description. Dad, and the engineer, developed massive erections, whilst Junior grew his own version and wondered why looking at a horrendously controlled female caused his cock to stiffen into a monumental erection. The strange thing was that each time he turned her up to maximum power, his throbbing penis got even harder. It was almost as if his dick and the bounding female drive unit were connected to the same controller. Concentrating on the blur of painfully jostling, electrified, spherically extruded tits, and the explosively active rubberised butt flesh seemed particularly effective in creating pleasurable reactions in him. But again, he had no real idea why. In his limited knowledge of sexual matters, stiff dicks were for shoving into females to vent the male pressure, and they erected themselves automatically when a naked female was available. He had yet to learn and understand the strange effects of fetishism and alternative sex.

Suddenly her pulsing vocal beat was silenced. Only the frenetic tapping of steel toes and crackling hum of contact sounded in the garden. Yoran was annoyed. He suddenly realised that the odd sounds of adult women blaring from the head mounted speakers made him feel good all over. The engineer, by adjusting another control knob, instantly paralysed throat and vocal cords by introducing a DC current. A side effect stiffened her tongue into a quivering rod of useless flesh. Silently the steel clad female figurine continued to bound wildy as the engineer told Yoran to leave her activator current at full and turned to explain other innovations incorporated in the design. But the worst was yet to come.

There was the full load test to complete before Dad would sign for the Gazra-3. The engineer plugged a test rig into the rotor's generator and began to add the load equivalent to a lawn mower, hi-fi, and of course a fountain pump, then turned the sound back up so as to listen to the effect it was having on the bounding power unit. The expulsions of sound merely deepened as the flexing steel effigy accepted more and more muscle grinding load and still maintained the speed dictated by the surging energiser current. It was left to run-in as the engineer departed. Dad had chores to do, and Yoran was off to collect all his college acquaintances who were also on end of term vacation. So they replaced the test load equipment with any handy plug-in domestic devices available and loaded the G-3 to maximum output as a test whilst they were away. The last task was to set the AVR. Dad threw the switch and then the G-3 was truly automatic.

The auto voltage regulator would sense any resistance and automatically increase the input to whatever level was required to overcome the errant muscle actions. There was no real upper limit to what it could set. It had the power to use whatever was required to crush rebellion. So in effect step-mother's own struggles to escape would decide what level of punishing correction she received.

Dad was well pleased. For the entire ten years since he'd bought the woman and declared her as his wife, he had been searching for the ultimate way to extract maximum male satisfaction from her shapely form. It looked as if he'd finally found it. Amazingly, it was a low cost virtually zero maintenance option. The Gazra-3 was designed to run indefinitely and only needed the food pellet hopper in the base filling once a month. Watering the motor unit and getting rid of waste was all plumbed in. 

Alone and yet thoroughly controlled and programmed to continue, the glittering, steel female facsimile maintained its frantic irresistibly orchestrated animation as the water tinkled merrily from a new feature fountain. Occasionally the quivering droplets would catch the flash of a spark as the pogoing Gazra-3 power unit made bad contact, but that didn't happen often with this new design. Super conductive hard wearing tungsten toe pieces ensured that the soft sensuous female living core of the device always received a full charge. The other new addition was the electrified rear dildo. By re-routing the return path for the tit charge out through the power unit's puckering well shafted butt hole, it ensured maximum flexing in the reset mode, coincidentally producing a much cleaner and more savage jerk as the curvaceous tautly contoured bottom helplessly reamed itself in mid air. Deliciously arousing sounds emanating from the bounding steel thing were still vaguely human. It was the one defect inherent in all Gazra Industries products and one that they were loathe to dispense with. Most customers actually preferred to hear the muted sounds made by a female undergoing extreme torment and massively undeniable stimulation.

"Mmmrrpppph! Crackle! -Opphh! Mmmrrpppph! Crackle! -Opphh! - Mmmrrpppph! Crackle! -Opphh!"

The sounds were probably aimed at Yoran and doubtless translated as; 'You rotten sadistic shit, if I ever get my hands on you I'll -!' The departing Yoran didn't understand. All he knew was that at last Junior was in complete control, and all his drinking buddies would surely want to see the new female toy.

The fairy lights blinked merrily. Hastily collected table lamps glowed steadily, water tinkled from the fountain, and the sound blaster gag fitted to the Gazra 3 told the whole world of her torment as the solitary bounding figurine performed its new role in Thyron life with commendable efficiency. In addition, a question she had mentally asked herself only the day before was answered. Her tits and nipples did spark with the new Gazra-3. She couldn't see that of course, but the gathering neighbours could. She could only feel the hot fiery touch of the tiny wavering blue lighting flashes dancing between nipples and knees as the re-setting charge brought her legs within range of the high voltage terminals; terminals that were once her sexual control knobs and longed to be returned to their natural sensually rewarding usage.

A horny father, .. in fact a rock-hard father, still musing over the ongoing trauma he had left behind at the house, arrived downtown and was already at the supermarket purchasing a new beauty to tow the shopping cart and perform various other utility tasks. It seemed only fair that step-mom, after all those years of faithful service, should get to keep the best job and let a newcomer take over the mundane tasks and household chores. That included keeping inventive Junior happy with his supposedly experimental secret additions. He already knew about the butt shocker Junior had installed into the wife now incarcerated in the Gazra 3, but decided boys would be boys, and left it at that. He pretended not to notice when his trussed, gagged wife jerked spasmodically, mmppphhhed through the gag, or went bug eyed for no apparent reason. He'd found out only a week past when his throbbing dick was buried to the hilt in her pussy one night and she suddenly went berserk for no apparent reason. It later transpired that Junior was up to no good modifying his remote control in the bedroom next door, not realising that the signal was penetrating the partitioning. 

He remembering the incident with considerable pleasure. With her butt hole pulsing violently with electrically induced contractions, and her whole body jerking with reaction, she'd made a good screw that night.

Dad dragged his thoughts back to the task in hand. Leaning forward he punched the rock hard shaft of his bursting rod into the fourth bent over female on the sales stand. Feeling her unused tightness and listening to the muted squeal of disapproval, he grunted, stiffened, and jetted into her, then called over a salesman and put a deposit down on her there and then. 

She was firm all over, long legged, curvaceous, and equipped with massive firm half melon tits. The butt hole was tight and of the rose bud variety, surrounded by lusciously comfortable buttock cushions in the event that he decided to rear mount her. She was bronzed and silky smooth. Not a blemish marked her flawless skin. The woman was one of those bargains that came along once in a lifetime.

But she was pricey, but the terms included a six month interest free deal on hire purchase, and a free syntho-latex suit with Rog-Reamer and attachments included. For a new female like this, that was a fantastic bargain. The salesman took the credits, handed him a tissue to dry his waning tool, and had her packed for transport in the transparent suit Dad chose from the store's courtesy sheathing department. Thirty minutes later a bounding, lusciously visible, rubber sheathed, Rog-Reamered semi- virginal maiden was desperately trying to keep up with the family transport as it turned into their road and pushed through the crowd gathered in front of the house. Semi-virginal by way of being reamed by her mode of transport, and of course dad's personal phallic test drive at the show rooms. By the time he got her home she would be nicely broken in.

A smug Dad got out of the car as envious neighbours watched his new Gazra-3 in operation. He was pleased to see I was still running under full load, but was puzzled at the lower speed. Yoran came out at that point. 

"Dad!.. The Gazra-3 started leaking at the front so I turned it down." 

Dad just grinned and looked over to the copious vaginal emissions being thrown as droplets from the dildo plundered pussy of the insanely jerking marionette. Horribly unwanted orgasms were tormenting the electrified steel sheathed woman with monotonous explosive ferocity. No doubt she desperately wanted to cease the pussy plundering insertions brought about by her enforced locomotion, but the electronic programmer simply ignored her wishes and maintained the body flexing jolts of energy with remorseless calculated exactness.

"Don't worry Son, it's just lubricating itself. Go over and turn it back up." He frowned at Junior's back and made a mental note to have a word with Junior's college Dean. Yoran was a young man now; he should have been taught about these things.

For his part, Yoran was relieved. He thought that all the rapid alterations in speed control by his friends had broken the Gazra 3. He walked swiftly over and eagerly turned the control. Clearly he enjoyed watching the effect as the insane gyrations steadily escalated to a more frenzied jerking and the droplets became a steady stream. Yet again his cock was reacting favourably to the sight of the steadily increasing torment being poured into the helpless, muscle wrenching, completely controlled female. It excited him to have such power at his finger tips. The immense disciplinary control this device gave him over that powerfully encased mature woman was much more exhilarating than yanking her Rog-Reamer leash. Yoran turned a flushed face away as his father shouted over the increasing sound output from the Gazra.

"Now turn the sound off Yoran." Yoran turned shining eyes back to the disciplined female, spun the speed control the remaining distance to full, then reached for the sound control. The vigorously oscillating marionette exploded into an advanced level of violent activity and became silent. Her vocal cords were frozen into impotent inactivity as the direct current flowed. Meanwhile, Yoran's practiced eye had already calculated the maximum height achieved by the bounding marionette and arrived at an optimum height of 2'6" for his high voltage hurdles. A year long study of mechanical and orthopaedic engineering helped a lot in making the judgement. He would need eight hurdles in all; .. the number of bounds it took the leaping steel clad motor unit to circumnavigate the central pole. Suddenly the rock hard lump in his pants quivered and twitched with an immensely satisfying sensation. He gasped, and a hot sticky wetness trickled down his thigh. Junior had just experienced his first taste of real manhood, and if this was what disciplining females did for men, he wanted more. Lots more! Before he'd always had to play with himself to get a response like that. It was the first time he'd ever witnessed anything lustfully potent enough to give him a spontaneous ejaculation. Perhaps the hurdles should be 3'0" high.

They left the madly flexing muscle pounding metallised statuette to provide the power and started to go inside for tea. But as the pogoing new addition passed the desperately cavorting G-3 puppet engine her eyes were wide with fear. Dad saw the look and smiled.

Perhaps next year they would be able to afford a G-4, if it was available. Two generators would allow so much more in the way of power tools and appliances. Yoran had other thoughts and his gaze was fixed on the new female's firm flexing butt. The discarded electro-shocker dildo no longer needed by the bouncing G-3 power unit would fit nicely between those round sumptuous lobes, so all he had to do was wait till Dad was at work and install it. Dad for his part was wondering if he shouldn't reveal that he knew about the butt shocker, and instruct his son to do it right there and then. Sooner or later the new woman would have to find out who was boss. .. Better sooner!

Yoran's excited voice broke into his licentious thoughts.

"Look Dad, its oiling more and more."

He glanced back at the copious flow of pussy fluid streaking the shining steel marionette. Dislodged droplets flew wildly with each demonic leap, and his smile broadened. For a moment he contemplated the wisdom of telling Yoran what it was really like to be a crushed, steel clad, helpless woman, who was fucking herself half to death in both orifices whilst enduring forcibly induced non stop orgasms. and simultaneously being electrified to horrendous levels of frenzied, totally inescapable, ruthlessly enforced activity.

He decided the young man was still a bit immature to know. These things had to be approached carefully by someone who was trained in teaching. Truth be known he wasn't quite sure how to tell him. It was a knotty subject he'd always skirted around when Junior was growing up. Instead Dad ducked the implied question and lied as he readjusted the rigid pole threatening to burst his own trouser zip.

"It's OK Yoran. She's having a lot of fun. Women like playing these games for us. Now leave her alone and let her enjoy the birthday present."

Perhaps on his 20th birthday, at present nine months away, they could both sit down in front of the pogoing fem-motor of the Gazra-3 and he would explain what was really happening to the ultra controlled woman inside that terrible device as Yoran manipulated her with the voltage rheostat. Yoran would only understand and experience the true joy it could bring a man when he had a full understanding of its diabolical effects on the content of that bounding steel figurine. By then the enforced exercise would have built up muscle bulk and the unyielding steel former would become an excruciatingly tight fit, thus adding to the enjoyment of making the thing perform at varying levels.

The massive constriction created by being ensconced in a suit a couple of sizes too small would be extruding all her visible rubber sheathed bits to an extraordinary jouncing rippling prominence. In addition, the passage of time might help Yoran to forget that it was actually his step-mom inside there and start thinking of her more as an 'it'... a shapely controllable column of sinew and muscle to experiment with. Once that mental link to the household female he knew was broken, Dad had no doubt that Junior's inventive mind would come up with all sorts of innovations to make the generator more efficient, more voyueristically exciting for himself and passers by.

Dad didn't know it, but his second wife had always just been another female item to Junior. He'd never really looked on her as anything else. There was no bonding, no mother-son relationship; which didn't bode well for the unfortunate female on the other end of that controller.

As they sat down at the table, a stiffness in his back pocket reminded Dad of another surprise, and he fished out the two tickets he'd won in a competition. Yoran and himself were now among the select few who were invited to meet the great architect of Thyron culture when he arrived in the near future. He couldn't know that the great Sven, looking down from afar had already noticed them, not to mention the curvaceous allure of the pitifully controlled creature endlessly bounding around on his front lawn. But then he probably wouldn't recognise the curvaceous Canary coloured bounder from the town square when he saw her next.

Yoran was ecstatic, and he turned wide shining eyes out through the window to the leaping silver figurine as he contemplated meeting the greatest folk hero of Thyros' history. He was actually going to meet the being who had started something that ultimately filled that exciting bounding machine-like thing outside the window with soft sensuous female core. In addition, he had shown them how to develop methods to control it and make it do extraordinary tasks at the flip of a switch, or turning of a knob. What new wonders would be revealed when this man visited Thyros again? Yoran was overjoyed as he contemplated discussing new ideas he had with such a knowledgeable personage.

Outside it had started to rain and the interleaved joints of the flexing steel shape were sparkling and crackling delightfully in the gathering gloom of night, as dripping water created tiny short circuits in the highly charged metal sheathing.

It seemed like Mom was having a terrific birthday. Dad meanwhile, gave him a stern warning. Mindful of the fact that he would only be studying electro-physiological engineering in the latter part of his studies, his father decided it best he mentioned the hazards of the equipment. Yoran knew a few things about electricity, but it was all self taught.

"Now listen Yoran, you must never touch it, the moving part that is, or stand on the track when it's switched on, or else you might get a nasty shock." Yoran nodded and wondered why pogoing females didn't mind getting a shock. After all she wasn't just touching it, she was squeezed tightly inside it, touching it all over and inextricably connected to it by the super conductive metallised rubber suit. In fact she was 'it. The ex house female was basically a reactive conductor. A bimetallic strip of living tissue that reacted to electricity instead of heat.

Yoran thrust the exciting thought to the back of his mind and watched a vivid snake like flash of highly charged electrons tracking from neck to ankles on the bounding shape, others leapt from the daggering water dripping nipples, and some even followed her up from the track as she sprang upward. The reaction to all that randomly flying electricity manifested itself in enormously exaggerated leaps and a frenzied convulsing of the flexing rubberised bottom. Adult females were strange creatures if they enjoyed that sort of thing. He had more than a sneaking suspicion that they didn't, but he couldn't ignore the evidence before his very eyes. Step- mom was clearly putting much more effort into her work now, and better still, it looked like it was going to rain all night.

Yoran suddenly remembered his superbly developing sister, Heeren, currently incarcerated at the state confinement center. She already had bigger tits than the redundant reprogrammed step-mother outside.

"Dad! Can't we have Heeren put into one of those things?"

Dad was about to say no, when a sudden thought struck him. A letter in the mail that day advised him of a new job upgrade at work. They would have all the money they needed without selling her. Besides a G-3, in fact a G-1A and all subsequent upgrades, conformed to government rules on next-of-kin laws. There was no sexual/physical bonding involved, therefore biologically related family members were eligible for use in a G-3 as state registered female utility items; providing she was sealed by the manufacturer of the G-3 against improper usage. That was simply a matter of fusing all the locks once she was installed. After that, the only way in or out of that suit was with a tin-opener, or a lazer cutter. Heeren to all intents an purposes was, from that day forward, a steel sheathed impenetrable female, other than as designated by the Rog-Reamer's attached basic design features.

Sven's laws of Earthly origin, were still the prime source of direction on Thyros. No-one questioned or tried to change the basic rules of 'The Good Book' according to Sven. Even the coming of age, eighteen, was set by the book, despite the fact that Thyrons were sexually competent and capable of reproduction at the age of ten. Dad's thoughts ran through all the possible relevant objections and decided there were no infringements of the law.

"Sure Son. It'll be nice to have the whole family together again, and there's plenty of lawn space. Another few months and she'll be of age." His eyes glanced at a relieved new female partner who perceived a possible reprieve from what had looked like a sure fire future. But Dad was way ahead of her in his thoughts, and immediately shattered her illusions as he looked straight at her.

"But not before you've done a month or so of service my little bundle of bouncing joy. I can afford another Gazra-3 now, Heeren can have the Model 4 when it comes out, and if it's good I'll trade in the G-3's and upgrade all of you." The Rog-Reamered beauty paused in her table clearing duties as she turned tear filled eyes to the terribly tormented shape outside the window. She looked silly standing there with a dirty plate gripped in the jaw operated clamp strapped into her mouth socket accessory adaptor, and gooey Tasdin sauce running off to drip on her rubber sheathed tits. She looked so forlorn as a droplet formed on the daggering nodule of her left nipple and dropped to the floor. Instantly the woman snapped out of her reverie of self pity and laying the plate down, knelt and began to mop up the spot with her right tit. The rearing ass poking in Dad's direction was just inviting carnal attention.

Dad gripped a fulsome firm buttock and squeezed; then slapped the rubber sheathed rump as a gesture of reassurance and leaned back, sighing contently at his visions of three future displays in the front garden. Pointing the remote, he flipped on the TV without realising that such a simple gesture was adding to the burden placed on the rain drenched sparking figurine in the garden. Everything was plugged into its output sockets, Junior and his pals had seen to that. A faint squeaking of tight rubber sounded, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the superb transparently sheathed new girl return to her duties as she resumed the table clearing. She was a gem, and those rippling firm curves looked great in see-through latex. It was superbly contrasted by the restraints. She was banded excruciatingly with gold inescapable strapping and fitted to a matching gilded Rog-Reamer; designated her house costume. He made a mental note to see if the Gazra- 3 came in a transparent acrylic model instead of steel over-sheath. Wife Mark III bunny hopped into the kitchen with the last item and he heard a faint groan as she cranked up the female powered dishwasher.

Even amongst Thyron slave women there was a hierarchy. The new house woman thought nothing of energising a lower graded female built into the device and leaving her to fulfil a horrendously traumatic pre- programmed dish washing routine.

Outwardly the device looked like any Earth type washer. Press the button and it did the job. It differed only in that there was a big titted woman at the back, selected for this particular task due to the nature of her ponderously oversized chest hardware. Wife-3 was proud of the Grade 1 tattooed onto her forehead. She had been selected as prime female produce. The washer probably had a Grade 3 or 4 fitted. To achieve Grade 1, a woman had to be perfectly sized in all departments.

Image 25

The unseen Grade 3 or 4 Super Tits installation was arched so as to present her ultra cinched orbs forward and in effect thrust them into the sealed interior. Hot soapy water jetted onto her tits which were then violently oscillated by ultra-sound so as to scrub each presented plate clean as it passed by. Thyron men had long since discovered that the daggering hard nipple nodules mounted on re-formable spongy breasts were perfect, when aroused, for squeezing in and searching out all those dirty difficult corners in household utensils. Using one of her own daggering pressurised nipples, Wife-3 selected a super hot wash, with maximum agitation for the greasy plates, then hopped away as the dishwasher emitted some high pitched keening noises and began to shake violently in protest.

Wife -3 smiled to herself as the similarities of male and female fetish fantasy came into mind. She had to admit that consigning the unknown, unseen female to a traumatic hour with a simple prod of her erect nipple was a power trip that sent enjoyable sensations racing through her dildo invaded crotch. In fact the act of prodding the switch made the daggering nodule get even harder.

The problem with that was that she could understand why males would never allow their females any hope of equality. It was too damned nice having women trussed, bound, chained, gagged, and at their mercy. She knew that if a miracle were ever to take place and she be reincarnated as a man, she would most certainly enjoy having helpless creatures like herself, bounding around and at her beck and call.

She sighed to herself and hopped around doing a last check. It seemed her work as the new house female was done for the night, unless Dad wanted her for something else; and if he did, he knew exactly where to find her. There was only one more task to complete the tidying up, and that was to put herself away. For a second or two she paused, staring out of the forward facing kitchen window at her predecessor. There was no escape from the fate decreed for her and naturally she tried to imagine what it was going to be like when she joined that rigorously animated woman on the second G-3. For a moment panic ruled as she strained against the transparent latex sheath and tight metal bindings, but her Rog-Reamer was inescapable. Even if she could get free, where would she go? There was no escape. The future was ordained by her new owner, and as it happened, she was actually able to assess her own future by simply looking out the window.

The 'Product Satisfaction' note she'd been supplied with at the time of purchase caught her eye as she glanced down at the work-top. Junior had already filled it in, ready for the after sales servicing call in the morning. An engineer from the supermarket would drop in to make any minor adjustments and rectify any defects.

Junior, as her predecessor already knew, wasn't a kind person.

Her eyes scanned his comments with dawning horror, and then she positioned herself between the kitchen mirror and the mirror tiles on the opposite wall. It was the only way she would ever be ably to see most of her body. Her neck was encased in a high unforgiving posture correction collar, and twisting the head was impossible.

It was as she surmised. The upper torso and arm banding was permanent; fused after fitting by laser. Junior wanted those tightened up and only the engineer had the equipment to do it. Although they were already cutting deeply into her latex sheathed body, he wasn't satisfied. She couldn't see how they could possibly be any tighter, but was sure they would find a way to crush her down still further then re-fuse the bands.

The others overlaying her mermaid type leg sheath, were removable from the hips down. They were the strong flat ratchet lock type; already engaged to almost maximum compression. No doubt Junior and the engineer between them would manage to get the last few notches engaged. The tension on those would probably vary as they were removed and refitted by anyone who needed her for servicing of the male needs. Dad, Junior, or anyone else she was loaned out to.

Then there was the facial band. Like the upper torso restraints, it was also a permanent laser fused fixture with the interchangeable mouth insertion cores. Vainly she studied the face sculpting mass of dural and was pleased that the rosy eruption of forcibly extruded upper cheeks complimented the rest of her face when counterbalanced by her long lashed beautiful eyes. She had to admit that even as a forcibly silenced female, she was looking good. She looked thoroughly gagged, and knowing men as she did, she knew that made her even more attractive.

She sighed inwardly again, tried to ease her aching jaw against the hidden oral jacking plug, then cast her gaze back to the window. The horrendously cavorting figurine performed another three pogoing laps even as she watched.

Again there was that irrational urge to strain madly against her bondage, to break free and run into the night; to flee as far away as she could from her daunting future appointment with a G-3. For several minutes the writhing column of womanhood utilised the work-top as a leaning point. Frenzied exertions taxed the ability to balance on tiptoe beyond her mono-legged capabilities. First with her back to the counter, arching and stretching. Then face forward, bending over and trying to dislodge the Rog-Reamer pole.

It was an amazing display of flexing see-through rubber. She looked superb as her nubile form flowed and pulsed inside her latex prison. Her face grew redder and cheeks bulged over the top of her face cinching gag with the desperate effort to free herself. But that's all it was;... a display. She achieved absolutely nothing. After five minutes of frantic effort she was still trussed like a Christmas turkey, humiliatingly revealed in her outfit, still silent and still completely helpless. All she had to look forward to was the fact that the next day her limited freedom would be ruthlessly reduced even further as Junior's complaints were attended to. Suddenly she realised that she'd been out of storage for fifty eight minutes without her override button being pressed. In two minutes the punishment mode would self energise. The Rog-Reamer would shorten and extend a thruster bar into the small of her back. Next morning the master of the house would find her arched like a bow and ready for punishment as she rocked impotently on the kitchen floor. Either Dad or Junior would then drag her to the punishment socket, plug her steel connector heels in and switch on. An hour rigidly stiffened and quivering with electrical current that passed through her nipples to earth would remind her to be more time conscious in future.

Defeated yet again by the inescapable strength of dural steel and rubber, wife 3 gave up and hopped quickly over to the utility closet. As she passed the dreaded punishment socket her eyes noted the scratched paint of much usage. A small sign proclaimed it 'Obedience Charging Socket'. It was a well used power point that had only one function due to the unusual pin arrangement and the toe cap overclamp that prevented an accidental disconnection. It seemed that her predecessor endured having her heels plugged in regularly. A well worn patch in the floor tiling bore out her conclusions. It took many hours of contact by a female torso to cause that much wear and tear.

Magically, the cupboard opened as she approached and a floor level platform slid out. Dutifully she hopped on and positioned herself facing inwards as three clamps slid out and gripped her at ankles, waist and neck and a built in override neutralised the impending punishment mode. Machinery whirred as the clamps adjusted and forced her to a semi-squat that served three purposes.

The storage device was a new innovation. It was space saving, prepared her for other activities, and also forced her to accept the Rog-Reamer dildos fully into her orifices. As silently as it appeared, the platform slid back with its helpless occupant and doors slid shut. Only a keening, shaking, dishwasher remained to spoil the silence of a clean empty kitchen. No doubt the owner of those madly vibrating, overheated, super tits, was cursing the person who loaded the dishwasher with a very dirty cheese-grater. 

Inside her tiny dark soundproofed cupboard, Wife-3 contemplated the fact that she was occupying a cozy storage space that for ten long years had been the home of that poor electrically energised woman in the garden. One day it seemed, she would join that woman, and her replacement, another soft warm inviting bundle of female delights would be squashed into this very same space as Dad's salary increase allowed him to stock up on the luxury female utilities offered by Thyron culture. She eased herself as best she could when the service machinery cut in. A click sent a slight quiver through her butt hole as the dual purpose pump and vacuum connected to the hollow anal dildo. First she was pumped full of cleansing liquid then vacuumed out. The unit cycled four times in all, thus ensuring she was prepared and sparkling clean internally should her owner decide to butt ream her. With that chore over she waited patiently as the oral plug of the mouth stretching tube gag was extracted. Seconds later the input hose extended to snap-lock into the mandatory state standard feeding connection.

Image 26

Nostrils flared and cheeks bulged as Junior's re-adjusted cram feed setting energised and she was pumped full of foul tasting high energy mush at more than double the recommended rate. Wife-3 had yet to get used to being a handy experimental female for Junior's ideas.

Feeding time over, mouth plug reinserted and locked, Junior's latest innovation cut in. The compactor began to move. A jolt ran through the inflexible Rog-Reamer shaft behind her back as tiny locking devices converted joints to a flex mode. Then the ankle clamp extended further, carrying her feet under her body and arranging shins parallel to the floor. Seconds later the other clamps crushed her down tight into a compressed folded bundle and the shelf above moved downward to reveal more stored canned goods as the shelves above slid down out of the recess in the ceiling. As it moved down, so her compacted form was pushed down against the spring mounted floor, which in turn moved down into the steel perforated box-like recess below the kitchen floor. A loud click sounded as locking devices caught. Instantly the perforated box was sealed by a sliding cover, and a clean-easy panel slid out to form the cupboard floor. The cupboard was now only filled with foodstuffs. There was no sign that Wife-3 was stored below the cupboard base. Until someone in the house pressed one of the many 'call' buttons, and selected her button specifically, that was how she would stay until needed again. Wife-3 had no illusions that at this very moment there were other compressed utility females dotted around the various storage spaces of the house.

A Thyron house only ever displayed females when in use. At all other times it was a purely male environment. She gleaned some comfort from the fact that only the wife female was allowed to occupy the prestigious kitchen cupboard. Soon she would achieve the ultimate heights any female could hope to rise to when she joined the semi visible Wife-2 out on the lawn. For a female to be visible at all times in the home environment meant she was highly prized.

The floor of the cupboard emitted a faint humming sound as Wife-3 underwent yet more storage routine. Her perforated box, now installed inside a larger chamber that was watertight, began to spin her compacted form as high pressure jets took care of her outer cleanliness. The humming was in fact the end of cycle as her dripping soaped and rinsed form was spun dried and surplus water thrown out of the perforations.

Some time later, the latches clicked back and Wife-3 felt herself rising. Light penetrated her dark silent claustrophobic world as Junior halted the un-store process at the servicing level and checked the compacted newcomer. Dad was probably snoring in the armchair, so the randy son took his chance to fondle the squeaky clean rubber sheath over her folded bottom and presented pussy.

Wife-3 jerked and strained as unskilled, and certainly unkind fingers, pawed and reamed her rear end then removed the standard Rog-Reamer dildo. Seconds later Junior's diabolical alternate insert was locked in place. Then it was back to darkness and silence as the cupboard closed, performed a purge, then energised the compactor. She slid back into the floor and was swallowed by the inescapable, multi-purpose, perforated storage chamber. Unfortunately, although feeding was only once a day, the internal purge and the outer wash cycle triggered each time she was incarcerated to ensure she was always clean and prepared when the call came. Minutes later the cupboard was humming quietly as the tightly packed perforated box accelerated to full spin speed for the second time that night.

Bedtime rolled around, and Junior seemed keen to go to his room. But it was the early hours of the morning before he finally nodded off. Many hours were spent staring out of the window at the miniature lightening flashes dancing on the endlessly pogoing steel bound effigy. It felt good to savour the magnificent image of a helplessly encapsulated female in torment; and to massage the highly enjoyable jutting hardness of his rampant cock against the windowsill. Occasionally he would pick up the remote and energise Wife-3 down in her cupboard storage. Its capacity to penetrate walls had come as welcome surprise, and seeing as the compactor compartment was soundproof, he could play whenever she was in there and nobody would be any the wiser.

Image 27

Yoran left the remote on and ran the days events over in his mind again. He reckoned he had the female puzzle finally sorted in his mind. Females didn't like being used, but men liked using them. Seeing as the females had no say in anything it seemed reasonable for the men to do as they liked with them. It followed that making them do things they didn't want to do brought pleasure to the men. That much he knew from personal experience now. It couldn't be wrong because the government said it was right. So his step-mom probably wasn't enjoying her birthday present half as much as Dad was. In addition, the transparently sheathed owner of the tightly puckering, spasming, electrified, butt hole downstairs, probably wasn't all that thrilled either when he zapped her as she traversed the kitchen. But that was the way it was. Life was a bitch if you were a female. Next he got to figuring that as a nineteen year old man, almost into full maturity, he should start sharing the burden of maintaining the status quo.

The wilful monster had realised at an early stage that even from his bedroom he could add to the torment to the garden display by switching his electric fire on and off, thus fluctuating the load on the hard working generator by remote.

A wicked smile creased the young face as he flipped the fire switch on for the last time and dozed off with a murmur on his lips. The other energised remote slid from his fingers and consigned the kitchen cupboard female to a restless night.

"Happy birthday Mom. Have fun!"

The endlessly bounding statuette never heard him, and anyway, it had other things on its mind as the steady drizzling rain became a downpour and the crackling static on her outer sheath doubled its body jabbing fingers of fiery irresistible torment.

Outside her world of torment and across at the house, another face watched her performance. Dad was using her deliciously inescapable plight as an aphrodisiac to power his fourth massive eruption into the mewing form of the new girl; who unbeknown to Yoran had been 'called' from her cramped living space. Clamped tightly down to his ex's recently relinquished shagging couch, she was having her first taste of nocturnal home life; upper torso and arms welded into a single unit by the crushing bands, whilst her legs formed almost a straight line at a right angle to her body and the steel banded leg sections held her open for use. Like a huge pulsing Tee she just lay there completely impotised and ready for use. Dad never skimped on the crank handle when he spread his women for use. At first she seemed a little annoyed and cast accusing eyes at him. But he'd solved all that with a crushing head enveloping hood and an extra clamp across her already stuffed and sealed mouth. Her chances of passing on the information that her ass was on fire with intermittent crackling surges of power were effectively gone. The man would probably interpret her frenzied thrusting jerks as good wholesome 'Wife type' movements designed to give her owner maximum pleasure.

Image 28

Dad gazed out at the bounding ex wife as he reached a climax. She was almost glowing with an incandescent light and enveloped in her own private miniature thunderstorm. Jerking spasmodically, her tits and bottom were erupting from the apertures with demonic efforts to escape additional electrical input Yet no matter how she tried, the main controller simply stepped up the voltage and matched her efforts as it kept her faithfully performing the prime function. He stared wide eyed at the bouncing tormented female shaped image of flickering blue light, and his mediocre eruption suddenly doubled in force as the vision took effect. The sales claim made for the device by Gazra Industries was proved. It did enhance your sex life.

An accommodating torso beneath him seemed to stiffen and jerk spasmodically, then gripped his throbbing tool with colossal force, as Dad smiled and muttered to himself once he recognised the effect for what it
was.

"Well done Junior, .. smart guy. A random timed pulse instead of the continuous variety. Wife-3 will never know when it's going to hit her. That'll keep her on her toes." He laughed loudly at his own unintended pun then groaned with ecstacy as Junior's random pulses increased in tempo.

The clamped woman below erupted into a frenzy of silent convulsions as jolt after jolt of electricity ripped through her butt hole.

Later he released and re-Rog-Reamed the new wife, but only after a titanic struggle to reinstall the super tight leg sheath. But finally he was able to send her hopping back to storage.


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
PLUG IN APPLIANCE

It was a short night for Wife-3, and then there was breakfast to get ready. Unfortunately, tired as she was, she made a hash of breakfast and dropped food on her menfolk. Ten minutes later her towering 6" heels slid into the punishment socket for the first time and the toe clamp went on. A small modification by her younger tormentor ensured that she was so powerfully arched, her tits, the only points of ground contact, were the return path. Being rubber sheathed, with the exception of her nipples, would ensure that those tender nodules took the full force of her punishment.

Ensuring that she was plugged in correctly, Junior ignored the frantic muffled pleas for leniency and threw the switch.

“UUUUUUMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHH!”

The desperately straining Rog-Reamered form made an explosive sound, jerked violently, and was still. Junior grinned broadly. The socket seemed to have gained her instant and undivided attention. Testing her resilience with a tentative foot revealed a woman who had seemingly turned into concrete. Every single muscle was working in conflict, tensioned to breaking point against tendons and similarly energised muscles. In addition, a massive sustained convulsion was powerfully contracting her delicate orifices onto the twin invaders of the Rog-Reamer as her jaw muscles seemed determined to bite through the impossible bulk of the mouth stretching gag. Not only was she paralysed, but sealed up as tight as a drum. She was a vibrant vessel of punishment with only two nostrils connecting her to the outside world. Unlike the normal household sockets, the punishment socket had an isolating transformer, and a frequency changer. It was designed to only supply enough current to freeze the subject completely, but not enough to be fatal. The high frequency permitted muscle paralysing voltages which fizzed and stung her body, but were devoid of enough current to do any harm.

Image 29

The foot prodded again, then left the mummified rod of electrified femininity to her fate. Already she would be bitterly regretting her mistake, but powerless to do anything that might alter her plight.

Tits slowly frying and body tremulously rigidified by the current flow, Wife- 3 watched the retiring feet of her tormentor with pleading eyes as the socket mercilessly recharged her with a powerful incentive to be more careful. Her muscles had become throbbing ribbons of inflexible steel, vibrating with tension and completely impotised by the electron flow. Two aching holes in her crotch seemed as if welded to the hard penetrating shafts, and the surging power seemed determined to convert her tremulously puckering orifices into vice clamps. An hour of that would produce a female with an obsessional devotion to duty. The toes tried to curl in a frantic attempt to disconnect, but the clamp held firm as current continued to pulse through the conductor heels and up through her legs. 

Dad sat reading his newspaper and gave her no more than a cursory glance as the current exploded into her body. Plugging a superbly trussed house female into the punishment socket was hardly an unusual occurrence. In any event Junior would have to learn about these things now he was a man, then he could take over some of the more mundane tasks of running a household.

A chair scraped and Dad's feet appeared in her limited field of vision. 

"I've got to get work, so be a good girl. Junior should be back later this morning to unplug you." The trembling figure just lay there, silent and unresponsive. He grinned and tried to imagine what it must be like for a woman to find herself in such a diabolically irreversible situation. Pausing for a moment, Dad studied the transparently sheathed woman, then nudged the bar rigid form with his toe. Reluctantly he turned to go. The new woman looked good under punishment. If anything, her superb rump looked even more deliciously inviting when powerfully contracted and humped into a startling new profile by the knotted muscle tension. The luscious mounds were as hard as a rock and vibrating powerfully with the effort. A few sessions plugged in would do marvels for her buttock muscles. Dad promised himself a rear mounting of her as soon as she was ready. That fabulous rubber sheathed rump would be able to service him most effectively as it squeezed and massaged his invading manhood.

Totally paralysed by the current, she was unable to answer. In fact she was unable to do anything as long as she was plugged in. She was as utterly inert as any other household item and like her bounding garden co- sufferer, was little more than a living electrical conductor, albeit a stationary version.

The feet moved away and a silence descended on the kitchen as the rigid quivering house woman was callously left to recharge her obedience banks. Face crimson and strained, cheeks erupting over the powerful gag strap, she desperately tried to overcome the crippling current flowing through her. Dad apparently didn't know that Junior wasn't coming back till late afternoon and hadn't seen the note left for the after-sales engineer. She knew, but had no way of telling him.

In fact, at that very moment, Junior was watching avidly as yet another female was plugged in, albeit in a far less traumatic usage than her own. The mechanic servicing the transport moved the lead-light female over to the engine compartment, leaned her forward to direct the light and switched it on. Instantly a low voltage neon embedded in the face plate of her gag glowed into life. She was also paralysed by the low level current, but only enough to barely stiffen her. The mechanic adjusted the light fractionally by bending her more, and it was clear that she was suffering only a mild paralysis and a tingling sensation as the current passed through her. The light flickered momentarily and the mechanic cast a warning glance at the light woman. Quickly she worked her tingling tongue back into a firmer contact with the hidden light terminals and fed power back into the neon. 

Junior arranged to pick up the transport later and left the mechanic to his work, aided by a superbly contoured lead light.

It was after 4 pm when he finally arrived home to a find an overcharged house female. A thousand times over she had learned her lesson, but nobody could hear her silent prayers, and no-one offered to unplug her.

The sight that met him as he walked in took his breath away. The late afternoon sun, now low on the horizon, was bathing the woman in liquid gold. She was a shimmering gilded apparition sparkling with continual flashes as her quivering body vibrated the polished sheen of taut rubber. Junior moved over and stooped down, his hand stroking the hot rubber; savouring the thought that he was spared the biting jolt of her electrified form. He was careful not to touch the live metal of the Rog-Reamer that was deeply embedded in her body, thus penetrating the rubber insulation of her suit. He didn't want to experience the same fate she was suffering. Only a few microns of rubber separated two very different worlds. His was of pleasure, whilst hers was of horrendous punishment.

For a while he just toyed with her, relishing the ruthlessly efficient hardening of her form, marvelling at the punishing force that could freeze her curvaceous shape so mercilessly. The transparent rubber was fantastic. Every inch of her tormented body was as if coated in a gleaming flexible varnish, and the compressive effect made the contained flesh look so inviting. Sweat generated by her electrified muscle tension merely served to enhance the effect as minute vibrating muscle movements continuously animated the slithering skin against the all embracing tightness of her inescapable rubber sheathing.

Junior was pleased to note other improvements. The engineer had tightened up the female's permanent clamping as requested, then heartlessly plugged her back in as he would any other household appliance. Working on such hideously controlled female forms on a day to day basis nurtured an understandable lack of concern for the feelings of the bound creature, and he tended to see them as objects that needed adjustment. This particular woman was so thoroughly immobilised, even when not energised, she slipped easily into the 'appliance under repair' slot in his mind. Even so, conscientious workmen were hard to come by these days, and attention to detail like that was a rare event. However it had to be said that not all were as easy to handle as this one. But Junior's modification eradicated even the slightest wriggling protest. She was as easy to plug back in as any other two pinned appliance and the modified Rog-Reamer made an efficient maneuvering handle for the tightly clamped straining form.

Image 30


She could be carried around and her heels slipped back into the socket without any trouble at all. The engineer just completed his work, lifted her, plugged her back in without a second thought, then left without even a backward glance. The thought that he'd just transformed a warm blooded, sensuous, shapely, female into a rigidly stiffened quivering rock hard rod of straining sinew and muscle just never occurred to him. There were another ten to service before his day's work was over.

Unhurriedly Junior took off his coat and hung it in the hall closet then returned to savour the kitchen scene a while longer. Placing a chair near the punishment socket, he enjoyed a freshly made Karra juice as he studied her. The engineer had done a good job. The fleshy upper arms were deeply ridged with the improved cinching, and the back-prayered forearms and wrists crushed ruthlessly into the spine. He had even managed to reduced the waist another few inches and the gag band was now indenting the beautiful face to a mind boggling degree. Her upper face was literally exploding over the top of the super tight constriction in a permanent eruption of bursting cheeks and bulging eyes. It looked impossible but the living proof was right there to enjoy. The engineer was a craftsman. He'd even taken time to leave an example of compression levels on the adjustable straps over her bottom. The metal banding was buried an inch or more into the luscious lobes with a resultant eruption of bulging super extruded buttock flesh.

Junior sighed with contentment. Only three weeks had passed since coming home and already he was at liberty to do as he wished with a fabulously beautiful toy woman. He indulged in some poking and prodding, his stiffened finger pushing deep indents into the fleshy areas of rubber sheathed skin. There was no response. The house female couldn't move or make a sound as he held his finger deeply buried into her indented bottom and enjoyed the powerful vibrations generated by quivering super tensioned muscles. It required considerable effort to push a indentation into the hardened buttocks, but it was a superb sensation to be able to actually feel her punishment without pain. As an experiment he lifted the ancient cane punishment device down from the wall and gave the extruded bottom bulges six powerful strokes each. Then he understood why the cane had been relegated to an ornament. There was no reaction or sound from the woman.

She just seemed to absorb the blows like a sponge without the slightest response. The only sign that she had even felt the blows were the livid welts appearing under the rubber sheathing.

Eventually he became bored with the teasing and flipped the punishment switch to the off position.

The quivering shape slumped as much as her stringent bondage would allow and emitted a long drawn out moan of relief. Rigid previously electrified muscles relaxed and her bottom mellowed from its startling humped profile to resume a more natural flowing curvature of cinched bulges.

It took but a few seconds to unplug her, reset the Rog-Reamer to normal mode and allow a very repentant house woman to start preparing supper. She had twenty minutes or so before a hungry Dad returned. If the meal wasn't ready by then, she'd be plugged back in overnight for another recharging session. The meal was on the table in ten minutes, much to Junior's annoyance. It was amazing how fast this female could change utensils in her gag utility clamp as she worked. But now he would have to find fault in something else she did before he could justify plugging her helpless pleading form back in. Dad was a stickler for fair play. It was one of his many well recited virtues.

Junior tucked into the food, watching all the time as she moved around. Her butt was a fascinating sight when those super cinched extrusions were in motion, and the stooped stance whilst working over the cooking hob with her facial mounted utensils resulted in a curvaceous butt being thrust in his direction. There was the small down side that it made her movements more mechanical due to tremendous compaction of the powerful buttock muscles; but that made her all the more lustfully attractive to him.

Suddenly his face lit up with glee. Minutes later she was plugged back in and ready as Junior's hand toyed with the switch.

"You had an hour and a half off charge whilst the engineer was here didn't you? I checked his time sheet. You should have reminded me."

The desperate woman keened her pleas for mercy through the gag and strained strenuously at the restraints. Throughout the preparation she searched his face with imploring eyes and made the piteous sounds of a woman begging for forgiveness. Her eyes mirrored panic as the heels engaged in the socket, but Junior decided to enjoy himself by prolonging the inevitable. Four times in all she was plugged in and unplugged on the pretence that she wasn't engaged properly. He even fetched some sand paper to make sure the heels were clean so as to ensure a perfect contact. Stiffened by her bonds and unable to resist in any way, the ritual became so demeaning as she was moved around and plugged in and out like a portable appliance. A loud click sounded as the switch finally flicked over. 

“UUUUUUMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHH!”

The erotic rubber sheathed shape jerked savagely into a quivering muscle knotted rod of womanhood. Her buttocks leapt into the enhanced rigid profile and the keening entreaties cut off with a brutal abruptness. 

Had he known, the mind of that electrically mummified shape had just made a major mental conversion. Throughout training in the state female holding pens she had always thought of herself as a woman in captivity. Now, after a day of being plugged in like an appliance she made the all important shift to thinking of herself as an item. Whatever these males wanted to do to her could be done and they had no compassion. To them she was nothing more than an animated utility toy. It was a fundamental shift that would help her come to terms with the rigours of her life. 

Click! "Nnnnnnnnrrrrr!” Nnnnnrrrr!

Click! "UUUUUUMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHH!” 

Click! "Nnnnnnnnrrrrr!"

Click! "UUUUUUMMMMMMMPPPPPPPHHHHH!”

Junior decided to test the switch a few times for good measure. There was something so satisfying about watching the explosive effects of energisation on that superbly cinched rump. Eventually the recharging started in earnest as the vibrantly stiffened figure was left switched on. Junior bent down and mocked the eye popping, cheek bulging face, obviously enjoying the fact that she couldn't even twitch.

"Naughty! Naughty! Two offences in one day. You can stay plugged in till breakfast now." The crimson face managed only the minutest flicker of an eyelid in response to the awesome new sentence. The eyes remained fixed and staring straight ahead. Junior knew she could hear him and was probably mentally begging for mercy, but until that switch clicked off again she was frozen into silent, totally impotised suffering. But maybe there was hope for her yet. Suddenly Yoran found himself staring at this particularly fabulous female with strangely mixed emotions. For some reason this woman was beginning to make him feel odd inside. He reached down and patted the quivering welted rump almost affectionately, then as if suddenly realising what he was doing, he straightened and addressed her sternly. For a second or two he was confused, then the old style Junior reasserted himself.

"I'm in charge of the discipline for all household females now, so be sure you learn quickly or else you'll be spending much more of your time plugged in before you even get chance to be fitted into a G-3."

Junior left the quivering appliance to ponder her mistakes with only a long obedience charging session to look forward to. Now that the number one female of the house was thoroughly silenced and deactivated, Junior felt it was the right time to retire to his study and start on a redesign of the punishment socket configuration. A bar like figure lying arched across the kitchen floor was both space wasting and dangerous if one was to trip over it. He had it in mind to reshape the woman into an inverted, wall mounted, hogtie format. That way her heels would hook downwards into the socket and serve as both connector and support bracket. A plate and connector mounted on the pulled back head would serve as the return path for the current. With a little careful kitchen planning the female undergoing a recharge could hang with all the other utensils. All Junior had to do was convince his Dad to hold off on the second G-3 until he had proven his design.

His thoughts flicked back to the woman in the kitchen and a new idea came to mind as the strange feelings he'd experienced before flowed back. Perhaps the punishment socket could also be modified to perform an entirely different task. Junior sat at the desk and was soon engrossed in his work.


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EPILOGUE

Far above Yoran and his Dad, sixty miles high in the dark night sky, a bondage machine of truly diabolical nature was taking shape as Sven prepared to surpass even Gazra-3 technology with his first appearance. 

He'd watched various aspects of Thyron modern day life with amazement. Not so much for carnal enjoyment, but because he needed to know what he would be faced with when they made the big entry.

Starburst's clutch of entrammelled beauties must surpass anything they had on offer. Yet the more he looked, the more he realised it was going to be a difficult task. Just when he had almost given up hope, inspiration struck. The famous carnally motivated brain of Sven Olafsen kicked into gear.

Roger, Dhelia and her four strong coffle of bouncing beauties were called into conference. With a gathering sense of doom, the four pogoing miscreants from the stasis capsule listened in as their second debut in the Thyron arena was discussed.

It was doubtful they agreed on the format, but then there was very little they could do or say to influence the planners. In fact configured as they were, there was nothing they could do.

Roger sped away, and Dhelia was close behind as the four were left in Sven's charge. Both droids were going to be very busy, so Sven offered to take care of the Rog-Reamered quartet as the monstrous devices he had planned for them were rapidly being forged by the busy droids.

*  *  *

Image 31

The saga will continue in:

'Trylon-31' and 'The Federation Strikes Back' as Sven and cohorts descend from the heavens as demi-Gods return to the scene of their galactic engineering and take Thyros by storm with a spectacular show of modern techno bondage that instantly wins them acclaim and unquestioning loyalty from the Thyron men-folk.

Junior gets to meet his hero, and the great brains of bondage conspire to produce even better devices for the control of femininity.

Then they move on to enslave the planet of Trylon 31, aided and abetted by his converted amazon Yelda and other Trylonian nymphomaniacs, plus a hand picked team of specialist female-hunting male troops from the grateful world of Thyros.

Later the chronicles of the Aliens series draw to a close in the exciting finale; 'The Federation Strikes Back'.

Books of this series currently in print

Part 1			ALIENS
Part 2			STARBURST ONE
Part 3			THYROS BOUND
